#i want all the gore surrounding him and the bodies pulling him down

[scatmaan]

doodling olav as the dark urge ....

[filynxs]

౨ৎ⋆˚｡⋆ Let the World Burn.

⚝ You doubted Sukuna‘s feelings. Thus he showed you just how much he cherished your being. His way.

⚝ Sukuna x fem!reader

⚝ gore; mention of death

» [LET THE WORLD BURN - Chris Grey] «

0:00 ─〇───── 0:00

⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

"What are you saying?" he snarled, flaring his nostril while his eyes watched you closely.

His intense, dark gaze caused you to feel uneasy, and goosebumps covered your skin. When he stared at you like that, you knew that what you had told him was something that caused him to feel disrespected. Especially because these words left your lips, lacing a bitter aftertaste.

"I apologize," you muttered, drifting your eyes away from his searingly red ones. "I shouldn‘t have said that."

His rough hand grabbed your chin, pulling it closer to his face to force your gaze to meet his. Your soft skin got penetrated by his sharp black nails as he did so.

"Don‘t try to flee from the consequences of what you‘ve said," he murmured with a low voice that dropped an octave. His ragged breath grazed your cheeks, and his invading gaze dug into your soul.

Stillness lied in the air as you two continuously stared into each other‘s eyes. You didn‘t care about anything anymore, as his gaze gifted you a sense of comfort. Your surroundings faded away, and the pain his sharp nails caused you to feel vanished within a matter of seconds.

His lips parted, revealing his straight teeth that were adorned by fangs. "Me? Not loving you?" he whispered, and his raspy voice became a mere purr in the air.

"Just so you know," he paused, sliding his hand down to your neck to squeeze it, "this is for you."

In the blink of an eye, he disappeared. His scent vanished from your nostrils, his figure was not in your sight, and his weighty presence had left the spot.

You peeked around the place, searching for him in dismay. The last thing you wanted him to do is leave.

To your luck, he had something else in mind.

When you gazed up at the sky, you caught glimpse of him lingering in the air. A bright essence formed in his hands, becoming larger and growing hotter above you. You realized it were flames that emerged into an arrow.

In a matter of mere seconds, he allowed the arrow to flee from his hands, hitting a huge skyscraper and destroying it with its heat.

It didn‘t take long until the flames spread over several more buildings, but the only thing you could listen to were the screams of citizens and his laugh.

When your eyes peered over the place again, he was no longer to be found. Yet, you could hear his raspy laugh ringing deep inside your ears.

"Sukuna!" You called out his name with all of your strength while feeling the hot flames all around you.

Though, they didn‘t dare to touch you.

They were surrounding you, burning everything down that was once alive. You couldn‘t make up a single thing of life when you looked around. Death was all around you.

Your body was shaking. Was it fear? But why? You were still alive.

Was it the fear of being left alone by the one who caused it all? Was it the fear you recently had? That one day, he would stop loving you and end your life too?

"You‘re scared to believe I‘m the one," his voice growled behind you, and you spun around to face him. Only a few inches were parting you two. "You think it‘s dangerous to be with me," he wavered, lifting his veiny hand to let it hover above your soft cheek, "because I want it all."

The flames around you displayed in his dark red irises that glowed in the radiant light.

"But I‘d let the world burn for you," he purred, his hand stroking your cheek until slowly moving down. His thumb caressed your lower lip. "My love for you is ruthless."

The dark sky dyed orange as the ashes and screams of people filled the air. But the sole thing you were fixated on where his alluring eyes that caught you. You were drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

"I know you think you can run," he said, leaning close to your ear, "but if I can‘t have you, no one can."

He studied you, his brows faintly furrowing as a grin spread over his lips. The fear and shock in your eyes pleased him in every way they could. It made his heart race to see you like this, all vulnerable and dedicated to him.

What once made you doubt his feelings for you was replaced with certainty. Certainty about the way his heart moved because of you.

"I burn for you, sweetheart."

[luveline]

I read the Derek and Spencer fainting bit and now I want to complete it with Hotch :)))

If that’s alright of course…

thank you for your request ♡ fem!reader

Aaron knows you harbour more affection for him than anyone else on the team, which is a true compliment to him, as you adore Spencer. He can never tell if you're friendly or loving, if you want some or all or nothing, the line between you blurred. 

When Morgan and Garcia first began their flirtatious friendship, Aaron thought they were seeing each other on the sly for a whole fortnight. He's a profiler, but he doesn't know everything. 

He does, however, know that something is wrong with you today. Hand held up over your eyes, you squint out over the crime scene with a wrinkled nose. The lakeside smells as bad as it looks with gore blackening the surrounding grass. He's been telling you for months to get some shades. You've been ignoring his advice. 

Your disapproval of the smell is normal. Your unsure footing is not. You take his forearm when he offers it and step across the muddy bank to the body without audible complaint, though you give him a 'this fucking sucks' narrowing of the eyes when he gives you the time. 

"Agent Hotchner," a deputy greets, "Agent L/N. We found the second body here. Bystanders pulled the first out thinking she was still alive, but that was unfortunately not the case." 

You shift unprofessionally close to Aaron. He doesn't really care. The sheriff barely looks at you both, his attention on the corpse hidden between overgrown cattails. 

Aaron hates to admit that he gives you more of his attention than is helpful. You seem odd. Call it intuition, call it plain old profiling, Aaron reads the next minute of events in the smallest twitch of your finger.

You put your hand on his back and he doesn't think, he just grabs you. The sheriff deputy startles as you fold over Aaron's arm like a marionette with strings sliced, exhaling hard as your body does its best to hit the grass beneath your feet. 

"Agent L/N!" The deputy yelps. 

"I got her," Aaron says, easing you down to the ground. He keeps a hand behind your head to lay you down flat, the other quick to leap from your side to your cheek. You'll likely have bruises in the shape of his hands at your waist. "Y/N?" 

He rubs his thumb under your eye. Quick, he leans down with an ear to your lips and relaxes at the sound of your shallow breathing. He pulls away, resting a hand atop your chest. 

"Can you hear me?" he asks, conscious of and ignoring the copious pairs of eyes watching over you. 

You don't respond. Aaron goes into emergency mode, flagging down a cop who races for a paramedic, hands at your throat unbuttoning the first button on your blouse, the second in an overabundance of caution. 

"Y/N, if you can hear me, I need you to open your eyes. Can you do that?" His tone wavers somewhere between demanding and desperate. "Come on. Come on." 

Fainting is one thing. Fainting with no signs of dehydration and little sun exposure is another, especially considering you hadn't moved from one position to another. You've passed out with no obvious cause. Any number of things could be wrong. 

He doesn't slap you —it works in the movies and not often elsewhere. In fact, Aaron finds himself at the opposite end of the spectrum. Patient outwardly and insanely panicked on the inside, he holds your face in his hand and waits for someone to tell him you're alright. 

Your breath catches, your head lolling into his palm. He straightens it, weary of your airways. "Y/N? Tell me you can hear me." 

The whirlwind of your fall and the eternity of your recovery has him holding his breath. 

"I can hear you," you mumble, again attempting to turn your head. He lets you this time. He's so relieved, he'd let you do anything. 

He fights the urge to shout, Where's the medic? instead following your face, tilting his head to the side. "Open your eyes, honey," he murmurs, for your ears alone. 

Your lashes twitch against his pinky index finger. You frown as though you're in pain and finally rouse to attention. 

"What hurts?" he asks, brows furrowed.

"Nothing hurts…" Your frown worsens. "You look really unhappy." 

"I'm not ecstatic about this," he says. He gives in, shouting, "Where's the medic?"

"Oh, no, please," you say, trying to sit up, "that is so embarrassing."

Aaron pushes you flat to the grass beneath you. "Stop, you need to stay flat. You passed out. This is the solution–" He puts his hand flat over your chest as you put in some effort. "Hey, this is what you need to do. Listen to me, agent." 

"What happened to honey?" you ask quietly. 

"That's when you were doing what I wanted." 

You close your eyes in a faux strop. "I guess I'll have to do what you want more often, sir." 

"That's enough." He sounds fond. Why does he sound so fond? 

The deputy clears his throat. "Paramedics are here." 

You groan. Aaron hides a smile. Through everything, his hand has stayed on your cheek. He doesn't pull it away until he absolutely has to, and even then, he holds some part of you. Your elbow, your wrist. He has the sense to be sheepish about it when the paramedic ushers him back, but even then, he's thinking about when he'll get to touch you next; he needs the assurance that you're okay. 

He gets it a half hour later when you're sipping on a gatorade in the back of an SUV. 

"Do I still get paid for today?" you ask, smiling playfully. "Or is this a write off?" 

He wants to joke about it with you, but there's work to be done. He sends you back to the hotel with a frankly unprofessional hug and a demand to take it easy. He's sure you'll be back stepping on his heels by late afternoon. 

[surielstea]

Worried Mates

1k celebration request by @mira-says

Pairing: Poly!Bat Boys x Valkyrie!Reader

Summary: Reader gets badly injured and her three mates fuss over her.

Warnings: Light gore | canon-typical violence | injury | hurt/comfort | fluff | angst | happy ending

A.Note: This takes place during the war between humans and fae 500 years before the events of ACoTaR, Reader is a Valkyrie Commander.

2.1k words

"Gods—" I grunt, gripping my aching side. The war between mortals and fae was raging, and it seemed that it wouldn't be stopping any time soon.

When my half-sister, Miryam, had told me that she planned on fleeing with Prince Drakon once the war was over I thought she must've been insane. I only wanted joy for my sister of course, but it was foolish of her to think the two of them could have their happy ending after helping initiate this war.

But now, bleeding out and surrounded by enemies I was starting to understand the appeal of leaving everyone behind and escaping with my mates. I was at death's doorstep, too tired to even lift my sword, and I wanted nothing more than to be in the arms of the males I loved most.

I watched all my companions die off, my friends, Valkyrie's far better than me dying before me. It wasn't right.

I was the commander of the Valkyrie units, and now they're gone. Commander of no one because I failed them all by leading them into a war I knew we couldn't win.

An armed fae charged towards me, his sword held high as he screamed like a madman.

I tightened my grip on my shield and used his momentum against him, his sword clanging hard to the Illyrian steel of my shield as I pushed it back into him. He tumbled to the ground under the weight of it and with the sharp point of my shield I thrusted it straight into his chest. He fell limp.

A battle cry sounded from behind me and I groaned, every inch of my body protesting any further movement. I unsheathed my heavy sword while turning around to face a hulking male, lifting it up in challenge.

He swings first, his scarlet-covered blade meeting mine. He was much stronger than me, bigger too but he was slow. He pushed hard and my aching arms strained under the pressure. I steadied my breathing and pushed his blade away from me. He came back swinging with twice the force, going right for my head. I bent back, my spine screaming at me as his blade swung just above my nose, the sharpness of it slicing into a rogue hair that had strayed from its braid.

With the remaining energy I honed, I thrust my sword into the male's chest. He yelped, his sword clattering to the ground, and with one last attempt to gut me, he swung to grab me with his free hand. I screamed as I felt a searing pain in my side. I looked down to find a large knife embedded into my torso. When I looked back to the male he twisted the knife and I felt as if my entire body was set aflame. I clenched my teeth together as I plunged my sword into his chest again, and when I pulled it out he was already in the dirt, receiving the same fate as his comrades.

My knees buckled as I looked at my side again, blood pooling at my feet as it ran down my leg.

I dug my sword in the ground, using it for support so I could at least stay standing. My entire left side felt paralyzed as I continued to lose that precious scarlet liquid.

I squeezed my eyes shut before forcing them open, my vision bleary as I grew increasingly dizzy.

In the distance, I saw another armed soldier charging at me. For a moment I debated letting him have my life, it was soon nearing a close anyway.

But I hadn’t trained for years to be cut down by a measly foot soldier, hadn’t clawed and scraped my way through ranks to die by a stranger's hand. I curse, deciding that I wouldn't go out in forfeit, I would die fighting or I would not die at all. With only my right arm I lifted my sword up toward the sky, ready to strike.

But just as he was about to reach me a gleam of red flashed and the soldier's head went flying in the opposite direction of his body. Directly in front of me stood a male, glowing in red, my vision began to darken at the corners but I could recognize those wings anywhere. "Oh thank the gods," I sighed in pure relief, falling to my knees as Cassian ran forward to catch me before my head could hit the hard ground. He spotted the gushing wound in my side immediately, then looked at my dilated pupils.

“Hey, sweetheart,” He rasped, his voice raw from shouting commands at soldiers over the fields. “Cass,” I hum his name, the familiarity of it bringing me a warm feeling. I was glad to see he was unharmed. “Lean on me,” He says while gently brushing my stubborn hairs away from my sweat, and most likely blood, lined forehead.

"I'm going to get you out of here," Was all I managed to hear from him before darkness consumed me and my vision blackened entirely.

When I cracked my eyes open I immediately winced at the harsh light of the room I was being kept in. The sound of frustrated voices registered first, then the smell of lavender, and the softness of the pillow behind my head, and then finally my vision came. I spotted Rhysand and Cassian first, quietly bickering over something I couldn’t find in myself to care for. They were both changed from their armor, cleansed from the blood and dirt of the war. Even though they both looked clean and seemed how they always did I could tell something was off. Their wings were terse and the bags beneath their eyes were prominent.

It took a lot to mar the beauty of a Fae male, especially the two of them, and yet I don’t think I’ve ever seen them more distressed.

They continued their hushed argument, oblivious to the fact that I had woken up so I cast my eyes elsewhere, toward the third male in the room who had his head tilted downward, his scarred hands in his lap. He stared at those scars, his shaky hands making it seem like he’d done something wretched, so horrid he somehow didn’t think it probable that it was done with his own hands.

My brows creased, all three of them were in sorrow, and whether it was because I was bedridden or it was simply the after-effects of the war I was unsure.

“Good morning,” Is all I can think to say. It was casual, a little hoarse, but simple.

The room fell silent and all three heads snapped towards me. Their lips all formed tight straight lines as they bored their eyes into me.

I couldn’t tell if it was shock or relief, perhaps both.

A large smile cracks across my lips. “Were you guys worried about me?” I suggest, raising my brows accusingly.

“Gods,” A large figure crashes into me and I groan. Cassian clings to me tightly, hugging me into his warm chest. “Of course, we were worried,” He whispers, as if afraid he’d break this moment by speaking any louder.

“You’re crushing her, Cass,” Rhys says from behind him and I chuckle, looking at the violet-eyed male and giving him a gentle smirk which he matched. I pulled away from Cassian’s embrace first and he reluctantly let go of me.

“I’m sorry love,” Azriel sighed, his hand coming to intertwine with my fingers. “Sorry for what Az?” My brows crease.

“My shadows should’ve been with you, I could’ve stopped that soldier from hurting you—” The Illyrian starts but Cassian cuts him off.

“No Az it’s my fault, I should have been there sooner. I should have taken that dagger not her—” He tried but this time it was Rhys to cut him off.

“Both of you stop being ridiculous, I was the one that allowed her to fight, it was my mistake from the beginning,” The High Lord asserts, crossing his arms over his chest.

“My gods, do you three ever quit taking the blame for everything?” I looked pointedly at Rhys when I spoke. “I would’ve commanded the Valkyries to fight alongside you whether it was cleared or not,” I confess and Rhys subtly frowns at that, the unspoken question of me being the last Valkyrie was now answered with that expression. A wave of shame passed over me, but I pushed it aside for now, deciding to spend this moment with my three very paranoid, but very alive mates.

“I’m fine,” I give Azriel’s hand a squeeze.

“Madja said if the blade went even a fraction deeper it would’ve been fatal,” The blue siphoned male argued, and my brows bunch.

“But it didn’t,” I state.

“But it could have,” He snarled and I had never seen him so angry, so scared.

My eyes softened and I let a soft smile grace my features. “Az,” I whispered, attempting to bring him comfort to remind him I was alive and healthy.

Azriel was the first of the three that I bonded with, we’ve always had a different connection because of it. I’ll love all of them equally no matter what, but it left Azriel to be more protective of me than the other two.

He stands suddenly, our hands still tangled. “You nearly died, you nearly abandoned us for a place where we aren’t allowed to join you,” He snapped and my heart ached at the pained look on his face. I would’ve been furious too if it were him on the brink of death, I would’ve found a way to steal him back from death itself if that treacherous event were to come.

“Azriel,” Cassian snapped at the male but I held a hand up, waving him off.

I sat up, my side screamed at me in protest but I ignored it. I wore my softest white nightgown, only realizing it once I stood from the bed, slightly unsteady but upright nonetheless. I narrow my gaze at Azriel.

“I am here, I am alive,” I say. “A little scratched up but I don’t think Rhys will let me out in the field anytime soon,” I smile and Rhys shifts behind me.

“You heard that right,” The High Lord grumbled under his breath and I tossed him a glance over my shoulder.

I look back to Azriel, reaching for his other hand and holding them both. “See? I’m alright, I promise,” I look up at him lovingly and his shoulders dip in relief.

“Okay,” He nods, silently cursing himself for acting out so brashly. “You just, had me worried is all,” He excuses and I smile softly, letting go of one of his hands in favor of cupping his jaw.

“I know honey, I know,” I murmur before lifting up and placing a reassuring kiss on his lips, he returns it by bringing his free hand to my hip, pulling me closer.

“Is it just me or do you feel excluded too?” Cassian loudly whispered to Rhysand and I giggled against Azriel’s lips, pulling away and turning my head to cast a playful glare at the two piqued males, clearly attention-deprived.

“Then come over here already,” I give them an inviting smirk and they quickly scramble around the bed to reach me and it takes everything in me not to giggle at how desperate they were to be in my clutches yet again.

“One for you,” I placed my hand on Rhys’ jaw and gave him a soft peck, he barely had time to reciprocate it until I was rearing back. “And,” I grabbed Cass by his shirt. “One for you,” I gave him the same kiss.

“You taste like a coma,” The male murmured, smacking his lips and I rolled my eyes.

“You each got one, are you three satisfied now?” I arch a brow.

“Satisfied? Nowhere near it darling,” Rhys grabbed me by the waist and hoisted me up and over his shoulder.

“Wait! I’m still not fully healed yet!” I yelped, banging my fists on his back playfully.

“We’ll be gentle,” Cassian reassured with a gleeful smile. I looked at Azriel but he only smirked.

“No promises,” He shrugged and I groaned, letting my body go limp as Rhys carried me towards the High Lord's chambers.

“If you guys open my stitches I’ll give all of you stitches,” I threatened but none of them seemed to care, and to be honest nothing sounded better than the idea of being cradled by three tan, very large, Illyrians after such a long war.

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[spacebarbarianweird]

@ramlightly graciously let me write a fic based on this comic. Check it out, it's so cool!

"Dominate Person" is a nasty spell that can fully submit a humanoid to your power. It's unclear if the victim has self-consciousness in the moment but since it's possible to throw Wisdom saving rolls I think you can feel that you are controlled.

Thanks @bhaalbaaby for beta-reading!

Puppet Master

Synopsis: Astarion is enchanted by the "Dominate Person" spell and almost kills Tav.

Tags: angst, comfort

TW: A description of physical violence

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Astarion wants to move. To hide in the shadows and shoot the necromancer from there.

You are surrounded, but you keep doing your work.

But he can't.

His body is paralyzed, and he feels a wave of panic. 

No, not this. Not "Hold Person"!

He can't do this. He can't make it.

Paralysis is like being sealed in a tomb with too little space to move. Helpless, voiceless.

What if something happens to you when he is like this?

"Astarion, use your daggers!"

Is it you? Or one of the adventurers you've teamed up this morning to kick necromancers out of the town?

Astarion just has to wait. The spell wears off when the spellcaster is down. Or a healer manages to find a way to get rid of the invisible chains.

Or...

USE THE DAGGER

The voice is intimidating, too loud, and too powerful.

It's like the Cazador's voice in his head again. Suppressing. Ordering. Torturing.

No, no...

Astarion feels his hand move toward the dagger. The strings make him move.

It's not "Hold Person".

It's "Dominate Person".

Full control of the victim. The voice your body cannot resist. You become one of them, fighting for them.

Murdering your loved ones.

KILL

Astarion rushes forward to you. To the only person he loves and cares about. The only person in the entire world who has never hurt him.

"Astarion! Help me! Astarion, what's wrong?"

Astarion pushes you into the ground with all his newfound vampiric strength.

No, no, please, stop it!

MURDER THEM

The dagger stabs through your stomach, causing an internal rupture. The second dagger wounds your chest.

You stare at him in pain, in silent prayer. You watch your lover killing you.

Blood. So much blood. Your blood.

A strong hand pulls Astarion from you, but it's not enough.

Astarion has an order from his new master.

To kill you. To make sure you are dead.

It is the worst type of dissociation. He is just an observer.

His hands rip you apart as if you are a prey he's found in the woods. Your eyes are full of terror and pain.

VAMPIRE, DRINK THE BLOOD.

No, no, I won't do it. I don't take the blood without consent... NO!

His fangs pierce into your neck, taking the blood non-stop. To satiate him, to let him feel alive.

And to drain you.

He is less than a slave. A puppet. With his locked mind in agony.

CRUSH THE SKULL

Astarion grabs a handful of your hair to smash you against a stone. Your body is motionless. Broken. Almost dead.

And then...

The agony of death pierces the mind. It's an acid flare of horror - too familiar for the undead.

It happened to him once, many years ago. When he was killed by Cazador and revived as a vampire spawn.

That's how death feels.

But he isn't dying. More than this, his body is his again.

Astarion stands up, feeling the nightmare wearing off.

Your body lies on the ground in blood and gore.

Astarion falls to his knees, his hands shaking.

