#sparks fly tag list !! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

loveronlineee · 2 years

Text

Doodles and Dates (Eddie Munson x Reader)

Masterlist

Eddie Munson x Artist! Reader (She/Her)

Warnings: None

Synopsis: Eddie has fallen for the quiet girl he sits next to in class who’s always drawing.

Y/N notes: none

Wanna be on the Eddie Munson tag list? Look here!

Wanna request something? Look here!

For the first time in his life, Eddie Munson looked forward to his math classes. Not because he suddenly found a passion for numbers, but because this year he had been sat next to Y/N L/N.

A girl he knew virtually nothing about before the year started. They had shared one other class the entire time they were at school together, where they sat on opposite sides of the room. It was a history help out class for all grades that was filled with a mix of over achievers and kids who were failing. Eddie had made the assumption that Y/N was an A+ student as her nose was always in her notebook, taking notes.

But she wasn’t making notes, she was in fact drawing. Scribbling furiously, continuously, in her book. It seemed like she was in a world of her own creation most of the time. This is something Eddie discovered at the beginning of this year.

The good thing about people who were always in their own world, they’re much less likely to catch you staring at them. Which Eddie did a lot. Every chance he could get.

Today was no different. Class had just started and Y/N was already scribbling away. Her art could be anything from detailed life drawing to tiny hearts. Today seemed to be space themed, the page contained planets and stars scattered around. Eddie smiled as he watched the page get filled.

“Eddie? Are you paying attention?” Mrs. O’Donnell called out to the back of the class.

“Not at all.” He grinned at her.

“Pay. Attention.”

“You got it.” Eddie winked before looking back at Y/N. She was on the last page of her notebook, and it was full. The girl stared at the page before sighing and closing the book. Eddie watched as she pushed it to the side in favour of actually listening to the teacher for once.

Eddie looked back down at his own half of the desk, not sure on what to do. It’s not like he had brought any paper to class. He was lucky he had found a chewed up pencil in his jean pocket. The metal head picked at the sleeve of his Hellfire shirt before rolling it up to his elbow. He presented his forearm to the girl, keeping his eyes looking forward, being too nervous to look at her.

Y/N frowned in confusion at the action. The two had never said a word to each other so it was a weird move to randomly put his arm on her side of the desk. Then she realised what he was doing. She looked up at him, making eye contact for a split second as his eyes darted over to her then back to the front.

A small smile appearing on her face as she placed one hand on Eddie’s wrist. She pulled him a little closer to her before picking up her pen and beginning to draw it softly across his skin.

It tickled a little but nothing Eddie couldn’t ignore in favour of letting Y/N have a place to draw. He watched as she continued on with the space theme, drawing a little alien dude throwing up a peace sign. Doodling stars all around, she quickly ran out of empty parts. Eddie didn’t move, curious of what she’d do.

Y/N danced her pen around in the air before taking her free hand and holding Eddie’s. He was taken a little aback but remained cool, watching as she turned his arm so that the blank side was facing up. Her eyes widened at the sight of his bats tattoo. Eddie could see the spark of inspiration in Y/N’s eyes as she began scribbling again.

Soon a haunted house appeared on his arm, the bats flying around the rooftops. Eddie couldn’t help the corners of his mouth turning up again. He loved how her brain worked. How she could look at something and create a whole story around it. She added some gravestones at the front of the house before putting the lid on her pen and looking back to the front. He read the names on the stones, recognising them as the names of their teachers, Mrs. O’Donnell being one of them.

Eddie couldn’t help but laugh, head tilting back in his chair. Y/N tried to suppress her own laughter, instead looking straight down at her desk. The other students turned to them.

“Eddie Munson!” The teacher called out. “Do you have something you’d like to share with the class?” She asked, annoyed.

“No ma’am.” He replied with a smile, sitting up straight again. His eyes darted over to Y/N who was still looking down at her desk trying not to make any noise. “I am gravely sorry for the disturbance.”

As soon as the word gravely left Eddie’s lips, Y/N was gone. She burst out laughing, hiding her face in her hands. The class looked at her with shock.

“Y/N! Do you have something to say?” Mrs. O’Donnell asked, surprised to find that she was a part of the problem. The girl shook her head, coughing to compose herself.

“No miss.” A little smile still on her face. The teacher quirked an eyebrow at her. Y/N’s smile dropped. “I’m dead serious.” That’s when Eddie’s laughter started back up. The class stared at them in shock and confusion. They had never seen someone outside his cult club get along with Eddie, let alone this well.

The bell rang, saving the pair from getting in any actual trouble. The teacher huffed.

“Y/N, stay behind. Eddie you better not be out in that hallway when I’m done talking to her.”

“Wh- but-“

“No buts! Straight to the lunch hall.” She pointed at the door. Eddie sighed and left the class with everyone else, looking back at Y/N one last time. She grinned at him making Eddie relieved that she wasn’t mad. He’d never seen Y/N get in trouble and he was wondering how she’d react. He made his way to his table and sat down.

“Good afternoon gentlemen.” The boys looked up at him.

“You’re in a good mood.” Mike commented.

“I just had a lovely math class.” The boys frowned in confusion.

“You hate math.” Dustin stated. “You hate every class.”

“Well something good came from this one.” Eddie jumped up on the table, stretching a hand to the sky dramatically. “A beautiful angel, hands blessed with the gift to create, saved me from boredom.”

“Is this that chick who sits next to you and draws all the time?” Mike questioned, having heard about her an annoying amount from the senior.

“So you finally talked to her?” Dustin asked as Eddie sat back down.

“Uh well technically… no.” They did not in fact speak directly to each other the entire class. Either interacting without words or talking to the teacher instead. “But check this out.”

Eddie rolled up his sleeve to show the haunted house. The table looked in awe.

“Woah sick!”

“You weren’t kidding when you said she could draw.”

“Hey.” The boys looked up to see Y/N standing to Eddie’s right. He immediately stood up and fixed himself. Y/N L/N had finally spoken to him.

Hey.

“H-Hey. Hey.” Eddie managed to reply. He didn’t realise he was nervous until he opened his mouth. Ten minutes ago they were laughing together, now he was struggling to speak to her.

“So Mrs O’Donnell asked me to move seats… away from you.” Eddie’s heart dropped.

“Oh. Right. Yeah okay makes sense.” Eddie mumbled, looking down at the floor. “I guess I was being a bad influence on you you probably actually want to pass her class and not end up like me yeah okay-“

“I told her I didn’t want to.” Eddie looked back at her wide eyed. She was smiling.

“R-Really?”

“Yeah.” Eddie’s shoulders relaxed, his own smile reappearing. “But Mrs had one condition for me. If my grade starts slipping, I have to move. AND… you have to pass the next test.”

Eddie began processing everything she just said but Y/N opened her mouth again. “So I’m thinking… study date?”

“Date?” Eddie repeated the only word that registered in his brain. Y/N shrugged.

“We can just call it a session then-“

“No! No date is great i-it’s great I love that word. It’s definitely in my top five.” He babbled. Y/N giggled and nodded at him.

“Okay cool. Well I should go but give me a call and we can set something up.” Y/N handed Eddie a folded piece of paper and left the lunch hall. He looked down at it, knowing that this wasn’t paper from the notebook he knew.

He unfolded it to find a drawing of himself. A side profile where he’s sitting at a desk. He recognised that desk. The ones from the history help out classes last year. The class he shared with Y/N where they sat on opposite sides of the classroom.

She had added her phone number to the bottom of the page, a little heart next to it.

Eddie stared at the page, holding it like it was pure gold.

He had never been so excited to study.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #reader x Eddie Munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson smut #stranger things #stranger things x reader #stranger things season four #stranger things season 4 #reader x stranger things

18K notes · View notes

dollfacefantasy · 4 months

Note

neglect kink with older leon???!!?!? like… you’re super horny whining and begging for his attention and he’s just. completely ignoring you. maybe he eventually lets you cockwarm him but he’s still ignoring you… the only way you know he’s enjoying this is because he’s still hard… no sounds or nothing. you’re so desperate for ANYTHING a kiss, a touch, literally any words at all but he’s just focused on his work!!! maybe daddy kink because everything needs daddy kink… maybe, like, you did something bad so this is your punishment… i don’t know… maybe he gives you the attention eventually or not!!!!

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: you've been bad, but you never seem to learn from spankings. leon has to try something new to remind you why you should be a good girl.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, cockwarming, masturbation, overstimulation, daddy kink, praise/degradation, age difference, dom/sub stuff (rules, punishment, etc.)

word count: 6.2k

a/n: you're so right, everything does need daddy kink <3 thank you for the request, love. i hope it's what you were wanting. i imagine post-DI leon for this so he's a bit older, but i just used DI for the pic. anyhow, reblogs and comments are always appreciated <3

tags: @sleepyluxe @kaitkatme @tosuckmyweenis @pupthepokemonenthusiast @bizzarethirst @death-paint @iron-toxinz @wildest-dreams-at-midnight @nexysworld @explorevenus @luniaxi

Your deep breaths and soft whimpers had overtaken the quiet murmur of the tv in your bedroom. An old movie played on it, one you had seen time and time again. It no longer had your attention. Instead, you’re focusing on playing with the pulsing bud between your legs. Your fingers thrum back and forth over the sensitive spot, hips pushing down against the mattress as sparks fly in your belly.

Technically, you weren’t supposed to be doing this. It was one of the rules you agreed to when Leon had approached you with some things he wanted to try out for your sex life, just a small set of guidelines to play with. ‘No touching yourself without daddy’s permission' had been listed among others. He counted each one on his fingers as he did, and you nodded your head and looked up at him with your sweet set of eyes. The same set that now flutters with ecstasy as you played your forbidden game. But as long as he didn’t know, it was fine, right?

Your heels dig into the blankets beneath you while your breasts rise and sink with each inhale and exhale. You feel that hot sensation between your legs, the tightening cord, the boiling pleasure. You’re about to let it loose until you hear the front door open and shut, keys clatter on the table, and the familiar grunt Leon does when he slips his shoes off, using the tip of one on the heel of the other.

You nearly miss these little cues because of the rain clashing against your windows, but in a stroke of luck, you catch it all and tear your hand out of your shorts at light speed. Leon’s just walking into the bedroom as you drape the blanket over yourself. Shifting around a little to get comfy, you then gaze up at him, putting some tenderness into your eyes in hopes of throwing him off your scent.

As he gets closer, you take in his appearance. Little droplets of water on the shoulders of his jacket from the rain outside. Shiny hair fresh from the shower he took this morning, shaggy bangs hanging down into his face. Tired glaze over his eyes, work must not have been a walk in the park.

Once he approaches you, he raises his eyebrows, and for a second, you’re sure you’ve been found out. But all he does is sit next to you on the edge of the bed and run a hand over your head. His eyes fixate on you as if he’s studying your features. Your heart pounds, waiting to hear the words belt, over my knee, or sore & stinging leave his lips, but they don’t.

“Been having a nice day, baby?” he asks you, petting your head a few more times.

“Mhm,” you respond. Innocent enough.

“That’s good. What have you been doing?” he asks. Oh fuck.

“Um, just watching a movie,” you answer.

“Yeah? That all?” he continues. Fuck fuck fuck.

“Pretty much. It’s all rainy out. Don’t really feel like getting out of bed,” you say with a casual shrug.

He nods. It seems like an approving gesture, but you could swear there’s a little knowing glint in his eyes. Maybe that’s just your imagination. Hopefully, that’s just your imagination.

“Alright. I gotta go finish up some work for a while, just wanted to check on you first. Keep being a good girl for me,” he tells you. He gives you a small pat on the ass before getting up and walking out of the room as quickly as he had entered.

Your body relaxes, and your pulse descends to normal levels. Maybe you did pull it off. Heist of the century in your book. You settle in to truly just pay attention to the tv for now, but it’s not as simple as it should be when you’re still so pent up. You’d just breached the threshold of release, before you were torn out and back to reality. You could feel the slick that had gathered between your legs, the ache in your clit calling out to your fingers.

The thought of continuing does cross your mind. It would be so easy. Without any suspicion on you, all you would have to do is clamp a hand over your mouth and rub slower so the bed didn't creak. Plus, when he went in his office, he usually worked until the evening anyway. You could cum and be done with it before he had the slightest idea.

No, no, no. You told him you’d be a good girl. You wouldn’t wanna break daddy’s heart by being bad, right? No, you wanted to make him proud. You resign to wait until he wants to play with you. He always did; you can’t recall a night he left you wanting. So you lay on your side, eyes focused on the blue-tinted screen across the room, and keep it together.

But hours go by. And then more hours go by. You keep yourself occupied, marathoning nearly an entire franchise of movies, eating, going on your phone. But none of it fills the Leon-shaped void inside you.

This was the longest he’d ever been in that office. He never worked in there into the night. He always told you that he tried to spend as little time in there as possible. That’s time that could be spent with his good girl, that’s what he told you. Only you hadn’t been a good girl today.

You shake your head, and tell the stupid little voice inside to zip it. He seemed tired, remember? This is probably just an extension of that. He knew he’d have to come home and be in his office all day. It was all a coincidence, this whole thing. There was literally no way he could know what you’d been doing. But daddy knows you better than you know yourself.

Oh god. This was like some form of torture, you’re sure of it. Self-inflicted, or was it really? He was the one who’d made you this way. Whatever. Enough was enough. There was no reason to be paranoid. You could literally just go ask him. Sort this out and soothe your anxiety, so you can go back to waiting patiently like the good girl that you are.

Pushing the covers to the side, you slide out of bed and head down the hall to his office as thunder crackles outside. A gentle push on one of the French doors leads you into the room you rarely entered. Despite that, you liked it in here. Leon’s desk faced away from the door, towards the window that looked out onto the street. The curtains were drawn now, brown fringe overlapping with the spare cushions on the window seat below it. Some bookshelves lined the walls perpendicular to his desk, though you never had the time to actually check their contents.

You walk a few paces into the room. Your eyes cast over to him. He doesn’t even look like he’s doing much for someone working into the night, but who are you to judge? You step over a crinkle in the rug to stand in front of his desk. Your hands rest on the hardwood as you gaze at him over the monitor of his computer.

“Hi,” you say simply.

He nods. A movement so vague that he could’ve told you his head twitched, and you’d believe him.

“Whatcha doing?” you ask.

“Work.”

You stare at him for a moment. Sure, he wasn’t normally super chatty, but he also wasn’t usually so clipped. He knows.

“How’s it going?” you say.

You’re met with a shrug. You have to up your efforts.

Circling around his desk, you position yourself behind him and wrap your arms over his shoulders. You drag your nose against his cheek like an affectionate kitten and kiss the skin a few times.

“How much longer you gonna be in here?” you ask. Your voice remains gentle and undemanding.

“A while,” he grunts. The clacking of the keyboards starts up again, and his eyes remain locked on the documents in front of him.

“But you’ve been in here for hours,” you point out and feign a pout.

“And I’ll be in here for even more if you keep bothering me,” he says with a little gesture that wasn’t fully shrugging you off but at the same time was shrugging you off.

Ouch. Your pout was no longer feigned. You stand up straight and walk back to where you stood originally. He still doesn’t spare you even the smallest of glances.

“Can I stay in here with you?” you ask hesitantly.

“If you want to,” he says. Wow. Not that he wanted you to, no. If you wanted to. Sure, people could call you sensitive for being upset about that, you don’t care. You’re tempted to leave with a huff, slamming the door behind you, but now you’re even more curious if he was aware of your illicit afternoon activities. You kinda hope he is at this point because at least that would give a reason for his icy attitude.

You walk over to the one other chair in the room. Yeah, there was the window seat, but as pretty as you’d made it for him, decorating it with little throw pillows and cute coverings, it wasn’t very comfortable. You plop down on the corduroy cushioning of the beaten-up seat in the corner. with a sigh. Bringing your legs up over the armrest, you lean back against the opposite one and scan the room out of boredom. Your feet swing back and forth absentmindedly as you puff breaths of disinterest from between your lips.

You really try to give him time to finish, but it feels like he’s taking actual eternity. Also, it sounds like he’s barely doing anything, and now you are going to judge because he’s cutting into your precious personal time with him. You stare at him for several minutes, keeping your eyes locked on his face. Unlike any normal person who’d get uncomfortable, he just continues “working.” Finally, you crack.

“How’s it going?” you ask.

No response.

“Are you almost done?” you try again.

Nothing.

Your eyes darken, your frown growing. “Leonnnnn,” you whine.

And still absolutely nothing. You have one more weapon in your arsenal. If this doesn’t work, you know you’ll just have to pack it up for the night.

“Daddy…” you whimper, using the softest voice you could manage, the one that always shot right through him. You jut your bottom lip out a bit more and put that pleading in your eyes. After this, all you have is literal tears, and you’re hoping it doesn’t go to that point.

Leon knows this, and he doesn’t want it to get that far either. He finally spins his chair in your direction. His eyes land on your face. He has to repress the smirk rising to his face over your neediness.

“Funny how that name seems to always slip out most when you want something,” he replies.

At least he wasn’t ignoring you anymore. “All I want is your attention…” you say, keeping up your sweet performance.

“Oh yeah?” he taunts, “Tell me, baby. Were you thinking of daddy today when you were home alone?”

Your eyes dart away from his face, but you force them back. You couldn’t blow this by being too obvious, so you respond with a simple nod.

“I thought so, princess. What else would have had you so riled up today when I came home? It wouldn’t be because you were breaking one of your rules, would it?” he asks. His tone was obviously leading. He knew. You were so desperate for him though that at this point you were starting to think a spanking wouldn’t be that bad. At least it was some form of physical contact to sate you.

“I wasn’t riled up earlier,” you say quietly with a little shrug.

He chuckles and shakes his head. “You’re not lying are you? Cause that’s another rule. Two broken rules in one day. That wounds me, babydoll,” he says.

“I’m not breaking any rules. I’m being honest,” you say.

“So you being all squirmy, hot skin, heavy breathing; that wasn’t you being riled up? Is daddy imagining things now? Do I not know what my girl looks like when she’s aching for me?” he asks, “What she looks like when she’s been trying to solve her little problem herself?”

Finally, he unveils his reasoning. You freeze and stare at him, trying to think of what to say. Even though you wanted attention, there was still that innate part of you that hated being in trouble. You’d much rather be perched on his lap to be loved on like the precious thing you were.

“I don’t know what you mean,” is your weak attempt at an excuse. He laughs and leans back in his chair, the old springs creaking with his motion.

“Did you put your fingers inside or just play with that pretty little clit?” he asks, eyes boring into you as he goes for the kill.

“Just my clit…” you mumble and look down.

Shaking his head again, he turns back to his computer. You watch him, expecting him to start in on you again. To lecture you about your impatience. Tease you about your borderline pathetic need for him. Take you over his knee and crack you on the ass while making you repeat each of your rules back to him.

But none of this happens. Instead, this man just goes back to straight up ignoring you. Your jaw drops and a confused whine comes from your throat. “Daddy, c’mon. I’m sorry,” you say.

He resumes typing, fingers gliding over the keys and eyes fixed on the little words appearing in front of him. You groan in frustration and sink back against the brown ribbed fabric of your chair. You glare at him from your place, trying to telepathically will him into entertaining you again. You must be lacking in mental communication though because he doesn’t change what he’s doing at all. One of your thighs crosses over the other, unintentionally giving your pussy a little friction.

That’s what made this all the more frustrating, you were still unsatisfied from earlier. You should’ve just made yourself cum like you wanted. You’d be in trouble either way. You could only hope he’d take it easy on you now for having chosen the former.

Different scenarios run through your head for how you want to play this. A spectrum of possibilities lies in front of you. On one end, you could just leave. Keep whatever dignity you had left, cut your losses, and go to bed. On the other, you could be over the top. Hop in his lap and smother him with a flurry of kisses before he could object. Either one would probably only earn you more punishment, so you try to think of a middle ground. A way to continue the game.

As you think, your right hand lazily runs up and down your chest. Your middle finger coasts over the area spanning from the valley between your breasts to your navel. Taking your lip between your teeth, you decide to start here. Your fingers move to your tits and round your nipples. The buds harden into small peaks beneath your shirt. You pinch and pull at them gently, and your cunt flutters in response to the teasing. You shift your hips up before shimmying your shorts off and letting them drop to the ground beside your chair.

You reposition yourself next to sit properly in the chair. Your heels come to rest on the plush cushion as you spread your legs and expose your damp panties to him. Not that he bothered to look.

