#coils coins!

[coils-coining]

Sofre/Flufre and Sofdre/Flufdre For Anon!

Left: Sofre/Flufre flag, Right: Sofdre/Flufdre flag

Sofre/Flufre: A pure cute soft or fluffy type of regression!

Sofdre/Flufdre: A pure cute soft or fluffy type of dream regression!

Used to cope with stress, or other reasons!

Names can be alternated if needed!

-Please read our pinned post before interacting!-

[ropesbypatricia]

Three in one, one in three...

[freelancearsonist]

Parts and Labor

➔ Eddie Munson x fem!Reader - 5k

➔ Eddie’s van is practically falling apart, but he doesn’t have the heart to replace it. Luckily for him, you’re willing to put in the effort to fix it—as long as he helps.

➔ Rated MA for unprotected p in v sex (don’t do this irl pls), oral (f receiving), heavy petting, creampie, fingering, cumplay, Eddie has scars and lies about where he got them, reader has female anatomy and uses fem pronouns, reader is a mechanic [please let me know if i missed anything at all :)]

“SHIT, FUCK!”

Eddie slams down the hood of his van, kicks the front tire as hard as he can, then winces–both at the sudden pain in his foot and at the overreaction.

“Come on baby, please,” he pleads futilely to the unresponsive engine. “I’ll give you anything, just start.”

The engine, apparently, won’t be seduced.

Eddie digs through the pocket of his low-slung jeans, finds a dime somewhere in the pile of gum wrappers and old receipts, and runs to stick the coin into the nearest payphone booth.

The garage answers on the last ring, and Eddie doesn’t even have to identify himself. They’re almost as familiar with his junker van as he is himself. They’ve wrung more money out of him for repairs than the damned thing is worth, and Eddie knows it. He knows the vehicle is on its deathbed–repeatedly resuscitated at this point–and that he should just replace it. But he can’t. Beyond fear of hurting its feelings, he’s become attached to it. He’s made memories in that stupid van. To him, replacing his ride would be like wading a huge portion of his life up and throwing it in the trash. He just won’t do it.

The garage is merciful enough to give him a ride there along with towing his poor, lifeless van. He’s not eager to spend a day in the waiting room sipping lukewarm black coffee, but he needs to be there for her. His lady is dying–waiting for news from her doctors is the least he can do.

He forgets all about his lady when you walk through the door.

You’re the Porche 944 of women. He’s never seen anything or anyone quite as breathtaking as you–with the small grease smudge on your cheek, your hair pulled back so sloppily that half of it is already fallen down, and your denim overalls unclipped on one side to show off the faded Iron Maiden t-shirt you wear underneath. You’re wiping your hands on a grease rag as you approach him and Eddie just stands in dumbfounded silence. Who are you and where have you been his entire life?

“Munson,” you greet with a slight smile. 

He almost chokes. You know his name? He knows he’s never seen you before in his life–you’re the kind of girl he could never forget. Especially with how much time he’s had to spend here.

“Having trouble getting her to start?” you continue without missing a beat. Eddie doesn’t miss the way you refer to his van, and it makes him impossibly more hooked. “Seems to be a bad ignition coil. Easy enough to fix, except your crankshaft is rusted to shit and I’m honestly surprised the whole engine hasn’t fallen apart when you hit a bump or something. Seriously, it’s dangerous to drive at this point.”

Eddie hears you, but he doesn’t comprehend a single word you’re saying. He’s hyper-fixated on the way your lips form around your words, on how you’re speaking mechanics and you actually understand what you’re saying. He’s never met anyone like you.

“But you can fix her, right?”

You smile, and he feels his heart skip a beat. “Honestly? My professional advice is to just sell it for scrap and buy a new car.”

It’s like a smack to the face. He has to blink the shock out of his eyes while you stand there so simply, like you didn’t just tell him to kill his darling.

”What’s your unprofessional advice?”

You bite your lip, busy your hands with a grease cloth. “I could fix it. But it’ll take some time, and it’ll be expensive as hell. It would honestly be cheaper to buy new.”

”I’ll pay for the fix,” he says firmly before he can consider what he’s really agreeing to. “I can’t just replace her.”

Your smile is softer when you look back up at him. “I really admire that.”

Those words shouldn’t have as much of an effect on him as they do.

”I can do the job, but not here. There’s no way my boss would let me take up a lift for as long as I need to actually do a good job, and I don’t believe in doing mediocre work. But I’ve got enough equipment at my place if you trust me?”

You’re not only saving his lady, you’re promising not to screw him like so many people have before. He’s thinking about proposing, but he keeps his cool long enough to say, “yeah. Yeah, I trust you.”

”How much do you know about cars?”

He notices a strand of hair that’s fallen down into your face, and it takes all his restraint to keep himself from pushing it behind your ear for you.

”I know enough,” he says with a modest shrug.

Your eyes shine with something that he can’t identify as you gaze up at him. “Well, if you wanna help me, I’ll only charge you for parts.”

Eddie doesn’t even need to consider. A chance to spend more time with you, and a discount on repairs? “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds great.”

The first night he comes over, it’s the sticky hot of a midsummer Indiana evening. He’s in low-slung faded jeans and a baggy white tank top that shows more of his chest than should be legal. There’s so much lightly tanned skin on display that you can’t decide where to focus—much less consider the engine you’re supposed to be working on. You can’t help asking about each little spot of ink you see on his skin, curious to learn even the smallest nuisances of his personality.

He’s the most interesting person you’ve met in this podunk town since your move to Hawkins from Indianapolis. He’s goofy and aloof, charming yet awkward. He’s so gentle and sweet you can practically smell the saccharine of his words as he speaks. He’s an animated speaker—so passionate about everything he does that he puts his whole body into it. There’s a refreshing energy to him that recharges your social battery as he goes, rather than draining it like everyone else does.

By the second night of working on Eddie’s van with him, you’re close enough to call him a friend. You know what seems like every small detail about him—his favorite color, the story behind the small scar on his left knee.

By the third night, you’re fighting every instinct in your brain to keep from throwing him inside said van and having your way with him.

Especially when you deliver to him a cold glass of iced tea and he drinks it in the sluttiest possible way he can—big gulps that send the condensation on the outside of the glass spilling down his chin to leave little paths of wetness down his neck and chest. It’s like full-on torture.

On the fourth night, you’ve had the engine block completely disassembled and ready for the new crankshaft for a couple days. It’s hard for Eddie to see his baby gutted and torn apart this way, but he knows you’ve got the most capable hands of any mechanic he’s ever known. There’s a delicacy and attention to detail in your craft that he’s never seen before, and he’s enraptured with watching you work. He’s even more enraptured by the sticky glistening of your skin in the red-orange light of sunset every night.

There’s really no reason for him to keep meeting you every single evening—all you’re doing at this point is busywork cleaning various parts because the real work can’t be done until the new parts arrive. Both of you know it, too—but neither of you will admit it. You’ve both come to look forward to these few hours together, comfortable even though you’re both sweaty, sticky, and greasy. Suspending them at this point would be a crime.

There’s just the faintest peek of reddish light left over the horizon when the conversation lulls, but Eddie’s not ready to go quite yet. “You hear Megadeth’s touring in Indy this fall?”

”No shit?”

”No shit. Tickets are probably going fast.”

”We should get some,” you say with a cautious glance over at him. This is it—this is as grand of an invitation as you can work up the courage to make. If he can’t take the bait here, you’ll be forever casting lingering glances and praying he’ll make a more substantial move than just eyeing you up and down like you’re the finest, purest water in a parched desert.

Eddie’s heart rate skyrockets even as he’s willing himself not to read too far into your words. ”Yeah? You’d… wanna go with me?”

”Might be nice. To hang out and do something other than pretend to work on your car.”

”All you had to do was ask, sweetheart,” he says with a look that’s far too smug for his own good on his face. 

Even though it’s a little ridiculous, his cockiness flusters you. ”Wasn’t sure you’d want to.”

”How could I not? I’ve got the girl of my dreams five feet away from me, I’d be crazy to not want to spend every second I can get with her.”

”Oh, is there someone else here?” You try to giggle and make it sound like a lighthearted joke, but it comes out far more flustered than you mean for it to.

”No. Just you.” It’s only three words, yet you’ve never heard anything more fraught with tension in your life. It’s in his dark eyes, in the set of his jaw, in the way his hands clench into fists at his side to keep from reaching for you.

All your eyes can manage to do is trace up the prominent veins in his forearms from his white-knuckled fists. If you meet his eyes, you know your resolve will disappear faster than a delicate snowflake on warm skin.

But he takes a step closer to you, and it’s too late before you can even consider stopping yourself.

His dark eyes are swirling with lust. There’s no mistaking it, no other label for it. It looks animalistic, almost dangerous. He looks like he wants to devour you whole, and you want nothing more than to find out if he will.

”You, umm… need a refill?” You gesture with your eyes to the now empty glass in his hand, then nod toward the house. It’s all the invitation he needs.

The second the door clicks shut behind you, Eddie’s hands are on you. They start on your waist, effectively pinning you against the closed door and using you as an anchor to press himself as close to you as he can.

It’s eager and rushed, even a little sloppy. He kisses wet, he kisses deep. It’s like he’s trying to suck the air straight from your lungs, and you let him. Nothing has ever felt so good before.

“Christ,” he mumbles as his hot lips work their way down your neck. “Been wanting to do this for days.”

There’s a slight tremble in your hands as your fingers work their way into his curls, already nearly overwhelmed with the sensation of his mouth on your overheated skin. “Why didn’t you?”

”Didn’t wanna scare you off,” he confesses. It’s so endearing it pulls a moan from your lips.

“There’s not a lot you could do to scare me off, Eddie.” You mean it; you try to prove it by tugging him closer and slotting him between your legs. You can feel his pent up desire, hard and thick, as it presses against your core through his jeans. The feeling alone makes you ache with desire. It’s like a wave sweeps through you, cascading from head to toe and making everything in its wake prickle with unbearable want. You are molten flame, and he is the only thing that can douse your heat.

No one’s ever had such an astronomical effect on you from doing so little.

Eddie isn’t faring much better. He walks in a fog, blinded by clouding desire—especially so when your leg hitches up and around his hip to tug him harder against you. It’s like his cruise control is set, speed regulating with every incline or downward tilt—adjusting every little movement and touch to draw more breathless moans and whimpers from your parted lips.

A slight tug to his hair snaps him back into his own body, drawing a sudden clarity on the situation. He’s no longer an outsider looking in, as if an astral projection watching and criticizing his every move. Eddie is fully present and hyper-focused on one thing: making sure no other person can ever properly satisfy you again.

”You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs over and over into your skin as he traces kisses over your exposed neck and shoulders. His fingers hook into the strap of your tank top and slide it out of place, making way for a series of open-mouthed kisses as he ensures that not an inch of your skin is neglected.

You keen at his praise and reward him with a gentle tug to his messy curls. “So are you.”

He prickles with affection at your compliment, his cheeks warming in a way that feels completely foreign to him. No one’s ever called him beautiful before—he’s really never thought it could even be applicable to him—but he feels like he could get used to it.

He asks so nicely to take your top off and you give him permission without hesitation. You can see the flash of want in his eyes as he takes in your mostly naked torso, gaze skirting around the boundary of your bra as if he’s too shy to ask again for permission to remove a garment.

You decide to put on a little show as you give him what he wants; you unhook your bra and slide the straps down your arms so achingly slowly he thinks he might combust. And then finally, gloriously, you let the fabric fall to the floor and Eddie gets his first look at your bare chest.

He gapes, open-mouthed, for longer than is frankly comfortable—to the point you’re almost about to cover yourself up again.

And then he says, “Permission to do something highly inappropriate and maybe even a little degrading?”

”Uhh… sure?”

In a flash he’s buried face first in your sternum, hands coming to cup your breasts and dramatically smother himself in your cleavage. He lets out a pleasured groan as you giggle, deft fingers lightly tugging and pinching the sensitive peaks of your nipples. He prickles with pride at the breathy gasp you emit when his mouth starts working—he turns his head to suck one hard mound between his lips and keeps up the pressure with his fingers on the other.

”Sh-shit…” you sigh and slump into his attention, arms hanging like limp ribbons by your sides. “Eddie…”

”Love the way you say my name,” he practically purrs. “So fucking pretty.”

He switches sides now, firmly dragging the flat of his tongue over your nipple before sealing his lips around it and sucking. The pure pressure of it makes you cry out, fingers tugging harshly at his curls.

”Jesus, that feels amazing,” you whine. It’s so good, but it’s not nearly enough at the same time. And it’s like he can sense it—like he’s got some kind of a psychic connection with your body. He adapts immediately to what you need, dropping to his knees to unbutton your jean shorts and deftly slip them down and off your legs. He smooths his palms against your bare thighs and lets you feel the cold kiss of his metal rings against the burning flesh there, all the while looking up at you with dark eyes that you can’t quite identify. There’s lust, sure, but something else in those chocolate orbs. Something akin to adoration—like he’s on his knees preparing to worship you.

”Can I?” Those long, thick fingers hook into the waistband of your underwear and you’re nodding before he’s even finished asking.

You wish you could put the sound he lets out once he finally has you bare on vinyl to repeat over and over again. It’s somewhere between a growl and a whimper, completely heady with desire and want; need, even. The fact that he needs you like this is so overwhelming and flattering that you can barely process it. You don’t have time to, because in a moment his lips are wrapping themselves around your clit and sucking. He goes straight past gentle and into pure pressure just like he did with your nipples; as above, so below. And it’s bliss—thigh-quaking, breath-hitching, earth-shattering bliss.

All you can manage to do is scrabble for purchase against the wall his hands have you pinned to. You have to sound absolutely pathetic, but you can’t be bothered to care because you’re precariously close to coming and it’s only been a matter of minutes.

He moans, like he’s tasting the finest, most expensive and decadent cuisine he’s ever had. The sound vibrates against your pussy and travels up your spine all the way to your brain—it nests there and makes it’s home, drives you into a fuzzy state of ecstasy. And all the while that luxurious tongue is hard at work, alternating between lapping thirstily at your entrance and fluttering against your clit in a way that causes every muscle in your abdomen to contract.

Nothing should be able to feel this good—it’s so desperately close to overwhelming. Simultaneously, you would rather die than lose this feeling is it crescendos to a fever pitch.

”Let go,” he murmurs against you, and you know he’s not talking about your grip on his hair. “It’s okay. I gotcha, let go f’me.”

You’ve never fancied yourself to be the obedient type per se, but apparently your body is feeling particularly traitorous today. It takes all of three more seconds before you’re doing exactly what he said—legs trembling with the burden of your weight as you crash and burn on his tongue. You whine and beg and plead, all of it meaningless babble as he works you over and through your pleasure with that wonderful, amazing, perfect mouth of his.

You don’t even process you’re collapsing, but thankfully Eddie does and catches you with ease. There’s a cocky chuckle in his throat as he lays you down on the floor, and you would smack him for it if he hadn’t earned it. Instead, you grab him by the collar of his shirt a little rougher than mean to and drag him to your mouth, relishing in the high-pitched whine he admits at your light manhandling.

You moan at the taste of yourself on his lips, and Eddie can’t help grinding himself hard against your thigh in an attempt to relieve the pressure of his untouched arousal. This kiss is nasty—wet, gnashing, desperate. There’s no control to it on either end.

”That good, huh?” He mutters into your mouth. His voice is barely more than a whisper—you can’t expect much more when you’re kissing him the way you are, grinding your thigh against his aching cock all the while. And even still, despite his obvious desperation, he manages to be cocky about how hard he made you come.