And yells.

**

You wake up, your body sore and in terrible pain.

Astarion.

Your mind reacts with a panic attack - a near-death experience causing mental anguish. Your body remembers how Astarion jumped on you with his daggers.

How he ripped your throat.

How he almost crushed your skull.

You try to collect yourself. "Dominate Person". One of the nastiest spells necromancers know. Create a humanoid puppet and make them kill their friends and loved ones. While they silently scream, locked in their minds.

Some people never recover from that. Offing themselves, not being capable of dealing with what they did.

Damn, and what did it do to Astarion? It's what happened to him during his enslavement. Orders impossible to resist.

You want to call for him, but your body refuses to act. It remembers.

His hands, his fangs.

And his eyes in such desperation you've never seen.

Before you manage to collect yourself again, you fall into oblivion.

**

Astarion is silent.

His nails pierce his scalp. His teeth are clenched. His eyes open wide as he stares at the wall.

The companions who murdered the necromancers ignore him, but he doesn't feel any hostility.

Just a spell. It happens.

"Astarion... Is this your name, right?" a young fighter approaches him. "You need to take a bath."

Astarion looks at himself. His clothes are covered in blood. Your blood.

"Tav will be fine. We have good healers here. Don't blame yourself."

As if enchanted again, Astarion walks away. In silence, he locks himself in the bathroom - a small wooden room with a tub full of hot water. But instead of putting off the dirty clothes, he submerges himself fully clothed.

The fabric clings to the body, and Astarion hugs his knees. The blood mixes with water.

His back hurts as if his scars are bleeding.

He doesn't know how long he spends there. An hour? A day? A week? The water is cold. but he can't care less still hearing your cries.

The door creaks, and he notices familiar soft steps.

"Astarion? Are you alright?"

He can't look at you. Can't make himself. Can't witness the damage he caused.

"I almost killed you, and you ask how I am doing?" his voice breaks.

"The necromancer almost killed me," you say firmly. "Not you. Hey, look at me!"

Your head is heavily bandaged. There are bruises all over your face, and he knows there is much more evidence of his violence below your shirt and trousers.

"It wasn’t you. It was them. You would never do this to me."

"I did."

"You didn't. Come on, take off your clothes. They’re all wet."

He wants to make you go, make you leave. He will be happy knowing you are somewhere safe and far from him.

You touch his neck, and he can't resist. Astarion allows you to pull off his shirt and then manages to take off the trousers as well. 

"I am sorry," he whispers.

"Don't." You start rubbing his back, and he flinches when your gentle fingers touch the edges of the scars.

"Tav... You need to rest..."

"Don't be selfish. I need this, too."

"What? Why?"

You take his chin and make him look up at you. "Because my body remembers you killing me. Because my subconscious tells me to run away. Because I remember these gentle hands of yours driving blades into my chest. I need to forget it before it's engraved forever. So please, don’t push me away. Not now..."

You keep rubbing his back, hands, and chest. You plant kisses on the clean skin. You wash his hair, stained blood, and gore, and make sure your touches are light and tender.

"If you want to talk about it, I am here. I know what exactly it reminded you of," you whisper in his ear.

And at that moment it's too much.

His body shudders as he starts crying, hiding his face from you in his palms. You drop the rags and wrap your hands around his neck.

You sit like that for an eternity, lulling each other until the healer starts banging into the door, demanding you to return to bed. You reluctantly let Astarion go.

You kiss him goodbye and leave, hoping the darkness won't hold his mind again, and he won't run away from you and his guilt.

**

The bed is comfortable as you lie motionless on a blanket. The healer did a great job patching you together. But you will need to fully recover. And gallons of healing potion.

Astarion enters the room. He wears fresh clothes, and if it wasn't for his facial expression, you could think nothing bad has happened.

"Come," you ask him. "I am sorry, but the night of passion isn't an offer today."

"Don't be ridiculous. How are you feeling?"

"Beaten. Wounded. Tired. And you?"

"Violated"

You both are silent. Finally, Astarion lies beside you and wraps his hands around you.

Your body stiffens against your will. Astarion feels it and tries to let you go.

"No. Hold me like that!"

He obliges and gently places your head on his chest. His cool skin feels nice.

Astarion loves me. He won't hurt me.

You repeat it like a prayer before finally being able to fully relax.

"I love you," he mutters. "I won't hurt you. You hear me?"

You nod.

"I love you, too," You smile, and your heart rejoices when he smiles back.

--

Tag list

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[hapan-in-exile]

It's alright to just admit that I'm the fantasy

A Mandalorian One Shot

Yeah, I know your little secret...

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

Reader: You are a courtesan at the Dark Garden, Coruscant’s most prestigious pleasure house. Owned by the crimelord Boss Set’ki and operated by his lieutenant Mistress Anassa, when business meets pleasure, you’re expected to entertain soldiers on the payroll. But there’s one—a Mandalorian you’ve come to know and respect—who’s never taken advantage of your services. Until one day, he asked, What if next time I said yes?   

Word Count: ~9K

Pairing: dom!Din Djarin x sub!f!reader

Rating: Explicit. Minors DNI, 18+ only.

Warnings: Roleplay, bondage, blindfold, fingering, oral sex (m+f receiving), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, spanking, hair pulling, choking, biting, protected anal, unprotected piv, rough sex, edging (him), explicit consent, aftercare.

If the above looks super intense, please know I wrote a soft(er) dom Mando—no extreme degradation. Lots of checking in! Lots of praise!

A/N: This is a one-shot set in the same universe as my ongoing Mandalorian fanfic series. It has no bearing on the series plot, but that’s why the ofc Thuli is named (only once). However, there's no description of skin, hair, or eye color; no description of age or body shape.

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Tales from the Dark Garden

“Thank you,” the Mandalorian says disinterestedly, sliding the pile of neatly stacked credits into his waiting palm. “Please extend my gratitude to Boss Set’ki for his generous and timely payment.”

You watch him tuck the metallic ingots into one of the leather pouches sewn to his belt—right between the buckle and a string of explosive charges. There’s a dull thunk when the butt of his rifle knocks against the table’s edge as he turns to leave. 

It's quite the arsenal. The bounty hunter certainly cast an imposing figure. 

It’s a miracle those shoulders made it through the hatch.  

You’d heard rumors from the other girls at Dark Garden about the fearsome Mandalorian who visited Mistress Anassa. This just happened to be one of those delightful twists gifted by the universe, where the real thing exceeds expectations. He was terrifying. And sexy as hell.

That first moment when you’d opened the door to see him standing there in full plate Beskar was a shock to the senses that would have reduced a younger Thuli into a stream of inane babbling. 

Good thing you had a lot of practice controlling your expression—the demands of professional decorum, after all. It would ruin your Mistress’s reputation if you started drooling over the customers.

The armor suited him. It accentuated the breadth of his shoulders, the strength in his forearms, and his powerfully muscular thighs. The belt slung low around his tapered waist, and the quilted canvas hinted at the taut abdominals concealed beneath.

All the adrenaline that surged through your body at the sight of his weaponry had  immediately transformed into excitement, raw and primal. 

This man made you feel…

Sweet gods, divine and merciful.

“Of course,” you smile, leaning forward to place your elbows over the polished tabletop so that your breasts rise enticingly. Lacing your fingers together, you gently rest your chin atop your knuckles. “I will happily deliver your compliments to my master.”

The Beskar gleamed in the candlelight despite an ashy layer of soot. From the state of him, he might have come straight from the lower levels where he’d tracked his quarry. Your eyes linger over the blood splattered across his helmet, sending a shiver of panic down your spine. What sort of violence had this man committed mere hours ago?

Arousal surges within you, fear and wanting intertwined. 

The gore and grime are a stark contrast to the lush surroundings. Draped in silk tapestries, with thick woolen rugs and brocade pillows, your shuttle interior was designed to be a sanctuary from the vulgar world outside. 

But you suspect the Mandalorian wrapped brutality around him as tightly as the cloak hanging from his neck. It would take a woman of considerable charm to remove either.  

Which is why Anassa chose you.      

“It is my honor to serve, Master Set’ki,” you reply, rising artfully from your chair and gesturing toward the lounge where you’ve laid out a modest tea service. “And my duty to please.”

The Mandalorian pauses midstep on his way to the door.

“Excuse me?” he asks, curiosity peaked.

Shrugging out of your robe, the silken fabric pools at your feet. You kneel onto the plush carpet before pulling back, sitting on your heels, and reaching for the enameled pot. “My master thought you would enjoy the companionship. A chance to indulge in softer luxuries before you return to the Outer Rim.” 

The Mandalorian’s helmet gives away nothing, but you can feel his eyes tracing over you.

Looking up at him through dark lashes, you explain, “The use of this ship—and myself—are yours for the night.” 

Despite the layers of cloth and metal, when he folds his arms across his chest, you see the muscles in his back ripple. He looked powerfully, almost aggressively masculine. Like someone who took what he wanted. 

And right now, he’s imagining taking you. 

The fear is still there, but by now, it had sharpened to anticipation so intense that it ached. 

“That won’t be necessary,” he says firmly. Yet, his words did not match his actions. Instead of continuing on his path toward the door, he turns to face you, uncrossing his arms to hold them at his sides.  

Is he simply nervous? Sometimes, warriors hardened on the battlefield liked to yield dominance in the bedroom. Maybe you should try throwing him against a wall and climbing him like a tree. 

No. If submission were his preference, Anassa would have chosen someone else—Katlin with her barbed whips or Bat’ya with her cruel tongue. 

You need to coax him without pushing. The subtle art of persuasion. 

Let’s start with coy seduction. 

Turning to look at him from over your shoulder, you toss your hair just so, sending shimmering waves down your back. You twist gracefully at the waist until your bodice gapes, revealing the contours of your body.  

“Think of it as a reward,” your voice is supple as the velvet cushions surrounding you on the floor. “Someone to take care of you. My only desire is your comfort and pleasure.”

With that, you pour the tea and walk over to him, proferring a cup.

“That is indeed generous,” the Mandalorian cocks his head. “But I usually find more comfort in solitude.”

Yet, again, he makes no attempt to leave, accepting the cup from your hand graciously. Worn leather caresses your skin as your fingers brush against each other, reaching around the warm porcelain. The jaw of his helmet lifts, and you catch a glimpse of bronze skin and coarse black hair while he raises the cup to his lips.

Surprisingly full lips.

What did he mean by offering resistance? Was this a challenge? Some test of your professional acumen?  

A skilled courtesan is, above all else, a student of human nature and hidden desires. She must know what her clients want before they speak the words. Before they know it themselves. This Mandalorian wanted to be…tempted. 

Timidity would yield nothing. 

You arch an eyebrow, “I have never known a man who preferred solitude to my company.” Then, you stare directly into the jet-black surface of his helmet’s visor. Meeting his gaze, you place a delicate hand over his chest plate and fill your voice with honey, “Let tonight be a rare exception to the usual.” 

The Beskar feels cool against your palm and the pads of your fingertips. You hadn’t realized how flushed you’d become with your heart beating this fast. The insistent yearning between your thighs matches each pulse coursing through your veins.

“I am here to satisfy your needs. Whatever the Mandalorian desires is his for the taking.” 

While the bounty hunter remains stubbornly silent, you can hear his breathing grow shallow through the modulator.

Having made your supplication, you draw back. “If it is tranquility the Mandalorian desires, perhaps I could play the valachord or sing for him?” 

“Sing?” he huffs, sounding amused. It’s funny, hearing the smirk on his lips.

Well, at least he’s not completely immune to your charm. 

“Pleasure takes many forms,” you say, flashing him a demure smile. “As such, we courtesans are skilled in many arts. I’ve been told my voice is exceedingly lovely. And I know all the Twelve Ballads of Kiergaard.”

You shift onto the edge of a thick cushion to pour yourself some tea. When you raise the cup to your lips, the look of elegant femininity slips—just for a moment, so he can see the earnest hunger filling your gaze. You fix him with your most smoldering stare, “Though I can certainly think of other ways to please you with my mouth.”

The tea tastes bitter on your tongue, but you hardly notice, waiting for his reaction.

The Mandalorian says nothing as he pulls the rifle over his head, settling it against the door frame. He walks over in a slow saunter that makes his hips dip and sway. Slowly, he extends his hand to take your face in his leather fingers, lifting up your chin. 

“You want me to fuck your mouth?”

Your breath catches in your throat. A wave of arousal courses through your body, emanating from your clenching belly until it ripples over every surface of your skin, pinching your nipples.

“If the Mandalorian—” but he cuts off whatever beguiling line you intended. 

“I thought this was about what I wanted?” he demands.

Suddenly, you’re too flustered to speak, confused by the sudden shift in dynamic. All his polite reticence had been an act. He was done testing you. He wanted to assert dominance. 

In answer, you lower your gaze.

“That’s right,” he says cooly, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “You’re remembering what you’re for.” The Mandalorian takes the cup from your hands and tosses it aside. “There’s no more need to talk. Don’t open your mouth unless I tell you.” 

Then he reaches down to his belt and unbuckles it. 

And to think you worried he’d be too self-conscious for roleplay. This is going to be so good.

“You’re here to give me whatever I want?” he asks, his tone gruff and intimidating.

You don’t look up, just nod.

He laughs, “I’m glad we understand each other.” 

With your gaze locked on the floor, you watch the tread of his boots make their way to a lacquer armchair in the corner of the room. His knees splay wide as he leans back in his seat. “Answer my question.”

“Whatever the Mandalorian desires, I will give him.”

“Because tonight, your body is for me.”

It’s not a question, but you find yourself nodding in confirmation. 

“Tell me what you’re thinking.”

You answer truthfully. “That you’re a dangerous man, and I should do my best to please you.”

“Smart girl,” he says in a rough whisper. “But don’t worry, I have no intention of harming you. I’m going to make you come. Then you’ll sing for me, senaar'ika.”

Senaar'ika. Little bird. 

Your whole body flushes with heat.

“What do you know about Mandalorian customs?” 

When you hesitate, he adds, “You can answer me.”

“I know that it’s a sacrilege to look upon your face. That to touch your helmet, even by accident, is to forfeit my life.”

“Then you’ll understand why I need to tie you down.”

At that, your head snaps up to look at him.

“Or tie you up. I haven’t decided yet.” 

Part of you is terrified by the thought of being captive to this man for hours, splayed wide and helpless. The other part of you wishes he’d do it this second. 

“You can undress while I make up my mind.”

Obeying his command, you stand and reach behind you for the lacings of your bodice.

This, at least, is an art in which you can make your mistress proud. The trick is to envision it’s a private ritual, something deeply intimate. That you always loosen the silken knots this slowly. That each row of the lacings must be pulled free, one—by—one. 

You lift your elbows so that he glimpses the soft curves of your breasts as you move. Slip your right arm from its fitted sleeve, then the left, until you’re certain the dress will fall, cascading over your body like waves caressing the shore. 

Only then do you turn, rolling your hips and then your shoulders, displaying your nakedness, before you finally look over to where he’s sitting, as though you’d forgotten anyone was watching. 

At some point during your performance, the Mandalorian had leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, his hands clasped together in wrapt attention. 

“That was beautifully done,” he murmurs. “You may be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

Your heart swells, hearing his admiration—perhaps because it sounds so genuine. Suddenly, all you can think about is how best to please him, the things you’ll do with your lips and fingers.

“I understand the Hapan courtesans from Dark Garden are the most expensive, the most prized companions in all of Coruscant.” The hunter’s voice sinks into a low, husky rasp as he says, “But tonight, I’m not interested in your talents, though I’m sure you have many. This is about what I want to do to you. Tonight, you belong to me.” 

It’s just as well he demanded your silence because you can’t speak. 

You know he can see you breathing, shallow and fast, from the rise and fall of your breasts. See your pulse thundering against your throat. He’s feeding off your fear, you realize. That’s why he keeps trying to catch you off guard like this. The Mandalorian wanted to shatter your artful calm and see something raw and real in your eyes. 

You know you should be afraid—and you are—but you’ve never been more turned on.

So when he gets up from his seat to approach you, you don’t bother hiding the way your whole body trembles in trepidation.

The Mandalorian crouches to pick up the belt from your discarded robe.

“Give me your hands.” 

He uses the fabric to tie your wrists together, wrapping the belt around and between them in a complicated knot. Then, his strong hands pull you under one of the lanterns suspended from the ceiling. 

Cupping it in his palm, he lifts the glowing orb from its hook to set it down beside the abandoned tea service. The cabin grows dim, like he’s wrapped you in shadows.

That’s when you realize what’s about to happen. Unspooling the cable from his whipcord, he loops it through the empty hook. He’s going to suspend you from the ceiling by your wrists. 

The breath coming from your nostrils is so fast now that it’s the only thing you can hear in the close, quiet cabin of your shuttle. But you say nothing. You can’t protest; you can only submit. 

After securing your bound wrists to the cord, he inspects the knots. 

“Not too tight?”

You release a deep breath and shake your head no. 

“You remember the signal?” Mando asks with concern, breaking from the fantasy entirely. 

“Yes,” you smile up at him with more confidence than you really feel—trying to ignore the insistent throbbing between your legs. 

“You can stop me at any time.”

“I know.”

“Alright,” he says before his voice drops into a rough whisper. “You’re giving me total control. Anything I want is mine.”  

Fuck, just hearing him say that makes you ache with need. That same trembling emanates from inside you, fear and arousal, two halves of the same coin. You don’t know precisely what the bounty hunter plans to do to you—and the suspense just makes the fantasy feel more real. 

Within seconds, you’ll be tied up, defenseless against him and his desires. The only way to stop him is to say the safe word, and you already know you won’t. You want it too much. 

You’ve spent months building up to this—years, really. It’s my choice, you’d told him. It’s different when it’s my choice. 

“Yes,” you whisper breathlessly.

Then he pulls down on the whipcord, and your arms lift above your head. 

For one panicked moment, you think he’s going to haul you entirely off the ground, but your feet remain on the floor, bearing your weight. You remind yourself that this is his domain. He knows how to bind, what the body can withstand. 

And for now, the tension feels manageable. Slack enough so you don’t feel the strain in your joints; taut enough so you can grip the cord to steady yourself. 

Yet you remain utterly helpless, unable to turn your head or move without losing your balance.

He takes a few steps back, leather boots creaking, and you watch as the Mandalorian strips his gloves off before removing the Beskar from his arms and chest.​​​ The fabric underneath outlines every contour of his powerfully muscular body.

Though not as graceful as your tradecraft, he certainly knows how to build anticipation. Each time his hands grip, pull, and tug, your stomach clenches. 

Soon, you feel volatile, ready to explode, waiting for him to touch you. When he finally does—when you feel the tip of his calloused finger tracing over the length of your spine, it burns through you, down to your core, so hot your cheeks flush scarlet. 

“It’s a good thing we have all night,” he murmurs. “There’s a lot I want to do with you.”

As he circles, the view plate sweeps up and down your body as though inspecting some prize captured in a snare. All you can do is stand there on display, completely exposed, until he makes a satisfied sound, a hummm that vibrates through the modulator. The hunter, pleased to discover what he’s caught.

“I feel deeply honored to receive you as my reward,” the Mandalorian sounds eager, standing behind you, voice full of hunger. “Now spread your legs.”

The breath catches in your throat, hearing that tight ache—the same raw yearning to match your own. You want to obey. 

But there’s no give to the whipcord. The bindings on your wrist pull tighter the farther your feet draw apart. Though you can still balance, your shoulders start to burn from the stretch. Slowly, you rise onto tiptoes. But not fast enough—

Wrapping an arm around your waist, the Mandalorian lifts you from the floor. 

“Wider,” he commands, gripping you roughly by the knee to pry open your thighs with his other hand. You have to bite back a scream. By now, you’re so wound up that just the sensation—the air cool against your wet center, his powerful chest pressed against your back, his fingers digging into your skin makes you drunk with lust. 

“You’re so wet already, senaar'ika. It’s slicking down your thighs,” the Mandalorian groans, breath warm against the back of your neck. His hand gripping your knee slides upward between your legs, tracing toward the heat of your skin. “No wonder you were begging me to fuck you.”

His fingers part and probe—massaging in slow, firm circles that spiral until you’re panting. Every stroke sends pleasure pulsing through you, and you can’t stop yourself from whimpering. 

“You like it when I use my hand?” he asks, voice maddeningly calm. Only the persistent throbbing against your hip, matching each beat of his heart, betrays his arousal. When you release a sigh in desperate delight, he says, “Maybe this is how I should start.”

And fuck, if Mando doesn’t knows exactly where to touch you—how much to bear down and how fast to go.

“Mmmph,” a moan of deep satisfaction escapes his lips as he thrusts two fingers inside you, sending a gush of wetness welling against his palm. He pushes them in and out, obviously relishing the obscene squelching sound.

Wait! When did he take off his helmet? 

No. No, this is forbidden. This is dangerous. 

You couldn’t move your head to look at him even if you wanted to, but your eyes shut tightly just the same. The fear of seeing his face, the dire consequences, amplify every panicked thought running through your mind, heightening every sensation—his fingers curling, his thumb pressing down over your clit.  

Your breaths come sharp and shallow now. All the blood in your body rushing between your legs. The stimulation is almost too much to bear, the excitement and panic roiling within you—the Mandalorian dipping his fingers inside, slipping them out to circle and stroke. Drawing a wet line between your cunt over and over.

Desire ripples through you in waves. Your body tightens, muscles clenching. Your bound hands keep straining in their futile urge to grab his wrist, your knees fighting against him to shut tight around his thrusting fingers. 

You’re close now. So close, you’re on the brink.

He kisses the back of your neck, “Don’t worry. I’m going to take good care of you.”