Now your fingers moved down there. They pet your most sensitive area over the thin, wet cloth. Your breath hitches as your fingertips brush over your clit. You press down a little harder and make a soft breathy whine. His eyes flit in your direction, but they don’t linger. Take what you can get, you guess.

You slide your digits back down and massage your dripping entrance. The fabric becomes more wet as you rub it on your slick folds. Your middle and ring finger move in tandem to stoke the flames down there and to ensure the fabric is completely soaked. Once that mission is accomplished, you lift your hips for the second time to remove this garment. Only you don’t drop it to the floor. This time you toss them in his direction, landing them on his desk, lace half covering one of his wrists, half covering a section of his keyboard.

The sound of typing halts, putting the room into silence, spare the raindrops splatting against the window. His eyes remain stern and not on you. Without even looking down, he wads the panties up and shoves them in his pocket. The sound of typing resumes.

“Daddy,” you huff, “I got ‘em all wet just for you.”

He still doesn’t acknowledge you. You let out a growl of sorts and narrow your eyes at him. Your fingers slip through your arousal coating your center. You pay more attention to your clit now that it’s exposed.

“I just missed you so much today. I couldn’t help it,” you reason.

You whimper and squirm in your chair as you start rubbing faster. Your eyes are still locked on him, watching for the slightest crack in his resolve. So far there are none. You continue toying with yourself.

“I was thinking of you the whole time,” you whimper, “That should count for something. I was imagining your hands and your eyes looking down at me. I was pretending I could hear your voice.”

He remains unaffected. Your head tilts back against the plush cushioning as your hips rock in place. You mewl softly which soon turns into a long, drawn-out whine. Finally, he shifts in his seat a little, and you know right away it’s cause he’s starting to get hard.

“I just love you so much, daddy. Can’t control myself when you’re not around,” you say, further chipping away at the little dent in his stoic facade.

Your moans increase in volume as does the slippery sounds coming from your fingers moving through your slick. That feeling from this afternoon is starting to come back. Pleasure builds in your abdomen, one piece stacking on top of the other. You’re shaking more, voice getting less even with each little cry of joy. He finally turns to look at you when you start doing that thing you do when you’re about to cum, the ultra-specific puff of your chest that rolls through your abdomen to your hips. His eyes capture yours, unamused with your antics.

“If you cum right now, a spanking is the only kind of attention you’ll be getting until you learn some self-control,” he tells you.

In an instant, your fingers sputter to a stop. Your mind bounces back and forth on what to do like a metronome. But as always, your craving for Leon’s approval wins out over every other option. You remove your hand from between your legs and even sit up, closing your thighs. Maybe now, he’ll see you’re being good and cut you some slack.

Yeah, right.

He goes back to his computer. Again. You’re about to lose your mind or explode, you aren’t sure which will come first. Standing from the chair, you start walking to his desk. He still didn’t look at you! How rude, you’d think that the touching yourself rule was his favorite or something even though you knew it wasn’t. That title belonged to the rule that let him pick your outfit whenever the two of you went out.

A few paces in his direction, and you’re back right where you started. Arms looped over his shoulders, nuzzling your face against his cheek, and kissing the side of his head. “I said I’m sorry daddy,” you say softly, “I’m really really really really sorry. I know I was a bad girl, but only for that.”

He grunts and scoots closer to his desk, away from your embrace. A noise of exasperation leaves you, and without thinking, you roll the chair back a couple inches and embrace him again, only tighter. A grin rises on your face when you see the bulge that had formed in his lap.

“Pretty please? I’ll take whatever punishment. I don’t want daddy to be mad at me anymore,” you plead and give him some more pecks on the cheek. You knew you probably looked ridiculous, pantless and visibly horny, but that wasn’t a true concern at this moment in time.

“Go to bed,” he states simply, “I’ll deal with you later.”

That wasn’t good enough. You wanted him now.

“Daddy,” you whine, stretching out the last syllable. You lower yourself to your knees and slink down in front of his chair. “C’mon, I said it like a million billion trillion times. Can’t we just kiss and make up?”

He stares down at you, not impressed with your show of submission. He was playing harder than usual. He knew that wouldn’t deter you though. You squish your cheek against his thighs as your hands creep up his legs.

“Do I have to make a special apology?” you ask, looking up at him with puppy eyes.

He pushes your hands away as they reach his thighs. “Quit it,” he growls, “Let me finish my work and maybe we can work something out.”

But you don’t quit it. You move yourself closer to one of his legs, preparing to put on a little show for him if need be. Your eyes don’t quit and neither does the pleading expression on your mouth.

“But I need my daddy now,” you huff, “I-”

And that’s it. You’re cut off by Leon reaching down and yanking you into his lap.

“Such a fuckin’ brat,” he grunts, “Ready to hump my leg like a bitch in heat cause I don’t give you attention for a couple hours.”

You squirm a bit as his hands rub up and down your sides and squeeze your hips. He stills you with a firm slap to your ass. Both of your eyes gaze into the others, the small spheres swirling with arousal, annoyance, and adoration.

“I just missed you. I would’ve left you alone if you weren’t so mean to me,” you point out.

“Who says I have to be nice to you? You don’t get to decide when you wanna listen based on that,” he says and pulls you to his chest. You lean in against the muscular expanse while his hand snakes between the two of you to get at his button and zipper. “Your job is being a good girl. Not just when you feel like it. Not only when daddy’s giving you kisses and calling you pretty. The only time you stop is when I say, and that didn’t happen today did it? Am I imagining things again?”

“No,” you agree reluctantly, “But I-”

“Cut your yapping out. I’ve heard enough. Give me some quiet or I’ll put those panties to good use,” he threatens.

As your lips fall shut, you hear the tug of his zipper and feel him shift as he takes himself out. Now you’re really quiet, more from anticipation than obedience.

“Now I’m gonna let you sit on my cock, but that’s it. No squirming, no ‘getting comfy,’ no whining, no ‘but daddy.’ You act up too much, and I’m truly sending your ass to bed for the night.”

You look up at him and nod, not even speaking because you didn’t want to cut your chances at dick off before they started.

“Good,” he says.

One of his hands helps elevate you so that he can position his length underneath you. The tip slips through your folds, already soaked from your prior escapades. He doesn’t tease too much, wasn’t interested in hearing you beg right now. He’d heard enough of that for tonight. He pushes you down onto it. His mouth twitches, and he sucks in a deep breath as he feels the warmth of your walls engulf his cock.

You slide all the way down with ease. Looking back at his face again, you feel the insatiable urge to give him a little kiss. If you did that though, would that be one of the things you aren’t supposed to be doing?

“Daddy… can I have a little kiss first?” you ask.

He merely shoots you a look that tells you don’t push it.

With a final look of defeat, you nestle yourself against his chest, head on his shoulder so you can look up at his face. He was so focused. If you didn’t know you were here, you never would suspect he’d be up to this level of multitasking.

You let out a sigh. It was nice being full, but you still yearned for more. You were really trying to be good though, so there wasn’t much for you to do. Minutes tick by as you try in earnest to think of a potential solution. To make matters worse, at a certain point, after you’d been on his dick for a while, his hand starts roaming your back. A soothing touch that made your walls flutter around him. He knew it would too, you could tell from that little smirk on his face.

Trying to focus on the positives, you mentally study every feature of his cock that you can feel. It’s so deep, he’s resting right against the spot that could drive you wild when properly battered. It pulsed rhythmically, twitching slightly when your muscles would contract or release around his shaft.

You’re actually doing better than expected, letting your mind wander. But then, he’s the one to move a bit under the guise of necessary readjustment. The whimper that falls from your lips is inevitable. He shushes you, and you mutter an apology, but that simple movement was enough to reignite the fire in your belly.

You bite your lip, the neediness in your eyes intensifying. “Daddy?” you whisper, testing the waters.

Nothing.

So he had gone back to this? Not if you could help it. You don’t bother speaking again. Instead, you move the tiniest bit, rolling your hips as you act like you’re shifting to alleviate a cramp. To your shock, he doesn’t say anything, just shifts his hips a bit in return.

You glance up hopefully. Maybe he was going to ease up, but he just didn’t want to verbally admit it. You move a little more, but this time, you’re a bit too zealous in your attempt. His hands grab your hips and dig into your flesh, keeping you in place.

You’re so pent up and frustrated. Your forehead thuds back onto his shoulder. “Ple-”

“What did I say?” he asks.

“But da-”

“What did I say?” he asks again and tightens his grip.

“I just wanna cum,” you whimper, “It hurts, been achy all day.”

“Oh it hurts, does it?” he mocks. He jerks your hips to give you some fleeting friction while maintaining his control. “What is it about today that’s making it so hard for you to listen?”

“I-” you start to defend yourself out of instinct but can’t actually come up with anything. “I don’t know.”

“That’s right you don’t. So quit acting like you do. You think with that slutty little pussy, and then act like you don’t need daddy to make the decisions. It’s a little disappointing, babydoll,” he scolds.

Your eyes flicker with every stage of grief as he says this. That’s literally the worst thing he could say. He could call you any name in the book and you’d brush it off with an eyeroll or a “hmph.” But disappointing? That was evil. That word could worm its way into your heart and weigh on you for days.

“I’m sorry,” you say quickly in a desperate attempt to remedy, “I just… I’m so pent up. Can’t think with my head when my pussy keeps distracting me.”

“Oh, poor baby,” he mocks with a chuckle and a shake of his head.

“That’s why I have to cum,” you plead, “I need it. It’s not even the same when I do it. I should’ve just waited. I’m sorry.”

“You need it?” he repeats, “So fuckin’ spoiled. I give you some dick even when you don’t deserve it, and it’s still not enough. I gotta train some gratitude into you next.”

“You’re the one who spoils me,” you pout.

“Oh, so it’s all my fault? So you’re saying I shouldn’t be so easy on you, huh?” he challenges.

You shake your head as fast as humanly possible, now set on backtracking your fuck up. But it was too late. “No, I was just sayi-” you start before he cuts you off yet again.

“And just when I was about to start fucking you too? That’s a damn shame,” he says.

Your eyes widen, and you shake your head more. This had gone from a slight improvement to a downward spiral.

“I mean, why would I bother now? All you care about is getting to cum. Don’t care about all the work daddy puts in to make you feel good the entire time,” he taunts, “If that’s the case, then go ahead. Cum. Take what you want, but don’t you dare move those hips.”

Your look of anguish evolves into that of confusion. You don’t really want to question him right now, but you’re unsure of how you’re supposed to follow that command. “I can’t…” you say softly.

“Why not?” he asks.

“Not enough,” you answer.

“Then make it enough,” he growls, “You were having so much fun today with those fingers. They don’t work anymore?”

Oh. Your face feels hot as the realization dawns on you. You shyly bring your hand to your center and awkwardly fumble with your clit. You look at him, silently begging to ride him.

“You can do better than that,” he responds, “You were putting on such a show earlier, so don’t act like you need my help all the sudden.”

Shamefully, your fingers pick up some speed. You whimper as the pads of your digits rub over a sensitive spot. The whole time he’s still inside you. It felt kind of weird, but still good. You weren’t going to complain. Your upper body twitches a bit, but he holds you straight up, making sure you're looking at him while you work.

“That’s it. How’s it feeling, baby? Is it as good as when daddy does it?” he taunts.

“No…” you whimper, “It’s ok.”

“Aw, well, it’s gonna have to be good enough for now because it’s the only way you’re cumming.”

You groan and whine at the statement. It was the truth, but that didn’t mean you wanted to hear it. You start circling faster and flicking your hand with more urgency. Your head falls back at the sensations as a breathy moan floats from your lips. He squeezes your hips again as you tighten around his cock from the euphoria you brought yourself.

“Look at that. Think you’re gonna be able to cum all by yourself?” he teases.

You nod. Your hips rock involuntarily as the pleasure ramps up, but his grip keeps you stationary. Little gasps like the ones from earlier when you were in the chair escape you. Your fingers move almost like they’re automated.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Please can I finish?” you whimper, “Wanna cum so bad, daddy, please?”

“I already gave you permission, baby. Guess you really wanna show me how good you actually are,” he chuckles.

You can’t even say anything back before the switch flips inside you and release tears through you. Your back stiffens up and a strangled rope of moans come out of you. Your hips jerk harder than before, giving you brief brushes with the head of his cock. He sighs contentedly as you flutter around his cock and provide him with a muted sense of bliss.

You’re still riding it out when his hands are no longer just holding you, but rather, beginning to bounce you. You feel it in your cunt before your brain even catches up with the general motion of your body. It’s because you’re still so sensitive. The tingly stab pulling a quiet shriek from you.

“Daddy, gimme a break,” you whine.

“What? Daddy doesn’t deserve to finish too? Is that what you think? You just get to have your fun, and leave me to deal with it. That’s not how it works, princess,” he says.

“I’m not- I didn’t… I just can’t… it’s too much,” you struggle to get out between the whimpers coming from you. He keeps bouncing you, groaning as that hushed ecstasy blossoms into an encompassing euphoria. The noises of him sliding in and out are nearly louder than all the whining and moaning you’re doing.

“You can take it,” he grunts, “I’ll say when you’ve had enough.”

You cry out in a mix of pleasure and pain as his hips start to meet your hips guided by his hands. A deep groan rumbles in his chest as your cunt’s constant contracting massages his length. After a while, it feels like you’re almost numb down there. The fire still rages in your belly, but your actual pussy has been beaten into submission by your boyfriend’s cock. He watches your face as he moves you, relishing the way your eyes are getting glossy with a cocktail of tears, both of overstimulation and relief.

“So pretty for me, sweetheart. Gonna be even prettier when you cum again all over my dick and milk me dry,” he grunts.

“Uh huh,” you moan without thinking, head wildly falling back and forth in what’s supposed to be a nod.

Soon enough, his chest and belly are tightening up. He knows the end is near and pistons into your cunt extra hard for the finale. You wail and grip his biceps for support as you explode. You didn’t ask to cum this time, but being so close to his own release, he couldn’t really find it to care.

He keeps going through your orgasm, practically making you sob in pleasure. You feel impossibly tight, warm, and wet. And when he sees how your precious face is getting tight too, scrunching up as you reach the peak of the peak, he can’t hold it off.

His fingers dig into your hips so hard that you feel like the future bruises are already there. Your eyes are rolled back in advance as he fires his cum deep inside you. A goofy smile graces his features as he pumps it in, enjoying the waves of pleasure that wash over him throughout. And the whole time you’re pulsing away through your own release.

You look even dumber than he does, silly smile not just on your lips, but visible in your eyes too. You’re whimpering, extra whiny and a higher pitch. He rubs your skin to remind you he’s right there. He can see your head coming back to reality as the whirlpool of ecstasy subsides.

“Oh that’s it, there’s my good girl,” he coos as you finally reach the end of the high. His hand rubs your back in long, even strokes. “So proud of you, sunshine.”

A dreamy, self-satisfied grin comes across your face. His words were the best drugs while you were in this state, and the tone of his voice only made them that much more addictive.

“Such a good girl,” he repeats, “Now how ‘bout you give daddy a kiss.”

Eagerly you boost yourself towards his lips to connect in a hazy smooch. You’re a bit sloppy with it, but he expected that and found it cute. Of course you were dizzy. He just fucked you stupid. Once you pull away, he strokes your hair and smiles at your blissed out face.

“Aw, cutie. Looks like it’s time for you to head to bed,” he says as his fingers move to rub your cheek.

“You too. I wanna cuddle,” you say, locking your arms around him.

“Mhm, I’ll be right behind you. I gotta finish up the last of this. Now that I don’t have you distracting me, it should only take about fifteen minutes,” he teases.

“That’s like a million years, and I already had to wait all day,” you sigh dramatically.

“Then I’m sure you can handle a few more minutes,” he says and rubs his nose against yours, “Don’t start getting mouthy with me, little love. I still have those panties I can easily turn into a gag.”

With a playful glare, you get up on wobbly legs to make your exit, dizzy smile still plastered on your face. You start to stumble to the door when he calls out to you.

“Wow princess, not even going to say good night to daddy? I expected better from my baby,” he chides teasingly.

You roll your eyes while smiling and return to him to smack one final big kiss on his lips. “Night daddy,” you say with a small giggle.

He smirks at your clear happiness. As you turn to leave, he swats your ass. “I’ll be right there. Bet you’ll already be passed out by the time I get there,” he says as his fingers start working the keyboard again.

“I’ll be dreaming of you though,” you tease before going out the doors and down the hall to your bed.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy smut #resident evil imagines #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut #resident evil x you #smut

969 notes · View notes

leighsartworks216 · 8 months

Note

Hii I saw ur reblog about the kiss prompts!

I choose - "if you win, i'll kiss you"

With nervous kiss and height difference! 😳🙏

I actually had a hard time trying to fit these prompts together but I think I did pretty well!

Warnings: knife throwing, height difference

Word Count: 1,327

Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

“What’s that make it now? 12 to…?”

“You’re such an ass.”

“Come now, dear, you’re being too harsh - my memory isn’t what it used to be, you know. How many wins do you have?”

Your glare could have burned a hole right through him, all the while Astarion looked every bit the smarmy bastard he was. He just loved teasing you. It satisfied him to no end to peer down at you as you fumed. Steam could come pouring out your ears and he’d still have that smug smirk on his stupid face.

You huffed through your nose, fighting the growing urge to throw the dagger right at his head - you’d miss anyway. This whole game started when you’d tried throwing a knife at a goblin as a last ditch effort. You missed horribly, and Astarion just couldn’t let it go. “Zero.”

He gasped dramatically and laid a hand on his chest. “Not a single one?! Well, this won’t do!” He leaned in, teeth showing as he grinned wickedly. “How about we make a little bet? Make things a bit more interesting.”

You scoffed. “So you can sweeten the deal in your favor and wipe the floor with me, again?”

“Hmm, I tell you what: in the interest of keeping things interesting, I’ll give you two throws. If you hit, you win.”

“Let me guess - you get three.”

He rolled his eyes. “Please, darling, I have some tact. I’ll get one throw. If I can hit the dummy square in the head, I win.” He accentuated the point by flipping his dagger in the air, easily catching it by the hilt by pure muscle memory alone.

You frowned, studying his face for any sign of deceit. You were getting really close to hitting… Gods, this is a terrible idea. You sigh. “Fine. What do you propose?”

A spark of mischief flickered in his eye, so quick it could have just been a trick of the light, but you knew him better than that. “If I win, you’re responsible for sewing up everyone’s clothes for a week.”

“And if I win?”

He smirked and lowered his face to be right next to yours, cold breaths tickling your ear as he whispered. “If you win, I’ll kiss you.”

Your heart raced as your face flushed. You could tell he noticed, too, when he pulled away with that self-satisfied look on his face. You cleared your throat, urging it not to shake as you grumbled, “It sounds like you’re making more out of this either way.”

“Yes, but one is certainly more desirable for you, no? Besides, what are the odds of you winning? You should have nothing to fear.”

You frowned, but he had a point. Resigned to your fate, your shoulders slump. “Fine. It’s a deal.”

“Excellent.”

You both lined up about 10 feet away from the straw dummy. It had numerous marks in its head and body, all landed by the vampire spawn beside you. But you felt good about this time. You felt you could actually hit it.

You didn’t hate the idea of kissing him, especially if it meant saving your hand the cramping of patching up your companions’ clothes, but, well… You’d never been kissed before. There was no reason why, you’d just never been close enough with someone to warrant it.

Your heart raced thinking about it. Your face was as warm as Karlach by now. But you swallowed down the feelings and focused. If you just aimed very carefully, you might be able to get it.

“You first, love.”

Gods, now was not the time for endearing pet names.

“Hush, fangs.”

He chuckled softly, but stayed quiet otherwise. You held the handle of the dagger, just as he showed you, and aimed. You took a breath, lifted it up, and with a quick swing it was flying through the air… Right over the dummy’s shoulder. You growled in frustration.

Cool hands smoothed over your shoulders, urging them to relax. “Take it easy, dear. Keep your wrist locked and keep your elbow tucked in when you lift the dagger to throw.” He slid his hand down your arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake as he showed you how to keep your wrist straight and your elbow close to your ear. Then, he backed away and watched.

Shaking off the phantom feeling of him standing so close, you readied yourself again. You aimed, pulled your arm back so your elbow stayed tucked in, and steadied your wrist. With a deep breath, you threw the knife.

Time seemed to slow down as it flipped through the air. All sound faded away. You weren’t sure you were breathing. All you could focus on, all that mattered, was this stupid dagger.

In barely a second, the knife found its mark in the straw ribcage of the dummy.