If you weren’t head over heels for this man before, you certainly are now.

You start tugging at his belt and he chuckles, only growing more sure of himself by the second.

”Wait, baby, lemme take you to bed,” he huffs over the feeling of your hand finally sliding into his jeans where he needs you most.

It makes you gasp when you finally have him in the palm of your hand. As big as he felt through his jeans, nothing could’ve prepared you for this. He’s heavy, achingly thick, and you can feel the way he positively throbs in your grip.

And just as you’re about to agree and show him to your bedroom, you shake your head firmly; because as uncomfortable as this floor is going to feel and as much as your back is going to hate you for it later, you need him now. There’s no time for relocating; if he doesn’t give it to you right now, here in the middle of your living room floor, you think you might perish.

”Right here?” He hums as if he’s not affected at all while he slots himself between your legs. “On the floor? Can’t even wait thirty seconds to let me have you the right way? Dirty girl.”

It’s such a shift in dynamic; not an unwelcome one at all, certainly. But he’s been so shy and timid up until this point—always following your lead, blushing when his hand brushes against yours. You wonder if he’s like this with everyone—if he feels some pressure to perform an act or role, to hide his true personality. 

The thought makes your chest ache a little bit, but you don’t have time to dwell on it because he’s breaking you in half. He’s so slow about it, too; barely pressing his tip into you, giving you time to adjust to every millimeter he gives you. Even still it punches the breath out of your lungs and makes your eyelids flutter at the intrusion.

”Shit.” It’s not spoken so much as whined, and suddenly you’re starkly aware of just how much you’re affecting him. You bite your lip to steady yourself so you can look up at him, and the sight alone is almost enough to unravel you. Unruly curls spill down over his shoulder and dangle in the air over you. His mouth hangs open—fast, shallow breaths make his bottom lip quiver. His pupils are so blown with desire you can barely see the warm chocolatey color of his irises.

You’re suddenly aware that in your desperation, you forgot a very important step. He’s still fully clothed—your legs rub against his t-shirt as his hands hook under your knees to spread you wider for him. You almost feel bad about it; in your haze of arousal his attention to your body has brought on, you’ve forgotten to be attentive to his. It pulls a whine from your lips as your hands unconsciously come to tug at the fabric.

He chuckles but acquiesces—not before you see a flicker of hesitation pass over his face.

It takes a moment to process what you’re looking at as he tugs his shirt over his head and tosses it to the side… and then your jaw drops. ”Shit, Eddie!”

He’s quick to quiet your exclamation with a heated kiss, unintentionally shoving himself that little bit deeper into your cunt. It distracts you, but only for a moment. Then you’re pushing yourself up onto your elbows, trying to wrap your mind around the myriad of deep, whitish-pink scars that litter his torso.

“Eddie, what—“

“Car accident,” he lies before he can think better of it. It’s a story he’s told so many times that he’s almost starting to believe it himself. “Couple years back.”

“Jesus,” you whisper as your fingers trace over the poorly healed lines.

“I know. They’re not pretty.”

That one sentence tells you everything you need to know. “It’s not that,” he assure him. “Just… a miracle you survived something that bad.”

“Yeah,” he hums. “I got lucky.”

He’s deflating a little bit, and the last thing you want him to do is lose that confidence he’s been exuding. You wrap your arms around your neck and pulls him flush against you, feeling every warm inch of his torso against yours as your tongue tangles with his.

“You’re beautiful,” you tell him again. And you mean it.

He draws a gasp from your lips when he presses even closer, every inch of his body covering yours and his length shoved all the way into your needy cunt. It’s almost too much for him—the combination of your tight, wet heat around him; the adoration in your eyes as you look up at him like he’s some kind of god; your hands pulling him closer like you might evaporate if you can’t feel every inch of his body at all times. It’s a heady feeling he’s never experienced before, being wanted this badly. It nearly unravels him—especially when you start bucking your hips up to him in search of the friction you so desperately need.

He sees your need, and it pulls him back into his dutiful role. “I’ve got you, baby.”

He starts with deep, slow thrusts that nearly make you drool—you feel the drag of every single inch against your walls, every vein and ridge and contour. It’s like you’re memorizing the shape of him from the inside out.

One ringed hand slides down your hip and along the length of your thigh to hook beneath your knee, hitching your leg up as high as he comfortably can to spread you wide open for the taking.

You get barely a moment's notice as he draws himself almost all the way out. And then he slams himself back into place—deep, hard, unrelenting. He revels in the sound it draws from you, something between a cry and a plea for more; he silently vows to himself that those little pleasures sounds are going to be all you’re capable of making by the time he’s done with you.

It’s borderline violent, the way he fucks you. His thrusts are relentless and expert in a way you didn’t expect him to be. His lips hardly leave your skin, muffling his moans into hickies and bruises on your neck and chest. His hands grip hard to your body, marks blossoming beneath his fingertips.

You’ve never fallen apart so easily.

“That’s it,” he purrs into your ear as he feels your walls fluttering around him. “Don’t hold back, lemme have it. Please, baby.”

And really, it would be rude to deny him after he’s asked so nicely.

Your orgasm comes like shattered glass. The sound is the first thing you process—your moans drowning out his steady grunts. And then it’s sharp. It drives its shards into your and makes you flinch away from the sensation, so pleasurable it’s almost painful.

You’ve never come just from being fucked before. Sweet, wonderful Eddie carries on working towards his own release like he doesn’t deserve a goddamned award.

“Can I…”

But you’re already nodding, wrapping your legs around his waist and coaxing him deeper—urging him to make a home in the deepest part of you.

He’s not a man who needs to be told twice. He rocks his hips as deep as he can and then presses even closer, the head of him bruising your cervix as he falls apart. And maybe it shouldn’t feel as good as it does, the sensation of him painting your walls with rope after rope or warm, sticky release; but you’re not in the mind to psychoanalyze yourself right now. Instead you do your best to help him through it, lightly ghosting the tips of your fingers in soothing patterns on his back as he pants and shudders.

“Holy…”

“Yeah,” you giggle.

It takes him a few minutes to summon the courage he needs to pull his softening length from your warmth, and he bites down on his lip nearly hard enough to draw blood when he sees the absolute mess that slides down the curve of your ass.

”Jesus H. Christ,” he murmurs. His fingers come to swipe up some of the combined cum before he can stop himself, pushing it back into where he’d spilled it to begin with and relishing in the moan you afford him at the feeling of his thick fingers pressing into your over-sensitive entrance.

He’s so thoroughly enraptured with the sight before him. Your cunt squeezing so tightly around his fingers, cum dripping, desperate to reject due to the overstimulation. And yet you take it without flinching, chest heaving, head falling back against the hardwood floor.

He swipes his thumb over your clit so lightly and yet it still makes you squeeze like a vice around him, and so he does it again. He curls his fingers in search of that spot that made you fall apart so prettily on his cock, and once he finds it he doesn’t relent. That, combined with the light pressure on your clit, is more than enough.

Your thighs tremble, caught indecisively between spreading further open for him and clamping shut on his cum-slicked hand. He watches in awe as your lips part in a silent scream, ass arching up off the floor; and then, as you come down, you have to push him away because it’s finally too much.

”Fuck,” you whimper—he coos so reassuringly as he leans down to gently kiss your lips, errant curls brushing and tickling against your cheeks.

”I know, baby,” he whispers. “God, you’re incredible. Did so good f’me.”

You have to stay still for a moment—let his sweet, gentle kisses bring you back down from the clouds. And then you’re aware of the ache in your back and the absolute puddle forming under your ass, and you push yourself up with a weak groan.

”M’sorry,” he winces in sympathy. “Bed next time, I promise.”

And really, the promise of there being a next time shouldn’t make your heart skip a beat the way it does.

You’re worried things’ll be awkward now, but that’s the furthest thing from the truth. Working with him now is so much more effortless. The tension isn’t as palpable—it’s a fluid thing that you move through confidently now that your feelings and his are known. He isn’t afraid to watch you anymore, awe and adoration in his eyes as you show him how to reassemble the engine block. He observes your skilled fingers at work, and he’s not afraid to tell you how fucking sexy it is to him. He’s not afraid to rest a hand on the small of your back as he stands beside you, even occasionally getting brave enough to let it slip down and cup your ass. He’s not afraid to be his goofy, adorable, manic self—it’s the best metamorphosis you’ve ever seen.

You finish working on his van finally, and he almost tears up at how well she runs now—although he definitely doesn’t let you see that.

And as worried as you were that finishing this job would feel like the end of whatever this is with Eddie, it doesn’t. You feel secure, somehow, that he’ll keep coming back—for more than just parts and labor.

THE END

➔ A/N: thank you as always to @shakespeareanwannabe for putting up with my incessant questions and beta requests 🥹 ily lots

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[rockstvrdotcom]

"AIN' IT RIGHT?" HOBIE BROWN X FEM! READER

tags: degradation, hobie takes a photo, choking, hatefuck at first but then its not, mentions of marijuana, fingering, piv sex

"i fucking hate you." you said as you grinded against hobie roughly, your hand wrapped around his throat in a bruising grip, your free hand on his shoulder. you had him pinned against the floor, your knees on either side of his legs. panting as a silky sheen of sweat coated your forehead.

"and i fuckin' love you. hate 'nd love are two sides of the same coin, aren't they?" he snickered, guiding your hips against his as the bulge in his pants grew beneath you. you were both on hobie's apartment floor getting fuckin' nasty.

he could feel your fingers digging into the sensitive flesh of his shoulders and he couldn't care less, the pain mixing with the pleasure and sending shocks straight to his painfully hard dick.

he watched you lean down, a mere inches away from his face as you continued to roll your hips against his. "just shut your fuckin' mouth." you muttered against his perfectly plump lips, his lip piercing shining in the dimly lit room.

you crashed your lips into his, roughly kissing him as you bit his bottom lip; making him wince as his grip on your hips tightened.

his hand roamed down his own body before stopping at his belt, unbuckling it with one hand before he tossed it to the side. the studs scraped on the wood floor, creating a sound that wasn't pleasant to anybodies ears.

as you broke the kiss, your hand let go of his shoulder to take off your pants; leaving you in only your panties. despite your harsh words, you were absolutely soaked— your arousal seeping through the thin fabric of your underwear.

hobie took notice of that, a cocky ass smirk on his face that you hated so damn much. "you don' hate me as much as you say you do. ain' it right?" he chuckled.

you were about to bite back until you saw him spit on his middle and ring finger. you felt as if your insides were melting as he pushed your panties to the side and shoved his fingers past your entrance; eliciting a moan from you.

"slag said she hates me yet she's soakin' up my fingers..." he laughed with pride, curling his long slender fingers up to hit that perfect sweet spot that made your legs feel like jelly and your brain like mush. your knees buckled as you gripped his shoulders for purchase.

his free hand explored the curve of your ass while his calloused fingers thrusted in and out of you, smirking at the lewd expression you had on your face. "f- fuck.. hobie." you choked out in a murmur, his fingers hitting all the right spots.

"yeah, that's right." he grunted into your ear, gripping the supple flesh of your ass tightly. his palm bumped against your clit each time he stuffed his fingers in your greedy hole in a way that made the coil in your stomach tighten.

"need you.." you pleaded, grinding against the rough palm of his hand. he hummed in response, taking his fingers out of you with a pop, holding them up to your mouth and prodding at your lips.

"suck them, luv." he said, and you complied; wanting nothing but for him to be inside of you. you tasted yourself on his fingers, tongue swirling around them.

suddenly, he took them out. placing them in his own mouth and sucking with a chuckle, tasting your saliva on his fingers before they went down to take off his pants and toss them aside just like he did to his belt earlier.

"beg f' me, love. show me ya don't hate me 'nd maybe i'll give ya what ya want.." he whispered into your ear, warm breath against your skin; smelling like chocolate and marijuana. you were reluctant at first, your pride getting in the way.

but as he began to reach for his belt and pants, you stopped him. "h- hobie, please.. i need it so bad. i don't hate you." you whined, grinding your ass against the bulge in his boxers.

"not enough." he tch'd, gripping your hips so they came to a stop, making you complain. all he responded with was a shake of his head.

"please, hobes. need you 'nd your cock so fucking bad, please, i love you so damn much." you begged mindlessly, not catching the way his beautiful brown eyes lit up the moment you said the simple word love; not catching the way his grip on your hips tightened slightly, grinding up into you slowly as he chewed his lip to bite back a smile.

he took out his cock, jerking it off slowly before bending you over his couch, cigarette burns and the smell of his cologne staining the rough fabric. he teasingly ran his dick through your folds, his cold metal piercing grazing over your clit and pulling a quiet mewl out of you.

he chuckled, "ready, luv?" he asked, and the second you nodded your head yes you could feel his tip breaching you. you clenched around him as his cock was halfway in you, making him groan at the tightness.

"such a nice fuckin' pussy.." he muttered before bottoming out inside of you, balls slapping against your clit and making you moan. his dick was so big it felt like you were being stretched by him for the first time all over again. he made sure you were comfortable before beginning to thrust slowly; almost making you mad with how slow he was going.

"faster!" you whined, wincing when you felt a sharp pain on your ass; the sound of a slap echoing in the room. a whimper of pain and pleasure escaped you, twitching around his cock.

"didn't know you were such a slut." he shook his head in mock disappointment as he began to thrust in and out of you faster and harder— feeling his dick piercing scrape against your sensitive walls with each thrust, your eyes rolling back as you chanted a mantra of 'fuck''s and 'yes!''s.

"so big.." you manage to babble out in between whimpers and moans. hobies heart and dick swelled with pride, increasing his pace; his tip kissing your cervic with each thrust.

after a few thirty minutes that flew by like seconds, you felt your orgasm approaching. a fucked out look on your face as you drooled onto the couch's cushions beneath you, "i- i'm— ngh! fuck. hobie.. 'm cumming!" you managed to get out before your eyes rolled back in pure ecstacy.

you came all over his cock, clenching tightly around him and making him grunt in response. you clawed at the cushions, gripping them tightly as you let out a broken moan, your arousal gushing out of your spent pussy and coating hobies cock.

he continued to thrust and make you whine, incoherently talking about how it was too much and somehow— he understood you. "shh.. you can take it. i know you can, fuckin' slag." he mumbled into your ear as your knees buckled beneath you, just slumping over the couch with hobies grip on your hips as the only support keeping you up.

but you could tell he was close too, his hips stuttering against yours; his cock twitching inside of you and his pace increasing. he let out a loud groan, pulling out.

he jerked his dick off before cumming all over your ass in thick milky spurts. he scooped some of his cum up with his fingers, shoving it inside of you and keeping his fingers in there as a plug.

you heard him rustling to get his jeans, pulling something out of the pocket but you were too fucked out to care as you heard a click and saw a light flashing.

he shoved his phone in your face, barely having enough energy to look at it. it was a picture of your ass, covered in his cum and his fingers inside of you. "this is for me, yeah? nobody else gets to see you like this but me." he assured you he wouldn't show anybody else, getting your nod of approval.

"now lets get you cleaned up, sweets."

-

sorry that i literally died for like weeks but im back now </3 WHOS READY FOR KINKTOBERRR 🗣🗣

also not proofread so please lmk for any mistakes or anything i could do to improve!

[winkwonkwankwenk]

Please do an Toji Headcannons Sfw+Nsfw if your not already working on it!✨️ Read your Gojo one and loved it hehehe TYSM ✨️❤️

Toji Head-Cannons!! (SFW & NSFW)

SFW

Not a morning person, wakes up grumpy and will sulk around until about lunchtime. Food makes him slightly better, so when you cheerfully set down the meal you made for him he can't stop the corners of his mouth from twitching up.

