#the armorer knows when to give space

[julesdraws]

(click for better quality)

For @swfemmefrenzy 's second week prompt MAND'ALOR

aka a very moody doodle (very sketchy bc my finals are coming and i have literally NO TIME to do shit)

Scene redraw plus improvement (bc any scene is better if the armorer is in it:)))

[thetreetopinn]

Sources for Somerton's Plagiarism from Hbomberguy's Video (as much as I could get)

I went back through Harry's video, focused entirely on the sources James Somerton pulled from in the hopes of creating as much of a comprehensive list as I could--though my Google-Fu is not very strong. I did however find something I thought was forever lost and that made me very happy--specifically the magazine Midlands Zone containing the column by Steven Spinks that Harry poignantly used as an illustration of gay erasure... while Somerton uses it to sound like HE is waxing remorseful about the very subject.

This is not a complete list, I'm sure. For one thing, I was only able to attempt to pull sources that Harry himself mentioned in the video. Surely there's so very much more out there. I expect there to be a great deal more internet archeology to unearth just how much writing and culture Somerton has stolen like he's the British Museum of Natural History but for gay people.

- - - - -

Harry's list of mentioned youtubers:

Alexander Avila - https://www.youtube.com/@alexander_avila Matt Baume - https://www.youtube.com/@MattBaume Khadija Mbowe - https://www.youtube.com/@KhadijaMbowe Lady Emily - https://www.youtube.com/@LadyEmilyPresents Shanspeare - https://www.youtube.com/@Shanspeare RickiHirsch - https://www.youtube.com/@RickiHirsch VerilyBitchie - https://www.youtube.com/@verilybitchie

Harry created a convenient playlist of videos by these and other people he wants to bring to everyone's attention.

Please give them your support.

- - - - -

Midlands Zone Magazine - Column by Steven Spinks

After a great deal of searching, I found an archive of the "Midlands Zone" magazine, where you can read through past issues dating all the way back to February 2014. I have also found the issue from which Somerton took Spinks' poignant discussion of gay erasure: Overall archive Specific Issue - Pages 16-17

It will not allow you to download it, but you can read it exactly as it appeared in print form.

- - - - -

My best effort to find the exact book or article Somerton lifted from to be able to get attention to the original writers

Tinker Bells and Evil Queens By Sean Griffin

The Celluloid Closet By Vito Russo Wikipedia article about the book Wikipedia article about the documentary My weak google-fu could not find where you can access the book or documentary. Check your local municipal or university library for book or documentary, or if you know a good source for one or both, please reblog with it added

Camp and the Gay Sensibility By Jack Babuscio

The Groundbreaking Queerness of Disney's Mulan By Jes Tom Personal site with links to social media accounts

Why Rebel Without a Cause was a milestone for gay rights By Peter Howell

Why "The Craft" is still the best Halloween coming out movie By Andrew Park

Opinion: From facehuggers to phallic tails, is 'Alien' one of the queerest films ever? By Dani Leever

Women and Queerness in Horror: Jennifer's Body By Zoe Fortier

[Pride 2019] We Have Such Sights to Show You: Hellraiser and the Spectrum of Queerness By Alejandra Gonzalez

Revealing the Hellbound Heart of Clive Barker's 'Hellraiser' By Colin Arason

Queering James Cameron's Aliens (1986) By Bart Bishop

Demeter and Persephone in space: transformation, femininity, and myth in the 'Alien' films By David Greven

Fears of a millennial masculinity: Scream's queer killers By David Greven (Scholarly site, unable to access original work, offers a way to request a full copy of the text in PDF)

Queer Subtext in Stephen King's It - Part 1: 'Reddie' Character Analysis By Rachel Brands Rachel is the very unfortunate lady who found out she was being stolen from because she supported Somerton through Patreon and saw one of his videos early with her writing--lacking any form of citation or credit

How 'It: Chapter Two' Leaves Richie Tozier Behind By Joelle Monique

When Horror Becomes Strength: Queer Armor in Stephen King's 'IT' By Alex London

Why Queer People Love Witchcraft By Amanda Kohr

'The Favourite' Queers The Past And The Present By Giorgi Plys-Garzotto

(Wuko) Crush (Mako x Wu) By MoonFlower on YouTube

5 Terrible Movies With Awesome Hidden Meanings By J.F. Sargent

The Radicalization of Sexuality: The Queer Casae of Jeffrey Dahmer By Ian Barnard

Netflix's 'Dahmer' backlash highlights ethical issues in the platform's obsession with true crime By Shivani Dubey

The Possible Disturbing Dissonance Between Hajime Isayama's Beliefs and Attack on Titan's Themes Original Article by "Seldom Musings" (Author has made all posts not related to Attack On Titan private and has retired from the blog)

Everyone Loves Attack on Titan. So Why Does Everyone Hate Attack on Titan? By Gita Jackson

- - - - -

The following people are otherwise named in the video. There are no direct citations of articles or books by them in said video. I am unable to guarantee that I have identified the correct individual.

Darren Elliott-Smith Michaela Barton David Church Claire Sisco King Amanda Howell Jessica Roy

- - - - -

Telos announced and cancelled a film likely based on this book: The Final Girl Support Group - By Grady Hendrix

- - - - -

I refrained from including certain sources.

First off only focusing on Somerton's work.

Secondly not including anything that might be visible enough to not require amplifying their voice (I cannot speak for all of those I have found links to, but journalism is frequently a thankless job).

Thirdly any source that is of a nature that is antithetical to the very existence of the queer community, such as the right-leaning source that didn't make it into Somerton's video, but Harry was able to identify as a source he had considered using.

If you feel I have missed a mentioned source--or you know of a source from material that was not covered in Harry's video--please do not hesitate to reblog with added details.

- - - - -

Please share this information far and wide, and please add to it if you find more material that can be positively identified and linked to the creator/writer.

[andejoe]

No one wanted to ask. Someone had to. It was terrifying. But it made sense.

Of course humanity finally abandoned its planet. Everyone was surprised they hadn’t abandoned it sooner. Still, the concern was there.

What made humanity abandon their planet in a mass event? What thing was finally found to scare them off their favorite death world?

Of course not every last human abandoned the planet, but enough did that Earth was no longer considered ‘inhabited’. Humans flocked to other worlds, most choosing death worlds with similar biomes to the ones they preferred. (And there was a suspiciously armored ship heading towards Disney planet.)

The concerning thing was the humans kept going back. Never landing. Never breaking the atmosphere. Just driving by.

Finally, a delegate was chosen to ask the human council member. Poor Laeri was nervous, but they had been called friend by council member Daryl before. Surely this question wouldn’t be an offense.

“Daryl, may I speak with you a moment?”

Daryl paused, and nodded, careful not to smile. He was well practiced in the art of not offending. “Of course Laeri. What is the matter?”

“Humanity has recently applied for habitation permits for a dozen planets. As soon as the permits were awarded, humans left very quickly.”

“Well sure. The permits took three earth years to be approved. Most of the planet had been preparing for over five years at that point,” Daryl explained.

“Yes, that is not my question. The question is why?”

“Why were they ready?”

Laeri shook their head. “Why did they leave Earth? Humans have made it a point to ‘stick it out’ despite better options being available. Why leave now?”

“Oh, that. Well.” Daryl paused. He knew he didn’t have to report officially yet, but his friend wanted to know. “Will you keep it a secret from the council?”

Laeri paused. The answer being a secret did not occur to them. What could the humans possibly be hiding? Would they be able to hide it as well?

“I do not think I can keep any dangerous thing a secret,” Laeri finally admitted.

Daryl nodded. “Nor would I ask you to. It’s not dangerous, just a little experiment more like.”

“If it is an experiment, then you should speak with-“

“No Laeri.” Daryl interrupted calmly. “This isn’t something we want help with. That’s why we haven’t mentioned anything to the Viyon Academics. We just need time to see if it works.”

Their curiosity finally got the better of them.

“If what works?”

“A new society. A new civilized species.”

Laeri didn’t speak, but either from awe or concern, they weren’t sure. Daryl continued.

“We believe a species evolves when they start to take care of their injured and impaired. It means they have compassion. Well an intelligent species on earth has been observed showing compassion. We simply want to give them the space they require to evolve.”

Laeri considered the intelligent species that lived on earth. They were suddenly very concerned. Had the humans been duped?

“The dolphi are showing compassion?” Laeri asked.

Daryl almost laughed. “Not even close. No, we wouldn’t break the agreement we made. They’re not escaping earth anytime soon.”

Laeri felt immediate relief. “Then which species is it?”

Daryl smiled. He couldn’t help it. He liked birds. “Corvids.”

“But, but they’re so small.”

“We know. That’s why some humans are still there, zoologist types to help them grow, learn, and show them the way.”

“What if another species wipes them out before they get the chance?”

Daryl shrugged. “Well that’s why we left some warriors behind, to help keep the corvids alive while they grow. And of course to keep the dolphins contained. We do take that assignment very seriously.”

Laeri was excited now. Another avian species may be joining the galaxy soon. They wanted to tell everyone.

“Promise you’ll keep the secret?” Daryl asked.

Laeri felt their excitement dash upon the cruel rocks of reality. “I will.”

“Good. Here.” Daryl held out a small computer drive.

Laeri took the drive. “What is this?”

“The live feed of the experiment. You really think we wouldn’t watch? As soon as they reach civilized status, I have to report them. Until then, they’ve been completing some very complex puzzles and problem solving lately. You’ll want to start at the beginning but they post new information all the time.”

Laeri clutched the drive to their feathered tunic. Suddenly the small drive was priceless. “I, must go now.”

Laeri took off as fast as would be ignored by others. Daryl watched his friend, surprised by how excited they were. His watch gave him an alert.

“Ooh, a group puzzle. Wonder if they managed it this time.”

Daryl walked off to his own private quarters to watch the newest update on the corvids.

[yanderenightmare]

Gojo Satoru

TW: angst ig

gn reader

Gojo has loved you forever.

When the two of you were toddlers, he was never shy about kissing you and holding your hand. It was only when the two of you began school that he was taught that it wasn’t proper – a schooling that made him frown.

But his love for you never dimmed despite it. Growing up, he became nothing shy of a true bully pulling his crush’s pigtails. He’d flash his six-eyes and limitless techniques and tease you for your subpar cursed energy – often rescuing you like a faux knight in shining armor.

But despite acting like your older brother – he’s really been dreaming of you in carnal ways ever since he first found out what sex was.

Which is why he’d sling his arm around your shoulder when you were talking with other guys – having grown up so tall, he’d have to all but bow in order to level with the small fries – a sly smirk on his lips with his shades low on his nose.

“Ah – I didn’t know you had a boyfriend – I’m sorry.” They’d always stutter – feeling the chills of those icy blues pierce through to their bones.

“Ugh, Gojo – get off – you’re too heavy.” You’d argue in a familiar whine, shoving at his lanky shape – already fuming. “He’s not my boyfriend – he’s just a dumbass with no respect for personal space.”

“Oh – I’m more than that~” He’d insist. “Y’know, we got married on the playground when we were six.”

You’d roll your eyes at his attics. Huffing out a growl at him. But no amount of clenched fists and angry brows could hide the embarrassment. And ultimately, no guy really dared try their luck with you after being introduced to the white-haired childhood friend giving them death glares.

Which is why it’s baffling when he finds out about the wedding.

He’d seen you less and less over the years. He’d been busy as the newly awakened honored one – new missions almost every day. 

You’d capped out as a second-grade sorcerer and decided to become a teacher in Kyoto – sent out on missions every now and again, but mostly just to supervise students. 

He’d been glad you settled on something safe and not something you’d sooner end up being killed – like him. But he wasn’t overly fond that you’d chosen Kyoto over Tokyo where he could keep an eye on you.

But he supposes that’s exactly why you’d done it.

He knows he coddles you – knows you’ve always hated it – knows you hate it because you know he’s right to do it – knows you’d be dead if it weren’t for him.

How could you marry someone else? How could you choose anyone other than him?

He doesn’t respond to the invite. Doesn’t answer when you call. 

He’s gone for several months. 

You know through the assistant supervisors that he’s still accepting missions – out on the prowl, killing curses – doing little else.

You try to deny knowing why he’s upset. You love him like family, but he’s always been a child with too many toys – you, one of them. This is him throwing a fit over someone else taking what’s his.

But you know he’ll come to his senses after cooling off. You know he’ll be at the wedding – all smiles – if not happy, then pretending for your sake. 

In all his strange ways, you know that he loves you. And despite being childish, you know he’ll do the adult thing and let you go.

The two of you would never have worked. Which is why you’ve never given in to his googly eyes – that hand on your thigh when the two of you’d been drinking – that lingering stare resting on your lips – and those silver-toned words on his.

He’s with someone new every other week despite his unfair hold on you – keeping you for himself – placing you on a shelf among the other things he hopes he’ll one day grow into – like a pair of shoes bought a size too big.

But you know he’ll never get there. He’ll never mature enough to hold a relationship for any longer than a month or so – never mature enough to settle down somewhere and not hotel-hop from one five-star to the next – never mature enough to respect you the same way he respects himself – never mature enough to commit to anything but himself.

The two of you could never be a couple. You could never love each other in the ways you want to be loved. He would want you to stay at home and wait for him to come back – longingly as a sweet housewife would – and you’d want him to encourage you in your respectful career – happy for you like a supportive husband would. None of it matched.

You love him, but you would never be happy with him. You would never feel respected. 

So, that night when the two of you’d shared a kiss – you’d held him at arm's length and told him it was a mistake – that it would only serve to ruin your friendship. 

He’d taken it as you being flighty – just a cute road bump before you’d finally realize you were meant for him – before you’d come running to his arms with pretty tears dropping from your eyes while throwing yourself at him – all apologies and confessions and desperate kisses – telling him you couldn't live without him.

But there you are…

Walking down the aisle for someone else.

[moiderahart]

About the Warships in Armored Core 6

I'm basically repeating what I said on cohost here because I actually kind of love the designs of the PCA's ships in Armored Core 6.

Now much ink has been spilled about how they're "too weak" and "I wish they were harder :(" which is more just people saying they wish they had more setpiece levels like the STRIDER which, to be honest, same; I'd love that. But the warships are actually gigantic. They're like 300 meters long; comparable to a container ship or a carrier than a warship. But more importantly they have an exposed bridge and pretty rudimentary defenses uptop. The bulk of their defenses are all localized on the bottom. Lasers designed to scour the earth. A bay to deploy LCs and MTs, and a full wing of drones to keep you down. Some units even have railguns on their underside, some have missiles uptop to try and counter the weaknesses of the deck side of these warships, which to be fair, probably would have worked if the Karman Line level didn't give you infinite energy.

Arquebus doesn't really know how to handle these warships. Because they keep on throwing them at you as though they're traditional air-to-air war machines.

When you attack the PCA, they're either flying over the majority of your forces or their ships are outright docked.

Basically what I'm saying is these ships aren't designed for a fair fight. They fold like paper when they're faced with something that gets on the deck.

Because they're subjugation machines.

They are designed to bully a population into submission.

The PCA aren't a normal military force, they're fucking space cops.

[faerievampling]

Miracle

Summary: Years after the defeat of the Netherbrain, Astarion and Tav discover they are pregnant.

link to ao3!

Part 2

Pairing: Spawn!Astarion x Female Tav/Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Warning: 18+. Mention of breeding. breast milk. pregnancy. Astarion being very horny for all these things. body worship. angst. changes in POV focus. brief mention of abortion.

A/N: I'm totally going to write more about these two. I need a pregnant adventuring Tav and protective Astarion.

You had been cleaning off your armor after a long day of running errands for Jaheira and the Harper’s when you notice Astarion’s eyes on you.

You could feel his stare, and as you turn to meet it, the look on his face is peculiar, somewhere between shock and amusement. 

“Darling?” You ask, stopping your task to fully soak in his expression. “Astarion -“

“It’s nothing, my love, nothing,” His voice is dismissive, waving his hand as he tries to push beyond whatever he has been thinking. 

You notice his ruby eyes don’t leave yours for the rest of the evening. You can’t help but feel as though your vampire is avoiding you. 

But you decide to give him his space: this was often the remedy for Astarion’s mood swings. 

***

Astarion couldn’t figure it out. 

You had rarely left his side for the past few years. When would you have had the time to steal away with another man? 

Astarion wondered who he was, what he looked like. 

He curses. Why hadn’t he ever picked up the scent of this mystery man? His smell would have been all over your body.