A tidal wave of excitement and joy shot through your system. You cheered and pumped your fists in the air and gave a victorious yell that put Karlach’s to shame. And then, in the next instant, another knife flew by and lodged itself right next to yours. Your breath caught in your throat. Your eyes were wide when you turned to Astarion.

He smiled, part genuine and part impish. “Congratulations, darling. It seems you’ve won.” His smile only grew more flushed you became. He crowded into your space, peering down at you like a fox staring down a rabbit. “Don’t tell me you’re going to back out of our deal now.”

You swallowed. “I…” You glanced around camp, but no one seemed to be paying attention. They were all too busy preparing for the next day. You met his eye again and lowered your voice to a whisper, meant for his ears only. “I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

His eyes widened, brows raising minutely. He never thought the brave, compassionate leader before him would be so… inexperienced, to put it kindly. You’d always seemed to carry this sort of confidence, he just assumed…

“We don’t have to,” he back-peddled. He’d never have suggested it if he’d known. Well… Okay he would, but that look on your face - puppy-dog eyed and uncertain. It twisted his insides. He started to step away, out of your space, but you caught his arm.

“No, I…” You took a breath to steady your shaky nerves. “I want this.”

“Are you sure?”

You nodded, but he could still feel the anxious way you fiddled with the fabric of his shirt. It was cute. And terrifying. You wanted him to be your first. It was only fair - you were his first after all.

Moving slowly to give you a chance to back out, he raised his hands to cup your jaw, fingers brushing over your pulse and tilting your head up. You were shorter than him, enough that he had to hunch a bit to meet your eyes like this. You held onto his arms, too unsure to hold him anywhere else. He leaned down, noses almost touching. He could see your eyes flickering from his eyes to his mouth; feel your heart beneath his fingers as it skipped with his proximity. In a final act of courage, you stood on your toes and met him halfway.

It was clumsy at first. You had no idea what you were doing, all you knew was his lips were soft and he tasted like wine. He gently tilted your head, smoothing out the initial uncoordinated start. His lips meshed with yours as he showed you exactly what to do. When you experimentally nipped at his lip, he almost groaned. It wasn’t perfect, but he was sick and tired of perfect. It was wonderful. He was almost reluctant to pull away. But you still needed to breathe, living thing that you were.

He chuckled as he pressed his forehead to yours, watching with rapture as you caught your breath, lips swollen so beautifully. “You are full of surprises, aren’t you?”

---

Tag List:

@satelliteapotheosis @hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @lynnlovesloki @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @mheerdraws @kindadolly @httyd-chocolate @bloopthebat @pandimoostuff @chesb0red

617 notes · View notes

callsign-rogueone · 4 months

Text

the archives // Fourth Wing masterlist

welcome to the fourth wing.

these are all reader inserts, using the second person “you”. everything about a certain series, including my fics and things I’ve reblogged that fit their vibe, will be tagged as “#Garrick and Angel”, “#Brennan and Duchess”, etc. see this post for further information. let me know if you have ideas / requests for any relationship listed below, or one that isn’t. my ask box is always open! request guidelines can be found here. last updated: 6.04.24

standalone fics / headcanons

Aaric Graycastle - intimacy alphabet Bodhi Durran - by your side - where were you in the morning? - not that bad at all - the night we met - intimacy alphabet - fractured 🆕 Brennan Sorrengail - you're somebody else - this is me trying - intimacy alphabet - older (agegap!Bren) - you called 🆕 Dain Aetos - midnight snow - part of the family - intimacy alphabet 🆕 Garrick Tavis - all the small things - intimacy alphabet - one for the books 🆕 Imogen Cardulo - the dress Liam Mairi - harvest day - the spider Mira Sorrengail - reunited - mercy Ridoc Gamlyn - not joking - love at first fight Xaden Riorson - a brief history of Navarre - intimacy alphabet 🆕 - together 🆕 1. i wish i hated you all fourth wing boys: - excuses, excuses - under the weather - that time of the month all fourth wing boys + girls - study season random thoughts about multiple boys - dragon rings - xaden's birthday

girlfriendverse

Garrick and Angel about Angel 1. keep her safe 2. what was I made for? 2.1. letters from samara 2.2 thank you - misc relationship asks - together (platonic Angel / Gare / Xaden) 🆕

Brennan and Duchess about Duchess 1. the last six years 2. allies 3. fireproof 4. the chess game - this is me trying - braids - relationship questions - thoughts about her and Xaden - thoughts about her rings - thoughts about "their songs"

Ridoc and Sweetheart about Sweetheart 1. love at first fight 2. like snow on the beach 3. not alone 🆕 - relationship questions

Bodhi and Darling (no particular reading order) - not that bad at all - by your side - the night we met - deja vu

Sawyer and Peach 1. faking it

Liam and Spark 1. at last 2. alone with you - relationship questions

Dain and Love 1. falling, floating, flying 🆕 2. reunification day 🆕

Aaric and Sunny 1. conscription day 🆕

misc girlfriend stuff - modern!girlfriends' music tastes

poly fics

Dain + Xaden - our girl Ridoc + Sawyer 1. hey roomie Garrick + Bodhi - three in the morning 🆕

ship fics (not reader-insert)

Garrick / Sloane - wrong to love you

#garrick tavis x reader #brennan sorrengail x reader #mira sorrengail x reader #ridoc gamlyn x reader #liam mairi x reader #xaden riorson x reader #bodhi durran x reader #dain aetos x reader #sawyer henrick x reader #aaric graycastle x reader #imogen cardulo x reader #rhiannon matthias x reader #sloane mairi x reader #fourth wing fanfic #fourth wing reader insert #the archives #masterlist

286 notes · View notes

l0v3tast3 · 1 year

Note

AHH Hello!!! I absolutely love your writing, it’s so good!!!!

I was wondering…

Y/n always wear a mask to conceal her identity, in hopes the 141 doesn’t find out that Makarov is her father!!

141 had captured Makarov for interrogation, and y/n is there. As the interrogation continues, they start to notice that y/n and Makarov know each other, by the subtle little informality they spoke to one another. And the truth starts to come out, little by little!!!!

✎ tysm i love you :(( i absolutely love this idea the angst potential is just *chef's kiss* i'm sorry this one took like over a month to make oops, also i tried to keep personal details abt the reader as vague as possible, pls let me know if there's something i can fix!!

✎ tags: female reader, military reader, major daddy issues, violence, mentions of blood, hurt/barely any comfort if at all, not proofread im too cool for that,

✎ word count: 2,704

the silence in the cold, gray interrogation room was so thick that you were choking on it. you knew you had just fucked up, badly.

you had done so well so far, too. you're fabricated identity had fooled everyone. the name you had chosen stuck, and no one ever noticed your old one threatening to jump from your mouth when you introduced yourself. you always kept the childhood memories and little anecdotes vague. you stuck to your rehearsed lines better than a world-famous actor. you did every single thing right.

and now, here he was, your own blood, fucking it all up for you, again.

technically, he had made you fuck it up for yourself. it was just how makarov worked; he was a spider weaving a web in the corner, watching, waiting. this man, your supposed father, didn't know anything real about you. he didn't know you as a father should know his daughter. but he knew which buttons to press.

he only knew what to say to you when it would allow him the opportunity of watching you fall a little deeper towards rock bottom.

you knew that the room had cameras covering every square inch, and the microphones ensured that you're accidental admission to your heritage was heard by your entire task force.

there was a red hot pit opening inside of you, caving your insides in like a black hole and threatening to consume your entire being. it was rage, you realized. something you only ever seemed to feel in the presence of one person.

you briefly considered killing him, right there and then. was this really the straw that broke your back? it truly was just another thing to add to the list. you had known he would do this.

no, you were angry at yourself.

on the other side of the door, the four men of the 141 task force were all stood still in shock. what the hell did you just say?

none of them wanted to believe it. they especially didn't want to admit that it made sense. you had done a fucking fantastic job of hiding it, they'll admit that, but even you couldn't hide everything.

price saw the way you tensed when you were passed laswell's photo of makarov in the bar, after you had all put an end to hassan's plan. he saw the way you dropped it and slid it to the next person quickly, as if touching the picture had burned your fingertips.

soap had asked you if you were okay more than once during the plane ride to russia. you were so restless, so different from your usual grounded self. you just said you were having some flying anxiety. he felt stupid now for writing it off so easily.

and kyle, the first one to trust you (and to even really talk to you), he had seen the anger sparking off of you while you shot your way through the tower to get to makarov. floor after floor, bullet after bullet, you had paved a path of blood through the mercenaries. he wondered if someone else had taken your mask and gear and was pretending to be you.

simon saw the fear in you when you all got to the last door. you had been so quick in your endeavor to get here, but he saw you hesitate to follow them in. he saw how you never took your wide eyes off of him, and how you stayed a few steps back, moving far out of the way when price began to escort him out in handcuffs.

and when they had asked you to go into the interrogation room, they all saw how you stopped breathing, and the sweat collecting on what little skin they could see above your mask. you had stuttered when you quietly agreed.

when you stepped into the room, makarov took one look at your eyes, and you knew he recognized you. no, he recognized the hatred. and it made him smile.

now, sitting in the cold metal chair, you realized that it wasn't just one mistake, but a series of them; you had let him unravel you, again. you understood, finally, that he saw you as he did everyone else. he saw you as someone that held him back.

part of you had always known, ever since you were young, still single-digits, and he would only visit you once every few months, if that. you had elected to ignore it. now you couldn't.

you couldn't move. behind you was the door that would lead you to the consequences of your actions. in front of you was the reason for those actions.

this is what you had wanted, wasn't it? it was like something snapped back into place, and you suddenly remembered that everything you had done up until now, every time you put the mask on before leaving your room, every lie you had told and every person you had killed had been to get you here. in front of your father. you remembered that the image of him with a bullet between his eyes was what kept you going.

if you killed him, would it finally absolve you? the gun on your hip felt twenty pounds heavier now. your fingers, folded together in your lap with a white-knuckle grip, felt like lead. would this sin make all the other wrongs right?

a tiny voice was telling you to just walk away, let the team's wrath come down on you and let them deal with makarov, but you had already thrown the table between you towards the wall, he was already on the ground with your hands wrapped around his throat.

you were yelling, no, screaming at him. all the compacted feelings from years and years of being as quiet as possible came up like vomit, spewing out in a mess that could never be cleaned up.

there were more than just makarov's hands on you, pushing and pulling you away from him and dragging you out of the room, kicking and screeching to let you just finally kill him, while two other blurry shapes hauled him back into his own chair.

the heavy metal door shut behind the two people practically carrying you, and they finally let you go. you stumbled a few steps away, whirling around for the next target of your fury.

your captain and lieutenant were standing in front of you, both tensed, waiting for you to do something. you couldn't exactly make out their faces- were you crying?

"what in the bloody hell just happened in there?" price snarled. it was the voice he used when he was face to face with his enemy.

"let me back in there." it was a demand. you needed to kill him.

"that's not gonna happen," simon barked. john and kyle had come out from the interrogation room to stand behind the other two men. "you need to explain, now."

they all stared at you with varying looks of anger and hurt. it wasn't the first time you'd ever had it directed at you, but this was somehow worse than all the others.

every cell in your body was shrieking at you to just run for the door, to somehow get through all four of these men, your teammates, your friends, and kill makarov. but their glares glued you to your spot.

"please-" your voice was trembling, years of grief and agony dripping from every word, "please, just let me kill him. you have to let me kill him." you spoke slowly and quietly, focusing on just trying to get the words out. you took a shaky breath and focused your eyes on a muddy bootprint on the floor. you didn't want to see the looks on their faces.

"you don't understand, you just- just let me back in there, please, i'll get whatever you need out of him, but he needs to die!" your voice was getting louder, and you briefly wondered if your father could hear you. "his men are probably already on their way here. don't you get it? if i don't kill him now, he will get out."

the men in front of you were more shocked now than anything at the change in your demeanor. you had been coined the "second ghost" throughout the units, partly for the mask, but also because of your detachment. you were kind, but you always held logic above emotion.

in front of them now was nothing short of a nervous wreck.

despite not moving, you were frantic. you were wringing your hands together, pressed tight against your stomach. your eyes darted from side to side, person to person, between them and the door to makarov.

price took a step forward and you took a step back. he was slow, bringing his hand up as if he were approaching a wild animal. if he was still angry, he was hiding it now.

"come on, kid, let's just get out of 'ere, eh? go somewhere away from him," he said lowly. the other three men watched tensely, not moving, but their hands still close to their guns. just in case.

"no, no- just let me- price, you need to let me back in there!" you were a broken record, you knew it, but there was nothing else to say, nothing else you could think about. this was what you had been waiting for, you were right where you had wanted to be for the past- how many years now? how long has he tormented you for now?

you could feel your father's presence in the next room like bugs crawling across your body. it made your head feel fuzzy and your hands shake. was it from rage or fear? you couldn't tell, so you chose the rage.

it was like bile stuck in your throat, all the pain makarov had caused you finally being unearthed. you wanted to throw it all up and spit it out onto him, lay your organs and hatred alike out on the table in front of him so he could see the decay. you wanted him to rot from the inside out like you had.

your eyes glanced at the door one last time before focusing on price. he was watching you, just a couple of steps in front of you now.

"let me back in there, john." it was a whisper, but still the steadiest thing you had spoken since they had dragged you out.

"no." he said your name quietly, and you heard it as the plea it was, but you're head decided it was done listening.

your body threw itself at him, swinging underneath his arms and onto his back to try and get him on the ground. the room exploded into yelling, and multiple pairs of hands were on you in an instant, hauling you off of price and forcing you face-down onto the ground with your hands behind your back.

cold metal latching around your wrists didn't stop your screaming and kicking, lashing out at the air around you. it didn't work well, because you were being hauled back to your feet and pushed into a separate interrogation room.

whoever was carrying you didn't bother with trying to attach your handcuffs to the table, basically throwing you in and slamming the door shut before you could get back on your feet.

outside the cell, the four men stood in silent shock. what was there to say, where would they even start? would they really be able to hear each other over your muffled screams to let you out?

you didn't know how long you had been in there once the door finally opens again, but you had stopped screaming and struggling to get out of the room. you had sat down at the table, your hands folded in front of you on the cold surface. you stared down at the blood beading and smearing around the handcuffs.

kyle squeezed in through the tiny amount he'd let the door open before he shut it quickly, keeping his eyes on you. you didn't look up, your red eyes staying fixed on one point even as he slowly moved closer. he followed them to see the red rings underneath the steel, and a pang of guilt squeezed his heart tight.

he sat down across from you, folding his hands in front of him on the table, mirroring you. you still hadn't looked up at him, or done anything to acknowledge his presence; you hadn't even moved.

"are you alright?" kyle implored. he kept his voice soft, bending over a little to try to look you in the eye.

it took you a few moments to respond; he almost started to think you didn't hear him before you opened your mouth slowly.

"is he dead?" you croaked.

kyle let out an audible sigh while he leaned back in his seat, bringing his hands up to drag them down his face.

"no, we still need him. you know that."

you didn't say anything after that.

after sitting in silence for two full minutes, he spoke up. "you realize not telling us about this makes you look really bad, yeah?"

"you don't trust me anymore?" you whispered it, like you didn't want him to hear and answer. you knew what he would say.

"you aren't making it very easy."

kyle wanted to trust you still. part of him was angry and confused as to why you had kept something like this from them. the other part, the bigger part of him, knew that you were on still on the same side of it all. and he knew the other three men felt the same, but they couldn't just dismiss this.

"we can work this out, ya' know. you just have to be honest with us," he added after you once again stayed silent.

"be honest?" you echoed. you finally looked up at him. "about what? you heard me. makarov is my father. i want him dead. that's all there is to say."

kyle took his turn to not speak, weighing your words, figuring out where to go from there.

"why didn't you tell us?" he finally asked.

you looked back down at your wrists. "if i had told you i was makarov's daughter before i joined the team, then all i would have ever been is makarov's daughter." you paused to take a deep, shaky breath. it was uncomfortable with your mask still on, wet with tears, but you refused to take it off, to give away the last piece of your identity that was still yours at the moment.

"it's something we should have known," he contended quickly. "we could have used the information you have-"

you cut him off, your eyes snapping back up to glare daggers at him. "you think i know anything more than you?" you barked. something between a laugh and a sob escaped your throat before you could continue. "i was eight years old the last time i saw him in person. i was raised by live-in nannies. he only visited, what, maybe twice a year? and i don't know why he even bothered, either."

your hands were clenched into tight fists, and the same sting that circled your wrists was appearing in your palms. you kept going though; you didn't know if you could stop now.

"every time i get somewhere, every time i start making a life for myself again, he fucks it all up. never showed his damn face, but it was him, it was always-" you finally cut yourself off, not wanting to drag more memories out from the dark.

"makarov may be my father, but i am not his daughter. i swear, kyle, i fucking swear it." you were pleading with him to believe you now. you needed them to understand.

you could see it in the way his eyebrows creased that he wanted to take your words as the truth. but he didn't say anything (what could he have said?).

the door opened once again, and price half-entered the room to wave kyle back out. he avoided your gaze, something he'd never done before. then you were alone again.

1K notes · View notes

proxima-writes · 1 year

Text

title: hokaanir riduurok

pairing: din djarin x non-mandalorian female reader

rating: explicit (18+ minors DNI)

word count: 6278

summary:

hokaanir riduurok - the mandalorian joining ceremony during which one warrior submits themselves to their intended, allowing their flesh to be carved with a symbol of their unity.

or: you marry a mandalorian and their weddings are a little different than you’re used to

author’s note: a gift for @dindjarinslegs , who’s beautiful brain sparked this whole work. the term of endearment “pirun’ner” comes from this list by user @starrypawz . if you enjoy this work, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging!

content warnings/additional tags: explicit sexual material (18+ minors do not interact), no use of y/n, very plot heavy porn, writer considers ‘din’ to be the mandalorian’s first name, exploration of Mandalorian customs and lore, use of Mando’a, ceremonial scarification, mentions of blood and wounds, use of weapons, use of aphrodisiacs, wedding ceremony, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, creampie, mild/moderate breeding kink, cum play, multiple orgasms, vaginal fingering, biting/marking, thigh riding, dirty talk, praise, pet names, reader i have taken liberties. let me know if there are any missing!

You’re washing a dish when you hear the metallic clang of heavy beskar approaching. You turn, ready to greet the Mandalorian, only to find Din holding a blade out to you across both palms, helmet tilted down and feet planted wide. You glance at Grogu, who offers only a slow blink of his large dark eyes and a twitch of his ears in answer.

“Uh…Din? What…what are you doing?” You ask. He lifts his helmet, dark visor obscuring your view of his face but not the white hot feel of his gaze across your skin.

“In Mandalorian culture it is tradition to present our intended riduur a blade with which to complete the hokaanir riduurok,” his modulated voice explains.

“Right, right. Of course,” you mumble. You dry your hands on the apron around your waist. “What uh…what’s that, exactly?”

“The Mandalorian joining ceremony.”

You blink. “Joining ceremony? You mean like…marriage?”

“To Mandalorians it is more than marriage but…yes.”

“Din Djarin, is this a proposal?” You ask. You can’t stop the broad smile spreading across your face as you approach him.

“Yes, cyar'ika,” he murmurs, armor heavy arms wrapping around your waist when you’re within arms reach. “Is this an acceptance?”

He tilts his head, pressing the cold beskar to your forehead. A keldabe kiss, he’d told you once.

“Of course.”

________

Din calls the Armorer following his proposal. She, along with Bo-Katan, have chosen to remain on Mandalore with a number of Mandalorians who wish to rebuild the planet to its former glory after the fight against Moff Gideon.

“She has accepted the blade,” Din tells the Armorer’s hologram.

“It has been a long time since the Tribe has seen a proper Mandalorian wedding,” the Armorer says. “Even longer since the sands of Mandalore have borne witness.” She pauses, helmet tilting to the side. “Did you tell her the significance of the blade?”

“I told her it was for the joining ceremony,” Din replies. He should have known the Armorer would see right through him.

“Yes, but did you tell her its purpose? How she is meant to carve her possession into your flesh to be kept with you for the rest of your days?”

“I may have neglected to provide that much detail.”

The Armorer sighs. “I would suggest you bring your aruetii to Mandalore ahead of your joining ceremony. We will have much to discuss.”

“We will endeavor to arrive within the next lunar cycle,” Din concedes.

“This is the Way,” the Armorer intones.

“This is the Way.”

________

“I can't believe I’m visiting Mandalore,” you say excitedly. “I’ve never even been off Nevarro.”

