#more than one per person? all welcome | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wife-of-all-dilfs · 7 months

Text

a darling and a virgin | f. odair

masterlist

summary: you are a victor from district four, having just ended your first victory tour. after being confronted by president snow, you have no choice but to lose your virginity. luckily, your previous mentor is willing to provide some guidance.

pairing: finnick odair x reader

warnings: mentions of forced prostitution, angst, gentle smut, loss of virginity, fingering, lots of consent, praise, happy but also unhappy ending??, reader takes contraceptives.

notes: i’ve recently found that i’m incapable of writing short smut one shots so… i’m sorry y’all. love describing every detail too much.

word count: 6.8k

Your hands were clasped over the balcony railing of the penthouse you were spending the night in, the vibrant artificial lights of the Capitol burning your retinas as you overlooked the city. You had finally completed your first Victory Tour and were offered one more night in the Capitol to enjoy its ‘luxury’ and ‘generosity’ before returning to District Four in the morning.

For the past two weeks, you had read fabricated speeches to each District, resurfacing both your trauma from the Games and the families of the tributes you had murdered in the arena. The toll it was taking on you was heavy, but you managed to put on a splitting grin for every interview, speech, and disturbing congratulation. But not for your previous mentor, Finnick Odair.

Finnick had been there for you through the whole nightmare, even during the week before your Games. His support was unwavering which was one of the many reasons you had managed to survive from the moment you were Reaped to the end of the Tour. It was hard to tell when his mentorship had turned into something more complicated, but it had. It had become more about feelings than simply survival. Not a relationship per se, but not just a friendship either. You teetered on the line between the two, never crossing it and never discussing the fact that you were both aware of it either.

For six whole months.

When the final destination of the Tour came—the grand celebration at President Snow’s mansion—Finnick had told you it was the easiest part. All you had to do was manage a happy face, mingle with obnoxious Capitol citizens, and eat an abhorrent amount of food. He would have been right if you were a different person. If President Snow hadn’t demanded your singular presence at the end of the night.

You exhaled a shaky breath, watching the white mist drift into the light-polluted sky. The President’s words bounced around your head: Desirable… Customers... Family. The conversation played on a loop in your mind. You could remember the repugnant smell of roses, the overwhelming whiteness in the room, and the way his too-pleasant face lit up as fireworks exploded outside the window.

Shivers trickled down your spine, forming goosebumps that were borderline painful. The fact that you were on the ninetieth floor and wearing flimsy pyjama shorts and a thin long-sleeve shirt wasn’t helping either. The crisp wind blew against your body, but you had no intentions of moving to seek warmth. It felt appropriate to stay in the cold when your body would soon know nothing but unwelcome heat.

So lost in your spiralling thoughts, you failed to notice as another body silently took up space beside yours, warming up the side of your arm. This heat was welcome.

“Pretty cold out here.”

A startled gasp escaped your mouth. You straightened up and turned to the owner of the voice, only to find Finnick leaning against the railing, forearms over the edge the same as you.

“Sorry.” He chuckled. “I know my presence can be a little breathtaking sometimes. Nice shorts by the way.”

He turned his head turned to you, revealing his infamous flirtatious smirk. The dimples in his cheeks were prominent and charming. His bronze hair was perfectly dishevelled as usual, as if someone had purposefully placed each strand to give him the ‘sexy bed hair’ look. He was still wearing his white button-up and black trousers; the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows and a few buttons were undone, revealing his toned chest. The outfit had been accessorised with a metallic golden corset-like belt among other decorations that made him fit in with the Capitol crowd, but he must have taken them off. Now the outfit sort of resembled one that a boy would wear to a Reaping. Simple yet formal. Still gorgeous, not that he needed reminding.

Normally, you would retort with a snarky remark or, on the off occasion, flirt back, but instead, you resumed your previous position over the railings. You weren’t immune to Finnick’s charms; you praised anyone who was. You would usually be internally swooning at the sight of him, especially with the way he looked right now and his obvious flirting. But this night was much different. Flirting and swooning were at the back of your mind. All you could think about was your interaction with the president; the way his guards manhandled and escorted you to his study. The conversation that destroyed your hopes of a peaceful future.

Desirable. One word that sent ice coursing through your veins. Or snow, to be more poetic.

“I don’t think you’ve said a word since we got back,” said Finnick, still a hint of playfulness in his tone. He watched your gaze—eyes distant though not really seeing. It was clear something was wrong, so he continued, this time more softly. “You were gone during the fireworks.”

You remained unmoving, staring straight ahead at the city. Only when he uttered your name did he finally gain your attention. As you turned your head to face him, tears began to well up in your eyes.

Finnick noticed the silent distress in your expression and straightened up his stance. He towered over you, brows knitted together whilst his sea-green eyes flickered across your face, looking as if pieces were slowly falling together in his mind.

“He spoke with you, didn’t he?” he said. “Snow.”

To answer his question for you, a tear escaped your eye, but you were quick to swipe it away with a sniffle.

Your arms wound around your torso, hugging yourself as the words began flowing. “After I won my Games, when I was being crowned, he said something to me that I didn’t really understand." Your voice was gentle, just above a mere whisper. “Months passed and I’d forgotten all about it. Until now at least. He told me…” You swallowed the ache in your throat. “He told me, ‘I have big plans for you, Miss (L/N). I think you will be a very valuable asset to the Capitol citizens.’”

Finnick’s face had melted into an unreadable expression. His entire body turned to stone; it was like he was a marble statue portraying a Greek God. All of a sudden, he was sixteen again. He was in Snow’s study, being told that if he didn’t cooperate and essentially sell himself to the Capitol, his family would pay the price. And they did.

With a sad smile, you whispered, “I know what he meant now.”

Something inside him snapped and he broke from his stupor.

“No.” He vigorously shook his head. “He can’t do that. You can’t. I’ll go to him and—fuck!” His hand ran through his hair, making it even more dishevelled. The bright lights from the city were reflecting off his eyes, revealing the shine that was starting to gloss over them. “I can fix this for you, I swear I’ll—"

“Finnick.”

“He’s a fucking—”

“Finnick.” The plea in your voice ceased his panicked movements. He just stood there, looking completely and utterly helpless. You both did. Another tear slipped down your cheek as you stared at him, your voice wavering as you asked, “Can you hold me?”

He let out a breath as if the air had been knocked from his lungs and in one fell swoop, he stepped forward and pulled you into his arms. Silent tears began to flow more heavily, saturating his white shirt which he held you tightly against. There was a hand wrapped protectively around your lower back and another stroking the hair flowing over your neck.

You were certain Finnick let a few tears slip too because you could feel the cold breeze nip at the top of your head the slightest bit more. He mumbled the words “I’m so sorry” over and over into your hair but you just shook your head. You told him it wasn’t his fault, but he wouldn’t accept it. He had told you months ago about his arrangement with Snow. You couldn’t have imagined what it was like for him then, but you would be able to now. You would know every single little detail.

His embrace tightened as you turned your head and pressed your ear to his thumping chest.

The tears had stopped, and you managed to find your voice again. “Snow threatened to kill my family. What if the customers don’t think I’m good enough and he takes it out on them? I mean, I don’t have any experience.”

You remained silent, awaiting his response. When the hand stroking your hair halted, you realised your mistake. You realised what you had just admitted to him and mentally kicked yourself. Repeatedly.

Finnick moved both hands onto your forearms, gently pushing you away from him to get a clear view of your face. The surprise in his expression was enough to make you want to jump over the balcony ledge in embarrassment.

“You’re a virgin?”

Hearing the words out loud would have sent you over the edge—literally—if Finnick’s large hands weren’t wrapped around your arms. You tried to turn away from him, but his grip was unshakeable. Your eyes began to water again, and you felt pathetic.

“Hey,” he said tenderly as he tried to regain your eye contact. “It’s not a bad thing.”

Your distraught red-rimmed eyes snapped back to him. “Not a bad thing? Of course it’s a bad thing, Finnick! I have to give my body to a stranger despite never even having my first kiss! Let alone sex!” As you said the words, the full reality of your situation began to set in. Panic turned to sadness as you realised yet again, the Capitol was taking another innocence you thought was your own to give away. You looked down, your tone becoming quieter. “I thought my first time would be special. Or at least with someone I loved.”

God, you felt so embarrassed admitting that to him. Sure, a lot of your conversations were flirty and full of sensual banter. Sex, however, was not a topic that came up very frequently. You would never want to accidentally cross a line with Finnick, especially given what Snow forced upon him. So you liked to avoid the subject as much as possible. Now, it was inescapable.

He released his grip and sighed heavily, looking out toward the view as if he were deep in thought. The vivid city lights cast an unnatural hue on his usually golden-tanned skin; even now the Capitol was changing him into something he wasn’t. His eyes shut for a quick second before he reopened them and looked back at you. The only time he had looked this serious was the morning of your Games and the night you returned. It was a little intimidating.

His jaw ticked and his gaze bore down into your own. “Sweetheart, I’m going to ask you something,” he began, “and I want you to know you do not have to say ‘yes’ if you don’t want to, okay?”

Alright, now he was really starting to scare you.

“Okay,” you said warily.

The hardness on his face remained for a moment longer, but then his expression softened and became the most vulnerable you had ever seen.

His voice was gentle. “Do you want me to take your virginity?”

*************

You were sat on the edge of Finnick’s bed, toying with the black satin sheets with a frown. Your room didn’t get satin sheets. It was probably one of the benefits of being the Capitol Darling. Not that you envied him very much. He would probably be content with sleeping on a dirt floor if it meant he got his autonomy back.

Finnick was in the bathroom doing God knows what. You weren’t sure if he was trying to make himself more presentable or hyping himself up to have sex with you. The latter worried you. The last thing you wanted was to pressure him into something he didn’t want to do. Then again, he was the one who asked.

After you had told him “Yes, please”, he had tentatively but oh-so-gently taken your hand in his and guided you inside and to his room. Neither of you had spoken along the way; you just walked in silence toward something that would either ruin or deepen your relationship. Despite being two victors, this was still a mentor making sure his tribute stayed alive.

You heard the bathroom door slide open and looked up to see Finnick standing outside the door. Shirtless, pants still on, and towel in hand. It took everything in you to not stare at his perfectly sculptured torso, his equally toned arms, or his broad and muscular shoulders. Instead, your eyes met his for a split second before you returned to the satin sheets.

Blood rushed to your head and everything felt too real. Finnick Odair was standing before you, looking like an angel and willing to fu—

“You’re allowed to look, you know,” he chuckled.

But your gaze remained on the bed.

“I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“You won’t.’” He spread the towel on the bed, positioning it in the middle. Then he stopped his movements as he realised what you meant. “It’s not like that. I’m not being forced to do this. I want to.”

Your head snapped up and your heart leapt as those three words left his lips—I want to. For a second, you believed him, but then reasoning came to deflate your hopefulness.

“You wouldn’t want to if I weren’t in this situation.”

He let go of the towel, sitting down mere inches beside you, his eyes amused despite the solemn context. “And how do you know that?”

“Because…” you trailed off, searching your brain for an explanation only to find none. “Because.”

He smirked. “We need to work on your argumentative skills, sweetheart.”

A small smile worked its way across your lips. He returned it with a comforting smile of his own, though the sense of playfulness never left. It never really did and that was one of the things you admired most about him. Even in the darkest of situations, he was able to provide some light.

Rosy heat crept into your cheeks and you were forced to break eye contact again. Hiding how much he affected you was pointless now; if this was going to work out, you needed to be vulnerable with him. With each other. You looked down at the space between your bodies. His hand was resting on the bed beside him and soon enough, it was slowly creeping across the sheets over to your own. He gently brushed his fingers across your knuckles before sliding his hand beneath your palm and interlocking it with yours. You couldn’t help but notice how small your hand looked compared to his, feeling butterflies flutter around your stomach at the small observation.

The both of you silently watched your intertwined hands. That is until Finnick decided to speak up.

“I would,” he said ambiguously, caressing the side of your hand with his thumb. “I would still want to. Even in different circumstances.”

The blush on your face reddened even more; your cheeks were on fire at this point. Even in different circumstances. Was that his way of confessing… that he did have feelings for you? It wasn’t exactly explicit, but it was certainly implied. Oh god, you didn’t know what to think.

You didn’t bother to reply; words probably would have failed you anyway. You just gave his hand a slight squeeze in acknowledgement—well, it was more in appreciation. It was obvious how hard he was trying to make you feel comfortable, but no matter how hard he tried, you couldn’t shake the nerves that were rattling your entire being.

Sex was a pretty big milestone—to you, at least—and here you were, on the precipice with someone you trusted with your life. Did you love Finnick? You weren’t sure. What you did know was that your feelings for him were deep, and even though neither of you had ever clearly confessed to each other, you knew he felt something for you too. Which made everything all the more daunting.

“Are you nervous?” he asked softly.

You nodded.

“We still don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

You shook your head, lifting your gaze to his. “No, I—”

His eyebrows pulled inwards, awaiting your answer. His eyes were so inviting and full of understanding, if you hadn’t lost the ability to form full sentences, you would have found yourself spilling all your secrets to him. He was so patient with you. So good. You had to rethink your uncertainty about loving him.

“I…” you tried again. Your eyes flickered back and forth from his sea-green eyes to his soft, pink lips. As shameful as it felt to admit, you had imagined what it would feel like to have his lips on yours many times before. Usually right before you went to sleep. Never would you have thought the day would come when it would actually happen.

He was still caressing the side of your palm, silently reassuring you, encouraging you to communicate with him. You sighed, closing your eyes. If he wanted you to communicate, then you would.

“Finnick,” you whispered. “Kiss me.”

Your words drifted into the air, stilling everything in the room—the air, Finnick’s hand. Your heart. He just stared at you, unblinking, unmoving, like someone had hit pause on the television at the tensest moment. The tension was tearing you apart and you almost got up and left the room. But you didn’t. Because suddenly, the sides of your face were cupped by large hands and his lips were on yours.

Finnick Odair was kissing you.

His lips pressed against yours once more in one long close-mouthed kiss before leaving again. Shock came and left within seconds and you found the courage to copy his actions. Your lips locked perfectly onto his, remaining still, enjoying the pressure and tingly warmth of simply having them connected. Then your lips moved to kiss him again. And again, and again until soon enough, his tongue had slyly slid into your mouth and you had somehow instantaneously become a master at French kissing.

This kiss felt familiar, despite it being your first. Like something you had done millions of times before, but only with him. Like having his lips on yours was the most natural thing to ever exist.

A hand moved onto your waist and suddenly you were being pulled onto his lap, legs straddling his lap. Your hands fell on his chest, mindlessly wandering and feeling the toned muscles ripple underneath your palms as he pulled you closer by the neck to deepen the kiss. Damn the people of the Capitol, but they were right to say he was an incredible kisser.

“Finn,” you huffed in between kisses, “have you got a rock in your pants?”

He pecked your lips once more with a smirk, resting his forehead against yours as you both attempted to catch your breaths. “No,” he chuckled. “I’ve just got a beautiful girl on my lap.”

Your eyes opened to see him grinning at you with mischief. Oh.

“Is that okay?” he asked.

You nodded jerkily. “Ye—Yes, that’s okay.”

“Okay, good.”

Biting your lip, you looked down between your bodies. Curiously, you rocked your hips along the length of his lap once, earning a quiet grunt from him.

He tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. “Careful,” his voice was low, tempting.

And of course, in full defiance, you did it again. His warning was a bluff. He made no real action to prevent you from grinding any further on his erection, so you kept moving, and he kept revealing how good it made him feel. The thin fabric of your shorts created a little barrier between his hard lap and the growing sensitivity between your thighs.

Meanwhile, you found yourself never wanting to be parted from Finnick’s lips. With every rock of your hips, your hands ran over every inch of his upper body, eventually settling in his hair. The way he kissed reminded you of stories of District Twelve. A district full of hunger and desperation. Only what Finnick was craving wasn’t the fullness of food in his stomach, but the desire to devour you whole. To ravage you. And by God, would you give anything to satiate him.

Forget what you thought before. This wasn’t just a victor keeping his tribute alive. As clear as the sea on a sunny day, this was a man giving himself over to a woman he loved. You. Finnick loved you.

When you pulled back to tentatively lift your shirt over your head, his eyes stayed on yours. Your breasts were literally bare and he just continued to scan the features of your face. However, you did notice the subtle shift in his breathing.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, stroking the side of your breast.

A shy, cheek-warming smile crept on your face and then suddenly, Finnick was rolling you over. Your head fell back onto the soft silk pillows, Finnick hovering above you. This position remained for a long while, the time spent simply kissing each other, alternating between deep tongue-filled kisses and soft sweet pecks. There were moments when you both stopped to flirt or giggle. These were the times you entirely forgot the whole reason you were doing this in the first place.

It was just you and Finnick. Two new lovers in a perfect world.

After a while, your lips had swollen with warm, passionate heat. You were flushed and you didn’t even need to look to know your hair was already a tangled mess. But you didn’t care.

One of Finnick’s hands had begun to wander down your stomach, breaking the established pattern of merely making out. You knew what was coming and surprisingly, you weren’t afraid. Unlike outside the penthouse apartment, there was no danger. Not in this room, in this bed, or in the hands that caressed you. He grazed across the skin beneath your belly button, causing your body to flinch up into his.

Of course, he smirked at that—the smug asshole.

He returned to your lips before lowering down to your neck and sucking soft, red marks into your fragile skin. His fingers found the edge of your waistband. At this point, you were already breathing like a marathoner.

His lips detached from your neck. “Can Itouch you?”

“Yes, please,” you breathed.

As he travelled down, down beneath your waistband, he pecked your reddened lips once more. A soft gasp escaped you and warmth tingled between your thighs. His fingers were gentle as he began circling that sweet, sensitive spot only you had ever touched. Having someone else touch you felt so much more different, so much more exquisite. Your body responded to his touch immediately, hips following each movement of his fingers, breaths quickening in pace.

Finnick gazed down at you, observing each pleasured twist of your expression. He began to pick up the pace as he noticed your body familiarising itself with the sensation. More pressure was applied and the gasps leaving your mouth were gradually turning into quiet moans.

“This feel okay?” he asked. Obviously, he knew the answer, but after years of having others take advantage of him, he couldn’t help but want to hear your willingness. Your consent.

But you weren’t sure if the words could form. Everything felt like it was vibrating. All you could do was focus on the pleasure his fingers were building.

“Come on, sweetheart. You can tell me.”

His voice had taken on that seductive purr he was well-known for and you just couldn’t deny him. It took everything inside you to muster up the words. “It—it feels so good.”

He smiled and pressed a kiss to your forehead. The gesture was so sweet, you could have cried. So sweet even with his hand stroking between your legs and his hard cock pressing against your thigh. Time slowed as his fingers sped up. Muscles in your stomach were tightening. Your insides were churning—not like when you first entered your Games’ arena, but in the best way possible. It was a sensation you had never felt before, but before it could build any more, Finnick’s hand stilled. And you genuinely whined at the loss of friction.

Then his hand moved even lower, resting a singular finger over your slick entrance. Your eyes were wide, unsure of how to feel with the sudden turn of events.

Finnick’s eyes flickered between your own. "You trust me?”

You weren’t sure if an easier question existed. “I do.”

And his lips were on yours again, deep and sensual. His tongue rolled over your own, pushing forward and then retreating in a perfect rhythm. He almost successfully distracted you from the feeling of his middle finger sinking into you knuckle-by-knuckle. Some sort of sound resembling a mix of discomfort and surprise vibrated in your throat as his finger bottomed out.

There wasn’t much pain. It was just an odd feeling.

Your lips parted from his and he looked down at you, his eyes holding an immense amount of security as he communicated through your shared gaze.

Does it hurt?

You gave him a gentle smile. No. Keep touching me.

He returned your smile with a grin. Gladly.

His buried finger curled, shooting a sharp pang up into your stomach which caused your back to arch up against his bare torso. Whether you considered it painful or pleasurable was uncertain. Perhaps a mix of both. He did it again. This time you settled on describing it as a tight twinge in your lower stomach which sent a wave of chills down your legs. Definitely pleasurable. Only, he stopped indulging you with the sensation after the second time.

