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corazondebeskar-reads · 7 months

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well it's love, make it hurt - chapter ten

well it's love, make it hurt series

ten: I'd be a fool to have asked for more

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dom!Din Djarin x sub!f!reader

for Kinktober 2023 - Day 29: Genital Pumping

This is part of a series of snapshots following dom!Din Djarin and sub!f!reader as they navigate working together as bounty hunters and exploring a d/s relationship.

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: You and Mando pursue your big-ticket bounty, but it turns out to be much more dangerous than you expected.

Warnings: bdsm, established relationship, dom!din and sub!reader, soft dom din djarin, bounty hunting, canon-typical violence, hurt/comfort, graphic injuries, genital pumping, pussy pump, dacryphilia, aftercare, subspace, more plot than usual.

Prompts from this list by @absurdthirst.

also on ao3

3 ABY - Winter

You put a moratorium on sex. Not because you don’t want Mando, but because you’re becoming a little rabid about the hunt.

Vanda had hopped planets again, just a few steps ahead of you. What’s worse is that you don’t even know if he knows he’s being followed or if you're just failing to catch up.

Mando sulks, just a little. He doesn’t protest, but when you’re settled down for bed, he brushes a knuckle over your breast, teasing around the nipple. “Eighteen more hours until we arrive,” he says with a sigh. His finger trails delicately, dancing along your ribs and back up.

“Yep,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Plenty of time to rest and prepare.”

“Plenty,” he agrees, his hand ghosting up the line of your neck in a poor imitation of what he’d like to do with his lips. He ignores the twang of guilt when he considers that he’d probably have what he wants by now if he could use them. Thinking about it makes him ache harder, twitching where he’s pressed against your lower back.

“Stop it,” you go to scoot away, but he catches your hip with his wandering hand. You can’t help it; you moan and meet him halfway. “We are grown adults. We can go a few days.”

“The time will pass no matter how we fill it,” he says, but he pulls back a little, letting the space between you cushion his desires.

You twist your head to press a soft kiss to his helmet. “I’m s—”

“Don’t,” he says. “Don’t ever apologize for saying no.”

You close your eyes for a moment. Sometimes, he says things that shouldn’t be so baffling, and yet, you’re thrown off step. “Thank you,” you say instead. You nestle back down into his arm and try to chase a pleasant dream.

It doesn’t come.

There’s a reason why the guild encourages hunters not to ask too many questions about their bounties. You haven't thought of much other than catching Vanda, haven't been sleeping well. Not since Mando recounted his conversation with Madame Anissa.

“Olin Vanda?” Anissa looked at him with wide eyes. “Dead or alive?”

“I shouldn’t discuss—”

“Dead. or. Alive?”

“Either.”

She put a hand over her chest, took a deep breath, and fixed such an intense stare on his visor that his pulse quickened. “I remember him. I can do you one better than his habits and connections. I can get you a more recent location. But you have to promise me something.”

Mando was no stranger to striking deals for information. “What do you want?”

“Promise you’ll kill him.”

It set all his nerves on end. “Tell me what you know,” he said softly, leaning forward.

“He trafficks. Young girls, orphans, whoever. He was bringing girls through here to sell.” She closed her eyes for a moment, hurt erupting across her gentle face. “Right under my nose.”

“You couldn’t have known,” he said. But neither of them believed it.

“That’s why we separated you. We do it to everyone now,” she said. Her voice was thick with resentment. “I should have noticed sooner.”

“But you did notice?”

“Yes. It’s why he was relocated from Morlana One. I reported him, and that was the ISB’s solution — cover it up. They never looked for those girls, never issued any other consequences.”

“Dank farrik,” Mando mutters.

“I’ll reach out to my network and see if anyone has had a sighting recently. He pops up at other clubs from time to time, but I flagged his face in our system, so he gets kicked out pretty quickly.”

The coordinates she gave when you left Axis were from another Madame who had seen him just two days prior. The timing couldn’t have been better, which is why you were so frustrated when he kept vanishing.

You don’t often kill bounties who can be captured. Not only because they’re usually worth more alive but because it keeps you cleaner. Lighter. Fewer souls to drag around after you drop the bodies off. But when Mando tells you of his promise to Anissa, you find yourself hoping to be the one to do it.