And Astarion knew his nose was working just fine: your change in smell had been the very first thing he picked up on. Astarion certainly thought it strange, but he chalked it up to a weird diet. The two of you had been running through the wastes of Rashemen, and you had eaten a questionable animal that one night. 

No, it wasn’t that, Astarion was certain. That little flutter of a quickening he had heard earlier couldn’t be denied. Even though you were just on the other side of the wall, Astarion could hear the gentle thrum of two heartbeats. 

He sighs, running his hands through his curls. He’s certain that you don’t know. You weren’t good at hiding things, and you rarely attempted to lie anyways because you are such a sweetheart that it didn’t make any sense at all for you to have bed with another man and cause Astarion pain like this.

Astarion knows he just needs to talk to you, but for the unlife of him, can't figure out where to even remotely begin. Pregnancy and childbirth was…he didn’t even want to think about it.

A child? He can’t even really fathom having one around.

Astarion sits up, having found the resolve to finally confront you, and finds you on the porch of Jaheria’s estate, your eyes mindlessly scanning the streets of Baldur’s Gate.

Astarion takes your image before interrupting whatever thought you were having: you were a vision, a rare beauty that Astarion was so lucky to find. 

He swears his heart flutters for you sometimes. “Do you like being back in the city?”

You nearly jump, startled by the question. 

“Sorry, darling,” Astarion murmurs in apology.

You smile, laughing a bit as you collect yourself. “I do. It’s nice to see it all back together. The rebuilding efforts took longer than expected,” 

Astarion fears you’re going to keep talking about the mundane when all he can focus on is the beat of that little heart and how round and plump your breasts look beneath that blouse.

Astarion swears you’ve never filled out before; not like that.

“You’re staring again,” You say, your voice barely above a whisper. Astarion can see the worry in your face. “Just tell me, Astarion.”

Astarion swallows. “Well,” Astarion stumbles, rolling his eyes at himself as he tries to find his words. This hurt more than he thought it would. “You’re with child, Tav.”

***

You’re speechless. 

“I’d rather like to know who the father is.” Astarion’s eyes are round, wet, tears already lining them. He blinks them back quickly, trying to compose himself. He almost seemed surprised by his sudden lack of control of his handsome face.

“What?” You ask incredulously. 

“I’ve been trying to imagine him, to think about when you could have…” He stops himself, swallowing his upset before continuing to ramble: he keeps talking, stumbling while you’re still processing what he just said.

You interrupt him.“You’re saying that I’m pregnant?” 

“Yes.”

You’re silent for a while. You can feel Astarion’s nerves fraying at the seams, his emotions emanating through him, producing an aura that has encompassed you both. It made time feel slow.

“How do you know?” You ask a bit stupidly. You hardly had missed your monthly bleeding, only being a few days off, which was very normal for you.

“I can hear it. The heartbeat.” His voice is low, guarded. There is a thick moment of silence.

“Surely not,” You almost laugh. But Astarion’s face is still, eyes round and wide as he studies you. He looks devastated, and it makes your stomach drop.

You realize he’s being serious, asking you in earnest if you had been with another. You think you should say something. 

“You’ve been my only lover since the clearing, Astarion.” You want to reach out to him, but you think not. If Astarion had hackles, they would surely be raised. 

“So you’re going to chalk this up to some immaculate conception?” Astarion spats cruelly, his agitation getting the better of him as he flails his hands. “Instead of just telling me the truth?” 

You’re speechless again. You knew he wouldn’t lie about this, so you desperately try to accept the fact that you’re pregnant with Astarion’s child as he, the very man who has bred you, yells at you.

“Close your mouth, darling, you aren’t a fly trap.” Astarion quips, crossing his arms. 

The anger is rising inside you, his offense reaching a boiling point. Your fists clench, your eyes narrowing as you try to reason with him.

“Four weeks ago, we were in the Rashemen wilderness with only Minsc and Boo as our company,” Is all you can say. 

Astarion’s expression is locked in between confusion and betrayal. “Minsc has his charms.” 

You scoff. “You can’t be serious, Astarion.” Astarion’s gaze meets the floor. 

As you study your lover, your anger dissipates. You see how hurt he is, how unsure of himself he feels. He wasn’t likely to tell you that outright, but you knew.

You can’t place how you feel, anymore. You aren’t numb, per say, but there is a distinct lack of feeling within you. You hadn’t thought this a possibility. You didn’t know if you were happy or sad, or if you would even be up to the challenge.

You needed some time to think, to let this soak in. 

“You know, I just remembered that Shadowheart invited me over for tea the other day,” Your excuse is lame, but Astarion doesn’t stop you as you awkwardly walk down the steps, off to the crowded streets of the city. 

***

Astarion was a mess the whole time you were gone. He tried to keep himself busy by doing various things around Jaheira’s house, but he kept finding himself lost in thought, thinking about that little bundle of life inside of you.

He felt greatly relieved when you returned.

He waited for you in one of the spare bedrooms, the one you always shared when you two passed through Baldur's Gate. 

He was pretending to read when you came in, trying not to seem too eager to talk with you. He heard the continued thump of the little heart beat alongside your own. His anxiety is paramount, but he feels a wave of relief crash over him at the sound of the life inside of you.

Astarion tried to accept that you hadn’t slept with anyone else: you couldn’t have, it was literally impossible. And he knew you never would have, anyways. But, since you didn’t sleep with another man, that meant that he, Astarion Ancunin, impregnated you. 

“How was your date with Shadowheart?” Astarion asks, peeking over his book. You had begun to undress yourself, and Astarion couldn’t help but steal a glance. 

He noticed the sway of your breasts as you freed them; the tips of them being especially tight and a darker pink than usual. 

Gods. It was like you were purposefully wafting your scent right in his face. You were sweeter than usual, and Astarion felt a bit ashamed at his growing stiffness. 

Earlier, he had accused you of sleeping with another man, even though he very well knew you hadn’t. And now, he was ogling you, thinking about all the pregnant women he had seen in his long life: it hadn’t been very many. Pregnant women didn’t often frequent the flophouses late at night. 

But he imagined how your belly would swell, how your hips would round, and how your breasts would become even larger…the thought aroused Astarion, far more than he expected it to. He had to stop himself when he imagined your milk-filled breasts; another bodily fluid of yours that your vampire was desperate to taste.

“It was alright,” Your voice was shaky as you finally covered your breasts, to Astarion’s relief. He tried to ignore his swollen cock. “She confirmed. What you said.” 

Astarion places his book down, moving to sit at the edge of the bed, placing himself closer to you. He really doesn’t know what to do, or how he feels, but Astarion does know one thing: that he adores you, and he can’t handle the distance between the two of you. 

So, the vampire reaches out, desperate for your contact. Astarion feels much better when you take his hand, sitting next to him.

“I’m sorry for my accusation earlier. I’m just having a hard time wrapping my head around it all.” His tone is good humored, down to earth, as he wants to be sweet to you. You deserved it.

“It’s rare. Practically a miracle.” You say, but your face is absent of the smile that Astarion had expected from you.

Astarion didn’t really know how you felt about children. He assumed you didn’t want them because you chose to be with him, but he expected you to be a little bit happier than you looked. 

“There are remedies, you know. If we don’t want this.” You say, looking away from him as you do. 

“Well…it’s your body, Tav.” Astarion spoke gently, wanting to be careful with you, because you were always so careful with him. “I can’t tell you what to do with it.” 

Astarion imagined that if taking care of seven thousand vampire spawn in the Underdark was something the two of you had managed, then a child couldn’t be too difficult. (Many years from now would prove Astarion very wrong in thinking this).

“What If I keep it? Would you leave me?” You speak quietly, carefully, as if you were treading dangerous waters; asking questions you didn’t actually want to know the answer to.

Astarion doesn’t hesitate, desperately wanting to comfort you. “No,” Astarion squeezed your hand, grabbing the other as you faced each other. “I honestly can’t imagine a scenario where I would.” 

You smile a bit, and Astarion smiles back. “So, what do we do?” You ask tentatively. 

Astarion sighs, a hand going to caress your cheek, bringing you closer as he pulls you into a tender kiss. “We keep living, of course.”

Part 2!

Masterlist

[desperate-gay]

Pent Up Energy

Alex Morgan x fem!reader

a/n: 100% based off the game last night

SMUT 18+

Beads of sweat roll down the side of your head from the exhaustion. Colombia has decided not to play cleanly, instead wanting to be as physical as possible and you were bearing the brunt of it. Only 20 minutes into the game you have gotten tackled at least 3 times, each moment being more brutal than the last.

Luckily, there hasn’t been too much conflict between anybody, but that’s until your thoughts are interrupted by a bunch of shouting. Looking over to the left, you see your girlfriend stepping in the face of a Colombian player as the rest of the visiting team tries to meddle in. You quickly rush over to stop Alex, noticing she’s getting more heated every moment.

Slipping your way through the multiple bodies, you place your hand on the forward’s chest, gently pushing her back. You try your best to defuse the situation, but she just ignores you and continues to yell at the player, earning her a yellow card from the ref.

When she notices your hand on her chest, she wipes it off while scoffing before walking away. Trinity notices and quirks an eyebrow towards you, but in response, all you do is take a deep breath and shrug.

After the halftime whistle blew, Alex stayed clear of you. Usually, you both pep each other up for the next half but instead, she stayed quiet and to herself until everyone was sent back onto the pitch. Horan pats you on the back, giving you a sympathetic smile before running over to her position.

The game never dims down with players all showing their fiery side, specifically Alex and Trinity. That ends up playing a part when they both end up getting subbed out at the seventy-second minute.

“You played well.” You whisper, brushing your hand against Alex’s passing body. She spares you a quick look before walking off and onto the bench. Sighing, you lean down to fix your socks and peek your head over to your girlfriend only to see her staring into space with a stoic look.

The rest of the game is grueling but rewarding as you have beaten Colombia and are advancing to the semifinals. After an hour or so you’re boarding onto the bus, taking an open seat and hoping for your girlfriend to join you. Sadly, when she gets on, she doesn’t even glance toward you and decides to sit several seats behind you.

Slightly frustrated with the brunette, you huff and drop your head back against the cushion of the headrest before being interrupted by a giddy smile. You can’t help but smile back at the sweet girl.

“Hi, Naomi.”

“Hey, what are you doing once we get back to the hotel?” She asks while readjusting herself and setting her bag down by her feet.

“Well, I was planning to see if I could room with Alex, but it doesn’t seem like she wants anything to do with me at the moment.” You send Naomi a weak smile which she returns with a sympathetic one.

“Nonsense, we all know Alex gets moody at times but never directly at you. I’m assigned to be her roommate so why don’t we switch? I heard you got Soph anyway.” The defender digs in her bag, pulling out a keycard and holding it out to you.

You wearily accept the card with a small thank you and give her yours in exchange. For the remainder of the ride, Naomi helps you cheer up with a few stories and jokes about her little hangouts with some of the team.

“Time to cheer up the monster.” You groan in which Naomi just laughs and offers you a hand to stand up.

“I believe in you. Go save your knight in shining armor.”

“More like my beast.” You grumble, receiving chuckles from some of the girls who have overheard, none of them being Alex, thankfully, as she is still getting off the bus.

Walking into the hotel, you make your way to your room and are met with your girlfriend soon after. You shyly glance at her and see her confused gaze.

“I thought I was roomed with Girma?” Alex frowns while you give her a look of slight discomfort.

“Umm, Naomi wanted to trade so she could room with Soph and I thought rooming with you would be nice. I could go switch it back if you want.” You whisper, slightly scared she doesn’t want you near her and your voice might betray you.

“No, just stay with me.” The girl mumbles, opening the door with her key and rushing in with her baggage.

Your eyes follow her movements like a lost puppy while you stand by the door. Alex takes in the silence and looks up at you, stopping her scavenging in her back.

“What?” She asks, looking at you with an annoyed expression. You swallow back your nerves before making your way over to the bed and getting everything that you need out of your bag and ready for the night.

The thick silence lasts for around twenty minutes before you begin to feel irritated. Alex is in the little kitchen, leaning against the counter and looking at her phone.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” You finally ask gently, trying your best to keep your growing frustration with the striker at bay.

“Nothing.” Her tone remains empty, clearly not wanting to open up.

“It has to be something. You’ve been avoiding me all day, along with being quiet.” You explain, walking over to her but still keeping a little bit of space between the two of you.

“I told you, I’m fine.”

“Alex, you did amazing out there today, we won 3-0 and we’re advancing. If it’s about the card-“

“It’s not about the fucking card!” Alex finally snaps, dropping her phone on the counter and looking at you with a fiery gaze, but it doesn’t tear you down.

“Then tell me what it’s about, please. I can’t have you concealing all this anger. It’s not fair to you or me.” You try, voice becoming more and more desperate.

“Just shut up,” Alex warns, clenching her jaw as her hands tighten on the counter while shifting her eyes away from you.

“I’m just trying to help-”

Your sentence is cut off when your girlfriend storms over to you and she reaches out, gripping your jaw while pinning you against the wall. You look up at her with wide eyes, taking in her appearance. Wet hair, red cheeks, a zip-up training kit covering her body, and blown pupils.

“I said to shut up.” She grits, her hand never leaving your face. Her eyes look down at your lips for a split second and you luckily notice.

Without warning, she smashes her lips onto yours in a harsh kiss. Nothing about it is sweet or romantic. Both your tongues and teeth clash together like you’re trying to see who can last longer to this roughness. The hand on your jaw leaves and finds a new place around your neck, controlling every movement of your head.

“God you’re so hot. You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to have you all to myself again.” The taller girl rasps against your lips before moving down to nip at your neck.

While she attacks your neck, you finally put two and two together. You realize Alex may have been aggravated by this game but all of her pent-up anger mainly resulted from a little sexual frustration. With the NWSL preseason starting and the Gold Cup, you both have been busy at training camp and too exhausted to even think about starting anything.

But with Alex, she needs an outlet after she’s played, which is mainly sex. She can finally have total control of something and that something being you. You’re at her total submission, allowing her to do whatever she wants to you and making you do whatever she wants to her.

Her lips disconnecting from your neck pulls you out of your thoughts. You look up at her with your doe eyes and watch as her tongue licks her lips while she eyes you up and down.

Soon her hands grip your waist and tug you over to the bed. She sits at the end of the mattress and leans back with her hands holding her up while you remain standing in front of her.

“Strip,” Alex demands, watching as you slowly grip the bottom of your shirt and cautiously pull it over your head. When she takes sight of what seems to be a new bra, she sits back up and grips your naked hips.

“If you need to use me, use me, Alex.” You say boldly, returning her lustful gaze. Her jaw almost drops before she quickly starts unbuttoning your jeans and yanking them down so you’re only in your bra and panties.

“Get on the bed.” When you don’t immediately do as she says, she pulls you down herself making you squeal in the process. “When I say to do something, you listen, got it?” You nod your head, earning you a satisfied grin.

Alex’s body hovers over you with her wet hair curtaining any view other than her face. You blindly reach down and tug on the zipper of her hoodie, asking if you can take it off. She swiftly sits up and removes all of her clothes, leaving her bare.

“I guess I should take these off you now, shouldn’t I?” She taunts, hooking her finger on the waistband of your panties and letting go of them with a sharp snap against your skin.

“Please, Alex. I need you.” You whine, bucking your hips closer to her hand. She chuckles before leaning down and kissing on your chest. Her hand reaches around your back and unclips your bra, letting it slide down a little before taking it off altogether.

Instead of moving down, her lips move up your neck and to your ear. “So beautiful, I can’t wait to have you trembling underneath my touch and screaming for me to let you cum.” Her breath fans against your ear while her breasts are smushed against yours. She tugs on your earlobe with her teeth before sitting back up, admiring your body.

“I bet you’re already wet for me even though I have barely touched you. You probably like me roughhousing you around to my pleasure. So obedient for me.” You moan as she carelessly speaks of you while trailing her finger down the center of your stomach.

“Alex, baby, I need you. I need you to touch me, please.” Your body squirms while she continues to trace her finger down to your core.

She finally dips her hand in and spreads your arousal around, completely lost in her head on how wet you are. Her finger teasingly dips into you but only for a split second, causing you to whine out.

“God, I’ve missed this pretty pussy so much.” Your girlfriend groans before angling her arm in an awkward manner and plunging two fingers into you.

Her body leans down so her lips can latch onto your breasts, leaving hickeys anywhere she pleases. Moans spew their way out of your mouth at the long-needed pleasure, but her thrusts are nowhere near fast enough to get you off, mainly because of the way her arm is angled, so you reach down with a huff and kick off your panties, leaving no restraint for Alex.