Din is strapping you into the co-pilot seat of the freighter ship he’s borrowed from Karga’s fleet. While he’s content to fly and sleep in his Starfighter, he said he wants you to be more comfortable during your first trip off-world.

“Stop moving, pirun’ner,” he says, fitting the straps across your chest. You wiggle again, just to be stubborn, and he huffs a laugh, tapping his helmet to the crown of your head.

“You know, you’ve never told me what that means,” you say as he takes a seat in the captain’s chair. You watch as he confidently moves through the pre-flight motions, flicking switches and pressing buttons, inputting coordinates and checking gauges.

“The literal translation from Mando’a is ‘my water’,” he says. “Water begets life. Without water, there is no living.”

“Din…,” you murmur, words getting caught in your throat. “Makes me feel bad for the nickname I give you in my head.”

He turns his head, somehow managing to look affronted despite you not being able to see his face. “And what nickname is that?”

“Tin man,” you joke.

“But…this is beskar,” he says, clearly not understanding your joke and you can’t help but laugh.

The nickname comes from the early days of your relationship with the Mandalorian.

As Nevarro’s resident baker, you’re familiar with the locals and even more familiar with the gossip around newcomers. The town buzzed with excitement when one of the Mandalorians that defended the trading town had returned and settled on the outskirts with his son.

The first time you saw him was when his son made a cookie float off your display and into his little green hand. The Mandalorian had shown up while you were bent to the little creature’s level, asking where his parents were.

“Grogu,” his modulated voice chastised. “We talked about this.”

He was clad head to toe in the beskar armor you’re now intimately familiar with, but you didn’t know that at the time, so you called him ‘tin man’ in your mind. You didn’t learn his name until around the third time he’d visited your bakery.

The ship jerks harshly in take-off, breaking you from your trip down memory lane. Your fingers curl nervously against the armrests of your seat.

“Does that usually happen?” You ask.

Din must sense the anxiety coming off of you in waves. He reaches a gloved hand over and rests it over yours. “You are safe with me, cyar'ika. I would never let any harm come to you.”

You smile at him, the tension easing from your shoulders. You turn your hand palm upwards to fold your fingers between his.

“I know.”

________

Later, in the pitch black crew cabin, you’re curled against Din’s body on the scratchy cot as the ship’s autopilot continues your voyage, reveling in the feel of him against you without all the beskar and weapons. He feels human like this, soft, yet somehow still your solid pillar of strength in a galaxy not built for gentle things.

“Tell me about Mandalore,” you murmur.

“It’s not the same as it once was,” he replies, his unmodulated voice deep like the vastness of space beyond the ship. “It’s harsher now. War ravaged. For a long time we were told it was not even fit for life.”

“Were you raised there?”

“No. I was born on Aq Vetina. There was…a raid. My parents were killed. Battle droids. I was raised as a foundling on Concordia, Mandalore’s moon.”

“I’m so sorry, Din,” you whisper. You trace your hand up his chest and neck until you can cup his stubbled cheek in your palm.

“I didn’t set foot on Mandalore until recently. I had…removed my helmet, in the presence of others, which goes against the very tenets of The Creed.” He takes a deep breath. “I was an apostate. Dar’manda.”

“Seems kind of harsh.”

He chuckles. “You and Bo-Katan will get along well.”

“You still wear the armor,” you point out. “If you’re not a Mandalorian, is that allowed?”

“By bathing in the Living Waters in the Mines of Mandalore, someone who is dar’manda can seek redemption. It was a long shot. The Mines were thought to be destroyed.”

“But they weren’t?”

“No. The planet is more hospitable than we were led to believe, even in its ravaged state. It’s why Bo-Katan is able to rebuild, to reunite what once was broken.”

“So, you were able to bathe in the Mines then?”

“Yes. I have redeemed myself in the eyes of the Creed.”

Your mind conjures an image of your Mandalorian, tall and broad though his face is nothing more than a blur, stripped of his armor as he wades into a pool of water. You rub your thighs together, hoping the friction eases the ache forming between your legs.

“What are you thinking about, pirun’ner?” Din asks. His voice has gone lower, darker, and his hand presses you closer to his body. You realize you’ve been caught.

“You,” you reply honestly. He shifts, running his hand down your waist and over the curve of your ass, not stopping until his hand grips behind your knee and drags your top leg across his hips. Your hips shift against his leg.

You’ve not seen your Mandalorian’s face or body before, but you know the feel of it intimately. The hard planes of muscle in his arms and chest, the softness of his tummy and the thickness of his thighs. The stretch of him inside you, the bite of his teeth and strokes of his tongue under the cover of darkness.

“Is my riduur feeling needy?” His hand urges your movements, your hips now rocking steadily against his thigh. Your moan is breathy and desperate in the small, dark space.

“Not your riduur yet,” you gasp. Din’s warm hand grips your chin, tilting your face upwards. You feel his nose trace along your cheek as his mouth seeks out yours in the dark. His lips are warm as they move against yours in a slow, burning rhythm that matches the slide of your pussy over his thigh.

“The next time you cum, after tonight, you will be,” he groans. Your hips stutter, your release hitting you like a burst of light, sparkling at the corners of your vision. He kisses you deeply. “Sleep now, ner’karta.”

Your heavy eyelids obey his command.

________

Two figures stand at the mouth of a cave as Din lands the Alanar N3 Light Freighter on the surface of Mandalore, a woman with bright red hair and blue armor and a helmeted figure with copper armor and a gold helmet with spikes.

“Welcome,” the redhead says as the two of you approach. “It’s been a long time, Din Djarin. Hopefully you will not need rescuing while you’re here this time.”

“Bo-Katan. Or is it Mand’alor Kryze, now?” Din replies. She smirks.

“Alor Kryze will suffice,” she corrects. Din bows his head in respect before introducing you by name to Bo-Katan and the other Mandalorian, who identifies herself as the Armorer you’ve heard Din speak about at length.

“We have much to show you and discuss,” the Armorer says. She regards you. “Follow me.”

You glance at Din, eyes wide. He gives you a nod, squeezing your hand. Taking a deep breath, you follow the Armorer’s retreating figure as she enters the cave. You meet her at the edge of a cliff that overlooks what appears to be a bustling city.

“Wow,” you mumble.

“It has taken much effort to restore the Mine City to functionality. But it is prospering.”

“How do you get down there?” You ask.

The Armorer chuckles. “We fly. Come closer. We will go together.”

“Oh, uh. Okay.” You step closer and she wraps an arm around your waist, the jetpack on her back igniting as she takes a step over the cliff. You scream, clinging to her shoulders and squeezing your eyes shut.

Your feet hit the ground and you slowly open your eyes. At this level, other Mandalorians bustle about, some with helmets and others without. There are even children running through the streets.

The Armorer releases you once your footing is solid. “Come, we will visit the Living Waters.”

You trail after her again, head swiveling as you take in the city. Some of the Mandalorians look at you curiously as you pass, and you wonder what they must think. From what Din has told you, his Tribe is very secretive. Do they worry you’re a threat? The thought almost makes you laugh.

She leads you deep into the Mine City, down from the street level until you’re standing at the bank of what appears to be a lake, stone steps descending into the dark depths.

“These are the Living Waters of Mandalore,” the Armorer says. “In the days before the Great Purge, the Living Waters saw many ceremonies. Initiations to the Creed, joinings, the adoption of foundlings, the merging of houses. It is the lair of a Mythosaur, a great beast tamed by Mandalore the Great, the first ruler of Mandalore.”

“There’s something down there?” You ask. She tilts her head.

“Allegedly. Mythosaurs have not been seen in many moons,” she replies. “Your joining ceremony will take place on these steps. Has Din spoken to you further about what that will entail?” You shake your head. The Armorer continues.

“It begins with a proposal. A Mandalorian warrior chooses a riduur to whom they will submit themselves, body and soul, for as long as they continue to live. The warrior presents their intended with a blade with which they will perform the hokaanir riduurok.”

“The ceremony consists of three parts,” she continues. “The dinui, or gift, where both parties have selected a weapon to give to their warrior.”

You blink. “He’s going to give me a weapon?”

“Yes. It will be forged specifically for you,” she confirms. “And you will select one for him as well.”

“The second part of the ceremony is the riduurok, or the vows. You will drink spiced wine from the same chalice before reciting the traditional Mandalorian vows.”

This, at least, sounds familiar to you. Vows were common in the few wedding ceremonies you’d seen on Nevarro.

“Finally, the hokaanir. You will take your blade and cut your unifying symbol into his flesh, just above his heart. Then, the covert will host a celebration in your honor.”

“I’m sorry, I have to do what?”

The Armorer tilts her head. “We are a warrior people. Our loyalty is demonstrated with honor and blood,” she offers in explanation. When she’s met with silence, she continues. “I am happy to help you choose a weapon and unity symbol for your ceremony.”

“Thank you, Armorer,” you reply honestly. “For sharing everything with me.”

“This is the Way,” she says, bowing her head. “Do you have any questions?”

Only about a thousand, you think. But there’s one you’ve been wondering about since landing on the planet and being introduced to Bo-Katan, a Mandalorian who showed her face.

“I hope this isn’t insensitive but…you and Din always wear your helmets, right? But Bo-Katan and some of the other Mandalorians…they don’t. Why is that?” You ask carefully.

“The Tribe follows the Creed as described by the Way of the Mandalore. There are other interpretations of the Creed that do not consider the removal of one’s helmet grounds for exile,” she replies. “We are learning to live in harmony.”

“With your Creed…will I ever be able to see Din’s face?”

“As his riduur, he may choose to show his face to you and your future warriors.”

You blink. “Future warriors?”

“Your children. Foundlings or by birth.”

You hadn’t considered children before. Of course, you adore Grogu, Din’s adopted son, but growing your family? Now that the idea is planted, you can’t shake the roots loose.

“Shall we discuss weapons, then?” The Armorer asks, breaking through your racing thoughts.

“Let’s do it.”

________

“You really didn’t tell her anything about the ceremony?” Bo-Katan asks as she walks with Din through the restored Mine City. Din is in awe of the progress that’s been made since the last time he was here. There are a surprising number of Mandalorians now residing in the city, Alor Kryze’s unification efforts clearly working in her favor.

“I haven’t even witnessed one myself,” he says. “In the covert, they only recited the vows. There was no ceremony involved.”

“It’s certainly an experience. And for an aruetii, it may be challenging. We are born and raised as warriors. Blood is nothing to us.” She pauses. “Speaking of raising warriors, where is your son? I miss the little womp rat.”

“He and Karga will join us for the celebration.”

“Din Djarin,” the Armorer calls. He turns just as you collide against him, your arms around his waist. He tips his helmet to your head.

“Pirun’ner,” he says, holding you to his chest. The reunion is short lived.

“We must discuss your joining ceremony,” Armorer says. “Join me at the Great Forge.”

________

The heat from the fire that burns within the Great Forge is stifling and oppressive. Sweat beads on Din’s temple within moments of stepping foot into the cavernous space.

“Your aruetii was rather surprised by our customs,” the Armorer says. Din can feel the judgment in her gaze, even through the helmet. “But receptive. She will do well.”

Din nods. “Thank you for taking the time to explain it to her.”

“She has chosen a weapon and a unity symbol. Have you given thought to her weapon?” The Armorer asks.

“A vambrace,” Din says easily. “A defense weapon. With shields and a comms unit. Nothing she could accidentally hurt herself with.”

“A fitting choice. It is settled. Your ceremony will commence in two days, upon the completion of your weapons. This is the Way,” she says.

“This is the Way.”

________

Bo-Katan helps you dress for the ceremony in a dress made of material so soft and light, you worry it will disappear into thin air. It reminds you of some of the gowns you’ve seen in holovids from Coruscant, white fabric draped over your shoulders, plunging in a deep V down your chest and falling to the ground, secured at the waist with a broad belt of beskar and crystal. When you ask her about it, she looks away.

“It belonged to the last true leader of Mandalore,” she says, not inviting any further questions you may have. “Women would normally wear ceremonial armor as well, but since you are not a Mandalorian, exceptions can be made,” she says.

“Have you seen many weddings, Bo-Katan?” You ask. Din was right when he said you would get along well with the new leader of Mandalore. You’ve been enjoying getting to know her over your last two days on the planet.

“I helped prepare for a few, before the Purge,” she replies. She adjusts the strap of your gown on your shoulder. “But the ceremonies are private. A leader in the community helps to guide the couple through the stages before taking their leave once the hokaanir has been performed.”

“Oh, why’s that?”

Bo-Katan smirks. “The ceremonial wine will have certain…effects on you that you will not want someone to bear witness to.”

“Maker!” You hiss. Your eyes go wide as she laughs. “Are you joking?”

“Guess you’ll have to find out.” She guides you out of the room and down into the city, where the Mandalorians are prepping for the celebration that takes place after the ceremony. There are flags raised with a familiar Mudhorn skull and others with what Bo-Katan explained was the skull of a Mythosaur, the symbol of the Mandalorians.

Helmeted Mandalorians tip their heads as you pass, while those not wearing helmets hold their fist across their chest. You feel nervous but excited and your heart races with each step closer to the Living Waters.

Bo-Katan leads you down into the depths, the sound of a crackling fire growing louder as you descend. As your eyes adjust to the dim glow of the firelight, you notice two figures standing at the top of the stairs to the Living Waters.

They turn as you approach. Your steps falter as you take in your Mandalorian’s attire.

Rather than the silver beskar and flight suit you’re used to seeing him in, Din now wears a pair of black linen pants belted with beskar tassets that hang to his knees. A black cape hangs down his back to the floor, held in place by impressive spiked pauldrons, a heavy chain sitting at the base of his throat. He still wears his familiar silver helmet.

As he turns to face you fully, your mouth goes dry. He’s shirtless beneath the cape and pauldrons, the tan skin of his chest and abdomen on full display. The firelight illuminates the muscles you’ve traced with your fingers and mouth but never with your eyes.

Perhaps most surprising, however, are the black tattoos that adorn his chest, swirling lines that stretch from his collarbone and down his pectorals until coming to a point right above his belly button. Shiny scar tissue catches the light - a large one on his hip that looks like a blaster shot, thin lines that bisect his tattoos and deeper gashes near his ribs. Your fingers ache to trace them as you commit them to memory.

Bo-Katan gives you a little nudge, urging you forward until you’ve joined Din and the Armorer at the stone steps. She takes her leave with a nod of her head and the Armorer regards you both.

“Shall we begin?” Her modulated voice asks.

“Yes,” Din’s modulated voice replies. His bare hand reaches for yours, fingers wrapping around your palm and easing the wild beat of your heart.

“We will begin with the dinui. You have each chosen a gift that befits your riduur.” She turns, hefting a large ax-like weapon from the low wall behind her. “Din Djarin, your riduur has chosen the munit'kad halberd, the Mandalorian vibro-ax. A weapon worthy of the head of Clan Mudhorn."

Din takes the ax, testing the weight of it in his hands. A twist of his hands activates the sonic blade, the beskar glowing blue. He swings the ax in a wide arc, slicing it through a nearby stone that crumbles to pieces.

Another twist of his palms and the blade goes still. He hands the ax back to the Armorer, who places it back on the wall before picking up a smaller item.

She holds the item to you as she says your name. “Your riduur has chosen a vambrace, fitted with a communications unit and defensive shield projectors.”

The Armorer gestures for your arm, securing the beskar vambrace to your forearm. It looks similar to the ones Din wears, reaching nearly to your elbow. There’s a screen that lights up when you tap it. You press at it again and a circular shield projection emits from the device, startling you and making you laugh.

The Armorer taps at the screen, making the shields disappear. She unclasps the vambrace from your arm, setting it beside the ax. “Din Djarin, do you accept this gift that your riduur has selected?”

“I do,” Din responds.

The Armorer says your name again, dragging your attention from Din. “Do you accept this gift that your riduur has selected?”

“I do,” you repeat.

The Armorer turns and picks up a chalice. “You will now consume the tal’galar, a symbol of the Mandalorian lives lost before your union.” She passes the chalice to Din, turning her head to allow him the privacy to lift the bottom of his helmet. You follow suit, training your eyes to the floor.

He passes the chalice to you. You glance briefly at the dark liquid before bringing it to your lips and taking a sip. It’s warm, thicker than you expected, but sweet. As you swallow, that warmth intensifies and it feels like it’s already suffusing through your veins, making you feel tingly.

The Armorer takes the chalice from your hands, setting it aside. She picks up the blade that started this whole series of events, the one Din presented you with in your kitchen what feels like ages ago, and your hands start to feel sweaty. You swallow nervously, heart beating wildly in your chest.

“You will now recite the vows,” she tells you. “You will repeat after me.” Din reaches for your hand and the feel of his skin against yours is electrifying, lighting up every nerve ending. “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.”

Din repeats the words in Mando’a, the deep timbre of his voice like silk. You want nothing more than for him to pull you closer, to whisper those words in your ear. This is your husband - this fierce warrior, this gentle man, this loving father. A wave of emotion clogs your throat, making it hard to swallow as you watch him.

“We are one together, we are one when parted, we share all, we will raise warriors,” the Armorer repeats in Basic. You echo the words back, eyes glued to Din’s helmet. His fingers tighten briefly around yours as you finish the vow.

“Din Djarin of Clan Mudhorn, do you so submit yourself to your intended, until your final battle has been fought?” The Armorer asks.

Din drops heavily to his knees, chest heaving with breath. “I do.”

She turns to you, holding the blade across both palms. You take the weapon in hand and face Din. You feel hot all over, like anything you touch may catch fire in your wake.

“Your riduur has chosen to symbolize your unity with pirun,” the Armorer says. “You may begin the hokaanir.”

________

Every moment in Din Djarin’s life has led to this - kneeling at your feet and staring up into your beautiful face as you ready yourself to unite your souls. A fire burns in his veins and his body aches with the need to touch you, his cock straining in his pants.

The tip of your blade drags across the skin of his chest and his breath catches at the prick of pain. He can feel his skin splitting in its wake, the sharp sting and burn of a new wound quickly morphing into an ecstasy that has him gasping.

The blade lifts from his skin and you begin the second line of the symbol. His hands curl into fists against his thighs, body fighting against the urge to wrap you in his arms and claim.

Din can feel the blood sliding down his chest, little rivulets trailing from the most significant scar he’ll ever receive. When his eyes find yours from behind his visor and he sees his own bottomless lust reflected back at him, his restraint frays further.

You start the third and final line of the symbol, an inverted triangle that represents pirun, water. His water, his life, his everything. He can’t help the moan that breaks free, echoing in the cavern.

He reaches for you, gripping your hips as his head bows forward and he gets his first glimpse of his hokaanir, the cuts you’ve made over his heart with so much focus and care, stark red against the tan of his skin and bisecting his mandokar markings. His heart swells with pride at carrying a piece of you with him forever.

Din distantly registers the blade leaving his skin and the echo of retreating footsteps but all he can focus on is getting his hands on you, rucking up the gauzy fabric of your gown until his fingers are tracing the soft skin of your thighs. You drop to your knees, your own trembling hands sliding up his arms.

“Take it off,” Din commands. “My helmet, take it off, cyare.”

“Are you sure?” You ask, even as your hands grip the heavy beskar.

“I’ve never been more certain.”

________

You slowly lift Din’s helmet, revealing a strong, stubbled jaw, plush lips, a prominent nose, soft brown eyes and curly dark hair. You set his helmet to the side without daring to take your eyes off of him, the sound of beskar hitting stone echoing through the cavern. You bring your trembling hands to his jaw, smoothing your thumbs across the high point of his cheekbones.

“Din,” you whisper. His hands wrap around your wrists, steady where yours are not. “Maker, you’re so beautiful.”

He smiles and it feels like a blaster shot to the heart to finally see it, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners and his mouth tilts up a little higher on the right. He wraps a hand around the back of your neck, pulling you forward for a sweet kiss, his lips moving gently with yours.

It doesn’t stay gentle for long.

Din’s lips turn insistent, hungry, bruising in their quest to conquer yours. His teeth nip at your lower lip, making you gasp and he uses it to his advantage, his tongue tangling with yours and exploring to its content.

His hands explore your body, tugging roughly at the straps of your gown until your breasts are exposed to the cold air of the cavern. His lips leave yours, kissing down your jaw and neck, sucking bruises into your sensitive skin.

Your own hands explore his chest, fingers ghosting over the fresh wound of his hokaanir and coming away sticky with blood. He moans against your skin each time your fingers catch on the angry red lines.