It could have been you. Damn near almost was. Cantonica wasn’t kind to children, particularly those with no family to protect them and no debt to work off. You were ten when the hunters came to collect your parents’ debts and took pity on you. They were partners, and while they weren’t the kind of people to go around adopting stray kids, they also weren’t the kind of people to leave one to die.

Instead, they gave you a few credits, a blaster, and the location of an abandoned scrapyard. Not that you’d told Mando any of this, but he didn’t need an explanation for why you might be bloodthirsty over this particular bounty.

Once you land, it doesn’t take long to find them. Vanda and his little band of loyalists are at a pub, cheating their way through the locals in a Sabacc tournament. There are too many potential casualties, so you track down their ships and stake out.

It’s well past dark when they arrive. The two of you are shadows, the push and pull of your motions in tandem as you take out some of the extras. No one will shed a tear over fewer Imps. They don’t even know what’s happened until half of them are bleeding out in the docking bay.

That’s when it all goes to shit. Your vibroblade is at the throat of a burly man when another comes up behind you and grabs you. His momentum lets you still manage to split the delicate tendons of his compatriot, but he has you in a chokehold, and though he screams in rage when your teeth sink into his arm, he does not drop you.

The noise splinters the silence. Everyone is abruptly aware of the fight. It would have been fine, should have been fine, until another one of Vanda’s lackeys raises a blaster at you, and something happens that you thought was impossible.

Mando stops.

He freezes and redirects his attention, shooting and killing both men you were fighting. But in that one, tiny moment of distraction, Vanda buries a large, jagged vibroblade in Mando’s exposed side.

Neither of you realizes it right away. He’s busy killing the men who were trying to hurt you, and you’re busy pursuing Vanda, who has fled toward a ship. But you don’t make it to the ramp on time, because you look over to see Mando pull the blade from his body.

He’s on his knees, trying to put pressure on the wound but investigating it at the same time. He doesn’t see Vanda aim a blaster at you, but you’re already on the move toward him, so luckily, the bolt only catches you in the shoulder.

You don’t feel it. You’re already into your pack, pulling out the small medkit you carry for field emergencies.

Mando looks up when your knees hit the ground next to him. You’re pulling his flightsuit away from the wound, but he catches your hand.

“Fuck, cyare, your shoulder, let me—”

“Are you kriffing kidding me? You’re bleeding out, let go.”

“You’ve been shot, when did you get shot?”

“Which one of us is bleeding out right now?” you yell, yanking your wrist from his grasp and plunging the needle into his side without warning. He’s shaking, the wound is gushing, and it’s too slippery to hold on to the syringe. You have to try again, but a good third of the bacta is wasted.

When you manage to get the medicine in him, you sit back, the shot abandoned at your side. “It’s not enough,” you say through deep gasps for air.

“It’s going to be okay,” he says, eerily calm.

“Which one of us is bleeding out right now?” you repeat, less fury and more frenzy. Your hands are covered in his blood, slick and sticky, and it’s still oozing from his side. You try to wipe your hands on your pants so you can dig out the needle and thread, but they’re wet with it, too.

He hands you the cauterizer. He’d do it himself, but he’s feeling faint enough to know he might black out from the pain.

“You can do it,” he says.

You’ve never used one before. Never had a wound grievous enough to require it.

“Breathe. Look at me,” he says.

You do.

“You can do this, I trust you.”

You have no choice but to believe him, not unless you’re going to leave him on the ground of the docking bay and hope he’s still alive when you get back with more bacta.

So you scrabble for a sloppy hold on the open wound and burn his skin together. It’s awful. You throw up after, stumbling to a corner behind a crate and emptying your stomach. The smell of singed flesh sticks to your clothes.

But it’s enough to get him back to the ship. Enough to get him laying on the crates in the hull while you dig up bacta patches and cover the burn. Enough that you can sit on the table and become abruptly aware of the hole in your shoulder just long enough for him to bandage you up himself.

Once you’re sure he’s not going to faint, or worse, you strip out of your ruined clothes and rinse his blood from you in the fresher. When you come back out, he’s cooking.

“What in the stars do you think you’re doing?”

“We both need to eat.”

“And you can wait five minutes for me to do it!”

“You’ve done so much, cyare, let me take care of you.”

You stomp your foot, balling your hands into fists. “You absolute idiot!” It comes out a bit more screechy than you’d like, but you think you’re entitled. “Sit down. You almost bled out. No, you know what? Go lay in the bunk.”