“Faster.” You pant, rolling your hips with each thrust of the forward’s hand. She chuckles and moves her arm lower so she can pump in and out of you at an ungodly pace.

“Is this what you want? Want to get fucked so hard you won’t be able to think properly, huh?” She questions without her fingers even stuttering. The loud wet noises of her thrusts echo throughout the hotel room along with your whimpers and moans.

Her finger reaches a point inside of you that has your head spinning. The build-up in your lower stomach becomes more apparent as your core tightens around your girlfriend’s digits.

“I’m gonna cum, baby.” You moan, digging your nails into her bicep, leaving dark crescent indents in her skin which she loves.

Suddenly, the pressure in your stomach subsides due to Alex pulling her fingers out, making you whine at the sudden emptiness.

“You’re not gonna cum that easily, sweets. I still have so much I want to do to you.” She says in an uncharacteristically sweet tone while placing a kiss on your cheek.

Both of her hands rub up and down your sides as she kisses from your sternum down to your thigh. She bites at the inside of your skin before soothing the sting with her tongue. Alex looks over and sees your hands clenching and unclenching the sheets below you while your breathing picks up in impatience.

“So beautiful.” She whispers against your thigh before pushing it open with her large hand and latching her mouth onto your core. She lets out a low groan at the taste of you while dipping her tongue into you.

Your hips twitch into her as her tongue laps around your clit, sucking and licking the swollen surface. Your girlfriend’s hands lay flat on your stomach as she pushes her head further into your wet heat. Subconsciously, your legs begin to close in on Alex’s head as the familiar knot in your stomach returns.

Just as your hips begin to rise to your release, the brunette once again detaches herself from you, making your orgasm fade away. Tears start to build up in your eyes in frustration from the denial, but Alex wipes them away with her thumb.

“It’s okay, baby. You’re doing so good for me.” She coos, placing a few pecks on your lips in reassurance. “Do you think you’ve been a good girl?” She asks, pulling you to sit up so you’re both facing each other.

“Yes, yes, I’ve been a good girl.” You nod, nuzzling your face into her neck for some sort of comfort.

“I think so too.” Alex brushes your hair behind your ear once you pull back to look at her. She grabs the back of your neck and brings you into an intoxicating kiss, roaming her tongue inside the roof of your mouth

Alex pulls you onto her lap without breaking the kiss, placing you onto her slanted thighs due to her sitting on her legs. You grind slowly against her, attempting to get some kind of friction as your chest presses up against hers. Your girlfriend smirks into the kiss, feeling your arousal smear across her skin.

She slips two digits back inside of you, curling them into your g-spot. A loud moan escapes your lips as your legs tighten around her waist, causing the heels of your feet to push into her back. Your hands also find their way to her shoulder blades, leaving dark red scratches as she pumps her fingers into you.

“Right there.” You gasp as Alex thrusts her fingers into the perfect spot. The bed frame pounds against the wall from your girlfriend’s digits bouncing in and out of you.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” She whispers into your ear, pressing a sweet kiss under it to your jaw. You quickly nod your head as your eyes squeeze shut with a loud moan, enticing the girl below you to thrust faster.

“I’m gonna, oh god, ‘m gonna cum, baby.”

“Cum for me.”

Your walls clamp around Alex’s fingers as a flow of juices runs down her hand while you moan in ecstasy, grinding down to push you through your orgasm.

Once your hips stop, she pulls her fingers out of you and places them in front of your mouth. You obediently open and suck, licking off all your arousal while swirling your tongue around them. She watches you with blown-out pupils and a slacked jaw.

“If you think we’re done after you just did that, you’re sorely mistaken.” Her arms wrap around her waist and slam you back onto the bed, making you giggle at her riled-up nature.

The next morning you make your way into the breakfast lobby with Alex’s arm around your waist. Right as everyone catches eye on the both of you, a bunch of whistling and whooping sounds through the room.

“Get it, Morgan. Didn’t know you could do all that.” Trinity cheers while smacking on her gum with a smirk.

Everyone gets their little comments in while your girlfriend just smiles smugly and continues to kiss your temple with her arm remaining on your shoulders. In your flustered state, all you do is hide your face into her neck and try to avoid all of the attention.

[endlessthxxghts]

Solace

Din Djarin/The Mandalorian x afab!reader || W/C: 4.3k

Summary: You help Din release his frustrations after he comes back from a weeklong hunt.

Content/Warnings: Canon divergent around season 3 (no Grogu here; one tiny reference to Living Waters). Reader is able-bodied, but there are no specific physical descriptions. Pet names for both reader and Din (fem pet names for reader). Implied established relationship (you've seen his face and call him Din) - THEY'RE IN LOVE. Reader knows a bit of Mando'a. Helmet comes off. 18+ MDNI. This is 100% porn. Boot riding...blanket..riding...(there's a lot of riding lolz). Multiple orgasms. Cunnilingus. Din is a talker when his mouth isn't occupied. Blow job/face fucking. Unprotected P in V sex. Reader is on whatever form of birth control they have in space LMAO, so #twinkie time😋. Hints of a breeding kink. Praise kink (lots of it). Switch BDSM dynamics. Soft Dom!Din along with subby/desperate!Din. Sub!Reader and soft Dom!Reader. Please let me know if I missed anything! Xx

A/N: First picture was made by @djarin-desires, and honestly, this whole oneshot was inspired by this post they made! I literally could not stop thinking about these pictures all day, so I just had to write my ✨thots✨ down. I hope you enjoy!! Other two photos are found on Pinterest - middle does not represent anything about reader’s physical appearance.

MASTERLIST || FIC NOTIFS BLOG

“Oh, shit-” you gasp. “Din, please,” eyes rolling back in pleasure, your body shivering in its nakedness compared to his fully armored form. 

“What is it, sweet girl?” he coos, his fingers caressing your cheekbone, pushing the hair from your eyes. 

“Need- stars- need more,” you cry out, your current situation proving to only bring you to the edge, but not carry you off of it. 

“One more like this, cyar’ika, then I’ll give you what you want,” Din reassures you, his leather-clad thumb running across your bottom lip, hooking himself in your mouth for you to make a mess of. “I wanna see that boot soaked, you hear me?”

Din always gets like this when he comes back from a weeklong bounty hunt. He gets hard. Dominating. In need of control. To take back the situation that got out of hand. 

You were sitting on the ground cleaning one of his blasters when he came in. He was tense. Weirdly quiet. He’s always quiet, but not with you, not for a few years now. He threw the bounty into the carbon and froze him, his chest plate rising with every breath. You knew him well enough now to know when he’s seething, and this was it. 

“Din?” you called out softly. 

He just points his helmet at you, the visor staring you down. 

“Everything okay?”

“What do you think?” He responds rather harshly.

“...Din,” you whisper, feeling every ounce of anger in those four words.

You like how it ends in these situations, though. It always ends with him a whimpering mess beneath you. There’s usually some kind of switch. He takes a third orgasm out of you, and always on the third, he becomes needy. Desperate. He just wants to be inside of you. To be balls deep and stay there, to release all of his tension while being wrapped up in you. 

You’re his solace. His warmth. His home. He always needs you. But right now, he needs his control back, so even though it’s you who’s in control by the end of the night, you stay prettily on your knees and obey dutifully. 

“I hear you, Din,” you struggle to get out with his thumb holding your tongue down, drool spilling from the corners of your mouth. 

Your thighs are on fire from your constant back and forth motion, the squelch of your slick rubbing across his shoe sending blood straight to his groin. He can feel himself itching to make you rise, to spread your legs and split you open until he can’t hold himself up anymore. But he knows you’re close even though you whine and plea for more. He knows your tells—the way your eyes struggle to stay open, the sweat beading at your temples, the way you slowly start to clamp down harder and harder on his thumb. His personal favorite, though, he discovered in this new position, is the way you start hugging tighter onto his leg, your chest rubbing against his thigh plate in an attempt to cool yourself off, but you’re just so close, the cool beskar doing nothing to ease the heat. 

“Just like that, pretty girl, come on,” Din groans, the sight before him truly testing his strength. You two have done many things together, but this? This is something new, and Din isn’t sure how long he can last. “I know you can give me one more, baby. Just one more, and then I get to feel you, come on,” he pleads, voice bubbling up into a whine. 

Oh, he’s starting to break, already? 

The thought is what sends you over, your hips stuttering in their rhythm as your arousal pours out of you, your clit shooting a sharp sensation up your spine at the sensitivity. “Dank farrik, you’re so damn gorgeous when you cum all over me, baby, so so gorgeous,” he pulls his thumb out and spreads your drool across your mouth, cradling your cheek softly in his palm as you shake in his grasp.

“Oh, fuck- oh yes, yesyesyes, Din,” you sob, head falling back between your shoulder blades. 

“Oh, my sweet girl, Maker, you’re so beautiful,” he coos, leaning down to let the forehead of his helmet rest against yours, your hot breath fogging his visor. He smiles to himself as his vision blurs momentarily. 

Din’s hands situate themselves beneath your armpits, pulling you up to your feet and supporting you as you allow your limp legs to gain their strength again. “Can I taste you, cyar’ika?” He asks as he wraps his arms around your waist, guiding you to sit on the armory crate in the corner of the hull. 

“Thought you said you wanted to feel me?” you retort, a small smirk forming on your flushed face. 

“Yeah,” he says as he drops down to his knees. “My tongue goes first.” Even with his helmet on, you can still hear the shit-eating grin with his comment. 

Din reaches for his helmet, the hiss of air signifying it’s about to come off never fails to cause butterflies to erupt in your belly. The minute his chocolate brown eyes meet yours, your heart grows two sizes greater. Your hands reach for his face. “There’s my pretty boy,” you whisper. 

His heart nearly jumps out of his chest at your words. He turns his head to kiss your palm. “My pretty girl,” he responds, bashful. “Lean back, baby.” You lay yourself back, body resting against the metal wall as his hands settle underneath you. 

Din brings himself forward, the flat of his tongue starting at the bottom of you and licking upwards—slowly, thoughtfully, calculated. He takes his time moving through your soaked folds, as if he’s mapping it out for the first time even though he’s mapped your body more times than the amount of bounties under his belt. 

The way you moan under his touch has him groaning into you, his fingers tightening their hold, his face more flush against you. He can’t get enough. His licks turn less controlled and more hungry; he uses his lips to help rub the surrounding area as he suckles every part of you he can, drinking you in, bathing in your slick as if to reclaim himself, as he did not too long ago in the Living Waters of Mandalore. His nose nudges your sensitivity as his tongue claims your entrance, the softness of your walls dancing with the softness of his tongue makes you breathless. 

Your fingers find their way into his curls, grabbing on in an attempt to ground yourself, to keep your soul beside him as he brings you to the brink of ecstasy for the fourth time since he’s been back. You whimper in distaste as his tongue leaves your hole, but the disappointment is quickly replaced by a whimper of desperation when his mouth wraps around your throbbing bud and he sucks. “Just- oh, fuck, Din- just like that,” you let out, your hips involuntarily lifting to buck into his face.

He’s quick to bring his mouth back down to your entrance, licking up every drop of the sweet nectar you always keep him full with. His nose massages your bundle as he drinks from you, and the action prolongs your climax and syrupy moans; Din works to pull as much as he possibly can from you. It’s been a week of rations and shitty meals he can sneak. So when such a delicacy is placed before him, solely for his taking, oh, he’s not going to waste a single drop. 

By the time he’s satisfied, the bottom half of his face is covered in your shine, the armory crate’s ledge is soaked, and you’re completely blissed out—face flushed and sweaty, tired eyes, a weak smile… to the average eye, you appear properly satiated. Although, Din knows that you are far from it.

“You alright, sweet girl?” Din asks, rising to his full height again. He brings his hand out for you to take, pulling you up to stand. Delaying your answer, you wrap your hands around his neck and pull him in for a messy, open-mouthed kiss, all tongue with your flavor embedded in each and every one of his taste buds. You moan into the kiss, pulling away with a bite to his plump bottom lip. “Perfect, baby,” you smile, pulling him to the makeshift bed—a pile of blankets—in the hull that you two sleep in. 

You drop yourself down onto your knees, beginning to work his armor off from his legs as he starts on his shoulders. With you helping, he’s down to his flight suit in no time, and your mouth salivates at the sight. As soon as the last clink of the precious metal leaves his body, you’re leaning your face into him, into his bulge, pressing sweet little kisses to its covered form. You can hear Din’s breath hitch, his cock twitching under your touch. “Need you in my mouth, Din,” you say as you look up at him, his eyes already hooded over at the sight of your mouth near his length. “My turn to taste you, huh, pretty boy?” You ask in a teasing tone, his face too hot to register that you’re waiting for a response from him. 

He finally registers the question when your hand dips into his bottoms, his hardness meeting your hand eagerly. You look at him expectantly. 

Although technically it’s his cock’s turn to feel you, he cannot bring himself to deny you or your skillful mouth. He cannot bring himself to deny anything you want, really. “Y-yeah- yes, baby, your turn,” he says shakily, the anticipation putting his body into sensitivity overdrive. 

He helps rip the rest of his flight suit off, and without giving him a second to breathe, you’re already spitting in your palm and working the length of him the way you know he loves. You use your mouth in tandem, your tongue licking from his base to his tip, and instantly, a loud whimper comes from the back of Din’s throat at this particular touch. 

You’re delighted by his reaction, so you repeat the motion a few more times to pull more of those sweet sounds out. “My baby is so sensitive here, isn’t he?” You pump him with your hand as you speak, placing a wet kiss to his tip when the foreskin pulls back to expose it. 

“Kriff…” he moans, his head suddenly too heavy to maintain upright. “Mesh’la, please,” Din begs. 

With one more kiss to the tip, you stop your hand’s movement completely. “Please what, baby? Use those words, honey,” you look up at him, eyes wide and full of promises to please—as soon as he vocalizes what he wants. 

His chest is heaving already at the sight of you, on your knees and looking up at him again, yet this time around, you’re the one calling the shots. 

He prefers it this way, he thinks. Sure, he comes back from a particularly frustrating hunt and ends up taking his stress out on you. Sure, it’s the most beautiful sight seeing you so worked up and at his mercy. But he is always the one in the driver seat—calculating everyone’s every turn, every action before they even have the chance to act. Din’s mind is always active, always alert. Yet, when you have him like this, in this yielding state, it’s like his mind gets to be quiet. With you, under your touch and under your gaze, Din is able to exist in your presence without a worry. He’s finally able to just be. Not a bounty hunter, not the big and tough Mandalorian everyone fears. No, he’s Din. Your Din. Your sweet boy. Yours. And that’s the greatest honor to ever bestow upon him. At least, that’s how he sees it anyway. 

“Y-your mouth, mesh’la, p-please,” he says softly. Your eyebrow quirks up. You want just a little bit more. “Want your- need your mouth on me, baby, please,” he breathes out, attempting and failing to ease the neediness in his voice. 

You hum triumphantly before you begin pumping him again, your hand focusing on his base while your mouth lavishes his leaking head. You swirl your tongue around, the salty flavor of him quick to override your senses, and Din lets out a strangled moan, his hips softly bucking in your grasp. 

Your hand releases him, letting your mouth take full control. You grab onto his thick thighs for stability, breathing through your nose as you let the tip of him reach as far back as you can handle. He gasps when he hits the back of your throat, the twitch of his body triggering your gag reflex, your throat tightening in on where he’s most sensitive. “Oh, fuck,” he grunts, fighting his hips to stay in place and let you do your thing. 

You garble something incoherent, humming into his cock as you pull yourself on and off of him a few more times. Pulling back for a small breather, you use your finger to collect up the spit-arousal mixture from the sides of your mouth and pump it on his erection, his hips twitching once again at your ministrations. 

You know what he really wants right now, but with his head in cloud nine, you know he’ll never ask for it himself. “You wanna fuck my mouth, Din?” You ask bluntly. 

His entire face and chest turn red faster than the speed of light. He sputters in his response. “I- oh my Maker, mesh’la, is that- are- are you sure? I-”

You cut him off by leaning in to kiss his thigh. He softens in your touch. “Din, pretty boy, it’s a yes or no. One word. Choose.” 

“Yes,” he replies, not a single hesitation in sight. 

“Good boy,” you purr. “See what happens when you say what you want from me?”

You shift yourself to a more comfortable position sitting on your haunches, fluffing the blankets underneath you to soften the ache of the metal floor. You look up to Din who’s watching you eagerly but with a softness that tells you to take all your time in the world. Doing this isn’t just for him, though. Letting him take control of you here turns you on just as much as it does him, maybe even more. 