“Aaangh!” That’s when he presses harder, circles faster, and you come, “Haaa-aah!” 

Your orgasm crashes through you in a tidal wave that upends gravity. You cry out desperately with all the air left in your lungs—the relentless pounding of your heartbeat against your eardrums making you dizzy. 

“Haa-aah! Aaah!” 

Losing equilibrium, you sway, and the bindings pull painfully around your wrists. You’re at the limits of your flexibility, fighting to keep your balance before the Mandalorian’s muscular arm tightens around your waist, until he’s bearing enough of your weight to keep you upright.

“I’ve got you,” he says gently, pressing a tender kiss over your head. “Stand up. Come on. Legs spread. You know what I want.”

You shift on your heels, testing your unsteady knees. “I can’t—” but your words break off into a gasp when he clasps his hand around your throat, warm and sticky with your come.

“Shhhh,” he whispers against your temple. “I told you not to open your mouth unless I said so.”

His tone is soft, and he kisses you tenderly again through a tangle of damp hair, your forehead glistening with sweat. But his fingers grip tighter in warning. 

“Don’t speak unless you’re begging me for more.”

You nod once in understanding.

“Smart girl,” he says, and without the helmet on, you can hear the wry grin on his lips. “I’m glad we understand each other. It’s going to make everything so much easier. But just to be sure—”

His wide palm fans out from your waist, gliding down your body to slip over the curve of your buttocks. 

Then he brings it down in a sharp smack that echoes through the quiet cabin. Hearing that slap, feeling the sting on your skin, the burning heat that radiates from his handprint—shakes you from the hazy lust. 

It’s not enough to want to obey. 

“I’m going to take good care of you, senaar'ika. But you have to do as you’re told.”

While he’s playing a role, the pain is very real. Yet this fantasy is about your powerlessness. Whatever the Mandalorian wants to do to you, you have to take it. Yes, the pain is undeniable—but the adrenaline?—it sharpens the hunger.

When you finally regain your balance and tilt your pelvis forward at just the right angle, your ass brushes against his straining erection, and he groans, a low vibration you feel through his chest. Arousal arcs through you, and you gasp responsively. Even now, as your body tingles numbly in the aftermath of climax, your cunt still aches, longing to be full of him.

With his entire body sealed against you, you feel the firm pressure swelling against your ass. It throbs, heat radiating through the canvas flight suit. The coarse fabric is rough, rubbing over your slapped skin. 

“You feel that?” he whispers, grinding the entire length of his cock against you. “That’s what you’re going to take for me.”

Holy fuck, he’s huge. Thick, too. Your mind reels at the impossibility; can you really fit him inside you?

“You’re going to take it all,” the bounty hunter huffs, as if he’d heard your thoughts. “You’re going to come with my cock buried in your ass.”

Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck! 

It’s something you’ve talked about, something you said you wanted and prepared for, but….you’ve never had anyone this big up your ass before. He’s going to tear you apart. 

“Are you scared? Because trust me, I’m going to make you ready. You’re going to beg me for it. Then you’ll come so hard with my cock in your ass, nothing else will ever feel as good.”

The hormones that suddenly surge through your body make arousal indistinguishable from panic. You should be so afraid, and yet, you want this. Under the fear, you’re still full of need, urgent, and emphatic.

“After that, if you’re lucky, then I’ll fuck your mouth.”

Shit! Shit, that’s…you try to banish away the shame washing over you. He’s going to claim your body in every way imaginable, use you filthy—and it feels like you shouldn’t want this. But you do. 

“Don’t worry,”  he sighs, voice sounding softer now, gentle. “I’m not going to rush this. First, I want to explore your beautiful body.”

You feel the cold Beskar plates against the backs of your thighs and shiver.

His hands slide outward along your shoulder blades, curving down and around just enough for his fingers to lightly brush the sides of your breasts. Then, the Mandalorian’s arms circle you, reaching up to grasp them in both hands. Arousal rekindles as he kneads and squeezes, pressing them together tightly. Igniting as he tugs and pinches. 

And when your nipples are so tender you whine, “Mmmph!” he soothes them in his wide palms. 

“You—are—so—beautiful,” he moans, kissing the curve of your jaw. 

Behind you, his lips trail soft, open-mouth kisses down the back of your neck, between your shoulders, along your spine, and lower, until he drops to one knee. His hands trace over your ribcage, your sides, the indentation of your waist, and the flare of your hips. 

The pads of his fingertips are coarse but tender.

“Look at you. Legs spread. Open and wet for me. When I dream of you, this is what I’ll see.”  

Then he crouches between your knees to press lighter, softer kisses up the inside of your thighs, teasing you until you grow desperate with anticipation. “Haa!” you gasp, already panting. 

Spirals of arousal coil through you, so dizzying you have to grip the whipcord for balance. 

Soon, you’re lost to anything but the desire for him to taste you. That he’s risked so much by removing his helmet is the only thing keeping you from breaking position, regardless of the punishment. That’s how much you long to tilt your hips and rub yourself against his mouth. 

Don’t speak unless you’re begging me for more. Would he like it if you begged?

“Please,” you whimper, voice full of desperation. 

He groans in satisfaction before making one long sweep of his tongue, right through the very center of your urgent longing. “Is this what you want?”

“Yes!”  

“I like hearing you beg.” Then his lips press firmly between your thighs, enfolding you in his warm, wet mouth.

Okay, wow, he’s good at this. He’s really, really good at this. 

The Mandalorian’s tongue searches for your clit, stroking and circling in a rhythm that drags you back to the brink almost instantly. But slowly, agonizingly slowly, to hold you at the edge of pleasure—like he could do this, keep you suspended there—forever.  

“Show me how much you want it,” he says, hot breath tickling against your delicate skin. 

If you could bury your fingers in his hair, you would. Instead, you shift all of your weight onto one leg, using what remains of your equilibrium to drape the other over his shoulder, feeling the rough stubble of his beard and the shell of his ear press against the inside of your thigh. 

Helping you balance, one strong hand grips you by the hipbone while the other slips over your knee before guiding his mouth between the sopping wet folds of your cunt. 

You tense every muscle, digging your heel into his sinewy back to try to keep him there. Right there! 

He rewards you by lapping faster—and then, when you cry out, speeding up even more. “Sing for me, senaar'ika.”

Every throb of pleasure ripples through your body from your nipples to your scalp, all the way down to your toes, until you can’t help yourself from rocking your hips, increasing the pressure just a little more. You feel each bob and turn of his head as he keeps at it, caressing you in spirals as a long, luscious wave of ecstasy swells inside you.

Mando’s fingers tighten around your thigh to hold you in place. He keeps going, maintaining his rhythm so that you can ride each cresting surge. It builds low, climbing and arcing higher, and when it finally overwhelms you, when you let go, and it rushes through you—you do sing. You cry out in one long wail that lasts the length and breadth of your climax.

Your body goes limp once the orgasm fades, and just like last time, the Mandalorian is the only source of strength to keep you upright. Hands clutching your hips, he pulls back to place a wet, sticky kiss low on your belly, then says, “We’re not done yet, little dove. Not nearly done yet.”

Gods in heaven, how much more of this can you take? You’d love nothing better than to sink to the floor in post-orgasmic bliss…but his cock is still in his pants. 

Too afraid to look down, you feel his body shifting between your knees and wonder, what next? Should you offer to reciprocate? Fuck, you want to. Right now, you want him in your mouth so badly that it’s all you can do not to beg for it. 

Your lips part, the words ready on your tongue—

When suddenly, he lifts you by the back of your thighs, settling you on top of his shoulders. You barely have time to gasp, to grip the braided cable between your hands—to think—before he buries his face between your thighs again.

“Oh, gods!” you gasp. “Oh, haah…!”

The tension in the whipcord keeps you from falling backward, but you feel precariously weightless sitting on his shoulders. Reeling, overstimulated from your last orgasm, you instinctively try to writhe away from the press of his wet tongue, his hot mouth, the coarse hair of his beard, and nearly lose your balance. 

Mando steadies you, wrapping his arms around your lower back, ass braced against his thick biceps as he works, tongue parting the soft creases of your cunt to find your sore, throbbing clit. 

This time, he holds nothing back, laving and shaking his head until your vision starts to blur; the pleasure is so intense it’s blinding. 

Oh shit! Merciful gods, this might break you. It’s too much. Too much. But you can’t move. Caged in his arms, you have to take what he gives. It feels so good. 

You don’t think it can get any better until he starts to suck. After that, you can’t think about anything anymore. Your mind is just blank. Static. White noise.

Fuck! You’re at the brink again—so fucking close—your heartbeat is thundering against your ribs. The muscles of your inner thighs lock, clenching around his jaw. Your body is poised right there. Right there! That exhilarating moment before—

And at that's when the Mandalorian slips a finger, slick with your come, inside your ass. 

The sensation kindles alarm, and your entire body tenses in response. All your instincts awaken in primal fear to remind you just how vulnerable you are.

Okay! It's okay! Just relax. 

In answer, his other hand begins sweeping up and down your thigh, caressing and soothing the tension away. 

That’s right. You have to relax. He’s doing this for you, to make you ready. Right now, your pleasure is the only thing that matters. Focus on his tongue circling your clit, his finger gently caressing millions of tiny nerve endings. 

But he slides up so seamlessly, so deep inside you, the pressure pools in your abdomen, and you gasp, “Oh, gods!” again.

Don’t resist the sensation—yield to it. Work with it. Take what you need.

Pulling on the whipcord for leverage, you thrust your hips against his mouth. He groans in encouragement, responding by sucking harder, licking faster—and then, spearing his tongue inside you.

Okay, yes. Yes! Gods, yes! You have never come so soon after your last orgasm, but he’s going to get you there.

That’s when he adds a second finger. 

You feel it stretch you, but your body doesn’t resist this time. And when he starts working them back and forth in rhythm with the thrusting of his tongue, it starts to feel so good. So good.

Each rut of his tongue and stroke of his fingers sends heat coursing through you, so flushed now that your skin seems to be on fire. Your hair clings to your sweaty cheeks. But nothing is as hot as his breath between your thighs. 

So you move faster, rubbing yourself against the raw stubble of his chin, the tip of his nose, drowning him in your cunt. All the while, he increases the pressure of his fingers just a little more, massaging inside you. 

You start to shake, the muscles in your legs trembling, as the Mandalorian twists his hand, rolls his wrist, and you feel the brush of his knuckles against the tender skin of your asshole. 

Then, he sucks your clit between his teeth, and you come in a burst of ecstasy so sharp it makes you scream. There’s a second when your vision goes entirely white—like staring into a bright sun—and your heart thumps so hard you hear the blood rushing in your ears.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs against your stomach.

His fingers gently slip out of you so he can grasp you by the ribcage with both hands, bracing you as you shudder through the ricocheting aftermath of your orgasm. 

“You taste like heaven.” 

He would know. His face, his hands, his neck, and shoulders are all covered in your come.  

“I told you I’d take care of you,” Mando’s broad hands stroke the length of your back, and the sound of his voice melts away any lingering doubts. He knows when to be gentle and when to be rough. You can trust him with this. 

When the bounty hunter ducks his head out from between your thighs, you think you’ll have to stand up again, get back into position. And you know you’ll be punished—but you can’t. You’re shaking too much for that. 

It doesn’t matter. Your feet never touch the floor. Bending you at the waist, he slings you over one broad, muscular shoulder, so that you dangle limp and dizzy, upside down as he steps into a lunge to lift you both off the ground. Tearing your wrists free from the whipcord at last, your arms fall numbly behind him, blood rushing back into your digits.

Draped over his shoulder like a hunter’s prize, he strides across the cabin toward the bed. 

Perhaps you’re delirious—you must be after three orgasms. Or maybe it’s because your fingers are so desperate to find new life. But when you look up (or is it down?) to see his perfectly sculpted ass outlined in dark gray canvas about a foot from your face…weak as you are, you can’t stop yourself from reaching for it. Your hand stretches lower until you feel its firm contours press satisfyingly against your palm. And gods help you, but you squeeze. Hard.

The Mandalorian chuckles, a deep booming laugh that has your knees jostling against his chest. You’re breaking from the submissive fantasy, but maybe he won’t—

“I knew you wanted it,” he laughs, voice full of triumph as—fingers splayed wide, he slaps his hand down over your ass cheek—the exact same spot as last time—so hard the sting brings tears to your eyes. 

Fuck! Your jaw drops. The pain sharpens all of your senses, bringing everything into focus. Your thighs squeeze together, cunt clenching against the sensation. Fuck that stings. Right. He’s back in the role. Time to be rough.

“You’ve wanted my cock inside you since the moment I stepped through that door. Haven’t you?” 

When he tosses you onto the bed, you fall onto the mattress, flat on your belly. But before you can get to your hands beneath you, he presses a knee down between your shoulder blades to keep you from moving. 

“You want to beg me some more, senaar'ika?”

The silk belt of your robe slips over your eyes, and he lashes it tightly behind your head. 

“Tell me!” he demands, like he’s making you confess to something. 

“Yes,” you whisper into the sheets, words muffled by the bedding. 

“Yes, what?”

“I want your cock.”

“Where?” he asks, and the sound of him tugging down his zipper fills your ears.

“Inside me,” you gulp. “I want your cock inside me.”   

You hear him tearing open the condom wrapper, “That’s right. Beg me to fuck you.” 

“Please—”

Then he’s on top of you, hands pressing into the mattress on either side of your face, his knee lifting from your back to part your thighs, his massive weight pinning you underneath him. 

Reaching between your naked bodies, he wraps a hand around the base of his shaft to rub the swollen head of his cock along the cleft of your ass, back and forth, slicking the entrance before he pushes inside you.

You cry out in shock. 

So does he.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Fuck, that’s so tight! Haa, haa!”

Leaning forward, he places a soft kiss atop your head, pausing with just the first few inches of him inside, letting your body stretch to fit him. 

“You okay?” he whispers quietly against your cheek, his face damp with sweat. 

When you nod, he begins tracing his tongue over your earlobe, kissing your jaw and the corner of your mouth. His beard is still drenched with your come.

“This feels amazing,” his breath is hot in your ear. “Just this. You're gripping me so tight.”

You’re tempted to stop here, to say the safe word. And you trust Mando to stop; you know he would. That’s why he’s reminding you. And this does feel amazing, his body enfolding you, the rub of his bare skin over yours, the feeling of every firm muscle pressing into your soft curves—the pressure inside you. 

But you want this. You want all of him.

“More,” you moan.

The aching burn is so intense as his enormous cock plunges deeper inside you—slowly, but without ceasing. “Oh fuck!” he gasps. “Fuuuuck, that feels so good. Almost, ha-aah…almost. It’s almost in.”

The burn as he opens you—the way the entire universe narrows to this bodily sensation, until you perceive nothing but its fantastic pressure—only anal sex does this for you. But its so hard to trust someone to be careful, to make you feel safe in spite of being so vulnerable and powerless. Mando does that. 

“I’m going to start, haah…I’m going to start moving, okay?” he says, panting from arousal and restraint.

Adjusting his weight onto his elbows, he rolls his hips gently, strokes building. There’s so much lubricant on the condom; each shallow thrust is frictionless, but you’re still trembling like one of the strings of your valachord. 

“Haah, you feel so good. So—nnngh—so fucking good!” Threading his fingers through your hair, his forehead drops against your neck, and the heat from each ragged breath spills over your shoulders. “Anngh!”

Then he starts fucking you in earnest. He pushes deeper now, pulling out further to feel the grip of your asshole squeeze up and down the length of his shaft. Already, you feel arousal peaking within you with each long, slow stroke. 

Mando’s width and length stretches you, makes you burn. And you moan, fingers twining in the sheets as the pleasure becomes indistinguishable from the pain. 

“You like this?” his voice is teasing again, getting back into the role.

“Mm-hmm,” you moan, unable to form words. 

It’s like you can’t feel anything but him moving inside you, pleasure surging in ebbs and flows, like a tidal current. It’s hard to describe. The barrier between your anus and cunt is so thin you feel him everywhere. It burns, this inner blazing heat. 

It’s a sweet agony, like the handprint on your ass, making everything tingle with sensitivity, amplifying every sensation. Even the pressure of the mattress against your clit is enough to send a thrill through you.

“Is this the biggest cock you’ve ever taken?” 

You cry out in torment and desire as he shoves into you harder this time, and your whole body bends and turns in a desperate effort to accept every inch.

“Yes,” you want to sob into the mattress. It aches. It’s so fucking good you could scream.

“You’re taking it so good,” he whispers as he sinks in even deeper. “That’s it.”

And he’s finally all the way inside you now, so deep that when he starts thrusting, you feel the slap of his sac against the dip of your cunt. Each stroke presses you harder against the mattress—hitting you where it feels best inside and out. 

And strong, so strong he pushes your body upward on the bed.

“I want to fuck you like this all night.” His voice is tight with strain—just barely holding on, waiting for you.

But he’s not moving fast enough for you to come.

“More,” you whimper into the damp folds of silk.

Mando pushes in again, burying himself balls-deep inside you before whispering against your shoulder, “What's that?”

You need more. “I need more…I need—”

“You worried I won’t fuck you hard enough?” he laughs, plunges in deep, and bites the soft flesh of your shoulder. It’s not enough to break the skin—but you cry out from the painfully sweet ache of it.

“Beg me, senaar'ika,” he says, sitting back on his heels, filling his lungs with each heaving breath. “Tell me what I want to hear.”

But this time, you don’t want to obey. You don’t want to say please. You want to find out exactly how hard the Mandalorian can give it to you. If you want to come with him, you need more, and you know how to get it. 

You turn your head so he can see the jut of your chin, fill your voice with challenge and say, “For the love of god, fuck me harder.”

The bounty hunter scoffs in shocked bemusement.

His arm hooks around your elbows, pinning them behind you, “You’ll regret that, little dove.” 

Then he yanks back on your arms, pulling you off the bed, and against his chest. Your ass presses into the bowl of his hips, thighs sealed against his. His other hand slides up your stomach and between your breasts to clasp around your throat. A touch that means possession. 

The Mandalorian owns you now, and he knows it.

Mando slams into you, and you want to cry out—but you stifle it somehow. You don’t want him to stop. You’re so wound up that tears well against your eyelids, dampening the blindfold. It scares you how much you want this. Gods help you, but you do. You fucking love it.

His thrusts remain slow at first. Deliberate. Punishing. Yes, punish me! His pelvis clashes against your buttocks like the snap of a paddle. But the tempo increases as he starts to get into it. Soon, he pumps into you so hard that it makes your breasts bounce, and your entire body starts to sweat. Your hair swings around your face, tendrils sticking to your neck, your flushed cheeks and forehead.

He never loosens his grip. Your shoulders start to ache from being pulled back so far—your throat throbs against his palm—and yet you want nothing more than the slap of his body, the feel of his cock filling you. It’s like he’s reaching to the core of your very being with every thrust.

Yes, you think, fuck me. Make me take it.

The bounty hunter’s hand tightens around your throat—unconsciously, you think—because of how close he is. Each ragged breath vibrates against your back. You can still breathe, but his grip keeps you dizzy and light-headed. 

A sharp thrust, and your arousal climbs. Another, and it goes higher. Mando bucks and bucks, and the world behind your eyelids becomes bright and sparkly around the edges. Sensation shivers upward through you, strengthening by the moment.

The climax builds from somewhere deep inside you, and you sink into it with every thrust, slipping deeper into pure instinctive sensation, until it claims your whole body in white-hot ecstasy. When you come, the desperation in your wordless cries transforms into a feral scream as you fall forward, tumbling back onto the sheets when he releases you. 

The silk feels so cool and smooth against your feverish cheeks. 

“Haah, aah! I knew you’d love it,” he groans triumphantly. “Nnngh!”

But he’s almost at the brink himself—his body contracting, abdominals clenching. That’s when he pulls out, denying himself release.

The mattress dips and creeks as he climbs off you, and off the bed. 

“I’m not done with you yet, senaar'ika. We’re not even close.”

You hear the snap of latex when he removes the condom.

What next? You’re limp and dizzy, lying sprawled across the covers. Will he make me come so hard I pass out? Fuck me until I can't walk straight? You shouldn’t want that as much as you do, but complete surrender can feel so sweet. 

“I can do this all night,” Mando pants.

Then, he lunges across the bed and grabs your ankles so tightly you feel the press of his thumbs dig into your bones as he drags you down the mattress, until your legs dangle off the side. The tips of your toes brush against the floor. 

“You thought you could push me?” His voice has lowered almost to a growl. “But that’s not how this works. You belong to me.”

He pushes your thighs apart roughly, then clutches your hair and tugs back hard enough to bring renewed tears to your eyes. Bent over the edge of the mattress like that in front of him, you feel his other hand seize you by the hip, and with that, he shoves the whole thick length of his cock inside your cunt.

“Aaah!” you cry out as he starts thrusting faster. His fist in your hair tightens as he pumps into you, and already you know you’re going to come again. How is that even possible?

“That’s right,” he pants. “You know you have to take it, don’t you?”

“Yes!” Yes, make me take it. Gods help you, but you fucking love it. There’s nothing you love more than the slap of his body, the feel of his cock. “Yes!”

"Because you're mine. Mine to fuck."

"Yours."

Mando fucks you so hard and so fast. Your ass would not have been able to take this. Shallow rapid thrusts until, growling, he rams his full length into you. Then he’s pumping inside you again and again. By now, the shame you think you should feel at being taken like this has been eclipsed by the pleasure surging within you. 

Every single goddamned stroke of the Mandalorian’s cock sets you on fire. A wildfire so hot it consumes you, burns you down to nothing. You press your face into the mattress and feel the tears welling in your eyes spill down your cheeks, pooling against the sheets.