He's not exactly irresponsible, he just prioritizes...differently. Food first, money second, you third. When he notices he's spending too much time away he'll casually call you and act like he hasn't disappeared for week(s)! "I was busy, I'll be home soon." He says, knowing damn well he isn't coming home for another day or two.

His eyes give away his mood, so you can tell when he's happy even though he rarely smiles. They scrunch, and when you giggle at him they narrow. "What's so funny, Doll?" He'll ask, leaning in so your breath hitches.

He likes picking you up, he finds how small you are endearing. He purposely puts things you use on high shelves just to hear you call for him. He'll lean over you, chest pressed to your back and grin when you grumble. "What? I'm helpin'."

Heavy meat eater. Beef and pork are his daily diet, taking up most of his plate. When you whined to him about healthy habits he just grunted and rolled his eyes.

Definitely has a garden behind the house. It started as your hobby and then one day you came home to him shirtless in the sun, tilling the land and planting while humming to himself. From then on, you've let him handle all the crops. It keeps him fit and you...entertained.

He likes to kiss your shoulders when the two of you cuddle. He finds comfort having you close, although he'll rarely admit it. He always has an excuse on why he has to cling to you instead of just saying how he really feels. "It's jus' cold, don't make a big deal out of nothin' "

Bulks constantly, eating three courses every meal time. He gets hangry quickly, so if you don't cook trust the kitchen will be raided. You've come home to see him feasting on breadrolls, sometimes the entire loaf will be gone before you even use a slice for toast. He eats like a teenage boy going through puberty and sometimes you worry he'll eat your money too. The thought has crossed his mind once.

He's not broke, just extremely frugal. He doesn't even want to buy medkits. He'll boil water and pour it on a cut. You walked in on this once and he was confused as to why you were so panicked. When you explained how batshit crazy his methods were, he let you open the jar he had tucked away. There was at least five-hundred dollars in coins stored and when you asked him about it, he told you it was Megumi's college fund. Yeah right.

He wants a big family- but only with you. You're a good mother to Megumi, and he knows you'll be even better with a couple more kids.

NSFW

Taunts and teases you during sex, from degrading praises to purposely slowing his thrusts. He likes making you beg, especially when he edges you and your left pleading with him for pleasure.

He's got a monster and he never give you time to adjust. Once he's in, he's not pulling out. He'll start gentle for your sake but the moment he hears that first moan from your sweet lips he's done playing nice. "Come on...this much is nothin', take it like a big girl."

Wakes up hard, goes to bed hard, he's constantly horny. No matter how many times the two of you fuck in a day he wants to ram back in. He's insatiable, but you're to blame really. It's not his fault he's addicted to the way you squeeze his shaft with those slippery wet walls. How is he supposed to go more than ten minutes without you coiled around him?

The two of you got into a heated argument once, he bent you over and fucked you from behind until you caved. Who needs communication when you can have hot rough make-up sex? By the time he's done with you, you don't have the energy to stay mad at him. "Ready to admit I'm right?" and if you say no, the two of you go for another round.

Loves french-kissing you and making out in general. He does tricks with his tongue in your mouth but loses control when you suck on the scar on his lips.

He loves having you in his lap, especially when you're wearing a skirt. All he has to do is push your panties aside and push in- perfect. Being bigger than you has its perks, especially when it comes to holding you down as he thrusts up into your womb, fucking you hard and fast until you're a sobbing soaking mess.

He told your dad that you also call him daddy. He's no longer invited to family events.

He won't fuck you with his fingers because he knows how dirty they get from yardwork, so he uses his tongue and damn is he good at it. He loudly slurps up every juice spilling from your cunt, groaning and grumbling about your taste and scent. "Fucking hell, Woman..." is all he can manage to mumble, too pussy-drunk to say much else as he buries his nose between your folds.

His favorite petnames for you are Doll and Slut.

Will not wear a condom. Don't even ask. He gives you the meanest side eye when you even mention it. He wants to knock you up again, and there's enough space in the house for another kid. He'll consider condoms when you have five kids- maybe. "I'm givin' you all of this good cum and you want it wasted in a plastic bag? Ha."

He didn't see the point of aftercare but it grew on him, mainly because of how pretty you looked laid against him as he massaged your shoulders. You're his woman, and if cuddling after fucking makes you feel good, fine, he'll do it.

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[perlelune]

Oxytocin | Coriolanus Snow | iii.

One act of kindness from a peacekeeper may be your salvation or your doom. Possibly both.

Warnings: NON-CON, Blackmail, District 8 Reader, Stalking, Kidnapping

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

Staccato breaths mingle with the wild drumming of your heart as Coriolanus takes you to a place unknown, so far from where you live on the outskirts of town.

The freezing air sneaks under your skirt, causing your legs to tremble. Wherever you look, you’re surrounded by darkness, a cluster of clouds cloaking the moon now.

It reminds you how utterly alone you are.

Your tears soak the blue shirt of his uniform but he doesn’t seem to care. In your current upside down position, you can’t see his expression and it scares you even more. 

You wonder what he’s thinking, why he’s doing this and, most importantly, what his plans are for you.

“Where are you taking me?” you inquire, your wavering voice dripping fear.

“It’s a surprise,” he announces, readjusting you on his shoulders.

You don’t like his tone, not one bit. It’s taunting with a sliver of resentment. 

Somehow, you pissed him off at the bar and he wants to make you pay for it. Punish you for…for what exactly? It eludes you. All you did was dance with some guy and Coriolanus saw red.

You knew the peacekeeper was strange, but this is a step beyond that. He stole you. In public. It’s insane, deranged.

Lights finally pierce through the veil of the night, twinkling through the hazy obscurity. A faint shred of hope glimmers inside you. If there are people here, maybe you could shout for help, appeal to basic human decency. Back at the bar, no one would help you.

Part of you understands. This is the kind of fear the Capitol has instilled in everyone in Panem.

Still, a hint of bitterness lingers inside you. Not even Yara lifted a finger to help you. You thought she was your friend. But you suppose even that is asking for too much for someone like you. Even that is a luxury far beyond your means. 

You confine tears. You do not wish to give the peacekeeper the satisfaction of seeing you fall apart. 

He enters a building with bright lanterns scattered at its front. The smell of incense, cigarette and expensive perfume engulfs your senses, so overwhelming you can hardly breathe. A woman appears in your line of sight. She’s strikingly gorgeous. Glossy, raven curls frame her heart-shaped face and heavy makeup adorns her delicate features. She wears a low-cut red dress that must cost at least two months of your wages. 

You frown, dull remembrance tugging at your brain.

Something about her is vaguely familiar. 

Then it dawns on you, and your stomach coils in dread.

You’ve seen her before, at a bar in the northeastern part of town. She was working her charms on a man who slipped her a bag of coins before they disappeared together.

The urge to puke tickles the back of your throat. A brothel. Coriolanus has taken you to a brothel.

“Is our room ready?” he addresses the woman, impatience bleeding through his tone.

“It’s all been prepared like you asked, Mr. Snow,” she trills.

“Help me, please…” you beseech. 

She tilts her head, a wide grin unfurling on her crimson-painted lips. 

“She’s a pretty thing, your lass. Almost as pretty as you.”

Coriolanus reaches inside his pocket. The clinking of coins resonates as he drops a tiny purse in the woman’s hand.  “Don’t disturb us,” he instructs.

She grabs the purse and beams at him.

“Wasn’t planning to.” Her cheerful inflection makes your stomach sink. “Our clients’ privacy is of the utmost priority.” 

“Let me go you mon-”

The woman giggles. “She chirps an awful lot, that bird of yours.”

He heaves out a deep sigh, both weary and resigned. “She needs discipline, which is exactly why we’re here.”

His words do nothing to reassure you. You thrash again, legs flailing and hands reaching for any parts of him you can. He groans but doesn’t release you. He stomps upstairs.

Your mind runs wild as your fear grows. Soon, the blond reaches an ornate black door. He kicks it open with his boot. Once inside, he tosses you onto the canopy bed in the middle of the room. He slams the door closed and locks it. Your blood runs cold.

Without much thought, you clamber off the bed, awkwardly getting to your feet and heading straight for the door.

He grabs the back of your neck and yanks you away from the door. A strangled shout leaps from your throat.

Coriolanus peers down at you, bent in an uncomfortable position beneath him.

A look of mild annoyance decorates his handsome face.

“Still trying to run away? You never learn your lesson, pretty bird.”

“Let me go,” you croak, your pleading eyes searching for pity in his icy gaze. But you’re only greeted by contempt. Tears swell under your eyelids. “Why are you doing this to me?”

He snorts, like he can’t believe you’d ask something so ludicrous. He narrows his eyes at you, the fingers clamped around your nape squeezing harder.

“Why? Because you’ve been ungrateful,” he hisses.

Befuddlement trickles within you. “Ungrateful?”

Coriolanus’ jaw ticks.

“I help you, I save you.” A storm gathers in his enraged tone. “I do so much for you but you bat your lashes at some pathetic district scum?”

You cower beneath his accusing stare, in disbelief at what you’re hearing. Your lips clamp shut, your mouth quivering before you retaliate, “I’m district scum too.” You squint at him. “I’m district scum too so what do you even want with me, Coriolanus?”

He chuckles darkly, wrenching your head so far backwards, your neck starts singing in pain. He sinks to one knee, scrutinizing your shaking form on the floor. 

“What do I want with you?” he echoes. His hold on your neck loosens to latch around your jaw instead. His scorching blue gaze dives into yours as his voice dips, whisper-soft. “Tell me, sweet bird, am I that repulsive to you?” Puzzled, you blink. Why does he even care what you think of him? 

Your silence has him jostle your frame, as if trying to shake a reply out of you.

“Answer me,” he growls.

An hasty, breathless response tumbles out of you. “No.”

You hardly had to think, needing to simply utter the truth. Of course, Coriolanus is handsome, a feast for the eyes like a prince from a fairytale, with his smooth skin, free of any blemish, bright blue eyes and angular features. It’d be hard to deny how beautiful he is.

…But he’s not a prince, and you're not in a fairytale.

As your eyes lower, his fingers dig harshly into your cheeks.

“Look at me.” There’s a sharp edge of authority to his words. You lift your gaze, too terrified to dare divert your attention from him. He continues. “Do you find my face disgusting, my voice unbearable?” His mouth twitches. “Maybe it’s my smell. Is it atrocious?”

Tears dangle at your lashes as you mutter, “No.”

“Then why?” A blend of dismay and anger paints his features. “Why do you always run away from me? Why don’t you just let me take care of you?”

“I don’t need you. I never needed you.”

His orbs flare dangerously. You shriek as he hauls you from the floor and hurls you on the bed. 

“This is where you’re wrong. You live because of me. Your cousin lives because of me.” He begins removing the blue vest of his uniform, his motions irate and rushed. A lump nestles in your throat as you watch him zip down his pants next. “You owe me, and it’s about time you show me some gratitude.”

This time your attempt to flee is curtailed by a steely grip on your ankle. A knife-like sensation pierces your limb as he twists it cruelly. The pain knocks the wind from your lungs. You freeze and go limp over the sheets.

The blond’s forehead puckers, a contrite look flickering over his features.

“You’re making me do this. I don’t want to hurt you, but you’re making me.”

He squeezes your shoulder and forces you to sit up at the edge of the bed. The air chills around you as he tugs down his white boxers, revealing his long, thick girth, glistening at the tip. You gulp the lump in your throat.

Your fingers clasp around the end of the bed as you gape at his erect cock. The vein along the shaft seems to taunt you. Cupping the side of your face, he nudges his tip against your wobbling lips.

“Open up,” he orders. He sneers when you don’t move an inch, “So stubborn…I can’t tell if I love or hate that about you, pretty bird.”

“Please…” you mumble, your glistening eyes rising to meet his.

He purrs, lust clouding his sky blue orbs. His thumb skims over your bottom lip.

“You’re even prettier when you beg me, birdie.” His tone mellows as he offers, “Open your mouth and I’ll make sure you never want for anything.”

Your mouth remains adamantly sealed. 

Studying you, he ponders, “I’ve always found the punishment for thievery needlessly harsh.” He unleashes a dragged out, ponderous exhale. “For shame, I’m not sure your cousin will last very long here without you.” Your heart threatens to spill from your chest. A wicked, lopsided smile blooms on his lips as he fondles your cheek. “It’s a tough world, especially for a little girl all on her own, wouldn’t you say?”

Your chest collapses at his blatant threat. Even if your own fate mattered little to you, you can’t imagine Tilly fending for herself here. You’re all she has now and if she can’t rely on you, who will she be able to rely on?

Besides, she might be better now but she always had a fragile health. Someone needs to look out for her. And it has to be you.

It’s as if Coriolanus could hear every thought bouncing in your head, smugness oozing off him as he observes you. 

Your lips part slowly. Victory illuminates his features.

He pumps his shaft, excitement bouncing in his orbs.

As he pushes his tip into your mouth, a hum of pleasure vibrates in his chest. You feel it through your own body and a shudder passes through you. 

You quiver as you swirl your tongue around his leaking tip, silently wishing he’ll be quick about it. Maybe if you do it well enough, it won’t last long and he’ll leave you be.

Still, embarrassment pools in your gut. You’re letting a peacekeeper treat you like a common whore. You doubt your dignity will ever recover from this ordeal.

He grabs both sides of your face, impatient, pushing more of himself down your throat. Your mouth aches at the corners, the size of him nearly too much to bear. 

“Fuck, your mouth feels good,” he rasps, his Adam’s apple bobbing. 

He slides his entire length down your throat until it tickles the back of it. You fight your gag reflex. The salty taste of him spreads on your tongue as you choke on his cock, air flailing in your lungs. He licks his lips, gently stroking your tear-stained cheeks.

“Good girl”, he praises.

He starts fucking your mouth, bruising your throat with each forceful thrust. Tears and spit mingle around your mouth as you take him as well as you can. You grow numb, eyes half-seeing as you let him use you.

Coriolanus’s throaty moans fill the room. The echo of his blunt thrusting reaches your ears. You feel sick. 

You close your eyes, hoping to forget, but all you can see is him, hear is him, feel is him.

You wish you could climb out of your own skin.

His pounding turns more feral. Cradling the back of your head, he shoves himself more urgently inside you. His chest ripples as he grunts.

You weep, suffocating on his length. Your stifled cries join the lewd sounds he makes. Your fists tighten around the sheets as your vision dims.

His motions become sloppier as he snarls, a look of sheer bliss decorating his handsome face.

His cock twitches, his eyes rolling back. A warm stickiness glazes the inside of your mouth. A groan leaves him as ropes of him pour down your throat. When you try to pull back, he firmly keeps you there, framing your face so you can’t escape.

The excess trickles on your chin and neck.

You shudder, quaking sobs wracking your body.

A wet sound resonates when his softening cock finally exits your mouth. You inhale a wide lungful, thankful to be able to breathe again but disgusted by the bittersweet aftertaste still coating your tongue. You wish you could bleach the inside of your mouth many times over. 

He collects your tears with his thumbs, his smile growing as he basks in the sight of the mess he made on your face.

“I’m going to take such good care of you, my sweet bird,” he croons.

You plunge your hands in the frigid water, roughly rubbing the clothes against one another. You focus on a willful beer stain that won’t come off no matter how much you try. Frustration blooms inside you as the brown lingers on the beige fabric.

You grimace. This was one of your nicer blouses. Now it’s forever ruined, tainted beyond recovery.