Instead, you felt another finger slowly slip inside you and whimpered. Now that hurt. You felt your inner walls stretch with the second addition and it stung. Especially when he began to scissor his fingers inside you. This was him preparing you for the real deal. How you were supposed to have Finnick inside you when just his fingers had you stuffed was incomprehensible. But you allowed him to keep going, trying to enjoy the comforting kisses he pampered onto you.

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart,” he said.

Your hands moved to push back his messy bronze hair as he hovered above you. His dimples deepened with a grin and you swore you would endure any pain to keep them etched on his face. After he deemed you stretched out enough, he slowly rose to his knees, unbuttoning his trousers and throwing them aside. You couldn’t do anything but stare. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

The way you gulped was almost cartoonish. How the hell was he supposed to fit? You had never seen a man naked before—you weren’t even sure Finnick was human. He had a body sculptured by the Gods, a face carved by angels, and a… well, let’s just say he didn’t disappoint in any other areas. You weren’t sure if the smug look on his face was real or a carefully curated mask created for his Capitol customers. By the way it quickly washed away, you could tell it was the latter.

He began sliding your shorts down your legs, tossing them to the floor. Suddenly, you felt extremely vulnerable. Almost inferior. Your knees fell together, concealing the most private part of yourself from him. You avoided his gaze, cheeks becoming red and hot as he observed your naked frame. He had a way of looking at you as if you were a long-forgotten masterpiece, rediscovered from centuries of being lost. No one had looked at you like that before him.

Gently, he pried apart your legs and you didn’t bother trying to resist. Only when he descended and settled between your legs did the insecurity dwindle into the background of your mind. Your naked bodies were hot against each other. His weight pinned you against the bed. Everything that was yours touched all that was his. You thought this experience would feel like a dream, but it all felt so real. You were nervous, you were trembling, and your breaths were shaky.

Finnick was quick to recognise the nervousness radiating off you. His arm curled beneath you, somehow pulling you even closer, meanwhile, his other arm rested beside your head. He brushed strands of hair away from your face, soothing you with his tender touch.

“Tell me to stop and I will.”

You nodded. You wanted this—wanted Finnick. It was just the anticipation that was killing you. Your thighs squeezed his sides to tell him you were ready. For a few moments longer, he restarted the pattern of sweet kisses, rolling tongues, and the warmth of blood rushing to your head. His hand was caressing your cheek; yours were splayed on his back, gliding over the rippled muscles.

Then finally, he shifted, his hand moving south to align himself with your entrance. All you could do was watch his focused expression. This was the moment. The threshold of your relationship would be crossed as soon as he pushed forward. There was no one else you wanted to share the experience with because you knew this wasn’t just sex. Not for him or for you; it was more than that. Something bordering spiritual, breaking the bounds of physical pleasure and entering into a deep emotional connection. Something no paying customer of the Capitol could provide.

He was gazing down at you, half-cradling your head as he began to say, “Are you su—" But before he could finish, you had pressed your lips to his, answering his question. You were sure. He nodded in response.

His eyes were hesitant he began to push his tip between your folds. Your fingers dug into his back, more from anxiety than anything else. It became a game of stopping and starting as he moved deeper inside inch-by-inch, allowing your walls time to adjust around him. Never had you seen someone’s face filled with so many emotions—concentration, controlled gratification, affection. So many feelings twisted his expression. Meanwhile, yours held only one. Discomfort. He was so big; you felt like you were being split apart and he wasn’t even fully inside yet.

Finally, when his pelvis connected with yours, you exhaled a heavy breath. It hurt. Bad. Finnick had the right idea to lay down a towel because you definitely needed it. He had you filled to the brim, stretched out and stuffed. Even the slightest shift in his position had your hands flying to his shoulders in pain.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yes, just—” You bit your lip in an attempt to suppress a whimper. “Just go slow.”

He nodded. You smiled. Then for some odd reason, you laughed. And then so did he. Finnick’s face fell into the crook of your neck, muffling his boyish laughs into your skin. The added movements had your insides dully aching, but you didn’t pay it much attention. The moment was so innocently intimate that you wanted to stay in it forever. He lifted his head to press his grinning lips to yours and the laughter began to dissipate. Your mouths moved slowly together, full of heat and fervent emotion, and suddenly, Finnick’s body began to move too.

Careful as not to harm you, he slid himself backward in one slow motion and then pushed forward again in another. Pain stung at your inner walls and your lips left his as a gasp escaped your mouth. You were tempted to close your eyes whilst riding out the discomfort but couldn’t bring yourself to look away from Finnick’s face. He was so mesmerizingly beautiful.

His cheeks were a baby pink. Lips were a rosy red. There was a thin sheen covering his forehead, slightly wrinkled by his furrowed brows. Those messy bronze locks you adored so much fell in strands across his forehead. The evident concentration and care on his face just made him look all the more picturesque.

While you admired his features, you started to notice the pain accompanying his slow thrusts was becoming more tolerable. There was still a sting, but also a dull twinge in your stomach that had you biting your bottom lip. It felt sort of… nice. And you wanted to experiment with that feeling.

Your hands were hooked around his shoulders. “Faster.”

Are you sure? His lustful eyes spoke.

You pulled him back down to your mouth. Absolutely.

And so, his hips started to rock back and forth at a faster pace. You could feel yourself clench around his cock from the change of rhythm but forced yourself to relax. He thrust in and out, rubbing against the ripples of your walls, tip brushing at a spot inside you that was anything but pain. That is what you focused on—that one sweet spot.

Time went on and he gradually increased his speed. Your lips were swollen and red, no doubt from the way he would nip and suck on your bottom lip in between each flick of his tongue. His breaths were coming out louder, heavier, as were your own. Soon enough, you were in a rhythm that was both pleasurable for him and for you. The pain lingered but it was no longer unbearable. A shudder ran down your body and your pussy fluttered around him. Finnick broke away from your lips with a breathy groan that you swore you could feel in the pit of your stomach.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

His thrusts became a little faster, a little more painful. A hand slipped down between your bodies and the pain faded quicker than it came. He was rubbing circles around your clit, occasionally running his fingers across it which caused you to lurch upward. All of a sudden, you came to the realisation that everything bad that had been clouding your mind had disappeared. The ache, the confrontation with Snow. Everything. The only thing you could focus on was the pleasure slowly building between your thighs and in your stomach. And Finnick. His tantalising eyes. His wicked mouth. His throbbing cock.

People always said your first time would be horrible; this was anything but. Maybe it had to do with the fact that you… loved him? Yeah, you loved him. Also because he was something of an expert at sex. You were in a pretty unlucky predicament but having Finnick willingly fucking you was a blessing.

His fingers were relentless, applying the perfect amount of pleasure that had you writhing beneath him. And added with the sensation of his cock repeatedly hitting that spot inside you, your uneven breaths turned into soft moans. He fucked, he rubbed, he nipped and sucked at the delicate skin of your neck. Heat was enveloping your entire body.

“Finnick,” you moaned.

“I know, sweetheart. I know.” His voice was strained and hoarse.

His hand left your clit, hooking around your thigh, and curling it around his back so he could thrust even deeper. He restarted his rhythm of rubbing circles, but his thrusts felt different. Instead of just brushing that sensitiveness deep inside you, he was mercilessly hitting it. Over and over. Your moans were louder now; Finnick was more vocal too, grunting and occasionally uttering words of praise.

This went on for a while. His stamina was incredible—if you had a moment to think, you would have realised the depressing reasoning behind it. But you couldn’t think at all. Your heel was digging into his back; nails scratching at his skin. Both of you had a layer of sweat covering your bodies, skin wet, slapping and sliding over one another. Your pheromones had filled the room with the smell of sex, driving your need to finish.

Finnick’s mouth had been everywhere at this point. Your lips, your neck, shoulders, and breasts. Everywhere except your pussy, not that it really mattered anymore.

It was hard for you to comprehend how fucking amazing the sensations you felt were. There was heat and pressure pooling in your stomach, increasing at a slow pace, and growing more powerful by the minute. Finnick’s hips moved at a steady pace, but his hand had begun to slow. Even he had to succumb to fatigue at some point. He sounded like he had run for miles though was obviously pushing himself on for your benefit.

Instead of ceasing his tiring hand movements entirely, he switched hands. And that was when the heat in your stomach turned into a blazing inferno. He was much faster now. Applied more pressure. Your head fell back against the pillow with a cry. His cock was throbbing inside you at the sound.

“That feel good? Huh?” he practically moaned.

He left kisses across the stretch of your neck, running his tongue over the skin and leaving behind red marks.

“Yes!” you cried out.

Your entire body felt like it was being dipped into a white-hot flame of pleasure and the feeling was only increasing. It was clear Finnick felt the same way. His thrusts were becoming more frantic, he was cursing left and right, and he was practically pulsing inside you.

The heat in your stomach was overwhelming but you needed more.

“Finnick, I feel—I feel—” You couldn’t describe even it.

Finnick nodded, breathing heavily above you. God, he looked gorgeous. “You’re gonna come.”

Your half-lidded needy eyes met his. Something about him saying those words sent a wave of acceleration through your body. You hadn’t known what the edge was until you were on the brink of coming, and there was no stopping it. His cock plunged in and out, pushing deep inside you, practically rocketing your orgasm to the surface with each thrust. His fingers moved at such an intense pace you didn’t even know was physically possible.

As your eyes fluttered shut, your mouth fell open and every frantic breath, moan, and cry was able to escape. Finnick had the same problem. Fuck, he sounded so sexy, it only spurred you on.

Then it hit you all at once. “Fu—"

Every inch of your body tensed. You were sent into a space where white noise filled your hearing and bliss was all you knew. No pain. No sadness. Just ecstasy. Electric sparks jolted up and down your body, rising to your head, and causing you to see stars behind your closed eyes. Your moans were uncontrollable and desperate, voicing Finnick’s name over and over.

His thrusts were frenzied and sloppy, prolonging your orgasm as long as he could. He had lifted your lower back into an arch, enhancing the sensation coursing through your body. Your walls were clenching and pulsing around him, so much that he was abruptly thrown into his own high. His hips stuttered and eventually, his cock filled you as deep as he could, spurting out warm strings of white that coated your inner walls.

He collapsed on top of you, face buried in the crook of your neck. Your fingers wound into his hair, clinging to him as the aftershocks of your orgasm ravaged your body. Legs trembling and mouth panting, you lay there allowing yourself to regain your breath and ability to move.

After pressing a lazy kiss to your neck, Finnick slid off you, falling onto the bed beside you. Hopefully the towel was enough to save the silk sheets.

Now that you were resting, exhaustion had the chance to cloud your mind. You weren’t sure what the customs were after sex—whether you made conversation or simply went to sleep. The latter sounded pretty good though. A warm hand slipped beneath your back, turning your body sideways and pulling you so you were half strewn across Finnick’s chest and legs. You made no effort to resist.

Eyes closed, you listened to the heart beating inside his ribs. Thrumming intensely though starting to return to a normal rate.

“Are you okay?” he asked with a murmur, sounding utterly drained.

His thumb drew gentle patterns on the skin of your waist.

You nodded against his chest, remaining silent. After a little while you finally decided to speak. “I’m glad it was you.” And then after a few more moments of silence, you added, “I wish it was just you.”

You felt him press his lips to the top of your head. A long and emotional kiss. The whole reasoning behind losing your virginity returned to mind. It felt heavy, weighing down the atmosphere in the room. No matter how hard you tried to deny it, what was coming was inevitable. You wouldn’t get to stay with Finnick in this bed. You wouldn’t get to belong to him, or he you. You both belonged to the Capitol. To Snow. No matter how much you wished to belong to each other.

He whispered, “Me too.”

9K notes · View notes

intoxicated-chan · 11 months

Note

Hi! Can you make yandere head canons for miguel o'hara? I'm curious what kind of yandere he will be ;-;

Yandere!Miguel O’Hara Hcs

✿ฺ Paring ➳❥ Miguel O’Hara x F!Reader

✿ฺ Summary ➳❥ What it’s like having Miguel as a Yandere, welcome to the life.

✿ฺ (A/n) ➳❥ Reminder! This is DARK CONTENT!! Thank you for the request! I may have gotten carried away with it… I also feel like this is more of a little fic than hcs, I’m sorry if it appears that way!

✿ฺ Word Count ➳❥ 1k

✿ฺ Content Warnings ➳❥ Female reader, DARK CONTENT, stalking, toxic relationship, controlling, death, blood, power imbalance, tracking, baby trapping…

Dark content under the cut. MDNI 18+

If you are an employee at his business, Miguel can be/is controlling and delusional.

Controlling people is easy for him, he owns a business, and quite a large one.

So, in the beginning, of course he’s in denial. But he wasn’t going to deny the affection you gave him. You just offered him a drink. He wasn’t going to deny your attention. He collapsed before a meeting.

Because of this, you became more affectionate. In reality, you were just worried about Miguel, you couldn’t sleep at night unless you knew he was taking care of himself, which is why Miguel issued you a watch. Lyla was built into i2t and it gave you access to Miguel whenever.

What you clearly didn’t know was that there was a tracker built into it, and Lyla kept tabs on you as well, per Miguel’s request.

It was all harmless, he just needed to know where you were 24/7. The location of your apartment, friends’ houses, favorite shops or cafes. Everything about you.

But one day, randomly, he thought back to the people he lost. He worked so hard for you, he couldn’t dare lose you.

Slowly, Miguel confined you to work at home. Then came the random visits so he could check up on you, but he was getting a good look at your apartment. Which room is what? Where’s the bathroom? First-aid… Things like that.

Then comes the stalking. The man has all the connections he needs to get what he wants. It’s easy for him to have people watch you, and if they aren’t good enough, then he’ll have to do it himself.

Which is why Spider-Man is always coming around when you’re in trouble, almost like he knows what’s going to happen. You didn’t find it strange, he’s Spider-Man. He should be everywhere and keep everyone safe.

It’s all harmless, it’s not like he’s purposely leading bad guys to you so he can save you, having you believe Spider-Man will always be there for you. Which is an ego boost for him, a very big one.

But your day became hell when Miguel promoted you to his personal assistant. It was from then on that he stayed in his office almost the entire day and you were there with him, running files, altering him of meetings, you had to keep him organized and on schedule. With his stubbornness, it was impossible.

It was like he was purposely giving you the wrong papers which made you look like a fool in front of everyone. Which ruined your reputation within the business. A once proudful, one time, and perfect employee is now screwing up simple numbers.

Which then leads you to talk about it with Miguel, he became your support system.

But being your shoulder to cry on wasn’t enough for him. But having you by his side, tabs on you, knowing your location… It will settle the dust, but not for long.

He’s going to start craving for more and more,

When you get into a relationship with him, he can become violent. But not directly at you, he’ll be punching walls, throwing objects as a way of controlling.

Making you second guess your choices of words. He’s jealous and highly possessive, manipulative and overly affectionate.

There will be days where he’d ignore you then a few hours later, he comes in with your favorite flowers and all doting on you.

“You must understand why I am hard on you, because everything I do, I do it for you.”

He wants you to know that you’re the only one who’s perfect for him and the other way around. So when an insect comes crawling into your life and putting thoughts into your minds, he has no other choice but to get his hands bloody.

He prefers slow and painful rather than quick and harmless. He wants the insect to know the pain of how hard it was to convince you that they were wrong. He might keep torturing them for a couple days before he’s done with them.

Whether it be a stranger, acquaintance, sibling(s), best friend, or parent(s)… Doesn’t matter who they are, they have no right to voice their opinions because his relationship with you is golden, perfect.

Even more when he finds the discarded pregnancy test, all his hard work and he’s finally getting rewarded. A dream he wished for, a family he desired for.

He finally has you where he wants you to be. Alone, scared, and confused. You swear that you were taking your birth control. He switched it out. Even with a plan B he gave. It wasn’t a plan B.

He has you scared, worrying about how you were going to take care of a baby without him, but of course, here comes his facade. He’s comforting you, letting you know that he’s happy with the result, and he knows that you didn’t mean to trap him. He trapped you.

He’s got his wish, and he ain’t letting that go.

Everything is supposed to be.

Yet there always has to be something screwing up his plans.

Even if you do run away and think that there’s no way for him to find you, he’s already at the hotel. Did you forget? How could you?

Like before, Miguel has connections and not only that, he’s Spider-Man. He’s going to convince you that it’s best to return because the baby needs both parents, no matter how shitty the relationship the parents have with each other.

What else should you do? Get married! Better now than later. Invite friends and family, who aren’t dead yet, to come join you and your husband on your happiest day of your life.

Locked down to a man who controls every aspect of your life. A man who will kill anyone who dares to say otherwise because they have no brain, until like him.

He knows what’s best for you, no matter what anyone else says.

#x reader #x female reader #dark content #miguel o’hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara #spider man across the spider verse #spider man x you #spider man x reader #spiderman x you #spider man 2099 #spiderman #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 #spiderman x y/n

3K notes · View notes

nc-vb · 1 year

Note

DONT FORGET ROT FOR THE MALE MOANING AUDIOS

My dear, I'm going to use this ask of yours as a catalyst... All of my personal favourite ASMRs, vids, etcetera... beneath the cut. Not all of them are only male moaning! Literally just all my faves I've collected LOL.

Links will not only be audios; a majority of them are videos.

Links will be from any of the following: Twitter, the Hub, Audiomack, Soundgasm, and likely other sites, so be prepared because they're not labeled, lol. And sorry if any of the links are repeated; my bad.

BUT YES, THE MALE MOANING AUDIOS UGH 😮‍💨

BLUE TEXT MEANS NEW LINKS HAVE BEEN ADDED.

Links with sparkles are my personal faves.

Edited, more added July 21, 2023

CerberosVA Now, if y'all like your man extremely vocal, if you like whimpering, or lowkey, you like the whole subby bf thing, PLEASE, THIS MAN, I cannot recommend his shit enough. He's on twt, the hub, probably the mack; please support his official work on Patreon, if you can.

x | x | x | x | x | x | x | x | x | x | x

softxwarm (hub) This guy does both asmr and stuff with his girlfriend, but his solo ASMRs are pretty coo'. I'll just share my top three since you can just sift through his videos, anyway.

one (video; solo) | two (video; solo) | three (video; solo)

moonxx911 (twt) ANYTHING by this man. I won't even both being specific; I listen to his shit on repeat, rotated.

Akiradubs (hub) He mostly does character dub audios, but he has some simpler ones that I enjoy, like this one.

one (audio, gn!; sub male, ig?)

RedactedASMR I haven't gotten so deep into the lore of it, but Redacted has a whole series of ASMRs that tell long ass stories, so if you have the time, I recommend searching him out. I believe most of them are on YouTube? Personally, Lasko is my favourite (he's so cute with the stuttering, ughhhh). I'm just going to link my personal Redacted playlist I've started, rather than link specific ones. You can find him on more platforms, but I don't think his n/sfw ASMRs are on Youtube... idk.

ncvb RedactedASMR playlist (the mack)

SeikyuuVA (hub; also on the mack) Look, Seikyuu isn't everyone's flavour... there's only a couple specific ones I enjoy, just because he really goes over the top with the sounds and aggression sometimes, LMAO, and it gives me second hand embarrassment...

Lxvesickk (twt) Just found him, hehe. Just listen…

WickLuvsU (twt) His audios are... immaculate.

X | X (play these both at the same time... you're welcome.)

Video Links, general

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 ✨ | 19 | 20

21 | 22 ✨ | 23 ✨ | 24 | 25 ✨ | 26 | 27 | 28 ✨ | 29 ✨| 30 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 ✨| 36 ✨| 37 | 38 | 39 ✨| 40 ✨

41 | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45 (mmf✨)| 46 (aud✨)|

Video Links, mlm

I had to put these links in a separate post because I reached Tumblr's 100 link-per-post limit? Didn't know that was a thing. So, please find them here! There's about 80+ links.

Video Links, wlw

1 | 2 | 3

Characters Like, the fake dubs. I dunno what they're called.

Hanma Shuji (hub, audio; Akiradubs) Zhongli (hub, audio; Akiradubs) Akira/Joker (hub, audio; Seikyuu) Take this Audiomack link, too; it's my other personal playlist that has a shit ton of character ASMR dubs on it, and then some...

I'll have more to add along the way; keep an eye on the update date!