You take one more glance into his thirsty eyes, and, well, okay… maybe he enjoys this slightly more. Nonetheless, you don’t take your time because you can feel the butterflies in your core beginning to flap once again as Din brings himself closer to you, lining himself up with your mouth.

“Don’t waste this opportunity, Djarin. Better use me good, yeah?” You tease, leaning your head back slightly as you stick your salivating tongue flat out, waiting for him to enter. 

His entire body shivers at your words. “Yes, ma’am,” he says under his breath, focusing on easing himself into your mouth as steady as possible, trying to maintain some ounce of self-restraint he’s inevitably going to lose. 

Once his tip is in your mouth, his hands find their home rooted at the base of your air, his thumb reaching forward to caress the apple of your cheeks. He doesn’t move at first, apprehensive in the case he might hurt you. He’s always like this at the beginning, and every single time, you reassure him it’s okay. 

You let out a muffled mhm, his signal to keep going. Din’s fingers flex, guiding your head further in as his hips slowly meet you halfway. He’s holding his breath, you can tell in the way his belly twitches. But the moment your swallow reflex triggers around him, he’s gone. “Oh, shit-” he moans ragged, his hips never fully retreating before he’s bucking into you again. “Oh, sweet girl, fuck-” he gasps. “Always so perfect, feel so perfect around me, stars, baby-” he praises, his hips moving at a comfortable, steady pace now. 

You moan around him, eyes rolling back at how good and heavy he feels coasting the expanse of your tongue. Your spit drips further down your chin and neck with each thrust, the messiness of it all mirroring itself between your thighs. Your hands leave the expanse of your thighs and reach for the blankets underneath you. As best as you can, you shuffle them in between you, using it to grind your hips on it, giving you a much needed relief. The material catches on your clit deliciously, pulling a muffled gasp from your throat, sending the sensation up Din’s spine. 

“Oh, fuck, look at you,” he groans, his eyes fighting to stay open at the raw pleasure coursing through his veins as he starts thrusting into you harder, faster. “So pretty, baby, fuck- thank you, pretty girl,” he rambles. “Maker, you feel so damn good.” 

Your moans and whines don’t stop, they reverberate off each metal wall and into his ears, providing him with the sweetest song. Din, ever the talker, is long lost in the way you feel and the way you move. 

“Keep moving those hips, sweet girl, rub that pretty pussy on our blankets, baby.” 

“Gonna cum like that again, baby? Gonna make a mess where we sleep?” 

“Shit, gonna make me lick it up and clean it? Please make me clean it, baby,” he whines, his hips beginning to falter. 

The last thing he says to you is what sends you over the edge, your fingers gripping the blankets below you, bringing it flush against your core as if it were Din’s curls you’re hanging onto. Your hips speed up, chasing the orgasm that is just right there, and with one last thrust forward, you’re cumming. You’re breathing heavily through your nose, tears streaming down your face as you whimper around his dick, begging for the one thing you know he’s not gonna give you. 

With a few more thrusts, you can feel his cock start to twitch, and just as you suspected, he pulls out of you before he can finish. 

“Baby, no,” you cry, leaning yourself forward, chasing after him. Right away, he’s dropping down to his knees, hands still on either side of your face as he’s finally eye level with you. 

“Baby, cyar’ika, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please,” he repents, his chest rising and falling heavily, still out of breath from edging himself. “I just- I didn’t- I… I wanted to cum somewhere else, baby,” his voice falls quieter, shyer. 

Your scowl fades, forming into a more mischievous demeanor, more hungry. You can’t quite argue his reasoning. Because, you, too, would very much like him to finish… elsewhere. “Yeah, baby?” You taunt. “And where do you wanna cum, sweet boy?”

He swallows thickly, his needy eyes on yours, blacked with a ferality he’s addicted to. “In- inside,” he whispers. 

“Inside?” you’re quick to repeat. “Wanna cum inside me, sweet boy? Fill me up? I’ve made so many messes today, is it your turn to make one, baby?”

He leans in to meet your kiss, but you pull away slightly. Answer me, your face tells him. 

“Y-yeah- yes, stars, yes- fuck- please, baby, I wanna cum inside you, wanna make a mess of you so fucking bad, please-” he starts to answer. Satisfied, you cut him off with your lips on his.

You wrap your arms around his neck, lips never breaking the seal, you pull him over you as you lay yourself down on your guys’ bed, scooting farther up for your head to reach a pillow, your back barely missing your puddle of arousal. Din multitasks, grabbing one of the other near pillows and placing it underneath your hips as your body lands on the ground. Your legs are already hooked onto his waist, not giving him the space to stray too far. 

Once you’re settled, Din’s hand is cradling the back of your head while the other reaches for his cock, covered in your wetness and leaking with his own arousal. He guides himself to you, running his tip along your slick folds, stopping to tap on your clit before bringing himself back down to your entrance. He breaks the kiss when he does this, his eyes laser focused on where you two connect. His hand on the back of your head pushes to angle you down, so you can watch, too, both of you observing and listening to the lewdness of it all. 

Finally, his head catches at your entrance, pushing himself in slowly. He’s always a stretch, always something you’ll never quite really get used to, but you love the feeling. Obsessed, even. There are some days where you rile him up on purpose just so he gives it to you, no preparation or foreplay. On those days, he has you screaming, your fingernails digging deep into his back to tether yourself to reality in some kind of way. On his softer days, you have to beg him to, reassure him that it doesn’t hurt—in a bad way. 

As soon as he’s seated all the way to the hilt, he pulls back out entirely before he thrusts back in. You both moan out at the action, your pussy immediately releasing a fresh new wave of arousal around him. “Oh, fuck,” you both mutter at the same time, your eyes meet, and a euphoric smile graces each of your faces. 

“Y-you feel so good, baby, s-so fucking big,” you mewl, your hands tightening their hold around his neck, both the tips of your noses kissing each other. 

“It’s like you were made- fuck-” he stutters, his hips slowing for a brief moment, allowing himself to really feel you. “It’s like I was made for you,” he corrects himself. “I was made for you,” he says again, leaning in to slot his lips against yours.

“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum,” you say against his lips. I love you. “And I was made for you,” you squeak out, your head bobbing back and forth as the pleasure brings your mind further and further into space. 

“Shit, mesh’la,” he grits between his teeth. His hips speed up at that, loving the way his native tongue sounds on yours. “Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum,” he repeats back to you. “I’m yours, cyar’ika. Yours,” he murmurs, his head crashing into the crook of your neck and shoulder, sucking and biting at the sweaty flesh. 

He sits up on his haunches for a second, hooking the crook of his elbows into your knees before leaning back over you—the angle allowing him to hit so deep and allowing his pubic area to stimulate your pulsing nerve with every thrust in—you scream out as he repeatedly makes you feel things that no one has ever been able to do, not even yourself. 

“Din,” you keen, his name leaving your mouth like a sinful prayer. “Din, baby, please, I think I’m gonna- fuck-”

“Gonna cum again for me, pretty girl?” He smirks. “Fuck, I’m never gonna stop saying this- you’re so fucking perfect. Come on, baby, cum for me, fucking soak me. Soak me before I make you fucking overflow with me, my sweet girl,” he snarls, his lips meeting yours in a bruising kiss, truly a dance of tongue and spit as he fucks into you at the same pace that brought you to yet another climax. 

Your hands yank on his fluffy curls, back arching into his body as much as this restricting angle allows you to. “Din, oh my-! Fuck- so fucking good, fuck-” you wail out, your heart beating out of your chest as your pussy pulses around his cock, making an utter mess between your two lower halves. 

The flutter of you and the instant wetness consuming him is what sends Din to his finish line. He continues thrusting, shakily, through his own orgasm, his load coating every inch of you, both inside and out. You wanted a mess, so he truly gave you a mess. 

He releases the hold on your legs to wrap his arms around you, his entire body flush against yours as your legs wrap themselves tightly around him again. He’s still inside you, his hips softly still moving in and out as he leaves kisses all along your lips, your jawline, your neck. 

The way you feel, full of him and him, has your hips meeting his small advances, both of you reveling in the aftershock of your highs as you use the pleasure to ease you back down. 

“You okay, mesh’la?” Din asks eventually when you both come to an exhausted, satiated halt. 

“Perfect, my sweet boy,” you smile, repeating your sentiment from earlier. “You okay, though?” You ask hesitantly, and not about what you two just did together. He brings his lips to yours. Soft, and not in a way to arouse you again. In a way that says thank you and I love you in a way spoken tongue will never be able to convey.

“I will be,” he answers truthfully. “Pick a planet, you can pick me apart after we get food.”

“Sounds like a deal, baby.”

“Come, let’s get cleaned up.” He kisses your forehead before he untangles himself and pulls you up to your feet as well, both of you making your way to the refresher. 

In the corner of his eye, he sees his now semi-shiny boot, starting to dry off in the midst of everything else you two did. He smirks to himself. 

You catch it, of course. “What’re you smiling at, Djarin?”

“Nothing,” he says nonchalantly. “Just… I clean my armor and boots after every bounty.”

“And?” You ask, still not realizing where he’s headed. 

“I don’t know if I wanna clean my boots anymore.”

Your eyebrows raise to the middle of your forehead, eyes bulging out of your face. “Din!” you slap his chest. Then, your face goes stern. “You will be cleaning those boots more often if you want me to do that again."

Oh. 

“Yes, ma’am.”

End notes:

Thank you so much for reading, I really hope you guys enjoyed this one! Please let me know what you guys think, I really love hearing your guys’ reactions and feedback!🫶

Also, did y’all clock how many orgasms reader had in this damn thing?! Coochie of fucking steel fr 😭😭

Moon divider by @saradika-graphics 🩶

@pedrostories

[djemsostylist]

The thing I love most about the Warhammer 40k Space Marine game, starring one Captain Titus of the Ultramarines, is that it explains NOTHING. AT ALL. This game goes "well you wouldn't be playing me if you didn't know what Warhammer was, right?" and they would probably be mostly correct except that no, actually, I didn't even know what a space marine was when I first played, way way back in the early 20teens.

The game dumps you into a world where you play as a Captain of the Ultramarines. What is an Ultramarine, you ask? Why it's Captain Titus of course! and Leandros and Sergeant Sidonus. Are there more of them? Maybe, who knows! What's a Blood Raven? It looks like you, but different colors, and there are also only 4 of them. Are all of the space marines just squads of 4? Did you used to have a fourth and he died? Are you an army or a strike force? Who knows! The game for sure isn't gonna tell you!

What's an "inquisitor?" Well, it's Drogan of course! The one you have you save! And he's a psyker see. (What's a psyker, you ask? Well, it's what the Inquisitor is! Is it the same thing? NO IDEA! Just keep killing!) Now, is he also a space marine? Hard to say! Are space marines big, or just people in like, really big armor? WHO KNOWS! Not you, now kill some orks! Why are we killing orks? Because that's your mission of course!

And oh, hey, you're on a Forge World, fighting through the factories of the mechnanicum. What are these things? Well, you're on them and in them, what else do you NEED to know?

My favorite bit is when the Forces of Chaos show up, and a demon rips his way out of the fabric of reality, and it's just like "oh yeah, did we forget to mention you might have to fight demons? OOPS! Well, they pop as delightfully as an ork, so hop to it!" and then they just give you a different sort of Really Big Gun you can use to get on with the killing. Leandros seems concerned, the Inquisitor and Sidonus don't (and who outranks who? The regular men and women call you "Lord" but you call the Inquisitor "Lord" and all of you seem beholden to a "God-Emperor" (and is he an emperor or a God, or something of both?) but the only thing that matters is whether you chose a Plasma Rifle or a Lascanon to get through this next round, so who are you to question anything?

When the Inquisitor tells you to "meet at the monument" you just do, even though the monument is a nondescript hooded figure that says nothing and means little (except that these people do have monuments to something, and is it a saint? a martyr?) and so you go there anyway because there are more greenskins coming and you are about to get a thunderhammer (and maybe a jumppack, though those never last long.)

There are skulls sort of everywhere and everything looks like some sort of outsized Gothic cathedral and the voice that drones on and on sounds British and clipped and the words she says are dystopian and strange but there are always more orks to kill (and demons and men who look like you but aren't you, and are they really men behind those masks anymore, spilling from yawning purple clouds and splattering the walls with blood before vanishing i a lingering miasma) so you just keep going.

At one point a man who is not a man offers you the chance to become a god, to become a creature of whatever form you wish, and you still aren't entirely sure what the ultramarines are (and who is Lord Guilliman and his tenants your battle brother holds so dear) but there is a certainty in your refusal, a rigid belief that you won't fall because you can't fall (and did the man who is not a man who offers you a godhood fall? or has he always been like this?) but you deny him anyway (because you can, because you must, because you are an Ultramarine or because you believe in something more?) and you fight and fight and fight and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and bleed until perhaps there is no blood left (your armor is huge and cumbersome and the floor shakes when you land but you move with grace and speed and roll and dodge and kill and live and what are you even, really?) and in the end you have saved a world and when you say "More than you know" you mean it with your whole heart because you are human, you are, you bleed, and you tire, and you grieve and you mourn (but are you human, really? if you can touch the darkness and not give in, not turn aside, if men call you angels and demons speak of gods) and it all means nothing because men you are you but not you show up, men in black and white (they look like Holy Orders, Hospitallers or something close) and a man who is an Inquisitor who is not Drogan, who speaks softly but firmly and they take you away and Leandros looks on with fear and maybe regret (and you do it to save Mira, you think, her and all the others you died a thousand times to save except you lived, and she lived, and they call you Angels and if you can't die maybe it's true, or perhaps you love them, all of them, the men and women who look at you with awe and fear and love, and isn't that being an Angel, in the end?)

Anyway, I've played this game thrice through (easy, medium, hard) and read all the codex and I still, to this day, do not know what happens at the Siege of Terra and what happens to make 30k 40k, and I think that's really sort of beautiful, in the end.

[ragingbookdragon]

Ghost wasn’t a man who knew how to do relationships. Even when he was a teenager, the idea of romance was stamped out of him when he watched his father beat his mother. Love between two people didn’t exist to Ghost, and yet, he found himself sweet on the recruit they’d gotten from overseas a few months ago. If there was a person who had Ghost’s demeanor and Soap’s personality, it was her. Quiet when the moment called for it, always watching, always waiting, loud and boisterous when a party needed to be started.

He bonded with her over a love of fine bourbon and good knives, finding himself watching her at every opportunity to see if more of her would be revealed to him. He wasn’t going to ask, of course, a man like Ghost never asked. He observed and acted with careful thought.

Starting a relationship with her, however, proved to be a much more arduous task. Soap had once teased her about her love of having a knight in shining armor and she’d practically floundered in embarrassment while hastily spitting out, “Well, I’ve saved myself since I was eight. Forgive me for wanting someone to take care of me and treat me like a princess.” And that’s when Ghost realized that she wanted it all. She wanted the roses on the first date, to wear that sexy red dress, and go to a fancy restaurant. To have a man be a gentleman and open doors and pull her chair out, but still a little suggestive and whisper blush-inducing words in her ear when no one was looking. She wanted someone who would wake her up with slow kisses, bring her breakfast in bed, take her dancing under the streetlights when it was drizzling in the cool night.

She wanted what Ghost couldn’t offer her.

And yet, he tried to.

He had successfully asked her out with a dozen red roses, managed to get her into a red dress and to a nice restaurant, but the longer he found himself sitting across from her, the more he felt himself becoming uncomfortable with the environment. Too many windows, too many open spaces, too many unfamiliar faces. His nerves were on alert, and it was only until her hand gently rested on his that he looked at her, blinking in shock.

“Simon?” she asked, cocking her head to the side. “Is everything okay tonight?” concern was etched onto her face. “You look like you’re gonna have an anxiety attack.”

He swallowed thickly and shook his head. “I’m fine…jus’ not used to this is all.”

“Dinner with a pretty woman who can kick ass?” she joked, and he tried for a smile but managed to make a better grimace. “Simon, what’s wrong? Really?”

He let out a breath and closed his eyes, feeling like a fool for being in his thirties and unable to properly explain his emotions like a teenager. “I’m trying to give you a good date, but…I don’t…” she gently encouraged him by brushing her fingers against his hand. “I don’t know how to do this right. And I…I don’t want you to get upset that I’m not doing it how you want.”

“How I want?”