The only sounds in the cabin are his guttural grunts of pleasure and the slap of your bodies against each other. Just hearing it turns you on even more. 

He’s moving faster now, and you’re nothing but heat. Pleasure tightens, blazing inside you. 

Mando fucks you, and fucks you, and then you’re coming again, clenching around his cock. You come so hard that consciousness is nothing but white light, white noise. Your cry is muffled by the sheets and blankets, but you wail it out anyway, unable to hold back.

“Yes,” he whispers as he pistons even faster than before, his hand on your hip gripping tighter. “Fuck, yes—”

The Mandalorian groans as he throbs inside you. He goes tense, makes an animal sound that seems to come from low in his belly, and slams into you one more time.

Then he’s pulling you off the bed and onto your knees. You feel his wet cock press against your face. His voice is hardly more than a whisper, trembling with need. “Open your mouth.”

His fist in your hair doesn’t leave you much choice. You open, and Mando pushes inside. "You're going to swallow all of it."

It’s all you can do to take him in. You taste your come slick around his cock as it slides between your lips. He’s so huge that you can barely use your tongue, but you bob your head, doing your best as he thrusts, shallow and then deep.

The Mandalorian's grip takes control, sometimes pushing no more than the head of his cock into your mouth, and you suck, hallowing your cheeks—then shoving into your throat, making you choke and gag around him.

It doesn’t take long.

He shouts out, and then he comes, filling your mouth. You swallow it down, every drop, the sensation of him throbbing between your lips, almost lost in the spasms of pleasure still echoing through you.

The Mandalorian pulls out then. The fingers buried in your hair release their grip. Pausing one long moment to regain his breath, he brushes the sweat-soaked hair from your cheeks. 

“You have no idea how beautiful you look right now.”

Really? Blindfolded. Flushed and sweaty, legs tangled beneath you, slumped against the bed frame?

But the honest tenderness in his voice has you pressing a hand to your chest. 

His cock is still half-hard, nuzzled against your cheek, and there’s a second when you’re tempted to pull him down to slide back onto it. But…you’ve reached your limits. 

And the Mandalorian is in no better shape. You hear him collapse onto his knees beside you on the floor, crawling over on his hands and knees to reach for something. His helmet, maybe?

But it’s not his Beskar. 

Gently, he drapes the soft folds of your robe over your shoulders and gathers you in his arms. He leans back, sitting propped against the bed, settling you onto his lap. You let your head fall against his chest and delight when he rests his chin atop your head. 

“Are you alright?” he murmurs. 

“Yeah,” you manage to form words. “Just give me a second. I’m…melting.” 

That makes him chuckle, and for a while, you both stay like that, laughing, breathing hard, barely able to move.

“I wasn’t too rough?”

“No! No, you were perfect. I loved it. It’s like—like you read my mind from that night we met. It was everything I wanted. You took such good care of me.”

His voice remains concerned. “But you’re shaking all over?” and his arms wrap tighter around you.

“It was just so intense.” 

“Here,” he says pressing a cup of tea into your hands, then lifting it to your lips when your fingers tremble too much to grip it tight enough. Fatherhood has softened him.  

“Are you?” you ask timidly.

“Am I what?”

“Are you okay?” You feel strangely shy in front of a man who just fucked you senseless. “I mean, was it okay that I asked you to do this? Are you okay with being—with what we did?”

“It was amazing,” he sighs, kissing your temple. 

But that doesn’t really answer your question.

Honestly, this is the part you were most afraid of…that it would change everything. That no matter how good the sex had or hadn’t been, you thought, afterward, he’d lose respect for you, and it wouldn’t be worth it. 

You don’t want his judgment or pity for needing this.

But there's no contempt in his voice. He doesn’t sound righteous. Or cold, or callous. And he doesn’t seem intent on sneaking out to leave you alone in regret. 

“Before, I was worried that I might hurt you…and that was hard to balance against my desire to protect you," the Mandalorian says thoughtfully. "But you made more than enough noise to let me know how much you enjoyed it.”

“Oh gods,” you laugh, clapping a hand over your mouth, absolutely mortified. 

“That was the best part,” Mando lifts your hand from your face, tilting your chin up to kiss your nose, then your lips, not shying away like some men do, after they've come in your mouth. So you part your lips and feel the brush of his tongue against yours. His fingers wrap around your neck, deepening the kiss, and pulling you closer.

It’s not the unbridled passion from before–it’s tenderness and longing. Two lonely hearts finding shelter in a precious moment of fragile intimacy.  

“I was just surprised, given…”

“Some of my clients never touch me. Some have hurt me—said horrific things. Most are rich businessmen,” you shrug. “Nervous about cheating on their wives. Regardless—given what they pay, they all expect a performance... 

So it’s nice to let someone else put in the work,” your lips tug into a sly grin. “Seriously, five times? And your dom talk is shockingly good! The growling is very hot!” Guess it's true what they say about the quiet ones. "Now I get why Anassa keeps offering you a job."

"She told you that?" He scoffs.

"Hmm, she likes to tease me about having a crush on the Mandalorian."

Nestled into the crook of his arm, you feel the rumble of renewed laughter building in his chest. 

"She told me I could keep the armor on."

You reach a hand behind you to stroke his jaw and bury your fingers in his hair. "I'm glad you didn't."

Mando's head turns in your grasp to place a soft kiss against your palm.

“And you don’t think differently of me for…wanting this?”

"I know the difference between fantasy and reality," then he leans forward to stroke your earlobe with the tip of his nose. "And I bet I could make you scream just as loud, taking you soft and sweet."

Now why does that make you blush redder than your slapped ass?

“Maybe next time, we can switch roles. Then I’ll understand better why you like it.”  

Next time? You love that! He’s already thinking about the future. 

Your brow arches, “Maybe I'll tie you up—borrow one of Katlin's whips to smack that tight ass of yours.”

“Oh, yeah?” 

There are no words for the wicked anticipation in Mando’s voice. 

Next time...

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

Thanks so much for reading!!

[ilguna]

Hi again this is from the supply run. Could you please do #17 from aisle 1 and # 22 from aisle 2 with finnick? Thank you! 🎉 -🪐

☼ only friends (Finnick Odair) ☼

warnings; swearing, gore, blood mention, death, death mention.

wc; 5.7k

prompt; 17. denying their relationship strongly. 22. "They won't take you away from me ever again."

—

“Tomorrow morning, when we pull Katniss Everdeen’s body from the ashes, we will see exactly who the Mockingjay is. A dead girl who could save no one, not even herself.” Snow’s voice is haunting as he gives the final word. The Capitol seal replaces his face, the anthem plays, and the television shuts off.

“Except that you won’t find her.” Finnick says to the empty screen, turning his head to glance at you.

The Peacekeeper’s that will be sent to retrieve the bodies tomorrow will be missing twelve of them, actually. All they’ll come across is Boggs and one of the Leeg sisters. The rest of you made it out safely.

“We can get a head start on them at least.” Katniss says, pulling out the Holo. She moves closer to Jackson, listening to a set of directions on how to work the device. She manages to get the coordinates in, and a projection of the surrounding streets fills the air.

The silence is suffocating as you watch all the different colored blinking lights. No matter what direction you decide you’re going to go, there will be hundreds of pods waiting for you. And these all happened to pop up in the past couple of hours.

You look at Finnick again, and find that he’s got his eyes on you already. This trip has just gotten ten times more dangerous, and your options on travel are beginning to dwindle, quickly.

“Any ideas?” Katniss asks.

“Why don’t we start by ruling out the possibilities.” Finnick tears his eyes from yours. “The street is not a possibility.”

“The rooftops are just as bad as the street.” Leeg says.

“We still might have a chance to withdraw, go back the way we came.” Homes suggests. “But that would mean a failed mission.”

Katniss frowns briefly. “It was never intended for all of us to go forward. You just had the misfortune to be with me.”

“Well, that’s a moot point. We’re with you now. So, we can’t stay put. We can’t move up. We can’t move laterally.” Jackson shakes her head. “I think that just leaves one option.”

“Underground.” Gale agrees.

Your nose crinkles at the idea, but you force your face to smooth. Now is not a time to be picky, especially when you’re being cornered so harshly. You want to make it out of this city alive, which means you’ll do anything for it to happen.

Katniss switches the Holo to show the pods beneath the surface. While it appears that there’s not nearly as much pods underground, the sewers are going to be harder to navigate. The streets are straightforward, the sewer is full of twisting and turning tunnels. It’s a mess.

With no other option, it’s decided.

“Okay, then. Let’s make it look like we’ve never been here.” Katniss says.

You all get to your feet, picking up empty cans to send down the trash chute, while packing the full ones into your bag. The others flip the couch cushions over to hide the blood, wipe the tracks of black oil from the tile, and lock the second bolt on the door from keeping it from looking like the door got kicked in.

Peeta sits on the blue sofa. “I’m not going. I’ll either disclose your position or hurt someone else.”

“Snow’s people will find you.” Finnick tells him, you stop next to him, crossing your arms.

“Then leave me a pill. I’ll only take it if I have to.”

“That’s not an option. Come along.” Jackson says.

“Or you’ll what? Shoot me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Peeta.” You say.

“We’ll knock you out and drag you with us.” Homes says. “Which will both slow us down and endanger us.”

“Stop being noble! I don’t care if I die!” He shouts, proceeding to turn to Katniss. “Katniss, please. Don’t you see, I want to be out of this?”

Katniss stares at him for a long moment. “We’re wasting time. Are you coming voluntarily or do we knock you out?”

Peeta takes in a breath, burying his face in his hands, letting out a long sigh. He then gets to his feet to join you.

“Should we free his hands?” Leeg asks.

“No!” Peeta snarls, pulling the cuffs closer to his body.

“No.” Katniss agrees. “But I want the key.” Jackson pulls it out, handing it over to Katniss, who slips it into a pocket in her pants.

With this decided, you all begin to head for the maintenance shaft that you have to enter through the back closet on the upper floor. From there, two doors down, a vertical tube connects the row of apartments to the tunnels below. When Homes opens the small metal door to the shaft, it’s clear that the shells Castor and Pollux are wearing will not fit.

They shed them, stashing the shells in the closet, because that’s the only option they have. Castor and Pollux settle on using their emergency cameras, which are roughly the size of a shoebox.

You let them go in through first, motioning for Finnick to go next. He does the same, the two of you stare at each other for a long second. “Come on, Finnick.”

“I’m not letting you take up the rear.” He tells you.

“It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Which is why you’ll be going first.” He raises his eyebrows.

You roll your eyes, shedding your backpack to drag next to you while you shuffle through the tight space. You sidestep past the first apartment, and join the others in the second one, where they’ve already begun to crowd around the tube to the tunnels.

Messalla frowns at the circular cover behind the utility door. “It’s why no one ever wants the center unit. Workmen coming and going whenever and no second bath. But the rent’s considerably cheaper.” He mutters, when he looks up and sees the way you and Finnick are looking at him, he adds, “Never mind.”

The cover opens easily, there’s a wide ladder with rubber treads on the steps to allow quick movement up and down. You don’t bother to argue with Finnick about this one, sliding down the ladder, gathering at the bottom.

It’s terribly dark down here, even with the strip of dim lights. You wait for your eyes to adjust, while being forced to breathe in the smell down here. A sickening mixture between chemicals, mildew and sewage.

“Are you alright?” Finnick asks, moving a hair out of your face. “You look like you’re going to puke.”

“It’s the smell.” You rub your nose.

Pollux is pale, sweat running down the side of his forehead. He grabs onto Castor, holding on with white knuckles.

“My brother worked down here after he became an Avox.” Castor says. “Took five years before we were able to buy his way up to ground level. Didn’t see the sun once.”

It’s quiet between you all, no one knowing how to respond to something so horrid. You couldn’t imagine being forced down here for an extended period of time. You would go crazy. You’d break out and run and get yourself killed because you’re so desperate to see the sky.

“Well, then you just became our most valuable asset.” Peeta says, turning to Pollux. Castor laughs, and Pollux manages to smile.

Pollux leads the way down the first tunnel, you and Finnick walk side by side in the very back, behind Jackson and Gale, who are watching over Peeta like hawks. He doesn’t seem to care, hunched over, watching the ground. 

It turns out that there’s a network of wide tunnels that corresponds to the main street plan above. They call it the Transfer, because small trucks use it to deliver goods around the city. The pods are deactivated during the day, but at night it’s a different story. It’s as bad as the ground above. 

Pollux knows details that would be dangerous for a newcomer. The tunnels hold hundreds of additional passages, utility shafts, train tracks and drainage tubes that work together to form a multilevel maze. Some offshoots might require gas masks, have live wires, or rats the size of beavers.

He'll alert the gush of water that sweeps through the sewers like clockwork, and anticipates when the Avoxes will be changing shifts. He even brings you into damp, obscure pipes to hide from almost silent cargo trains. And most importantly, he has knowledge of the cameras. There aren't many down here, except in the transfer.

You make remarkable time, compared to when you’d been traveling above. Still, after six hours, everyone is tired and irritated. It’s three in the morning, when Katniss suggests to rest. Pollux leads everyone into a small, warm room that hums with machines. He holds up his fingers to tell you that you must be gone in four hours.

Jackson works out a guard schedule, one that has you take watch right in the middle. You grit your teeth, unhappy because you won’t be getting much sleep after all, but Finnick objects and tells her that he’ll work your shift, and his.

“Stop it.” You whisper to him. “You need to sleep too.”

“I feel fine.” Finnick looks at you. “You can’t think straight when you’re tired.”

You narrow your eyes. “Yeah? And you become a walking hazard.”

“I’m not arguing with you.” He laughs. “Just be grateful I’m your best friend and go to sleep.”

You press your lips together, tilting your head back to rest against the wall. It’s not very comfortable, you adjust several times, until Finnick pushes your head to rest on his shoulder. You let out a snort, and he shushes you.

It doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep, but it’s too easy to wake you. Finnick slides out from where he’d been sitting next to you, and you can’t fall back asleep. He sits next to Pollux, watching the opening you came from. You watch him quietly with tired eyes. 

“Are you okay?” Finnick murmurs to Pollux.

He nods, waving away Finnick’s concern with a hand. And then, he motions to you and Finnick, and signs the word ‘date’. You can see Finnick begin to turn his head in your direction, so you close your eyes and fight the smile that wants to come across your face.

It was only a matter of time before he asked, Cressida already did yesterday. She watched Finnick give you a hand down after doing a propo with Katniss. He made a joke, you crinkled your nose at him in response, and he told you that he thought it was cute when you did that.

Cressida had bumped your shoulder a few minutes later, and asked if you and Finnick were dating, or if there was anything between you two. You had to tell her that you and Finnick are only friends. You’ve known each other since high school, which was a decade ago. If either of you had feelings, then it’d be obvious.

You’re used to the assumptions by now, that’s why you’re not bothered by it, and you find it funny.

“No, we’re not dating.” Finnick says, you peek your eyes open to see Pollux blink in surprise, and begin to move his hands. Finnick lets out a laugh. “Yes, I know sign, so does (Y/n). Annie, the victor that was rescued, uses sign language from time to time to communicate when she’s having trouble.”

Pollux nods, making a face, and begins to sign again. Finnick falls quiet enough for the drowsiness to wash over you. You tilt your head back to sleep.

—

“(Y/n).” Finnick shakes your shoulder. “We’ve got to go.”

You take in a breath, holding it for a second, until it erupts into a yawn. When you open your eyes, you’re met with Finnick, making sure you’re alright. You squint, rubbing your face to make yourself more awake.

“You didn’t sleep well.” Finnick says, it’s not a question.

“I woke up after you moved.” You admit, “It’s fine, I fell asleep again.”

He makes a noise, going to open his mouth to speak, when Katniss shushes the group of you. She’s got her eyes on the entrance, listening hard. For a second, all you can hear is the humming of the machines around you, and then you make out the hissing sound.

“Katniss.” 

It echoes throughout the tunnels, coming back to you, repeated over and over. Katniss is confused, glancing back at you briefly, before looking away. She jumps at the sound of her name coming from inside of the room, and lands on Peeta. She waits, slowly pulling an arrow out to put on her bow, positioning it over the sleeping Peeta.

He jerks up before she can act on her violence. His eyes are wide, head whipping in her direction, but it’s not because of the arrow pointed at him. “Katniss! Get out of here!”

Katniss lowers the bow slightly. “Why? What’s making that sound?”

“I don’t know. Only that it has to kill you.” Peeta says. “Run! Get out! Go!”

Finnick gets to his feet at the sound of that, holding his hand out for you. You let him pull you to your feet, adjusting the straps on your body until they’re comfortable again. This makes the others move as well, Katniss returns the arrow to where it came from.

“Whatever it is, it’s after me. It might be a good time to split up.” She says.

“But we’re your guard.” Jackson tells her.

“And your crew.” Cressida adds.

“I’m not leaving you.” Gale shakes his head.

Katniss looks between the eleven of you, eyes going from person to person. “Okay,” She agrees. “Finnick, give a gun to Castor. Jackson, will you eject the empty cartridge from Peeta’s and load it with a real one? And (Y/n) do you still have the other Leeg sister’s gun?”

“Yes.” You reach for it, pulling it out for her to see.

“Give it to Pollux.” She tells you. She and Gale then give up their guns, handing them over to Messalla and Cressida because they have their bows. They give a brief lesson on how to shoot the guns, which is all you can afford to do at the moment.

Everything is cleaned up and packed into backpacks, including empty cans to avoid leaving a physical trail, just a scent. When you step foot out of the room, the hissing becomes louder, coming from a fair distance behind you. Without a second thought, you go out in front of Finnick, and you can feel the weight of him grabbing onto your backpack.

You try to move quickly and quietly, but it’s nearly impossible with this many people. The sounds of your shoes splashing in water, the clang of a gun against a pipe, and Katniss giving directions. Still, you manage to cover more blocks before the screaming begins.

You go rigid.

“Avoxes.” Peeta tells you without missing a beat. “That’s what Darius sounded like when they tortured him.”

“The mutts must have found them.” Cressida murmurs.

“So they’re not just after Katniss.” Leeg says.

“They’ll probably kill anyone. It’s just that they won’t stop until they get to her.” Gale says, and he’s right.

Katniss shakes her head. “Let me go on alone. Lead them off. I’ll transfer the Holo to Jackson. The rest of you can finish the mission.”

“No one’s going to agree to that!” Jackson says.

“We’re wasting time!” Finnick whisper-shouts, leaning over your shoulder.

“Listen.” Peeta whispers.

The screams have stopped, and the hissing has resumed, much closer than it was before. Katniss nudges Pollux wordlessly, and the twelve of you begin to run through the tunnel. She opens up the Holo when you reach a staircase, scanning for another route, when she begins to gag.

“Masks on!” Jackson orders.

Katniss forces her way through a door, stumbling out onto the Transfer. She begins to move, pulling out an explosive arrow to activate the pod. The streets are pastel, smooth, easy to run on. The road is empty from deliveries as far as any of you can tell, but cameras could be at any corner.

Regardless, she sprints for the next intersection, telling you to keep close. Finnick lets go of your bag, running past you to grab a hold of her. “Katniss!”

A beacon of white light encapsulates Messalla, who is as still as a statue inside. With his head tilted back, on the ball of one foot, mouth opened wide. You watch in horror as the flesh melts off of his body.

“Can’t help him!” Peeta shoves you from behind, making you stumble a step. “Can’t!”

You begin to move again, following after him and Katniss, dodging beams of light as they come down from the ceiling. You’re sweating bullets by the time you’ve made it to the next intersection, where a spray of gunfire brings you to a stop.

Peacekeepers are running down the Transfer after you, shooting. You swing your gun up to start shooting back, because you have nowhere to go past here. This is the pod that Katniss wanted to activate first before moving on. The others begin to join you, and together, you manage to bring down a good portion of the Peacekeepers before more begin to swarm in from the door you’d just come from.

You can’t help the startled scream that leaves your mouth when you realize that these aren’t, in fact, Peacekeepers. They’re mutts. They’re naked, about the size of a human, with heads that are jutted forward, arched backs and reptilian tails. They hound the Peacekeepers, living and dead, and begin to rip helmeted heads off of shoulders.

It’s only seconds before all the Peacekeepers are decapitated, and they’re slithering toward you on their bellies.

“This way!” Katniss shouts, hugging the wall and making a sharp turn to avoid the pod. As soon as you’ve successfully cleared the pod, Katniss shoots at it. Mechanical teeth burst through the street and begin to chew the tile to dust. She turns to Pollux, you keep your eyes on where the mutts should be coming from. “Forget the mission. What’s the quickest way above ground?”

Pollux moves, going down the Transfer and through a doorway. The shiny tile turns to concrete, Finnick pushes you in front of him as you travel through a tight pipe and onto a ledge that leads you to the main sewer. 

A yard below, a nauseating brew of human waste, garbage and chemicals slide by, bubbling when it touches the wall. It’s hard to tear your eyes away from the parts of the surface that are on fire, and you can physically see the vapor that it emits.

You hurry down the path, over a narrow bridge and into an alcove on the far side. Pollux smacks a ladder with his hand and points upward. Katniss turns to look at you, and her face twists. “Wait! Where are Jackson and Leeg One?”

“They stayed at the Grinder to hold the mutts back.” Homes tells her.

“What?” She lunges toward the bridge, and Homes pulls her back.

“Don’t waste their lives, Katniss. It’s too late for them. Look!” Homes nods to the pipe, where the mutts are coming out by the dozen.

“Stand back!” Gale shouts, firing an explosive arrow into the bridge’s foundation. It snaps, bringing down a good number of mutts.