#twt links #asmr #n/sft asmr #n/sfw asmr #idk what else to tag this?#male moan #voice kink #✦ nice chats.#priya<333 #✦ nc vb.

3K notes · View notes

ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused · 10 months

Text

༉‧₊˚. 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 || 𝐬𝐚𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫

― pairing: sam winchester x plus size!reader

― summary: sam winchester was never comfortable with pda, but while on a hunt, sam is shaken with the harsh reality that he's needy, and the only person that can fix it was you.

― warnings: kissing, making out, dry humping, marking, teasing, needy sam winchester.

― wc: 1288

⋆ a/n: more old writing sigh, but i guess i can say i kind of like this one but i kinda didn't know a lot about sam's character when i wrote this because i was only in the earlier seasons then, but now since i've watched the show three times, i feel like i can say that i know his character like the back of my hand!

masterlist | AO3

You had no idea what was up with Sam that day, but he couldn't seem to keep his hands to himself. He wasn't usually a PDA type of person, opting to keep the kisses pg, meaning only cheek, temple, or forehead kisses. You had no problem with it, because if he wasn't comfortable with doing it out in the open or if he was afraid it would make him look unprofessional, you had no reason to try and push him to do anything he didn't want to.

When the affection happened in private, it just made it all the more special, both of your senses heightened and a lot more pleasurable when you two made love.

You never usually joined the brothers on hunts per Sam's request, only staying behind in the hotel room to offer some emotional support afterwards; but this time, you felt like going on an adventure. Dean was more than happy to humor you, but Sam was a bit more skeptical. He knew that you were your own person, that he truly had no say over what you did, so all the hunter asked was for you to stay close to him; easy enough, right?

At first it was a little difficult seeing how there were many places you three had to go, and it was giving Sam some anxiety, not only that, but he was feeling a type of way that he couldn't put his finger on. He thought it may have been is psychic abilities, but one touch from you and his skin lit on fire, he instantly knew that he was horny. When he got into your shared hotel bed together, his crotch pressed into you full rump, it took every bone in his body to not jump you right then and there, to keep his wondering hands placed tightly in yours.

You could sense something was off with your lovely boyfriend when you had gotten into the Impala, and instead of Sam sitting up front with his brother, he chose to sit in the back with you, one hand on your thigh. You found it a bit strange, but nonetheless welcomed the out of the blue affection. But you didn't welcome it when all of you split to go investigate different parts of an abandoned house, Sam hot on your heels.

As you were turned around, you felt Sam wrap his arms around your waist, his head buried in between your shoulder and your neck.

"Sam?" You questioned, the energy detecting device in your hand slowly lowering. He dragged his large hand down your fluffy stomach, resting it over the zipper of your pants. "Sammy?" You asked again, but this time your voice was higher pitched. He always acted this way when he was needy, but it was never out in the open like this, not when somebody could easily walk in and see your compromising decision.

"I just— I just want you so bad. . . I don't—" Sam rambled, pulling down the zipper of your fly. "You couldn't wait to do this?" You breathed, your head slightly tipping back. "Why did you think I picked the farthest room in the house?" Of course he lead you hear with an ulterior motive, why wouldn't he? He was smart, strategical, and you'd be lying if you said that you were tempted to give in.

"Sam, we can't, I'm sorry." Your hands fell over his sneaky one's, pulling your zipper back up and placing his hands back on your waist. He audibly groaned when you turned around threw your arms around his neck. His pupils were blown out, his expression was that of a kicked puppy. "Baby, you know that I want this as much as you do, I always will, but not in public." You sighed, pushing some of his hair out of his face. "I know. . . Can I— can I just kiss you?" He asked, his hands sliding lower before resting on the swell of your ass.

"Dean's gonna be real mad that we haven't got anything," You teased running your fingers through his hair, but you showed no hostility as his lips ghosted over yours. "It'll only be for a couple of minutes. . ." He mumbled, pressing his lips onto yours. It felt so great to kiss you, like your touch was slowly extinguishing the fire that had been burning in his stomach for the past two days. He couldn't help that his palms gripped your ass aggressively, rubbing you crotches together. You moaned quietly into his mouth, Sam hiking up your thigh so that he could get a better angle. His growing erection was pressed against your heated cunt, the friction driving both of you nuts.

"You said only kissing. . ." You breathed against his lips, arousal becoming more prominent in your panties. He only groaned in reply, his head tipping back so that his neck was exposed to you. You attached your lips onto is most sensitive spot located just under his ear, Sam bucking his hips against you. You were muting yourself by making marks that wouldn't easily be seen, but Sam was forced to bite his lower lip to silence himself. The worst part about doing this in not only a potentially haunted house, was that it was extremely empty, sound basically bouncing off the walls. You knew Dean would never allow Sam to live this down if he were to catch the two of you.

The tingling sensation of an orgasm was barely in your grasp, but it was enough to detach yourself from his neck and collarbones, only placing a kiss there which your lipstick left a mark.

"Sam, ____?" Dean called out. "You guys got anything?" Your eyes widened as you pushed Sam off of you, giving him a look of apology. "Uhh— no, there's nothing here!" You shouted back, licking your sleeve and wiping the makeup off his lips. "Alright well I explored all of downstairs and most of the upstairs and I got nothin', so I think we're done here." His voice was a bit closer, but now by a lot. "Okay! So are we gonna go?" You asked, straightening up Sam as he stood there with a stupid smile on his face. "Yeah! I'm goin' to be in the Impala, so you guys better hurry up!" He concluded, his voice growing fainter as he walked back down the stairs."Sam," You growled, "I'm going to kill you." You glared, now wiping off your lips for any smeared product.

"I'm sorry honey, I got a bit carried away." He apologized, but he didn't even sound remotely sorry. You just scoffed, grabbing your things with the intention of leaving. "Sure." He only laughed, following close next to you. "Don't act like you didn't like it," He teased. You only rolled your eyes, but it provoked a small grin on your lips. "Well I hope this'll sedate you until we get back home." You poked, both of you now walking down the old stairs. "Maybe, but seeing how your butt is looking in those jeans, I may be tempted to do it again." You groaned, "I'm going with Dean next time."

As you guys were about to get into the car, your eyes landed on your lipstick mark that you had placed on the side of Sam's neck. You felt your stomach fall into your ass but it was already too late, Sam had gotten into the front seat of the car while you got into the back anxiously. You watched Dean look at Sam's neck before smirking wolfishly, making eye contact with you in the rearview window.

"Looks like you guys got a lot of things done." He said, his voice full of amusement.

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy

2K notes · View notes

plutoswritingplanet · 1 month

Text

It's A Special Death You Saved (Feyd Rautha x Female!Reader) pt.4 (final)

a/n: we did it Joe! this chapter officially marks the first ever series i've completed lmao. thank you for all the support on this fic, every like, every comment, every out-of-pocket anon ask.

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content (like...fr this time), Blood and Violence, Manipulation.

Summary: After the wedding, Husband and Wife work out the intricate web of their relationship.

Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3

Gurney looks at you as if you're already dead.

You hide from his gaze, ducking behind pillars, whenever you can hear his footsteps. It's truly depressing, the way your mentor shakes his head, as if, instead of looking at you, he's looking at a coffin. You suppose he might be right, he's the one with the most experience in the Harkonnen area. He's fought them, dined with them, seen their customs through and through. And now, his dutiful little student is about to be thrown into the very same world, he has relayed to you as a nightmarish fairytale. Still, a little misplaced optimism wouldn't kill him. Or just, a sliver of hope, an inclination that you might survive this.

The day of your wedding rolls upon you like an oceanic storm, all chaos and rumbling.

Here you sit, your bones locked with nerves, as the servants pack away your things. A futile thing, you muse to yourself. It's highly doubtful the Harkonnens will let you keep any personal items back from Caladan. They'll mold you into their image, until all your hair naturally falls out. The thought would make you laugh, but here's a servant, placing your jewelry into a case, which lands in a bag, which will be transported to the Harkonnen ship by the end of the day.

Your room, the place you've spent all your life in, slowly becomes more and more barren.

The closet stands empty, so do the drawers. All your trinkets are swiftly transported away until you're left alone in your wedding dress, the only familiar thing between the hollow ribs of your life's sanctuary. Wishing you could fold the entirety of the castle, with the stables, and the horses, and the cliffs, and throw it into the final suitcase, so you can open it up in times of turmoil, and breathe in the familiar scents. You need to leave, right now. Sitting like this, wrenches a dangerous numbness out of your chest. And you can't be allowed to dissapear into yourself. You're an Atreides, you shall wear your pain with dignity, as per your Mother's wishes.

Your wedding dress swishes around you, as you stand up from your bed. It's much more classy, and less of a chiffon catastrophe, than your engagement dress, a welcome change. The veil is embroidered with light crystals and metal plating. It falls heavily over your face, and jingles when you move. By all intents and purposes, it is a dream dress. A dress you'd like to wear for a wedding of your own, a wedding with some dashing gentleman. A gentleman, which in your most private of dreams, has the face of Duncan Idaho, with silver rings braided into his hair.

Instead, you're left with this monster, so alien and cold. A beast at the center of the maze.

The bull looks at you from the wall. Its horns, smeared with your Grandfather's blood, curl grotesquely into the ceiling. The head is mounted above the doors to the library, a grim reminder of his spectacular death. As a child, you'd spend hours, standing right here, at the entrance, staring at the animal's head. You've always wondered, whether it were the lights playing tricks on your mind, or you saw a shadow of pride in the bull's eyes.

Did it know who was its victim? The leader of one of the most important Houses in all known universe laid dead at its feet. Did it know what sort of spectacle it produced? What destruction of hubris? You suppose it couldn't, it was an animal, after all. A headless creature, hung on a wall. Still, you stare at it, just like you used to, trying to decipher your own fate from its cold, dead eyes.

After all, there will be a spectacle, a life-long fight stands ahead of you. Giedi Prime shall be your arena, dead and cold, covered in black. And every single Harkonnen will be your bull, their mere presence a deathly danger to your being. It took one bull to end your Grandfather, you dread to think how many it'll take to end you. There will be blood, you're sure of it. And if things were allowed to go your way, it would flow in rivers upon rivers, through the industrial halls of Giedi Prime. You'd have the entire planet drowned in their blood. Your cursed betrothed, the Baron, the fucking Emperor if you had to.

The bull laughs at your quiet hate, beady eyes bearing down upon you in an imaginary display of indifference. You huff, cheeks reddened, insides twisted and burning.

That's how your Father finds you. Enchanted by a once living instrument of death.

He hasn't spoken to you, since your betrothed has arrived, not really. Not like you used to talk. A way to shield himself, you supposed, from the Emperor's order, which will soon enough take his only Daughter away from him. This was your superpower. You could fish out signs of love in every action.

- Your Mother hates that thing - he comments, as he stands next to you, eyes looking up at the bull.

- I don't blame her, the sight is quite disturbing. - you reply evenly.

You've missed him, more than you can possibly explain with words. But teary displays of affections were below you, especially since you're trying to distance yourself, rise above your body, float right out of your head. Perhaps it'll hurt less that way. Duke Leto Atreides turns to you, and for the first time in a month, you recognize your Father behind this statue of authority. He looks troubled, for lack of a better word. There's much more gray on his brow and the lines of his face are darker, harsher.

- I came to give you something - he announces, producing a small object out of the pocket of his trousers.

It's harder than you thought, tearing your gaze away from the bull, but you manage, your eyes landing on a figurine in your Father's hands. Your heart stops, as you recognize the blackened stone, polished to perfection. On a flat disc stands a figure of a Matador, proud and posed. Next to him, a bull, ready to strike. It's cold to the touch, when you take it from your Father, ridges of the small sculpture digging into your palm.

Jumping in front of danger, for better or worse. Your head starts to hurt.

- Father - the sound of your shaking voice carries through the corridor - How will I ever survive this?

By the way Duke Leto Atreides sucks in a sharp breath, you can deduce the answer. And what a sad answer it is.

Your Father steps closer, gathering your trembling hands in his, the warmth of his embrace engulfing you like the first sun rays of spring. He squeezes your fingers, tightening your own hold on the small figurine, and his eyes are so incredibly sad, you're convinced they could make any heart in the universe weep.

- With courage - he says - and grandiose.

Like a true Matador would.

***

Your bull stands completely still.

His pale skin creates a beautiful contrast against the ever present darkness of the Harkonnen ship. It's so much different from your native fleet, all sleek and black, and efficient. Terrifying, but at the same time, strangely beautiful.

The both of you watch, as the hatch is being pulled up, slowly but surely obscuring all sight of your home planet. Of your family, standing by the docking station like a funeral parade. It's only when you can no longer see them, your life sealed with a click of finality, does your betrothed, now husband, move.

His hand grasps your upper shoulder, and you jump at the sudden contact. Your confused gaze is completely ignored, as the man drags you through the ship, taking large, hasty steps.

Hairless faces swish past you, all so similar to each other, you're worried you'll never figure out who is who. The corridors of the ship wind and turn like a merciless labyrinth, a realization daunting on you, that you will never be able to find your way in this place.

Suddenly, you're faced with a black door, which opens as soon as your husband walks up to it. His grip tightens and he basically throws you forward, watching you stumble through the entrance on weak legs.

It takes you a second to gather yourself, as you instinctually settle into a defensive stance. The room you're in looks quite different from the rest of the ship. It's much more luxurious, one would risk saying cozy. With a gigantic, round bed filled with pillows, a dark desk, and a deliciously comfortable looking armchair. It all dims in your eyes, however, as you look up at your newlywed.

He stands right at the entrance, blocking the only means of escape with his tall frame.

Both of you are still in your wedding clothes. Your dress hugs your body in a way that is anything but comforting. His outfit is as black and sharp, as all his attire. It exposes his lean physique, clings to his warrior's physique. Terrifying, your brain summarizes, muscles freezing suddenly. Feyd Rautha looks at you with emotions you can't decipher in the low light of his room. Your room. Your marital abode.

You can't breathe, lungs tighten painfull with the sheer thickness of the air between the two of you. Still, there's a certain power, residing in your bones, an inclination of a fight you're ready to put up, should he try anything. And by the way his brow bone settles over his darkened eyes, your husband seems to understand. What a terrifying thought. The sheer idea of finding a common ground with this awful man makes your guts turn.

He doesn't even flinch, when the doors behind him slide open. You however, nearly jump out of your skin at the sound, cutting through the deafening silence of the bedroom. With furrowed brow you watch, as three Harkonnen women spill into the room. All of them completely hairless, lips pulled back in feral snarls, as they regard you with an emotion you can only interpret as contempt. Their bodies, clad in typical, Harkonnen garments, flow and slither, when they gather behind your husband, like three hungry lionesses, their black eyes flickering to him, to you.

- Get her ready - Fey Rautha throws a command over his shoulder, eyes glued to you still, and his gaze drags itself across your body like tar.

This is the first time you've heard him speak since the wedding, and involuntarily, you cringe at the gravely sound. While he stayed silent, it was easy to forget who you're dealing with. But as soon as sound leaves his mouth, you're cruelly reminded of the roughness, and the strangeness of your life's partner.

The three women stir behind him, hands sliding up his body in a gesture, that is almost too close to reverence. He does look like a young god, like some ethereal being, but you're too distressed to dwell on that thought. Instead, your arms encircle your body, a shiver of terror and strangely, disgust flowing over you, at the mere idea of these women touching you. Then, one of those three strange creatures moves forward. She has a stripe of black running down her bottom lip, and her face twists into a cruel smile.

She says something in a language you don't recognize. Probably a native Harkonnen. A rough bark, her disgusted expression translating the meaning better, than any dictionary would.

Still, you have no time to process the foreign insult, because as soon as words leave her mouth, your husband turns. His white hand grabs the woman's hairless head, as one would pick an apple from an orchard, and then, you see a flicker of true terror flash through the woman's face. In a smooth, deadly gesture, Feyd Rautha smashes her face against the wall, the resounding sound of her skull fracturing against the concrete is like the cracking of a whip in your ears.

That's all it takes, one move, and she falls into a lifeless heap, sliding down the wall.

A sigh escapes your lips, as your eyes stay glued to her body. You can't see her face.

Your husband barks something towards the remaining two women, and they scurry towards you, heads hung low, bodies curled onto themselves. You don't know, whether he looks at you, acknowledges you in any way, shape or form. The doors close behind him, as he leaves you in the hands of his... Whatever these women are to him.

They begin to strip you where you stand. Their hands peel off your wedding dress from your trembling body, and every move feels like tearing skin from muscle. You can't protest, can't do anything really. Dark, thick blood pools around the third woman's head, dripping between the tilled floor, slowly making it's way closer to your feet.

When they pull you towards the bed, you say nothing. Let them massage your body with some ointment, which smells of heavy chemicals and scratches your throat.

Their hands are unexpectedly delicate. You suppose they're too scared to take revenge on you, or perhaps, they just don't care. Doesn't really matter, because you do. You really care, despite yourself. Heart squeezes in your chest impossibly tight, when they help you up from the bed, and once again you're confronted with the white corpse in the corner of the room.

The dress they pull over your body hardly qualifies as a garment in your eyes. It's made of delicate, sheer material, which barely covers anything, looking more like a courtain thrown over a window.

Is this how he wants you, you wonder. Terrified, bare, always on the verge of something, be it tears or anger.

One of the women steps in front of you, takes your hands in hers and rubs something into your cold bones. You try to catch her eye, try to decipher how to categorize them, as humans or as creatures, but she swiftly ducks under your inquisitive gaze. That is, until your eyes flicker towards the corpse once again.

Her hand shoots up towards your chin, dragging you back to meet her onyx eyes. You can see the reflection of your own confused face in the void.

- You- she rasps, her voice a grating symphony of gurgles and growls that stumble over the common language - Soft.

Whether it's a warning, or a threat, you can't fully decide, but it doesn't matter. Those two words tell you more about your future life, than any book, any archived account. This is what the Harkonnens are made of. Sensless violence, outbursts of anger, dark blood. You swallow thickly, and nod, your expression hardening in the woman's eyes. She looks as if there's something else she'd want to say, but her head ducks at record speed, when the sound of the doors opening cuts through the air once more.

For a longer moment you're completely devoid of words.

Here stands you husband, some sort of fruit in his right hand, two daggers hanging from the belt on his trousers. His chest, white and (unfortunately) toned beyond belief stares back at you. His unoccupied hand makes a wide gesture, and the remaining two women scurry off towards their third, dead companion. With quick hands, they grab the body and drag it out of the room, letting the door slide closed behind them. Immediately, you miss their presence, unnerving as they are.

Once again, you're left alone with the na-Baron.

His eyes float freely all over your figure, taking it in with an impassive stare. It's deeply unnerving, the way you're presented to him, the way he organized all of this, tailored it to his liking. You can't help it, the way your body begins to warm before him, skin becoming prickly to the touch, much too sensitive for the strange imitation of fabric covering it. Still, your mind stays sharp, and instinct kicks in, as you take a cautious step back, angling your bady away from him.

- So, what now? - you ask, voice rough, eyes following his every move.

And move he does, slowly advancing towards you. His feet, which you now discover, are bare, drag behind him. Grace and danger mix well within his movements, as he circles you, still without a word. You throat runs dry, when he bites the fruit in his hand, dark juice spilling all over his lips, drops rolling down his hands, his forearms. Your stomach churns.

- Now - again you're reminded of the gravely tones his voice can carry - We consumate our marriage, wife.

Somehow, your marital status sounds like a mockery spilling from his lips, and he laughs at the way your face scrunches.

- I don't want you to touch me - a lie, your entire body burns for any semblence of friction, but you're determined to keep some dignity.

To that, he nods his head in silent agreement, a gesture, which actually manages to surprise you. The fruit is thrown forgotten onto the floor. It rolls under the bed, and you fight the urge to reprimend your husband. Instead, you bite your lip.

- I thought you would say that - he murmurs, coming closer, his breath fanning over your exposed shoulder.

The hair at the back of your neck stands straight, and you crane your head to the side, so you can look him in the face. So he can see the disaproving expression, perhaps he'd feel a fraction of the hate boiling in your gaze. Then, you can feel something, cold and sharp, drag itself from the dip in your spine, all the way up to your shoulder blades. A gasp escapes you, and your entire body shivers violently.