“You feel that, cyare?” Din asks. He takes your hand, holding your palm to the mark. “A heart that beats blood only for you?”

He doesn’t wait for a reply before he’s moving, his body urging you down onto your back, eager hands rucking up the skirt of your gown up to your waist. He presses your thighs apart, settling on his belly between your legs, his thumbs parting the lips of your pussy for his appreciative gaze.

“I’ll never have you in the dark again,” he says, brown eyes meeting yours. “Not when I know what it’s like to see you in the light.”

With his gaze still holding yours, he licks a broad stripe through your folds. His eyes flutter shut as he groans, savoring the taste of you on his tongue. When they open again, there’s a hard gleam to them that wasn’t there before, a mischievous glint that has your breath catching at the intensity.

“Remember what I told you, cyare? On the ship?” He asks. His thumb circles your clit, broad swipes over the sensitive nub that have you crying out, the sound echoing around you. “That the next time you came would be as my riduur?”

Din slips two fingers into your soaked entrance, curling them against your front wall as he sets a pace that has your hips chasing after his hand with every withdrawal. Every movement of his fingers inside of you feels hotter, stronger than it ever has before. Maybe it’s the wine or maybe it’s just Din, unmasked and all yours, but you’re already so close to coming from just his fingers and his words and the look in his eyes.

“Want you to cum on my fingers first, want to see it,” he says, and that’s all it takes to have you clenching tightly, tiny supernovas behind your eyelids as you come undone. “That’s it, ner’karta.”

He doesn’t remove his fingers, instead dipping his head and licking at your sensitive clit and making you cry out, already oversensitive.

“Din, Din, Din,” you pant, fingers digging into his curly hair and pulling tightly. He groans against your cunt, working his hand faster as his lips and tongue drive you to a second orgasm before the first has even subsided.

He growls when you nearly knee him in the head with your thrashing, removing his fingers and shoving his arms beneath your thighs, rising to his knees and bringing your body with him. Your upper back rests on the ground as your hips are suspended in his hold, your pussy completely at his mercy as he devours you.

Din’s fingers dig into your ass, grip as strong as the beskar armor he wears as he holds you steady, his tongue working you into a frenzy. The dull spikes on his pauldrons press into your thighs, the discomfort a direct counterpoint to the pleasure he’s lavishing you with.

He sucks on your clit, rolling it between his lips as he hums, the last tether of your control snapping as you fight against his hold, your second orgasm washes over you like warm starlight in your veins.

Din eases you through it, pulling away only when you start to whine. He presses kisses to your thighs and bites at the sensitive skin, sucking marks into your flesh to match the possession you’ve carved into his.

He finally lowers you to the ground, setting you gently to the cold stone. His eyes are hungry as he stands, removing the beskar tassets and tossing them aside before shoving the black linen pants down his legs. He unclips the cape from his neck, laying it on the ground.

He reaches a hand out to you, pulling you to stand when your palm fits against his. His hands cup your face, kissing you fiercely, the fire igniting in your core despite how boneless you feel from the two orgasms he’s drawn out of you.

“Ner’riduur,” Din murmurs against your lips. His hands unlatch the belt at your waist and he sets it aside with more care than he’d given to his own ceremonial items. He slides the fabric off your body until it pools at your feet. “Lie down for me.”

You do as asked, settling on the black cloak. He drops to one knee, then the other, crawling over your body, looking every inch the fierce warrior that he is, black tattoos and scars shifting over well-earned muscle. His cock presses to your hip and he groans, shifting until his length glides between your dripping folds.

“Ni kar'taylir darasuum,” Din says. He takes himself in hand, pressing the thick head of his cock to your entrance. “I love you, pirun’ner.”

“I love you, Din Djarin,” you reply as he presses inside of you, the steady stretch of him making you gasp. You glance at his hokaanir, the skin splitting as he thrusts into your body. Fresh beads of blood form along the lines, dripping from his chest to yours.

Din grunts, hips slamming against yours. You moan and reach up to wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer and seeking his lips with your own. It’s more of a messy press of your mouths than a kiss, the sharing heated breath as his body works against yours.

He dips his head to your neck, sucking more bruises to your skin as he murmurs dirty praise in Mando’a and Basic.

“So fucking warm and wet.”

“Made just for me, weren’t you, ner’karta?”

“Jate riduur’ika.”

You push him up, shoving frantically at his shoulders until you’re able to reverse your positions, him lying beneath you as straddle his waist, his cock never leaving you. He presses so deep inside of you like this it makes you shiver.

“Want you to fill me up, Din,” you say, hands pressed to his chest to give you leverage as you move your hips over his cock. His eyes flutter shut as he moans, the sound making your head feel fuzzy. His hands grip your hips, tight and possessive as his fingers press bruises to your skin. “Please, please, please.”

Din plants his feet against the ground, meeting each movement of your hips with a powerful thrust that makes you see stars. Your muscles tighten once more as you pulse around him with another wave of release that you can feel soaking his hips.

You collapse forward against his chest, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pounds into you from below, chasing the release he so deserves. You press little kisses to the skin you can reach as he uses your body to take his pleasure.

With a final harsh thrust he holds your hips tightly to his, his cock pulsing deliciously inside of you as he groans your name in prayer and ecstasy. He works his hips in tiny movements as he empties inside of you.

Din’s movements eventually slow to a stop, both of you panting as you try to catch your breath. You lift up, looking down into his face and smoothing the sweat damp hair from his forehead as he looks up at you with an expression so full of love you want to weep with the force of it.

“Pirun’ner,” he whispers, cupping your cheek. “You‘ve given me the greatest happiness.”

You press a soft kiss to his lips, your smile hard to fight as you do. You hold each other for a long moment as your adrenaline and euphoria settle and Din slips from your body. He gently eases you to the side, urging you to lie on your back.

He stands, grabbing something from the low wall, dipping it in the water and coming back to kneel between your spread legs. His eyes are dark as he looks at your swollen pussy, glistening with your combined release.

Din swipes two fingers through the mess, pressing them slowly inside of you and making you whine. When he appears satisfied, he wipes a wet cloth through your folds, cleaning you up.

He smoothes the cloth through the dried blood on your chest as well, gently wiping it away. When he’s done, he presses a trail of kisses from your belly to your throat before meeting your lips, slow and languid.

“As much as I’d like to keep you beneath me, we have a celebration to attend,” he says. “Let’s get you dressed.”

He helps you into the dress and belt and you help him fasten the cape back around his shoulders when he’s dressed himself in the pants and tassets. Your hands smooth other the black tattoos on his skin.

“You’ll have to tell me about these one day,” you say.

He pulls you close. “Mhi me'dinui an. We share all. I will be glad to teach you more of our customs.”

You grin at him. “We have many days ahead of us, Din Djarin.”

“I like the sound of that, pirun’ner.”

________

When you arrive at the celebration, a loud cheer moves through the crowd, the sound roaring in your ears as you hold tight to Din’s hand.

High Magistrate Karga approaches the two of you, a wiggly Grogu leaping from his hold and running towards Din, who scoops him up from the ground, holding him in his arms. A little green hand reaches for you, wrapping around the finger you offer him.

Bo-Katan and the Armorer stand nearby, watching the new clan of three.

“A successful joining,” the Armorer says.

“Mandalore is healing,” Bo-Katan replies. “This is the Way.”

“This is the Way.”

Want more Din Djarin? Check out my masterlist

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x female reader #din djarin smut #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x female reader #mandalorian smut #mandalorian x you #no use of y/n

879 notes · View notes

ereardon · 6 months

Text

The Backup || Chapter 2

[Jake Seresin x Reader]

A friends with benefits AU

Overview: No strings attached sex never works, right? You and Jake Seresin have fallen into a bad pattern of seeking each other out for sex after dates go awry, but a year of being friends with benefits with Jake hasn’t been good for your dating life. Especially when the two of you are hiding your antics from your lifelong best friend Coyote and the rest of your tightly knit friend group. But what happens when you decide to take a step back and end the cycle with Jake to focus on your dating life? And why is it that all of the sudden Jake looks more irresistible than ever when you know he’s off limits?

Pairing: Jake Seresin x Reader

Chapter summary: Y/N goes on a first date with someone and sparks fly; Jake shows his first crack of jealousy

Warnings: Implied smut, cursing

WC: 3.3K

Previous chapter here; masterlist here

[Please see note at the end, tag list is closed but please follow/turn on notifications for my library page @ereardonlibrary instead]

“He’s hot!”

You turned your head to where Phoenix was pointing and grimaced. Goatee, Chelsea boots, jeans skinnier than yours. “Is this 2014?” you asked, turning back to the table and putting your hands on the sticky wood. “No thanks. Going to get a second round. Want anything?”

“Rum and coke.”

You pushed your way to the busy bar, propping your elbows up and flagging the bartender. “Rum and coke and a tequila soda please.”

He nodded, turning away and you looked back at the table. A tall blond was chatting up Phoenix, one of his arms looped around the back of her chair. You rolled your eyes. Everyone always flocked to Phoenix. Men, women, it didn’t matter. She had that carefree attitude that attracted people like flies to honey. It would be a lie if you said you weren’t jealous. Her taste was abysmal but that was besides the point. She had options, and you envied that.

“Here you go.” The waiter set the drinks down. “Twenty two dollars.”

“Let me get that for you.” A voice from your left appeared out of thin air. You turned. A credit card extended from his massive hand, held out over the bar. The arm was covered in a leather jacket, and you trailed your eyes up his arm to his face which hovered a good foot above you or more. Dark hair, slightly overgrown, and a sharp jawline with a slightly hawkish nose. His eyes flickered down toward you and you felt your heart throb in your chest.

“I have a tab,” you interrupted, sticking out one hand, putting it over his hand that hovered out with a credit card glued between two massive fingers. You didn’t pull away and neither did he.

The bartender’s voice interrupted. “Name?”

“Natasha,” you replied, and he moved away, tapping Phoenix’s name into his system and finding her card from when the two of you had arrived an hour before.

You felt a rush of air as the stranger’s hand pulled away, sliding his credit card back into a thin black wallet. He looked down at you from where he was leaning against the bar. “Now I owe you a drink, Natasha.”

You shook your head but he never flinched. “Natasha is my friend over there.” You pointed at Phoenix who was now laughing with a new person, this time a girl wearing a tight miniskirt. “I’m Y/N.”

His voice was deep. “I’m Liam.”

He was the definition of tall, dark and handsome. A mysterious almost Adam Driver-like quality. You leaned forward, pressing one leg against his. “Here.” You reached into your purse, tugging at a loose business card and holding it out. “If you were serious about that drink.”

Liam held the card up in the dim lighting of the bar, one thick black eyebrow raised as he read off the card. He lowered it, sliding it into his pocket, inching forward, musk filling the air around you. “Are you here to meet guys, Y/N, or to get stock tips?”

You tossed your head back in a laugh. When you caught Liam’s eye he was smiling, lips pulled tightly together but in a grin. “I know better than to look for tips at a bar in the Marina,” you replied. “I’d just go to the Philz at Embarcadero.”

Liam’s lip twitched up. “I’ll let you get back to your friend.”

“Thanks for the hypothetical promise of a drink,” you replied, picking up both drinks.

Liam’s hand reached out, fingers spread across your bare wrist. “Y/N.” His voice was deep and gruff; it scratched that inner part of your ear that felt like a tickle. You looked up, eyes wide. “I’ll call you.”

You grinned. “You better.” You could feel his gaze, hot on your back, as you made your way back to the table where Phoenix was now alone.

“That took ages. What was the hold up?”

You looked back at the bar. Liam held up his drink with a wink. You turned back to Phoenix, taking a sip of your tequila soda. “Nothing. Just some guy.”

“Some guy, huh? Any potential?”

You snuck one last look at the bar. Liam’s spot was empty. You turned back to Phoenix and shrugged. “Probably not.”

***

“You can’t seriously think this looks good.”

Coyote walked out of the fitting room in a pair of green chinos and a quarter zip sweater layered over a white shirt. You stood up from the chair and reached for his collar, fussing with it as he grimaced.

“Y/N,” he groaned.

“Stop fidgeting,” you snapped. He dropped his hands to his sides and you gripped his shoulders, pivoting him toward the three-pane mirror. “You’re insane, this looks perfect.”

“I feel like a Ken doll.”

You opened your mouth to respond as an older woman appeared behind the two of you. “Aren’t you two a lovely couple!”

Coyote’s face in the mirror transformed into a sigh. It wasn’t the first or third or tenth time someone had mistaken the two of you for a couple. Sometimes it was hard not to. Whether it was picking out new clothes at a J. Crew or Christmas tree shopping in Oakland or late at night at the bar, his arm slipped around the back of your chair, your head resting on his shoulder.

“Oh we’re not together,” you replied after a moment.

The lady frowned. “Why not?”

You looked up at Coyote. Why not was a good question. He was everything you wanted in a partner. Strong and stable and kind. He could predict your needs based on your mood and he wanted the very best for you.

Coyote smiled down at you. You grinned at him. Why not was only for you two to know.

***

“Fuck!”

You slammed back against the mattress, chest heaving, a thin layer of sweat covering your skin from where you laid naked in Jake’s bed. He looked over at you with a smirk. “That good, huh?”

“Shut up,” you groaned, slapping one hand over your eyes, blocking him out.

Jake laughed, one hand squeezing your thigh. His grip was tight and familiar. “You love it,” he replied, rolling out of bed and pulling on a pair of boxers. “Want some pizza? I have some in the fridge.”

“Yeah, sure.” As Jake rounded the corner into the kitchen you reached for your phone on the nightstand, a voicemail from an unknown number blinking on the homepage. Frowning, you clicked on it.

Hi Y/N, this is Liam, from Tostado’s bar. What are you doing on Wednesday night? I’d really like to see you again. And I still owe you that drink. Call me when you can. Talk soon.

Jake returned with a box of pizza and two beer bottles wedged between his fingers on one hand. “Everything OK?”

You smiled, sliding the phone face-down onto the table. “Yeah, everything’s great.”

***

“Tell me again who this is?” Coyote pinched a french fry between his fingers and popped it into his mouth.

“His name is Liam, we met at a bar last weekend.”

“And how do we know Liam isn’t a serial killer?”

You rolled your eyes and took a sip of your drink, leaning back into the plush seat of the restaurant booth. “Javy, are we really going to do this again?”

He sighed. “I just worry about you.”

“I know you do. But I’m a big girl. And besides, don’t you want me to find someone?”

“Of course I do.” It was a thin whisper.

“What did I miss?” Jake slid into the seat to your left, immediately reaching for his beer.

“Y/N has a date tomorrow,” Coyote said.

Jake’s eyebrow shot up. “Is that so? What’s his red flag?”

“He has none.”

Jake laughed but it sounded empty. “Sounds like bullshit to me. They all have red flags.”

“Just because you date teeny boppers with the emotional intelligence of an eraser doesn’t mean I do, too.”

“Not my fault you pick the biggest losers on the planet to date in a city that’s literally chock full of startup geniuses.”

Coyote watched with wide eyes as you and Jake laid into each other. Your face was practically red. After a pause you leaned back and shook your head. “New subject. Has anyone seen Bradley’s new motorcycle?”

Jake launched into a full rundown of the specs of Bradley’s new bike. You finished your pasta, nodding in rapt attention, but the heat of Coyote’s gaze was undeniable. At one point, you looked up to catch him staring at you, head tipped, like he was solving a puzzle. You smiled, and he did, too, but it didn’t reach his eyes. You turned back to Jake, trying to ignore the pinch in your stomach.

***

The wind rippled through your hair as Liam returned from the bar with two drinks. He smiled broadly, lips spread back but still closed. You held out a hand, wrapping it around the plastic cup. “Thanks.”

Liam took his place next to you near the boat railing, the water splashing high on the sides. “Is this what you had in mind for a first date?”

You shook your head. When he had first suggested the two of you take a nighttime tour of Alcatraz you had been surprised. But it turned out to be monumentally more fun than you had imagined. You’d worn the complete wrong type of shoe — a pair of stiletto boots — and on your way back down the side of the hill to the ferry boat you had stumbled and Liam caught you. His arms were solid and strong and to your shock he crouched down.

“Get on.”

You had hopped onto his back, and he carried you down the side of the hill, all the way onto the boat. He set you down gently, hands caressing your thighs carefully. You could still feel the mark of his fingertips on your skin when he was inside getting drinks.

“Well?” Liam asked, taking a sip of his margarita. “You up for one last adventure?”

You smiled. “Another surprise?”

“One more,” he promised. “Or if you’re desperate to get off this boat with me I can call you an Uber the second we get to the Ferry Building.”

“Not at all.”

“Good.” This time, he flashed his pearly white teeth. “Do you eat meat?”

Twenty minutes later, you and Liam were squished in a small booth in a restaurant in Chinatown with a vast spread of food on the rickety table in front of you: pork dumplings, half of a roasted duck, fluffy buns filled with red bean paste, shrimp shumai.

You stabbed a dumpling with your chopsticks, plopping it into your mouth.

“That’s so good.”

Liam’s knee knocked against yours as you reached for another bun. “Have you been to China?”

“Never. But it’s on my list.”

“I spent two years there teaching English,” he said, taking a sip of beer in-between words. “Unreal experience.”

“I’m jealous,” you said. “I’ve only ever lived here and LA, where I grew up.”

“What made you leave LA?”

“My best friend,” you replied, lifting the neck of the beer bottle to your lips. “He got a job out here after graduation and said it was the best place ever. We both kind of needed a change of place, to get away from where we were from.”

“San Francisco is the greatest escape,” Liam said, “and it’s a vacuum, sucking you in, all at once.” Even though it was dark, you understood what he meant. There was something about the city that called to you. When it was night and the streets were practically empty. Something overwhelming when the fog finally broke and you could see for miles across the abundant hills. San Francisco was more of a home to you than LA ever would be. It was your escape, but it was also your Hotel California. You could show up anytime, but you would never leave.

“What do you do?” you asked, leaning forward, one ankle brushing over his calf. Liam’s hand dangled off the back of the red booth, fingertips dancing lightly on your shoulder.

“I’m a publisher.”

“Books?”

He nodded. “I’m here for six months. A kind of sabbatical.”

You frowned. “Six months? Then where are you going?” “Back to New York.” You sucked in a breath. “I live in the East Village, off Eleventh Street.”

“New York,” you breathed. “I’ve never been.”

“It’s different than here,” Liam replied. “This has the better Chinatown.”

You smiled. “What do you like better?”

“Neither one is better,” Liam said, his voice graveley and deep. You felt his fingers brush gently over your shoulder, and you unconsciously nudged closer. “Coffee in New York. Mexican food here. People in New York are ruder, but genuine. People here are California kind — pleasant, but hollow. I like being close to the water. But New York has bagels and there’s so much more life at three in the morning.” He paused. “Besides, you’re here. So that’s an automatic win for San Francisco.”

Under the flickering fluorescent light of the Chinese restaurant, you looked up at Liam. For the first time in a long time, you felt it. That spark. That small piece of chemistry every romcom, every romance book, every person who had been in a committed relationship said was the start. The one little ember that would ignite and start a whole forest fire. And despite all of the noise, the shouting and the clamoring and the sound of dishes smacking against linoleum tables and chairs screeching as they got pulled back on the sticky tile floor, for a moment in time it was just you and Liam sitting next to each other in silence, your smile reflected on his face, his fingertips warm against your shoulder.

Outside, the air was chilly. You winced as the two of you stepped into the street, your feet aching in the heeled boots. “Wait here,” Liam said, ducking into the store next to the restaurant the two of you had emerged from. He returned a few minutes later, holding out a pair of red silky slippers and you laughed as he bent down, unzipping your boots carefully, sliding the slippers on. You sighed in relief, heels hitting the ground for the first time all night.

“I can hold those,” you said, reaching out for the boots.

He straightened up, towering over you, and shook his head. “I’ll carry them for you.”

Liam’s hand found yours as the two of you walked down Grant Street. There was something calm about him. Sturdy. As you rounded the corner onto Market Street, your gaze flickered up at him.

“When can I see you again?” he asked, voice melting into the wind that whipped down the street, blanketing the two of you in a chill.

“I’m free on Friday.”

He grinned. “Friday then.” Liam pulled out his phone as a black sedan pulled up next to the curb. “I ordered you an Uber Black to take you home.” Liam stepped forward, opening the door. You lingered for a moment, your right hip brushing against his.

“Goodnight,” you whispered. For once, you wanted him to kiss you. It wasn’t a reluctant end of the night forced event. It wasn’t out of pity or to cut the date short. It wasn’t because you felt like you owed him for a drink, a dinner, a ride. You wanted him to kiss you.