With them being so close, you’re able to see what they actually look like. Their mouths are wide, teeth sharp, smeared blood on their reptilian skin. Their clawed hands and feet have chunks of flesh stuck between them. You gag.

The mutts throw themselves into the sewage without thinking, wanting to get their hands on you. Everyone open fires, and this lasts for a good few minutes, throwing everything you have at the monsters. They don’t die easily, though. Not even with a dozen bullets in their body, which causes everyone to come to the same consensus. 

You have to run.

You have no other option, especially because of the sheer volume of them that are still coming out of the sewer pipe. Finnick tries to make a grab at you to swing you toward the ladder, but you shove him first.

He opens his mouth to speak, but doesn’t get a chance to when you point your finger and bark, “Go!”

Finnick begrudgingly grabs the ladder rungs and begins to climb up after Peeta, Cressida following directly on his trail. It’s you, Gale, Homes and Castor left at the bottom. You shoot what you can, making a big enough gap for Gale to begin to climb the ladder. When Castor goes to follow, a rogue mutt from the sewer river reaches up and grabs him. He disappears over the edge. 

“Go ahead!” Homes shouts at you, “I’ll hold them!”

You make it to the ladder, you’ve got your right foot placed on a rung, looking up to see how far you have to climb. You’re met with the sight of the Holo, falling down in your direction, projecting a bright blinking red light, and beeping like a dangerous bomb.

“No!” You scream.

Homes turns to see what’s happening, when your body slams into his, bringing the two of you to the ground. The mutts begin to pile on top of you, just as the bomb explodes.

The blast pierces your eardrums before you have a chance to cover your ears. You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling the ground shake beneath you. A shower of wet and clumped matter rains down on you. When you open your eyes, you find that the mutts on top of you are gone, and with their sacrifice, you’re still alive.

You roll over, the mutts in the surrounding area are dead. You struggle to breathe through the smoke and debris that rains down from the ceiling above, your throat and lungs already raw from breathing in the poisonous soup below. You look at Homes, shaking him to get him to move, because the ringing in your ears is so strong.

He doesn’t move. You turn his head, and it moves with no resistance. You scoot away, eyebrows twitching, heart pounding in your chest at the sight of his face, half blown away from the blast.

You struggle to get to your feet, limping over to the ladder, which is covered in the gore from the mutts. When you look up, there is no opening like there had been previously. They threw the cover over. You begin to climb quickly, and at the top, you try to swing it open. It doesn’t budge.

They locked it.

You hang off of the ladder for a moment, taking deep breaths. You have to get out of here. You’re not going to be trapped here. You go back down, and shuffle through the bodies of the mutts to stare at what’s left of the bridge that Gale decided to blow. It’s not much.

It’s possible, though. You swing your bag off of your shoulder and throw it the distance to the other side. You watch helplessly as it slides on the ledge, coming close to falling. Right when you’re sure it’s going to stop, it slips over the side, and into the sewage.

You let out a defeated sigh.

You stare at what you have to work with, and it’s virtually nothing. The bag wouldn’t have helped much, anyway. It just had food and other supplies if you managed to get stuck down here for an extended period of time. 

That won’t happen, you’ll get to the other side of the bridge. You grab a hold of Homes’ body, flipping him onto his stomach to expose the back of his vest, which is clean of blood. You carefully push him to where the bridge should be, and then walk all the way back to the ladder, where you’ll start.

You can cross the gap, the issue is slipping on the blood. That’s why, when you break out into a run, you use Homes body as a launchpad. Your stomach is in your throat the second you’re off of the ground and flying over the gap. You come into harsh contact with the cement on the other side.

You get to your feet, starting to backtrack the way you came. It’s through the tight pipe, down to the doorway until concrete turns back to cute pastel tile. It leads you back to the Transfer, where the grinding pod has stopped. You pick up a piece of broken tile to throw at it, and when it doesn’t start back up, you go through it.

There’s a sea of bodies of Peacekeeper and mutt alike. Among them, you find Jackson and Leeg, both decapitated. You start to head in the direction of where you’d come from, from here. The sight of Messalla stops you, and you turn around to go back through the grinding pod.

You begin to walk down the street of the Transfer, taking your time, occasionally throwing broken tiles in the direction you’re going in hopes that it’ll set off a pod. The familiar sound of hissing seizes your heart, making you stop dead in your tracks. You turn your body slightly, afraid to see if it’s true.

It is.

You begin to run down the Transfer, abandoning your original plan of taking your time to find a place to crawl out. You have nothing to defend yourself with. You almost took the gun off of Jackson, but you thought that you were past the mutts and you had to worry about the pods. You should’ve known better than to trust the silence.

You throw yourself at the first door you see, slamming your shoulder into it because you expect it to swing open. It’s locked, a pain begins to blossom in your shoulder, but you push through, heading further in.

Every door you run across is locked. The mutts are practically on top of you, if you slow down for even a second, it’ll surely mean your death. You don’t know how long you go on like this for, triggering pods, trying to kill what’s sent after you, getting injured because of it.

It must be an hour later when you finally see a door ajar. You throw yourself into it, right as you step off of a tile that had sunk with your weight. It explodes, launching you further into the hall. This does nothing to stop the mutts, as it went off too soon. A sharp claw scrapes your ankle, beginning to pull you toward it, when you slam your foot into its absent face.

You manage to scramble back to your feet, hurrying to the ladder that’s waiting for you at the end. You cross your fingers that this latch won’t be locked, because it’s your last chance to get out of here. You can’t go back, they’re swarming beneath you. The ladder isn’t slippery this time around, you yank yourself up in record time, reaching the top of the ladder in a matter of seconds.

You shove the cover open, pulling yourself out. When you’ve cleared the top, you slam it shut, twisting the latch to lock it. The mutts pound on it from the other side, you sit directly on top of it, gasping for air after running for your life for an hour straight.

You hold your arms out, looking at the cuts and bites you’ve received. The blood that’s on your body is more than your own, it belongs to the mutts and Homes, too. You won’t know the real damage until you’re clean, and that could be days from now.

When you feel like you can move, you get to your feet, stumbling to the next ladder that’ll surely lead you to the surface. You’re not going to run around in this tunnel looking for the others. They have to think you’re dead, which means they’ve moved on to the next place. 

Thankfully, you know where that is.

At the top of this ladder is another cover, you open it to find that you’re in a utility room, which means that you’re in someone’s apartment. You pat down all of the pockets in your pants, trying to find a weapon. You come across something solid further down your pant leg. When you pull it out, you can see that it’s Finnick’s knife.

You let out a breath of relief, flicking it open. There are times when he makes you mad when he doesn’t listen to you. Other times, it comes in handy. If you run across anyone in this building, you have only one choice.

You open the door, heading into the room quietly. You can hear the sound of a television playing a room over. You slip into the hallway that’ll lead you to the front door, stealing a glance at the bedroom to see a Capitol woman with brightly colored yellow hair and white skin laying on a bed.

You make it to the kitchen and out the front door, into a small hallway with one other door. You leave down the stairs, almost going out to the street, when you see the light pouring through the windows. You back up, shaking your head. You need a disguise if you want to go out there. You’ll be spotted in the matter of minutes, every Capitol citizen knows your name and your face.

You sigh through your nose, going back up the stairs and into the apartment you just came out of. You fix the knife in your hand, creeping around the kitchen and to the hallway that leads to the bedroom. When you peek, she seems to be sleeping. Still, you don’t risk going up close, throwing the knife from where you stand.

Now you enter the room, leaving her body while you go to search through her belongings. You find several large coats, all brightly colored, and outfits you wouldn’t imagine wearing if it weren’t forced on you. You throw several aqua blue and lime green items onto the bed, pulling the knife out of her skull.

The front door is unlocked, so you relock it. In the woman’s bathroom, you start the shower, shedding everything you’re wearing to step beneath the warm water. It stings every cut on your body, you grit your teeth, watching as the water turns pink and doesn’t run clear for several minutes.

When you step out, you get dressed in the outfit you’d set aside. You tie your hair back into a tight bun at the back of your head, and opt for pulling on a brightly colored wig. As soon as you’re dressed and fairly disguised, you drag the woman to the utility closet, dropping her body down the ladder. The outfit that District Thirteen provided for you follows, as well as the bloodied bed sheets and towel. By the time you’re done, it doesn’t look like you were here at all. You shut the cover, lock the latch, and leave the apartment building.

It takes you a moment of wandering down the roads before you begin to recognize where you are. You’ve been here before, a couple times, actually. The Peacekeepers escorted you to these buildings, and then back to the Tribute Center when you were done working.

It takes you over an hour to get to the designer shop that Cressida was talking to you about. By then, the sun has risen and it’s got to be around noon. You enter through the door, trying to be casual about the way you do. It’s warm inside, there are pants and shirts and underwear made out of fur on mannequins, but there’s no sign that your friends were ever here.

“Can I help you?” A voice purrs. 

You turn to see a tall woman, who has been surgically altered to have the appearance of a tiger. With her skin pulled back tightly, tattooed to have black and gold stripes. Her nose has been flattened, there’s whiskers protruding out of her lips. She wears a long fur coat that matches what she’s wearing.

“Possibly.” You murmur, “Are you Tigris?”

“Yes,” She says, looking over your face, eyes squinting. “And you are?”

“Looking for some friends.” You say, pulling off the wig. “I was told by Cressida that you could help.”

She hums, walking past you to the door. You turn to watch her, body tense, terrified that she’s about to shout to everyone out there that you’re a fugitive. Instead, she turns a lock, coming back your direction. 

“Follow me.”

You do, she brings you behind a rack of clothes, sliding open a panel at the base of the wall. You peer inside and find that there’s a staircase on the other side. You look at her.

“Thank you.”

You have to crawl through the space, she slides the wall shut behind you. You go down the steep steps, eyes searching the darkness. You run into a hanging chain, which you instinctively reach up to pull on. Light fills the room, and you’re met with the sight of several people on the floor, now covering their eyes as they struggle to see their intruder.

It’s easy to spot Cressida, Pollux and Gale. You have to take a few more steps down in order to see Katniss and Peeta.

“(Y/n)...” Cressida’s voice is quiet.

“Where’s Finnick?”

The sound of moving fabric makes you turn your head. Finnick’s on his feet, coming in your direction, arms outstretched to take you in a hug. You run into him, pulling at his vest to bring him flush against your body.

He’s breathing heavily into your shoulder, a hand on the back of your head, the other wrapped around the middle of your back. “It’s okay.” You tell him, fingers wrapped in his curls. “I’m okay.”

“They won’t take you from me ever again.” Finnick tells you, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

You close your eyes. “I know.” You stroke his hair for a moment, and then pull away to hold onto his face. Finnick searches your eyes, you offer him a soft smile. “I’ll never leave you.”

--

this is part of my 3k celebration!!

[whalesforhands]

purge your turmoil pt.8 (satosugu x reader)

previous masterlist next

warnings: yandere behaviors and tendencies, my experimental tone shifts, not really creepy unless u find obsessive behaviors and patterns horrifying, gore mentions

Surrounded by debris of the dilapidated, abandoned hospital, you hold onto a raggedy stuffed doll left behind.

 It’s soft and colourful. Or, it once was. Her dress stained and riddled with blood and dirt, her cotton body having been slashed through the middle, soft cotton falling out as you hold her.

 A child’s final comfort in their last moments. It’s hard to breathe thinking about it. 

Your thumb gently caresses the doll’s smiling face, clearing off dust and remnants of dirt as best you could. 

“Will this,” Your words tremble. “Ever end?” 

Suguru stands beside you,  hands clenching when he catches the look of quiet despair on your face.

“I think… It’s not something to hope for.” He wishes he could offer more than just this.

“It’s,” You suck in a harsh breath, not realizing you’ve been holding your breath. “Been hard.” Your eyes flutter close as you try to ignore the haunting memories of blood on your hands, of cries for help, of massacred bodies of unfortunate victims. Over and over and over and over-

“And here you are, despite how hard it’s been.” He’s beside you now, kneeling down on one knee next to you as he tenderly grips a dirtied, matching ribbon found within the rubble back around the doll’s neck, tenderly patting its head when he finishes. 

It’s whole once again. You gently prop it against the crumbled pillar.

You hope that in another life, that doll and her owner are reunited.

——

The ticking of a clock sounds out somewhere around you, quiet and constant, each tock giving your eyelids the strength to finally lift, only to be met with the endless darkness ahead of you.

You don’t know if you’re still alive.

You’ve been floating around in here for… God knows how long. It’s lonely. Everyone. What’s happening? Where are they? You miss Shoko. You miss Satoru. You miss Suguru. You miss Yaga. You miss that little boy.

“You look like someone I know.”

You gently smile at him, eyes closed in amused bliss as you continue to stroke his hair, his head in your lap as he stares up at you with a furrowed brow of scrutinization.

“That so? I don’t think my features are very distinguishable from others, I suppose.” You giggle out, happy to have the young boy so comforted in your embrace as you softly pat his head.

(He’s so soft and squishy. You want to pull and stretch those mochi-like cheeks of his. You refrain, afraid of another barking remark that ultimately held no bite.)

“That’s not what I meant.” He pulls a sulky, irritated expression, brows still downturned into one of dissatisfaction, as if he can’t put his finger on where the sense of familiarity was coming from.

“You look like the pictures in the-“

You miss everyone. When was the last time you talked to them? You think and think, churning your brain, eyes squeezing close as you’re hit by a wave of bitter pain, your spine straightening out as you clutch your head.

“I think…” You begin to trail off, eyes stuck to the glowing blue glass of the aquarium as you watch a whale shark swim past your vicinity within the enclosure.

It’s tranquil. You squeeze the warm hands you held as you watched the sight before you with a smile.

“If I could choose… I’d like a life where I could grow old with all of you.”

You’re smiling as you think about it. Maybe you could rent a little apartment near wherever the 3 of them are staying, a quaint, quiet neighbourhood…

(…marriage? Maybe. That promise still makes you blush.)

Riko would give up on her little Star Plasma spiel. Live the way she truly wanted to, a way where she can finally find happiness, experience the joys she’s yet to feel.

Everyone… Would just be happy. Just like they deserve, just like they should.

But… You can’t possibly witness that if you’re dead, right? Your fingers claw at your face as you feel the bewildering pain of your thoughts. Are you really dead? No— Please, there’s still so much left to do. Your pitiful life should’ve had a reason for your living, and yet—

You can’t hear them. Can’t hear anything. You’re dead. Dead. What’s happening out there? Move. Move. Move.

The silence is deafening as your body squirms and you block out your ears.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tickticktickticktick-

Nobody is answering you. You’re missing the physical connection you once had to your body. How long has it been? How long have you been stuck like this? Time doesn’t even feel like it exists while you’re here.

The incessant ticking comes to a stop.

——

You learned to recognize this place in your time here. Your cursed void. One where no one but you could enter, and no one but you could leave.

The problem was… You couldn’t leave. You’ve tried. Walked and walked for endless miles, clawed at the abyssal darkness that never had an end, screamed into the void for hours just to never have an answer.

You… Can’t really be in here forever, can you?

It’s lonely in here.

“Gojo-sama, who is (last name)-san…?”

The tall man grins micheviously, looking down at the tiny hand he held within his palms as he squeezes lightly, before bending down to be eye level with his child.

“A special someone you’ll meet soon enough.”

——

“Nanako… We shouldn’t be in here…”

“It’s fine, Mimi! Papa and Daddy didn’t say we can’t visit! We just want to put the fresh flowers in for her! Plus…” She pauses, turning her head left and right, scouring the area.

“Megumi and Tsumiki aren’t here to stop us!”

The last sentence was dropped to a whisper, as if the blonde just realized her voice could attract attention.

Suguru kisses your hair, hands trailing to interlock your fingers with his own as he breathes in the very feel of you.

“Look, kids.” Geto pulls away, touch still lingering on your skin that had long gone cold years ago. He flashes a smile towards his awaiting children, showing you off for them to see.

“Isn’t she beautiful?”

You startle from your curled up position, hearing two faint sets of feet patter into the room. Slow, trying their best to tiptoe before a certain pair gives up, breaking into a sprint towards you.

A tiny crack forms within your domain as your ears keen to listen.

“See! It’s perfectly fine!”

You hear tapping, the fumbling of paper and plastic.

“Papa said it’s okay to give her flowers. I wanna be first cause today’s her…” She furrows her brows as she tries to mouth out the word. “Anniv- Ersaury?”

Mimiko frowns at her twin. “We should wait till everyone gets here…” She’s unsure, hugging her plush to her chest as she nervously looks around, more afraid of getting in trouble with her beloved parents more than anything.

The crack grows larger, making its way towards you.

“But last time we only got to spend like 10 seconds with her before Papa and Daddy chased us out!” Nanako huffed, a hand on her hip as she gripped a large bouquet of white lilies and osmanthus flowers, Mimiko holding onto the incense sticks.

“Anyway!” Nanako turns back to face you, settling the flowers down as she moves to kneel before you, hurrying Mimiko to start placing the incense.

“Let’s just start!”

You swiftly move towards it, ignoring the shards of glass digging into the soles of your feet, eyes burning from the shimmers of light shining through the holes as you chase it down, wanting, yearning for this escape.

The anxious twin lets out a deep sigh, lighting the incense sticks with a nearby candle as she hands a few to her awaiting sister, who settles down comfortably on her knees atop the prayer pillow.

“I wish for you to get better soon!” She holds the incense sticks up with her hands as she prays, eyes closed in deep concentration.

“Mhm…” Her twin follows suit, surrounding the room in a deep silence as they are joined by the flickers of the flame, the slow dripping of dewdrops from their fresh flowers chorusing with their heartfelt pleas.

Your surroundings begin to shatter, glass like formations raining down upon you as a shining bright light envelops your sight, a bubble immediately blowing up and swallowing you in its embrace as you begin to glow, the twins jumping off and Nanako standing protectively before her sister as she gets pushed back by your cursed technique.

“I- I think we broke it…” Mimiko’s voice is starting to crack as her tears begin to well up in her eyes, her hand dragging Nanako further back from you.

“Shh! What if Daddy hears us?”

“But he’s gone to pick up Gumi and big sister Tsumiki…”

Your eyelashes flutter as you slowly blink open your eyes, sensations of touch and your feel of the atmosphere slowly return to you. Your dried up flesh slowly plumping up, blood beginning to flow throughout your body, face instantaneously flushing with colour once more as you gasp out, taking lungfuls of air, irises rolling back to the front to view the space before you.

“Nanako… Is that…?”

You’re met with the darkness of what seems to be a bedroom. You slowly move to get up, bones creaking and your fingers slowly twitching to really get the feel of your body back, brushing against the various lilies and osmanthus flowers surrounding you, seemingly fresh in nature as dewdrops slowly dripped off the petals and onto your fingertips.

You look around you, disoriented and feeling fatigued, slowly sitting up against the plush area you were lying upon. It felt like you had just awoken from the dead.

“H…ello?” Your eyes flicker over to the 2 little girls standing before you, voice hoarse, broken. Vocal cords tangled together from years of underuse as you feel your organs literally start to pump to life, eyesight slowly coming back as your vision gets restored by the bubble.

It pops.

They scream, rushing towards you as they lunge towards your form.

“We did it Mimi! We cured Mama!”

Mama…? Did you- Oh my god. You’re blushing up a storm at the thought of it.

“Wha-What…?” Their smiles grow ever bigger, hugs growing startlingly tight for their small forms.

“Mhm! Along with Gumi and our big sister Tsumiki! But they’re at school now and Daddy is gonna pick them up and buy us lunch, then, then! We’re gonna eat dinner together cause Papa’s coming back today, then we’re gonna tell them we woke you up!”

“B-but we have to apologise to Papa and Daddy first for going inside the room, Nanako…”

You hear Nanako audibly gulp. “O-okay, but what if-“

Your eyes are starting to gloss over. You didn’t think that you’d be having 4 kids after being in that void for so long…

“W-wait—“ You’re trying to get used to your voicebox, trying to get used to the feeling of being alive once more. “Y-Your par—“

“Ahh, I’m so hungry!” The blonde one is curling herself into your chest as she whimpers from her hunger, a loud growl coming from her supposed sister next to her as she hugs your arm to her chest alongside her plushie.

You look down at the girls who are still upon your lap, staring up at you in expectant want. Oh— You suppose your question can wait for later.

…everything happens for a reason, right?

(Where is everyone?)

——

“Is the fridge always this empty?” You’re standing shakily on your feet, almost akin to a newborn whilst trying your best to not lose balance.

“No, Papa is just out of town on his job right now!” Nanako puts her hands on her hips as Mimiko signals you to come down with a frantic come hither motion of her hand, you kneel to her level, nearly falling over had it not been for the second twin flanking onto your other side and pushing you up with all her body’s strength, whilst Mimiko cups a hand around her mouth, whispering into your right ear.

“Daddy can’t cook, so he always buys takeout when Papa isn’t around…”

Nanako tugs at your sleeve on your left, signalling for you to come towards her.

“Don’t tell Papa but,” Her voice gains an excited tremor. “Sometimes Daddy lets us eat ice cream and cake for dinner!” She pauses once again.

“And he forgets to remind us to brush our teeth!” The girls giggle together in unison.

“Then sometimes, when Daddy is called on for a sudden mission…”

“He brings us all along and lets us watch him beat up the bad guys right in front of us! Gumi likes it the most!” The girls start zooming around you, throwing punches into the air and pretending to hit each other as Nanako feigns hurt when she takes a ‘direct’ hit from Mimiko’s plush.

“Ahhh! I’ve been hit by Red! KABOOSH!!” She falls dramatically to the ground, imitating a explosion with waves of her little arms before splaying herself by your feet and clutching your calf.

“Like that!”