Simon gestured vaguely. “A knight in shining armor…treating you like a princess.” He looked at her. “I…care about you, love, I just don’t know how to do this in a way that you deserve.”

Her eyes shown with a softness, and she nodded her head, then pulled away, flagging down a waiter for the bill. He wasn’t even able to argue when she paid and pulled him up, dragging him to the car where she ordered him to drive her back to base. And all the while, Ghost was cursing himself for being so open that it wasn’t until he was trying to stop his heart from escaping his throat at her quarter door that he realized it.

She opened her room and walked in, stopping when she realized that Ghost didn’t follow her. “Simon?”

“Look, I get it, this isn’t what you want, but I just need to—”

“Will you get in here?” she huffed, pulling him in by his suit jacket. “Jeez, can’t even read the room.”

“I don’t follow?”

“You’re a smart man, but I think you’re spending too much time around Soap.” She smiled and sat on her bed, bright expression lit up at him as she said, “Simon, I don’t need you to be some type of prince for me.” Holding out her hand, she added, “Besides, I think a knight in shining armor is a little far-fetched even for you. You’re more like a death knight. The grim reaper. Death incarnate. Death—”

“I got it,” he scowled and sat down, taking her hand in his. “So…you don’t want the whole suit and tie?”

“You look like you’re genuinely going to have a hernia, Simon. It’s like you stuck a cat in a Halloween costume. Besides, you look the best in a pair of dark jeans and that jacket-hoodie combo you always have going on.” She looked away, embarrassment in her tone as she admitted, “It’s sexy.”

“You think I’m sexy?” he teased, and she rolled her eyes, glancing back at him.

“I once watched you break a man’s neck with just the heel of your boot and that’s when I genuinely realized there was something wrong with me, because it was very enticing to see how deadly you were.”

“So, you don’t want to be saved by a prince, you want to be saved by an asshole knight who was assigned to guard the irritating princess against his will? And they bicker at every single moment of their life?”

She snapped her fingers and pointed at him. “That’s the relationship goals.” She smiled at him. “And then they fall in love, and he realizes that his irritating princess is actually all he’s ever wanted in life.”

“Besides a paycheck.”

“Besides a paycheck.” She gently reached up, cupping his cheek, thumb brushing over his lips as she murmured, “Simon, I don’t need you to be something you’re not. I just need you exactly as you are.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, maybe you can smile at me more than you do everyone else. Maybe not be so grumpy with me.”

He knocked his forehead against hers. “I already do that with you.”

She barked a laugh. “HA! Could’ve fooled me. You grunt at me like you do Soap.”

“That’s because you and Johnny become Dumb and Dumber when you two get together.”

“We do not!”

“And you turn into the three stooges when you get Gaz in on it.”

“That one might actually have grounds, but the jury’s still out on the former.”

“Uh huh.”

She shifted, throwing a leg over his lap, perching herself gently atop his thighs, forearms resting on his shoulders. “Why don’t we get out of the nines, put something comfier on, and get takeout? We can eat Chinese watching the water and talk shit about our childhoods.”

Simon visibly melted beneath her and leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers. “Yeah…that sounds good.”

Clearing her throat, she leaned back a little and offered, “You should help me out of this dress though, Lieutenant Riley. See I can’t reach the zipper and I’m defenselessly naked underneath.” She batted her lashes. “I need a man of upstanding honor to make sure that no one can take advantage of me in my nude. A man who wouldn’t feel up all this woman underneath her clothes.”

Ghost smirked, reaching behind her to grab the zipper of her dress. “Is that right?” he started pulling down. “Well, I hate to break it to you, but there are no men with upstanding honor here.”

She sighed dramatically and feigned passing out, a hand pressed against her forehead. “Oh no, whatever shall I do in the hands of this scoundrel? Am I really to give in to the throes of passion and let him ruin me and my honor?”

The zipper touched the top of her rear, and he slipped his hands inside her dress, feeling her warm, bare skin beneath. “Funny, I was thinking that exactly.”

“My bodyguard is going to kick your ass,” she retorted, arching against his palms as they smoothed up her back to securely pull her down by her shoulders. “I’m serious. He’s very protective over what’s his.” She leaned in and murmured, “He once cut a man’s head off for touching me.”

Ghost’s chest rumbled with a growl, and he leaned into her ear. “Well, well, Princess, it’s a shame you can’t tell your bodyguard from a common knave.”

“Oh, I can,” she flirted, tugging at his tie. “It’s just fun to see him get annoyed.” She grinned and curled the tie in her fist, yanking him forward. “Treat me well. Princess’s orders.”

He matched her smirk, already turning her back into the mattress, hands pushing up her dress to her stomach. “As she wishes.”

[houserautha]

These Destined Ends

Part 9

Summary: Jessica fulfilled the wishes of the Bene Gesserits to produce a daughter. You’re now burdened with the task of not only marrying the na-Baron, but also bearing his child — the Kwisatz Haderach. Will you take your fate into your own hands? Or will it always belong to those who control you?

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x F!Reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: kind of (?) sub!Feyd, oral sex f receiving (there’s an imbalance in oral sex but I promise reader shows him some love too), p in v, “no hands”

A/N 1.0: Two updates in one week?? I probably should edit this more but I’m just excited to release it hehe

Feyd drags his tongue down your navel, dipping into the divot of your belly button to lick out the poison. You’ve taken to creative methods of your daily dosages, the current which gives you shudders of delight. His tongue is warm and wet, his grin roguish, and his dark eyes sinfully gorgeous; there are certain instances when you can hardly stand to look at him, this being one of them. You honestly don’t know what he will see reflected in your own eyes.

His tongue darts out to capture any residual poison from his lips. “Are you alright?”

“Yes. Fine.” You sit up, pulling your shirt back down. Disappointment is evident on Feyd’s face. “Shouldn’t we be going?”

He pulls you to the edge of the table and nudges open your legs so that he might position himself between them. “They’ll wait.”

“We don’t want to anger them.”

Feyd’s tongue rolls in his cheek. “Don’t we?”

“No.” You hop off the table. “Come on.”

“You haven’t taken your dose yet.”

You fix him with an exasperated look. Feyd pours the measurements into the glass, then into his mouth. His expression is comically triumphant. You roll your eyes as you close the space between you, then press your mouth firmly to his.

His kiss is as dangerous as the poison itself, spilling out from his lips and down his chin, down your chin, coating the inside of your mouth as his tongue pushes into it. You greedily kiss him back, poison forgotten. It’s him that you need the daily dose of, a perilous addiction that would render you sickly without. And he pulls you in like he knows this, that it’s only the poison from his lips that you seek.

You withdraw, breathless and wiping at your chin. “Satisfied?”

“For now.”

Rabban is departing today for a political mission, one that neither you nor Feyd are privy to — to his chagrin. You were both requested by the Baron to attend his send off. As you stride beside Feyd to the thopter hangar, the sight of the Baron seizes you with burning hatred.

He floats next to Rabban, muttering something to him that you can’t hear. Both cease their talking when you arrive. Frankly, you don’t know if you want to tear out their throats or leave them to Feyd’s concubines.

Rabban wordlessly boards the thopter. It will take him to a more secure location to be delivered to a heighliner, from your understanding. As you observe the scene with thinly veiled disgust, you notice a commotion to one side — it’s the same Sardaukar soldier from before, along with a handful of others. Today they’re adorn in the typical Harkonnen armor, distinguishable only by the fuzz of closely shaved hair on their heads.

You grab Feyd’s arm, lean into him. “Who are they?”

“Sardaukar. Though I suspect you already knew that,” he says without tearing his gaze from them. “I don’t know what business they have with my rotten brother.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I.”

He breaks away from you and storms to the Baron. They share a short, heated exchange, one that has your stomach clenching. How he stood to even be near his uncle bewildered you, though you supposed in some sense that he was unable to completely divorce himself from the man. Feyd was his heir, after all. A fact that the Baron wields over him. Your hands form into fists.

“He said that the Emperor’s soldiers are assisting them in the mission. Something about a shared goal.”

You frown. Both of you stand silently as the soldiers climb into the thopter after Rabban, stirring dust as its wings snap out and then ascend into the rings of smog circling the hangar. The Baron glides toward you both.

“Your brother is a fine soldier,” he rasps, “I know I can rely on him to secure our objective.”

Feyd’s upper lip curls into a snarl. “He has plenty of time to considering he doesn’t have any other obligations.”

“There’s a reason I made you the na-Baron,” the Baron replies coolly. “Your brother has a different fate.”

This response unnerves you. You stare after his bulbous retreating form, then flick your gaze to your husband — Feyd’s entire body is rigid with fury. You wonder briefly if he had spoken to Rabban, and what he said if he did. The more days that have passed since your wedding, the less time you had to spend together.

You were coming up on one month now.

“We dont need to stay here any longer,” you tell him.

Feyd wrenches his arm from your grasp. He snaps, “I have something I need to tend to.”

And then somehow you were left alone in the hanger, a mixture of emotions forming within you. You wanted to chase after Feyd but your better senses warned you not to — he could be volatile like this, and you weren’t really in the mood for a verbal lashing.

Instead you wander the fortress grounds. It’s taken some time, but you’re finally used to the black sun. And the guards no longer believe that you’re an Atreides spy or, at least, any threat. You want to comment on this but it’s a nice freedom, and you nod to them as you pass by. Your aimless stroll is interrupted by a loud yelling, however, drawing you to the massive gates that barricade the fortress from the rest of Giedi Prime.

Before today, you’d never even seen them open.

There’s a crowd of citizens gathered outside, obviously agitated. Guards stall them from entering with their spears, though, to the credit of the citizens, they’re doing a fairly decent job of holding their own. You spot Asha amongst the number of servants aiding in the crowd control.

“What’s going on?” You ask.

“They’re here for their monthly audience with the na-Baron,” Asha explains, “but he’s refusing to meet with them. They aren’t happy.”

She grimaces as an angry shout pierces the air.

“Why is he refusing them?”

Asha casts you a sideways glance. “He’s the na-Baron, he doesn’t need a reason.”

You survey the crowd.

“Tell them that their na-Baroness will receive them.”

“What? Are you sure?” Asha stares at you as if you asked her to behead them all.

“Give me a few minutes, first.” You flash her a smile and then turn back towards where you came from, the clamor of the crowd subsiding.

In your chest, your heart pounds furiously. You didn’t even know Feyd took audience with the citizens, much less what to do with their requests. But you could handle it, you were sure. It was about time that you contributed to the baronship.

Quickly you change into a formal dress and then make your way to the throne room. Your footsteps ring out through the space as you climb the dais steps and take your place on your husband’s throne. It’s to the right of the Baron’s, not quite as grand, and you have half the mind to sit on it before the doors open and the citizens of Giedi Prime spill inside.

The first citizen is a woman, dressed in a worn white dress. Her eyes are sunken. “na-Baroness, we are grateful for you to receive us today.” The woman nervously licks her lips. “I wouldn’t know what to do without my stipend. None of us would.”

Those that can hear her nod their assent.

You do your best not to let your surprise show on your face. You wave a hand. “Of course.”

Most of the citizens are all there for similar reasons: their monthly allowance bestowed upon them by the na-Baron. You learned that families that served in the Harkonnen military received a slightly higher amount, including those retired from it. You were loathed to be impressed by Feyd but you couldn’t help but admire his rule — he was many things, but an excellent na-Baron happened to be one of them. He supported his people in ways that others would not have bothered to.

Of course, not everyone comes to you for money.

You settle a dispute between two neighbors arguing over property lines, and a factory employee declaring unfit working conditions. It rather surprisingly becomes very easy for you to delegate the matters of these people — you found you cared about their problems, making them your own. The crowd had dwindled down quite a bit when you’re faced with two men who can hardly look at each other.

“na-Baroness,” the taller one says. He introduces himself as Anagon.

The other man remains silent.

“We are here today for your gracious judgment,” Anagon continues, unbidden. “You see, this man has forsaken me and my family.”

You examine both men. Anagon is dressed in the style typical of nobles, the other in a simple tunic and pants. He refuses to meet your eyes.

“I see,” you say. “How so?”

“He stole my family’s ceremonial dagger. Straight from my manor!”

The other man finally says, “I didn’t!”

“He deserves the swiftest punishment for his crimes against me,” Anagon continues as if the other man never spoke, “the lower citizens of Giedi Prime must learn their place.”

Anagon’s face falls as you ask the other man, “And what do you say?”

“I-I did find the dagger but —” he raises his voice to be heard over the noble’s protests, “I found it while demolishing the old factory. It-It was buried under the building, lost and forgotten. I fully intended to return it to its owner.”

Anagon hisses, "You did not!"

"You can not know his intentions," you remind him pointedly, then, to the other man, "is this dagger here today? Let me see it."

"My-My name is Res," the man says as he approaches. He offers to you a ceremonial dagger, one that you notice is badly bent out of shape and tarnished. It certainly looks like it’s been buried under a factory.

“Did you know where the dagger was? Answer me truthfully, for I will know if you have lied.”

Anagon shifts his weight. “No, na-Baroness. But it is my family’s ceremonial dagger. It-It was misplaced in the civil war two generations ago.”

You gaze between Anagon and Res. Taking the dagger from the latter, you hand it blade-first to Anagon. “This relic belongs to you. But you must compensate Res for his troubles — you accused him wrongfully. It is not your right to put whoever you see fit into place.”

“Fine. And how do you recommend that I compensate him?” Anagon asks, clearly displeased with your decision.

“You will give him a job under your employ.”

You had sat in on quite a few political meetings with Feyd, and knew the factory that Res spoke of. It had to be demolished and thus left many workers displaced. Anagon, a man you knew only by name until today, was the wealthy head of a series of factories that produced weapons.

Anagon’s jaw flexes. “na-Baroness, there must be another way —”

“You will employ him or I will take that ceremonial dagger and cut your throat with it.”

“She’ll make quick work of it, though,” a familiar rasping voice says. You shift to discover Feyd in the doorway of one of the throne room entrances, the one used for servants. Anagon and Res both stare wide-eyed at him. “You heard her.”

Anagon and Res exchange a glance before the noble mutters something akin to an apology, and promise of employment. Anagon lingers, seemingly for Feyd’s disapproval or your ire, but when neither of you speak, he turns and storms away. Res blinks up at you gratefully.

“Thank you, na-Baroness. You are exceedingly generous and fair.”

You dip your chin. Res takes that as his invitation to leave, smiling softly as he does so.

“That’s it for today,” Feyd announces. “I will receive the rest of you tomorrow.”

The remaining crowd grumbles but filters out of the throne room, leaving you alone with Feyd. He stops on the stairs at the bottom of the dais and gazes up at you. “You belong on a throne.”

Your brows furrow, and you ignore him. “You did not have to intervene, I was managing it quite well.”

“Clearly.”

“Then why did you dismiss them?”

Feyd examines your face. “If a noble claims that a lower-class citizen stole from their house, the citizen would receive death. No questions asked.”

“What?” Outrage shoots through you. “That’s ridiculous. You saw what happened —”

“I’m not disagreeing with you, wife. I am merely stating the truth of the law.”

You bristle. “Do you suggest I call them back here and slaughter the poor man for something that he did not do?”

“While that would be entertaining,” Feyd retorts, “it would demean your decision. The only real danger of it is that the citizens of Giedi Prime will be disappointed if I receive them now.”

“Maybe for good reason,” you sniff. “Why did you desert them today? It is clear to me that these people rely on you.”

A shadow of anger passes over Feyd’s expression. “I was not equipped to handle their problems, which look minor in the face of my own. My emotions would’ve clouded my better judgment.”

“That’s no reason to leave them,” you counter.

“And what do you know of ruling?” Feyd snarls. He advances on you, still towering above you despite your position on the throne. “You played the part of doting daughter to the Duke for all these years. This is your first taste of it. Do not tell me how to rule over my people.”

“Our people,” you dryly correct, “as you married me and thus gave me equal power over them.”

He sneers. “Perhaps a mistake if you think you know more about ruling than me.”

You curb the flare of your irritation, barely, by lifting your chin and looking your husband squarely in the eyes. He is a storm, crackling with dangerous energy, ready to unleash upon you.

And you tell him, “I know plenty of ruling. Get down on your knees, Feyd-Rautha, so I may prove it to you.”

Recognition flickers in his eyes. As much as the beast in him calls to you, the opposite is just as true. You love him like this — wild and beyond your control, fraying at the seams of his sanity. You want to pull on the threads until he unravels completely.

You lean forward slightly. “I said kneel.”