So when he leaned down, one hand cupping your cheek, you sucked in a breath, his lips landing on yours, soft and pillowy, the pine scent of his musk overwhelming your senses as he pressed closer, his thumb sinking gently into the soft skin behind your ear as you opened your lips, letting him in. And when he pulled away, you were breathless. “Goodnight, Y/N,” Liam murmured, taking your hand, helping you down into the leather backseat of the car, placing your discarded boots down at your side.

You watched him fade into the dark as the car pulled away, headed west, your lips still bruised with the thought of him.

You were so caught up that you didn’t feel your phone buzz in your purse, Jake’s text sitting unread.

How was the date? I have tequila.

***

You and Jake had agreed early on that you’d keep your relationship, or whatever you could call it, a secret from the group. Not only would Coyote flip, but it would create another layer that would inevitably create fissures if and when things went to shit with the two of you. Which, taking into account both of your dating histories, was practically inevitable.

Only once had you come close to exposing yourselves.

It was Bob’s birthday party, which had started at a restaurant in the Mission and ended at a rooftop in Cow Hollow. Jake had struck out early in the night with two different blondes, first at the restaurant and then at the second bar. You had early success chatting with a guy from the first bar, but by the time you got to the rooftop he confessed he lived with his mother and sometimes slept in her bed.

“Ew,” you shuddered, taking a shot, physically shaking away the ick that had crawled under your skin the moment he said that.

“What happened Stink? Strike out?”

You glared at Jake. “Fuck off.”

He tipped one of the small shot glasses down his throat and winced. “So did I.” Jake leaned in closer, his hand brushing against your low back. You felt a tickle of excitement creep up your thighs. “Want to get out of here?”

“We can’t, it’s Bob’s birthday. Someone will see.”

“You leave first, I’ll wait five minutes and follow. Your apartment is just ten minutes away.”

You looked up at Jake. He had stepped closer, his thumb hooked against the waistband of your shorts, the edges of his hair stuck to his golden skin from the sweat. It was hot, July, and the evening breeze that usually chilled San Francisco was nowhere to be found. And yet, somehow all you wanted was to be rolling around with Jake in a mess of sweaty limbs. “You’re desperate for me, huh?” you whispered.

Jake rolled his eyes and you smirked. Just as you were about to pull away, head for the door, you straightened your glance. Phoenix had her eyes trained on you across the room. Quickly, you sidestepped away from Jake, his fingertips falling from your waist. “What?” he asked, loudly. Too loudly.

“Shh,” you hissed under your breath, taking another definitive step away from Jake and jutting your chin out toward Phoenix. Jake looked up, catching Natasha’s eyes, and then grunted.

“Fuck.”

“You’re an idiot,” you said, pushing him out of the way, trying to cut across the room toward Phoenix to explain.

“Wait, Y/N.” Jake grabbed your wrist.

You turned back, thrashing out of his grip. “Jake. Let go of me.” Your eyes burned into his and he opened his fingers, letting your wrist slide away, out of his grasp. “You better hope she doesn’t suspect anything.”

By the time you made your way across the rooftop to Phoenix she was pounding another drink, the memory of you and Jake cozy near the railing a distant memory. But that didn’t stop the tiny little voice in the back of your head that said you two were ticking time bomb. That sooner or later, one of you would make a mistake. And it wouldn’t just be your pseudo-relationship on the line. It would be all of your friendships, too.

Tag list is closed, please follow my library page and turn on notifications (@ereardonlibrary):

@double-j @topguncultleader @momc95 @hangmandruigandmav

@teacupsandtopgun @xomrsalliej4787xo @xoxabs88xox @blue-aconite @seresinhangmanjake @eminyourjeans @shawnsblue @babyminghao @sadpetalsstuff @angelbabyange @taytaylala12 @wkndwlff @mygyn @oneelleandaneye @averyhotchner @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @rxmtoon @valkyrja-siren-blog @horseshoegirl @abaker74 @clancycucumber230 @theharddeck @redbarn1995 @shanimallina87

@memeorydotcom @joaquinwhorres @bobfloydsbabe @gretagerwigsmuse @djs8891 @bobfloydsbabe

@blackcatdhisgf @buckysteveloki-me @eli2447 @bellaireland1981 @seresinslady @hookslove1592 @shotclock24seconds @fanficfandomlove @ryebecca @onceupona-happilyeverafter-love @t8r-tots @clancycucumber230

#jake hangman fic #top gun fanfiction #jake seresin #top gun imagine #jake hangman x you #hangman fanfiction #jake seresin au #jake hangman imagine #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin fic #jake seresin fanfiction #hangman fic #jake hangman x reader #hangman x you #hangman x reader #jake seresin x y/n #jake seresin x you #top gun x reader

242 notes · View notes

avis-writeshq · 8 months

Note

hi hi oh my god i read your first chapter of sparks fly last night and i could not stop thinking about it!!! your writing is so beautiful and i’m really impressed by the small details that you included and how the whole fic just matches so well with the real episode??

feel free to tag me in the next chapter <333

OMG you’re literally the sweetest 😭☹️ thank you soooo much that means the world to me !!! I’m so glad you enjoyed it ahhh!! (I was actually so nervous because it seemed so canon compliant I didn’t want people to think it was boring 😖)!!

and I will of COURSE add you to the next chapter 🩷 thank you again for all your support MWAH ‼️

#reidtopia !!#sparks fly tag list !!

7 notes · View notes

jasmyluv · 2 years

Text

Of all people... - a scaramouche x fem!reader smau

⌞Synopsis⌝ When you, a student who finds her best friend admits the terrors of high school. A best friend who've you'd hated ever since he left. Of all people, why was he the one to make you swoon, a person you swore to hate?

⌞AU⌝ modern!au, highschool!au, slow burn (?), he fell first but she fell harder, perfect score trope, childhood friends to lovers, found family (Childe and [Name]), fluff, angst, crack, others will be added as the story progresses

⌞Warnings⌝ swearing, petnames, different POVs, jealousy, kms/kys jokes, kazuha x reader, parent issues, child neglect, ayamiya (Ayaka x Yoimiya, in the future chapters), Eimiko (Ei x Yae), mentions of kokorou (Kokomi x Gorou), kavetham (Kaveh x Alhaitham), others will be added as the story progresses

⌞Tag list⌝ List #1; List #2, open, send an ask, comment, or dm to be added !

⌞Status⌝

Started - November 28, 2022

Finished - May 7, 2023

⌞Note⌝ Written chapters will be marked with ◊, the pictures used in this smau (that assumably includes you) do not represent or portray what you look like in this au, you look like you in this au, nobody else :)

⌞A/n⌝ When it's based off personal experience except it's top 10 and 11 not top 1 and 2 HAHAHAHA

Profiles !

Disappointments - [Name]'s friend group

Fatui Hamburgers + Kazuha - Scaramouche's friend group

Chapters !

Act I - I'm supposed to hate you, right?

001. Why are YOU here? (◊) || 002. Spelling Bee?? Exempted?? 2000 DOLLARS??

003. Coffee date! || 004. Is this an interrogation?

005. Study buddy + sleeping brother (◊) || 006. What if I told you I'm a mastermind?

007. Past is past || 008. Final Results

009. Midterm studying? No, midnight rain. || 010. Words I regret

011. Are you satisfied? (◊) || 012. "Average"

Act II - And if you don't?

013. Burger King Party || 014. Surprise visit, not so happy reunion (◊)

014.5 In my mind

015. He knows || 016. Delicate (◊)

017. Limerence || 018. Tiana to my Prince Naveen

019. To the newlyweds! (◊) || 020. Mixed signals come with mixed feelings

021. Puzzle me || 022. Court or confess?

023. Clueless || 024. Don't take advice from a ginger

025. Vermilion dreams (◊) || 026. You again?

027. It's nice to have a friend || 028. To "study" (◊)

Act III - Then, I won't.

029. "Bee"-t my dust! (◊) || 030. Celebration Dinner

031. And the winners are...! || 032. I don't need your congratulations.

033. Sweet nothing || 034. Labyrinth (◊)

035. So, the hatred meant nothing? (◊) || 036. I’m sorry, what?

037. Your blessing? Do I have to ask? || 038. Sparks fly

039. Subtle signs for your dense mind || 040. A rose for a lifetime (◊)

041. #scarayn real!? || 042. An end of another chapter with you (◊)

#jas writes #genshin x reader #genshin #genshin impact #genshin imagines #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche x you #kunikuzushi #kunikuzushi x reader #kunikuzushi x you #kunikuzushi x y/n #scaramouche fluff #scaramouche angst #scara x reader #scaramouche smau #genshin smau

2K notes · View notes

wowowwild · 2 months

Text

Ace's All Time Best Fic Rec List (AATBFRL) April 2024: Ace Attorney

It's been a 6 months since my last list so here we go again! (I specified Ace Attorney in case I start doing this for other fandoms.) I originally planned to have all the old recs here as well but the list was too long so here's a link to the previous list. These aren't necessarily in any particular order, but if you can think of a good way for me to organize them, please let me know for future lists!

P.S. Anything rated over T mentions that immediately for your browsing convenience.

Doing more self promotion this year, so check out my pinned post or fic tag (desktop only)!

London, 2021- 7 yg Wrightworth hint of Krisnix. Phoenix is presently in London with Edgeworth. Phoenix is presently knowing that he knows about Kristoph but doesn't want to acknowledge it bc Kristoph has been really good to him and Trucy. But that doesn't matter right now bc they're going to the theatre.

if you leave the light on- 7yg Wrightworth. Nothing can happen until it's over but something Keeps happening. Miles will wait as long as it takes and Trucy decides he's part of the family.

In The Dead Of Night- During the 7yg Edgeworth invites the Wrights to Europe. Trucy has a nightmare and 'Uncle Miles' comforts her.

Phoenix's List- After getting his badge back, Phoenix has some regrets and sets about fixing what he can.

Perfect- I actually found this on another fic rec list and I can see why it was their favorite. Set towards the end of the trial of Bridge to Turnabout. TW if you have memory issues, it might be a little hard to get through parts bc of all the mindfuckery. I have to be really vague here so as not to spoil it. (Wrightworth)

Eo Nomine- Klapollo fake marriage turned real marriage but ig that's what happen when you get fake married while being real in love.

the best you'll never have- Rated M for sex reasons. I love the tagline: "Someone else's wedding is something that can actually be so personal". It's a Blackmadhi complicated relationship, what relationship, they weren't actually dating but also...

Apollo and the Artist (1975 - Oil paint, wax crayon, pencil, collage)- Rated M for mentioned sex reasons. Apollo is not an art person. But to Klavier he is art... and also a person. They've known each other for 8 years and it's probably been coming for just as long. It was a long time coming.

darling i'd wait for you (even if you didn't ask me to)- Wrightworth fake date bc Edgeworth needs a plus one to a wedding for some guy, it's not really important. But the cake sucks.

A Knight in a Loud Red Suit- oh my god oh my god oh my god Klavier gets shot and Apollo stabs a guy. And also love confessions at the hospital. They could have me also if they wanted.

Written- Rated E for sex reasons. Edgeworth moonlights as a Steel Samurai fic writer, and due to it being an obvious coping mechanism for his life and feeling Maya finds out... and accidentally sends a fic to Phoenix who... finds out. Half of the smut is Edgeworth's own fanfic, so we get like... fanfic-ception. That doesn't really work with more than one syllable words, huh...

Lover Be Good to Me- Rated M for implied sex reasons. 5+1 klapollo wooing each other.

Love Love Love- Rated M for implied sex reasons. klapollo is messy in a good way and takes wayyyy too long to call themselves boyfriends. Set from middle of aa4 to past aa6.

delicate- Rated M for sex reasons. klapollo is messy in a bad way (long distance is hard) and they break up but it works out, I prommy. If you don't like angst you'll want to skip this one, though.

(i was) enchanted to meet you- klavquill! I love them, I need to read more fics with them. They meet at the Prosecutor gala for the first time and sparks fly. Actually, they were fireworks, but that's not important.

Process of Elimination- Rated M for sex reasons. One day I will read a fic where Blackmadhi is not complicated as hell. Can they ever talk about their feelings? Apparently I like this, though, bc I keep reading and recc'ing them. Um, Nahyuta is looking for a fuck buddy and by 'process of elimination' ends up deciding on Blackquill but whoops! Feelings.

feel your skin- Rated M for one boner. Klavier is infuriating AND wearing lipgloss and Apollo can't take it. Cue making out in the janitor's closet.

moribund- I keep thinking about this one so I need everyone else to read and think about it with me. Pre Gant busting, POV Lana has to help clean up his messes. This a comedy, mostly of errors.

chronophobia- StarrSkye (AngelxLana) Be forewarned, you are going to cry. Lana has done her time and is trying to find a way to reconnect with the most important people from her past.

Crash! Landing- Junithena, fantastic traumatized autistic representation, if I do say so myself as a traumatized autistic person. It is very sweet and Juniper is a real one. I need me one of those.

In Pursuit of Justice- This one is not yet complete, but I preemptively j'adore'd it. It's a klapollo. Sebastian is great. He says Apollo looks like a frog (accurate).

Witcheln Woes- Secret Santa klapollo and they are cute and Clay is alive and it is sooooo fluffy.

Samurai Swear- Maya making besties with Edgeworth! Maya and Phoenix being besties also! Dash of mutual pining wrigthworth.

Missing You/Missing Time- Ok, hear me out, yes, the mystical bullshit tag is accurate, and de-aging is a weird concept, but !!! It actually serves this story very well! It is a fanfic that feels like a fanfic, but sometimes you want that, you know? Not every fanfic needs to feel like Little Women. Established klapollo first I love yous.

#aatbfrl #ace attorney #klapollo #wrightworth #narumitsu #blackmadhi #junithena #starrskye #klavquill #ace attoney #krisnix #i'm not listing individual characters but there are other things in here besides ship fics

78 notes · View notes

foxgloveprincess · 4 months

Text

Pairing: DBF Ari Levinson x Female Reader [Second Person Narrator]

Word Count: 4,037

Summary: Outside your doors, things threaten the peace in your attic. Ari might need your help, but can he trust you?

Attic Wives Anonymous Masterlist

Warnings: Dark/Soft Dark, Dubious Consent, previous Kidnapping, Attic Wife Trope, Unreliable Narrator, Anxiety, Kissing, Smut (Groping, Dry Humping/Grinding, Finger Sucking, Thigh Riding, Vaginal Penetration, Unprotected Sex, mild Anal Play), Slapping (just one), Daddy Kink, Praise Kink, Modern AU, Age Gap (Ari is in his 40s, Reader is in her mid-20s), Dad’s Best Friend, mentions of Strained Father/Daughter Relationship, Minor Character Death, Yandere Behavior, Obsessive Behavior, Crying, Pet Names (li’l dip, baby, li’l bear, etc). Minors do not interact (18+).

A/N: Ari is my very favorite in this AU. He’s just so frickin’ soft and tender for his li’l dip. What I wouldn’t give to be locked in his attic. 🥰 I hope you enjoy!

I love feedback, so go ahead and reblog/comment if you want. No permission given to copy, translate, rewrite or post my work, at all. I cross-post to my own AO3 account.

I don’t do tag lists, so follow @foxglovefics to sign up for notifications on my fics.

This is not Beta’d, so all mistakes are my own.

Please DO NOT click ‘Keep Reading’ if you are not 18+ years of age or if you are uncomfortable with the pairing, themes, dynamics, or warnings. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Thank you!

He stops locking the door. The first time you notice, you don’t quite pinpoint the reason why you’re unsettled. An absence simply needles at the back of your mind until Ari visits you again.

But it keeps happening. The door knob turning under your hand each time Ari leaves. Temptation itches at you. To follow your captor out of your room. To wait for the right moment to sneak out the door. To escape.

Yet you don’t. The mere thought of it sparks a panic that skitters up your spine and freezes you in place. What if it’s all a trap? What if he’s toying with you? What would he do if you were caught trying to run?

It’s like he knows. The spirals of your mind keeping you more trapped in your room than any physical lock.

“Where’s my li’l dip?” he asks, with a giant smile cracking his lips.

You glance over your shoulder at his entrance. The door to the attic left open—wide open—right behind him. You stare at it a beat too long. Temptation a sharp prick that fades quickly. You turn back, bury yourself in your blankets, and tuck those thoughts away.

Ari’s big, burly arms wrap around your waist and pull you from your cocoon. The solid wall of his chest presses to your back. He nuzzles against your neck and presses a kiss to your pulse point. You wriggle and he chuckles deep in his throat.

“Oh, baby bear,” he coos. His hot breath brushes against your skin. “Don’t be like that. You know Daddy just wants some loving.” One hand releases you so he can trace his fingers across your cheek. “After all he’s done for you this week.”

Images of his head between your thighs as you woke the past few days, the soreness that lingers at your core, the way your breath hitches at just the thought. Your eyes flutter shut and you try to hide from the embarrassment of it all.

“No,” he says, letting his fingers wrap around your neck and tip your head back. He plants a kiss on your cheek and your jaw. “Want you right here with me.” His arm tightens around you and presses you infinitesimally closer. “We gotta talk, baby.”

Your thoughts pause. His statement so incongruous to his actions. His wanting hands and intimate proximity do not signify a desire to simply talk.

“About what?” you ask, trepidation turning your stomach. A thousand possibilities fly through your head.

Ari sighs and tugs gently at your shoulder. He waits for you to turn over, face to face, before beginning.

“I know we’ve been so happy together. That this has been the best thing we’ve ever had happen to us.” He smiles and the wave of affection and sincerity buffets you—somehow still unused to it.

At his patient and silent prompting, you nod while keeping eye contact. Knowing it’s a placation—and wondering whether you can say it’s just that.

“It hasn’t been easy,” Ari says, tipping his forehead to rest against yours. “There have been obstacles for us.”

“Obstacles?”

A muscle in Ari’s jaw ticks. His nostrils flare on a deep breath. He collects himself a minute before saying, “your father took our decision rather harder than expected.”

A confused, “what?” croaks out of your throat before you can stop it.

“You know how he is,” Ari says, slotting a thick thigh between yours. “Everyone has to play the part, the perfect family.” Fingers grab at the back of your pajama shorts, sinking into your plush flesh. “You never quite fit his standards, did you?”

You blink at the tears that form on your waterline. But they drip down your cheeks anyway. Sniffing does nothing to stop them.

“Hey, li’l love,” Ari coos in the softest voice, wiping at the stream of tears. “You know you’ve always been perfect for me.” Kisses land on your cheeks. The tickle of Ari’s beard so familiar now. The comfort he offers more tempting than an open door would ever be.

He pauses a moment to wrap a blanket tighter around your shoulders and over your legs, his body a furnace. You bask in the warmth and sleep tugs at your eyelids.

Ari leans back and tilts your chin up. “Stay with me, baby. There’s more,” he admits with a regret-filled click of his teeth.

You blink away the sleep. Your eye catches the patches of grey at his temples and in his beard. Using them to pull yourself back into focus. You take a deep breath and swallow a yawn.

“He went to the cops once he got back from vacation.” Ari sighs again, his brows tilted with sympathy. “They’ve been trying to poke their nose into things. I have a lawyer friend who’s been helping me out, but I still think they suspect I did something untoward with you.”

A faint, “oh,” breezes past your lips. You’re not sure what to think. Obviously, there are some skews in Ari’s perspective. Probably some in yours, too.

“I can admit I’m nervous,” Ari confesses with a duck of his chin. “What if they want to take you away from me?” He shifts on the bed, his thigh grinding against your sex through your pajamas. Your belly flutters with the friction. “The thought of you all alone. It drives me crazy. I can’t let that happen to you, not to my sweet baby.”

“If my dad wants to find me—”

Ari cuts you off with a kiss, hands cradling your cheeks. You gasp again his lips and clutch at the front of his shirt. You melt into it, the softness and gentleness. Intoxicating. When he pulls away, his forehead finds yours again.

“He suffered a heart attack about a week ago. He didn’t make it,” your captor whispers, sympathy lacing his voice like poison. “Candace moved to Majorca. There’s no one left for you, but they still want to take you away.”

Speech eludes you. Your dad died. Why can’t you figure out how to feel about it? So ambivalent to him being gone. Grief the furthest thing from your mind. Because it’s not like you can deny it. No other family above ground. An old job as a pawn for a giant corporation leaving you faceless in a crowd. You really would be alone.

“You need me, don’t you, baby bear?”