- That's why I brought these. - Feyd Rautha whispers into your ear, and you can't help but sway lightly in your place, as if his words have the power to physically move you.

Then, your hand closes around a metal object, and you look down to be met with a beautifully crafted dagger. The blade is silver, shiny, and unbelievably sharp. It fits into your grasp as if it was made specially for you, and the possibility almost makes you smile. Then, confusion creases your brow, and your husband flashes you a deadly, black smile, as he steps back a couple of steps.

He's holding a blade as well, jet black and strangely matte, a perfect antitype of yours. There's a sort of lazy excitement about him, hidden in every movement. It reminds you of the way he'd behave in the arena, while making a spectacle of death for you and your family.

- I though this would work on you - he muses, twirling the blade in his hand, and your muscles seize with realization. - And it definitely works on me.

The idea is preposterous, utterly scandalous. Using a fight as some perverse attempt at foreplay, your brain swimms with conflicting emotions.

- You're being ridiculous - you attempt to diffuse the situation, but your husband doesn't budge, rolling his shoulders.

- Come on, wife - he snarls, with a sharp smirk - Don't you want to hurt me?

Something boils inside of you at his words. Some ancient, terrifying anger that you supposed, has always been there with you. From the moment you stepped onto the red carpet, leading you towards your undoing at the altar. Red, like the spilled blood still staining the floor of this bedroom. The rage, which you swallowed down, when you recited the vows, when you let him unveil your face, kiss you in front of the entire Atreides court. Now, it seeped through every pore in your skin, covering you in a tar like courtain.

You hate your husband. You hate Feyd Rautha, the na-Baron of House Harkonnen.

Hate him for being your husband, for agreeing to this cruel match. For taking you away from your family, from your wise Father, and your strict Mother, and your sweet Brother. For ripping you away from love, which didn't even have time to properly bloom. Duncan's face dances in front of you like a taunting vision from an angry god, and your fingers tighten around the dagger.

Feyd Rautha is right. You want to hurt him. You wanted to, before you even met him.

- There you are - his lips pull back into a cruel, blackened smile of self-satisfaction - I was worried they took away all your venom, Viper.

You'll show him fucking venom, you think, feet sliding on the floor, twisting your body into a dancing position. Two sets of shields click into life, and suddenly you begin to understand.

This is your arena. This is your bull.

This will be your battlefield for the rest of your life, for as long as you're able to withstand it. With courage and grandiose, your Father's voice haunts you, but soon after another echo rises in your mind. Your Mother, your teacher, her whisper slithers from your memory, a passing comment right before you're shipped off to Giedi Prime, when she squeezed your hand so tight, you were worried tendons under your skin would snap.

Excitement and arousal flow freely from your husband's expression, as he watches yours harden. Something inexplicable settles over your features, a promise. You'll give him a fight of a lifetime, and he'll love it, every single time. It should unnerve you, the way his body lowers itself, like a panther ready to strike. It would've unnerved you some time ago.

Now, however, it shows you a clear path to survival. This is how you take control.

Cold blood splatters from under your feet, as you jump towards him, a series of measured blows following closely behind. He blocks them, lets some be pushed back by the shield. Then, he's on you, brutal and unhibited slashes fly around your body, and you meet all of them with a blocking blade. You're pushed back, towards the wall, where remains of the previous killing still stain the concrete. Blood seeps into the thin fabric on your body, and you shiver in disgust, as it sticks to you.

Your husband doesn't notice, his blade leaves a rather deep mark in the wall, as you duck under his arm, and avoid a nasty punch to the gut.

Plap, plap, plap, your feet carry you through the room, as you try to gain some leverage. The mattress on the bed is surprisingly soft, when you climb on top of it, gaining the advantage of a higher position. An advantage, which is quickly torn out of your hands, as your husband grabs onto your ankle, tugging at it with such force, you tumble down in an instant.

Panic rises in your gut, as the world sins around you, and without really thinking, you let your mind flow into autopilot.

- Let me go! - the Voice tears out of your throat like a landslide, and Feyd Rautha throws himself off of you, his body colliding with the nearby desk.

Books and papers crash to the floor with the force of his figure. Your head swimms, but you will it away, too focused on survival to care for your well-being. Both of you are panting, trying to recover from this sudden use of ancient magics.

- I should rip that treacherous tongue right out of your skull - the threat would carry more strength, if your husband's expression wasn't absolutely dripping with unabashed lust.

Never in your life has someone looked at you this way, and the shock of emotions is enough to pull you right to your feet. Your blade reflects the dim lights of the room, as you raise it high, body taunt and ready.

- You'll never get that close.

A challenge, which doesn't even have enough time to properly resound in the thick air of the room, before Feyd Rautha pushes himself off the desk. Things clatter to the ground from the force of his movements, and you barely have time to react, when his blade sinks into your shield. Your body flies backwards, falling in heap with his at the foot of your marital bed. The edge digs into your back, your left hand pressed tightly into the mattress.

He's hovering over you, panting like a wild animal, face illuminated red from below, where, just short of his juggular, your blade licks a stripe across his alabaster skin. His right hand is wedged between your bodies, dagger nicking you under your ribs. And you stay in this position, like a marble statue, your eyes melting into his, frozen in time.

- You fought well, Atreides - his voice rumbles deep within his chest, and you can't help, but snarl at his words. - We would've taken each other to an early grave.

Something dangerously close to fondness floods his features at the idea, and your fingers start to unravel, letting go of the dagger one by one. He doesn't have a chance to react, when your blade clatters to the floor, and your hand, now free, grabs the back of his head, pulling him down.

Your kiss opens the gates of hell, and soon, his own dagger is thrown across the room. You can't see, refuse to see, as your eyelids flutter closed. His lips are slightly chapped, but not any less delicious. Left hand thrashes in his hold, until he lets it go. Then, they both find purchase against his sharp cheekbones, and you hold him so tight, you might break his face with your ministrations.

- I knew it would work - he pants against your lips, you can hear the smile in every syllable.

- Shut the fuck up - you snarl, fingers digging deeper into his skin.

He groans into the kiss, immediately forcing his tongue into your mouth, as his hands work hard to manouver your legs open enough, for him to slot in between. Then, his touch is everywhere. On your legs, he drags the sheer fabric up and down your thighs, as he carresses your skin, blunt nails digging into the flesh of your hips. They venture upwards, to grab at your breasts, they fight their way into your hair, where he pulls and scrapes.

It doesn't matter, you think, when you hear the fabric tear, and the carefully chosen attire falls from your body. Nothing matters.

You're boneless and defenseless against this one insidious emotion, which carries your every move, which compells you to arch your back, to reveal your running pulse under his searching lips. Feyd Rautha bites down on your skin, right where your neck meets your shoulder, and you respond in kind, head descending upon his porcelain skin. He shudders under your teeth and tongue, his entire body tensing.

This is how you take control, and you've never felt so greedy.

His trousers aren't even fully off of his legs, when he enters you, clumsily and with urgency, bare feet sliding on the floor. Surprisingly inexperienced, he chases your core with his entire body, as if the heat of your insides in a completely foreign sensation.Your moan tears at the column of your throat, where his lips leave a trail of purple marks. The covers remains undisturbed, as your husband ruts into you, pressing your back harder against the edge of the bed. It's uncomfortable, it's hurtful, but somehow, it feels perfect for the two of you. Fucking like wild animals, not even able to make it onto the bed.

- I hate you - you repeat, like a mantra, broken voice cascading with every thrust. - I hate you, I ha-

Your head rolls backwards, when a particularly hard thrust nearly breaks you, but your husband is here to help, his hand grabbing the the roots of your hair, bringing your head down, so you can watch as he performs a magic trick of repeatedly disapearing into your body.

You're not sure who's blood his hand slips on, but suddenly, you're fully on the floor, your body crushed by his. Nothing stops his wild movements, not the sloppiness of it all, not the hard wails he tears from your body. If anything, the more strain his body is under, the more ferocious he's being. Your hand shoots up, all five fingers digging into his throat, and you're rewarded with an angelic moan, which almost brings you to your finish line. Almost.

His head leans down into the crook of your neck, where he whispers something in Harkonnen, a gurgle of rough sounds, interrupted by sinful moans. He sounds so beautiful, so conflicted, for a second you consider being gentle with him. Alas, you hate him still.

Another realization dawns upon you, as your feet kick with force into your husbands backside, to force him deeper, to keep him inside. This is still a fight. You're still on the battlefield, still waving a red flag in front of a raging bull. So, with courage and grandiose, your muscles tense, and you roll your husband over.

The change in position makes both of you gasp in unison, as you sink down onto him. For a second, everything stops. His lips are red and swollen, sweat and blood mix on his skin, flow down in pinkish stripes. And he watches you, as one would a holy painting of a foreign god. With reverence and utter lack of understanding. You're fully aware the look is mirrored on your face.

Slowly at first, your hips begin to rock, up and down, in a steady rhythm, that forces a shuddering breath to leave Feyd Rautha's lips. You bend down, to catch it, and because of your greed, you catch his bottom lip as well. The bite you give him is anything but romantic, and his hips jump from the floor, hitting a spot within you, you didn't know existed. He swallows your moan along with his own blood, and his fingertips map the curve of your spine, as you straighten upon him.

Fingernails latch themselves into the skin of his chest, as you speed up, chasing your own release and no one else's. Moans spill from your lips, the concept of shame abandoning your mind completely. Then, compelled by something dark and twisted you drag claw marks down his torso.

His body shudders, and his hips lift off the ground, fucking into you with reckless abandon. The hold he has on the flesh of your hips is bruising, to say the least, but you did enough damage to call it even. Enough, to make your body tremble and tense up, as climax creeps up on you steadily.

Like a shark sniffing for blood, he senses the change in your being, and as you tumble over the edge, a silent scream tearing at your throat, he suddenly rises into a seating position. His arms encircle you fully, pressing your sweaty bodies impossibly close, as he too finds his own end.

It takes him second, to tumble over, filling you to the brim with ink. His head buries itself into your shoulder, inhaling your scent through deep gasps, each eliciting a broken growl from his chest.

Your bones are gone completely, body relaxing and falling breathless into your husband's arms. After a while of sitting in complete stillness, he moves first. Strong hands lift you up, off of him, and you whine at the emptiness.

Then, as a last hurrah, he throws you onto the bed, where your recovering body sinks into the soft mattress. It's heavenly, the way you seem to float in nothingness, head swimming from exertion. For a moment you don't even register him climbing into the bed with you, drunk on the fading tension seeping from your every pore.

The lights are almost completely out, yet his skin shines against the black comforter. You wish to see if he's flushed, like he was at the engagement party. Leaning on one arm, his fingers trail around the small wound under your ribs. Dried blood flakes off of your skin, and you shudder again.

- I - you start, voice completely broken - I've never known hate, until I met you.

You're not sure why you've said it. Perhaps, in this moment of serenity, truth seems to float to the surface much more easily. Or perhaps you're possessed, or worse, gone completely insane. Eother way, your eyebrows furrow, and Feyd Rautha leans down to kiss your forehead, gently.

- If this is how your hate looks like - he whispers into your hairline, teeth scraping lightly against it - I dread to imagine your love.

You'll never find out, you think, but for some reason can't fully vocalize it.

He says something else, after a while, but your mind is becoming as heavy as your body, and as the day descends upon you in a heap of exhaustion, you fall asleep.

And while your story has nothing but suffering in the future, while there's death and mourning, and years of violence written in the stars for you. Right now, on the Harkonnen ship sailing through space to Giedi Prime, you sleep in the arms of your husband. Whether this strange symbiotic relationship will last, no one can tell, but there is hope, and what else could you possibly need?

#my writing #dune part 2 #dune x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd rautha smut #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #dune smut #what a journey my gosh #thank you once again for following the story love y'all

518 notes · View notes

tremendum · 1 year

Note

heyy, can you write din djarin x reader where she's smth like a princess and he's hired as her bodyguard by her father or brother whatever you want (I know this is basic plot but can't help it 😭) tysm❤️🥰

i got u babes! its cute ive never written something like this but i hope u like it!! <3 its fluffier than anything ive really written to tysm for the request! also this is NOT PROOF READ im sorry

after midnight

(gif not mine!) pairing: din djarin x fem!reader (afab, use of terms like princess/duchess/daughter) rating: explicit. (18+. mdni.) word count: 6.2k summary: “you were... a princess. you were untouchable, and he knows better than to fall for one of his jobs. so he'd made a tower of armor to protect him from any attraction; but with every passing day he spent in your company, you happened to slip through those cracks like you were made for it.” warnings: mentions of political unrest/uprisings, reader resents their parents/family because monarchy is BAD folks, threats of death, but smut (PiV, unprotected), mutual masturbation (m&f), teasing, light themes of possession at one point, mentions of eating. cumplay/creampie. i think that's it.

★

YOU are no stranger to fear.

it's been a gently lived life for you, in your several decades orbiting the power of your parents' suns.

the duchess of your family's system, the 'Prize Jewel' your mother loves to say; the one who got the love of the people but sought none of the power.

you weren't the heir, not to the throne: that duty fell unto your younger brother, as per custom tradition. so you were coaxed into a life of sitting around, humming as your ladies in waiting braided your strands, staring longingly as your brother wielded blasters and vibro-blades; as if that is what constituted a good ruler.

so perhaps the fear you've grown accustomed to is the fear of the mirrors that so delicately lined your chambers; the mirror that appears on your own face as any noble speaks to you, as your father commanded you to embark on diplomatic missions that should be left to those who have any stake in the future of the system. the mirror which constricts any true personality or truth from presenting you to the galaxy. you were the duchess, your parents' daughter; you were not yourself.

you'd never gone off world, to either of the other planets in the crown's domain - until the day you did.

that kind of fear was different.

the tumultuous tracks of your heartbeat when that creaking drop ramp was sealed, those days ago; the footsteps that rang out like funeral chimes as the tall Mandalorian bowed his head to you before escorting you upwards into the cockpit of the ship that was to take you to the other side of the system.

you were not, though, afraid of him.

Mando had been your shadow for several months before you left on your enterprise - you were no longer frightened by the cold, sharp angles of his body, the dark rumbling of his scarce voice. now, that same low hum as he listens to you is welcomed. encouraged. sought for.

no, the fear was from something else; there was a scratching, a slow but insistent simmering that tightened the muscles of your lower back and your upper neck until you woke up in sharp gasps of discomfort.

maybe the fear was in the winding hills that turned into mountains, jagging up and into the sky; your fear clung to you even as you lifted your legs and climbed over top of them - those towers to the sky - and settled yourself with the acknowledge that your parents had sent you on this diplomatic embarkment to a hostile insurgence group with nothing more than the Mandalorian bodyguard and a datapad containing an ultimatum which was surely the fuse to the ticking bomb of your family's dominating sovereignty. the crashing of a scepter, or the squashing of a bug.

thankfully your father, in all of his Majesty's grace and wisdom, had offered you a full set of your Ladies of the Household on your journey - as if they'd protect you from blaster fire, or kidnapping, or whatever joys may have lied in wait for you once you reached the rebel territory.

and he knows you are highly mistrusting of those parasitic Mynocks he calls the Kingsguard; that was in fact the sole reason he'd hired the Mandalorian to be your personal guard.

so your father at least had the sense not to call upon the lord commander to escort you, as it would be likely you'd either be dead come nightfall or your cot would be empty come morning rise.

so he'd insisted on only the Mandalorian instead.

a fiercely dauntless man, a walking shield, as clever as he is dangerous.

after seeing him fight, there was no doubt Mando could protect you from hundreds if he needed to.

there was a stint by another insurgent rebel group, of which your family was battling many currently; they'd made threats on your life, so Mando has shown up with a personal arsenal and enough intimidation to make any man fall to his knees.

it took all of thirty seconds of staring at his figure, hearing his voice, to decide you'd fall to your knees for him, too.

and just before you were ordered to visit the duke of the defecting planet, you were informed he would be replacing the four kingsguard subordinated to Mando who usually escorted you around the kingdom.

one man instead of five? you were sure the King was finally sending you to your death, punishing you for his lifelong regret that you'd not been a son.

but you soon came to like Mando and his stoic, taciturn presence.

and at least your instructions were simply to deliver the ultimatum and leave the atmosphere within the hour; the insurgent's strategists would not, as your father and his Hand had believed, have enough time to read through the full terms before deciding they should just break into the duchess's chambers and slit her throat anyways.

you escaped the planet with nothing but a blaster shot grazing Mando's side and the hate of an entire species of oppressed constituents hurling insults at the Crown.

no slit throat for you - but in the end, you wouldn't even blame them if they'd tried.

you know, now, that your fear clouded your eyes, as bright as they may have been back when Mando was hired as your bodyguard. but they grew thick, the clouds lifting into the stratosphere and slipping into Mando's helmet with the modulated, quiet inhales you've come to know almost as your own. you don't think he ever intended to frighten you.

he was there to protect you. and he has.

he has not left you since arriving to the midway planet, where you'll stay for a few days before returning back to your kingdom planet.

here, there is fresh air, the salt of the sea, deep ripe fruits, and warm breezes. there is no fear here, only heat.

Mando helps with that, though he won't let you admit it.

as you stare at that unwavering gaze, surrounded by the gilded intricacies of the farewell feast, all you can do is imagine him. Mando, his body on yours, that cold, heavy metal against the thrill of your heated bare skin. he tilts his head slightly at you; you wink at him over your cup of wine. the man next to you makes conversation about your father's latest agriculture subsidies.

you look back to find the relaxing - bone chilling- gaze on you still. you wonder if he'll crack before you do.

there have been close calls; once, when you'd drank a bit too much ale in the city square and Mando had carried you back to the keep, tucked you into bed as you tried to pull him in with you - you should stay, Mando - the time he'd agreed to teach you to spar and you'd ended up wide-eyed and pinned beneath his very sturdy frame.

you've seen the pressure on his flightsuit beneath those layers when you'd teased him - his own admission of guilt, that he feels something for you, too.

when you'd asked him to help you shoot a blaster, when you'd left the fresher open to shower, or not particularly covering up when you prepared yourself for the day. though he was always there, always at attention for the slightest danger.

even last night, you felt the stuttering in his breaths when you'd sat on your bed, staring down at him - his hand in the nook of your knee, the other unlacing your sandals that'd crawled up your supple calves the entire day. you'd felt his leather hands brush against the soft skin of your thigh, the way that helmet had stared up at you from between your legs. at your service.

you know he could see the way you jolted when he'd place his hands on your hips in passing, or how you'd get particularly flustered at the flip of a blaster trigger, the flex of a muscle under a flightsuit. you didn't try to hide your attraction to him.

but all of those things; those moments you had - even the subtle brushes of his hand just low enough on your lower back, the smiles you'd share even with the barrier of his cold beskar, the soft conversations you'd hold just between the two of you: all, under the soft shadows of the moons which orbit you.

never in the broad daylight.

those souvenirs, the ones which you held close to your heart in the last few weeks, high up in the pews of your heart's cathedral; all idolized yet forgotten with the mornings that rise in clean beskar glinting and sleep rubbing from your eyes.

DIN is sure you're looking straight through him.

those eyes; you're coy the way you look at him now, over the meal you eat at the table.

swirling with mischief.

that trouble-making look, the one he's studied for months as your personal guard. to the constituents of your family's crown, you were the sweet, young girl destined to marry away and sire many noble children. but behind palace doors, you were alive, you were a bolt of electricity that was never to be tamped down.

Din remembers how fiery you'd been when the King had ordered Mando to escort you to the insurgents with your Ladies of the House. you'd requested they not accompany you in this formidable expedition because, as he recalls you'd said, 'how can my bodyguard spare to protect not me but also ten others? shall we just get it over with and behead us all right here?'

he'd smiled behind that helmet when the King and Queen had heard your snippy tongue.

and so it was just you and him, as it'd been for months. and he likes it that way, as much as he would never admit that; you're a kind woman, much too old to be under the reigns of your parent's power but too caught in the web of bureaucracy to untangle yourself from it.