Never breaking eye contact, Feyd sinks to his knees before you.

A heady surge of power crashes over you then, threatens to encompass you, the brightness of the sun after an eclipse. And you are drunk on it, gulping greedily from the golden chalice that it embodies.

“You pretend that I am nothing but a duke’s daughter,” you hiss, “when I am your wife, the wife of the na-Baron. You say I know nothing of rule and yet here you are, submitting to me. How does that speak to your assumptions?”

Feyd says nothing. His gaze burns you.

You continue, unbidden, “I should punish you for your impudence. Tell me, na-Baron, what does your law say of this?”

“It says whatever you would like,” he rasps.

You can see his cock straining against his pants, feel the heat of his desire. And yet he gazes upon you with utter devotion, ready to follow out your orders without hesitation.

“I would like to put that mouth of yours to better use than making false claims.”

Feyd wavers.

“No hands,” you instruct.

You do him the favor of hiking the skirt of your dress up around your hips, then spread your legs. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he marvels you. With the slightest indication of your chin, he all but crawls closer to you, breath fanning the sensitive skin of your thighs. He moves as if to brace his hands on either side of you and you press the toe of your heel to his cock.

“No hands,” you repeat, alleviating the pressure on him only once he’s locked his hands behind his back. A frustrated groan rumbles through his chest, eyes flashing. You say, “Continue.”

Your back bows as his cheeks nuzzle up against your thighs, his mouth ghosting over your cunt with perverse refrain. Unwittingly, you snap your hips to meet him — you didn’t tell him to tease you, you wanted him to fuck you with his mouth, with his stupidly plush lips. Feyd’s breathy laugh warms your exposed entrance, a stark contrast to the cool air of the room, of the throne itself.

Finally he presses his mouth to your entrance and licks a stripe of your center. You shiver in delight. He drags his tongue through your slick folds, slow and savory, deliberately avoiding your clit. Feyd has no hair for you to anchor yourself so instead you grab the base of his neck and push him closer; there’s no doubt in your mind that he’s strong enough to resist you, but he assents to your touch. Feyd’s tongue spears you, stroking your inner walls before withdrawing and paying attention to your aching bud. His mouth closes over your clit and sucks.

The action sends a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. You hold him to you, giving him no other option but to worship you, his licking and sucking becoming almost lewd, fervent, coating his chin with your wetness as he laps at you.

You pull on the back of his armor. Feyd releases his mouth from your cunt, shoulders heaving from his effort. You behold him like this — yielding to you, slick with your moisture, on his knees — and you feel a pulse of want. It drives you to kiss him, to push your tongue into his mouth and taste yourself. Feyd kisses you back just as passionately, mouth working to devour you, devour every logical thought you might conjure.

“Now,” you say, breathless, “I want you to fuck me right here on your throne, so the next time you doubt my competence you remember this moment.”

Feyd nods eagerly. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, na-Baroness,” he amends, rasping.

You smirk at him, pat his cheek. Feyd remains kneeling as you step from the throne. His body quivers with the slightest hint of his lust, visible to your eye as you circle him from behind. Drinking in his broad shoulders, his tapered waist, the shape of his ass, you swallow, exhilarated by your power and the man before you.

“Sit down. On the throne.”

Feyd obeys. He moves his hands from behind his back to the armrests. There’s a tension in the line of his jaw that tells you it’s taking every ounce of his strength not to touch you.

You set to removing his armor. “Lift,” you instruct and he does as you ask so that you can slide his pants down. His cock springs forth, slapping up against his toned stomach. You trail the backs of your nails up his length, under the curve of his head, and Feyd nearly whimpers at the contact.

You straddle him, and his entire body coils. There’s a tremendous release of endorphins when you finally sink down on his cock, clenching your walls and taking him all in. Feyd groans. You wiggle your hips appreciatively and let yourself adjust. He bucks into you then slightly, which you respond to with an agonizingly slow withdraw, lifting up on your knees so that he’s once more exposed to the cool air. His cock twitches.

“Fuck,” he all but seethes.

You slam back down on him and he howls out. Joining him with a cry of pleasure, his cock piercing you almost painfully, you set a violent, unsteady pace, instincts guiding you to seek out your own orgasm. It washes over you too quickly, stills you as it takes a hold over your senses.

“Please,” Feyd mutters. He grinds against your cunt, eager to keep up the friction.

You hum “Please what?”

“Please let me touch you,” he begs, “please, na-Baroness.”

You pump his cock slowly, lazily, and he grits his teeth in agony. Feyd trembles. “Fine,” you say, his hands on you before you can even finish the word. His touch is electric.

Feyd grabs hold of you, curls his fingers into the dip at your lower spine, and thrusts with you, over and over. He’s the one sitting on the throne but you are the one in charge — holding power over him by the snap of your hips, the way your cunt coaxes out his orgasm, your lips on his neck. And he is all too willing to be the slave to your pleasure, aiding you to orgasm twice more before finally coming inside you.

His thick cum fills you. You moan into the juncture of his shoulder as he wrings his own pleasure from you, shuddering, breath warming the side of your face.

“I-I won’t make that mistake again,” he rasps.

You can’t help but laugh. “Mm, pity. I quite enjoyed it.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t enjoy it,” Feyd says. His expression turns into one of introspection. “I’ve never…given…myself to someone like that before. Not on purpose.”

Your heart twinges. “I wouldn’t have —”

“No. No apologies. I did it willingly. It was a show of…trust.”

The pain you feel at his behalf melts away to something even more confusing and impossible to name. You don’t say anything as you both adjust yourselves; you, slightly uncomfortable as his cum slides down your thighs, him, looking neither abashed at his admittance nor pleased. Just…content. A look you’ve never noticed before gracing his handsome features.

Unspoken between you, the two of you return to your quarters. Fatigue seizes you. But there’s a tiny bird trapped in your chest that beats its wings against your rib cage — hope. A foolish, tragic brush of promise that you wish to silence.

From your place on the bed, where you collapsed upon arrival, you covertly watch Feyd. He cleaned you, gave you a new dress to wear, and now is ensuring that he’s fit for the view of others. You trace the shape of his body, so achingly familiar to you, hidden mostly under his armor. He catches you staring and lifts a brow, dark eyes glinting.

“Yes, wife?” He turns. “Or should I say, na-Baroness?”

You grin at him.

Sitting on the tip of your tongue, a confession lies, your judgement loosened by this moment of peace between you. You want to tell him about the beating of your heart, the way that he’s properly — unavoidably — invaded your mind, but the opportunity passes as soon as you have the chance to grasp it.

There’s a commotion outside of your quarters.

Feyd beats you to the door, shields you with his body as you both survey the servants pacing back and forth. They seem to be mumbling between each other hastily, worriedly, obviously uncertain about what to do with themselves. You can’t miss their pitying glances.

“What’s going on?” You ask.

Feyd’s expression is grave. “I don’t know.” He grabs the arm of one of the passing servants. “Tell me what’s happening.”

“na-Baron!” The servant’s eyes widen. “I-I don’t know, we haven’t been told —”

Suddenly you hear your name being called over the clamor. Asha elbows her way through the servants, face stricken, and grabs you by circling her arms around your neck. “Y/N, I’m so sorry —”

“What? What are you sorry for?”

She holds you at arms length. There are tears in her eyes. “The House of Atreides has fallen.”

A/N 2.0: I’m sorry Leto, you don’t survive in this universe either😭😭😭 Also, part 2 of Feyd and reader solving their disputes with fucking.

For the life of me I can’t remember who but I dedicate this chapter to whoever reblogged Part 7 and added something like “I wish Feyd would fuck away my disbelief and insecurities”. Because same.

Part Ten

Taglist:

@moonsoulk @heartarianagran @torchbearerkyle @unicoreads @taleah @mamawiggers1980 @jovialeggsbailiffsoul @harkonnin @avidreader73 @unicorntrooper @beebeechaos @kamcrazy123 @wo-ming-bai @kpopnstarwars @m-indkiller @dacreshoney @stopeatread

[nvirskies]

til death do us part, and then some - c. la rue

warnings: reader suicide, angst hurt/no comfort, ruegard, asshole clarisse, descriptions of blood, infidelity, broken promises, not beta read

summary: clarisse never comes back from a quest and you take matters into your own hands to reunite.

unclaimed!fem!demigod!reader x unfaithful!clarisse la rue

word count: 2.1k

taglist: @lvrue @star-girl69 @petitegavotte @b0ok-lover @azrielsdiary

PROCEED WITH CAUTION, READ AT OWN RISK

men, nsfw, non-sapphic, 16-/19+ dni

Lord Dionysus, Chiron, or whomever may be reading this:

In the event that someone has been unfortunate enough to find this note upon my death, do not fret. This has been a decision I had been mulling over for weeks, months, if not years now. I do not know when I will feel compelled to take this step further, so this has been written entirely in advance. Know that I will be content with my life in the Fields of Asphodel, or the Gardens of Elysium should Lord Hades be so generous as to grant me that privilege.

I would like to thank everyone who did their best in making Camp Half-Blood a welcoming and home space. Special thanks to the Hermes cabin, and Lord Hermes for their gracious welcoming arms and making me feel like I belonged somewhere. My belongings should be distributed amongst whomever would like to keep them, and make sure they are put to good use.

Return any and all of Clarisse’s clothing found in my chest back to the Ares cabin, and let them figure out what to do with it on their own time. Lord Ares, I give my final thanks to you for graciously allowing your daughter to have been part of my life. 

To my fellow unclaimed demigods who are wondering if they should be mourning the loss of a sibling, I have no definitive answer for you beyond if you felt like you were close enough to call me a sibling, mourn me like you would a biological one. No matter if you are claimed tomorrow or never claimed at all, know you are not unworthy or inferior simply because of your divine parent’s lack of attention. 

You may be half-divine, but always remember to keep that human spark within you alive. Keep your compassion, your empathy, your sense of understanding. This world is not made for us, but never give up on creating spaces that are. We live heavy lives, and respite is hard to come by.

When you bury my body, put me to rest with my javelin, suit of armor, and the fragments of Clarisse’s shattered spear. Under my tongue, please place two coins instead of one. My love is waiting for me on the banks of the River Styx with no way across, and I would like to provide her with a way across alongside me. 

Underneath the last paragraph was your name, signed in neat print alongside your signature swooping cursive. The letter was found rolled neatly atop your chest of belongings, your lifeless body on the bunk bed you had claimed for yourself for the past four years of your life. Crimson blood seeped through the bed sheets and mattress, a fatal reminder for all of the fragility that even the strongest harbored. 

Upon the discovery of your body, ripples of whispers swept through the campers like a stone tossed in the midst of a serene waterfront. Your skin was just barely lukewarm, the blood streaming from the thin cut horizontal across the jugular vein was beginning to brown and oxidize. 

In one hand was the knife that had presumably made the cut, the blade pristine and glinting in the dim light save for the thin line of blood that ran across its edge. The other held Clarisse’s favorite shirt, all bundled up and cleaner than anyone had ever seen it before. Anyone who picked up said shirt could immediately tell that it had been doused in the cologne that she once wore on a daily basis, no doubt a purposeful move to make your last moments completely blissful in surrounding yourself with her scent.

She had been your home, after all.

Clarisse had comforted you through nightmares, the breakdowns about being unclaimed for years that happened whenever someone new was claimed and the jealousy and anger of it all. 

She had reassured you that even after Silena had died that you weren’t a rebound, and that her feelings for you were genuine, and you had believed her. 

You were her girl, after all. The one she let her walls down around, the one who had tried to patch together the spear her father had given her even after the Hephaestus children had given up. The one who she let braid her hair and be soft around. The one where she had promised over and over again that even in the afterlife, you would find each other in Elysium again.

Then, she had been sent out on a quest. One that she had vowed to return from, safe and sound. The rest of her group did, but her face was never again seen on the hills of Camp Half-Blood that the two of you called home. 

Gone were the moments wherein she would hold you and soothe all of your worries away. Gone were the times of squealing as she picked you up from behind and spun you around to face her mid-air. Gone were all the possibilities to make the most of your limited years together, because she was dead, off in a faraway land that you couldn’t even visit to see her corpse and offer her one last smile.

That was when the thoughts began to swirl in your mind. Months went by and everything seemed to go back to normal. You had been given three weeks off training to mourn, and after those three weeks you seemingly bounced back like nothing was wrong, like you hadn’t just lost the love of your life. 

The only difference was the streak of white that made itself apparent in your hair, its origins unknown, and the smile on your face that never seemed to quite reach your eyes no matter how many times you tried to convince (yourself) and the others that it was genuine. 

Months passed and all fell back into its routine. Things were looking up for the camp as a whole, and Chiron had been able to take a few steps back in managing thanks to Percy Jackson’s continued efforts to have gods and goddesses interact with their children more. 

But those thoughts still took root in your mind, their tendrils digging into the very essence of your psyche as every lonely moment was spent longing for her touch, for her warmth, for the security that she provided once upon a time. In your mind, there was no doubt that it was time to make good on your promise to each other. 

You would meet her in the gardens of Elysium and reunite once more.

After your burial, you made your way down to the banks of the River Styx, anxiously clutching the two coins in one hand and your javelin in the other. Your eyes scanned the crowds of souls, all clamoring to Charon, pleading that he take pity on them and take them across without payment.

The wails of the damned, sobs of the innocent, and screams of the guilty all flooded your senses. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted a familiar mess of brown curls and sprinted towards them, your footsteps leaving indents on the ash-sand lining the waterline of the Styx.

She was there. Your assumptions had been correct. 

As she had died out in the world and had never been given a proper burial, she had joined the crowd that lingered just at the edge of the Styx, taking every chance she had to try and get across. 

But now that you were there, she didn’t have to worry about sneaking aboard Charon’s boat. You had enough payment for the both of you to make it across safely, and finally live out the rest of your afterlives like you had promised each other.

It wasn’t until you were naught but a couple dozen feet away that you noticed she was rather busy with something. Or rather, someone. And she was looking at that person like they were the only one in the world right now. Your gut twisted, knowing that was the look that she had given you. 

But it wasn’t you she was looking at. It was Silena Beauregard, the daughter of Aphrodite, that Clarisse had spent countless hours reassuring you that she wasn’t just using you as a rebound to get over her death.

She had lied right through her teeth, all with the kindest smile on her face that you could imagine. It was becoming apparent that you were a fool, strung along for the sole purpose of keeping Clarisse’s arms full and warm while she thought of the Beauregard girl. 

Every kiss, every moment, every word shared between you two seemed hollow now. They had lost all meaning, all of the sentiment that once made your stomach fill with butterflies. 

You skidded to a stop just behind the pair, watching with a heavy heart and tightening in your chest as their lips collided over and over again in a series of passionate kisses, their hands roaming each others’ bodies. Just like she had done with you, countless times prior. They were too wrapped up in each other to notice your presence.

You had always been hers, but she had never been yours. 

There wasn’t much emotion left in you besides melancholic resignation, and your gut twisted every time you gripped the two coins in your hand, a reminder that they would never be used for their intended purpose. 

You waited there for a moment before tapping on Clarisse’s shoulder, causing her to break away from the kiss and turn to look at you. Surprise filled her features, then guilt. Overwhelming guilt as she realized the situation you had caught her in. Her lips were interlocked with another girl’s just a moment ago, the very same girl that she had reassured was not a problem or factor in your relationship.

Silena stood behind her, her eyes scrutinizing your appearance, taking note of the way you clutched two coins instead of the customary one. 

“Love-? What are you doing here?” Clarisse asked, the term of endearment slipping naturally off her tongue as it had countless times in the past. But it no longer held any meaning to you, not when you had just witnessed everything before your very own eyes. You didn’t respond beyond throwing the two coins down at her feet with a knowing look, a silent callback to the promise that the two of you had made. The coins clinked softly as they fell onto the fine ash that lines the shores of the River Styx, falling on top of each other.

Horror filled her features as she realized just exactly what you were doing down in the Underworld, and her eyes fell upon the thin scar that ran just along the jugular vein on your neck.

The one spot she had taught you to go for on an opponent if anything ever threatened your life, and you had used it on yourself to have a chance at forever with her. A chance that had been wasted.

“You- you didn’t-” she began, choking on her own words as tears filled her eyes at the thought of it, and the sight of you, now in front of her, very obviously dead. 

“It was for you, ‘Risse, but it seems I really was just a rebound after all.” You spat out, a dangerously bitter edge to your voice as you looked her up and down. 

“These,” you gestured to the coins on the ground, “were supposed to be for us, for the promise you made. But I guess I was the one foolish enough to listen to you, to fall for you in the first place.”