You think a moment, gazing into Ari’s blue eyes. He waits for you, neither prodding nor rushing. Peering into your very soul, searching for honesty.

When you part your lips to speak, you’re unsure what will come out. A dull part of you wants to claw out of his embrace and scream at him. Storm out the door and disappear into the surrounding forest until you find the nearest road. The other wants to agree and burrow into the safety of his chest. Find comfort in his steady heartbeat, sink and never resurface.

“Yes, Daddy.”

Ari’s eyes sparkle. He’s so gorgeous when he looks at you like you hang the moon and stars, you can’t help but swoon. Perhaps it’s true. You hadn’t been joking with Arielle those few months ago—you really did need this, want this, crave this. So easy your acceptance has been.

Your throat dries, swallowing down the realization like shards of glass. Tears prick at your eyes once more. To hide from them, you tuck your head into the crook of Ari’s neck.

He wraps you in his arms and strokes your back along your spine. His lips croon sweet nothings in your ear, whispers of admiration that just make you feel worse. Your head shakes, smushed as it is against him.

“Does my sweet girl not feel praiseworthy?”

Your head continues to shake and he hums.

“Guess I’ll have to show you,” he says as if it doesn’t make him pleased as punch to have the opportunity.

It starts with a slow grind and a heavy sigh. He rocks your hips, pinning you against his thighs with much more intention and intensity. A spark skitters up your spine, a whimper accompanying it up your throat.

Your mind quiets to this moment. The way your captor is about to make you feel. Your eyes meet. Hunger exchanged between your gazes. His strong and bold, yours just as ravenous but tinged by hesitation.

“Let Daddy take care of you,” he whispers with a quirk of his brow. He waits only for you to blink before devouring any other response in a passionate kiss.

His tongue licks its way into your mouth, tangling with yours. Searching for the delicious sounds you produce with every sultry slide of your cunt. Still slow, controlled, but with that anticipatory promise of wild need.

Your nails sink into his chest, catching on his chest hair and scratching along his pecs. He grunts and jerks his hips forward, his cock a hard press against you. Ready to bury into you like a sword finding its sheathe. Yet his restraint keeps every motion steady.

The smell of his sweat fills your nose, mingling with his cologne. You inhale deeply. Addicted to the scent. Wishing to drown yourself in it. Ignore to whom it belongs. To imagine a world where the man feeling your slick soaking through your thin layers didn’t drug and kidnap you. That he didn’t catfish you and pose as a friend. A world where you met and fell in love like normal people. Even a world where he offered to lock you away and you agreed.

Ari hisses as your teeth catch his tongue. But he doesn’t linger, trailing his kisses down your cheek to your throat.

“What’s wrong, li’l dip?”

“Nothing,” you warble, hoping he thinks your pleasure affects your voice, not a deep cavern of dismay.

He looks up and meets your watery eyes. You try to look away, but he enthralls you with the piercing certainty of his gaze and you can’t. For a long moment, he just stares, reading every thought running through your head.

“It’s okay, baby,” he whispers, after a moment. “I understand.” His hands cup your cheeks and he presses a kiss to your forehead, his hips beginning to rock harder against your own.

Your lips part. Ari’s thumb traces your skin and sinks between your parted flesh. Your tongue licks at the pad of his finger and you begin to suck. Soothing yourself with his digit. His other hand moves between you, groping your breast and kneading them one at a time.

“I love you,” he says, your name a reverent punctuation to his declaration. “I love you more than anything.”

You blink, but can’t respond with his thumb in your mouth. And he doesn’t move it away, not requiring one. Part of you wonders if he realizes that this isn’t real—not love. The other wonders if it is, if you could accept it. The answer blindsides you, plowing to the forefront of your mind and leaving you stunned.

His hips buck, a vigorous motion jostling you in the blankets. A moan spills from his lips and the last thread of his control frays, reveals a taste of the full extent of his appetite.

He strips his shirt from his body, a quick motion to replace his thumb between your lips as quickly as possible. With the one hand left, he pushes his shorts and boxer briefs from his legs.

Hot and hard, his cock slots against your sex. He slides it between your legs and grunts. Friction eased by the arousal coating your thighs and dripping from the head of his cock. His free hand shoves your clothes out of the way. Seeking a clear path to your dripping entrance. Fabric bunching around your knees.

The head of his cock taps at your clit. Your hips jerk and he finds your entrance, just that press and prod enough to send you reeling. Your fingers grab at him, needy. Your brain foggy with lust, you glance down to see him plunging into you. Slow and sure.

“Fuck,” you whimper around his thumb.

He seats himself fully inside you. A breath rushes across your lips. Ari rolls his hips. You buck to meet him, skin sticking to the blankets beneath you, already worked up with so little provocation.

“You fit me so perfectly,” Ari praises.

You nod, bobbing your head without pause. Agreeing still as he starts to pull out and thrust back in. His spit slick thumb retreats from your mouth, trailing down your torso and between you to play with the throbbing bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs. A satisfied hum vibrates out of your throat, though your lips seal shut to keep it at bay. Ari projects his sounds of pleasure, filling the room as he ruts against you on your bed.

It’s a lazy dance that chases the high between you. Ari’s thrusts controlled, precise. Your own answering movements are less so, too focused on the feelings drowning out your thoughts. You need them.

Ari keeps your eyes locked. Sometimes you think he can’t cum without that contact. Even when he’s taken you from behind. He needs to see your eyes. Needs to see them gloss over with lust and longing when you’re not sure where you end and he begins.

He looks for it now. That haze that rolls over you. Consuming pleasure. Your leg trembles, hitching up to try to hook over him. Your shorts and underwear prevent it, stretched too taut. You whine and release Ari from your grip to push the offending material down to your ankles and kick them off the rest of the way. He pauses, reveling in the moment to lavish your tits through your shirt. He hikes it up and bends his head to suck a nipple into his mouth.

“So sweet for me,” he says, switching to the other.

Your back arches toward him. The sensation a plucking tease without fulfillment. You huff in frustration and roll your hips, fucking yourself on his cock. A hand falls to Ari’s ass, helping support the movement and push him deeper into you.

“Please,” you beg, unhappy with his pause to focus only on your breasts, wanting more despite how good it feels.

“Please what?” he asks, arching a brow and pulling away from your chest. “What does my sweet baby want?”

You whine high in your throat. “Want you to fuck me.” You fight the urge to roll your eyes. Knowing how it peeves him.

“You know that’s not what I want to hear,” he says with a slap to your left breast. It jiggles and stings from the impact.

You hiss and pout, looking to Ari and seeing the serious set of his brow. With a blink, your eyes lower to the hollow of his throat. Hesitant fingers reach out and wrap over his biceps, scratching at his skin.

“Please, Daddy, will you fuck me?” The words are a whisper, a secret that you can’t confess. That every time the title falls past your lips, the heat that rises up through your body, setting you alight, is not from shame but a burning captivation.

“That’s my girl,” Ari coos.

His hips clap to yours. No longer restrained undulations, but bold claiming thrusts that knock your teeth together and drive you out of your senses. He traces his fingers down your back, holding you in place for a moment. The way they sink into your voluptuous curves, imprinting him onto you. But they wander, yet to have found their true destination.

They find your clit and fondle your lower lips, stretched tight around his cock, and continue to drift. They find their place back and around, finding the crack of your cheeks and the puckered rosebud between.

Your eyes widen, hips bucking away in surprise. He’d never expressed any kind of interest before. Your gaze darts to his eyes, wary of upsetting him but searching for answers. Shocked away from the rising euphoria of climax.

“Daddy always takes care of you, doesn’t he?” he asks with a soothing kiss, circling the sensitive flesh of your hole.

You hum in high-pitched affirmation, focused on his finger’s tender, slick prodding and all the more distracted by the grind of his pelvis catching on your clit.

The tip of his finger breaches you, and you wince. Unused to such violation, you’re unsure how to feel. Delicately he pets, in and out, only the tip. Offering a feeling of fullness that you can’t quite grasp.

“Been thinking about this,” Ari explains, working in rhythm to coax that smoldering glow into a wildfire once again. “I know you never mentioned it in our talks, but you did say you wanted to be all mine. Mind.” he accentuates the word with a thrust of both cock and finger. “Body.” He thrusts again, his digit sinking further into your hole on his retreat. “Soul.” Another thrust that hits just right.

Rapture eclipses your mind, a white burst that consumes you and sends you reeling over the peak of your orgasm. A sound rips from your chest. Your nails scratch, drawing red stripes across his arms. At the sight, lungs heaving for breath, you release him and reach up to sink your fingers into his hair. You grip at the root and buck toward him. Entranced by the high that rushes through you. Your lips find his and you moan into his waiting mouth. Content as he is to drink it up.

The aftershocks continue to seize your frame, even as Ari continues on. Steady in his destruction of your sanity and your propriety.

“You’re so tight, li’l dip,” he says, heavier than before. His muscles strain as he talks, holding himself back from the precipice. “We can work with that. Got a friend, makes quality accessories.” He moans and squeezes his eyes shut for the first time, his hips stuttering in their rhythm. “The thought of you with a cute little tail plug and ears, frilly little bow around your neck.” He huffs and you whine before he kisses you with fervent force. “My own li’l baby bear to play with just how I want.”

His words cut short of a breath, unable to hold out any longer. He cums inside you, painting your walls. You mewl at the sensation. He breathes in relief with a few more weary thrusts of his cock.

“What do you think?” Ari asks, with a sunny smile, pulling his finger from your ass but keeping himself seated deep inside you.

“You’re aware of all the trouble you’ve caused, miss?” The officer—no sheriff—sits across from you, coffee cup by his hand and file open flat in front of him.

You nod your head and look around the dismal, bare walls of the room. A cup of cool water sits in a glass by your hand, untouched since another officer brought it in.

“I didn’t realize my dad would notice,” you say honestly. Your pulse spikes in your ear, a constant thundering beat. Teeth on edge, you look to the man across from you and meet his eyes. Your hands a ball of kneading fingers on your lap.

“So, you claim that this disappearance was a spur of the moment getaway. No foul play.” There’s a southern drawl to his words, not something you’d expect to find here. You examine him. Brown hair styled in an overgrown crew cut, greying at the temples. His leather jacket strains over his shoulders and stomach. His face puffy but wrinkled, showing his age. He chews on a piece of candy, rattling it between his teeth while he waits.

“I’m sorry for the trouble I caused,” you say, reciting the words practiced with Ari. Your fingers dip into the collar of your shirt, pulling the knit fabric away from your throat. You wonder what time it is now. It seems an age ago that Ari escorted you into the local police station and explained the situation for you to the officers from the city. You’d expressed an inclination for a vacation, and he’d provided his private cabin. You’d been off the grid, getting some much needed rest. Hadn’t heard a thing about a search or your father’s passing until Ari had a chance to come get you.

“Your father’s acquaintance seems very, uh, friendly,” the sheriff says with a suggestive wag of his eyebrows.

Your cheeks heat. This is the moment, you think. If ever there were a time to cry out for help, for escape. Sitting across from an officer of the law, someone who can get you away. Already suspicious of the situation, ready to act.

Your mouth dries, tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth. “We,” you stumble over your answer, “you see, the thing is, we…”

The sheriff’s eyes narrow, scrutinizing you. Tears threaten, born from the stress of the situation and the volley of thoughts filling in your head. You look to the table, hands clutching into tight fists on your lap. Your diaphragm expands with a deep breath.

“After we met through my dad, we kept talking, even though I didn’t realize it was him at the time,” you explain as steady as you can, mind full of images of being completely alone. Without family, without friends, without Ari. “We’ve bonded.”

The name tag on the sheriff’s shirt glints in the fluorescent lights. You trace the letters with your eyes and wait for him to say something.

“What would that bond be, exactly?” Sheriff Bodecker asks.

Your mind blanks on how to describe it. The tether almost visibly linking you to Ari. The thought a bittersweet one. That this was all inevitable.

“He takes care of me,” you reply, tilting your head, ready to explain further.

But a sleazy scoff from the sheriff stops you. “I get it,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Couldn’t have your old man know about his friend being your sugar daddy on the side.” He closes the file and leers at you, a slow perusal at your figure over the table.

“I—” you stop. Words fizzle on your tongue. No way to form an appropriate defense for yourself.

He licks his lips and stands. One hand rests on his belt buckle, the other holds his file. He taps it on the table and says, “I guess you’re free to go, then. Your beau must be worried about you by now.”

Your skin crawls at his suggestive tone—every word from his mouth somehow dripping with innuendo.

“Let’s get you home.” The door opens with his hand, and he directs you out with a nod.

You scurry past him, a wary glance sent back over your shoulder. Your feet carry you quickly to the front of the station where Ari waits, lounging back on a wooden bench. His head lifts the moment your footsteps echo over to him and he jumps up.

“Everything alright?” he asks in a whisper, hands grasping your shoulders and peering into your eyes. “Did you tell them what happened?”

The heavier tread of Sheriff Bodecker’s shoes approach and stop by the front desk.

“She answered all our questions. The city cops are all satisfied,” he says with a tip of his head. “She’s free.”

Ari’s arm wraps around your shoulders and he breathes in relief. He guides you out of the station and into his car, parked as close as possible. The shadows of night hang all around you. Owls hooting in the trees and not another soul driving down the street. How late could it possibly be?

You find the passenger seat and Ari closes your door. Before you can blink, he’s backing out of his spot and driving away from the station. Your eyes still locked on the light shining from the glass panes of the door, and possibly your best and last chance at escape.

Ari’s arm stretches over the back of the bench seat, pulling you close and tucking you beside him. You follow his silent direction and rest your head against your captor’s chest. The sheriff’s final words echoing in your head.

Free. Sure.

#ari levinson x reader #ari levinson x you #ari levinson fanfic #ari levinson fanfiction #female reader #dark #dark fic #modern au #tw dub con #dub con #smut #yandere vibes #attic wives anonymous #18+#minors dni

114 notes · View notes

orqheuss · 1 year

Text

Orqheus(s)' Masterlist!

🔥 - Smut, 🌸 - Fluff, 🩸 - Angst, 🎭 - Comedy, 🎀 - Hurt/Comfort, 💗 - Romantic,✨ - Platonic (💥 - gore/blood, 💀 - main character death)

All fics are cross-posted on Ao3, Tumblr, and (some) on Wattpad

If there's a particular headcanon you'd like to see, please message me! I am open to requests!

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST MY WORK WITHOUT TAGGING ME.

Fandoms are listed in alphabetical order!

Any trigger warnings present are posted on each fic.

Hazbin Hotel

I do not own the characters depicted.

One-Shots

Alastor x Reader

Journeys end in lovers meeting (🩸💗/✨💥💀) - Tumblr x The battle was over and the residents of the Hazbin Hotel had won. What would have happened, though, if Alastor wasn’t able to heal himself? What would have happened if you were also on the verge of dying?

Alastor Character Study

Stamped on these lifeless things (🩸💥 💀) - Tumblr x With his final moments quickly drawing near, something approaches Alastor that has him questioning everything. (Human!Alastor meets Demon!Alastor AU)

Hogwarts Legacy

I do not own the characters depicted, nor do I condone J.K. Rowling's actions.

One-Shots

The Shadow trio (Ominis x Sebastian x MC)

May I feel said he (🔥🌸) - Tumblr x Studying in the Room of Requirement can get quite tedious, especially with NEWTS around the corner. What is one to do when you're trapped between your two bored, ravenous, and incorrigibly competitive boyfriends? (Inspired by the poem "may i feel said he" by E. E. Cummings) A Fish to Water (🎭✨) - Tumblr x Becoming an animagus is not an easy feat. As much as you love your two best friends, sometimes its more fun to play a prank and take the absolute piss out of them. How would they react if they found out your animagus form was a little bit...fishy? Seven new ways that you can eat your young (🔥) - Tumblr x Slytherin's are known for their end of the year parties. On the eve of their graduation, though, Ominis hears something that makes his blood boil with jealousy. (Inspired by the song "Eat Your Young" by Hozier) Mallowsweet Bliss (🌸🎭✨) - Tumblr x “Oh, you lovely, hopelessly naive thing. Yes, mallowsweet has a great smell, but it also has an even better taste when eaten, and an absolutely enchanting effect on the mind when you smoke it.” AKA, the three of you get incredibly stoned on your stash of mallowsweet. My darling, my sweetheart, I am in your sway (🌸💗) - Tumblr x The Founder's ball only comes around once a year, and with your graduation fast approaching, you knew two things. One, you knew absolutely nothing about ballroom dancing, and two, you were irrevocably in love with both of your best friends and wanted to go with both of them. Was there a way to kill two birds with one stone? Not yet corpses (still, we rot) (🎀✨/💗💥) - Tumblr x Tremors were wracking through the entirety of Hogwarts, and you were nowhere to be found. Little did Ominis and Sebastian know, the repository had been opened, and you were the only thing standing between the wizarding world continuing to thrive or falling to ruin at their very feet. Mingle our ashes and bury us together (🩸✨/💗) - Tumblr x After everything that had happened in your fifth year, your mind was becoming too much for you to bear on your own. After a rather dreadful conversation with yourself, you knew there was only one way to stop your personal torment. (TW! Attempted Suicide) Insatiable Gravity (🔥🌸🎭) - Tumblr x When it rains, it pours, and when your trapped in the downpour with your two best friends, the only option is the inn down the road. The bad news? There's only one room left, and in that room is only one bed.

Ominis x MC

In the pursuit of knowledge (🔥🌸) - Tumblr x When you and Ominis are alone in the Undercroft, it isn't uncommon for some secrets to come to light. After revealing that you've never been kissed, were there some sparks flying between the two of you, or was it just the firewhiskey talking? How could I fear any hurricane (🎀💗) - Tumblr x After almost severely injuring Ominis during a duel in Defense Against the Dark Arts, you retreat into yourself far out of the reach of your closest friend. There's only one thing Ominis can think of to do to bring you out of your turbulent mind. (Inspired by the song "Francesca" by Hozier) In any version of reality - Soulmate!AU (🌸💗) - Tumblr x Ominis was sure that he didn't have a soulmate. That is, of course, until he hears you sing one winter night in the desolate music room and is transported through the past to the first time your souls ever met. (Inspired by the song "Epic iii" by the Hadestown 2017 Original Soundtrack) Clumsy Love (🌸💗) - Tumblr x A relaxing day in the Room of Requirement takes a turn that you never expected. Not that you were complaining, though. Who doesn't love a little bit of dancing? If only your heart would stop trying to pound its way out of your chest whenever a certain blond Slytherin was near. I would know him blind (🔥💗) - Tumblr x You'd been with Ominis for some time, and as much as you loved your intimate times together, you wondered what it would be like to be in his shoes for a change. Your darling husband is more than happy to help you satiate your curiosity. Snake Charmer - Greek Mythology!AU (🌸🎭-ish) - Tumblr x Why was everyone so interested in the new girl? Ominis Gaunt was about to find out.

Ominis Gaunt and the Sallow's

Free and young and we can feel none of it (🎀✨) - Tumblr x Ominis knew that he had to leave his family home. The abuse would only get worse if he stayed. One winter night, he fled to the only place he felt safe, and into the arms of an unlikely friend.

Sebastian x MC

A duel most desirable (🔥) - Tumblr x Emotions are running high, and a friendly duel between you and your best friend, whom you're completely and entirely infatuated with, takes a very...steamy turn. Anything to make you smile (🌸💗) - Tumblr x Sebastian, remembering you lamenting about not being able to experience going to Hogwarts as a first year, decides to take you on a romantic boat ride so you could enjoy the journey from Hogsmeade like he did as an eleven year old. Too bad he forgot one crucial thing: he was terrified of the Black Lake.