…

…

You’re sweating with stress as you listen, patting their heads as they smile angelically at you. You need to talk to their parents about this before you get a heart attack.

(Missions… Red… Are their parents jujutsu sorcerers?)

“Girls.” You stand back up, your hands placed on both of their heads as you began to pat them gently as they nuzzle up into your warm touch. Nanako holds your hand in place when she feels you try to pull away, whilst Mimiko begins to intertwine her fingers with your own, trying to trap you.

“Why don’t we go buy something?”

——

You’re silently panicking as the two girls drag you towards the old crepe shop, tugging you by the hand as you’re slightly hunched over to allow them easier access to you.

You forgot the most crucial thing.

Money.

“Papa and Daddy always lets us follow them to the school! Then, then-!”

“Then we buy chocolate milk because Papa and Daddy really like it!”

“But Daddy never finishes his, so we get extra cause he gives it to us!”

“Then we play with Uncle Yaga who gives us new dolls every month! Then Uncle Yu, he’s super, super fun! Auntie Shoko gives us sweets when Papa isn’t looking!”

(Yaga, Yu— Shoko…!)

Mimiko pipes in. “Uncle Kento sometimes plays with us when he’s not busy eating his big sandwiches… Then Megumi and Miki comes back from school and then-!”

(Kento… Megumi? Miki? Does this mean— Could it be?)

“We eat dinner together!”

“You’re gonna lovvvveeee them!”

Your hands pat their hands, feeling them nuzzle into your warm touch.

“I’m sure I will.” You’re suddenly before the crepe stand as the two girls drool over their options. “But first, um… Do you girls happen to have any allowance?”

(“Oh! Yea!” Mimiko unzips the back of her plushie, pulling out a singular 10000 yen bill as your eyes nearly bulge out of your head.

“Daddy gave it to us before he left so that we could use it if we wanted!”

Your jaw is still hanging low in shock to process her words.)

——

“Uncle Yaga!” The girls pounce into his arms, causing him to stumble before he firmly plants his feet onto the ground.

“Children…! What are you doing here?” His voice had lost their usual rough tone, turning softer as he smiles down at the familiar kids. Still… They shouldn’t be here. Is Gojo nearby—

He senses it.

He feels the pulse of a familiar energy, hurriedly pushing the kids behind him as his sunglasses scan the area, spotting your tired form slumped over against a tree, trying to catch your breath.

“Kids…” You’re huffing as you try to get your bearings back. “Please don’t run…!”

No. It couldn’t be— There’s absolutely no way—! His hands ready themselves, calling for his cursed corpses to the scene before you-!

“Ahh! Yaga-sensei…!” You’re still panting as you reach him, sweat on your brow and your legs jellylike as the twins continue to cling onto him, wondering what’s going on.

“I’m so glad you weren’t so far away!” You’re sweating, smiling through your tiredness as you try to regain your bearings.

“I have so much to ask you!”

…

“Let’s talk in my office.”

——

There’s a hurried stampede of feet before the door is quite literally ripped off its hinges.

Her unlit cigarette collapses to the floor from her grip as she stares at the sight before her, felt the surrounding cursed energy as her body freezes in place.

She takes a step back, legs trembling when she places a hand over her mouth in shock, her eyes widened in horror and distress as she met your form.

Suguru’s distraught as he looks into your eyes. Eyes that never should’ve opened ever again. Eyes that he thought he would never see again. Eyes that he missed seeing with every fiber of his being, every speck of his soul.

You.

How are you here? Why were you out of that room specifically made to contain you?

Why are you alive?

“Yaga.” His eyes have narrowed into dangerous slits, fingernails digging painfully into the calloused flesh of his palms as the snarl he has on his face grows turbulent and murderous.

His curses are immediately summoned, one delegated to swallowing Shoko and tucking her away in its belly as it brings her devastated form to safety.

It’s tense. The words are stuck in your throat as you try to make yourself heard.

The mere presence of his cursed energy is causing you to freeze up from the overwhelming fear.

His cursed spirits were on their haunches, ready to pounce and stab and claw through the flesh of anyone who dares to stir the rage, the trembling anger of their master.

Your eyes widen as you witness the familiar worm spirit appear by his shoulder, hurling out a long set of nunchucks from its disgusting mouth. Your hands tremble as your spine straightens, his gaze deadset on you as you see the flashes of a million emotions running through him.

You’re breathless in his presence.

“You have 5 seconds,” Yaga feels the dreadfully cold voice of the special grade shaman, the aura emanating sending chills down his very spine as the lightbulb bursts, darkness swallowing the room as the air suddenly fills with putrid, thick smoke that crept into his lungs, skin prickling with goosebumps.

The suffocating presence of Geto Suguru.

“To tell me why my wife’s corpse is in front of us.”

previous masterlist next

Notes:

Through abuse of his power as the revered Six Eyes and Limitless technique inheritor of the renowned Gojo clan, Gojo was able to get possession over your body.

Geto and Ieiri were the ones who made a special coffin in efforts to preserve your body utilizing cursed energy.

Yaga was about to attack you after sensing your cursed energy. But the sight before him— Made him realise you can’t exactly be a threat.

Geto thinks you’re a curse. How devastating, to think that a mere curse dares to imitate your presence, dares to imitate you on your death anniversary. He wants to hurl, to vomit. The feeling in his mouth more disgusting, more vile than any curse he’s ever swallowed.

And yet, his heart yearns to feel you in his arms once more.

nvy’s aftertalk:

who wants to guess wtf is happening hahahahah

that praying scene is inspired partially by the way i do it when i go to the temple to pray haha

[tothemeadow]

can you make a dream of mine come true? its where the trio are on a mission during the mission they get hit with a lust demon art. when they are done with the mission they are drooling for y/n. they all want you at the same time. and you need to try to treat them without them killing you.

goddamn anonnie this is so TASTY 😫

'three's a crowd' / Kamaboko Trio x Reader

warnings: NSFW, mild gore, mild dubcon, oral sex, fingering, handjobs, three on one action, all the fuggin mayonaise

words: 3,961

notes: aged up characters, AFAB reader/female bits, they/their pronouns

-

“Continue west! West! Almost there!” the Kasugai squawks overhead.

“We get it, you damn crow!” Inosuke yells back. “I oughta cook you already!”

“Inosuke,” Tanjiro quips, “focus.”

Grumbling, Inosuke ceases his verbal attack at the bird and turns his attention to the path before him. Zenitsu, on the other hand, snickers to himself.

Once again, the three make their way to whatever destination calls them; demons are everywhere, ready to pounce at any time. One must keep moving if they’re part of the corps. This time, though, rather than going single, Tanjiro’s Kasugai crow collected the three of them, informing the trio of a rampant demon terrorizing a town and its surroundings.

It wouldn’t be the first (or last) time that a demon goes on mass killing sprees, but to have so many victims in a short amount of time… It’s troubling, to say the least. Knowing that it’s eating more than well is enough to raise concerns, and it would be a foolish decision to let a single person walk towards their death. Having three people should make the task easier – hopefully.

They’ve discussed what little details fellow crows managed to compile – all the victims seem to be male, none of them dropping under the age of 16. Other than that, well… that’s for the trio to figure out.

Before too long, the crow gives a final squawk and takes an abrupt turn, soaring away from the group. Up ahead, silhouettes of houses break through the expanse of orange sky. At long last, they’ve finally made it to their destination. However, as the sun continues to set and night creeps closer, they’ll have to come with a plan – and fast.

“Kamado Tanjiro!” another Kasugai crow calls out.

The three look to the sky as the crow flies towards them from the direction of the town.

“Waiting for you, yes! Preparations are underway!”

“Guys, hey! Over here!” another new voice shouts.

On the outskirts of town, you wave the other three down, your free hand cupping the side of your mouth. The Kasugai crow circles back around and heads back towards you, seemingly leading the way. The three boys slow their running to a jog as they come closer to you, surprise written on their faces. As far as they were concerned, nobody else was assigned to this mission.

Tanjiro calls out your name as they draw even closer still, a smile spreading itself across his face. “What are you doing here?”

“Backup, apparently,” you say without missing a beat. “I was nearby when I was summoned.”

Zenitsu, appearing absolutely ecstatic to see you, hastily cuts the others off before they have a chance to speak. “It’s great to see you,” he gushes, face heating up. “How have you been?”

Inosuke makes a gagging noise. You can’t see his face beneath the mask, but you can tell its scrunched up in disgust. “Can you not think with your dick for once?”

Zenitsu impatiently swats at him, his ponytail swinging from the sheer force of the movement. “Says you, you muscle-brained idiot! You’re the one who humps tree hollows when no one’s looking!”

Tanjiro facepalms.

Surprisingly, you laugh. “It’s good to see that you boys haven’t changed much.” The mirth disappears from your face as your expression darkens. “Still… You’ve been updated as to what’s been going on lately, right?”

Nodding, Tanjiro steps another closer to you, ignoring the bickering two behind him. “Disappearances, yeah. Any bodies been found?”

“That’s not what I’m quite sure of yet. If the demon doesn’t have some sort of domain they can pull their prey into, they must be directing the men to some lair.”

Hearing you specifically say men makes a shiver run down Tanjiro’s spine. Hell, if anything goes wrong, his friends – himself included – could be in big, big trouble.

You continue. “It’s odd that they’re targeting such a select group of people. Do you think it could be a female demon?”

“I wouldn’t push away the thought, although it’s not the exact reason yet.”

“I say we use this dumbass as bait,” Zenitsu snips. He squeals as Inosuke takes him in a headlock.

“Whatever it is we’re dealing with, I wanna kill it!” Inosuke exclaims in his ever so charming brash way of his. He cackles, his thick arms squeezing tighter around Zenitsu’s neck.

“Night’s approaching. Come on, we’ve got to get ready,” you say. You snap your fingers at Inosuke. “Let him go. He’s not going to be much use to us if you kill him, no?”

Grumbling, Inosuke does as told and finally lets Zenitsu go. Zenitsu collapses onto his knees, sputtering and clutching at his throat. “You… asshole…!”

-

“You’ve… got to be kidding me.”

The cavern is relatively 6 meters wide, 10 meters tall; it’s not deep, rather a shallow divot in the forest walls amongst the rocks piling into a mountain. What’s surprising, though, is the number of bodies hanging from the ceiling. Bodies is a pretty giving word – you meant to say skeletons.

Each of them is upside down, arms extended past their heads. The bones are picked nearly clean, their white sheen telling you that they’re relatively fresh. The cavern doesn’t smell of spoiled meat or blood, so it most likely means that the demon at hand stripped them bare before attaching them to the roof of the cave.

To your side, Zenitsu shakes, bottom lip quivering in a way that seems like it’s vibrating. His knees clack together as a pathetic whimper escapes his throat.

Inosuke scratches the back of his head. “At least they’re not suffering, right?”

“Inosuke,” Tanjiro snaps.

“It has to be nearby,” you interject, quickly discouraging any potential argument. “Demons just don’t leave their… collection out for anyone to grab.”

Zenitsu hastily shakes his head. “Hell no. I’m not sticking around long enough to find out!”

“WhY nOt?”

Zenitsu screams; he leaps into your arms, hands linking together behind your neck. Within a few paces from his previous spot, a grotesque demon stares at your group, head cocked at an unnatural angle. Black, stringy hair falls in its face, its eyes nothing more than empty sockets. The body resembles a mantis, the prickles on its forearms dripping with what you presume is a poison.

How fun.

The demon’s lips draw back in a snarl, jagged teeth gleaming in the low light. It seems to be glaring right at you. “LeT hIm Go.” The voice is no better than dragging nails down a chalkboard. You can’t help but wince.

If this thing is going to try to kill you, it wouldn’t hurt to ask for some basic information, no? Shifting your weight, you turn so that Zenitsu is sheltered behind you, your chin tucked over your shoulder. “And why would I do that exactly, hmm? It doesn’t seem like you’re very hospitable to your guests.”

“Please just tell us,” Tanjiro’s voice rings out, yet it sounds muffled. Looking over, you’re met with the sight of him clutching a hand over his nose, expression scrunched in disgust. Instinctively, you whiff at the air, but there’s nothing worth noting. Odd.

The demon’s face jerks in Tanjiro’s direction. “MaLe. NiNeTeEn. DeLiCiOuS.”

You huff. “What about me?” If your previous hypothesis is correct, then the demon should show a preference for the guys in your group…

Once again, the demon snarls at you. “FeMaLe.”

Bingo.

“Inosuke, now!” you yell.

The demon swivels its head around just in time to see Inosuke leaping at it, dual blades extending in graceful arcs towards its neck. It screeches as it barely dodges, the sharp, uneven edges catching the flesh of its jugular. Blood spews from the wound, a blackish red that is far from a human’s.

Setting Zenitsu down (he’s already passed out, who knew?) you draw your own blade. Tanjiro’s already ahead of you, charging at the demon at a speed naked to the untrained eye. Soon, the three men and you are taking turns swinging at the demon’s fleshy neck, attacks bouncing off each other in a dizzying rhythm. Blood and poison fly in fat droplets each time a hit lands; whether either is harmful, you don’t know. Blood already speckles your face and uniform, yet you don’t feel any pain or discomfort.

The fight continues into the wee hours of the night; it’s been a while since the fight left the cave, migrating into the woods instead. While your group makes use of the branches and the sturdy trunks, the demon does the same. A sweep of the hind legs sends you flying, your body crashing through the surrounding branches and other foliage. A sharp gasp breaks free as your spine makes contact with the rough bark of a tree. Your vision swims, but the bloodcurdling scream emitting from the demon has your ears perking and hairs standing on end.

As your vision clears, silence sets in. It’s still a few hours before dawn cracks and the forest properly wakes up. The usual trill of bugs fills the atmosphere, broken by the slight haggard breath here and there. With a groan, you draw yourself to a stand and waddle over to where the other three stand. Your blade slips into your sheath with a clean schlink – the sound of a job well done.

“Is everyone alright?” you croak. Thankfully, your eyes have long adjusted to the near nonexistent lighting, so you’re able to locate the others fairly well.

Inosuke grumbles and promptly throws himself onto the ground, limbs spread eagle. Zenitsu is sitting against a tree, his head cradled in his hands. Neither reaction is cause for concern (not usually, anyway), but Tanjiro… Tanjiro looks ill. You notice his nostrils flare whenever you draw closer.

“Tanjiro?”

“Fucking hell!” Inosuke yells. “Can’t you say anything else than his name for once?”

Your brows furrow together. “Inosuke, what are you going on about now?”

Zenitsu groans from his spot.

Gods, are all of them sick? Did the demon’s poison have more of an effect than you originally thought?

Slowly, Zenitsu picks himself off the ground and shuffles over. His arms sling themselves around you again, but it’s different than before. His touch feels different. You jump in place as he buries his face in the crook of your neck and inhales deeply.

“Oi! You son of a bitch!” Inosuke yells again. Foliage and twigs crunch under him as he scrambles to get up, entire body flexing angrily as he reaches for Zenitsu. “Off!”

You send a pleading look towards Tanjiro. Surely he would have an idea of what’s going on, right?

Right??

Still, Tanjiro refuses to say anything. His eyes are glued to yours, his jaw slack. He hastily wipes at his gaping lips and chin, yet it does nothing to hide the sheen of saliva sticking to his skin. A soft thunk brings your attention back to the two crowding around you; Inosuke has abandoned his boar head, the poor thing looking almost lonely on the ground. He openly lavishes your neck, tongue licking fat stripes against the skin.

A firm shove to the chest sends Inosuke falling straight onto his ass. You cup the side of your neck, completely scandalized. He doesn’t seem deterred by your rejection – if anything, it makes his eyes glow hungrily through the dark, a small growl rumbling in his throat.

Something hard pokes into your hip. You flash a wild look at Zenitsu. He merely looks back at you with a pleading gaze, his bottom lip tucked behind his teeth.

You swallow heavily. “Guys,” you start slowly, carefully, “we can get you to a Wisteria House or the Butterfly Mansion. I need you to keep your heads on straight. Breathe.”

“Please,” Zenitsu murmurs.

…Fuck.

Just like with Inosuke, you shove Zenitsu away. However, instead of staying there and lecturing them, you abruptly turn on your heel and run. It’s a ridiculous idea, you’re well aware of that, but the more distance you put between yourself and the three men, the better. Whatever was in that demon’s poison, it’s clearly messing with their psyches. You need time to think up a plan – and fast.

Trees fly by in a hazy blur as you make your escape. As you scale up a trunk, you hear not-so-distant shouts of your name echoing. From there, you jump from limb to limb, movements sleek and well-practiced. When was the last time you were chased like this? It had to have been a few years, at least, not since you were a fresh corps member.

It hits you before you see it; the sheer force of the collision rips the air from your lungs. Flashes of yellow fill your peripheral and a panicked word rings throughout your brain. Thunder.

Fortunately, Zenitsu has enough sense not to let you fall to the forest floor. He lands squarely on his feet with you held tightly in his arms. Both Tanjiro and Inosuke appear not a second later, and it’s only then that you realize that they’re all drenched in sweat.

Tanjiro says your name; he sounds pained, yet sweet. Guilt swims in the depths of his eyes, but another emotion lays over it heavily. It’s a look you’ve seen in Tengen’s eyes when he’s with his wives, or when Obanai is staring longingly at Mitsuri. You begin to squirm in Zenitsu’s hold, but his arms only tighten around you.

It’s hard to say who attacks first. One moment, you’re watching Tanjiro with a bated breath; the next, you’re on your back, staring up at three different faces. There’s a pair of rough hands tugging away at your haori, the buttons of your uniform. Goosebumps erupt over your skin once cool air caresses it, but then those very hands are fondling your breasts.

“Wait- No-“ you stammer.

A squeak breaks from your throat as your nipples are yanked on, calloused thumbs rolling them into stiff peaks. Zenitsu swears under his breath, his eyes glued to your chest. Inosuke looks just as lost, his gaze a million miles away. Tanjiro flashes you a timid smile.

“Please, just… Bear with us,” he tells you. Leaning down, he skims his lips against your temple. He breathes your name. “We’ll take care of you. I promise.”

A mouth latches around a nipple, eliciting a sharp breath from you. “What… What happened to you guys…?”

“That damned demon sprayed something at us,” Inosuke slurs. It sounds like his mouth is full.

Zenitsu promptly pushes Tanjiro’s head away and descends, his lips capturing yours. Your mind stalls as he pushes his tongue inside, a moan following soon after. You’re aware of Zenitsu’s stories of “wooing” women (to which degree you believe him is relatively low) and his general berating of Tanjiro and Inosuke’s lack of skills, but this… Well, it appears that he lives up to those stories.

You never thought you’d catch yourself kissing Zenitsu (if tongue and teeth equal as such) but it feels good. Still, this is wrong. These boys are your friends, and they’re under the influence of some Demon Art. That itself is odd, considering the effects of one die off as soon as the demon is killed. This poison had to be of some outside nature; possibly a concoction that the demon created itself?

Tanjiro busies himself with stroking your hair and the skin he can reach. He’s steadily breathing in your scent, little murmurs of appreciation and groans filling your ear. Inosuke suckles on your breast, teeth gnawing on your nipple until it’s flushed and swollen. Your lips are in a similar state once Zenitsu finally pulls away.

“I want to eat you,” Zenitsu says. The wicked flicker in his eyes tells you that he’s being completely serious.

You shuffle to sit up, but Tanjiro pushes you back down by your shoulders, smile apologetic but eyes the same as Zenitsu’s. “Wait, wait, wait- You’re not going to kill me, are you?”

“I get why that bastard strung all those guys up,” Inosuke grunts.

Your eyes go wide.

A silent agreement passes between the three and there goes Zenitsu’s hands again, undoing your belt and yanking your hakama down. Tanjiro hisses at the scent of your gathering arousal; it’s clear that your traitorous body enjoyed their attention a bit too much. Your fundoshi gets pealed away and your thighs instinctively clench together, wanting to hide your precious core from their hungry eyes.

“Open up,” Zenitsu breathes. He wiggles his way in between your legs and pries your thighs apart. Three sets of eyes focus on your puffy lower lips, at the sheen of arousal coating them. Embarrassment floods your face. “Beautiful,” Zenitsu openly moans.

You’re left completely speechless as Zenitsu ducks down, mouth latching onto your pussy. With a jolt, you shout his name, heart beating furiously against your ribcage. You’re genuinely worried it’ll try leaping from your chest and run away into the night. It takes a moment for your brain to catch up with what’s exactly happening; Zenitsu laps at your insides with purposeful movements, his nose held stiff to your clit.

“Move over,” Inosuke barks. He grabs a hold of Zenitsu’s haori and yanks him away, quickly taking his spot and raking his teeth against your sensitive flesh. You try to jerk away from him, but he wraps his strong arms around your thighs, holding you in place as he works you open with his tongue. He’s not as skilled as Zenitsu, but he makes it up with sheer enthusiasm.

Tanjiro takes your hand in his, his lips skimming your knuckles. It’s comforting, but you know he’s going to be wanting something from you as well. He directs your hand to his crotch; something hot meets your hand and Tanjiro shudders. Your eyes drop from his face, the sight of your fingers wrapped around his heavy cock causing something to stir in your gut.

Inosuke groans as your slick pours into his mouth, his hips pressed firmly to the ground. Zenitsu follows in Tanjiro’s footsteps and comes to your other side; your hand soon finds his own cock, precum leaking from the flushed tip.

Shit, this is really happening. If you go through with this, will the poison’s effects wear off? Will you be able to look at the trio the same ever again?

You tentatively squeeze both cocks and the delightful sound of deep groans fill your ears.

All doubts disappear.