“Enjoy your time in Elysium, La Rue, and know that you were the cause of my death. Don’t forget. On the River Styx.” 

That last statement was the final nail in her metaphorical coffin. No one made a promise on the infamous river and broke it, not without terrible consequences. Any and all chances of her getting into the paradisal side of the Underworld were dashed in mere moments as the realization dawned on her about the gravity of her mistake. 

You bent down and picked up one of the coins on the ground and left without a word, turning on your heel and disappearing back into the crowd of souls before Clarisse could utter another word. 

You had left her with two choices by giving her that one coin: to take the coin for herself and cross with Charon with hopes of trying to win you back and leaving the Aphrodite girl in the dust, or giving it to Silena and letting her go because she was clearly the girl the daughter of Ares loved most. Either way, she lost something.

Her last name was right. You rued the day you ever met Clarisse.

[sarahisslytherin]

eyes open || f.o.

summary: finnick isn't the best at consoling people, but when you pay him a visit during the night watch, he's determined to be your rock, your shoulder to cry on.

contains: angst, talk of death, lil bit of fluff towards the end.

a/n: my specialy is joining fandoms ten years late. gif by @movie-gifs

the chirps of crickets are all that can be heard in this part of the arena. the artificial moon hangs just above your heads as if reminding you of the nation’s heavy gaze. katniss lays asleep by your side, peeta across from you. you rise ever so slowly, so as to avoid waking the capitol’s favorite couple. you head towards the rocks, in search of a sliver of peace. instead you find finnick, eyes barely open.

“this seat taken?” you grumble, gesturing to the space beside him. he startles but quickly recovers, before setting his sights back on the horizon and telling you it’s “all yours”. you sink to the ground by him, following his eyeline. 

“it looks real, doesn’t it?” you sigh. “like it goes on beyond what we can see.”

finnick is quiet for a moment, considering your words. “yeah, but it isn’t.”

“i can’t believe i’m back here again.” your head hangs low. “i’ll die in this cage. i thought i was free.” your eyes begin to grow puffy, your lips and cheeks reddening somewhere beneath your matted hair.

“don’t say that.” finnick chides, not sure how to take away your pain but not for lack of want. he watches as your armor, the one you’ve been wearing ever since you first stepped foot in an arena, slips off, your tears streaming down your cheeks. “i’m sorry, i really am. about everything. i really am shit at consoling people.”

you gasp in between silent sobs, “you’re not that bad.” finnick clicks his tongue, wraps a strong arm around you and pulls you in, your head finding a place to lay in the crook of his neck. your tears wet his skin, your ribcage shakes against his as you weep. and he lets it all happen. 

“come on, don’t cry.” you hear him coo as his hand dries away your tears. “you’re gonna survive this. i’ll make sure of it.” 

“how would you do that?” you croak. “and more importantly, why? you’re supposed to kill me.”

“i don’t know how just yet, but i have my ways.” he smirks, as if he has a map out of all this, a blueprint of a future where you both get to live. “besides, you’re too pretty to kill.” 

you snort at that, give him a playful shove. “what a charmer you are, odair.”

“so i’ve been told.” he chuckles, noticing the way your eyes flutter and your body begins to grow limp against his. “go on, get some sleep. you’re safe, okay? i’ll keep my eyes open.”

[azsazz]

Tethered

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Trying a little something different here...not sure how I'm going to explain it yet, but this fic is more of a fantasy aspect than my other fics.

Warnings: Mentions of burns and death.

Word Count: 3,569

_________________________________________

Pain.

The first thing you recognize when you come to is pain. That, and the darkness.

It consumes you from all angles, a darkness so deep and ancient it feels otherworldly. It coils around you like a frightened snake, smothering what little air you’re able to choke down. You blink once, twice, to attempt to clear your vision, but the black coating the space around you doesn’t so much as shift.

It’s how you know you’re in deep shit.

A sharp pounding pierces your skull, preventing you from shoving your shaky arms beneath your aching body and pushing to your feet. The feeling is worse than that of any wound bestowed upon you up until this point. Not even the King of Hel’s rigorous training or your mother’s disappearance had been so painful.

There’s a gnawing so deeply in your bones that you wonder if the feeling has always been with you, if you’ve somehow become accustomed to the feeling of your body screaming in agony.

Growing up in Hel, you should be used to such things.

Sunbursts spot your vision, the bleeding eclipses warring with the darkness. You hold your breath for a beat or two, trying to force your pulsing heart to calm. Exhaling slowly doesn’t help, only forces your breathing to become shakier.

It’s eerily silent, save for your panting breath. The screams of agony still ring in your ears, the King of Hel’s malicious laugh accompanying them as he splays himself across his throne, grinning at the two maidens sat in his lap.

As you scramble to gather your bearings, you wrack your muddled mind for where you might be and how you survived. You take inventory of as much as you’re able—the sharp flares of pain in your ribs, jagged and harsh with each inhale and exhale you take, and there’s a ringing in your ears that gives even the wailing spirits of Hel a run for their coin.

Hel. The last thing you remember was standing before your King, the sovereign of the underworld. He’d smirked down at you from his throne made of obsidian and bones, towering over not only you, but the entirety of Hel itself. The wicked curve of his lips and piercing dark eyes had only forced you down to your knees by looks alone.

You had not wanted to meet the gaze of your ruler, always hated his attention on you, but as one of his favored, you were often in his presence. Forced into doing his dirty work because of what you were born into, powers that were unlike anything in either Hel nor Haven, a one-of-a-kind ability he sought to take advantage of.

Your glittering quiver had been strapped across your back, and the image comes back to you vividly—clutching the grip of your bow as the King sealed your bargain with a red-hot hand to your skin and a wicked grin on his face.

A shuddering inhale makes your nose scrunch. You can still smell the remnants of your burning flesh beneath his palm.

You had nearly passed out from the pain. Maybe you did, because no matter how much you furrow your brows and wrack your brain, you can’t seem to figure out how you ended up where you are now, face down on the cold, hard ground.

Reaching out blindly for the bow that’s fallen from your fingers, you groan, the long sleeve of the silky white shirt you don beneath your armor brushes against the sensitive mark on your forearm. Your fingers creak as you uncurl them, rubble and debris scratching against your hand, burying deep beneath your nails as you search for your weapon.

The lightweight of your quiver is comfortable at your back. You choke down a shuddering groan as you lift your wings, biting your lip at the tenderness you feel at your back. They seem to be in one piece, as you twist them this way and that, only throbbing dully with bruises. Creatures of all sorts could be lining the darkness surrounding you, and you understand that you’re taking too long to rise, the shadows and nightmares of The Void keeping you off balance.

The King must have had one of his goons throw your hardly-conscious body into The Void after your bargain sealed. That’s how you ended up here. A spine cracking shudder makes bumps rise on your skin as your body stills.

Stories of The Void come rushing to you, and if you try hard enough, you can smell the lingering scents of the other worlds’—a smoldering smoke as black as The Void surrounds you, cloying your throat in thick waves as if trying to choke you, brand you with the reminder of where you are to return to. Cutting through the utter wickedness is the sharp perfume of something other, a fresh breeze lined with citrus that must be a figment of your imagination because there is no scent like that in Hel, nor breeze in The Void. It simply is.

It must be Haven, you decide. You only recognize the heavens from stories trickled down through the rift of worlds, from picturesque stories and secrets in shadow.

You haven’t known anything other than Hel. You cannot recall your father, hardly any of your mother, nor how you ended up in the King’s care. All you remember from your earliest memories are the soothing tones of your mother when you were young and scared, calming you in her arms before you ended up with the King, and the gleaming bow you never go without.

Forged by a millennia-old weapons-master, you’d been gifted the very weapon you seek now. No one knows how it had gotten to her—not even the King himself—only that the exquisite piece had come from the best battlement blacksmith Hel had to offer. You were no older than eight, eyes rounded with wonder at the sight of the gleaming gold bow settled on your bed, matching quiver and arrows accompanying it.

You shove the thoughts away. Your heart leaps into your throat the longer you search for your weapon. The pain zipping up your body help to focus you, and the strain threatens to give out as your fingers finally find the familiar metal grip of your bow. You hold on tightly and drag it to you, feeling the weapon for signs of damage.

Your bow soothes you as you trace your fingers across the solid gold riser. You know this weapon better than you know yourself. You could be blind and know the inside outs of your beloved weapon, like you are now, vision clouded with black as your fingers slide down the string, taut and flexible as ever.

Once you’re satisfied with the condition of your bow, you attempt to rise. The thick robes you’re clothed in had broken none of the fall. They’re heavy against your body as you struggle to gain your footing, stretching your wings wide to balance. The fabric brushes against your wound and you bite back a yelp at the pain that burns through you like a wildfire.

You had thought that without parents or a family to lose there would be nothing for the King to hold over your head, to force you into his tricks and deals, for him to rip away for his enjoyment, but the wretched ruler always found a way. You clenched your teeth so hard that you thought they would crack as you were forced to your knees before him, glaring daggers up at the beautiful ruler while he only grinned like a wolf, licking over those sharpened canines like he was out for your blood. Again.

He hadn’t let you agree to the terms of your bargain until you screamed.

Shoving to your feet, you splay your arms wide for balance. The harsh ground offered no grip beneath your boots and the blackness does little to help you stay stable. You try to keep your breathing calm when it sharpens as you look around. There’s nothing but the darkness and yourself, not a pinprick of light to guide you nor a sound to be heard. Not even your own thick-soled shoes make noise as you test a step forward.

The silence doesn’t break and the prowling creatures that reside in The Void don’t stir. Beings of nightmares, you’d been told when you were only a child and before your mother was taken from you. Your imagination couldn’t be sated when you were young, always begging for more and more stories of the world outside of Hel, questioning why you weren’t allowed to go anywhere else.

You hated the fires and heat of Hel, always burning a spot in your mind or your skin. You craved more, to see the open sky instead of storming clouds of thick smoke that perpetually covered Hel in charcoal waves. You yearned to see the stars and the moon and the heavens of Haven, with their buttery sunrises and dreamy dusks.

Your mother’s face is a long-forgotten memory, but the stories she told are not. Tales of animals and creatures so large, fit with razor-sharp teeth and glowing eyes stalking around The Void, monstrosities that not even the King of Hel could conjure.

Okay, you remind yourself, shaking the worry from your head. It’s time to make a move.

You’re sitting prey if you don’t. The feathers are a familiar comfort brushing your fingertips as you reach over your shoulder, sliding a singular arrow from the quiver with ease. The gold tipped point sings as it’s unsheathed from its home at your back and you notch it in the bowstring with controlled practice. It’s a motion that keeps your hands from shaking and soothes your breathing, a warrior at the ready, should any of the nightmare’s attack.

As you move, you realize that making your way through the darkness is no easy feat. Not a sound to guide your way nor a flicker of a torch to assess your surroundings. There is only darkness and silence and it beats at you with each tentative step you take. Slow progress is still progress, you try to remind yourself, but you can’t help but feel as if you’re talking in circles, the maze of shadows spinning your sense of direction, offering no reprieve.

Even the scents of Hel and Haven have faded, though you feel better about the former washing from your senses. If only the perfumed scent of Haven remained—you’d gladly follow the trail right up to the heavens, King of Hel be damned.

It had once been a dream to see Haven in all of its glory…before you realized that there was no escaping Hel, no escaping the King and his sinful grins and wicked games.

A sound forces her to still, limbs locking up before you force yourself to steady your stance and take aim, squinting through the black. Your pointed ears perk as you listen intently, not daring even a shallow breath. A soft noise sounds, like a cloth brushing across glass. It’s fleeting, morphing all too quickly into a screeching, grating noise that reverberates in your bones. Talons. They. Sound so similar to those of the King’s hounds giving chase down the long halls of his palace that there is no doubt in your mind the creature stalking you could shred you limb from limb.

The noise ricochets against the hard ground of The Void, echoing off of the nothingness that surrounds you. It makes your head spin, torso twisting to follow the movement as you search desperately. For the source.

Standing frozen, boy taut as you strain to glimpse any sign of where the lurking creature may be, a barely recognizable purr accompanies the grinding claws. With the darkness of The Void swallowing all movement, it feels as if the noises are consuming you, echoing in all directions and baffling your sense further.

Glowing, white eyes blink open, startling you. Your heart skips a beat in your chest as you jump, tightening your grip on your weapon and swinging it in the direction of the lurking beast, the tip of your arrow aimed right between those bright eyes.

You don’t dare more, though the smart thing to do would be to release the sharp-tipped arrow the beast’s way, but the creature doesn’t move. It blinks slowly, sleepily at you with its gleaming eyes, staring at you as if it’s curious instead of the horrifying nightmare the King and others had warned you about.

You curse silently as it stands. You’re pinned by those unnervingly bright. Eyes as it bounds closer. A reflection of what you’ve heard the moon looks like lies within its stare, though you don’t think the creature has seen the luminous beacon in the sky either. In the low light reflecting from its gaze, you catch sight of the sharp teeth as the nightmare licks its maw, and the pointed talons that clack against the stone ground as it closes in on you.

You could run. You can turn around and spring through the darkness for your life, pray to Haven that you don’t trip over a worse dark-dwelling beast, but with the deep ache in your bones you know that you won’t make it far fast enough.

The King of Hel hadn’t been lying when he taunted you with how terrifying these beasts could be.

You wonder for a fleeting moment if the ruler of Hel even expected you to make it out of The Void.

Heart racing in your chest, for the first time since you’ve mastered your bow, your fingers tremble around the taut string. You can let lose an arrow between its glowing hot eyes. There’s no falter in your aim, even with the miniscule shake. If you will it, your arrow will strike true.

The prowling beast halts only meters from you. Your heart pounds loudly in your chest and the beast must be able to hear it beating against your golden breastplate from the way that it cocks its head and blinks up at you. It nearly reaches your chest and you swallow harshly, knowing that one wrong move will have the beast snapping at you. You hardly breathe as lips curl away from blade-sharp teeth that glint in the glow of its blinding eyes.

There are only a handful of seconds to decide your next move—to bare your own teeth and show the creature what you’re made of, firing the gold-tipped arrow, or stand down and hope that the predator does the same.

One breath, two, and you watch the creature lower itself onto its haunches. Your hands fall to your side in relief. The arrow is a surety in your grasp as you slowly sheath it back in place at your back. A surety that if the beast attacks, you’d be even more of a fool than the King ever claimed.

Following your movements with bright eyes, the growling of the beast falters, then quiets. It straightens, sitting taller, more menacing, and nearly meets your gaze straight on. It stares at you until your empty hand is back at your side, bargain mark throbbing as it brushes against your cloak.

You’re just as confused as the creature across from you, staring at each other like two sides of the same coin. It’s like you know the beast, seen it in your dreams or heard tales about it from your mother, but your mind is muggy, and you can’t grasp where the familiar feeling is from. You see yourself in its eyes, lost in the darkness with no light to guide you out.

As if the creature understands this, it dips its chin to study you.

Its breath is balmy against your throat and it sends shivers up your spine. Your lip’s part to gasp at the same time the creatures open to taste your scent, deciding if you’re a threat or not. The heaving breaths against your skin tickle, but there’s nothing funny about the way the creature stills, as if the raging beast wants to slash through your delicate flesh, to feel your hot blood sticky beneath its paws.

“Help me,” you dare whisper. It’s spoken as quietly as your voice allows, but the sound carries into the void as if you screamed it.

A howl answers that makes you flinch and itch to press your palms against her ears. It hadn’t come from the beast before you, who snuffs in response, its full row of teeth reappearing as its eyes narrow, staying tightly locked on you.

“Help me,” you plead, desperation clinging to your words. You need to get out of here, need to breathe the night air and see the real moon and feel its silvery rays upon your skin just once, you need to find somewhere safe so you can begin working towards what you came here for, why the bargain mark burns with every movement. Your freedom. It’s all you want from the King, from Hel, to be able to roam as you please, leaving the underworld to find something greater.

You want to remember something other than the harrowing sights of Hel, than the King’s sharp smile mocking you every time you close your eyes. The things he’s made you do, the things you’ve made yourself do. This cannot be the end.

You won’t let it be.

“I’m trying to find Velaris,” you continue when another yip joins the first. A hunting party, likely moving this way. The sounds are closer this time, but the darkness doesn’t allow you to gauge just how far they roam or how many there are. Your gaze sweeps around as if the soft light emitting from the beast’s eyes will allow you to see the others. The blackness leers in response, no longer the sinister silence but instead filled with a terrifying array of noises that will only enhance the harrowing nightmares that plague you. “I need to find the city.”