Yara wrings her skirt above the bucket, her attentive eyes clinging to you. When she offered to do laundry together this morning, you expected a plethora of questions. Instead, she spent the last hour mirroring your silence.

You’re grateful. While her presence soothes you, there are many topics you’d rather not broach. One in particular. A memory you went to great lengths to bury but won’t let itself be erased. You feel branded, like you don’t belong to yourself anymore.

It’s a ghastly prospect, one you have no desire to mull over too deeply. 

You’d rather focus on laundry today. Washing, rinsing, drying and repeating. The tedious routine keeps the scary thoughts at bay. At least for a little while.

“Tilly’s doing a lot better.”

Yara’s abrupt words stagger you. Your head snaps up. Your focus veers to your younger cousin. She’s sitting by the fire playing noughts and crosses with her friend. The two little girls are wrapped up in the thin lines they’re drawing with white chalk on the stone floor, concentration etched on their small features.

She has been doing better. Much better than she has the entire year, though it guts you to admit it. She can laugh, play, run and be a normal kid.

…And you have the little care packages Coriolanus has been dropping on your doorstep to thank for that.

It stuns you that he even found out where you live so easily. You thought you were careful.

Now you don’t even feel safe in your own modest home.

There is nowhere to hide from the peacekeeper.

While he hasn’t shown up in person, his presence hovers over every aspect of your life.

You live because of me.

“Yeah,” you reply tritely.

Hands going still in the water, Yara observes you for a while, hesitation wrinkling her features. 

Eventually she dips her head, averting her gaze as she mumbles, “I shouldn’t have let him take you away.”

Guilt bleeds through her tone. Sighing, you peer at her. While you resented being on your own, you’re also keenly aware there is nothing she could have done.

“It’s not your fault,” you reassure. “I’d be scared too. I am scared,”

Though sadness still glistens in her eyes, she nods.

“Did he…” She trails off, sucking in a deep breath as if to gather the courage to speak again. Her gaze meets yours head on. “D-Did he hurt you?”

Goosebumps erupt at the base of your spine, spreading outward as your mouth trembles. 

“In a way,” you answer belatedly.

Shock covers her features.

“We should tell Commander Crane…”

You scowl. “We can’t.”

Not only does the ruthless Commander of District 8 harbors little to no sympathy for anyone’s plight, he may be more concerned about your thievery charges than any misdeed carried out by one of his Peacekeepers.

Such are things in District 8. Unjust and bereft of any morsel of hope.

“But we have to do something, report him,” she insists.

Irritation nips at you. You wish she’d drop it. It’s not like anyone will come to your rescue. You’re not some damsel in distress, a precious lady from the Capitol in trouble. 

You’re no one. Some might even say district garbage.

“Yara, he’s some rich kid from the Capitol, and I’m…we’re just…” The words shrivel on your tongue, hopelessness cresting within you. “It’s best to leave it alone, trust me.”

“But…”

“It'll only get worse if I fight him,” you snap.

A puzzled expression appears on your friend’s face. “Worse in what way?”

In what way indeed? You’ve no idea how far Coriolanus Snow is willing to go to torment and toy with you. There’s a glint of madness in his blue eyes which haunts your nightmares.

You go quiet. 

You pick up the drenched blouse from the bucket of water, wringing it until your hands start to hurt. 

Yara’s soft voice rises, encouragement laced in her tone.

“Hey, I’m sure he’ll get bored at some point, move on,” she says. “I mean he has to, right?”

She smiles at you and you return it.

“Right.”

But deep inside, you’re not so sure, dire thoughts of pretty boys with devilish smiles swaying in your mind.

[writersblockiskillingme]

The Great War | Finnick Odair

Pairing/s: Finnick Odair x fem!reader

Summary: After everything that you've been through during the rebellion you finally found the peace with Finnick.

Warning/s: angst with happy ending, hurt/comfort, war, weapons (reader has a knife), bow and arrows, trident, axe, syringe, violence, fighting, Katniss gets struck by lightning, blood, trust issues, attempted suicide (not graphical, but it's talked about), wounds, pills, trauma, Finnick ALMOST dying, Snow's execution and Coin's death, possible grammar and spelling mistakes

Author's note: Once again, a fic inspired by Taylor Swift's song (are we really surprised?)

My knuckles were bruised like violets

Sucker punching walls, cursed you as I sleep-talked

Spineless in my tomb of silence

Tore your banners down, took the battle underground

And maybe it was ego swinging

Maybe it was her

Flashes of the battle come back to me in a blur

The heat was getting to your head, it was staring to be too much. It already was.

The holes in your bodysuit that were the consequence of the poisonous fog were everywhere it seemed like. Your hair was sticking to your face because of the sweat from the intense heat and exhaustion. You gripped your knife that seemed to fit you a little too perfectly. The golden earing that Haymitch gifted you so that Katniss could recognize you as one of her allies was hitting the side of your face as you ran to the lightning tree.

You were terrified. You were in on the plan to get Katniss out, of course. Everyone except Katniss and Peeta was.

You did your part. You joined Johanna and cut out the tracker inside of Katniss' arm. But that's when things went wrong. One of the carriers attempted to attack you. It was dark, tropical trees were everywhere, you couldn't see anything. You didn't know who attacked you. All you knew was that you pushed Katniss away to keep her hidden and Johanna ordered you to run while she distracted the person who tried to attack. For a moment you stood there frozen, hesitant. Johanna Mason then swinged her axe at you and you had no choice but to bolt away as fast as you could.

Your mind was racing too fast. Finnick. Katniss. You had to get to that tree to make sure that they are there. That they are okay because you were one hundred percent sure that if they weren't you would lose your mind. You would become the madness itself.

You didn't hear anything but two pairs of footsteps running somewhere north from you. You kept running, trying to ignore the intense dehydration, heat and exhaustion. But as you didn't hear nor see Johanna after a while you started to seriously regret your decision.

You pushed your was through to the lightning tree. You didn't have time to catch your breath because it was immediately knocked out of you as you saw Katniss pointing her arrow at Finnick. He was still holding his trident, but you know that he wouldn't use it even if she did shoot him.

"Katniss!" Your raspy voice yelled out, Finnick immediately turned to you. A look of relief washing over him as he saw you.

"Remember who the real enemy is." Finnick reminded the girl on fire and at that moment realization washed over her. You could see it.

She looked at Beetee who was unconscious behind her. The coil was still there. She quickly picked it up, wrapping it around her arrow before pointing it at the sky.

At that moment both fear and adrenaline washed over you. She was going to blow up the arena once the lightning strikes the tree.

"Katniss!" Finnick's voice rang out. "Get away from that tree!"

You started to panic. You were getting out of time. Finnick, Katniss, Beetee and you were the only ones who came. Johanna was nowhere to be found. Peeta didn't return yet. Your ever racing mind pushed you to run towards Finnick as fast as you could.

"Katniss, get away from that tree!" Finnick's voice rang out once more before you saw it.

Katniss pointed at the sky, the lightning striked the tree and she let the arrow fly.

The last thing that you saw was the bright light from the lightning, a bloody screams that left Katniss' and your mouths and a painful grunt from the love of your life before the mere force of the lightnings hit sent you flying into the trees behind you before the darkness overtook you.

°

Once you woke up everything was hurting you. You felt so numb. You felt so numb yet you somehow felt everything. It was truly horrific.

The oxygen mask was planted onto your face as your eyes scanned the unknown territory. Everything was white and so clean. You turned your head to the side and spotted Katniss Everdeen, still knocked out beside you, and Beetee, not that far away from you. He was still unconscious, too. At that moment, you felt panic arise in your chest, consuming you. Where was Finnick?

You violently ripped the oxygen mask from your face as you stood up, ignoring the sharp pain that traveled across your body. What were you going to do? You patted your thigh, but your knife was gone. You knew that you weren't thinking rationally, but you never did when it came to him.

You spotted a see-through box a few feet away from you. A syringe was in there. It was filled with an unknown liquid, but you guessed that someone knocked you unconscious with this so you took the risk as you placed the syringe in the palm of your hand.

You strolled silently towards the door. You jumped a bit as the door suddenly opened. You raised the syringe in the air, ready to attack anyone who stood behind the door if you needed to.

You felt yourself slowly lowering the syringe in your hand as you saw who stood in front of you. Haymitch and Plutarch Heavensbee. You made it. You were relatively safe. But not seeing Finnick didn't calm your nerves. If anything it just fueled the fire in your veins.

"Where is Finnick?" You hissed out, your voice dangerously lowered that you scared yourself for a brief moment. You knew that you probably looked like a mad woman, but you didn't really find it in yourself to care.

"Y/N." Haymitch slowly approached you, he raised his hands in the air in front of him as an attempt to both calm you down and show you that he won't hurt you. "He's here. On the chair, he's still unconscious."

You turned to look at the side that Haymitch was pointing at and there he was. In a blue shirt that was too big for him. You threw the syringe onto the desk in the middle of the room as you stared at him. Relief washing over you like the waves back at your District.

"What happened while I was out?" You asked Haymitch waiting for an explanation as you didn't take your eyes off of Finnick.

"We couldn't rescue Johanna and Peeta." Haymitch sighed, he was obviously afraid that you would try to attack again and this time succeed after you hear the news that he had for you. "They still have trackers in their arms. We cut Finnick's, Beetee's and yours out after we rescued you."

He stopped here and you waited. You waited for his words to finally hit you.

"The Capitol took Peeta and Johanna."

Out of nowhere, the darkness overtook you once again. The last thing you remember was Haymitch catching you in his arms and Finnick yelling out your name.

All that bloodshed, crimson clover

Uh-huh, sweet dream was over

My hand was the one you reached for

All throughout the Great War

Always remember

Uh-huh, tears on the letter

I vowed not to cry anymore

If we survived the Great War

The room of the hospital wing at District 13 was dimly lit. The cold metal walls of one of the hospital rooms felt like they were closing in on you, cutting the space for you to breath. Perhaps that was one of the reasons as to why your breaths came in ragged gasps as you suddenly woke up from your state. You sat up in your bed, sweat-soaked and still trembling. Another nightmare. The same one that haunted your every dream, every night, since the first night that you left the arena from your games. The arena, the blood, the faces of those you had to kill. Everything came back to haunt you once again.

Suddenly the door slid open with a harsh, quick movement.

Finnick slept in the room next door. You knew he was there, even before you heard the footsteps approaching. Pretty soon your suspicions were proven to be correct. There he was, shirtless and disheveled, concern etched on his face.

"Y/N." He whispered, crossing the room in a few strides. His arms enveloped you, pulling your crying, shaking form close to him providing the protection that you needed. "Another nightmare?"

You felt yourself nod, burying your face in his chest as you tried your hardest to just dissappear. His skin was warm against your cold, tear stained cheek, a stark contrast to the icy memories that plagued you.

"I can't escape them, Finnick." Your voice shook, a sob at the tip of your lips. "Their screams, the blood... everything. I relive it each and every night since that year."

He held you tighter, his fingers tracing soothing circles on your back.

"You're safe here now, darling." He murmured. "We're in 13. The Capitol can't touch us here." He talked, as if he tried to remind you where you are right now, trying to pull you away from the horrific nightmare that he was oh so familiar with himself.

"The guilt is eating me alive." Your voice cracked, a silent tear sliding down your cheek. "I killed them. How can I possibly live with that?"

Finnick tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. His sea-green eyes bore into yours, fierce and unwavering.

"My love, listen to me." His soft voice spoke to you. "We all did what we had to do. The Games were a nightmare, but we made it out. We're alive."

"But at what cost?" Tears welled up, threatening to spill. "I can't forget their faces. The ones I killed. The ones that I left behind..."

"You promised me something, remember?" He wiped a lost tear away with his thumb. "Back before I was forced to send you into that arena alone. You promised me that you will survive and come back to me. You did."

"I know, but-"

"No buts." His voice was firm, it reminded you of the time that he trained you before you went into the arena for the first time. Back when you two were just a mentor and a tribute, nothing more. "You're so much stronger than you think you are, love. We all carry scars, but they don't define us. I want you to promise me something now."

"And that is?" You asked him as you kept your eyes on him.

"Promise me that you won't cry anymore. Not because of the Capitol or the nightmares. We survived, Y/N. And we'll keep surviving."

You hesitated, but then you nodded. "I promise."

"Good. Now get some rest. I'll be right here when you wake up." Finnick pressed his lips to your forehead, a gentle kiss that sent warmth through your veins.

As you settled back against the pillows, his arms were still wrapped around you, giving you sense of protection you came to a realization that maybe you could find comfort in the darkness that seemed to constantly try to consume you. With Finnick by your side, the nightmares seemed less terrifying, and the promise that you made him that night felt like it will last a lifetime.

And so, in the quiet of that hospital room in District 13, underground, you closed your eyes, vowing to keep your promise. No more fear, you knew that you would be all right as long as your love was next to you.

You drew up some good faith treaties

I drew curtains closed, drank my poison all alone

You said I have to trust more freely

But diesel is desire, you were playin' with fire

And maybe it's the past that's talkin'

Screamin' from the crypt

Tellin' me to punish you for things you never did

So I justified it

The sterile white walls of District 13's hospital pressed in on you, suffocating you, stripping you of fresh air that your lungs needed right now. You sat at the edge of your hospital bed, your fingers tracing the material of the purple medical bracelet around your waist that said that you were "Mentally disoriented". The label of the chaos that boiled within you.

The doctors came and went, you heard their voices, but they didn't reach your brain, your messed up mind. They offered so many pills, you didn't even know what pill was for what anymore. They offered therapy sessions and worst of all, sympathetic glances. They looked at you like you were broken and you were, but you hated it with burning passion. Yet after all of that, you couldn't trust them. Not after everything that you went through. The arena, the cruelty of the Capitol, the loss of your friends. The nightmares that still clung to you like shadows, following your every step, and the darkness that constantly threatened to swallow you whole.

Finnick sat beside you. His hand brushed against yours, a silent reassurance. His eyes held a depth of understanding. The kind of understanding that came only from someone who survived the horrors too immense to name.

"You don't have to face this alone." He said softly. His voice was your lifeline, pulling you back from the endless abyss. "Y/N, let them help you."

"They don't understand, Finnick." You whispered in the quietness of the room. "They can't understand."

"Maybe not, but I do." His thumb traced circles on your palm.

"Finnick, I-" You met his gaze, the weight of your pain reflected in his sea-green eyes.

Before you could finish, though, he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours. It was a desperate kiss, fueled by fear and longing. His mouth tasted of salt and the sea.

"Don't shut me out." He murmured against your lips, his voice sweater then honey. "I can't lose you, too."

"I'm broken, Finnick." Tears welled up blurring your vision.

"No." He said fiercely. "You're not broken. You're a survivor. And you're mine."

Finnick pulled you into his arms, holding you as if you were fragile glass. His heartbeat echoed against your chest, a rhythm of hope.

"Promise me." He whispered. "Promise me that you won't try to leave me behind again."

The memory of the razor blade, the cold metal against your skin, haunted you. You'd wanted an escape, a way to silence the screams of your fellow tributes that echoed in your mind. But the doctors had intervened, wrestling the blade from your trembling hand.

"I promise." You choked out. "But what if I can't keep it?"

"Then I'll be here." He vowed, his grip on your hands tightened. "Every step of the way. We'll fight this darkness together."

And so, in the sterile hospital room that you were forced to stay in, Finnick and you clung to each other. The fragile threads of two broken souls entwined. Finnick's love was a lifeline, pulling you back from the blink. You closed your eyes, willing yourself to believe that survival was possible. Even when the nightmares threatened to consume you.