Frankly, you’re not even sure how you’re supposed to go about this, but you still give it your best shot. The precum oozing from their cockheads make the slide of your hands easier, much to their satisfaction. Inosuke’s mouth is still hot on your drooling pussy, his eyes fixated on your parted lips and hooded eyes. Plush lips latch around your clit as two fingers breach your fluttering hole; a whorish moan erupts from your lips, and the cocks in either hand twitch at the sound.

“Make them cum,” Zenitsu tells Inosuke. “Gods dammit, Inosuke, make them cum.”

You aren’t sure if it’s his filthy words, Inosuke’s mouth, or the precum coating your hands, but that tight little knot in your lower stomach snaps and then you’re practically gushing all over Inosuke’s fingers. Wicked panting fills the air as Inosuke sits up, his pupils blown to hell.

“I want it,” he growls, his fingers digging into the muscle of your thigh.

Tanjiro speaks your name again, sounding absolutely wrecked. “Can you- Do you think you can take us all at once?”

Your pussy flutters at his words. You never thought you’d hear Tanjiro, sweet, sweet Tanjiro, say something so filthy. It suddenly feels too hard to swallow correctly. “H-How?” You hate how your voice cracks.

“Winner gets their mouth,” Zenitsu husks.

What?

Much to your surprise, the three engage in some oddly horny round of rock-paper-scissors. You’ve got be fucking kidding me.

Tanjiro makes a sound of excitement when he wins. How he manages to still be so precious at a time like this is beyond you. Still, you let the guys rearrange your positions into something more… workable. Now, your knees are digging into the ground below you, haunches tucked below as you stare up at the other three. Zenitsu licks his lips as he slowly grinds his aching cock into your fist. Inosuke doesn’t seem too pleased at losing to Tanjiro of all people, but he is pleased that your hand is stroking his thick cock.

Tanjiro’s face is scrunched. Although his cock is thick and flushed a pretty shade of red, hesitation still pulls at him. Zenitsu notices his inner turmoil and brings a hand to the back of your head.

“Pretty thing, open your mouth nice and wide, okay? Make sure your teeth are covered,” he urges.

Inosuke releases a guttural fuck as your jaw falls open, cute little pink tongue beckoning Tanjiro. Biting his lip, Tanjiro focuses on your pretty mouth. Precum pearls at his tip and runs down his shaft; he’s practically begging to have his cock in your mouth, even though he hasn’t said anything.

“Is this okay?” Tanjiro says through grit teeth.

You slowly nod your head.

A hiss passes through those clenched teeth as Tanjiro eases his hips forward, hand directing his cock towards your mouth. Your eyes fall shut as the weight settles on your tongue. Musk and salt fill your senses; it’s nothing like you’ve ever experienced, yet you find yourself enjoying the stretch of your jaw, the silken girth pressing further into your mouth.

Allowing Tanjiro fall into a rhythm, you keep your breathing steady and focus on the cocks in your hands. They feel the same as Tanjiro’s, all hot and hard and soft at the same time. A chorus of moans is music to your ears. There are murmurs of your name, sweet pet names, yet there’s always that choke of a curse word and a slight thrust of the hips.

The tip of Tanjiro’s cock hits the back of your throat and you cough. He pauses his movements, hand caressing your throat; he’s ever so patient, even as he’s leaking down your throat and saying your name like a prayer. He pushes in just the slightest bit, and then he growls as he feels the bulge of his cock in your throat. Now, you’re well used to Inosuke growling, but the way Tanjiro does it has your pussy dripping.

You’re nothing more than a toy, some pathetic thing to let them get their kicks. You feel so used, chin, lips, and hands covered in slick precum, your pussy weeping onto the ground below you. Opening your eyes, you take your time to look at each and every single one of the boys. There’s another fuck! and Inosuke’s cumming all over your fist, some of it even splashing onto your cheek. The sight triggers a domino effect of some sort; Zenitsu shoots his own load, spilling all over your hand and whining piteously. Tanjiro is only a few moments behind, his hand clenching around your throat as he empties his spend into your mouth.

Tanjiro pulls away and sinks to his knees, words gentler than before as he rubs his thumbs across your cheekbones. He kisses you softly, and the stark difference in behavior nearly has you dizzy. Zenitsu’s panicking about something, voice shrill as he cries out his apologies. Inosuke merely gives a what?

“Thank you,” Tanjiro whispers against your mouth. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Wait, does this mean you’re cured?” you croak. Zenitsu squeaks when you look at him.

“Yeah,” Tanjiro tells you. He begins to give a little smile, but then his nostrils flare and he glances down between you two. A bright blush spreads across his handsome face. “You… Would you like our help?”

You lick your lips. “Yes.”

[seaspringangel]

blood sport — ais

summary: you and ais indulge each other, in strange, strange ways. 

word count: 0.9k

content warnings: gn!reader ✦ canon typical violence ✦ suggestive themes ✦ blood kink ✦ rated A for Ais :)

notes: HAPPY BIRTHDAY AIS!!!!!

The next time you see Ais, he is cracking open the skull of a thief as if it were a jeweled egg. 

You flinch and step away as blood splatter ricochets and dots the tip of your boots. You sink into the tired grooves of a wall against your back; a tide of red apples rolling out of your bag teemed around your feet. 

There’s a part of you that wants to turn away and squeeze your eyes shut, an anxiety-ridden voice yelling at you to melt into the worn brick and curl into the crushing safety of the mortar.

But there is a malevolent light sparking to life in the pit of your belly, an insidious thrill flowing like sterling water in your veins. You keep your eyes open to the violence and drink it all in.

You watch the thief crumple to Ais’s feet, body limp and shattered, like an oak tree felled by a raging thunderstorm, and you wrestle with the grim satisfaction singing inside you. 

Ais had lovely hands. Even if they were adorned in the red silk of blood, they were still a sight to behold, a cruel beauty. He studied them, the very ones that split open the scalp of a man as if searching for the white tissue matter that lay inside, and trailed the pad of his thumb over a bloodied knuckle in contemplative silence.

You try to be discreet with your glances as you knelt to pick up your apples. 

“Should be more careful,” he murmured, and his voice tickles like tendrils of smoke at the shell of your ear. 

You scoff softly, glaring up at his imposing form above you, a bruised apple clutched in your hands. “Careful is no match for crazy.” 

Ais tilted his head down at you, and there was a dark light to the curve of his lips, a soot-stained flame sparking to life. “‘Spose not. But I would prefer it if you knew how to watch your back.” 

The sun slithered down the horizon, stealing light from the world, blanketing everything in a velveteen darkness, but Ais’s eyes were warm, too warm, as he looked at you, the hopeful red sunrise before the break of dawn. 

You hate that you enjoy basking in it. 

From where you still knelt on the ground, you reached a bandaged hand out and pulled at one of his pant legs, gripping the fabric and tugging with more force than you ought to. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Stop being irritating and help me pick up these apples.” 

Ais stared at where your hand was placed on his leg, and you witnessed a shadow rushing to speckle the light dancing in his eyes. You felt a heady twist in your gut, hot like blood baking on the pavement in the sun. 

Ais sunk to your level, quite close to you, too close, on the girt and grim of the alleyway floor, and suddenly you felt both smothered and comforted, his musk enveloping you in a cloying embrace; the spice of cloves undercut with the metallic melody of blood, kissing your nose as if in affectionate greeting. The husk of blood that you smelled on his body made you feel warm and slightly dazed, red clouds filling your head.

Ais scooped one apple up, turning it this way and that, considering it in silence. You stared at him, stared at the redness of the apple that matched the redness of his gore-slick hands, of his bright crimson eyes, his existence, and his hands blood-staining the dark that surrounded the both of you.

His eyes slid over to you now, and there was something strange glittering in the shadowy depths of his eyes, dark embers flickering in the heart of them, sparking against your skin. You have never felt so raw and vulnerable; you have never felt so elated to be seen.

“Sure,” he said, and there was a lightness in his tone that belied the honeyed darkness that festered in his eyes, “but I’m afraid you’re in debt to me, little sparrow.”

You narrow your eyes at him, trepidation and excitement warring inside you. “Since when have I ever been in debt to you?”

“Since right now.”

Making use of his strength, the apple held in his hands was suddenly split into two perfect halves. The juices from the fruit snaked a clean river through the blood coating his hands, a sweet baptism of the violence, the crisp aroma perfuming the iron-leaden air hanging heavy above you.

Eyes not leaving your face, Ais lifted one of the apple halves to his mouth and swallowed in one whole go, quick yet silent. You were too stunned to question what he was doing when he raised the other apple to your lips, waiting. “Open up.”

You could see his bloody fingerprints marring the flesh of the apple, his scarlet whirlpools imprinting himself on the delicate fruit. You felt angry. You felt disgusted. 

But above all else, you felt very, very hungry. 

You open your mouth tentatively, and he slides the apple half into your mouth, almost tenderly. Your heart skipped a beat and your gut curdled at the taste melting on your tongue, at the bitter sugar of metallic blood and saccharine wetness of fruit exploding your senses and sliding down your throat. 

Ais hummed his satisfaction, his thumb pressed gently to your lips, ensuring that you consumed every little piece. “Good job, sparrow. Didn’t think you had the stomach for it.”

“You’re sick,” you muttered, but you felt yourself relax under his warm, crimson gaze. 

His bloodied thumb was still against your mouth, radiating heat. You fight the compulsion to suck it deep into your mouth and lick him clean.

tags: @houseofsolisoccasum

[hisonlyreid-er]

Our kitchen

Summary: Despite the horrors you both see in your job, the comfort of your apartment is a bubble away from the real world.

Warnings: a slight mention to cases involving gore, mostly fluff

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

“Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”

Daily life was always a little different for you and Spencer. A normal couple may go on date night on Thursdays but for you, Thursdays are for catching serial killers in small towns. It may not be normal but it was just how it worked.

Having returned from a case yesterday, you and Spencer were allowed the day off today and decided to spend every moment of it attached at the hip. The day began with the two of you sat at the kitchen table. Spencer sat sipping his sugar with coffee while reading the paper and you sat nursing a mug of tea as you read the poetry book that has been waiting to be read for weeks. It was peaceful to just sit together, co-existing while doing your own thing.

The rest of the day was surrounded in a simple peace. You both went about your tasks, smiling as you crossed paths every once in a while. As you walked towards the kitchen to make lunch, you bumped into Spencer who was headed to the bathroom. His hand rested on your waist as you both looked at one another. " Fancy seeing you here." He smiled down at you. You released a little chuckle and stared at him with a goofy grin that you couldn't fight off anymore. "Such a coincidence Dr Reid." His eyes sparkled with love as he stared at your smile, never wanting this moment to end. He leaned down and pressed a small kiss to your lips while grinning before moving back. Just as you were about to move from his hold, Spencer gave a simple kiss to your forehead, his nose nestled amongst your hair. He took in a small breath through his nose and savoured the smell of coconut that was left from your shampoo. After standing there for a little while, you decided that it was time to carry on with your tasks and slipped from his grip. Walking down the hall, you were unaware of Spencers gaze following you as he stared with adoration adorning his soft feature.

The rest of the day flew by and now all that was left to do was cook dinner for the two of you. It was a task that you loved doing together. You both settled into your routine, Spencer began cooking the sauce while you boiled the water for the pasta. Everything as almost done when you let out a small shriek, hands gripped you from behind and pulled you back into Spencer body. He gave a slight chuckle and spun you round. You were so close that you could feel his warm breath fluttering against your cheek.

One of his hands left your body, reaching for something on the counter behind. All of a sudden music started playing from the speaker. The tempo was slow and the melody was soft. Spencer started swaying slightly with you still in his hold. He brought his face next to you ear, " May I have this dance?". You could feel your face flush a bright red at his words and all you could manage was a little nod. His hands became glued to your waist as your arms drapped over his shoulders, hands clasping behind his neck.

And you stayed like this for the duration of multiple songs, moving with one another to the music, staring into the eyes of the love of your life. In you entranced state, neither of you had noticed the pasta boiling over the side of the pot. You spotted in over Spencers shoulder and realised it had burnt. " Spence, the pasta.." was all you could manage before he turned his head and came to the same realisation. You released him and turned the gas off. Both of you looked at the ruined pasta and simultaneously burst into laughter. After deciding that it wasn't worth cooking anymore, Spencer suggested take out and you happily agreed.

You ended up on the couch, cuddled against his side with a box of pizza on his lap. Enjoying this moment was the priority because there was an understanding that you'd be called to deal with another monster soon enough, but for now this time was yours. For now, he was yours.

[idyat]

An idea

Hank x reader angst/fluff

Like reader getting Hurt and Hank going insanelly mad/protective over them 👀👀

Hank x reader

Insert Title

Summary: You almost die lmao

WARNINGS: Pretty hefty description of gore, blood and an almost dead body, reader gets shot lol

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

The alarm screamed as you ran through the halls, emptied out gun in one hand, the other trying its best to reach for your tablet and balance the files you were told to steal at the same time.

When you got it, you checked to make sure you were going the right direction. North West, drive-through storage room, perfect.

On your way there you smashed the alarm disabler off once you passed by it, for good measure. You winced from the glass shards but at least that damn noise was finally off. Picking up a gun from a dead agent, you ran down the building to where you needed to go as fast as possible before any reinforcements come and rough you up even more than you already were.

Eventually reaching the room you were supposed to exit through, you see a strange contraption on the door. You slowed down to check it out, make sure it's not a bomb, and it's...got S.Q inscripted on it? What the fuck?

A weird machine-looking thing with S.Q's logo or whatever tapped on it, stuck on th-

You hear a click and a beeping noise.

As you turn around, you barely have time to see yellow before a shot echoes in the room.

Fuck. You forgot how clever those engineer bastards could be.

* * *

"Hank? Do you hear me?"

Hank brought his bloody hand up to his earpiece.

"Loud and clear. What do you want Doc?"

2BDamned was lucky he only interrupted Hank after he was done killing all the agents in the room, otherwise he would have gotten a way ruder response, if any at all.

Hank wasn't eager on actually listening to anything that was about to be said to him, until the name of his lover was brought up.

"They were supposed to have left the base with the documents by now, but their tracker has been backing away from the exit? I think something happened to them. North-west, 1st floor storage room."

2B didn't need to tell Hank what to do, the latter dropped the corpse he was holding and rushed out like a raging ghost, ready to mow down whatever came across his path.

* * *

The engineer dragged his last victim's body along the floor as he communicated what he found on them.

"Yup, they were the one with the files. Gotta say, I'm surprised at how easy it was to trick them, I might as well have wiggled a cardboard cutout of Nick and they would've fallen for it!"

The radio-like voice laughed before quieting down when something was said in the intercom.

"Make sure to check if they're dead. Stay wary of your surroundings too, last time we checked the rest of 'em were still here."

"Yeah yeah. I'm using a big caliber, I'm sure it'll be good."

The ATP brought the body up to his eyes. There were indeed multiple gaping holes in their body, slowly gushing out blood and leaving a red trail behind him.

"Your optimism will be your downfall engineer, be careful."

"If you say so. Hey, now that we've mentioned Nick, tell him to buy me some smokes when he lea-"

The engineer suddenly whipped his body around, gun pulled up.

"...I heard something. Over."

It's funny how serious he just got, pointing his flashlight and weapon at every corner of the room, slowly advancing, dragging your body with much more care than before.

He begins going down the hall just a little bit faster. Both out of safety, and maybe because of a tiny prick of fear.

While he power walks, he looks back behind him one last time, just to check. The next thing he knew, he bumped against a tall bloody mass.

Just like you, the last thing he saw before blacking out was the splashing of his own blood.

But despite the burning rage, the want to hear this asshole scream until its lungs were fried, the killing machine threw the two halves of the body to the wall and fell to his knees, hands shaking in a frenzy to find out how to make rudimentory treatments before his dearest bled out.

All he could do at the moment was rip up tissues to stuff into the bullet holes and wrap a bandage around the wounds. He would have just torn off hunks of his own flesh to replace yours, but he wasn't yet sure if not only that would lead to an infection or not, or if that would even work any better than cloth.

Even when unconscious, your hands twitched at his first-aid attempts. It hurt. He knew it hurt. But he couldn't do anything about it. And on fucking god if that didn't break his heart. That and the dread of watching the life essence still slowly flow out of you as he called up to Doc.

"Emergency. NOW."

He held you up and ran to the car. No one could see it, but he was praying to any deity that may be left up there for you to be okay.

Protecting you was the best thing he knew to do. Even more than murder. And failing even this once would be a fate worse than an eternity of hell.

* * *

Pain. That was all you felt as the medbay light made you tear up slightly.

You closed your eyes, trying to sleep just a bit more, and potentially numb the horrible pain in your chest, but your attention is now also caught by the muffled voices in the room.

It takes a few minutes and what feels like a few injections for you to finally fully regain consciousness. When your sight unblurs, arm on the forehead to block out the brightness and pain, you see two red circles staring down at you.

"...Hi sweetie."

Hank almost jumps in happiness to his partner speaking up, his cold and calloused hands rubbing over your arm and sides, careful not to touch your many injuries.

"Excited, big guy...?" You tiredly say as you wrapped your arm around his and kissed his wrist. Your voice was weak, but you were smiling and alive and that's all that mattered to him at that moment. "Anything...what happened...?"

"You got shot."

Your eyes widen a bit, you didn't notice 2BDamned in the room until he spoke up while analyzing you a little more.

"Well...yeah, I figured. Anything else?"

"Hank over here finally understood how to not use food wrappings as bandages."

You let out a raspy chuckle. Hank definitely didn't care though, he was too focused on making sure you wouldn't faint and die at any moment.

It took a few minutes before Doc left the room. A few minutes of desperately trying to get to you for further examination without Hank giving him a death glare and pulling his partner away, closer to him.

When 2B finally left the room, he suddenly wrapped his arms around you as gently as possible and pulled you in, resting his head in the crook of your neck and relishing in the feeling of your living skin against his.

"Hanky? You alright?"

"No."

You softly hug him back with a sympathetic look on your face. He was breathing heavily, maybe even shaking a little. He hadn't let you go ever since you woke up, in fact his grip only got tighter and tighter, as if you would fade back away the moment he stopped.

"Hey, it's okay. It was just another little shot, nothing new."

You smile and rub his back, completely unaware of the hours spent to heal you back, of how many times you've flatlined during it, of all the empty blood packets sitting in the trash bin, of how they've genuinely considered just letting you die so they can bring you back later, of all the injections, bandages, tissues, spare organs, and most impirtantly, of how fucking scared Hank was.

Could he have been there to hold your hand while you agonised under 2BDamned, god damn he would have. He would have held it tighter and with more love than any gun he's ever handled. Maybe that's why he seemed so angry at Doc. As reasonable as it was, not being able to get any closer than 10 feet from the love of his life while they were nearly dead was torture.

But it was over now. He could hold you close without your blood staining his clothes. You gotta admit, it was quite pleasant to have basically a living ice pack against you when your entire body felt like you were going through a blender.

You two kept quiet for a bit, appreciating the contact with your lover, before he whispered.

"I'm sorry."

"It wasn't your fault."

"I should've been there."

"You couldn't have known. I should have been more careful if anything."

Hank lifted his head up from your neck before grabbing your cheeks and digging his eyes into yours.

"Don't say that. You got me?"

Your smile widened a bit.

"Sure."

His head fell back onto you after that. How adorable was it to see a ruthless genocidal maniac cuddling up to you like a cat.

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

"..."

"Did you save the intel?"

"Fuck if I know. Ask Doc."

"Later. I prefer cuddles right now."

I got lazy with the end sorry

[shadesslut]

Idk if I’m doing this right but can u do a Chad Meeks Martin smut where she’s dating either Ethan or wes but her and chad have a secret enemies with benefits and she goes underwear shopping and Chad is there and there’s loads of flirting and stuff

I LOVED THIS REQUEST

little secret

MINORS DNI

Pairing: (Chad Meeks-Martin x Fem!Reader)

Content Includes: (Smut, cheating, slight voyeurism)

Masterlist

✮

✮

✮

Chad and Y/N’s relationship was…interesting to say the least. He had met her through Ethan, his roommate, and the moment he connected eyes with her all he wanted to do was rip off her clothes. His wish came true that night they met, and once he got a taste of her, he couldn’t get enough. There was one slight problem, she was dating Ethan. Neither of them were necessarily proud of what their little secret was, and it caused tension between the two around the others. To the others, they looked at their relationship full of hate. Oh how they were wrong.

Chad was having a bad day. It was Saturday, a guy like Chad was supposed to be having a good day full of drinking and hanging out with his friends. But, here he sat, alone in his kitchen. Ethan had left a few hours ago, with her, to go shopping. They invited Chad, well, Ethan invited Chad, but Chad didn’t want to be a third wheel once again. He also didn’t wanna have to stare at Y/N’s ass be groped by Ethan all day. 

He groaned, once checking his phone again for any new messages. He pressed on Snapchat, instantly going to his private album. He scrolled through the photos of Y/N, her bare body starting to arouse Chad. He reached into his sweatpants, starting to stroke himself. He softly whined, and his thumb accidently swiped on the screen, pulling up the map. He immediately stopped stroking as he saw Ethan and Y/N’s bitmoji pop up right next to each other. 

“Fuck me,” he groaned, taking his hand out of his pants. 

He was starting to get heated, and he huffed as he shot Ethan a text.

Chad

Changed my mind omw

2:36 pm

–

Ethan waved at Chad from a little table in the food court. Chad nodded as he walked over, dapping Ethan up. 

“I’m glad you changed your mind.” Ethan said smiling, offering Chad some of his fries. Chad only smiled, taking a fry. 

“Where’s Y/N?” Chad asked. 

“She’s um-looking for underwear,” Ethan quickly said, coughing. 