Your fingers tighten around the handle of your bow but the action does nothing to ease the worry eating at you.

Maybe it’s the raw despair in your tone or the glistening look in your eyes or the thunderous beating of your heart that makes the beast take pity on you.

Blinking up at you, the creature slinks closer, damp snout pressing into your hand. You hold back the flinch at the coldness of it, and it gives you a gentle nudge as if to say, ‘Why didn’t you say so?’

Releasing a sigh of relief, the beast allows you to press your hand to the top of its furry head as it leads you towards further darkness. The creature’s mane is soft and thick between your uneasy hold, leaving you to wonder if this being isn’t a menacing creature bred to hunt within The Void, but one that had been just as scared as you.

The howls of creatures around them die down as you’re lead through black. You don’t know if you should be breathing easier or harder when the noises die out completely, leaving your breathing and the clacking of the beasts claws against the stony ground as the only sounds as you walk.

Blinking, you are convinced your mind is playing tricks on you at first, as you begin making out different shapes. Black turns to a deep navy, then lighter until you can see silhouettes of trees and mountains beyond. The hard stone turns to soft earth laden with thick grasses reaching nearly to your knees.

The air is sharp, crisp with the oncoming scent of a storm. Your head snaps towards the sky, searching for a star, the moon, anything you can to ensure you’ve ended up in the correct place, but thick, rumbling clouds cover every inch of the star-smattered sky.

Disappointment floods your veins with ice. You’d been wishing to see for yourself since you were a child and your mother had spoken so highly of the bright splotch in the sky, and it has gnawed at you as you grew into the female you are now, proud and strong.

With a disheartened sigh, you turn to face the creature who’d been leading you through the darkness, only to find it gone. You hadn’t felt the beast slip from your grasp, entranced on the opportunity to see the beautiful night sky. It had disappeared on those stealthy paws, dipping from your hold and back into the swallowing darkness of The Void.

It looms behind you, an open, cavernous mouth that seems to creep slowly, consuming the trees and stars and sky. You wonder if it had somehow consumed the moon, if The Void is a living being all its own—a trap waiting patiently to devour what wanders into its well laid snare.

A shudder works its way up your spine as you stare. You know well that you will be back, when it is time to return to Hel with the King’s prize, and then and only then, will you have your freedom.

The word burns your skin just thinking about it. A time where you will be able to roam freely from the nightmares of Hel, doing as you please without the King there to loom and rule over you. The taste of the salty night breeze is only a tease of what you will soon have.

[gogobootz1]

The Mentor pt.3

Finnick Odair x Reader

Summary: A morning chat at the train station proves very revealing for you and Finnick.

Warnings: mention of forced prostitution and mild self-harm

part two | part four

The marble steps you sit on are practically ice, and the cold seeps quickly through your pants. The train station is entirely empty, and you sit outside of it looking out at the city.

Knees up to your chest, you take a deep breath. The roses you clutch in your icy fingers seem to taunt you, and once you look at them, you can't pull your eyes away. A beautiful gift belying your tragic fate.

You set all but one down beside you, then start to pick at its petals. Completely transfixed, you don't even hear the sounds of someone approaching until you drop the last petal.

"What'd you land on?"

The words break your focus, and you quickly gaze up to find who interrupted you. Finnick interprets your gaze as a confused one and elaborates, "Loves you/loves you not?"

That's not why you were picking the petals, but if you had been asking the flower, it would've been about him. The thought is embarrassing, so you give a half-hearted shrug and look away.

"Well, I got these for you," he holds out a small, far more rustic bouquet. Violets. "But it seems like someone's beaten me to the punch." What a cruel metaphor. Snow blocking your chances yet again. Standing in between you and a real life with real connections. Soon enough, you won't be real. What'll be left when you run out of choices you can make for yourself?

For now, you put the roses down anyway. The breath from your melancholy laugh is visible in the crisp morning air. "Thanks," you say, holding your hand out to accept the flowers. They remind you of home. A patch of them grew out in the field behind the house you grew up in. Your fingers brush over his as you accept the bouquet.

He jolts, "You're freezing!" Dropping down next to you on the steps, he removes the violets from your grasp and rests them in the small space between you. You follow the purple flowers with your eyes as he swiftly takes your hands in his own, attempting to warm them. "Do you purposefully torture your hands?"

You don't answer, still looking at the flowers he brought you. Finnick sighs, "You take such good care of Darla. Do you even bother looking after yourself?"

"What's the point?" Your heart hurts. As much as he hates it, he doesn't have a reply to that. He often wonders the same.

"How will you hold all the flowers you're collecting if your fingers freeze off?" He tries for lighthearted, but you wince. Instantly, he frowns. While typically, your replies to him are short, bordering on rude, they're always spirited. You seemed upset before he left you at the party last night, but now you seem disheveled. Like you hadn't had a wink of sleep.

Clearly, he's caught you in one of those moments. All the victors have them, but usually in private. He's not keen to leave you, though.

"Who gave you the roses?" He ventures, suddenly getting a sickening feeling. He's not expecting a real response, necessarily, but a 'wouldn't you like to know' would ease his anxiety.

You pick up the heavily perfumed flowers, "Oh, these? A gift, I suspect. I made someone very happy last night, and I'm sure I'll be doing it more often," you say bitterly before you toss them back down. Your voice comes out small, though, like you haven't built your armor thick enough to face this yet.

"From the office of the President?" It's not even a question. He already knows. Your face reveals your surprise. "I got a similar congratulatory present when I made my first deal." While he figured out that Snow had you in a similar position, it's clear you suspected nothing of the sort when it came to him. As you look into his eyes, he hopes you're getting what he's trying to convey. That the two of you are the same. And you can finally, finally, be honest.

"It was more of a negotiation," you nod, holding his eyes. "Not my first deal."

"I figured," he says.

You laugh sourly, "Is it easy to tell that I'm a cheap whore?"

"Don't sell yourself short," he scolds, "you're a very expensive whore." He almost worries it won't go over well when you snort and launch into the freest laugh he's heard in his life. Thank God someone appreciates his humor- Mags hates these jokes. He's got plenty more of them, and will definitely use them on you now that he knows they'll land.

"Thank you for the vote of confidence," you reply, tongue-in-cheek. Finnick can tell by your genuine grin, however, that you appreciated the joke.

"You're welcome," he nods, "You know, I've considered abandoning prostitution in favor of stand-up comedy."

Somehow your grin grows wider, "Really?"

"Really," he confirms, "I just have to perfect my material before I pitch it to the big man." You nod sagely, entertaining his bit. "He might just keel over in laughter," Finnick suggests.

You lean in a bit, "Think he'll keel over dead?"

"Here's hoping!" He leans in, too, sending you a flashy smile. You laugh again and look back out at the city. An amicable silence falls between the two of you, and you enjoy it a bit before breaking it.

"I met with him before the taping to tell him our deal was off. My nana died during Darla's games, so I thought he had nothing to hold over my head anymore. Then, at the party, our escort told me that Snow wanted everyone to get to know her. And when I saw her talking to-" you cut yourself off, but he understands. Some of them are too difficult to even think about. "I marched into his house and told him I'd take on twice the clients if it meant Darla would never see one." Finnick's breath catches in his throat for a second.

"So... a reminder of my renewed imprisonment," you pick the white roses up again and wave them sarcastically.

Finnick snatches them from your hands and launches them far across the steps with a firm throw. They scatter and tumble across the white marble. The action is so unexpected that another laugh bubbles out from you.

"I think you're incredibly brave," he declares, looking you right in the eye. "You might be the only victor worthy of the title."

"No," you're quick to insist. "That's Darla. She's earned her peace."

"You haven't stopped to think that you might've too?"

You shake your head, "But I haven't. I don't think I could ever atone for what I've done- no matter how hard I try." His brows furrow, finding your words worrisome.

Catching his look, you elaborate, "Every visit to Mrs. Montgomery's classroom, the parks I design, the gardens I dedicate, my broadcast segments- they're all born of guilt!" You admit, getting choked up, "It's my way of saying sorry. Sorry for fucking your husband, even though he paid to fuck me, and I wanted to die each time he did it. Sorry for being a plague upon the Earth, here's something to make it better. Sorry for-" You only notice you'd been aggressively scratching the back of your hand when Finnick grabs your wrist. It cuts off your rambling and prevents you from hurting yourself anymore.

"Why don't you talk to someone instead of torturing yourself?" He sounds pained.

“Who would I talk to?” You shrug, swiping at a stray tear. 

“That was… supposed to be an offer,” he winces.

“Oh?" you blink at him. 

“I’m really just a call away,” he nods, awkwardly rubbing the back of his head. 

“Right,” you say, still sounding a little unsure. You blink a few times, averting your gaze and thinking it over. 

“I know you think I’m gorgeous, but I’m sure it’ll be less of an obstacle for you over the phone,” he jokes. 

You turn toward him slowly, eyes wide, “she didn’t.” 

“She did,” he smirks at you. 

You hit him firmly in the gut, and he lets out a heavy breath as he curls inward. He’s glad you’re feeling up to your usual abrasiveness. 

You’ve already moved from your spot and are heading toward the station. He stumbles up after you. 

You stop suddenly. Not that you were really going anywhere. The train for Ten won’t leave without Darla and Darla is chronically late. He nearly runs right into your back, and you see him struggle to regain his balance as you whip around. 

He’s much closer than you thought, and you have to take a small step back. “What’s your number?” 

“What?” He asks, reeling from the near-collision. 

“How am I supposed to call if I don’t have your number?” You ask, and his eyebrows raise at the question. You totally skipped the ‘yes, thank you, what a great idea,’ part he’d been hoping for. But, he’ll take what he can get. He rattles off the number in an instant. 

“Are you going to remember that?” He asks. 

You nod noncommittally, “We’ll see.” The exasperated look on his face pulls another grin from you. He doesn't fight the smile off his face when he sees yours. 

A car door slam breaks your extended eye contact. The other District Ten mentor breezes right past you and Finnick, clearly annoyed at being up so early. You know him well enough to know he’s going right back to bed on this train. 

Darla, however, looks like hell-warmed over. “What the fuck happened to you?”

“Shhhhh,” she holds a finger to her lips, the other clutching her head. Your expression drops as you take in her appearance.

“Are you hungover?!” You try to steal her dark sunglasses, but she’s too quick. 

“Whatever, Mom,” she grumbles, “hurry up and kiss your boyfriend goodbye so we can leave.” She trudges further into the station, where a train is inevitably waiting for you. Your eyes go wide in embarrassment. 

“Darla!” You yell, and she winces at the noise. 

Finnick chuckles, “What happened to moderation?” She throws him the finger, earning further laughter. 

You shake your head at her behavior, and when you turn back to Finnick you find he’s already looking at you. “What?” 

“Nothing,” he shrugs, acting innocent. “Oh wait,” he snaps and doubles back to grab the flowers he arrived with. “You almost forgot these.”  

You shake your head at him, smiling, “Can’t have that can we?” 

“Safe travels,” he nods at you, turning to go. He makes it a few paces before you call out after him. 

“Finnick,” he quickly turns at the sound of his name. When you recite his number back a surprised grin lights up his features. “The uh- the phone works both ways, you know. I’m not a bad listener.” 

“Noted,” he nods, smiling. You smile back at him, a genuine one, and it makes you look younger. A loud call of your name from a train within the station makes the both of you laugh. 

“Bye, Finnick,” you smile at him, giving a cute little wave. He returns it readily.

And he thought he was in trouble before. 

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

@emerald-09

I also didn't really edit this one, but I think I like how it turned out? I'm not sure if I'll write more for this mini-universe since I have a few other Finnick ideas but we'll see

[delicious-in-imagines]

Hii! Hope you’re doing well :3! Could I request like basic relationship headcanons with Kabru, Chilchuck, and Laios? If not that’s totally fine! Hope you have a good day! :D

You got it, boss!

Kabru of Utaya

I've covered this before in other posts, but his eye for details when it comes to people is going to be used on you. He has a internal list of things you love and things that you hate, and often references it over the course of the relationship.

The only way that he cleans his room is if you're coming over. He'll ask you to return with him on a whim, and then realizes that 'oh shit, I can't have them see this,' and once you get back, he tries to make a distraction, or just asks you to hang out in the hallway as he struggles to stuff all of the shit on the floor under every piece of furniture he can. His landlord finds this endlessly amusing, and knows when you're coming over because Kabru is frantically trying to clean - he helps to give Kabru some pointers.

Loves to surprise you with things you mention in passing, a necklace or bracelet that you saw in a nearby stall, taking you out to a fancy place that you mentioned wanting to go to dinner, or even just something that you need that he noticed. Stuff like a new whetstone, a repair for your armor, anything like that.

He's not the biggest on embraces, but this is a man who loves to cuddle when the two of you are in bed. He absolutely enjoys wrapping his hands around you, either having you curling into his neck, or with your back slotted neatly against him. He always plays with your hands, linking your fingers together. He actually gets to the point that he can't sleep easily unless he at least has some part of his body touching yours.

Cup his face before kissing him, stare into his eyes and tell him something along the lines of 'I love the color of your eyes' and just watch him melt. He used to be self-conscious and hate his eyes, though it's something he's outgrown over the years, but he still loves to hear it come from your lips.

Chilchuck Tims

His love language is admonishing you - sorry not sorry. He's very much the kind of person that if he is barking at you while patching you up, or while trying to help you, that he cares deeply about you. He yells because he cares, if he didn't, he wouldn't say a word.

Before you get into a relationship, he's absolutely going to bring up his past, at least in some capacity. Even if it's part of his sordid past, you deserve to know. He promises that he's changed, but he also knows that the only way to prove that is through his actions.

Speaking of, he does want you to meet his daughters. He's not ashamed of them - quite the opposite, he loves them dearly, and he doesn't want to feel like he's hiding them from you, or you from them. Though, there's not enough words in the common language to express how relieved he is when his daughters like you.

Even though he hates interpersonal relationships in groups, he also starts to outgrow that in bits and pieces. While on the job, he's going to be a bit more aloof, though he absolutely will indulge a handhold, and will only marginally shoo you away when you press a little peck to his cheek or temple.

Though, whenever you take breaks, he's definitely more receptive to any open displays of affection, and will even come to you to initiate. Especially if you're sitting, he'll come up to you and cup your face, making you look up at him - which is something that he loves way too much to be healthy. He's used to people looking down towards him, so being able to tip your head up? It's like a drug for him.

He knows that he's a walking space heater, and anticipates you setting your bedroll beside his own. He'll open up his blanket and grouse until you settle down, sighing out and finally snuggling up to you. Whether you like to be the big spoon or the little spoon, he enjoys the casual closeness. Though, his favorite is if you're bigger than him - being the big spoon, or more aptly, your jetpack.

Laios Touden

Being able to share meals made up of meal parts is a dream come true for him. He might pout occasionally if you are unsure about whatever y'all are eating. But, whenever he can, if there's something that you genuinely liked - then he's more than willing to share with you! I like to think that sharing food or cooking it with him is a love language of his.

If you're willing to listen to him constantly rambling about his hyperfixation on monsters, he'll continue on excitedly before he'll cut himself off, stumbling over his words and apologizing. Please - please, please, please, reassure him, even if you just tell him, 'I might not fully understand, but I just like listening to you.' You'll have his heart immediately, looking at you so softly and wrapping you up in a hug and thanking you. He knows sometimes he can get carried away, but knowing that you value his joy even if you don't fully agree, it warms his heart.

I like to think that rather than defaulting to kisses for showing affection, that he head bonks. You know how cats do the bunting? Yeah, that. He'll come up to you while you're doing something mundane and just bonk his head against yours. Sometimes it's a little too harsh, but that's just how much he loves you.

Above anything else, he wants you to meet his sister. While he may not be able to, nor want, to take you home to his parents - he does want you to meet the family that he cares about most. He'll share stories about Falin, things they did when they were younger, or when they were gold strippers, though sometimes he cuts himself off when he feels overwhelmed with what has happened to his sister.

He's a sprawler when he sleeps, usually on his back - pulls the full starfish. So, if you want to cuddle, you'll have to sleep in the crook of his arm, where he'll close his arm to bring you closer to him. Sleeping on the rise and fall of his chest, hearing his thumping heart skip a beat every time that you rest your head there. When he wakes up first, he can't find it in himself to wake you, craning his head awkwardly to watch your sleeping form with the softest smile on his face.