He turns the burner off and looks at you. Your hair is still dripping down the tunic you’ve borrowed from his shelf, and your mouth is twisted into a snarl. You’re flushed and tense, braced for a fight, but he sees the way your eyes keep flicking to his side, checking to see if the wound reopened, checking to make sure the blood is only burned into your memory and not trickling down his leg.

He regards you carefully and nods once, putting a hand up to stop the protest he knows will be coming. “Fine, but I’m staying here. I’m not leaving this room.” He moves slowly to the crates and sits down on your old bedroll. “Okay, sweetheart?”

“Fine.” You stomp around the kitchen, throwing together what can only vaguely be considered a meal. You hesitate when you hand it to him, wavering on the spot.

He knows you’re thinking the same thing. “Stay,” he says, so you don’t have to ask.

You look at him but don’t move.

He dips his helmet toward the ground and watches you work your jaw, biting your lip, before you give in and sink to your knees at his feet, facing into the belly of the ship. He sets the plate beside him and removes his gloves.

He feeds you while he eats. It’s not something you do often — you’re only barely domesticated when it comes to food security, often preferring to wolf down your meal on your own. But you can tell he needs it—needs to regain control over the situation, needs you to be close.

When he’s done, he replaces the helmet, and you take the plate to the sink.

“C’mere,” he says, reaching for your hand. You let him pull you close but protest when he tries to lift you onto the seat.

He gives in immediately, but when you hop up, he tries to pull you into his lap. “Can I have you, cyar’ika?”

“You’re hurt.”

“So are you. Fuck. I’ll be gentle.”

Your lip wobbles a little. He cups your face in one broad palm, and you lean into it, closing your eyes.

“I almost died,” he tries.

It has the opposite effect than he hoped. Your eyes snap open, and you pull away from him. “Exactly! You need to rest.”

“Can’t. Need you, pretty girl, please?”

You hesitate, so he follows it up with another, more playful “I almost died.”

“Stop it, that’s not funny.”

“It’s kind of funny. Look, if it’ll make you feel better, I have an idea.”

Your eyes narrow. “By the stars, if you say you want to try something right now, I’ll—I’ll—”

“You’ll humor me since I almost died?”

You swallow hard as the retort gets trapped behind the sudden lump in your throat.

He watches the way your lips fall slack and reaches up to curl his hand around your neck. “I’m okay,” he says.

You hold onto his wrist with both hands. “You almost died.”

His thumb brushes up and down. “Not really. You wouldn’t have let me.”

You hold back the sob, but your eyes prick at the corners, anyway. He brushes the tears away and sits up, pressing his helmet to your forehead.

“I ever tell you what this means?” his voice is so hushed, the modulator doesn’t pick it up. You only hear the real thing, the inflections, and rasp clear without the static.

“What what means?”

“This,” he pulls away a little and presses your heads back together. “This is how Mandalorians kiss when they can’t remove their helmets.”

Your chest feels like it’s been cleaved open.

“Is that okay?” he asks.

You pull back a little and carefully, slowly raise your hands up to cup the sides of his helmet before pressing your head back against his, exhaling shakily. He wraps his arms around you, nearly clinging. You shift to straddle his lap, feeling like you could crawl into him just to make sure his heart is still pulsing.

“It’s also useful for headbutting,” he says after a few minutes have passed.

When the laughter bursts from you, it springs free a few tears and a hiccup.

“Don’t cry, cyar’ika. I told you, I wasn’t worried. We’re a good team. I know you have my back.”

It only makes you cry harder.

“Hey, save those tears for later,” he murmurs. “You’ll need them after I’ve worn you out.”

You sniffle. “I knew you liked it.”

He thinks about telling you why. He thinks about telling you how the moments you burst into tears are how he knows you love him, even if you won’t say it. How it feels to know he’s the only one in the galaxy you’ll be vulnerable with, that you trust.

“What can I say? You’re so pretty when you suffer for me, sweetheart,” he says instead. Maybe later. Maybe when you both aren’t so raw, when he thinks you’re less likely to hide and lick your wounds.

He’s a patient man. He can wait for you.

His words make you squirm, and he takes the opening.

“I think you like it too,” he says, curling fingers under your chin. “You want me to make you suffer, cyare? Ready to try something new?”

You nod, looking into his visor with wet but yearning eyes. You knew you were going to give in. He had almost died. You wanted him to stitch up the part of you that had been so afraid.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmurs and pushes a thumb between your lips for you to suck on.