Din sees you tilt your head at him, blatantly ignoring the conversation at the table. heat courses through him at your adamant, keen attention on him despite him likely being the least worthy of your thoughts in this room. still, as always, you tease him.

a drop of a wink; syrupy, sweet, and much too indecent for the public space; much less for you to deliver towards your personal guard. he burns red under the helmet, heat rushing down towards his groin at the way your lips move around the spoon in your mouth.

you know he's watching you, of course; he's always watching you. it's in the job description.

maybe that's the problem: he watches too much. it's always been hard for him to remain simply professional with you, but it's been much more challenging the last few nights as he's tried to get a few hours of shut-eye in the dead of night; with your sweet soft breaths on that large, plush bed that nearly swallows you whole.

it's been excruciating - watching, as you run your hands over your bare legs, kissed by a sweet silk nightgown. massaging your plush skin, slipping just above the hem before dipping down - your lashes fluttering up at him as he stands tall and at attention over you.

he was a dead man, and he'd known it the moment he laid eyes on you.

you were... a princess. you were untouchable, and he knows better than to fall for one of his jobs. so he'd made a tower of armor to protect him from any attraction; but with every passing day he spent in your company, you happened to slip through those cracks like you were made for it.

he wonders if the true tragedy after all was his not watching: although you'd left the crack in the door when you'd stepped into the fresher last night, toweling off your soft skin as steam curls round the doorframe and pulls at him like the tentacles of some lust-ridden beast. you'd given him one of those coy smiles last night as you'd slinked out of the fresher: "thought you said you were always watching, Mando."

you had him wrapped around your dainty, manicured finger and you knew it.

your brows raise at him as you look back up to where he stands, just on the other side of the table, as the diplomats around you at the table buttering you up with a glass of wine, a divine feast, and fancy political phrases.

it doesn't suit you, as you've claimed to him countless times as you strip the bangled gold from your neck, ears, fingers, thighs and slip into something a little more comfortable and a lot less modest. it doesn't really suit you, he guesses. he likes you much more in the throes of your casual time; wearing trousers and a tunic, blaster strapped to your thigh though you don't quite know how to wield it. when you have no handmaidens to primp you and pluck you, to comb their fingers through your hair or paint fancy colors onto your eyelids. you were heavenly like that, in your most comfortable state.

that word; heavenly. the word sounds adolescent, when he looks at you.

you transcend beauty; you're alive, you're nothing but yourself, a woman with life and regret that her world bore her name long before she was born. you told him, as he escorted you through the war-torn scrappings of the insurgent city the day before, that you wished to be free from the chains of royalty. to the royal court, you were nothing but a mirror for them to project their desires.

when you look up at him with those tempting eyes, smirking at him when nobody at the table is looking - Maker, Din swears he will throw away everything he's worked so hard to keep professional.

YOU had pulled the best of the feast onto your napkin once you bid the hosts thanks for the feast, hiding it under the layers of your gown as Mando walked you back to your chambers.

"I kept you some." you offer meekly now, heat painting your face as you offer the spread to him, having taken off your shoes yourself this time. he'd kept his sight on you the whole time, the visor of his beskar piercing you with each movement.

his helmet tilts in question; you spread open the napkin to reveal the small feast of delicacies you'd packed for him. you wonder how he'd missed it, when his eyes were always on you.

"you shouldn't have." he's demure in tone, shifting from his casual position leaning against one of the stone pillars near the intricate dressing screen to standing evenly on both long legs; you smile gently, heart fluttering.

"I thought you deserved some of the feast." you reason, "you did more work than I did, after all." you grin, shrugging a shoulder. you feel the fabric slide over your bare shoulder and it brushes against you like a feather; a ghost of lips that could never be blessed upon your skin.

cursed to always lie in weight under the heavy support of beskar.

but his fingers; they're a different story.

they're gentle, tingling as they brush up the expanse of your deltoid, cascading with a buttery kind touch to return your dress to its rightful place. his hand, swallowed by the leather that protects you so devotedly, trails down your arms, soothing every goosebump that rises in its path. your hand catches his wrist before he can pull away; the tantalizing, intoxicating air in the room rendering him languid as you pull, gently, until your lips press gently to the tip of his thumb.

his breath falters in a staccato as you gently, tenderly press kisses to the tips of each finger; each, a promise. an unnamed affection for the man who does nothing but protect, nothing but exhilarate. the movement feels like the stretch of a plastic band, stretching the tensile strength of your aptitude for waiting, for restraining yourselves.

you wait with baited breath for it to snap in your faces.

it doesn't, though. his hand falls away gently, leaving you to still orbit around each other like lonely stars, crossing paths every few blue moons.

when he speaks, he sounds almost strained. "thank you, ner cyar'ika. you are kind."

your cheeks are warm and they heat up more when you smile up at him. and this time when you step away into the fresher, you make sure the door is fully closed.

the water is warm, curling tendrils of milky sweet oils that bathe your skin in a sweet, plush aroma. you return to the main room slowly after you bathe, ensuring he'll have enough time to return his helmet to its proper place before you see. you wring your hair out with your hands as Mando rises from where he sat on the loveseat; his full height shining that reflective metal against you. your warped, clean, scrubbed reflection stares back at you.

he.... he sees you.

you've always noticed it; maybe that's why you'd commanded your father's men to leave you at the first sight of the Mandalorian's skills - you see a lot of yourself in him. a life concealed behind the preceding reputation: a princess - young, beautiful, generous, stagnant. a Mandalorian - bounty-hunter-turned-guard, sturdy, resourceful, rough.

mirrors follow you no matter where you go. they've been thrust upon you your entire life, every snaking hallway of the kingdom winding down reflective images of your youth, bouncing you from person to person, nothing but a blank canvas for the aristocracy to paint their whims upon.

you suspect, as you stare at Mando's unwaveringly reflective armor, that he understands that more than either of you could know. your heart soars with affection as you pad up to him, craning your neck to take in his entire height.

"did you enjoy it?" you ask with a small smile, combing your fingers through your wet hair. he nods, "yes, cyare. thank you."

you shake your head, unburdened by the gesture of gratitude. "let me guess- your favorite was the..." you pinch your chin with your fingers, scrunching your nose as you pretend to think. "chocolate cake." you say finally, tilting your head as you try to gage his reaction.

a tilt of a helmet, flickering in the candlelight of your chambers. "yes." he sounds surprised; as if you didn't know just as much about him as he knew of himself. it sparks butterflies in your stomach.

"I know you like it sweet, Mando." you tease, sending him a soft wink as you set your face cloth down on the table he leans against; you stare up at him from this angle, your movements molasses as you smile, hand sneaking around his ribs to hold him lightly. his hand rises tentatively to steady your waist, thumb rubbing the satin of your nightgown. "don't worry, I do too." you whisper.

he sighs.

it's a soft, gentle thing; one that nobody would dare imagine your big, bad Mandalorian protector to ever release. but you know him. you see him - Mando is many things, and one of them is hesitant. not unwilling, or shy: hesitant.

(you'd wait a thousand lifetimes for him.)

"cyar'ika," he starts, tone slipping into that gently warning one - the kind he gets when he's feeling bashful. "I don't like it when you tease me." he chides, and it's - kriff, it's playful. you can almost see the grin behind that helmet; his fingers pinch at your sides gently and you screech with laughter, swatting away his touch but hoping he'll soon return it, much like a magnet.

"you do, though." you defend, emboldened by the privacy and the budding tenderness that coaxes you into his arms. his hands soothe over your hips as you stare in silence.

warmth surrounds you; coaxes you to mutter it-

"stay with me, tonight?" you whisper, eyes wide at your own words, shocked you'd finally given in to all of the hunger that has swirled between you for all this time. his helmet tilts. "I am always here with you. my job is to watch you." he says gently, the lilt of guilt ever present in his voice.

you shake your head, eyes shutting in frustration - not at him, never - at who, then? your father? your mother? the last name you've been cursed with for your life? the privilege, the restraint?

"Mando." you say, pressing your palms flat against his chest. "you know what I mean." your eyes swirl with emotion: please, Mando, I can't keep waiting like this.

he waits. "it would be wrong."

you tilt your head, "it wouldn't." but you, much like him, are at a loss for words. a life of inoculation has rendered you unable to express any semblance of amorous emotions, even to this man - the one who is your confidant, your protector, and possibly your only true friend in this world. "I need you. I will-" you swallow, your heart thundering with desire, "I will do anything for you, Mando."

you can't resist the growing wetness in the apex of your thighs as his helmet moves over your figure, wrapped in a silky robe and still wet from bathing. he hums lowly, a long and slow sound, his head tilting ever so slightly as you clench your thighs in search of relief from the growing pressure.

"I have wanted you since I met you." he sighs, hands falling from your shoulders. "but... I shouldn't touch you."

DIN can see your eyes flicker down as he says it.

maker damn you; you've always been too clever for him. he sees the hunger swirl in your blown out pupils, the same hunger that plagues his mind and has sent blood rushing downwards. he feels himself throb as you grin up at him, lashes fluttering as a droplet of silky water trails down the expanse of your bare, awaiting neck.

you know him, you see him. and he thanks all of the stars that you know how badly he needs you, too.

"well, if you can't touch..." you tilt your head to stare up at him through your lashes, loosening the robe which covers your silk nightgown; each inch that slips down your body, Din feels himself stiffen and heat with desire. "...you can at least watch." you whisper, letting the robe drop before you step back from his figure; his eyes trace over every curve, each smooth line and jagged bump.

when you're far enough away, he lets out a shaky breath. "gar Kelir ruin ni, dala" he mutters to himself, swallowing thickly as your figure slinks away from him, traipsing onto your plush bed.

his heart thunders in his chest; you lie on your back, gently, eyes meeting his somehow through the shield of beskar as you move your hands slowly, slowly up your legs. silk catches on your deft fingers as you tease yourself, sighing in relaxation.

Din, standing rigid as a pole as he watches you, cannot look away. you seem flushed, even as your fingers trail over your breasts, toying with the pert nipples which poke through the smooth fabric of your dress. a whimper; high-pitched, breathy as your eyes splinter to Din again. "fuck," you whisper, one hand dragging down to torturously drag the hem of your gown upwards, up, up-

he's salivating.

your thighs, plush and welcoming, spread as you spread your glistening cunt for Din to see. for him, he realizes, only for him. a dark wash of possession shudders his whole being as you let out a whimper, the cool air hitting your wet, hot heat as your fingers start to spread your juices; it takes every ounce of restraint from Din to not just pounce on you, take you right now.

your finger finds your swelling clit and your strangled groan sounds too much like his name - your eyes are hooded, littered with desire and pleasure as you lie out on display for him.

he can't help but watch; his cheeks, hot. his hands, clenched - his heart, thundering, beating hard as Din watches you touch yourself with hungry eyes. your moans are smooth, melodic to his ears as you slowly dip one finger into your heat, whimpering as the stretch as your greedy little hole swallows you up.

he can't stand it.

Din takes a step forward, a staggering, desperate step towards the bed- your eyes snap up from where they'd watched you take your own fingers, eyes blown wide. you whimper, you goddamn whimper it, "M-Mando."

YOU almost pass out when he mutters it, low and baritone.

"take it off." Mando mutters darkly.

you stop your languid pumps as you stare up at him, eyes wide as you see him, now looming just over you, eyes trained still on your heat.

slowly, you sit to peel the dress off of yourself, the material catching on your nipples and sending a shiver down your body.

you're soon bare; laid out for him, your entire body on display for him as you stare up, chest heaving with desire. his helmet does not leave your form as he watches your hand snake back down, toying with your wetness as it pools out of you, dripping onto the mattress below you.

there are thousands of things you wish to say; nothing escapes you except whimpers and moans, the muted, heated pleasure swirling through you as you slip your fingers into yourself, pumping languidly. if you close your eyes, you can almost imagine the bite of cold beskar on your bare chest; the thickness of a warm cock slipping through you.

your eyes stay on him instead, though; the reflection of your squirming, pleasured body on his beskar. you feel sweat sheen your forehead.

your heart nearly stops as Mando slowly starts to palm himself; his cock, hard and strained against the fabric of his flightsuit as his hands pull himself out of the pants. your eyes widen and your fingers start to pump into you quicker, moaning out Mando's name as his hand slowly starts to pump himself.

his cock, skin golden and veins prominent as he pleasures himself to the sight of you. arousal floods around your fingers as your other finger falls to lazily toy with your neglected clit. one hand grasps your breast and pinches a pert nipple, your back arching as you whimper.

you need Mando, you need him.

"fuck, fuckfuckfuck M-Mando, I need you. i-it's not enough, need more." you groan, the dam breaking as the low high you've been riding simmers.

he stops his own movements, his chest heaving beneath the beskar.

"I don't-" you swallow around your dry throat, "I don't think I can cum without you." you admit, heart thundering as you stare up at the beskar wall. "please."

he pauses and your words hand in the air; suspended by a string, one that is tight and ready to snap.

"stand up, princess." he orders.

DIN almost smiles at the speed at which you scramble on eager legs, to stand up, staring up at him with wanton need. he takes a deep breath before one hand reaches out to graze the swell of your breast; the plush give of soft skin, the goosebumps that trail behind his touch. his cock twitches as your hands find him, pumping slowly as you bite your lip.

he groans at the soft feeling of your gentle hands around his thickness; your lips grazing over his beskar chestplate.

his hands tug you as he falls to the mattress; a squeal leaves you as your hands grip onto his shoulders, "Mando!"

he grins beneath the helmet.

the smile slowly fades into a grunt of pleasure as you eagerly find your place straddling his hips; your wet hot cunt envelopes his cock with your slick, rubbing him as you whimper. "fuck, cyar'ika." he grunts. "gonna fuck you nice and good. promise." he mutters.

you smile as you nod, "maker, Mando. I've-I've dreamt of this." you mutter. he smirks- he knows you have. he's heard it.

but the pride is soon washed away with shock and pleasure as you line his head up at your entrance, easing onto him gently; his hands squeeze your bare skin and he wishes he could pull his gloves off and really feel you.

dank ferrik, you are so tight around him; swallowing his thickness in your greedy cunt as your breath stutters, gasping at the stretch. you're hot, wet, and Din's eyes shut tight at the feeling. kriff, he won't last long.

you take him gently, slowly, and all Din can do is breathe through it and resist his hips from bucking upwards and spearing you into two.

his brain is a puddle as you fully sheath yourself on him, thighs plush and shaking as you swallow him.

"that's good." he mutters, breath shaky, his hands guiding you to move against his hips, "how does it feel, princess?"

"Mando, fuck, y'so big, filling me-" you're moaning and he thinks he may pass out; heavenly, heavenly, you you you-

you groan as you start to fuck yourself on top of him, your gummy warm walls coaxing Din towards his high, having been spurred along by the pleasure you'd been giving yourself earlier.

you shudder at the curling sensuality of his words and he can feel you gripping him tighter and tighter, pulsing around him and dragging him down with you into the depths of pleasure. shivers of pleasure coast down your entire body as Din starts to piston up, his thick length, smooth and hard, spearing into your hot cunt. your desire drips down and smothers the fabric of his flight suit; briefly, he thinks he will never wash them again. your breath is laborious as you near your high- Din chases his, too, because this has already gone on for too long and he's greedy, as greedy as your tight, pretty cunt is and-

he lets out a splintering moan when you cum with a scream; your legs quivering, weakening as you slump against him. Din fucks you through your high with a moan of his own, pushing up into your pulsing pussy, the wetness easing him to spear into you with a fire of ecstasy.

"good- you're so good, y'feel so good, Mando," you whimper. that's it for him - he cums with a long groan, release snapping through him with a moan of your name.

he sees colors, shapes of you in a meadow, spread on a blanket with him taking you from above; with you riding him in the cockpit of his ship; you, thighs spread on your father's throne while he delves his tongue through your plush folds.

you are his. you will always be his, nobody else's. he will consume you.

he fucks up into you as he rides through his high, his seed smearing your chanel as he holds you close. "fuck," he mutters, rolling you both onto your sides as his hand caresses your cheek.

"s'good." you mumble, smiling at him.

he smiles back. you can't see it, but he knows you can feel it.

"m'not done with you yet, princess." he promises, tugging you towards the edge of the bed, spreading your legs to see his own seed leaking out of you, mixed with your own wet, sticky spend. it's a sight better than any he's ever seen; shivers of desire roll down Din's spine.

and then Din spends his time on top of you, pulling orgasm and orgasm from you until you're crying, shaking and heaving breaths; he's shaky, drunk from the pleasure of your wet arousal. he aches to taste you, to coax you to sleep with his tongue lapping up your spend; he needs to taste you.

perhaps, another time.

he soothes himself for now with his fingers, his cock; another time, he will taste you.

---

YOU are exhausted. you can barely stay awake; but as Mando lays with you between the sheets, you can't help but feel so alive. the sun starts to creep towards the horizon line, over the shimmering sea; the gentle breeze of the world flowing through the faint curtains.

"Mando?"

he cranes to look down at you, his thumb tracing over your spine.

"in the morning," you start, your hand trailing over his beskar. you figure it isn't comfortable to don this armor in the plush of your mattress; he stays no matter, willing to give you what you want. always, whatever you want. forever.

him.

you chew your lip, "will we- I mean, I just..."

a thumb, warm though marred with old leather, pulls your lower lip from the clutches of your pearled teeth, soothing over the plush, bitten skin. a shiver runs down your spine as he coaxes you to stare up into that endless helmet.

"what is it, mesh'la?" his voice is deep and soothing in its modulated baritone. you preen at the nickname in his native tongue and though he has willingly taught you words and phrases of his language, you are unsure of this one's translation. it sounds lovely coming from him.

"please don't take me back." you whisper.

he tenses under you; you can feel it. you wish you didn't have to plague him with your burdens of asking him such a crime; to take the duchess, the girl made of nothing but stardust, and give her the life she deserves.

a whisper of your name. quiet, an exhale gentle and barely picked up by the modulation function of the helmet.

DIN has been waiting for you to say it.

he wonders just about when he realized you were going to ask him to take you away. was it just now, after you'd finally connected in bliss? was it last night, when he'd taken a blaster shot to protect you - his job, of course, but a lifetime of debt to repay to him, you'd claimed - or, perhaps, was it all those months ago?

your words pull him from his shock as you mutter softly.

"would you take me with you? away?"

all the moments shared between your two souls wait with baited breath as Din tries to find his words through his thundering heart.

"in the morning..." he parrots your words from before, but with a different tone. regret. his heart thumps as you tilt your head, bare shoulder glinting in the light of the moons. "will you still want that? will you want..." he doesn't finish the question, but he doesn't have to. not with you. want me?

you look at him with eyes so soft he almost melts. "I've always dreamt of leaving my life. it's not who I am." you're firm in your words, hand curling over his shoulder as you blink, "I never thought I would act on it. I had nothing to do, nowhere else to go. but now..." you shrug and he starts to feel hot at the implications in your voice.

Din's heart thuds importunately under your sweet palm; could you feel it, under all the layers that separated his body from your bare one?

"if-if you'd have me... it'd be a dream to stay with you. wherever you go."

Din can't breathe; so many words burst to the forefront of his mind, but all he does is stare in awe.

you'd been watching life through the jail of your parent's grasp your whole life; and what is the princess of a mid-rim planet to the rest of the galaxy?

stardust.

"wasted dreams?" you ask softly, shaking your head, "that's worse than death, Mando."

YOU fall asleep with Mando's arms wrapped tightly around your middle; the weight of beskar pushing you deeper into the comfort of knowing you've spent your last night ever in this system.

his words echo in your head.

in the morning, mesh'la, we will leave here. wherever you'd like.

it's illicit; the things you're about to do, the traditions which will be seared. your eyes, bleary with exhaustion and hope, looks to the mirror across the room.

you lie in the arms of the Mandalorian, bare besides the plush sheets which wrap around your figures - and when you stare into the reflective piece of decor directly across, it's you who stares back in the reflection. you smile to yourself.

stardust.

those moments, you hope, will shine in broad daylight now in tandem with the sweet secrets after midnight.

taglist: @silkiers @toobsessedsstuff @millersdjarin @tizylish @cloufire @kalea-bane @dontletyourchildrenwatchthis @hello-th3r3 @bbyanarchist @ponyboys-sunsets

requests open. message for Din's taglist or Joel Miller's!