Chapter Fics

The Shadow trio (Sebastian x Ominis x MC)

Life is not a paragraph, and death, I think, is no parenthesis (🩸💗💥) - Ao3 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 (All fic titles in this series come from various E. E. Cummings' poems) Victor Rookwood kidnapped you, in broad daylight, on the streets of Hogsmeade, and Sebastian is willing to do anything to get you back. Will he and Ominis be able to find you before it's too late? (TW! Graphic depictions of torture)

For whatever we lose (like a you, or a me) (🩸💗💥) - Tumblr x The Scriptorium called your name, and who were you to ignore its song? At least, that's what you told yourself as Sebastian pushed you and Ominis deeper and deeper into the mausoleum. (Pre Parenthesis!Universe)

Awake, chaos: we have napped (🩸🎀💗💥) - Ao3 x After everything that happened to you that night in the poacher camp, it was only normal for you to have nightmares. After a particularly rough one, will your partners be able to pick up the pieces? (Post Parenthesis!Universe) (TW! mentions of attempted rape/non-con)

I like my body when it is with your body (🔥🌸💗) - Tumblr x Sebastian believes that he doesn't deserve to be happy after everything he's done. His partners don't agree, and are hellbent on proving him wrong the best, and most effective, way they know how. (Post Parenthesis!Universe)

I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart) (🔥🌸💗) - Tumblr 1 2 3 The finale of "Life is not a paragraph, and death, I think, is no parenthesis." It is a beautiful day to get married, and you couldn't ask for better partners. (Post Parenthesis!Universe)

The sun does not weep for Icarus (🩸✨/💗💥💀) - Tumblr 1 2 3 4 The arrival of the Daily Prophet brings the news of Sebastian Sallow's fate after the events of his fifth year. Ominis and his new friend can't help but feel guilty for their decisions. (TW! Child abuse, suicide)

Even the iron still fears the rot (🩸💗💥) - Tumblr 1 2 3 4 5 6 It was supposed to be a normal trip to Hogsmeade. But, when Sebastian and Ominis are kidnapped by poachers determined to seek revenge against the one who killed their fearless leader, will you be able to save them in time? (TW! Graphic depictions of torture)

Ominis x MC

How to ask for help - 5+1 Times (🌸💗) - Tumblr 1 2 3 4 5 6 The five times you helped Ominis, and the one time he helped you.

Headcanons

Sebastian x MC

Sebastian Sallow headcanons

Misc

HL boys as things my students have said - Part 2 Sebastian and Ominis wand headcanons

#tina speaks #hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt x mc #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis gaunt x you #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow x mc #ominis gaunt x sebastian sallow x you #ominis gaunt x sebastian sallow x mc #ominis gaunt x sebastian sallow x reader #ominis gaunt x sebastian sallow #masterlist #Alastor Hazbin Hotel #Hazbin Alastor #alastor x reader #alastor x you #hazbin hotel #the radio demon x reader

350 notes · View notes

draguta · 2 months

Text

.a court of fate and fortune | thirty-seven.

pairing: lucien vanserra x fem!reader

summary: | book two | lovers separated, powers that won't be controlled, a doomed wedding. with the threat of war looming over prythian, lucien, Y/N, tamlin, and rhysand's inner circle must scramble to find allies and prepare themselves for what is to come. but Y/N only has one aim; to find her way back to lucien, and protect him at all costs.

chapter warnings: canon level violence, death

chapter word count: 2318

🔮 series masterlist 🔮

please remember to reblog, like, and share a comment if you enjoy this series - it is always appreciated by writers to see their hard work valued.

🔮 tip jar 🔮 tag list 🔮

BATTLE OF VELARIS

Rita’s eyes slid to you as you hurtled toward the four soldiers surrounding her, but it wasn’t fear that you felt in that moment, as reflected in Rita’s eyes. Rather, it was surety that ran through your veins, determination that pumped throughout your body as if it was always meant to have been there. You had fought before - fought for your life, fought to train, to become stronger - but it was nothing like that moment. In that moment, it was almost as if you were born to do this, to be the defender of those more innocent than you, those who had never committed the sins that you yourself had.

Your feet skidded on the blood-slick stones as you brought the knife in your right hand up, slicing through the right lumbar of the soldier closest to you, the small size of the knife making it easy to slip up under his armour to cut through his skin. The soldier cried out in pain as your knife came back wet and red with his blood. Your hair, damp with sweat, flicked across your face as your head turned just in time to see the blade aimed right for your throat; it wasn’t difficult to dodge it, a move that you and Silas had practised countless times.

The movements you made were slick and smooth, carefully executed strikes and blows with such precision that it would make both your old and new tutors proud. There was a soldier on all sides of you, from left to right, in front and behind. You were surrounded, encircled by enemies that wanted nothing more than your head on the end of their sword as a prize to return to their vicious king.

Each and every blow struck against your knives, sparks flying from the metal as they clanged together. You ducked and dodged every attempt made by the four soldiers, slicing endless jabs at each of them as they circled you, a dance where the leader was outnumbered, but knew every step by heart. You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face, one of maniacal clarity; this was everything you had been waiting for, a chance to prove yourself.

“I never would have expected such flawless swordsmanship from the Spring Court sister.” The voice was rough and gravelly, enough to pull you momentarily away from the fight you had found yourself in, quick enough that you didn’t miss the sword aimed for your abdomen, deflected with graceful ease, but with enough counted seconds to catch glimpse of what was taking place behind you.

Rita’s eyes were resolutely wide, determined but fogged with panic and fear. The old dented metal of an ancient-looking dagger was pointed into the soft flesh below her jaw, enough to draw a drop of blood from the column of her throat.

“Is this what they were teaching you in the fields, hmm?” The soldier holding the dagger spoke, his grip on Rita’s arm pinching her tighter, to the point that the skin surrounding his fingers was turning a ghostly white. His yellowing grin seemed to glow eerily from amongst his thin lips, coated in a sheen of scarlet blood as he cocked his head to one side, eyes trained on you. “Did your little trainer never teach you that it’s usually those you’re trying to protect that become your greatest weakness.”

No, Silas had never taught you that. But Azriel had. Time and time again he had drilled into you that your first priority should be making sure any innocents made it to safety - you cursed yourself for forgetting what he had taught you.

“Just let her go,” you said, attempting to sound stern, commanding, but failing as the bile in your throat made your voice croaky and weak. You flinched as that dagger pressed closer to Rita’s throat, masking the slight movement with a flick of the knife in your hand as you jilted your head toward the bar owner. “You don’t need her. Your fight isn’t with her, it’s with me. Let her go-” you spread your arms wide as an invitation to finish what you had both started, “and we can finish this here and now.”

It was then, as the soldier grinned in an almost unearthly manner, pushing Rita from his side as he took the first strides toward you, that you felt the pain; sharp and unyielding and unbearable right in your side, just below the final rib. A scream ripped from your throat, your bones cracking as you fell to your knees beside Rita, barely able to see the figure of the two soldiers - the one who had held Rita and the one who had snuck up behind you and pierced you with their blade - looming above you through your tears.

Your eyes slowly slid to Rita, even as the cobblestones surrounding the bar keep’s knees grew sticky with your own blood. Her eyes were wide, her skin so pale it almost seemed translucent. But that wasn’t important, not when those soldiers were still lingering so near, when the city itself was under siege, when your friends were out there on the streets fighting for their lives. No, what mattered was that female before you, your friend, an innocent.

“Run!” A pained croak that seemed to echo across the river. And as the two Hybern soldiers behind you muttered something about letting the Attor finish you off, the last thing you saw was Rita’s boots as they slammed against the cobblestones in the opposite direction.

A gnawing ache, just below his last rib. It only seemed to grow with every second that Lucien paced the bare stone floor of his rooms. At first, he had thought that it was perhaps his worry manifesting itself into physical pain - anxiety and panic ruminating in his body, only swelling with each second that passed on the clock. Each second that passed without him knowing if she was safe. If he had - in his loyalty to Tamlin - sentenced her to death.

It was his fault.

His fault.

It was heinous.

The words seemed to echo through those empty, silent streets, carried on a phantom breeze straight to the House of Wind standing tall in the golden hues of the morning, across every rippled of the Sidra, across each and every blood-soaked cobblestone.

A putrid smell hung in the air like a heavy blanket on Velaris, that once beautiful city now turned to ruin. The place where so many had lost their lives that day. Amongst them you lay, unsure if you were dead or alive; unsure of which you’d rather be. Something warm and heavy lay upon you, crushing your body under its weight. The Hybern soldier, now dead it would seem.

You drew in a deep staggered breath, ignoring the sharp-shooting pain that ran through your stomach at the movement. If you could just keep breathing, keep inhaling and exhaling, perhaps you could make it through this. If it was even worth trying to survive at all.

No, of course it was.

Minutes, or even hours passed, you weren’t sure. The buzzing of flies spun around you, and you could hear the far-off caws of the crows, likely coming to claim their victims, the bodies of the soldiers that surrounded you, littering the streets of the city.

You dared a glance to your left, your neck tight and stiff. You almost wished you had never done it; the glassy stare of a young fae on the front steps of a building you presumed had once been a store gazed back at you, unblinking, mouth agape and tongue hanging out to lick at the ashes of the building that had fallen around you. A fly crawled across her eye, but the fae did not move. You looked up, eyes trailing over the body toward the sky, an attempt to dissipate the vision from your mind, but froze. A sword was embedded in the back of the fae’s skull. She looked no older than a girl - older than you were, but young for her limitless years. You wondered what the girl’s name had been, if she had lived in Velaris for long, if you had ever stepped foot into the store she now lay dead outside. This fae’s death was on your hands, her blood staining your palms. You knew that, just as well as you knew that the girl’s soul was now no more than dust in the air that you were inhaling. You could have saved her, if you hadn’t failed.

Was it truly fair for you to survive - to walk away from that battlefield when you had caused her death? That fae’s ghost would no doubt haunt that riverside for centuries to come, for longer than you were sure your years would grant you even if you did make it out of there alive. Perhaps you should join her, should go down with those you had damned to that fate, who had died defending their homes - defending Velaris.

Once again, as if she were still the mortal that wandered those frozen woodlands so long ago, death seemed somewhat welcoming in those moments of solitude, the heat of the body across you seeming almost like a swaddle, the type that would lull a child to sleep. Perhaps that was your fate, after everything, to die like a stray dog, forgotten and alone, with only those crows and the rising sun as your unwavering companions until your last breath. Your name would become yet another scrawled on the list of fatalities that this battle had already stolen from this realm.

Slowly, as if the very weight of the world you were trying to protect was upon him, you allowed your eyes to open once more, the sunlight near blinding as it continued its descent over the looming mountains that surrounded the city. A great groan ripped from your dry and aching throat as you pushed the body of the Hybern soldier above you, the resounding thud of the body slumping to the ground rippling through the eerie silence. You didn’t know how he had died, who had delivered the killing blow, and perhaps you never would. You inclined your head; there were no sounds of Hybern soldiers coming to collect their dead and rid themselves of any of their enemy that were still breathing, but that didn’t mean that they wouldn’t be there soon enough. If you were going to live, you would have to move. Now.

Every bone and muscle in your body seemed to scream at you to stop as you rolled himself over onto your stomach, pushing yourself onto your knees. Your chest heaved with the effort, rising and falling with every sullen breath, every breath that you breath whilst those around you would not. One glance across your surroundings told you that the House of Wind was to your North, across the sea of the dead. It was illuminated by the setting sun behind it as if Mother Nature herself were guiding you. And so you moved.

You barely paid any heed to the bodies of the dead as you passed by as fast as your shaking legs would allow you. You crawled over their outstretched limbs, black from dirt and dried, coagulated blood. You ignored their glassy stares and tried to block out that smell, tried to avoid the gags that were pushing your way up your throat. That smell seemed to cling to the inside of your nostrils. The smell of death.

There would be time to mourn their losses later, to take in the faces of each and every fae that died in that battle, whether on your side or the enemy, when you reached safety. Your eyes slammed shut as you desperately dragged yourself away, willing your feet to move, to run as far as you could from that place, as far as you could from the faces that would no doubt haunt you.

Your surroundings were unfamiliar, unknown to you despite having walked the route a thousand times before. It looked different now, no longer an ethereal paradise but rather only the setting of the bloody massacre that you had fought through. You moved faster, although you were more than acutely aware that should any of Hybern’s soldiers still be lurking down any of the side streets, they would likely be on his trail in no time, seeking out your body amongst the dead on the streets. Crimson blood stained the hand that you used to clutch the wound in your side, your own mingling with the blood that had been smeared on your hands from the bodies you crawled over, marring your skin, enemy and kin combining in the rivets of your palms after death.

But your vision was growing darker, blurrier, and your foot caught on something below; an outstretched arm hidden by your watering eyes. You groaned in pain as you hit the ground, not even trying to hide the sound from any enemy soldiers nearby. If they killed you, then they killed you. At least it would put you out of your misery. Your hands reached out to cushion your fall, leaving scratches and grazes along the heels of your palms.

That was when you caught sight of the figure that loomed above you. Freshly polished boots scuffed with blood and dirt planted on the stones mere centimetres from the tips of your fingers, reflecting your own bloodied and battered impression back to you, just one more amongst the other broken corpses that lay surrounding you. A squint, a hint of what you were sure was auburn hair silhouetted by the sun, and then a voice.

“Come now,” the voice said, smooth and warm and velvety. “This is no place to die.”

Your lips twisted into a pained smile as they curled around the word. “Lucien.”

And then everything went dark once more.

Taglist

63 notes · View notes

pxgeturner · 2 months

Text

Miguel O'Hara is a world-renowned professional boxer, and Hobie's other best friend. One night he finally makes the two worlds collide and sparks immediately fly between the two of you. But will he distract you from meeting your publisher's deadline? And will you distract him from getting World Champ?

before you follow. m.list. Iron Fist gfx library. series m.list. tag list.

Prologue. I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. Epilogue.

wc. 1.5k

an. hi. its me! Giselle, or gi, or gigi to few (not to be confused w gg, that is one of my moots. she makes really cool art.) n e ways here is the awaited Prologue for Iron Fist. Oh goodness I'm so nervous. I just want to make a few things clear. the reader is an author (obvs). She's recently graduated uni and is Latina! I write with a woc!r in mind always. I try to be as inclusive as possible, pero porque soy Mexicana, r might lean towards being more Mexican but I'll try to keep her Spanish standard and not be too specific to my family's culture. much love! hope you enjoy <3

please don't forget to reblog! likes do nothing to boost engagement.

Your foot taps against the floor. The damn blank document stares back at you. Mocking you is what it’s really doing. Fuck you, you think, I achieved my goal. I published a book and it is a damn bestseller! Only problem is that the readers want more. It’s been… some time since your first book. And sure, Jess said you can take a break before starting a new project. But you also know that it’s good to ride on existing publicity. At least be able to make an announcement that you’re writing something while all this excitement lasts. Maybe you should write something about vampires. You love vampires and how they fit into romance and how them drinking blood is a euphemism just a bit away from, the whole cannibalism-equals-all-consuming-love trope and how when a vampire attacks it’s often an allegory for rape and— but you have nothing to add to the conversation. You have nothing new to say, no new perspective or hot take, or twist. You have nothing. No ideas.

Not a single word on the page.

You have an idea, leaning forward to peck the keyboard. “F-u-c-k. T-h-i-s!” You highlight the text and italicize it.

Fuck this. At least it’s words on the page.

You reach for your cup and take a sip. “If all else fails I can ride on the rest of the signing bonus and royalties for a bit since the book is doing good, and once that dries up, I can apply to be circulation assistant at a library or something.” You sigh and take another sip. “But nobody has to know for now.” You get up, searching for your phone. You find it resting on the arm of the couch, you grab it, sliding onto the cushions, resting your head where your phone just was. “God, don’t make me a one hit wonder, I wanna be a star. I wanna be the one to push that bitch Colleen Hoover into obsoletion. Please God. Please.”

You open your phone and look for your mother on speed dial.

“Hola, nena!” Your mama’s voice is happy, she must be having a good day. You move into the kitchen. You need a snack.

“Hey, mama, how are you?” You hold the cell with your shoulder as you look through your pantry.

“Good, good,” you find a pack of roasted seaweed snacks and grab it.

“I went on a date anoche.” Your shoulder drops and the pack of seaweed slips out of your grasp.

Mi mami fue a una cita. Con un man! You stand there, trying to process that she is actually back on the dating scene.

“How did it—” you aren’t holding your phone anymore. You use the wall as support to lower yourself to pick up your phone and snack.

“—ay, mami, lo siento, mi cellular se cayo de mi mano.”

“Todo bien, hija! I’m glad you’re ok.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m ok, I’m ok. Anyways— how was the date? What’s he like? Am I going to have a stepfather soon?” you joke.

“My time for marriage is gone, muñeca, I’m just looking for companionship, pero, tu lo sabes.” You hear some subtle clinking in the background of the call, she must be stirring her coffee. You open your snack and park yourself on the couch. “Are you writing?” Ugh. Not you, too.

“I was, just finished for a bit before I called you.”

“You called me to procrastinate.” You choke on your seaweed from the accusation.

You clear your throat, “I called to check in with you. I call you practically every day.”

“But right now you called me to check up on me as an excuse to not write. Nena, I know you.”

“Okay, fine. I might be having some writer’s block,” you admit, sighing.

“And that’s okay, nena, but then you need to get out, get some inspiration. Allow the world to give you a story.” There’s mama, with her easier-said-than-done advice. But, maybe you should get out of the house.

“Alright, I’ll go out soon.”

“Tonight,”

“—I will go out to the Chinese place across the street and nothing more. I’ll talk with Hobie when he gets back to see if he has any ideas.” You hear your mama make a noise in her throat.

“You still live with that boy?” Here it comes. You’ve lived with Hobie Brown for three years and have known him for five. She’s always been apprehensive of him, since he’s radical and looks like he’s been in jail, with all the metal in his face, and why does his hair look like that? But Hobie is the one who’s kept you sane all these years. He’s held you while you cried and pushed out of your comfort zone when you were getting too stuck into your routines, most likely by dragging you to a concert or a protest. You help him thrift and flip clothes and ever since that one time his stylist had an emergency and canceled, you now help him tighten his wicks every so often. On days like that the two of you stay in, watching nostalgic movies and listening to any demos he’s recorded recently. He’s like a brother to you at this point.

“Yes, mama, I still live with Hobie. Nothing’s changed.” You move the phone down to your chest and take a deep breath.

“I didn’t like him when I first met him,” you clench your jaw as she continues— “…and although he’s one of those kids, I can tell he is a good boy. I’m glad he takes care of you.” You relax. “But it wouldn’t hurt to have someone you could kiss.” “It would be nice, but right now it’s not happening.” “Alright, muñeca. I’ll leave you alone for now, but keep your eyes open for a nice man.”

“I will, con cuidado, mami, besitos.” You make a kissing noise into the phone, and she responds with a goodbye of her own, and you wait for her to hang up the call.

You sigh, and look at the coffee table. Hobie left his song book at home, weird. It’s open to the song he was working on the other day. It’s a slower song, you can still hear the melody. You drum your fingers to the tune. He’s on an unfinished verse. You pick up a pen from the little catch-all dish and scribble down a line or two.

…

Hobie weaves through the roar of chattering, anticipating fans and into the tunnel, and walks past employees and into Miguel's prep room to see him tying his shoes. “Hey,” Miguel looks up. “Hey.”

“Are you excited?” He moves to sit by the boxer, shimmying up against his shoulder.

“Haven’t really been excited for one of these in a while.” Miguel breathes.

“Well, one step closer to retirement!” Hobie bounces out of his seat. He turns to face his friend, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You’re gonna do great, you big fuckin’ bear of a man.” He ruffle’s Miguel’s hair.

Miguel gives a half-ass hum in response.

“Well then, I’ll be out there, mate, cheerin’ you on.” He puts his hands in his vest pockets and walks out the room.

As he reaches the empty doorframe, Miguel speaks up. “Thank you, Hobie.”

“Anything for you, mate.” Hobie nods and goes to join the audience. Miguel fastens his gloves and puts on his robe. He warms up waiting for his coach.

“Ready, O’Hara?”

Miguel turns around. “Always ready for a fight.” He clenches his jaw. Walking down that hallway, the festive colors lighting up his path and the music blaring, he does his little bit, the movements molded into muscle memory.

This is it. This is his last year fighting. If he gets world champ again, he’s free.

Soon, he gets to fight his last fight. And dammit, the world championship will be his last match. Then, he’s never gonna have to come back.

He weaves under the ropes, entering the ring. Sitting on the stool, he shrugs off the robe and lets Carlos put the mouthguard in.

“You are going to show this guy exactly why people call you el oso!” Miguel beats his gloves together and nods. He might not like his job right now, but he really wants to hit something and goddammit if his opponent doesn’t look so beatable right now.

Coach Carlos steps out of the way, and Miguel stands to walk to the ref as he calls for him to center.

“We went over the rules in the dressing room.” Right before Hobie got here. “I want to remind you to protect yourself at all times, and obey my commands.” Ring the damn bell already. “God bless you both,” I don’t need it but this kid might. “Touch up,” here we go. He touches gloves with his newbie opponent and each goes back to their respective corners.

Miguel takes an orthodox stance.

The bell rings.

Miguel lands the first punch. He also lands the last.

120 notes · View notes