All that bloodshed, crimson clover

Uh-huh, the bombs were close and

My hand was the one you reached for

All throughout the Great War

Always remember

Uh-huh, the burning embers

I vowed not to fight anymore

If we survived the Great War

Uh-huh

Uh-huh

The air was thick with tension, the walls of District 13 trembling as the Capitol’s bombs rained down upon them. Finnick now stood alongside you, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist. His sea-green eyes were filled with worry, and you could feel the rapid beat of his heart against your chest once again.

The lockdown sirens blared, drowning out the screams of panic echoing through the corridors. People rushed past you, seeking shelter, but you and Finnick remained rooted to the spot. The world outside seemed to blur as you clung to each other, seeking solace in the midst of chaos.

“Y/N.” Finnick whispered, his lips brushing against your temple. “We’ll get through this. Somehow we always do.”

You nodded, your fingers tracing the contours of his face. His stubble scratched against your skin, a familiar sensation that grounded you. The Capitol had taken so much from both of you—the Games, the torture, the loss—but here, in this moment, you had each other.

The bombs continued to fall, shaking the ground beneath your feet. You pressed your cheek against Finnick’s chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing. His hand slid down to your lower back, holding you close as if he could shield you from the destruction outside.

“I love you.” you murmured, your voice barely audible over the chaos everywhere around you. “After all this is over, I promise I won’t fight anymore. No more battles, no more bloodshed.”

Finnick’s grip tightened. “Y/N, you don’t have to—”

“No.” You interrupted. “I mean it. We’ve both seen enough violence, lost enough people. If we survive this war, I want a different life. A peaceful one. With you.”

His eyes searched yours, and for a moment, it felt like the world had stopped spinning.

“A peaceful life...” he repeated, as if testing the words. “Together.”

“Together.” You nodded, your heart swelling with determination.

And so, as the bombs continued to fall, you made a silent vow. You would survive this war, not for the rebellion or for justice, but for the chance to hold Finnick Odair in your arms without fear. To build a future where love could flourish, where scars could heal, and where promises were kept.

In the chaos of District 13’s lockdown, you clung to each other, two souls battered by the storm. But love was your anchor, and as long as you had that, you knew you could weather anything—even the wrath of the Capitol.

It turned into something bigger

Somewhere in the haze, got a sense I'd been betrayed

Your finger on my hair pin triggers

Soldier down on that icy ground

Looked up at me with honor and truth

Broken and blue, so I called off the troops

That was the night I nearly lost you

I really thought I lost you

The hallway was dimly lit, the flickering fluorescent bulbs casting eerie shadows on the cold metal walls. You stood there, your heart pounding in your chest, waiting for Finnick. The room where the victors were supposed to meet felt like a prison. A place where memories of the Games and the Capitol’s cruelty still lingered.

The rebellion had succeeded. The Capitol was in chaos, its once-mighty regime crumbling. But victory came at a cost. The mutts, the twisted, genetically engineered creatures, had nearly taken Finnick from you. Katniss had told you about it, her voice raw with emotion. How he’d fought tooth and nail, how he’d almost been torn apart.

And now, as you waited, your fingers trembling, you couldn’t shake the image of his bloodied form from your mind. The way he’d looked at you before leaving for that final mission, the promise in his eyes, the unspoken words that he will return to you alive, in one piece. You’d clung to that promise, held it close like a fragile flame in the darkest of nights.

The door creaked open, and there he was, Finnick Odair, the boy with the sea-green eyes and the tragic past. His hair was disheveled, his skin pale, but he was alive. He stepped into the hallway, and you rushed to him, throwing your arms around his neck. His scent, the salt of the sea that carried itself back from your home, the tang of sweat, filled your senses, and you buried your face in the crook of his shoulder.

“Finnick.” you whispered, your voice breaking. “You’re here. You’re alive.”

His arms tightened around you, and for a moment, you forgot about the war, the mutts, the bloodshed. It was just the two of you, clinging to each other like shipwreck survivors in a stormy sea.

“I promised, didn’t I?” His voice was hoarse, but there was a hint of a smile. “I always keep my promises.”

You pulled away, your hands delicately framing his face. His cheek was bruised, a gash running along his jawline. But his eyes, they held a fierce determination, a fire that refused to be extinguished.

“You idiot!” you said, your voice trembling. “You almost died.”

“But I didn’t. And I won’t. Not as long as you’re here.” He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you kissed him, desperate, hungry, as if you could swallow away the pain, the fear, the memories. His lips were warm, tasting of salt and survival. And in that kiss, you made a silent vow, a promise of your own.

“After this war...” you whispered against his mouth, “we’ll find a place where the sea meets the sky. Somewhere far from the Capitol, far from the Games. We’ll heal, Finnick. Together.”

He kissed you again, and this time, it was slow, tender. “Together.” he murmured. “Always.”

And so, in the hallway of broken dreams, you held each other, two fractured souls seeking solace. The victors’ meeting could wait. For now, all that mattered was this fragile moment, the taste of salt, the warmth of love, and the promise of a future beyond the horrors of Panem.

We can plant a memory garden

Say a solemn prayer, place a poppy in my hair

There's no morning glory, it was war, it wasn't fair

And we will never go back

The air in District 13 was thick with tension as the rebels gathered to witness the execution of President Snow. The Capitol had fallen, and the weight of years of suffering and loss hung heavily on everyone's shoulders. Finnick, like always, stood beside you. His hand found yours, fingers intertwining as you both faced the president.

The crowd murmured, their collective breaths held. The noose tightened around Snow's neck, and the man who had orchestrated so much pain and death finally met his end. You didn't feel relief; instead, a hollow emptiness settled within you. The cycle of violence had consumed too many lives, and you wondered if it would ever truly end.

After the execution, you and Finnick retreated to your small quarter that was given to you at the presidential palace. You packed the few belongings you had left, folding clothes and tucking away mementos. Finnick watched you, his eyes shadowed by the ghosts of the arena.

"Y/N." he said softly, breaking the silence. "We've survived so much. But now… maybe it's time for something different."

You turned to face him, your heart aching. "Different how?"

He stepped closer, cupping your cheek. "Peace, Y/N. We've fought, bled, and lost. Maybe it's time we find our own peace."

His words resonated within you. You thought of the horrors you'd witnessed—the Hunger Games, the rebellion, the deaths of friends. The scars ran deep, and you wondered if healing was even possible.

As if sensing your turmoil, Finnick pulled you into his arms. His embrace was both tender and desperate.

"We finally get to leave." he murmured against your hair. "Find a quiet place in 4, away from the chaos. Somewhere we can heal."

"But Katniss…" you began, thinking of the broken girl who had become the Mockingjay.

Finnick kissed your forehead. "Katniss will find her way. She's strong. And she has Peeta."

°

The next morning, you stood with Finnick on the platform in front of the train that would take you to District 4. Katniss approached, her eyes red-rimmed from grief and exhaustion. You took her hands, feeling the weight of her pain.

"Katniss, don't do this to yourself anymore, I beg you." Your soft voice reached her ears. "After everything… we'll try to find the peace we all deserve. I hope you find it too."

"Also, there is something that Finnick and I wanted to let you know before we leave the Capitol." you said gently.

She looked at you, her expression wary.

"I'm pregnant." you announced and Finnick's grip on your waist tightened.

Katniss blinked, surprise flickering across her face. "Pregnant?"

"Yes." you confirmed. "And Finnick and I… we've had enough bloodshed. It's time for us to find peace. Back at 4. Because we both know that we can't do it here at the Capitol."

Katniss's lips trembled. "Take care of each other." she whispered. "And write to me. Tell me whatever you need."

"We will." Finnick promised, placing a hand on her shoulder as he spoke. "And Katniss, find your own peace too. You deserve it the most."

As the train pulled away, you glanced back at Katniss. She stood there, a lone figure, watching you both leave. The world outside blurred, and you clung to Finnick's hand, knowing that this journey was about more than survival, it was about reclaiming life, love, and hope.

Together, you and Finnick leaned against the window, watching the landscape rush by. The Capitol, the districts, and the scars of war faded into the distance. Ahead lay an uncertain future, but for the first time, it felt like freedom.

And as the train carried you away, you whispered to the wind.

"Peace, Katniss. May you find it too."

To that bloodshed, crimson clover

Uh-huh, the worst was over

My hand was the one you reached for

All throughout the Great War

Always remember

Uh-huh, we're burned for better

I vowed I would always be yours

'Cause we survived the Great War

The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a warm golden glow over the coast. You sat on the weathered driftwood, your sundress billowing in the breeze. The waves crashed against the shore, a rhythmic lullaby that matched the beat of your heart.

Finnick was out there, his laughter carried by the wind. He chased their little daughter, her giggles like music. She had his sea-green eyes and your stubborn spirit. Her tiny feet left imprints in the wet sand, and you watched them both, the man you loved and the child you'd brought into this world.

His white shirt clung to his chest, the fabric darkened by saltwater. His light brown pants were soaked, but he didn't care. Finnick had always been at home in the sea, a merman with secrets hidden beneath his skin.

You traced the delicate band on your finger, the wedding ring. The day you'd vowed to be one with Finnick forever played in your mind. The sun had been just as golden then, and the waves had whispered promises. You'd said "I do" with the ocean as your witness, and it felt like the universe itself had blessed your union.

Beside you layed Katniss' letter. Her words echoed in your head, a mix of sorrow and hope. She'd lost so much, fought so hard. But now, finally, there was peace. Peeta was by her side, both of them were healing together. The Mockingjay had found her song and it was a bittersweet melody.

You closed your eyes, feeling the salt spray on your skin. The sea had witnessed your love, your pain, and your victories. It had taken so much from you, the Games, the rebellion, the scars etched into your soul. But it had also given you Finnick, your anchor in this tumultuous world.

As if sensing your thoughts, Finnick approached. His hair was tousled, his smile soft. He sat beside you, your daughter nestled in his arms. She clutched a seashell, her eyes wide with wonder.

"She's growing up so fast." you murmured, leaning into Finnick's warmth.

"Too fast." He kissed your temple.

You glanced at the horizon. The sun was a fiery ball, sinking into the water. "Katniss wrote that Peeta and her found peace."

"It's about time." Finnick nodded.

"We've all shed enough blood for an eternity, perhaps even more than that." You rested your head on his shoulder.

He intertwined his fingers with yours. "Maybe now we can heal."

The waves whispered their agreement. You looked at your daughter, at the man who'd become your heart.

"We'll find our peace too, won't we?"

Finnick pressed his lips to your forehead. "After everything… we deserve it."

And as the sea sang its ancient song, you knew that love, like the tides, would flow. But here, by the coast, with Finnick and your daughter, you found solace. The wedding ring glinted in the fading light, a promise etched in metal.

Katniss's words echoed once more:

"May you find peace."

And you believed that you finally had.

Uh-huh

Uh-huh

I would always be yours

'Cause we survived the Great War

Uh-huh

I vowed I would always be yours

->

->

->

TAGLIST:

@randomgurl2326 @caroline-books @hellonheels-x @livingdead-reilly @thecrowdedstreetin1944

[fanaticsnail]

Kind And Gentle

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 3,100+

Synopsis: Your shoulders and back ached with a pain you had attempted to cast aside as you went about your duties. The ache turned excruciating, your focus now being taken hostage between the gripping pain. Fortunately, the grip of two firm hands found your body and eased you through the torment.

Themes: Benn Beckman x reader, Friends to lovers, confessions of love, suggestive dialogue, massaging - reader receiving, pain, aching, yearning, small kiss, Shanks is a meanie, swearing, teasing, Beckman is a softie, Beckman is a gentleman, term of endearment "Darlin'" used - it's just what I associate him saying.

Notes: Pure self-indulgence fic, procrastinating while I should be going through my WIPs. My shoulder hurts, guys. Needed this to get out of my system and get through the pain.

Tag List: @sordidmusings @since-im-already-here @feral-artistry @writingmysanity @carrotsunshine @i-am-vita @gingernut1314 @mfreedomstuff @missbeckman @tiredemomama

Pain. White and hot, swelling and encumbering. This was what you were experiencing in the middle of your spine; just a little to the right side of your body.

The ache never eased, no matter what position you slept in, nor adjusting your posture throughout the day. It was unending, the torment which knit your muscles together and cemented them in place. 

You clenched your eyes tightly shut, bracing yourself against the wooden hallway wall as you rotate your neck in a circle atop your shoulders slowly. Arching your back, you winced as the knot continued to integrate itself in a woven entanglement of painful muscle beneath your skin. 

Biting back a whimper, you tried as you might to reach the cursed divot beneath your flesh, whining quietly as your fingertips barely brushed against the surface of the painful coil. The ache called to you, the burden causing a small tremor in your lips from the electric heat of the hidden wound. 

Shaking your head, you huffed out a breath as you attempted to soldier on about your daily chores. Ignoring the tight ache beneath your skin with a deep grimace written on your lips, you finally gave into your pain and balanced your hands against the wooden beam atop the deck of the Red-Force. 

The sea breeze hit your nose, relaxing you briefly before the pain eclipsed all your senses. Brain foggy with anguish, lips parted and panting, eyes frantic and wife: you could bear it no longer. You muted a cry, muffling it within your mouth while you tried to release the elastic coil in your back by twisting your torso. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you curse in a soft whisper, your brows rising in a pain-riddled peak in your forehead. You moaned out in a soft whimper, praying nobody could hear your weakness as you tried to reach for the spot a second time.

The band was bordering on excruciating, your mind contemplating whether or not to seek out Hongo for medical attention due to the intensity of the pain. Just as you began to turn on your way, two strong hands clapped over your shoulders: thumbs moving in rough circles against your skin. 

“I got you, Darlin’,” the gruff voice Shanks’ first mate whispered in a calming rumble, “Just tell me when I'm gettin’ close to it.” 

Benn Beckman. It was always Benn Beckman. Any time any of the crew needed anything, no task too small, no feat too great: Beckman was the champion you had all grown accustomed to rely on. Leaning back into his touch, you hung your neck low to grant him greater access

“Oh-... mmmf-... -‘kay,'' you whimpered, curving your back down to expose more of your spine to him, “It's not-... Hhah-... It's not normally this-...fucking, shit-... -this bad.” A small click of his tongue snapped at you in empathy as his thumbs brushed against the coil of pain. 

Although your friendship with Beckman ran deep, you had never engaged with him physically before. You respected one another, adored one another, and were as close as two crewmates could be. Two sides of a coin, twin edges of a blade, the gunpowder and the spark that lit the fuse - this was how you were described by your red-headed captain. 

But as his thumbs sought out your deepest pain, all your thoughts escaped you. There was nothing else, just: Beckman, his focus and his expert touch. 

“Just a touch to the right-... ahh, Becks!” you cried out as his digits flicked over the painful swell beneath your flesh. Huffing out pants of breath, you sobbed in strained relief as he continued massaging your body. 

“Oh, fuck. It's there, isn't it?” he whispered, the thumb of his right hand pressed firmly against the tight knot as his left hand braced you against the side-beam of the boat, “There it is, Darlin’. I found it. There's the spot.” You arched your back within his broad hands, your arms stiffening in firm pillars against the deck as he prodded the painful peak in your back. 

“Oh, that's it! Right there, that's the spot,” you mewled out, crying and gasping for him as he untangled your muscles with his rough, practiced hands. Just as he pressed his strength further against you, you winced out a strangled, “Fuck, not so rough! Be kind and gentle with me, Becks!” 

“Darlin’, this is me being kind and gentle,” he bullied his thumb into your skin, stapling you to the wall of the ship by his hips and holding you steady with his hand perched on your left shoulder, “You need a bit of rough treatment. Hold still, let me coax it out of you.”