#din djarin smut #din djarin fluff #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian x reader smut #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader smut #sw smut #star wars fanfiction #star wars smut #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #tremendum’s space cowboy✒️

2K notes · View notes

imaginesmai · 7 months

Text

Right around the corner (3) - Azriel

LISTEN I CAN EXPLAIN if you've been here for a while now, you can expect this part. If not, may I present myself - hi, I'm Mai and I'm an angst queen bitch. Fourth part already on the way, don't worry!

(1), (2), (3), (4), (5)

Plot: the turth comes out, but in a way Azriel didn't expect.

Warnings: prepare tissues.

Azriel had taken his time to process the words, and in the meanwhile, he had received so many notes from his family that he had his hands full of small paper balls.

There were notes from Feyre updating him of the screaming match between Cassian and Rhysand, long texts from Mor promising him the house was a safe place for you and that he better hurry to bring you out. Even Amren had written a brief ‘I knew it, boy’ that had him more worried than before.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t want you to meet them. He loved his family like nothing else, and knew they would only be supportive and kind to his new status. Him being mated or not didn’t change the way they saw him, but part of him – the part that had felt rejection from his mother and his blood-family, was scared.

Azriel ended up sitting in the kitchen counter in front of you with a frown and a growing headache. Even though it was late and you had had a long day, you instantly noticed his mood.

“What’s wrong?”

It wasn’t unusual for Azriel to go quiet in your presence. You had learned by then that it didn’t mean you did something wrong. Most of the times, it was his insecurities popping up randomly in his mind, the troubles of the day dragging him away from you.

And through the years, you had learned that there was nothing else to do but to stay close to him and remind him that he was there. Right with you, and that you loved him.

Still, as you stared at him that night, you noticed it wasn’t the usual frown. He snuck glances at you and moved from the couch, where he was banned, to the kitchen. You left the bowl aside and stood in front of him, one arm extended so he could hold your hand.

“How do you know Feyre?” he asked, not taking your hand.

“Feyre as… the high lady?”

“Yeah. You greeted her the other day. You two know each other?”

“Guess so. She has her art study right in front of my bakery, haven’t you noticed?” you answered, not understanding the nature of the question. “When she moved in, I baked her a welcome to the neighborhood pie and she has actually painted two of the pictures I hang on the wall”

“Feyre painted pictures for you?” Azriel raised an eyebrow. “Are you two friends?”

“Well, not friends per say, but we know each other. That’s what usually happens when you work in front of someone else’s work” you shrugged, you open hand still empty. “Why?”

“I didn’t know you knew her”

“Should you know I know her? For any specific reason?”

“It would have been nice to know you know my high lady. My brother’s mate”

“Now you know. What’s with all this ‘you know I know’? Why does it matter?”

You didn’t understand why but there was an annoyed edge on his voice that you didn’t like. As a morning person, you usually went to bed early, and any minute past midnight was a minute you were supposed to be asleep. No matter how nice it was to spend time with Azriel and how good he had made you feel an hour ago, now you were annoyed.

The male stared at you, still not answering your silent call for his hand. One of his many shadows crossed the table and jumped at the chance of tangling between your fingers. That would have been enough to make you laugh any other day.

That night, you just stared at each other.

“Az, why are you so – “

“Because you should have told me, Y/N” he cut you off. “You know how important my family is to me, and I think it’s fair to ask that if you know any of them you should tell me. So I’m prepared for this”

“What’s this exactly? Late night discoveries about my neighbors?”

Azriel was quiet for a moment, frustration clear in his features. It was a stupid argument over a stupid situation, and Azriel being on his underwear and you only on his t-shirt without panties didn’t make it any less stupid. You rarely argued, and when you did, it was you who had the pointless argument and Azriel the calm one.

His shadows moved behind the couch and dumped in front of you a bunch of papers. They were all wrinkled and Azriel didn’t have time to hide them or think about how to approach the situation before a new one popped out of thin air. It landed next to your open hand, his shadow catching it and unfolding the content.

Does she eat cereal straight from the box? Is it why you’re hiding her?

You didn’t need to think hard to know it was talking about you, and who the note belonged to. In the past, Rhysand had sent notes to Azriel while you were having a shower together, in bed together, and one had even appeared inside your oven while he was helping you around.

“Feyre told them about you” Azriel explained, having read the note upside down. “And because I didn’t know you knew her, now they are deeply offended and want to meet you”

It took you a while to make sense to his words, because you couldn’t find the problem past you not telling him about Feyre. Quickly, you read some of the notes where Cassian threatened Azriel and Rhysand demanded his presence. They were friendly notes, no harm in them. Still, you couldn’t understand the utter sadness until you realized the meaning behind his annoyance.

Finally, you pulled your hand back to your side, not with little resistance from the shadow. You must have opened the bond channel because Azriel frowned, hit with sadness instead of the usual love.

The first note, where Rhysand explained that Feyre had told him, was what brought it all together.

“You haven’t told them you have a mate”

It occurred to you that you had believed it done with no proofs. You didn’t mind Azriel being at your house, living in your apartment. You didn’t mind having separate Starfall and lives. You didn’t mind either when he left for a family dinner and kissed you goodbye, because you understood his need of privacy, of having something that was just his.

What you didn’t understand until that moment that he hadn’t even told them you existed. And through all the reasons that ran to your mind at his silence, you couldn’t pick just one.

“It’s not that they don’t know me. They don’t know you’re mated”

“You agreed when I said I need to take things slowly. That I needed time” he blurted out suddenly, your sadness making space for his annoyance. “The bond was a surprise for me. I didn’t want to rush things”

“Azriel it’s been six years. Six! It’s not a casual fling or a one-night stand” you tried to voice your hurt, your sadness. “It’s not the same not meeting them that being a secret”

“It’s not like I keep you a secret. They haven’t asked and I haven’t – “

“Because you haven’t told them! What – How do you explain the days you spend here? And the… I – Azriel, we’ve been dating for six years and they haven’t asked?”

“They’re used to me sneaking around”

“For months?” you chuckled. “We were locked here for months after we mated. How did you explain that?”

His words were background noise because, above his absences, there was something you realized they should have noticed. Something anyone noticed from mated pairs as soon as they left the house. White noise filled your ears as he tried to excuse himself by talking about missions.

About your safety, about the worry of something happening to you if they discovered you were his mate.

Azriel blurred in front of you as realization hit you and tears filled your eyes. You could barely hold it together as you spoke.

“You’ve been hiding the mating bond” your breath hitched, because if there was something more important than your bakery, it was your bond. “They should have smelt it. But you’ve been hiding it”

“I didn’t hide it, please, don’t say it like that” his voice broke at the end, willing you to listen to him.

“Right. Because you can’t hide the bond from them unless you don’t accept it” you saw the moment your words hit him, the guilt in the way his shadows almost clouded your vision and his wings flared. “You didn’t accept the bond”

Azriel didn’t answer and, worse than any other betrayal or pain, it broke your heart. You remembered offering him the lemon pie, him tearing up and eating. Accepting the bond was an individual decision, one he should have made years ago – just like you did.

You still shared it; you still were mates. The only difference was that, while you proudly loved him and adored each part of his body and soul, he had rejected your smell on him, your imprint on his own.

An invisible hand cut off your air supply and your breath hitched. You covered your mouth with your hand and muffled the sob, but he felt the exact moment your heart broke. Even if he didn’t show it to the world, he could still feel you. Your feelings, your essence. His own eyes teared up and now he extended his hand forward.

A silent invitation, the same you had given him so many times when he was in need of comfort, of love.

But that time, you didn’t reach forward nor acknowledge the shadows that tried to pull you closer to him.

“Get out”

“Darling”

“Get out” you pointed a shaky finger towards the door.

“Y/N, please. It’s not what you’re thinking” he tried to explain, his voice broken by his sorrow. “I accepted the bond. I just – “

“Get the fuck out now!”

The bowl that you had been filling with lettuce, salmon and other vegetables flew from the desk to where he was standing. His shadows, by their own consciousness or his master’s, didn’t stop it as it crashed against his chest. It spilled all over his naked chest, and before he could clean it, there was another tray with grilled pork on your hand.

Azriel’s last look to you was of pure despair and sorrow. He winnowed away before the second tray could hit him, leaving you with his shadows already cleaning up the mess.

As soon as he was out of sight, you fell down to your knees and sobbed.

He didn’t have a plan, and when he winnowed away, the last thing on his mind was the sound of your heart breaking. There was no way he would go to his house and face his family, not when he wasn’t even sure what had happened in your apartment. Couldn’t start to comprehend the pain he had caused you and how much he hated himself for it.

So, without planning to, he ended up in the cabin.

The old wooden walls and ceiling greeted him, different from the ones he remembered from his past. Feyre had added drawings everywhere, there were clothes scattered around, and food that was still edible.

No matter how familiar the sight was, it offered him no comfort.

Azriel dragged his wings through the floor and sat on the couch. Propping his elbows on his knees, he hid his face as the first tear rolled down. Followed by many more.

He replayed your hurt voice once more, your face. It hadn’t been his intention to reject the bond, not really. But he hadn’t run away from it.

It took him two weeks of uncertainty to know that he hadn’t taken it the way you had. While you radiated with his scent, people didn’t ask him. He walked past Cassian during training and his friend just teased him for being disappeared for a month. Rhysand commented about having to report to him every now and then, and Amren didn’t even acknowledge his presence.

That was how he discovered that he had to accept his part of the mating process. He had to be proud, to want it, in order to complete it.

But you had been so happy, so full of joy and love, that Azriel had feared that telling you about it would make you sad. Eventually, he had learned how he should have done it – but at that moment, he didn’t know. Besides, he could still sneak whenever he wanted to without explanations. So he hadn’t said anything.

The first year rolled by, and he spent a good amount of days panicking about how to deal with the situation. The second year passed and you didn’t ask about it, neither did his family. By the fourth year, he had almost forgotten about it.

Azriel’s loud sob broke the silence of the cabin. His chest contracted and his body shock. It was different from any type of suffering, of pain, he had ever felt. He could still feel the echo of your own through the bond, could hear your cries in the distance.

In the lonely cabin, under the moon light, the shadowsinger sobbed and cried until his voice was raw. He was angry at himself, at his past and his traumas, even angry at you. Because now that he knew what it felt to be complete, to be happy and safe in someone’s love, he couldn’t bear the thought of not having it.

His body gravitated to the side and he curled himself in a ball, still in his underwear. It reminded him of when he was a kid and would try to hide himself in the dark cell, cowering in his fear and desperation.

As if he was a kid all over again, Azriel let his wings cover his body and cried. Cried until he couldn’t remember his name, until he was begging the Cauldron to turn back time and let him accept the bond. Carry you on his arm around Velaris and don’t let the fear take control of his life.

He felt like punching a hole through the wall. Like flying thousand feet up and letting go in free fall. Maybe get into a bar fight and let everything out. But his body was anchored to that couch, to that pain. Azriel pressed his closed fists into his chest, trying to relief some of the pressure.

While he wondered if that was what having his heart ripped from his chest fell, he forgot to keep his mental shields up.

Letting Rhysand in.

The house of wind had been chaos for a few hours.

Rhysand had tried to manage the situation by himself, wide awake in bed while processing Feyre’s words. He willed himself to sleep, to rest and leave the pondering for the morning. But when he tried to close his eyes, he could see Azriel covered in blood and killing an entire camp because an illegal wing clipping. He could notice the faint, new smell in the house that he hadn’t noticed.

If he had his eyes open, he couldn’t help but look at Nyx’s new toy.

So, Rhysand had woken up Cassian, after Azriel hadn’t answered his notes. And Cassian had been mad. Angry, furious, raging. The general had talked nonsense about berries for a while and then he begged Rhysand to wake up Feyre and find Azriel to interrogate them.

And, who was the high lord to deny a late-night gossiping session?

Feyre had been mad but she had told them that Azriel had a mate that worked in front of her art studio, in a bakery. That you were nice and cheerful, that you had been mated for six years.

That was when Cassian lost it and woke up the whole house.

Now, all the members of the inner circle had gathered in the council room with their pajamas on.

“Maybe it’s not true. Feyre, you might have had imagined it”

“Are you calling me a liar?” Feyre raised her eyebrows at Cassian.

“I’m just saying he would have told me! We’re brothers. And we don’t keep secrets in this house. Never.”

“You don’t keep secrets” Amren cut him off, not looking at him. “Your bean brain is too simple to keep any type of secrets from us, but that doesn’t mean all of us are exhibitionist”

“I’m not – “

“You are an exhibitionist. You announce everything, Cas. Even a fart” Mor corrected him before he could defend himself.

“Sorry for being kind enough to not keep secrets from my family” he frowned, turning to look at Rhys. “You keep secrets from me?”

“I don’t keep secrets from you” Rhys assured him, half a smile.

“He threw the sword you gifted Nyx for his birth and told you Bryaxis took it so you wouldn’t look for it”

Feyre looked at her mate with a raised eyebrow, daring him to say anything else. With a wide-awake Nyx in her arms, she looked at threatening as the Hybern army. She had yet to talk to him privately, but Rhysand knew he was up for a long talk. So he bit his lip and turned to Cassian. Who, of course, looked completely broken and defeated.

The rest of the group was silent, barely keeping their smiles to themselves. Even Nesta, who had a hand on his shoulder, was looking at Feyre with approval. Cassian stared at Rhysand for a long second before he talked.

“It was a nice sword”

“For a teenager, maybe. For a baby, not” Feyre answered again. “Weren’t you just talking about Azriel’s betrayal and secrets?”

“I, for one, knew he was hiding something” Amren commented for the third time. “Just saying I noticed. And you didn’t”

“Not all of us are creeps that stare and don’t talk. We have social lives to take care of” Mor said.

“Some of you do talk. Maybe too much”

Rhysand tuned out Amren and Mor argument when he felt a crack through Azriel’s mental barriers. He had been tugging at them softly to know where his brother was. Feyre had talked him out of the idea of barging in uninvited and demanding answers – at least, he had talked Amren and Mor out of it. Rhysand and Cassian were still unconvinced.

That was why he had kept a talon poking at his mental barriers since the argument started, thinking it wouldn’t be successful.

But then, Azriel opened it unconsciously and Rhysand brought a hand up to his chest.

Everyone fell quiet as the high lord scrunched his eyebrows and pressed his lips together, not ready for the wave of emotions and pain Azriel was feeling at the moment.

Feyre’s hand was instantly on him, Nyx looking up to his father with a pout that would surely turn into a crying session soon. Before the baby could start crying or any of his friends could ask him about it, Rhysand accepted Feyre’s help and got up from his chair.

“He’s at the cabin” he announced, already summoning his darkness to swallow Cassian and him there. “We’ll keep you updated”

Nyx’s loud cry was the last thing they heard as they winnowed away. And the first one they heard from the cabin, was Azriel’s broken one.

Want to read more? Check out my side blog @imaginesmaimasterlists, where I keep all the masterlists! Feedback is always appreciated

Right around the corner taglist:

@lesliemurillo @impossibelle @polli05927 @florencemtrash @going-through-shit @minakay @setayeshmohseni @torchbearerkyle @esposadomd @amysangel @kennedy-brooke @originalcrusadetrash @luvmoo @historygeekqueen @marriedtolike18fictionalmen @wallacewillow0773638 @tothestarsandwhateverend @kristalhi @knmendiola @nikt-wazny-y

811 notes · View notes

reiderwriter · 4 months

Text

🍷 Alcohol Free 🍷

Week 1 of my Playlist series! Inspired by Alcohol Free by TWICE.

Summary: You're the designated driver for half of your friends, and Spencer is the designated driver for the other half, so why do you feel so buzzed when you're around him? OR; taking every opportunity when you finally meet Spencer Reid for the first time ♡

Warnings: fluff, mentions of alcohol consumption, but reader and Spencer are both sober. A/N: Welcome to week 1 of the Playlist! I think we started with an absolute banger, and for such a fun, upbeat song with this, I had to make this a fluff (sorry to all my smut and angst enjoyed, please be patient 🫡). I hope you enjoy it! Don't forget to send me more song recs, as I'll be writing one follower chosen song fic per month 🥳

Check out my masterlist here~

“How much have you had to drink exactly, Pen?” You laugh as you watch her wobble back and forth, at her table.

“We started with champagne and wine. And then there was the cocktail round, so, a few margaritas here and there. And a mojito. Maybe a mimosa. I think a guy bought me a pint colada at the bar earlier,” her words were so sharp you almost couldn't believe she'd drank anything at all, but the fact that she said all this while swaying gently from side to side had you giggling at her antics.

“Don't forget the tequila!” Penelope's friend Emily groaned from the other side of the table then were gathered at, face already flat on the surface as if her hangover had already hit.

You'd been friends with Penelope for over a year now, so you were acquainted with all of the girls there, and had agreed to come and meet them on one of their girls nights out. You were never a big drinker though, so you offered to be the designated driver for the half of the gang that were committed to Uber-ing home.

They'd been drinking since the mid afternoon, and by the time you'd gotten off work and cleaned up for the bar, it was obvious that they were going to be a handful.

“Y/N, YOU'RE REALLY PRETTY, YOU KNOW THAT RIGHT?” JJ shouted from her seat beside you.

“Thank you, JJ, you already said that three times tonight. Maybe we should get you some water?”

“And so kind too, my princess in shining armour,” Penelope giggled.

For most people, being the only sober person on a night out was hell, but you found yourself enjoying it more and more as the years went by. Drunk women were so much like kindergarteners when they reaches a certain blood alcohol level, and you loved seeing what your usually serious and cool girlfriends would come up with.

You also wanted to make sure they stayed safe, and with the impressive list of multiple alcohols they'd just ingested, you wondered if you should be carting them off to the emergency room then and there.

“I THINK YOU'D LIKE MY FRIEND SPENCER. HE'S NERDY. YOU'D MAKE CUTE BABIES.” JJ was still shouting all of her words, despite the bar being relatively quiet and you almost did a spit take with your water as she kept on.

“Stop trying to marry Spence off, Jennifer.” Penelope giggled, over pronouncing JJ's name as if it were her first time ever using the word.

You'd heard a lot about this Spencer Reid since you'd become close with the girls at the table, and honestly, you were happy that JJ deemed you good enough for their Spencer.

From the sounds of it, all three of them nagged at him like elder sisters who found him endearingly annoying, and were fiercely protective of him. It made you curious.

“Are you seeing anyone, Y/N?” Emily asked, finally lifting her head up slightly, but in a way that made it look like it weighed 500 lbs more than usual.

“I'm not.”

“Why? You're smoking. Half the men in here have been circling your like sharks for the hour you've been here.” You laughed at that and pushed a bottle of water in Emily's direction again, encouraging her to take small sips of water.

“I'm being serious! I may be drunk beyond belief but this is a sober thought.”

“Emily, I love you, but none of these men are interested in me. I'm practically a spinster. I'm 27, I have no money and no prospects, yada yada, already a burden to my parents.”

“That was something nerdy, I know that was something nerdy, my Spencie Senses are tingling,” she quipped.

And as if right on cue, a quiet voice popped up from behind you and all the hairs on your neck stood on edge as it happened.

“It's a quote from the 2005 Pride and Prejudice movie, so it's not really all that nerdy, Emily.” You turned, slightly startled in your seat as you finally met the elusive Doctor Spencer Reid.

“SPENCE!” JJ cheered, and the other girls similarly whooped at his entrance. They were overjoyed, but you were slightly overwhelmed, because not once in their descriptions of Spencer Reid had they ever told you that he was quite possibly one of the hottest men to ever grace this good Earth.

His hair was slightly curly, a mess of waves flopping into his eyes, but shorter on the sides, highlighting his sculpted jaw. He was tall, on the lean side and craning your neck to look up at him was a happy experience to say the least.

He greeted his friends and looked down to you, and you felt all the blood suddenly rush to your brain when your eyes locked. Dear God.

“Spencer, this is Y/N, my wonderful, gorgeous, single and attractive friend. Say hello, Spencer.”

“Hello,” he gladly followed the instructions Penelope gave him, and you practically giggled at the sound of his voice. Giggled.

“Hello. I'm the wonderful, gorgeous, attractive Y/N,” you waved at him slightly, but your brain wouldn't stop thumping around as you enjoyed the sight of the man.

“Penelope actually told me about you before. You're working at the indie bookstore near Café Density, right? Castle Books? I got a first edition of T.S. Eliot’s Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats there a few months ago.”