Chad laughed, but his cheeks grew warm. “Didn't wanna help her?” He asked teasingly. Ethan shook his head rapidly. Chad knew that the two had never slept together, so Ethan’s shyness was expected. 

Ethan’s phone buzzed, and he flipped his phone over, face going pale as he read the message. “Shit,” He cursed, immediately standing to grab his stuff. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“I-I forgot I work a shift at three, shit. Can you-“ Ethan stammered, shortly being interrupted by Chad. 

“I’ll drive Y/N home.” Chad assured him. 

Ethan let out a relief of sigh, and quickly thanked Chad before leaving. Chad was suddenly thanking himself for coming here. 

He looked around awkwardly for Y/N in the lingerie store. It was mostly full of women, some dragging their poor boyfriends along behind them. Chad’s eyes stopped on a mannequin, which was clad in a black lace set. The bra had a little pink rose on the center gore, and it had two black bows on the straps. The lace was see through, and Chad imagined Y/N wearing it, being able to see her nipples. 

His eyes wandered down to the panties, which also had a pink rose on it. The panties were connected to a garter, which connected to thigh highs. Chad drooled at the set, only picturing Y/N wearing it. 

“Can I help you, sir?” He heard a woman ask. He immediately spun around to the voice, embarrassed. He sighed as he saw Y/N. 

“Yes actually, I was thinking about getting this for a special lady.” He joked, slightly smirking. 

She snorted. “As if you have a special lady.” 

Chad smiled seductively, checking their surroundings to make sure no one was in the same area as them, before grabbing at her hips. “I think I do,” he whispered, his head tilting. 

Her eyes widened. “Chad, Ethan-“ 

“He left. Had a shift.” He interrupted. She let out a sigh of relief, and she pushed him away. Chad peeked at her shopping basket, looking at the sets of lingerie she threw in. “Can I see you wear them?” 

“No, I told you yesterday.” She said sternly. 

Chad remembered. The night before Y/N had called him, and she told him that their little ‘friends with benefits’ was over. 

“I know you told me yesterday, but you see, I didn’t agree to it.” Chad sarcastically said. 

She rolled her eyes at him, walking to the next section. Chad quickly grabbed the black set before following her. 

“It’s not up to you, I can’t keep doing this to Ethan.” She told him, looking through pairs of thongs. 

“Let me change your mind.”

“No.” She spat, grabbing the set out of his hands. She walked into the fitting room. Chad wanted to follow her in but didn’t want to seem like a creep, so he waited. 

He scrolled aimlessly on his phone, watching a girl leave the fitting room. He heard shuffling, and a loud sigh. “Chad?” Y/N shouted from her room. 

“Hm?” 

“Can you,” another sigh. “Can you help me?” 

He chuckled before standing up and knocking on her door. She opened it a tad, letting him in. “Alright babe, I’m here to assist-“ 

Chad’s mouth, figuratively speaking, was on the ground. She was wearing the set he had admired previously, but the garter was clipped on. His eyes immediately went to her breasts, and he practically drooled at the sight. 

“Can you help me with the garter?” She asked, huffing as she tried to clip it on. 

He nodded quickly, his hands instantly reaching to her thighs. He stuck his tongue out as he focused on clipping it on, but failed to do so. She let out a groan and slumped in the chair. Her hips slid towards his face, and her legs spread open. Chad’s eyes flicked up in between, and he felt himself get hard again. 

“So, I know you said things were over, but, your vagina is quite literally in my face.” Chad said, looking up at her. She let out a slight laugh. 

“What’re you gonna do about it?” 

Oh. 

Now that set off Chad. 

His eyes turned dark, and he grabbed at her waist, causing her to yelp. He shushed her by smashing his lips on hers, and he practically ripped the panties off. She gasped at the cold air, and Chad grinded his hips into hers. 

He picked her up in his arms, holding her ass with his hands. 

“Chad-We can’t, We can’t do this here. Someone will hear,” she whispered, panting. 

He only kissed her neck sloppily, and slowly pulled down his sweats and boxers. “Then I guess you’re gonna have to keep your mouth shut.”

Chad shoved his dick inside of her, instantly moaning at her warm feeling. He rocked his hips up into hers, and he squeezed her ass. Her hand flew to cover over her mouth, muffling her moans. 

He thrusted his hips into her at a quick pace, burying his face into the crook of her neck. 

“Fuck you always hug me so tight,” he whimpered. 

She only moaned in response, wrapping her legs around his wait. His chest bounced as he moved, and he started to play with her tits. At this point, they were shameless, moaning and whining each other’s name, having no care in the world to who heard them. 

“Chad,” she said, breathlessly. 

He looked at her, still sliding his dick in and out of her smoothly. 

“I’m gonna cum,” 

Chad only chucked dryly, his ego boosted. “Already baby? What, poor thing isn’t used to this kind of treatment from her sweet boyfriend?” Chad mocked. 

“Don’t talk about him while you’re- Ah! Fuck, while you’re inside me,” she protested. 

“I bet he wishes he could fuck you like this. Hell, fuck you at all!” She started clenching around him even harder. “I bet he thinks about you when he touches himself, huh?” He whispered, teasingly. 

Her eyes started to water at the spot the tip of his dick hit perfectly, repeatedly. 

“I bet you think about my cock when you two make out. Do you baby? Do you think of your little secret’s cock?” 

She nodded rapidly, wrapping her arms around his neck as he continued to pound into her. 

“Are you gonna let me cum inside you baby? Like the good girl you are?” He whispered, his mouth pressed up to her ear. Again, she nodded desperately. 

He grunted, rolling his hips into her a few more times before cumming inside of her, her finishing along with him. Chad looked down in between them as sweat dripped down his forehead. He half-smirked at the sight of his white liquid spilling onto the pair of panties. It was alright though, he had planned to buy them for her anyways.

[cvpidsb0ws]

❛LITTLE MISS NURSE.❜ | shuntaro chishiya x fem!reader

genre: FLUFF WEEWOOWEEWOOWEEWOO (enemies kind of shit)

warnings: gore and yes😆😆😆

sypnosis: after hours of waiting for shuntaro chishiya to return from a deadly game, he finally came back. with a lot of blood too. who else would patch him up if not you?

author's note: STOP I ACCIDENTALLY POSTED THIS WHEN I WAS STILL WORKING ON IT ITS SO 👎👎👎👎👎👎👎👎 anyways men in pain r one of the hottest things ever. 😁😁😁😁 (big big big bonus if its shuntaro chishiya!!!!!!)

dedication: @emiemith <333

the pitter-patter of your shoe was heard throughout the whole room, bouncing off the walls, for your foot has been unconsciously tapping the floor the past few hours due to nervousness. minutes turned into hours, and shuntaro chishiya still hasn't been seen. messy hair, sweaty forehead, glassy eyes, chest heaving up and down, fidgeting hands. you had it all.

what if he died?

it was a small chance, knowing he was a one of a kind. but it was still a chance that could happen at any time. no one was invincible in borderland.

but still, you held onto that rope of hope that he was still alive. he had to be.

no, you and chishiya were lovers. you were not even close at all. you were enemies, always at each other's neck, always fighting over the simplest things, and such. but there were times when you both shared your love and care for each other. in your own ways.

and as if your prayers have been answered, chishiya came through the door. but as soon as he stepped in, he immediately collapsed to the floor, coughing out blood. and you didn't waste time to rush by his side to help him.

it took a long time, but with his arm slung around your shoulders, you carried his passed out body all the way to your own room.

you let him lie down on your bed, and you scrambled to get all of the materials you needed to make him feel better.

looking down at chishiya, you tried your best to put your fears aside, and finally look at him. he was truly hurt. he had small cuts adorning his face, and you tried to take his jacket and his shirt off due to the pool of blood on his clothing. but doing so made him jolt awake.

"(name)?"

the sound of his raspy voice made you look back up at him, and you smiled as a way to comfort him. to let him know everything was going to be okay.

"chishiya, you're awake!" you expressed, teary-eyed. you were literally on the verge of breaking down. him being hurt made you hurt. maybe even more.

"(name), you look like you're about to cry. you care about me that much, huh?" he teased you with a smirk, barely keeping his eyes open. "a few scratches won't hurt me. you don't have to patch me up, darling, just because you have a crush on me."

you forced an irritated laugh, ignoring the 'darling'. it meant nothing at all since he always called you that, knowing you got annoyed every single time. to prove a point, you slightly pressed the obvious wound beneath his shirt, and watched as he winced, throwing his head back with a groan.

you chuckled as you pulled away, turning away to grab a wet cloth to clean his wound with. with a smile, you looked at him. "now be a good boy and remove your shirt unless you want me to do it for you, shuntaro."

rolling his eyes, he carefully removed his jacket, and his shirt soon followed. you couldn't help but gawk at the sight. not because of the gash on his stomach, but because of how his body was perfectly sculpted.

you were stuck to your place, and chishiya looked up at you with a teasing smirk. "well, little miss nurse?"

you were quick to cough as a way to clear your throat, licking your lips. and you then sat down on the bed, leaning closer to clean the blood surrounding his wound.

as you were treating the gash, you could hear him trying his best to keep his whimpers and groans quiet. you stopped yourself from smiling uncontrollably after hearing such things, mentally scolding yourself.

"i didn't know you were that good with this, (last name)."

scoffing, you rolled your eyes at him, as you tightened the bandage you were currently wrapping around his stomach.

"and i didn't know you were stupid enough to get stabbed during a game. i mean, it's a shame really . . . seeing such a handsome face with cuts."

"oh, so you do find me handsome?" chishiya remarked with a devilish grin, knowing you were becoming irritated. but it's a good thing you already finished.

ignoring the question, you stood up with a victorious 'done'. he watched you, tilting his head to the side before saying

"if i knew you would be the one to patch me up after getting hurt, i would hurt myself every day."

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Whumpuary Day 5-6

Prompt: “This is gonna hurt.”

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore; description and treatment of injury; blood.

There weren’t a lot of things you could say were worse than trying to survive in a dystopian world with walking corpses that want nothing other than to eat you alive. Seeing Daryl in pain though? That ranks almost at the top of the list. 

Currently, you were trapped in a warehouse, surrounded by the dead, and your partner had a piece of bone protruding from the lower part of his left leg. It would have to be set and soon. He would barely be able to walk after you handled it, but definitely not before. 

Still, you were hidden in a small square of pallets. All it would take was one walker wandering off and rounding the end. You had no choice but to act fast. 

“Daryl.” You whispered as loudly as you dared, patting the side of his face to rouse him. His face scrunched, eyes clenching shut before fluttering open. His expression remained pinched and heavily lined with pain. You already had your finger to your lips when his eyes focused and found your face. “Your leg’s broken.”

“No shit.” He whispered sharply, immediately muttering an apology. “Gotta set it. Can’ walk on it like this.”

“I know.” Your expression radiated sympathy. “This is gonna hurt.” The moment he bit back a snarky retort did not go unnoticed. He decided to simply nod instead. You needed to be strategic but thorough. The leg was a mess, blood steadily oozing from around the bone. 

“Get on with it, woman.” Daryl was panting, visibly steeling his resolve for the pain that was to come. You swallowed hard, knowing for certain that it would take little effort for him to buck you off in an automatic reflex. It was a risk you’d have to take. 

Pressing a knee onto his thigh, you reached to grasp his ankle. When you forced the first move, your body lifted with the rigid tension of the muscles under your knee. To his credit, the archer didn’t make a sound, merely pulling deep breaths through clenched teeth. You couldn’t stop now. It needed to be like ripping off a bandaid. A large, shifting of bone, bloody bandaid. 

Your free hand came to rest just above the protrusion. Biting your own lip, you shifted his ankle and placed gentle but firm pressure against the bone, feeling the grind beneath your palm. Daryl’s breaths were becoming harsher behind you but you persevered. Blood was spilling onto the concrete. It was only a matter of time before the walkers picked up the scent. With only the dim light of the moon through the windows far overhead, you made sure the bones were aligned and gave one last twist and push, the audible adjustment finally enough to draw a scream from your hunter. 

You released his leg and twisted around to press both of your bloody palms against his mouth, your forehead against his. “I’m sorry. I know. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Ssh.” You soothed, looking over his shoulder and through the spaces between pallets. The dead had frozen, their heads moving robotically to try and pin down the origin of the sound. 

Daryl’s eyes were wide, clouded, and frenzied. The pain being severe enough to overload the archer’s senses meant that it was bad. 

“I know, ssh.” You kept one hand over his mouth and let the other pet over his hair, rising enough to press your lips to his damp forehead while you kept your eyes on the walkers. They were still on alert but beginning to shuffle along. You just needed to guide Daryl through the worst of the discomfort and get him on his feet. 

Slowly and carefully, you maneuvered from the awkward position you had found yourself in while trying to silence him. Your hand still over his mouth, you now straddled his thighs, keeping your boots away from the injury on his shin. His breathing was beginning to return to normal, eyelids heavy over a dazed set of electric blue irises. 

“Daryl, are you with me?” 

A cool hand wrapped around your wrist and moved your palm away from his mouth. “M’here.” He whispered tiredly. Before you could rethink the urge, you pressed your mouth to his, hard and desperate, as well as apologetic. When you separated, your foreheads still touching, he thumbed away the blood on your mouth with a weak smirk. His mouth looked horrible though the blood had come from your hands. You tried and failed to smile, using your sleeve to wipe the mess from his face as best you could. “Le’s get outta here, sunshine.”

You stubbornly refused to cry, sniffing as you pulled away and rose to your feet as slowly as possible. There was a slim chance the movement could be noticed through the spaces between the pallets. “I’ll splint your leg once we get far enough away. They can handle the rest at the infirmary.” You offered your hand, the other gripping beneath his arm to help him to his feet. Daryl nodded once, leaning on you as you led the way. 

The journey was slow, shifting and ducking to stay out of sight until you could reach the door. A few stragglers lingered there. Shit. The only option was to make a run for the bike. 

“Daryl—”

“I know.” He knew what you were thinking. Of course he did. The two of you were a well oiled machine, becoming a force to be reckoned with over the years. You dipped your chin and mouthed a countdown. When you hit one, you moved together, his arm over your shoulders and yours around his back. His limp was pronounced but he didn’t slow down. Walker after walker reached for the two of you as you passed, signaling the others with their eager snarls and increased pace. 

There was no time to argue once you reached the bike. One second would be enough for either of you to be in danger of being grabbed. Daryl knew he couldn’t drive, but that didn’t stop him from cursing a blue streak when he had to climb on behind you. Only a portion of the vulgarity was due to pain. 

“Don’t worry!” You called over the rumbling engine. “I won’t tell anyone I finally got you to ride bitch for me.” Toeing up the kickstand, you urged the motorcycle into motion, decaying fingers only inches away from finding purchase. 

His leg was a pulsing, painful disaster but Daryl couldn’t resist holding tighter around your waist and brushing his lips over the side of your neck to lean in close to your ear. “Guess it ain’t so bad if s’you m’ doin’ it fer.”

“Don’t distract me!” You laughed. He could just picture your beaming smile. “I’ll crash and fuck up your other leg!”

“Nah, wouldn’ wan’ all tha’.” He smirked, resting his chin on your shoulder as you handled the bike like a pro, eating up the miles toward home. 

Taglist:

@thegeorgiahuntsman @livingdeadblondequeen @feral4daryl @deansapplepie @walker-bait-1973 @lazyneonrabbitt @bizquake @littlelovingideas @ririi-3 @ankhmutes @blackvelveteen1339 @sokkasimp101 @lehhos @loganlostitall @callmeyn @she-who-writes-for-multi-fandoms @gutsby @isakyakiisak @in-this-minute @eljaynosine_triphosphate @abbyreedus @wifeof-barnes @bigbaldheadname @bananafire11 @graciepies @georgiadixon @esgoraths @hutchersonsgurl @she-could-never @Kenzimae67 @nessa-mayfield @ilovedilfs4eversthings @KatelynAngel @richardsamboramylove55 @m0ss-g0blin @annhells @abi67sblog @nessieart @imgeorgeclooney @brinteylovesaliens @eduardast4rgirl @ass-butt-themusical @daryldixmedown @willowaftxn83-87 @ashtonbabe @atyourmomshouse01 @dixonzzgirl @unhingedbiatch @bultamer @lumimon47

[kelppsstuff]

Let’s make a deal ch.2? 🧍‍♀️cause ch.1 got me in one hell (😏) of a chokehold

Let’s make a deal.

Part One | Part Three

Masterlist

Warnings: violence, gore, cannibalism

Taglist: @fandomsbookclub @adamsfavoritesinner @leathesimp @michelleszn @sashaphantomhive @ladyninggs @sirenetheblogger

Human Alastor x demon F!Reader

—

Life went on normally for Alastor, however every time he went around Belle he felt a tug around his neck. As if a reminder on who owns him.

He hated the feeling. Even if he didn’t see you again, he still felt the leash on him. The only time he felt he could get away from his invisible collar was when he brought people the death they deserved, as if you were rewarding him.

And you were. The more souls he bring down to hell, the more souls you gained. Even if he didn’t know it, he was helping you.

You’d often find yourself watching Alastor. It was very rare you didn’t, and today was one of those rare times. You had the pleasure of helping the darling Rosie with her shop.

You rang the cannibal up and that’s when you felt it. A pull on Alastor’s life. You were quick to jump up to the mortal plane. A gift only overlords and royalty could do.

When you walked through the portal and appeared behind two men. You saw Alastor on the ground hand on his side. You saw the blood slipping through his hands and onto the floor.

Your eyes glowed (E/C) and you pushed your hand through the back of one of the men. Once you felt the organ, you ripped out his heart.

The man fell to the ground, while you took a bite of the heart. “Two against one? I excepted better form.” You have a grin, one that could rival the devil.

You let the heart drop to the body. You licked the blood off your fingers while the other man started to shake, crying.

Before he could say a word his head was blown off. The blood splattering all around you and Alastor.

“I didn’t realize you were so desperate to see me again that you would kill yourself to get to hell.” You gazed sharpens to Alastor on the floor.

(F/C) smoke surrounds the two of you, making you reappear in Alastor’s house.

“What-what are you doing here?” You started to unbutton his shirt. He couldn’t even try to resist — no matter how much he wanted too — he was too tired.

“Saving your Arse.”

“Such language.”

You felt your eye twitch. Somehow this man brought out annoyance in you that you didn’t even know existed.

“Wanna explain what the hell that was?” It was a question and a demand of an answer. “I may have underestimated my victims.” That was an understatement.

You felt your self sigh. You started to stitch up the small cut on his side. It was small, but could have been deadly. Luckily no vital organs, he would live.

“Get some rest.” You spoke up when you were done fixing him up. Alastor went to inject but found he couldn’t. The hell? Could you really demand anything from him?

In that moment he knew how powerful a soul could be. In that moment he wanted freedom.

—

Alastor went to his kitchen — looking for food — the next morning. Only to be met with the view of you on his recliner. Head titled back with snores coming from your mouth. Luckily they were quiet snores. Still funny though.

The knife on the dining table glinted in the morning sun.

He grabbed the object and made his way behind you. He pushed the sharp knife to your neck.

The snores stopped. Your eyes open quickly. Now you could easily remove yourself from the situation. And you would, if you felt threatened.

“Oh you gonna kill me now? Go ahead try.”

Your voice was stern but yet almost begging. Alastor’s eye shades over with the bloodlust that was so familiar. One swipe, and you be dead. It would be over.

The pressure tightened and he slit your throat.

Red dark crimson blood flooded down your neck. Down onto your white shirt. You could feel yourself chocking.

The the slit started to close with a faint (F/C) glow. You stood from the recliner, popping your neck. “That was anti-climactic don’t ya think? Hey you gave it a good try though.”

You spoke, as if the whole situation was an after thought. It was almost laughable. Alastor had the same shocked look you had oh so long ago.

You ignored his questioning face. “Hey? Do you know how to drive a car?” You hadn’t had the chance to learn unfortunately. You never spent much time out of your home.

“How are you alive?” His voice was in a disbelieving whisper.

“How am I alive?” You whispered in disbelief. You shook your head as you looked at the cut that was now healed through the mirror.

You looked to the angel. “Belle why am I alive?!” You sobbed. She didn’t answer. Instead she left. Left you all alone.

You sunk to the floor, begging to be saved from this hell. Begging to die. Begging for him to come back. Come back to you.

“Y/N?” Alastor’s hand waved in your face. You shook of the memory. Jaw clenching from the feeling forming in your chest.

“Quite bold, even after I saved you. I’m impressed, chills. How about we make another deal?”

The taller man glared down to you. “You really think I’m that stupid?”

You brow raised as if saying yes. “If you can kill me, I’ll give you back your soul.” Once again, Alastor’s interest was back.

“What’s the catch?” He’s learning.

“You’ve gotta get creative with it.”

Alastor smiled. This would work splendidly in his favor. “Deal.” He signed the contract just like before.

Once it had disappeared he hurried to jab the knife in your chest. You looked to the knife sticking in your chest. ‘Really?’ You thought to yourself.

“Unfortunately it’s gonna take a lot more than that to kill me.”

Alastor glared at you with a new passion. With hatred. With desperation. “Even a demon can be killed. So help me Y/N I shall find away to erase you from this universe.”

You took a step closer to him and smiled. “Good luck.” (F/C) circled around you only leaving the knife to drop to the floor in your place.

Alastor felt his side stinging. He opened his shirt and saw it was red. Most likely had dirt or something in it.

He opened his fridge — looking for food — and saw an ointment with a note. “Reapply every hour.”

—

Ik ik super short! I plan to have Part 3 out like soon soon. I have some exciting events happening right now! So that’s mostly the reason I’ve been working slow!