���Becks,” you whispered out his name, lulling your head back on your shoulders as he continued to pry, paw and claw the knot apart with his right hand, “Becks it hurts.”

“I know, I know,” his gruff voice reassured you, the gentle hold of his left hand against your shoulder contradicted the right hand that bruised your muscles, “It'll all be over soon. I'm nearly there, I can feel your body moving it with me. Just hold on.”

His thumb pressed an intentional swipe up, directing the pain up your back and into the peaked corner of your shoulder. His brows knit low in deep concentration, prompting him to suck in an empathetic breath in anticipation. 

“Ohh… You're gonna hate me,” he whispered in your ear, kicking your feet apart with his heavy boots before anchoring his pelvis against your glutes to hold you firmer against the ship's wooden railing, “You need an elbow.”

“No, no, no! Not an elbow!” you cried, just as his right elbow drew itself against your spongy flesh, “Becks! It's-... nnmfph-... too much! Ahh! Too much!”

Attempting to break from his grip, you shook yourself away from his hands, only for your body to immediately betray you. Bent over the railing, your back immediately became unraveled by a firm grip and a strong elbow to the point that ailed you. 

“Oh hush, you need it,” he barked in a soft tone, eclipsing your concern with an intentional rotation of his elbow against your shoulder, “Be a good little thing and take it.” He was moving the vines of the entanglement away from the source point, breaking it down beneath his body and flushing it out with heavy swipes. 

Benn Beckman was experiencing the toughest battle he had ever had the displeasure in engaging with. He was trying to tune out how good you sounded calling out his name in pants and whines, his own empathetic huffs and groans mixing harmoniously with yours as he gripped your flesh.

“Benn Beck-...fuck-... It's right there. Right there, Becks! Don't stop!” you whimpered, your voice high and your desperation showcased in the soft pants of your breath. The release of your entangled flesh was just within Beckman's grasp, prompting him to switch back to using his fingers to expel the pressure beneath your skin. 

“I got you. There ya’ go,” he confirmed again, expanding the heel of his palm against the binding presence of the last of the entanglement, “Breathe through it with me, I'm not gonna stop ‘til you're done.” 

“Oh, fuck Beckman,” your eyes glazed over, your lips parting and crying out in bliss as his skillful ministrations cast out the pressure in your shoulder as a priest would cleanse unholy ground to make their sanctuary.

“Th-That’s it. Oh m-my fuck-,” you whined back into his hands, “You're so good. Your hands feel so good.” As the last of the knot fled your shoulder, a warm chuckle rumbled from behind you. Beckman's laugh brought you comfort, his softness depicted in this small moment as he held you in his arms. 

His firm hands turned soft, caressing your shoulders in tender, gentle touches. He molded both of your shoulders within his palms, your body becoming jelly beneath his rough and calloused hands. You moaned softly as he maneuvered your body in a perfect arch against his chest, the rumble of his chuckle reverberating within your back to vibrate within your chest. 

“Better?” he whispered in the shell of your ear, easing his body back to enable you to escape his broad cage. Instead of breaking away from his body, you relaxed into his arms, sighing out a warm breath of contentment. 

“Thank you, Becks. You're bloody amazing at that,” you praised him, feeling light and free of the bonds that confined you, “Why did you offer to help me with it?” 

“There was something in your face that told me you needed it,” he shrugged, huffing a small chuckle out of his nose and leant down to rumble out a whisper in your ear, “Always wanna help you, Darlin’.”

“Oh Becks, I could kiss you,” you turned in his arms, gazing through half-hooded eyelids up at him, “Can I?”

He smirked down at you, a small pink due flushing his cheeks with a subtle dust, bobbing his head in a soft nod to grant you permission. As you circled your arms over his neck and began to draw him closer to your lips, a chorus of barked laughter and an uproar of cheers echoed along the hull of the ship. Clapping hands, whistles and hoots erupted from your crew now surrounding the two of you. 

“Oh, Beckman,” your captain cackled at you, his right hand clapping over his heart, “In public, big guy? And you,” he pointed his index finger at you, his wolfy grin painted in a drawn-out taunting smirk, “You sly little fox. Gettin’ the big man to take you right on the deck?”

“What?” you questioned your captain in a warning tone, floating your eyes between the rest of the crew gathered on the deck beside him. Shanks’ playful twinkle fluttered beneath his weighty eyelashes. 

“Be gentle with me, Becks,” he mocked in a needy moan not too dissimilar from your own, before hardening his features and deepening his voice in a grunted, “You need a bit of rough treatment,” he commented gruffly. The color drained from your face, eyes widening and lips parting once again in bashful horrification. 

“Oh right there, Becks, don't stop,” Shanks continued his performance, a small warning began to rise within Beckman's throat in a rumbled growl. Breaking out of your embrace, he grimaced at the red-head in front of him. 

“Enough, Cap’n,” Beckman snarled, reaching within his pocket and pulling out his lighter with his left hand, fishing out a cigarette to follow, “Got out a knot, s’all. You know how shit they are.” Beckman ignited the end, taking a lengthy drag and exhaling a puff away from your face. 

“Really? That's all?” Shanks cried out a laugh, the crew echoing his unashamed and carefree joy at the notion, “I thought I saw some hips moving together, Becks. You were letting some of your own groans out too, mewling like a wh-.”

“-Or should I relay half of the bullshit you curse out when Hongo releases the knots in your own shoulder?” Beckman smirked, his eyes daring his captain to say another embarrassing quip. After a pregnant pause, silent tension only momentary before another uproar of laughter barked out amongst the Red-Hair pirates. 

“Yeah, yeah. I'm done,” Shanks waved his hand in the air, shooting you a small wink before turning to face his crew, “What say we make port, huh? Resupply with some fresh drinks, a hot meal, some good company, and a comfortable sleep on dry land?”

“Aye, sir!” the crew echoed in unison, your own confirmation falling from your lips as you began maneuvering around the first-mate to resume your duties. Just as you passed Beckman's shoulder, a firm hand shot out and gripped your forearm to hold you in place. 

“Beckman?” you asked, turning to meet his eyes. You floated your own between his, hovering your attention to fixate on him completely, “Everything alright, Sir?” 

“Goin’ back to ‘Sir’ again, after all that,” he murmured, barely above comprehension. Your quizzical feeling never left you, still hovering between the lenses of his glassy orbs. 

“How you feeling?” he asked as he pressed down the filter end of the cigarette beneath the pad of his thumb, placing the butt-end in the small drawer attached to the hull of the ship, “I get it all out, or the ache still hangin’ in there?”

Humming in thought, you rotated your right arm and felt the ghost of your prior pain simmer down and flee from your form. The small pinch only remained behind in memory, but the small remnants of the ache threatened to return. 

“It's gone for now, I think,” you uttered with a small shrug, “It'll likely begin the slow journey back up my spine in a pinch.” Beckman hummed in thought, nodding along as he checked over your body for any changes. 

After a small lull, you held your ground as the atmosphere once again fell into awkwardness. You shook your head to stifle your nerves, sucking in a breath to elevate your courage. 

“Can I buy you a drink or two when we get to port?” you ask him, eyes dropping to the ground and hands laced behind you, “An expression of my gratitude for you helping me out?”

“You askin’ me out on a date?” Beckman disguised his growing smile by arching himself away from you, loosening the tie in his hair and beginning to restyle it.

“And if I am?” you ask, still avoiding his gaze by holding your eyes firmly against the floor, “What then?”

“What then, Darlin’,'' he smirked, his eyes softening as his hands found your hips, “Is that I'd accept.” He pulled you flush with him, prompting your eyes to widen and search his gray orbs in your shock, “I wouldn't mind spending an evening with you, havin’ drinks in a quiet corner for a change.”

“It would be a nice change,” you confessed, eyes again falling soft for the first mate. He leant his hips back on the wooden railing, reaching up to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. His index finger lingered on your chin, holding your eyes against his. 

“What was it for you? To have you finally make a move after all this time?” he asked, his eyes turning playful as he looked down at you through half-hooded eyes, “The hands or the elbow?”

“I think it was the words,” you confessed with a small laugh, “Not used to having the Great Benn Beckman whisper: ‘be a good little thing and take it.’ Wouldn't mind hearing that again, if I'm being honest,” a small choked pause fell from Beckman's lips, your own question now posed to him.

“What made you accept a drink with me?” you searched his eyes quizzically, pursing your lips as you continued, “We've served together for so long, what made you consider it now?”

“Oh Darlin', I've always considered it. More than considered it,” he huffed out a chuckle, bringing your face closer to his with the curl of his index finger, “Just didn't know how much I wanted it ‘til you started sayin' my name like that.” He hovered his lips over yours, his breath still scented with the sour, smoky tang of his last cigarette as he beckoned you in. 

“Wouldn't mind hearing that again, if I'm bein' honest,” he parroted your words back at you before finally claiming your lips beneath his own in a chaste kiss. The attention he gave your lips was brief, ending contact almost as soon as they touched. 

He pulled away from your lips, noticing your pout and slight agitation at the hastiness the kiss ended. Chuckling, he leant over your ear and confessed his intentions further. 

“Cap’n’s watchin’,” he nodded over to where Shanks’ taunting eyes and winning smile wordlessly teased you both, “Don't wanna give him more ammunition to tease you with, Darlin'. No matter how much I really wanna kiss you.”

“I owe you more,” you hummed up at him with a soft smile, tucking the loose strand of hair away from his forehead and behind his ear, “Anything I can do to repay my growing debt to you? More than a couple drinks later, a little kiss, or taking care of your duties for you today?”

“Just the promise of your company later will do for now,” he chuckled, leaning into the heel of your palm with his lips, pressing a soft kiss against your skin.

“Aye, Sir,” you smirked at him, giving his cheek two gentle taps before returning back to duty with a newfound rejuvenation. Your limbs felt lighter, your body felt freer and your head felt less foggy with the prior pain you felt. 

Shanks sauntered over towards his first-mate, smirking and kicking up his feet all along the way in a playful dance. Beckman shook his head, reaching for another cigarette and lit the end. Shanks leaned his head against Beck’s shoulders, uttering not a single word as he fluttered his eyelashes, wiggled his eyebrows and clicked his tongue at the broody, larger man. 

“Don’t even start,” Beckman growled under his breath. Shanks smiled wider, jolting his right index finger into Beckman’s side as he hummed up a playful mock at him. 

“But you finally made a move, big man,” Shanks chuckled, nudging him with his left shoulder, “How long’s it been now? Two, maybe three years of longing, yearning and lusting from afar, hm?”

“Four,” Beckman commented gruffly, inhaling a deep breath of smoke in his mouth and holding it still behind his lips, “And I remember saying: ‘don’t even start’.”

“Alright, alright. I’m going, I’m going,” Shanks held his right hand up in defence, an extra buzz in his step at the knowledge that Beckman and you had finally allowed a small crack in the door open to engage with one another this way. A small chuckle erupted in Shanks’ voice, his own amusement adamant over his features.

“Right there Becks, don’t stop,” Shanks’ voice whined again in a needy moan, before growling out a rumbled mock of, “I’m not gonna stop ‘til you’re done,” he laughed, turning back over his shoulder, “Honestly, Beckman. Show a bit of composure, man.” 

Beckman’s blush scorched scarlet on his features, prompting him to thrust the butt of his cigarette into the drawer and begin to charge at his Captain. Shanks shrieked out a giddy cry of amusement at his first-mate.

“Be kind and gentle with me, Becks!” Shanks laughed, turning tail and began running away in glee from successfully taunting his first mate. The barrelling boot heels of the first mate almost managed to catch up to the Captain immediately, but Shanks continued successfully darting away from Beckman’s disciplinary grasp.

[cpericardium]

Coil has been flipping coins for 72+ hours in both realities and they keep coming up tails. he's exhausted, his fingers suffer a phantom ache, the undersiders have no idea

[coils-coining]

Fatigueic

ID:[A flag for the Fatigueic gender. It has one dark blue stripe, one light blue stripe, one lighter blue stripe, and one greyish-blue stripe. There is a black heart in the middle of the flag. ]END ID

Fatigueic: A gender from the Emovere gender system based on the physical and emotional feelings of fatigue. A gender that can feel sluggish, foggy, and sleepy, like you’ll never get enough rest.

The shades of blue on the flag feel slow and sad, like emotions one might feel during fatigue. It has the emovere symbol on it.

Pronouns could be:

sleep/sleeps/sleepself

fog/fogs/fogself

sigh/sighs/sighself

slow/slows/slowself

And many more pronouns!

Link to the Emovere gender system post!

-Please read our pinned post before interacting!-

[chrollohearttags]

make it back to you • detective eren + P.I. reader

content warning: nsfw under the cut :), gun violence, cop/police things, soft, intimate sex, eren being so hopelessly in love :(, P.I. reader, (he and reader are engaged), pet names (baby, sweetheart, my angel) him being vulnerable/affectionate for once (and so vocal) marking, crying, overstimulation, breeding, pregnancy mention

📝: he is on my mind so heavily today and I wasn’t much up for writing anything today but I could not stop picturing this.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

thinking about him just finishing up a very dangerous undercover mission. Spending days..even months taking on a new persona and lifestyle, all for the sake of taking down a high profile criminal. The operation finally comes to a head and they arrest their suspect. It was risky, downright reckless and there were times where he felt as if he may not have made it out of some of those situations alive but he’s thankful to have overcome this hurdle. Surrounded by his subordinates and superiors alike, getting pats on the back after successfully taking down some deadly drug dealer who was seconds from putting a bullet in his head if he hadn’t made the shot the first; subduing them long enough to get them restrained. His nerves are rattled…hell, he can’t help it. No matter how many times he does this. That fear of being snuffed out implanted fresh in his brain..a reminder to never let his guard down and stay vigilant. Not only for his own life..but the one waiting back home. the one he cherishes more than anything else in this wretched world. The one he fights so hard every single day to protect. Despite the fact you are two sides of the same coin: brave crusaders of justice, sworn under oath to stop those wishing to do harm. Even so..he wants nothing more than to see you. His beloved, precious pain in the ass (y/n). Who was probably investigating your own cases but right now, he was being selfish!..

selfishly whisking you away from your office back to your shared high rise condo, where’s he had you holed for the past four hours. Making love to you underneath the rhythmic pitter-patter of falling rain against the windows. Crisp white linen covering his waist as he hovers over your body..hips rutting into the cushion of your thighs with deep yet delicate strokes..

“R-rennnn…okay, baby..okay. Please..”

tapping faintly against his abs because it’s all the strength you could muster. He’s driven out at least two orgasms from your now fragile body. Working towards an inevitable third with no plans to halt anytime soon..his pace is wavering, rhythm constantly fluctuating; rough and short, soft and long…anything to stay inside of you. To be one..despite the fact he’s already filled your womb twice as well. Even sloshing and fucking his own cum out of you. Sweat bearing down his forehand and slicking those thin strands of hair skin. Jade colored eyes glosses over in a small sheath of tears and burning red from the immense pleasure. He knows he should quit..he knows he’s probably beaten your poor little cunt to a pulp at this point but he can’t bring himself to pull out or pull away. Not when the opportunity to ever make love to you again seemed so far away. When some nights, he lied in the cold, desolate room of a bando, surrounded by addicts and sex workers..wondering if you were okay. If you missed him..or if you’d still love him. If you found forgive him for up and leaving right after he finally found the courage to propose after three years of dating because revealing his mission would’ve put you both in immense danger. Your professions didn’t allow for the traditional love story and still, you two made it work. Flaws and all..