“You!” You gasped the word, as a garage of words fell from your mouth in a stream. “You bastard, I was saving for months to buy that thing, and three days before my paycheck I turn up and it was gone! Oh my god, how does it smell? Are the pages mustard yellow or still A little white? They never let me touch it because I almost burst into tears every time I got close.”

To your astonishment, he didn't recoil from your spitfire speech, but laughed happily.

“It's great, the illustrations are amazing. I didn't know someone else had their eye on it when I went in, I'm sorry.”

“Don't apologise for finding treasure. You'd be a horrible pirate if you did that.” You brain really wasn't connected with your mouth anymore and you resisted the urge to turn and bolt away from the discussion.

“Thank you? I'm not a pirate, but I think that was a compliment.”

“See, nerds made in heaven, JJ was right.” The panic built up again slightly and you were sure your brain was going to explode with all the heat that was flooding to your face.

“What's JJ right about?” Reid inquired, and you almost grasped your chest to stop your heart from beating out of it when he cocked his head to the side.

You hadn't had a lick of alcohol the entire night, and yet you're entire body was reacting like it was drunk on Spencer Reid.

“Oh just that you and Y/N here would make beautiful-”

“BEAUTIFUL CONVERSATIONS HAPPEN.” You quickly cut Penelope off, sending her a warning look that was less subtle than just straight up telling her to shut her mouth.

“Can we go now?” Emily dropped her head to the table again as she threw out the words, looking suddenly three shades greener than she was a moment before. “I think that last shot was the drink that broke the camel's liver, and I'm the camel.”

You passed her the water again and slowly started to help your friends gently gather their things, noticing that Spencer was doing the same.

No wonder these girls were so protective of him if this is how well he treats them. He was their coworker, but he would have absolutely been confused for a filial son for any of the three women as he helped them each.

“Where do you live, Y/N?” He asked casually as you both helped the women out of the bar and into the fresh air. “My car is a bit small, but we can throw these three in the back together and they'll mostly sleep until they get back to their homes.”

“Oh no, you don't have to do that, I can go by myself-”

“I can't let a drunk woman go home by herself, Penelope would give me hell in the morning.” This earned a few giggles from the women beside you. You thought you heard Emily mumbling “some profiler he is,” under her breath as well.

You hesitated. You should've been explaining that you hadn't had anything to drink yet, that you actually drove here yourself and that your car was likely parked right by his. You should've offered to take at least one woman off his hands for the night to share the burden of making sure your friends didn't die.

But it was true that each of the women was likely to completely pass out when they got into the car, like newborns being rocked to sleep by their mothers. And that left Spencer Reid free for conversation.

“Thank you, that would be really nice, actually,” you smiled and followed the man to his car, lugging your wonderfully buzzed friends behind you.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you

487 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months

Text

Three for One 1

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, cheating, customer service abuse, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: As a customer service associate, you're used to work with a wide variety of characters. Your efforts to go above and beyond draw the attention of a certain set of customers who want more than what's on the shelf.

Character: Andy Barber, Lloyd Hansen, Ransom Drysdale

Note: Right, this was supposed to be a drabble series but it morphed and not I'm fucked.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

It's the most special time of year! Mistletoe, jingle bells, and holiday cheer! Oh, and hot chocolate. Lots of that.

You hide your thermos under the desk and grab the crystal bottle again, giving a test spritz to the air. Your job isn't very complicated. All you do is say hi and chat about the perfume. Your manager says the job is selling but you don't like to see it that way.

You smile at a family of five as they veer towards the toy section. You don't think the six year old would be into an eau de parfum. It's understandable.

While you spend your hours wandering around expensive makeups and scents, you're filled with a certain hint of longing. For what you're paid to push the merchandise, you can't afford any of it yourself. Well, you've never been very materialistic.

You spin around and see a gentlemen approaching, though he doesn't seem to see you. He looks past you, almost through you. You stop in place and put on your best smile, fixing the red band around your head.

"Hello, sir, would you like to try some Gucci?" You offer and spray the nozzle at him.

He skids to a stop and recoils as if he's been slapped. He holds out his arm as he looks down at his coat, little droplets seeping into the fabric. He takes a whiff, his short mustache wiggling under his nose, and he scoffs as he tries to shake off the cologne.

"What the fuck are you doing?" He snips.

"Sorry, sir, I didn't mean to scare you."

"You just go around spray people with that horseshit?"

"Well, sir, with respect, I don't like that sort of language.

"And I don't like being drenched in dog piss," he blusters, "point me to the goddamn trimmers."

"Um, what kind? Nail trimmers? Pet trimmers? Garden trimmers?"

"What the fuck do you think?" He points to his own face.

You hold your smile. There's always that one customer who's having a bad day. Whatever's got him so upset must be worse than dealing with him.

"Personal care," you point to the far corner, "right over there, sir."

"Ugh," he stomps and storms off.

"I hope your day gets better," you call after him, "oh, did you want a store coupon--"

He ignores you as he waves you off over his shoulder. You watch him turn towards men's grooming and you shrug, rocking slightly. You try not to let them get to you. As jolly as you find this time of year, a lot of people don't feel the same.

You shrug off the encounter. You still have a few hours ahead of you and it's starting to bustle with customers. You help a couple find the home wares while keeping the boundary of cosmetics firm. Lucille, the manager, doesn't like you leaving your zone.

You approach a woman looking at the Prada selection and get her checked out with a new fragrance, specially gift-wrapped by yours truly. She leaves happy, a small victory for the day. You celebrate but not too much.

You come around the counter just as you see that man strutting back up. He has an item in his hand and ignores you as he passes. Still you smile at him.

"Annoying," he mutters under his breath.

"Need help finding anything else, sir?" You ask his heels.

He stops and you see the way his spine stiffens. Oh no, you shouldn't have said anything. He slowly turns to face you.

"You can shut up," he marches up to you and grabs the bottle from your hands, "shut." He sprays you in the face, "up." He squirts you several more times before shoving the vial against your chest, "stupid little girl."

You take the bottle, blinking as you use your cuff to wipe the perfume away from your eyes. He continues on his path as you stand dumbfounded, drenched in Gucci cologne. It's hard to breathe through the heavy scent and you can't help but cough.

What a jerk. Just because he's having a bad day, doesn't mean everyone needs to.

Slowly you grow accustomed to the smell of yourself. It’s not too unusual. You go nose blind about halfway through your shift once you spray a few too many samples. You keep your distance from customers, offering them a spritz but trying not to crowd them with the vapors of cologne rippling off of you.

You yawn as the afterwork rush floods in and you make another round, smiling at Sofia as she peeks over at you. She’s with another customer at the counter, ringing them up as she gabs. You spin at the display at the center of the crossway that runs through the beauty department and stagger back before another can run you over.

You apologise to the tall man as he skids to a stop on his soles. You can tell he’s in a hurry by the way he grips his briefcase and squares his jaw. He wears a long dark wool coat as flecks of snow melt into his thick beard.

“Oh, sorry, I er, wasn’t–” He clears his throat, collecting himself, “I… didn’t see you.”

“That’s okay, sir,” you assure him, “would you like to try the new scent?”

You hold up the onyx bottle but don’t spray him. You don’t need another dousing. He looks at the silver letters on the side then at you. The furrow in his brow lightens as his blue eyes swim.

“No thanks, but er, you think you could help me find something?”

“Of course,” you chime and lower the bottle, “are you looking for a gift for someone special?”

He nods, “my mother-in-law is on her way into town, I need a present. Maybe perfume?”

His tone is tinted with frustration as he reaches up to rub the back of his neck. He lets out a long sigh. He’s one of those shoppers; the last minute scrambler. You grasp the vial in one hand and tug at the front of your thick red sweater, you’re starting to get a bit toasty in the crowded store.

“How old is she?” You ask.

“Um,” he clamps his lips together and thinks, “hmmm, probably seventy-something? I’m sorry, I guess I should know that.”

“That’s okay, I… I would suggest some Liz Taylor,” you turn on your heel and wave him after you as you head off, “it’s a classic. Not so much a me scent but the older crowd likes it. Oh, and it’s on special so your wallet won’t hate it, either.”

You stop by the Diamonds display as you face him again. He follows at a pace and stops before the shelf, perusing the gold caps and crystal caps. He considers the rack in deep thought.

“Here,” you set down your bottle on a nearby table of seasonal decorations and take one from the display. You slip out a strip of cardstock and spray it with the sampler, “this one is gardenia. That was her favourite scent. It’s probably the least pungent.”

You offer him the sample and he eyes it. He slowly bends and sniffs the end of the paper. He wiggles his nose. It makes you sneeze too. As much as you’re a fan of the classic actress, her scents are dated.

“Smells like her,” he grumbles under his breath, “sure, I’ll take that.”

“Great,” you declare and trade the sampler for a boxed bottle, then retrieve your disposed Gucci vial, “would you like me to check you out, sir?”

“Is it faster?”

“I can be fast,” you promise him, “this way.”

You go around the sparkling counters and he meets you across the till. You type in your log in, taking several tries to get your passcode right. The man places his briefcase on the counter,a hand resting on the edge.

“You know a lot about this stuff?” He prompts.

“Yeah, I guess,” you smile as you scan the perfume and tap the special offer on the screen, “kinda part of the job.”

“Hmm” he hums again, in that thoughtful manner. You look at him but he’s not looking at your face, “that’s a nice sweater.”

You look down at the red wool speckled with pearls. It’s new and one of your favourites already. You can’t help a little wiggle of your shoulders, “thanks!”

“Very… cheerful,” he muses as he takes out his wallet, “wish I could say the same of what awaits me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, sir, it’s that time of year, I guess,” you push the debit machine towards him and he taps his credit card, “I’m sure your mother-in-law will love the perfume.” The transaction approves and the receipt prompts, “would you like an email?”

“Nah, that’s fine,” he tucks his credit card away.

“Would you like it gift-wrapped?” You offer, “it’s free?”

He hovers his hand over his briefcase as he considers it. His eyes meet yours and his cheek dimples, “alright, yeah, that’s… that’s perfect. Thank you.”

“No problem,” you beam back at him, “let me just get some tissue paper…”

You murmur to yourself as you grab some gold tissue paper and a white gift bag with a Christmas tree embossed into the side. You carefully line up the small box on the paper and begin your intensive work. You're a master wrapper, you used to work at the wrapping station in the mall.

“What about you?” He asks before the silence can stretch too far, “you seeing family for the holidays? When you’re not working?”

“Um,” you smile as you look up, “I’m just hanging out with my dog. I bought him a bone.”

“A dog,” he nods, “your family live out of town?”

Usually, you ask the questions. It’s easier that way. It deflects the attention from you. It’s why you like the job; you can hear all about others and not have to think about yourself.

“Yeah, something like that,” you slip the wrapped box into the bag and fluff the tissue paper.

“Eh!” The loud exclamation makes you jump as the man merely turns his head, a tic in his jaw. His eyes narrow as another customer approaches, strutting with hands in his jacket pocket as he calls out, “Barber, what the hell?”

Your customer shifts towards the man, heels squeaking on the floor, “Hugh.”

“Don’t Hugh me, asshole,” the other man retorts, “you said you were busy? What’s the matter, you lose too much money last time?”

“Suzette is in town. Family dinner,” the man, Barber, drones dully.

“Ah, ditched for the old crone, I get it.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Well, wouldn’t you know it, poker night was canceled, something about not enough seats,” the man counters sharply.

“Next week,” the first man growls.

“Hey, you,” the man in the russet coat snaps his fingers in your direction, “you got some of that Acqua di Gio. That dumb girl over there said you’re sold out.”

Your brows pop up and you swallow tightly. He’s another type. The arrogant demander. He doesn’t hear no. He’ll ask everyone the same question in hope of getting a different answer.

“We are out of stock, sir, but I could order it in for you,” you suggest.

“Order in? I can just go on Amazon, thanks for nothing,” he chops his hand at you dismissively.

“Hey,” the other man nudges his chest, “be nice. She’s working.”

“What? I’m here to spend money and they got shit all–”

“It’s December,” the other man reproaches before he turns back to you, “sorry, my friend is a jerk.” He accepts the gift bag as you hold it out, “thank you. You saved me.”

“No problem, but er, I was gonna say,” you turn to the other man, “sir, I have some samples of the Armani. I could give you those while you wait for the order.”

“Samples?” He echoes, “how many?”

“Let me have a look,” you back up and go to the drawer at the back of the checkout.

“I gotta get going, miss,” the first man waves his hand as you peek over your shoulder, “have a happy holiday.”

“You too,” you chirp back and find the last few tubes of Armani. You claim them and prance back to meet the new customer at the counter, “I have five.” You lay out your wares, “if I order in a bottle it’ll be in just before Christmas.”

“Two weeks?” He puffs.

“I’m sorry, sir, that’s the earliest I can do. It’s the last day I can guarantee delivery before Christmas.”

“Talk, talk, talk, order it,” he snaps.

“Right, let me just…” you open the shop and search up the scent. You add it to the cart and proceed. “Alright, got that, did you want it shipped for pick up here or to your address.”

“Here, they can never fucking find my house,” he sniffs.

“Great, so when it arrives, we’ll give you a call. You’ll also get an email to confirm.”

“What’s going on here?” He points at you suddenly. You look down again at your sweater but don’t see anything amiss. You flinch as he reaches to pinch one of the pearls, “what is this?”

“Oh, I… my sweater,” you raise your head, swallowing down the insult. It’s cute!

“Huh, Walmart clearance, huh,” he scoffs, “alright, how much are you robbing me for?”

He reaches into his coat as you hit total. You read out the final amount but he doesn’t pull out a card; he hands you cash. You count the bills, twice over, then give him his change. He looms with impatient huffs.

“Here’s your receipt,” you hand him the strip of paper. “Have a good day, sir.”

“Mmm,” he pokes his tongue into his cheek as he shoves the receipt into his pocket, “actually, while I’m here, I’d like a new sweater. You can help me and I’ll show you what real quality is.”

You almost laugh. Not spitefully, it’s just a bit silly. He’s competing with you, a perfume pusher.

“Well, sir, I can point you towards men’s fashion but I’m not able to leave this department, I’m sorry,” you give a sheepish smile.

“Oh no, good girl wouldn’t want to break the rules,” he rolls his eyes, “goody goody and her precious little smile.” He hooks his thumbs in his pockets, “my shit better be in by Christmas.”

He twists and strides away. You watch him go but not for long as you’re quickly distracted by a customer looking at the Britney Spears collection. Those are easy sellers.

718 notes · View notes

svgvru · 5 months

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐈 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑?

creds to @y-yearning : PUSSYHAVER OLDER DILFIE GOJO ND MID-TWENTIES OR TWENTIES READER FUCKING GOJO REFUCKINGBLOG OPPELASLELEKJBRHFVG I NEED IT.

YOU ALWAYS ADORED YOUR NEIGHBOR. satoru gojo was a sweet man, albeit one with a shit ton of personality. he was much older than you, you estimate around double your age, but he didn't look old, at least from your yard. in fact, he was quite musclar, the white stuble on on his jaw, and the small streaks of grey in his hair were the only indicators of his age. but when you first came into the neighborhood, fresh out of college and a newer home owner, he showed you the ropes. he really was nice, and prettier upfront.

satoru gojo also had kids. he a husband of his own, seemingly settled down and happy. although, that wasn't exactly true. you had no way of knowing, but satoru's arranged marriage wasn't exactly a thing he was happy about.

but when the adorable smile of yours was directed his way in the mornings, he couldn't help but be just a little happier.

this older neighbor of yours give you tips to keep your lawn neat, listen to your random array of hobbies--he'd even indulge in them so you were lonely, he'd happily accept whatever sweets you'd get him, and he'd listen to all of your problems. he spent more bonding time with his younger neighbor, than with his husband.

one problem he listened to in particular, was money. as someone built from old money he has plently.

"why don't you come babysit for my kids? me and my husband are going out this weekend, we could use someone to watch them." once he stated his price you immediately nodded, eager to receive such a large amount of money per hour. plus, you had never been inside of his house, you wondered what his style was. "gladly!"

and when the day came, you were quite nervous. they were going to be out pretty late, so you brought clothes to sleep in and any necessities you needed.

satoru opened the door with his warm dimpled smile when you knocked. "glad to see you! and welcome to my home," he stepped back and allowed you through the door. you looked in awe as your eyes scanned the interior. the house looks bigger on the inside, and it was beautifully furnished. "your house is beautiful, i don't want to step inside," you chuckle lightly, feeling as if you might ruin the rich air of it if you fully stepped inside. satoru laughs, "c'mon."

when you step inside, he closes the door before calling two names. you see two little kids run towards him. the bigger one, likely around five, seemed to have a lot of energy. "this is saori," satoru puts his hand on her head. she had long straight white hair with a few black streaks in them.

"this is five-year-old i warned you about," satoru starts, the girl interrupts him with a frown, "hey!" satoru chuckles, "she has a lot of energy."

the smaller kid trotts up to him. "this is shiro," satoru picks up the kid, holding him gently in his arms. the kid looks exactly like him, bright blue eyes, dimpled smile, and fluffy white hair alike. "this is the three-year-old. he's a lot calmer than saori."

the kids looked pretty nice, it didn't seem like you were going to have any problems. satoru explains the rules, telling you their schedules and anything else. "come on, suguru! i'm ready to go!" a man with straight black hair walks down stairs dressed in a matching suit with satoru. "i'm here, damn."

they soon leave, satoru waving goodbye, and now you're left with the kids.

"let's have a good afternoon, yeah?"

you yawned and checked the clock, nestled comfortably on the couch. it was pretty late, and the kids had been gone to sleep. your eyes drifted shut, only opening when you hear the large slam of the front door. you shoot up, looking worried before you realize it's satoru. yet, he looks visibly pissed off. "wha- oh. you could've slept in the guest room y'know," satoru mumbles, carding his hand through his hair. he visibly relaxes when he sees you aswell.

"what's wrong? if you don't mind me asking," you ask him, tilting your head. you slowly get up off of the couch and walk towards him.

"just a fight, nothing to worry about," satoru pinches the bridge of his nose. "you look pretty upset, i think is something to worry about . . . just a little." your hand gently grabs his wrist, pulling his hand away from his face. and even in the darkness of the room, you could tell his eyes were watering.

it felt wrong how close you were, but you couldn't let him be so sad. his smile was one of the things you loved most about him, you hated when you saw it disappear.

when your hand cupped his cheek, you felt as if you crossed a line, but it also felt so right. "gojo—" his lips smash against yours, interrupting your words. it was wrong, but you couldn't help but kiss him back, parting your lips and entangling your tongue with his. "satoru," he whispers, sepreating your lips only to put them back to together. "call me satoru."

the man is taller than you, his arms wrap around your neck as you kiss, feet drifting closer and closer to the couch.

"mm, fuck--" he whispers into your lips, falling back on the comfortable cushion of the couch, pulling you down on top of him. it was adorable how desprate he was, perhaps something was really wrong with his marriage. but that was a thought for after this. your current thoughts are consumed by the older man below you.

satoru whimpers, diamond eyes glossy as he looks up at you. fuck--he sounded sweet. and he looked the part too.

his thigh rubs at your growing buldge, the look in his eyes full of desire. "goj- satoru, are you sure-" satoru's trembling lip interrupts you, "please." please? you never thought he was the type to plead. you nod, "okay."

your hands messily undress him, tearing off his suit until you get to his boxers with confusion. "oh! i- i forgot to tell you," satoru chews on his bottom lip, hands covering the large damp spot on his boxers. although his face turns red when he sees the glint in your eyes. "is- is that fine?" your eyes flicker to his, almost angry he would assume you wouldn't think it was fine.

slipping off his boxers, your mouth watering at the sight. satoru gojo's pussy puffy and hairy, in your face.

your face dips between his legs, your lips mouthing at his pussy. you spread his pussy with your thumbs, licking and sucking at him. "a-ah!" satoru whines, legs twitching as you make out with his cunt. "oh fuck! you're so good, so much--fuck!" his eyes roll and cross, hands entangled in your hair. "oh! 'm cumming! 'm cumming!"

his legs clamp around your head as he squirts in your face. your neighbor, just squirted in your face.

you lift your head from your legs, panting and licking your lips. satoru's eyes flutter, looking up at you with a shaky smile. sitting up, you smile at his throbbing clit. "didn't know you could-" satoru yelps when you lift up his lower half to your face. your lips attach to his clit, sucking and licking on his pink clit. satoru laughs, "you're so energetic! that because your young?"

your eyes look down and lock with his. "i just like your body," you mumble into his pussy, "so good."

satoru whines as you eat him out. "gunna squirt in m'face again?" you whisper, closing your eyes at his taste. satoru doesn't answer, although you can guess why his legs shut around your head again. strings of moans and your name leaves his lips. "pleasepleasepleeease," he whispers.

his legs tremble as he squirts with a yell again. satoru's legs fall slack in your hold before you set his lower half down. satoru looks up at you with low eyes, seeing his release all over your lips and chin.