Your eyes flutter shut, the taste of him like iron and petrichor.

“Let’s go to the bed,” he murmurs. “I really do want to try something. It’ll make it easier to be careful.”

“Okay.”

When you’ve persuaded him that whatever you’re doing can be done with you both lying down and resting, he shows you a strange device.

“Is that for like… drugs or something?” you ask, squishing the soft rubber piece that looks like a mask.

“No, this is what’s going to help me ruin your cunt since you won’t let me move around.”

“Oh,” you whisper. You don’t understand, but you’re wet in anticipation anyway.

“Open,” he taps your knee.

You obey. You’re already starting to feel a little fuzzy around the edges. The adrenaline was wearing off fast, and he had slipped his collar around your neck a few moments earlier. And you know he needs this—you certainly do. He fits the little mask over your pussy. You clench your fist, trying to breathe steady. He shows you the bulb he’s attached to the end of a tube, and you realize what it’s for right as he squeezes it, and the mask pulls tight to you.

He pumps it a few more times as you stare at the hand holding the bulb. The sensation isn’t much, not yet, just a gentle hold and a faint tingle.

He watches your face. “How does it feel?”

“More, please, sir,” you say quickly.

It’s not quite an answer to his question, but he’s fairly sure you’re already gone, head empty of the day’s fear and drifting off at his whim. So he obliges. He can tell the moment it crosses into something ravenous.

Your eyes widen, pupils blown, and your mouth falls open. He can see your pussy lips swelling a little already and greedily pumps the bulb until you moan.

“That tight enough for you?” he asks, running a careful finger along the edge of the pump and your flesh. He’s rewarded with a shudder and retracts his hand.

“More, please.”

“Careful what you ask for,” he warns, but he’s already increasing the pressure. It’s sealed tight around your cunt, and he sets the bulb down, eager to watch you squirm.

You don’t disappoint. As the moments stack up, as five minutes creep by, you’re trying very hard to hold still and failing catastrophically. He traces the outline, skimming over throbbing flesh. A wicked grin grows as your whines increase in pitch and desperation.

After a few more minutes, he checks in again, noting the sheen of sweat on your brow. “Does it hurt yet?” he murmurs.

“A-a little,” you say, fidgeting.

“You want me to take it off and touch you?”

“Oh fuck.”

“I don’t know what that means,” he lays on the fake pity. “I’m just trying to help you, cyare, you need to tell me what you want.”

“Please,” you cry. “Please, more.”

“More what? More this?” he squeezes the bulb again, not that there’s much more he can do, but you wail anyway.

“Please, please touch me.”

He grabs the end of the pump and yanks. It pops off, and you keen, grabbing at him with shaking hands.

“Hmm.” He takes a moment to thoroughly enjoy the sight of your swollen, dripping cunt. He reaches down and lazily drags a finger across the seam, laughing when your hips buck up hard, knocking his finger between your lips.

“No, please,” you say as he pulls the finger away.

He spreads you, the tip of his finger honing in on your throbbing clit. His caress is soft, at first, and it doesn’t take you more than a moment to reach the edge. He doesn’t wait for you to beg, just demands your orgasm from your body with a strict command and stricter hands.

It hurts. It hurts so much you scream, but your body betrays how good it feels, despite the agony and humiliation. He’s relentless. It takes so little effort for him to tear you apart that by the time he eases you onto your side so he can slip his cock in, there’s nothing left in your tattered brain.

His thrusts are smooth but deep. You’re more than wet enough to ease the way, and swollen enough that your cunt swallows him whole, holding him tight. He luxuriates in the velvet embrace, groaning and rocking into you in spite of the ache in his side.

He abandons your clit, trading mercy for other tortures as his hands pinch and pull at your nipples. His grip is as tight as clamps, and he uses your tits as leverage to fuck into you. He urges you to cum again, and it pries a raw sob from your chest.

When he can’t take it anymore, he holds on to your breasts, one clenched tight in each hand, and pounds hard. You’re crying, but it’s reduced to little huffed sobs as his cock knocks them loose. He knows you’ll be mad that he’s exerting himself, so he makes it quick.

“Mine,” he snarls as he loses control, pushing deep inside to fill you. “You’re fucking mine, do you understand?”

“Yes, yes, please, yours,” you gasp.

“Don’t you fucking scare me like that again.” He can’t shut up. He can’t stopper the well as it bubbles up. “Almost fucking lost you.”