“ ‘M sorry…so fucking—ahh! Sorry, baby…can’t leave you now. Please don’t make me..you feel so good..”

“No, keep making love to me, ‘Ren. Please don’t stop..oh my God..”

so as you lie there…arms coiling his back as those sharp nails clawed his olive, tan skin, you’d beg him for more. That flesh, marked by your ferocious scratching and the two dragon tattoos he acquired while trying to fit the part of this hardened thug. His freshly formed mustache and beard rubbing against your lips as they met in sloppy, passionate pecks. Tongue kissing so intensely, you thought you’d climax from it alone. Your long legs finding home around his waist; hooking around to ensure he never let go. He’d even utter a slight chuckle when you’d ask why he was fucking you like this. The answer was truly simple and very apparent:

“I can’t live without you, sweetheart. It took me nearly dying to realize that shit. I don’t want to lose you..”

finding himself amid a long winded tangent..spouting off both affirmations and his heartfelt confessions into your ear whilst pounding your pussy like a man unhinged. No matter how uncontrollably your body shook. The imprints of that fat cock beginning to reach the very bottom of your belly with just a very slight bulge. He was buried to the hilt, slamming into you in hopes that you’d just keep begging for more. The way that heat so casually wrapped around him and refused to let go..like a hug.

“Squeezing me so tight—I love you, (y/n). You’re my everything. Please…stay here with me. Forever. I want us to grow old together..I want you to have my baby—“ the words eliciting another twitch from your spasming hole..even evoking tiny splashes of squirt and another sharp gasp heaving from your chest. He couldn’t help but to smile at your reaction. Brushing the side of your face, Eren burrowed himself further to kiss the top of your head. “Yeah? You wanna have my baby? Get your pretty ass pregnant?…swear you’d look so fucking good..full of me like that..” almost primal and feral in his lovemaking at this point. Huffing and sucking his teeth as that pace became more sporadic. Everything he said, you lingered on it…your lips quivering and brushing against his whilst nodding your head, submitting and consenting to him wholeheartedly.

“Yes! Give it to me!…fuck!” At the same time, those orgasms ripped through both of your bodies like paper through a shredder..tearing about your systems and bringing you the ultimate, insurmountable pleasure. Your womb filled to the brim and a vice grip on his cock. A milky sheath all over that pale member…dumbed out expressions glossed over both of your faces as well as strained tears falling from your eyes. “S-so..good.” “Here, look at me..” just then, he’d cup your chin into the cusp of his fingers and kiss you with the passion of a man who had just returned from the brutal woes of war and truthfully he had but it was all worth it the end.

“I told you, my angel..I always told you, I’d make it back to you.”

[dailyadventureprompts]

Deity: Nerull, The One Who Sorts The Bones

It's said they found the god in the old tombs, in that forgotten quiet where long eras had worn away all the epitaphs. They drew in a breath of the still air and on their exhalation the god took flight into the world on vulture's wings. -The Silent Testimonies, book 1

A god not of death, but of the dead, Nerull presides those aspects of the mortal coil that lay beyond the Raven Queen's domain of mourning and memory. Someone must keep vigil for the departed long after their names have passed from the memories of the living, and so that duty falls to Nerull, who's chosen people are the spirits that have lingered in the world far longer than they were ever alive.

Beyond the dead, the vulture’s faithful are an eclectic lot. Itinerant gravetenders, scholars of forgotten tongues, Bonesetters who's experience with embalming helps them minister to the living.  To Serve Nerull you must first die, though this is often symbolic.

Unlike his fellow carrion-bird death god, Nerull's following does not frown on the use of necromancy, or the existance of undead. Ghost stories, whether vengeful or sorrowful are considered holy for the way their memory transcends time. The exception to this reverence of course are those trapped in suffering, and the "hungry" dead who feed on the living. Pain and want are after all the purview of life, and Nerull dispatches hunters and psychopomps to ease such spirits along their way.

Adventure Hooks:

While out on their travels the party encounters a procession of grey pilgrims, masked and shrouded, all silent save for the leader of their procession who carries a staff jingling with bells and welcomes the party to sit by his fire. He tells tale of conflicts across the realm, new and old, shared with her by her flock, and invites the party to walk along with them the next day if they wish to see something splendid. Should the party agree to such unsettling company they will walk until sunset when they come to a hillside dotted with loose stones, where one by one the pigrims will walk out and begin constructing their own cairns. The procession leader will thank them for their observance, not many are so kind to the unnamed dead, and will reward them with answers to five questions before departing on pallid wings.

After inexplicably befriending one of Nerull's agents (and possibly his daughter?) during one of their adventures, the party are liable to be put out when they don't see their favourite psychopomp for a while. Queue sightings of a foreboding spectre that's knocking one by one on the doors of the city at night, sending people into a panic. Imagine their surprise when it turns out this wraith has a message for them... their favourite omen of doom has been kidnapped by a necromancer and her boss (dad?) wants them to get her back.

The Vulture's work is never done, and this time he's decided to enlist the heroes for aid. Perhaps there's an undead spirit that needs to be quieted, perhaps there's something sinister at work in a ruin once consecrated in his name, perhaps it's just making sure they clean up after themselves after their latest stint of tombrobbing. Regardless, Nerull can offer the heroes something far beyond coin... closure with the dead, ensuring visitation with a loved one for some much needed closure.

Titles: The Vulture, The Bonesorter, Dead Ned, the weary reaper, the vagabond end.

Signs: Plants too dry to rot, the voices of the departed carried on the wind, skeletons rearranged into trees or gardens.

Symbols: A scythe or sickle entwined with flowers.

[dogboycolumbo]

IT DOESNT MAKE SENSE that coils power was able to make a coin flip the same every single time. he can only use 2 universes theres a 50% chance it’s gonna be heads. in his 2 universes theres only a 25% chance that one of the two flips will be heads. he gets double luck but theres no reason why it wouldnt be tails in both universes yeah. that doesnt make sense

[sinfullyrosey]

Aggressive Affection - Azul

Azul Ashengrotto X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Tentacles, Claustrophobia (octoboy holds you close and encases ya in tentacles), Bondage (via said tentacles)

Fun Fact: Octopi can taste with their suckers. I only knew this after writing this, but still feel like it was an important addition.

All characters are 18+

How the two of you ended up in this situation didn’t really matter at this point.

What’s happened, happened.

You two had decided to go swimming together after finals, as a sort of date, and while he refused to change into his original form, fate had other plans it seems. Whether it be due to the nerves of seeing you in a bikini top and swim trunks for the first time or a simple oversight on his part, but he had forgotten to retake the potion that kept him in his bipedal form and slowly started to change.

His skin darkened and long, thick tentacles started to grow out to replace his two human legs, while you watched on in confused awe. He hadn’t had time to plan an escape route or brought an extra potion with him, instead left to transform right there in the waters of the Octavinelle Dorm, in front of his beloved.

The details of what happened next were blurred by the dark blackness of his ink spraying out in a panic and muddying the waters around them. Anxiety pricked at his veins when he made direct eye contact with you and saw the baffled look on your face. The image sent waves of fear rushing into his mind.

He remembers trying his best to hide himself away from you then, curling in on himself and desperately trying to find some closed off space to squeeze into and hide. The sheer embarrassment and shame clouding his thoughts. His mind was uncharacteristically frazzled, leaving him to simply float to the bottom floor, kicking up sand like a cloud and mixing with the ink.

He can’t quite recall what led to what happened next.

His partner was speaking to him, coming closer and trying to reassure him. Her delicate touch and kind words are what ultimately brought him out of his self-deprecating state. He was still ashamed of his body, despite her efforts, but they were not all in vein. He began to open up a bit more, allowing her to see more of him, but still hidden in the ball of embarrassment and tentacles.

He just remembers feeling safe with her around, her presence offering him some much needed comfort. Her kind smile painting one of acceptance and love, not a single inkling of disgust or fear could be seen, only compassion and understanding. The feeling made his body jittery all over again, only this time for the better. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say she was his new octopot. Warm, comforting, safe…

Maybe that is why his tentacles acted on their own accord and gently wrapped themselves around her smaller figure. Curling and coiling around her arms and legs, the suckers latching on and pulling them closer into the ebony limbs.

You had gasped at the first unsuspecting touch, but soon relaxed when you saw it was only him. Your smile grew as you pet the squishy appendages, giggling when you spotted his blushing blue face.

“Ha ha, your face is so blue, ZuZu! It matches your eyes.~”

The playful comment had made his blush deepen and caused two of his tentacles to raise and cover his face. You giggled some more as the tentacles around you drew you closer to him. He wasn’t doing any of this on purpose. He wasn’t commanding them to wrap around you protectively like you were some newfound coin to add to his collection. He hadn’t meant for them to hug you so tightly in such a protective manner.

They were acting on his emotions alone, playing out the secret desires he kept hidden away deep inside him. The desire to just hold you close; so, so close…

Before he knew it, his tentacles were pulling you closer to him and creating a cage around the both of you, blocking out the ocean blue waters and leaving nothing but the inky curtains of darkness. Your vision was left with nothing but black, and the light blue glimmer of his horizontal-pupiled eyes. You smiled at him in the darkness, hands slowly reaching out to gently hold them against his pale cheeks.  

His heartrate increased as you rested your forehead against his, softly murmuring such praises at him. Showering him in compliments and words of affirmation with that lovely voice of yours. He couldn’t take it anymore, his tentacles pulling you even closer to him until your bodies were flush against one another and he could feel the soft flesh of your skin against his own. He could feel the heat radiating from your body as his greedily soaked up everything it could from you.

Azul could just melt into this moment forever. To never leave and share this all with you, holding you close in his makeshift security pot and bask in each other’s soft affections. But, of course, it still wasn’t enough for his greedy, little heart. He always wanted more, needed more, even if he himself didn’t realize it.

“A-ah, Azu…” A soft moan slipped past your lips. Your back arching forward at the pleasurable sensation between your legs.

The tentacle that had wrapped itself there was now slowly rubbing against the clothed folds of your most sensitive bits. The pleasure mixed in with the feeling of the others wrapped around your thighs and lower bottom squeezing and massaging the plump skin. You were left panting as the ones at your breasts joined in, curling themselves around the round mounds and fondling them, causing your nipples to pebble at the treatment.

“Azul… Az…ul~”

He only watched as his eight limps worked at you in tandem, sending you new waves of pleasure with every sudden squeeze and light pinch. His body heated up at the sight of your body so positively responding to what he thought was so ugly about himself for so long. Despite what he assumed, your body did not act in disgust, but rather, pure wanting arousal.

You gasped when the same tentacle’s suckers latched onto the slick skin of your groin, creating a suctioning effect against your folds and now swollen clit. Your pussy quivered and fluttered, leaking at the touch. The tentacle would rub and grind against you, then release with an audible “pop!” before re-latching themselves once more. The strange sensation had your toes curling and mouth singing a chorus of moans and pants.

“Azu-I’m g-gonna cum! O-oh, it feels so good!” You keened.

The other tentacles started to squeeze tighter around your thighs and bottom. The ones at your breasts started to give your nipples the same treatment as your clit, suckers massaging the perky buds until they were red and swollen.

The pain and pleasure was becoming too much and you could feel your insides coil and tighten with every new jolt sent to your core. The expression of bliss on your face had the octomer in awe. He tentatively took your face in his hands, much like how you had done to him earlier, and pressed his lips against yours in a desperately passionate kiss.

He swallowed down your moans when you finally came undone, walls clenching and hips grinding further against his tentacles to gain as much friction as possible. You whimpered against his lips, leaning into him as your vision went white, before slowly fading back to the black around you.

Your body went limp in his hold, cradled securely in his many arms. Azul smiled at the lovestruck look in your tired, lidded eyes, bringing you closer to him once more and kissing your temple. For now, he just chose to hold you and nothing more, enjoying the moment for now.

[alexagirlie]

"Figure You Out - Part One" - Sihtric x Whore!Reader x Finan

A/N my first reader fic for The Last Kingdom fandom! Still got to have both my boys though :) Part two is HERE

Summary: Finan decides that Sihtric needs to learn how to please a woman. He takes him to see a brothel worker and is then convinced to join in!

TW: Whore reader. Virgin Sihtric. Ladies man Finan. Light dom reader. Light fem dom. Oral sex (f recieving). Fingering (f recieving). Implied m/m. Finan is a hands on teacher. Multiple orgasms.

Word count: 1,702

Taglist: @gemini-mama @valeskafics

It had been a slow evening in the Inn when you were approached by a tall, dark haired man you recognized as one of Lord Uhtred's top warriors, Finan you thought his name was. The smirking Irishman pressed a handful of coins into your hands, enough to pay for the whole night and then some. 

“The lad needs to learn how to properly please a woman.” Finan said while nodding his head at a younger man at his back. He flashed you a wink before he reached back and dragged the other warrior forward. 

You gave the lad a once over, please by what you saw. He was of a height with Finan but slimmer in the shoulders, with well muscled arms which he bared with a sleeveless tunic. He was clearly a Dane, with his hair pulled back in braids across the top of his head and the pewter hammer hanging around his neck, but you didn't mind. He looked up at you through his eyes and you glimpsed the most beautiful set of eyes you had ever seen. His right eye was a warm brown while his left eye was a pale blue, they shone with nervousness but you could see the excitement peaking through.

“Will you be joining us to ensure he is adequately taught?” You teased looking back at the dark haired Irishman, not at all put off by the idea of having them both. Finan had a reputation of treating the girls well and virgins were usually so much fun to play with. It didn't hurt that the young Dane was exceptionally beautiful and you knew you would enjoy the experience of teaching him.

Sihtric could feel your gaze burning into the flushed skin of his face as the two men shared a look. He wasn't repulsed by the idea of Finan accompanying them, of the older man watching, helping, Sihtric had approached him for advice after all. A  silent conversation passed between them, an arch of Finan brown in question before the young Dane nodded his consent with a shrug. 

Sihtric ignored how the heat already coiled in his gut burned brighter as Finan flashed him a cheeky wink before the Irishman turned to look back at you. “Yeah alright, gotta make sure he does it properly, don't I?”

You reached your hand out towards Sihtric and after a moment's hesitation he took it in his, mindful of how soft and delicate your hand felt in his, rough with scars and years of handling a weapon. You smiled encouragingly at him before you introduced yourself and asked for his name. 

“I'm Sihtric, miss,” he answered, voice soft and gentle as he met your gaze shyly. 

You were the most beautiful woman Sihtric had ever laid eyes on. Your hair was tied back away from your face with a few stands loose to dance around your shoulders. Your dress hugged your form perfectly and left little to the imagination, pushing your breasts up and he couldn't help but think they would be the perfect handful.

But his favourite feature had to be your eyes. Your eyes were bright and expressive with long lashes that framed them perfectly, shining with mischief as you led the two men up the stairs to your room.

He couldn't stop his mouth from hanging open as you unlaced your bodice and exposed your breasts to their hungry eyes before you pulled your overdress over your head and dropped it in a heap on the floor before sitting on the edge of the bed. You leaned back on your hands and enjoyed having their undivided attention. You loved bringing men to their knees.

You tapped a foot on the floor. “On your knees boys.”

You watched with hooded eyes as Sihtric knelt on the floor with barely restrained eagerness, Finan close behind but with much more poise. You knew this was not the first time the Irishman had found himself on his knees in the bedroom. The other girl always had lots of stories about Uhtred's second in command, that he was a very giving lover and, if the stories were true, incredibly talented with his mouth. 