"need you do that again. just on m'cock this time," you whisper pushing down your grey sweats, staring down at him with lustful eyes. satoru smiles, spreading his glistening thighs for you.

all thoughts or awareness of anything else are thrown from his head when his eyes lock onto your cock, when he fills the tip push between his puffy and red folds, when you sink into him and fill him to the brim. fuck- you're bigger than suguru. "mmph! f-fu . . . hah," satoru swallows when your cock stretches his cunt perfectly, like you were made for him.

you lean down, pushing his flexing thighs with you. his calves rest on your shoulders and you interwine his fingers with yours, holding them above his head.

"f-fuck! you feel s'good," you moan, focusing on the wet sound of his cunt taking your cock. and clearly the squelching and the wet skin slapping was turning him on as his walls squeeze you as if not wanting to leave. you lean and press your lips to his, smiling at how his eyes were unfocused and cross. your tongues messily tangible, saliva dripping down the corner of his lips.

"ngh—! a-ah . . . AHnNg!" no thoughts were in the older man's head when he felt your cum shoot into him, the warmth making him smile as he milks your cock, cumming himself.

his awareness and judgement had long been thrown into the dark depths of his mind. him nor you even noticed suguru watching you with a boner straining at his pants. then again, how could he focus? his pussy felt a bit too good, better than he's felt in a while simply because of work interference.

saori always wanted a little sister.

𝗗𝗢𝗡'𝗧 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗪𝗔𝗡𝗧 𝗧𝗢 𝗕𝗘 𝗔𝗡 𝗘𝗠𝗣𝗟𝗢𝗬𝗘𝗘? JOIN?

current employees: @pulpbeing @flimsyichigo @honeybleed @icaruien @banquetlord @whiteholesun

<3 this is took me 4ever, but i've going thru a writer's block, i feel proud of myself lol. i don't know if anyone is going to like this, but this is what popped in my head. y'all have also thoroughly convinced me that satoru is a squirter... btw i was thinking about this image while making this. don't even ask where i got it from :D

550 notes · View notes

sl-ut · 4 months

Text

random college!abby hcs

more!college abby

warnings: mentions of sex, drinking, drugs, and nudity, cursing, mild hint homophobia

first things first: jerry is alive and abby is his pride and joy

i'm serious... her mom died when she was a toddler and jerry hasn't had a long-term relationship since, so he's the only parental figure that she has

he took every precaution while raising her to make sure she always had everything she could ever need while also making sure that she didn't end up being an entitled brat

otherwise, she is very close with both of her father's siblings (her aunt is the only maternal relationship she has and definitely relied on her for all of her personal issues as a teenager), has a good relationship with jerry's mother and step-father

her mother was an only child, but her parents always come over for thanksgiving and even christmas sometimes

she was very supportive of her father taking in yara and lev after she moved out. she knew he was suffering from a severe case of empty nest syndrome. she def makes them feel so welcome right away like those strangers became her siblings in a matter of minutes

i'll only say it once ppl: OLD MONEY

jk i'll say it again. the andersons are a long line of surgeons and doctors so obvi they're gonna be well off

like, not "fund a research facility to get my kid into college" rich, they're more "i casually have a summer home, a ski chalet, and a ridiculously nice house to live in year round" rich.

her only real relationship was in high school (trigger warning: it was owen)

our bby had a bad case of comphet as a teenager

like fr she had not even considered the fact that she might be gay until she was two knuckles deep in some sorority girl during a party in her freshman year

after that she sort of just accepted it, she had no concern of her dad bc obviously he would be so accepting and supportive, but a few of her relatives def had an issue with it right off the bat (old money, old values)

she's been friends with manny, nora, owen, and mel since middle school, and the only one whose view of her seemed to change was owen (and mel too ig bc she stopped seeing abby as such a threat)

he drunkenly questioned her about it once, saying something super gross and along the lines of "you didn't seem gay when we were together"

to which she responded by offering him two choices; he could sit down and shut up or she would knock him tf out

he's cooled it since then but everyone knows that he still has a big fat crush on her so he still wants to believe he has a chance (even tho he was literally already talking to mel before they broke up and announced they were together only a few days after)

she's pre-med, majoring in bio and minoring in something totally different like classical lit or history or something

she's gonna end up being an orthopedic surgeon but later on in her career i can see her turning to teaching at a university or something

like doctor!abby turned prof!abby???? omg

is very health conscious

she's a gym rat, this we already know

she also takes her diet very seriously as well, but always has a secret stash of junk for when she really needs it

also careful with her alcohol/drug intake

she drinks on occasion (birthday, christmas, new years, etc, etc) but usually not very much (will almost always be sober enough to be the sober driver if need be)

she refuses to do any drugs during lacrosse season. she's so strict with her diet during the season that she won't ingest anything other than quality, nutritious food. she also needs to submit a drug test a few times per season so she doesn't wanna risk it.

in the off season, she's more willing to have a puff or two at a party or take an edible before a movie night or something (i don't see her doing any drug other than weed)

she lived with manny during her freshman and sophomore years

they had a shitty little apartment a few minutes away from campus

it was the only one that manny could afford on a student budget, and he refused abby's offer to get a nicer apartment and let her pay a larger portion of the rent than he did

they still had fun either way

manny loved having another person he could talk about girls with (he was initially gonna move in with owen but then he got ditched for mel)

every sunday morning they would get takeout for breakfast so manny could recount his night with the girl that had snuck out only a few hours earlier

she was a little hesitant to join in and share her own stories, but she finally got more comfortable in talking to him about it (RESPECTFULLY!!!!!!! she was so scared that she was gonna end up sounding like a literally disgusting pig but she keeps the details to a minimum and only says nice things unless the girl was a major bitch)

she's a lululemon/gymshark girly. her go-to style is definitely any variation of athlesiure. she wears lots of joggers, dry-fit tops, and the cleanest pair of white sneakers you'll ever see

underneath, i'm picturing her as more of a bralette type of girl. obviously she wears a sports bra to the gym, but on a regular basis, she likes wearing bralettes over bras bc she doesn't need that much support so they offer just enough without the discomfort of a bra

i'm settling the debate rn everyone, college!abby wears boxers AND panties

she finds boxers more comfortable on a day to day basis, but she likes wearing cheekies and thongs especially when she's wearing leggings

so dorky

she was definitely a sci-fi/fantasy kid

she grew up on harry potter, lord of the rings, star wars, etc etc

would love a partner who would watch them with her and actually enjoy it

unironically makes gym thirst traps on tiktok

her followers always comment supportive things like: looking good!, major gainssss, muscle mommy come destroy this pu-

still wears the iconic braid, but usually only when she's on the field. she occasionally wears her hair down, but i hc that she still likes to wear her hair pulled back in a cute little braided ponytail or a messy low bun

when she's older SHE CUTS HER HAIR OMG OMG OMG like literally i'm purring rn

like ik you've all seen that edit of her with super short hair omg she's so hot

in her junior year she decided to live on her own

manny moved in with jordan, who had been begging him for a while since the rent was more than he could handle on his own, though manny's rent would actually be cheaper than it was in his apartment with abby

they still do their traditions tho, still having sunday breakfast, still going to the campus pub on fridays for trivia, still going to the gym together on wednesdays...

they're actually besties i love them

when she's on her period, she craves salty foods

is so frustratingly confident in her emotions

will always try to diffuse the situation and pissing the other person off with her calmness

takes really good care of her skin

her favourite drink is diet cranberry gingerale

she's a dog person, but she would definitely enjoy having a cat around too

adopts a rescue dog a few weeks after finishing her residency

uses old spice fiji body wash and deodorant (SHE SMELLS SO FUCKING GOOD) and a musky vanilla body spray

likes to feel and be clean, but isn't too fussed about her body hair so long as it looks tidy. she isn't anti shaving, and will probably make an effort to shave more regularly in the early stages of a relationship until she's more confident and comfortable around the person

NSFW

down-there hair? duh

like i said, she likes to keep things tidy so she'll trim and maybe shave her bikini line if she's feeling it but that's it. she's not fussed with body hair, whether it's her or her partner's

again, she'll make an effort to keep herself looking neat and tidy for the first bit of a relationship but after a few weeks she's not afraid to go full-bush when she doesn't wanna shave

she doesn't love penetration. fingers are one thing, but she has only had not-so-great experiences with sex that involved a penis-like object. she'd wanna be the one wearing the strap for the most part, but she'd be willing to try it again with the right person

slow and passionate sex >>>>>

considers herself to be very vanilla but she's actually kinda kinkyyyyy (she gets so embarrassed and blushy when anyone calls her out for it)

she prefers scissoring to using her strap (but she LOVES her strap)

she doesn't like to choke her partners, but she will reach her hand up and just hold their throat while they're fucking

she's always so sensitive

came in like thirty seconds during her first time with another girl

she's noiiiiisssyyyyyyyy

she usually starts out with just heavy panting breaths, then they turn into deep grunts, then she begins to whine from low in her throat, and finally she begins to gasp out words of praise or curses

she squirts teehee

like i said she's always so sensitive, so if she's any ways worked up when someone's going down on her they better watch out bc they're in the splash zone

her strap is purple and sparkly

abby anderson eats ass

her nipples are super sensitive too

not really nsfw but she really loves casual nudity with her partners, changing in front of each other, hopping in the shower together, using the bathroom with the other person in the room...

she's a boob girl. doesn't matter if they're big, small, saggy, or perky, she just wants to suck them

when she's on top, she likes to pull her partner's leg over her shoulder and will just start like trailing kisses along the length of their calf

she's a literal munch

will use it to her advantage too

tells her partner she'll go down on them if they finish their assignments

#reader insert #x reader #imagines #lesbian #abby anderson #abby anderson imagine #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x you #abby tlou #college!abby anderson

407 notes · View notes

thatoneyanderewriter · 5 months

Text

Deception

pairing: yandere!coriolanus snow x everdeen!reader

summary: it’s the things we love the most that destroy us.

warnings: yandere behavior, stalking, implied murder, violence, delusion, possessive!snow(as in VERY possessive) unhealthy relationships, superiority complex, narcissistic tendencies.

a/n: I love Lucy gray okay? but she didn’t exist in this! Just for the plot btw. also more yandere tbosas characters to come!

Coriolanus liked to think that he was always on top. Snows were, after all, very prominent. That was what was keeping him going in life. His name.

This mentorship would be the key to his future. He had already decided he wanted to be the President of Panem, another way for him to gain control.

He first notices you at the reaping. Not physically. But it’s programmed live, so everyone could see. You stood out. Maybe not on purpose, but to him you did.

“District 12 Girl is Y/N Everdeen.”

The Mayor looked smug. You look over to a smug redhead. He wondered what past you shared with her. And you stood tall and confident. You kept your expression the same as you walk.

The redhead screamed, as the mayor called for help. That was revenge. But you didn’t do anything else, as you stood, the Mayor slapped you so hard you were off of your knees.

But you made no reaction as you stood back up, giving the mayor a warm smile as he was taken away. This was your opportunity, sure. You went over to the mic simply said,”Thank you, hope you enjoyed the show!”

Stepping back, You bowed, and added,”I hope you’ll enjoy my show just as much as I do!” You acted as if the audience was cheering, but it was silence.

The Peacekeepers shove you inside as Jessup is announced as the District 12 Male. You shake hands and that’s one of the last moments of the reaping he sees of you.

To be honest, receiving District 12 was a slap to the face. It was the small, joke district. It was clear Dean Highbottom had something against him, giving it to him on purpose.

In fairness, Coriolanus had made fun of him with friends behind his back, but still. It wasn’t fair. His petty resentment shouldn’t intertwine with his work.

But, you had some sort of gift. One he’d use to his advantage when it came to winning the games. And clearly, people liked you.

“I’ll have to admit, Coriolanus, you’ve gotten lucky, His fellow classmate, Hilarius teased. “I have, He replied proudly, having placed his plate next to Clemensia, He spots pie and immediately goes after it.

He hadn’t had Apple Pie in quite some time. The thought of it made his stomach growl. When all of a sudden, Dean Highbottom placed a bogger slice on his plate.”Oh, take a big one. Growing boy like you can handle it.”

Coriolanus grins at him. Thank you, sir. I can always find room for pie.” The Dean responds, “Yes, pleasures are never hard to accommodate, No one would know better than I.”

He never liked Dean Highbottom. He probably only had his position due to his fame of creating the hunger games.

The conversation sent chills down Coriolanus’ spine when Dean Highbottom spoke the words,”Look at you, in your makeshift shirt and your too-tight shoes, trying to hold it together. Strutting around the Capitol, when I doubt the Snows have a pot to piss in. Even with a prize, it would be a stretch, and you don’t yet have one, do you? What then, I wonder, would happen to you? What then?”

The next morning, Coriolanus stood at the Train Station. After hearing about the arrival of the tributes, he felt it was best to see you personally. A start that most hadn’t jumped to.

This made him feel more confident. And in his hand was a white rose, one from his grandmother’s garden. It was Tigris who suggested bringing a gift. And his cousin was never wrong, most of the time at least.

The train was a bit late but when you arrived, didn’t run per se, but rushed over to you, rose in hand. “Welcome to the Capitol, He greeted you.

You look up at him.”You shouldn’t be here, well, you don’t look like you do.” “I probably shouldn’t, He admits. You laugh a little, but aren’t scared. You don’t trust him right away of course.

“So then, What’s a Capitol boy like you doing around here? You ask, eyeing his clothing. “I’m your mentor, He said.”And I wanted to know you without the Capitol.”

“Hm, a rebel, You teased, taking the rose from him.”Does everyone have a mentor?” “Yes, but the others are waiting I suppose, He winked.

Coriolanus was intrigued. You were a bit more bold and confident than he expected. But the reaping showed a little bit of that.

“What does my mentor do besides bringing roses? You joke. “I do my best to take care of you, He said.”Coriolanus Snow.”

“I’m sure, if you’re my mentor, you know my name, but I like yours, You compliment.”And good luck, by the way. A lot of people don’t like me. Might try to kill you too.”

It was a clear joke, but Coriolanus was still puzzled. How could anyone hate you? You weren’t dangerous by any means, and the confidence you had became attractive to him, almost.

You expect to go on by yourself, but Coriolanus joins beside you, being shoved into the platform. He did so much for you, and maybe you should’ve done more. Then, you saved his life. Out of oath and a sense of guilt. And the fact you wanted to help people, not do the opposite.

Eventually, The games ended. And while Coriolanus was certainly relieved. Dean Highbottom found out about his little favor to help you win.

He just had to see you one last time. To say that he had grown infatuated was an understatement. You just were very charming, and sweet. Naive, even. Maybe not from your eyes, but his? Definitely.

“Are you okay? You ask.”You seemed urgent when you asked to meet up.” It was secret, just like your relationship.

“They’re punishing me, He said.”I don’t know if I’ll see you again. I cheated to help you win.” “I would’ve done the same, Coryo, You remind him.”Besides, I owe you. What’s your punishment?”

He could either lie, or tell you the truth. See, he always felt like you needed to be saved by him. He was superior, in a way. Of course he loved you, but he wanted to protect you too.

“I’m going to be a Peacekeeper for 20 years, He admits.”Protocol, but at least I won’t suffer humiliation.”

You chuckle.”I know, Coryo. I’d rather suffer humiliation than be a Peacekeeper. Will I see you again?” He replied,”I don’t know.”

But when you kiss him, it feel incredible. You loved him so. And from your eyes, he loved you too, yet it didn’t change your confidence and boldness.

He was well aware that you would’ve stood up for what’s right. You were an Everdeen. A family of that, according to you.

But truthfully, he insisted on district 12. “Well, they’re sending me back too, Coryo, You tell him.”Might pick up on more jobs to survive.”

He kissed you roughly one last time. Even though he was sure he’d see you again. Maybe without your knowledge.

When you came home, you did as you said. You picked up on more jobs. And when he first was there began following you, more like stalking you, but he was protective of you, his girl, he’d say to himself.

He didn’t want anyone else to have you. And he knew his silly infatuation became an Obsession. But this wasn’t new. Not in the slightest.

You began singing a little at the Hob, alongside the Covey, a group of musicians. You didn’t sing too much, he notices.

But when you did sing, you sang beautifully. You always sang what you felt. And he admired it. One night, however, you noticed him. But made a small reaction, turning back to the song.

When you ended, you rushed over.”Coryo. Didn’t expect to see you here.” “Surprised? He teased. “A little, You admit.”But, I knew you would. It wasn’t too much of a surprise. Nice buzz cut.”

He laughed, your fingers brushing over his shaved head. He’d miss his curls, but they’d return. “Where’s Sejanus? You ask.

You find him within the crowd, and start up a conversation. However, the night ends with you and Coriolanus, like how he wanted.

His ever growing possessiveness for you was showing a little, his grip on your hand was strong. You didn’t care, though. Not at first. You might not see him again. Or rarely.

Your judgement was clouded by the feeling of Love. A feeling many experience at your age. “Y/N, A voice said drunkenly.

You turn, annoyance in your tone.”What? I know exactly why you’re here.” Your former lover, well, truthfully, a one-sided crush at that. He just thought you were lovers.

He'd believe Mayfair over you, on a lie. that was it for you. “Come on, I miss what we had! He whines. “As if it was anything special, You scoffed.”See, if you hadn’t believed that redhead, it would’ve been just fine. She tried to kill me!”

Coriolanus wouldn’t admit it, at least to you, but he was fuming. His jaw clenched, and obvious signs of frustration. You soothe him, or try to. “Coryo, he’s an idiot, You say, assuringly.

“Ah, your new victim? Your former friend said jokingly, but anger in his voice.”She’s just using you, like with me.”

And that seemed to be it. You could only watch as his fists landed on his face. Stumbling back, he groans.”What the-“ Coriolanus wasn’t done. Now relying on his anger, jealousy, and bloodlust. He punched his jaw, so badly that by the time he was done, which was after a few times, his knuckles were bleeding, and blood landed on him.

Clearly, he was good as dead. This was a side you hadn’t seen before. But nonetheless, You couldn’t react. “Coryo… You could only say. And as he looks up, he hugs you, a bit more passionately than usual.

“You were never here. Go. I can handle it.”

You decide on listening. He wasn’t even really suggesting, but rather ordering. And you didn’t want to stay a moment longer.

Truthfully, He felt a sense of power, and control when he was punching him. You were his, not your former friend’s. He had to make sure of that.

It was a swift process, he had killed before, technically having no other choice but still, he was worried you wouldn’t forgive him. Or tell someone. That would ruin his future.

Of course, it didn’t mean he regretted doing so. He loved the feeling he got. The violence itself he enjoyed. And the way he spoke of you, it was justified. He shouldn’t have talked to you like that.

“Coryo, are you alright?”

Hearing your voice, his head spins. Your voice was like a bell to him. “I’m fine, are you? He hurt you? Coriolanus asked in response.

You shake your head.”He’s done this before. He may have hurt me once, but not again.” It was stupid, in your eyes. It wasn’t like he was a lover of yours, just your best friend. You thought he’d choose you over Mayfair, who clearly had her eyes on him.

Which wouldn’t be a problem, if she wasn’t a bitch. “As long as I’m here, Nobody will hurt you, Coriolanus assured you. You smile.”I know. And that’s why I love you, Coryo. Always there for me. I owe you big time.”

You owed him, and he’d never let you forget that. You belonged to him, and nobody else. You better remember that.

#coriolanus snow x reader #yandere coriolanus snow #everdeen!reader

518 notes · View notes