Your core throbbed and you grew wet at the thought of putting that mouth to use but tonight was about the young Dane currently crawling his way between your spread legs. His inexperience was obvious as he began pressing sweet, hesitant kisses up the skin of your inner thigh, long fingers shaking as they worked your underdress up inch by inch as he went. 

By the time he had worked your dress up around your waist you were soaked, your cunt and inner thighs slick with the proof of your arousal. 

Confronted with the sight of your wet cunt the young Dane lost his nerve and looked over his shoulder at his friend for assistance. Finan pressed himself to Sihtric's back and hooked his chin over the Dane's shoulder. 

“What a pretty sight” He growled, his eyes were dark, pupils blown with arousal as they moved over your exposed flesh. 

You licked your lower lip slowly and flashed him a smirk when his gaze met yours. You cocked an eyebrow in challenge, taunting the Irishman to show what he knows.

The older man's brow furrowed before he wrapped himself tighter around the younger man and began his lesson. “Just gotta touch her a little, warm her up for yer cock.” He told the younger man, reaching out with one hand to demonstrate.

You threw your head back with a gasp as two thick fingers slid through your soaking folds, gathering the wetness there and using it to slick the way for him to push them inside you. You opened for him so easy, with a breathless moan as the stretch relieved the ache that had begun to throb through your core. They way they moved together, pressing against your inner walls perfectly, brushing against that spot inside you that made you see stars.

Finan curled his fingers inside so they pressed harder against that perfect spot and your mouth feel open on a whine. His thumb rubbed slow circles around your nub, the pleasure building heat in your core, stroking the flames higher and higher. You were so wet and dripping that his fingers made a wet squelching sound each time he pulled them back to the tip before he plunged them back between your folds. You were moaning continuously when Finan pulled his hand away and you whined at the momentary pause in your pleasure. 

He chuckled deeply as he grabbed one of Sihtric's hands and guided it between your trembling thighs to take his place. “Your turn, boy.”

The way Finan kept himself wrapped around Sihtric made for a very enticing sight and you wondered what they would look like wrapped up together, bare of their armour and clothing, their battle hardened bodies pressed together. The picture in your mind and the way Sihtric worked between your thighs, just as Finan had shown him, unexpectedly pushed you to what you knew would only be the first orgasm of the night.

You lost all strength in your arms and found yourself fully on your back as you shuddered and moaned as Sihtric diligently kept his fingers thrusting inside of you at Finan's insistence. Drawing your pleasure out until you were reduced to a trembling, whining mess.

You had barely come down or caught your breath when Finan gave his next command to the young Dane. 

“Give her cunt a kiss,” he commanded the other man, guiding him down with a hand on the back of Sihtric's head.

Sihtric didn't hesitate to get his mouth on you, soft and sweet at first, with gentle kisses and soft licks as he tasted your release, cleaning some of the slick from your inner thighs and between your folds. He groaned against your skin and doubled down, attacking you with lips and tongue. He was a natural as he licked and sucked, devouring your cunt like he was a man starving. Finan whispered advice from over his back, voice deep and raspy with his arousal. 

You struggled to push yourself back upright on your elbows so you didn't miss a single moment. You watched as Sihtric pressed his arse back against the hard line of the Irishman's cock, the lad whining desperately against your cunt when he was confronted with the proof of his friend's arousal. You smirked at how clearly the poor boy wanted to get fucked. An idea formed in your mind, one you hoped you could sweet talk the two men into.

Your mind wiped clean as Sihtric sunk two fingers back into your dripping wet core and crooked them just right. No matter how his body begged for his friend he stayed focused on you and kept his mouth working on your core, making the pleasure build again. You gasped out encouragement and praise until you peaked a second time with a drawn out moan, head thrown back and shuddering as he kept lapping at you, soft and wet, drinking down your release until you pushed his head away with a breathless laugh.

Both men slid back on their heels and gave you space to recouver this time, which you needed as you found yourself sprawled on your back again with your whole body weak and trembling from the strength of your second orgasm. 

You panted up at your ceiling as your heart rate slowed and you collected yourself. As fast a learner as the Dane was proving to be you still had knowledge to impart.

You rolled yourself over onto your hands and knees and crawled further up the bed, giving your arse a good shake for good measure, feeling both sets of eyes on you.

“Take your clothes off Sihtric,'' you commanded over your shoulder and smiled as the man was quick to obey, revealing a lithe, well muscled body, spotted with the occasional scar, signs of his life as a warrior. You pulled your underdress over your head, baring yourself complerely to the two warriors before you settled yourself on your back against the pillows and spread your legs invitingly. “Come here.”

[secret-smut-sideblog]

Bloodlust

Astarion X F! Tav

18+ violence, blood play, blood drinking (duh), sub/dom, (consensual) restraint, safe words, edging, oral (m!), masturbation (f!), p-in-v, voyuerism if you squint, porn w/o plot

my thesis is that Astarion gets extremely turned on watching Tav fight. no more quastion. 👍

-

Tav was always good. Painfully good. It annoyed him to no end, truthfully. Resisted rolling his eyes when she offered her untethered aid to some stranger again. Even refusing their coin! Foolish.

There was no wicked bone in her it seemed. Except..

During battle her body, well. Responded.

Back foot sliding to face out, graceful. Instinctively setting to a deep crouch, itching to pounce. Arm raised, shoulders rippling, the flash of double blades. Hands twitching, eager, the hilts he knew hot with her.

The first time he saw it he was intrigued. Our sweet fearless leader, this excited to draw blood? My, my...

But now it tormented him. The more times they fought together the stronger the hold. Came to him in small hours of the night. Teasing at the corners of his mind as he watched her wipe the blood from her face. Incessant.

When she had invited him to go with her on a mission to take down some cultists stalking near camp he drawled some quip, something flippant but agreeable. Hid the quiver of excitement in his voice.

Now at the precipice of conflict with those unfortunate cultists he saw it again. The flash in her eyes. The mistake that these men didnt even know they had made.

"Step away. Now." She commanded, hand already poised excited over her shoulder. "Before things get real messy."

He heard the almost imperceptible pant in her voice. His throat dry, watching. Waiting on bated breath. Take the bait. Take it, idiot. Walk right into her bloodlust.

The man laughed, pulling his dagger. "Oh sweetheart, we're going to rip you apart."

Her heel dug into the ground, released her singing blades from her back in twin arcs.

"I was hoping you'd say that."

He had never heard her voice her anticipation before, letting her resolve fade in his presence. It made him shiver.

He poised his own weapons, ready to aid her. But knew she wouldn't need it. Just three men? They'd be ribbons in mere moments.

She thrummed with energy, watching her prey. Waiting, coiled to strike.

Knew the fool would come to her easy. A siren call.

Of course he did. Predictably he shot forward, blade seeking to strike. Fast, but not nearly fast enough.

Her eyes lit, a wide smile smearing her face. Too easy. Her blades danced through him and his companions, a vicious pirouette. Hitting an artery, a wave of blood striking against her chest and neck.

The man groaned and gripped surprised at his body, staggered. Looked in shock at the already dead men next to him. Too slow, Astarion thought gleefully, seeing her spin onto her hands. His favorite acrobatics; lethal.

Thighs wrapping around the mans middle her momentum wrenched him to the ground, a cry of victory in her throat. With one smooth motion she rose her blade and plunged it deep into his chest. Her own chest heaving in what untrained eyes would think adrenaline, but he knew. He knew.

His breath was moving strained, eyes dark. The blood splatter poetry on her skin.

She sat back on the dead mans chest, satisfied, slowly pulling her sword out. The gore sliding down the steel.

She looked into Astarion's eyes then, his dead heart phantom racing in his chest. Holding his gaze hostage she licked the blood in one long stroke up her blade.

Gods. A throb in his pelvis. Realized suddenly that he was hard.

She was putting on a show for him.

Grabbing his collar, she so slowly pulled his face down level to hers. She paused, eyes blown wide with lust.

He was enthralled, tingling in anticipation.

She rose onto her knees and slid her feverish mouth against his with a moan. Hand pushing into his hair. Moving so slow against him. Savoring.

There was a heat to her, a building coil. Dizzy with it, he melded into her. The overwhelming scent of the blood splatter making him groan into her mouth. Velvet tongue dancing across his teeth, asking for entrance. Needing no further invitation he obliged.

She pushed all the blood she had been holding in her mouth into his.

A groan deep in his chest he drank it, lapped it from her. The taste of her mingled through.

Gods, the degeneracy of it all.

The fingers tracing his jaw drawing a line of need. Could feel her smiling into him. Her hand grabbing his waist, pulling him flush to her.

Directed his mouth to the carnage trailing down her front. The heat of her skin was divine, sucking and licking at the trail. Leaving hard bites as he went. Her little whimpers a flint striking.

Pulling him in perfect agility she flipped them both to the ground. He dove on top of her, pushing one wrist to the ground. She arched up at him, a growl in her throat. Not going down without a fight.

Oh he was enjoying this too much. Smiled down at her, a feral glint in his eyes. Saw it matched in hers.

"Now darling, use our words." He purred into her ear.

She chuckled low into his, a warning. Of course he fell into her trap. Too easy.

The pythons of her legs wrapped around his waist, snaring down. Hand cradling the back of his head she suckled at his lobe, nipping and teasing.

A loud moan left him, buckling into her. "Fuck," he groaned, despite himself.

"I thought," Bite. "You wanted." Bite. "To use your words."

Evil. Evil woman. Gods he was going mad.

"You wicked thing," He panted, pulling her wrist above her head, his leverage. Unbusy hand pulling the laces of her tunic apart fast as he could. Fingers a blur.

Her breasts springing free he trailed his knuckles light in a circle around her peak. She gasped against him, releasing. There. He grinned wickedly.

Turning her wrist sideways she slipped out of his grasp, hand darting out. Relaxed her strong thighs just enough to let her hand through the gap. Cupping him over his leathers.

An undignified groan left him, his traitorous hips pushing into her. His body always too responsive to her.

Taking her advantage she rose up, thighs still gripping and flipped him onto his back. A gasp pushed out of him as he met the ground, getting even harder if that was possible. He would never admit how much her manhandling turned him on, that only she was trusted enough to treat him this way. Gods it made his knees weak.

Staring up at her now, the curve of her hip, the roundness of her breasts, the ripple of muscle in her lithe shoulders. Hand still softly, tortuously, stroking outside his clothes. A diabolic smile on her sweet face.

Leaned down to him, her face hovering above his. Just far enough away to escape his lips. Planted one hand on his sternum, a gentle hold. Plunged her hand into his small clothes.

He groaned, chest rising against her flat hand. Hand reaching desperate to release himself. Her knees moved, corralling his hand against his thigh, loose enough that he could move free if he liked. The restraint making him pant.

She yanked the front of his leathers open with a few pulls, the force making his hips rise. A soft hiss as he was finally free, the sudden cold night air a shock.

She paused then, hand hovering. Looked in his eyes. "Safety word, Star." Tone soft through the depth of lust.

"Waterdeep."

She laughed, low and steady. "Wet blanket it is," Gods how he adored her.

Hand still planted on his chest she slid down, thighs now around his calves. Pulled his tunic free, pushing it up his chest. Hot breath against the line of his hips. Could feel the muscles there pulling tight in anticipation.

Molten tongue dragging up those lines, a groan deep in her throat. His hips bucked with a whine, free hand tangling in her hair. Her touch lighting him up, supernova.

Wandering fingers trailing up his chest. Tongue darting out to draw hard circles on his tip. Fingers lightly pinching his nipple.

"Oh Gods" He breathed, hips straining to stay down. Taking in a gulping breath of air, the excessive miasma of blood not helping.

"More?" She asked, looking up at him. Not hiding the wicked smile dancing the corner of her lips.

"Yes! Please.." He breathed, the need apparent in his shaky voice.

In one swift motion she took him entirely into her mouth. His eyes screwed shut, head tilted back violently. A loud strangled moan from his throat.

She began her onslaught, her pace dangerously slow. Tongue expertly pressing, pulsing. An inferno of pressure, vibrations of her groaning against him.

Little pants left him in time with her devotion. Speeding up then slowing, pulling him back and forth from the edge. Hips squirming, already feeling the pressure building to no return. The slow pace making it worse.

"Tav," He warned, hand pulling gently against her hair. She nodded against him, her mouth mercifully releasing, hand taking up the mantle. Pulling her leggings down swiftly. The raw need in her eyes making his belly flip.

Her arousal at putting him in these compromising situations never failed to amaze him. That his enjoyment alone caused the slick now dripping between her thighs.

Planting her hand on his belly she lined herself up, chest heaving in anticipation.

"Hands behind your back, lovely." She breathed, pausing at the precipice.

He complied, pinning his hands under his lower back. Already throbbing against her hand.

"Perfect," She smiled, his chest tingling.

Lowering herself onto him her eyes hitched closed, a low moan as he slowly filled her. Already gripping him, drenching his pelvis as her slick pushed out.

His hands intertwined under him, needing the grounding. "Hells below," He groaned.

Her eyes caught his, a wide smile. She paused, straddling him inside her. One hand trailing up to her breast, the other down to her core. "Eyes on me."

As if he could look away, the thirst for her never sated.

Beginning her ride, hips rolling, her eyes held his. A little moan, her hand pinching her nipple. Fingers teasing above her mound.

Enthralled he watched, his building pleasure a heavy mist clouding. Focusing on not letting his eyes roll into the back of his head.

She panted and rolled against him, her body a delicous wave. The line of her hip curving as she came down. The arch of her ribcage as she rose up. The taut in her thighs as she lowered. Hypnotic.

"Beautiful," He whispered, almost to himself.

She bit her lip at his voice, the need in her eyes again. Her pace quickening, her hips coming down harder.

Hand now drawing circles on her clit, eyes closing. The arch of her movement a pulling riptide. She was blissfully close he could tell, his end barrelling towards him.

But she wasn't done with him yet, oh never. Still riding him she pulled the dagger from her side, drug it hard against her two fingertips. His breath quivered as she held them above his lips, right under his nose.

The scent overflowed into the back of his throat, a deep growl. His lips parted eagerly.

She traced his bottom lip with her thumb, the skin singing. One, two drops dripping into his open mouth. His throat already trying to swallow.

As soon as her two fingers slipped inside he was clamped down, tongue pulsing and pulling. Urging. Pleading. Her hot blood muffling his moan.

Her eyes screwed shut, breath a loud pant, face cringing in pleasure. The rolling now a frenzied grind. Could feel the beginning of her clenching.

"Oh fuck, oh-," She mewled, the bow breaking. A garbled cry as she threw her head back. He braced himself, knowing the storm that was about to hit him.

Her cunt a creamy pulsing vice grip around him as the waves hit. His hands gripping eachother in desperation, the pleasure merciless. He couldnt come, not yet.

Seeing his plight through her rapture she pulled her fingers from his mouth, positioning her wrist in its place.

As he bit down viciously, a command. "Come."

A strike of lightning against the back of his skull, a mighty pull from his abdomen. The dual hits making him writhe and twist beneath her. His hands gripping the ground, eyes rolling back. His gulping swallows muffling the whimpering scream of pleasure. Her hips still grinding into him, pulling every thread of his orgasm out of him. His back arched, biting down again into her wrist. Reaching the edge of madness.

He tapped her wrist twice, a request. She obliged, stopping her hips. The overstimulation winding down.

His limbs rubber, his body a puddle, he slowly drank. Regaining precious strength.

She leaned forward, resting her arm on his chest, belly to belly. Laying her head in the curve of her arm, watching him tenderly.

"And the cultists didnt even get to watch.."

He snorted a laugh against her wrist, spraying a few blood droplets.

Oh he was terribly infatuated with her.

~