Later, you’ll remember what he’s saying, and snap at him indignantly, demanding again to know which of you nearly bled out. But it doesn’t matter, doesn’t register to him that your injuries and danger were so much less than his. All he can see is the man with a blaster pointed at your chest.

“Didn’t,” you say. “M’right here.” Your hand reaches up to hold the back of his neck. He’s softening inside you but doesn’t move to pull out.

He checks your bandage, but it looks intact. You try to roll over and check his, but he holds you tight. “It’s fine,” he reassures you. “Please stay.”

And if he’s bleeding just a little, he thinks, it was worth it for the way you’re finally calm enough to rest.

*title from "Everything Must Go" by Taking Back Sunday

#din djarin x reader #mando x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x f!reader #dom din djarin #the mandalorian fic #mando fic #make it hurt verse #kinktober 2023

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powderblueblood · 13 days

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got thinking about my monkeys paw edlacy au where they become successful professionals in new york (eddie, the founder of necromancer records; lacy, a fran lebowitz-type social commentator and sometimes new yorker columnist) but call off their engagement and end up acting like bitter divorcees (hate fucking and jealousy lmao)

and ended up banging this out idk

pairing: eddie munson x f!oc, written in second person immersive (you/yours)

wc: actually cba to check. it’s short

warnings: p in v, unprotected, office sex, hate fucking sort of, spit kink (m receiving)

eddie has your legs butterflied on a desk you’d wasted no time in insulting the second you walked through the door.

‘where’d you find this? a beer hall? this looks like it has about as much structural integrity as that piece of shit driftwood throne you used to sit on in high school—‘

but he’d swallowed your words with a hurried, ‘pipe down and open up, doevski,’ insisting on his tongue down your throat. a rendezvous like this (that shouldn’t be happening—you’d given the ring back, why are they still happening) require an awareness of his peripherals, so out of the corner of his eye, he can see where you’d neatly hung your skirt over the arm of his office sofa. it’s custom YSL, gifted from the last mucky magazine to-do you’d done, and it was too good to let him tear it off you. your panties were a different story, the shredded remnants of them now rucked up around your waist.

“why don’t you ever come by anymore?” eddie asks between breathless thrusts, mesmerised by your tits bouncing out of your unbuttoned blouse. god, he loves you like this. smart-rail me-casual. he should have asked you to bring a ruler to spank him with, but you would’ve liked that too much and he can’t acquiesce to you completely.

what with you being exes.

“i don’t come,” you gasp, entertaining his bullshit line of thinking, “by anymore because this is hostile territory. one of your little record company groupies called me a prep cunt the last time i was here. and she spat on me.”

a guttural sound gets coaxed out of eddie, and the flash of offense across your face is just too good. the thought of you getting verbally assaulted by some necromancer records acolyte isn’t a jolt to the balls (his fans are rabid and learned and hate you, vocally)—thinking of how angry that must’ve made you is. your cunt reflexively tightens around him and his jaw tightens back.

“if the stupid red bottom shoe fits—“

“—yes, but i could live without the spitting, eddie—“

“fuck, don’t say my name. yet.”

it’d be punishment if he didn’t live to have you choking him out like this.

“hol—hold on, this you sayin’ you’re not into spitting anymore?” he grits out, throbbing like a fucking injury inside of you. eddie’s hoping he leaves handprints where those flimsy webbed panties used to sit on your hips.

a blowback of a laugh leaves your mouth, and eddie wants to shove it back in with his tongue, but you grab the back of his head. “that you saying please?”

you tug; he tilts. he whines before he can stop it. god, he hates you—god, he needs this before he’s got to spend the rest of the day listening to shitty demo tapes.

“please,” he breathes.

you grin like the viper you are—so he promises himself to fuck you so hard that you’ll feel it from the time you struggle to walk out of his office to the time you sit on letterman’s guest chair later. social commentator. cultural critic. know-it-all bitch. love of his life.

“please, lace.” his poor, ragged mouth—the way you grab at his chin almost looks sympathetic, how raptured you are by his desperation. you can’t deny it, he knows that. he appeals to your fragile ego, you box his boisterous one down…

and say things like, “open wide, eddie.”

#eddie munson x oc #eddie munson x reader #e. munson by powder #l. doevski by powder #edlacy #I don’t have a tag for this au but it might be my absolute sick freak fantasy where lacy becomes a rhony #anyway #just dickin around on here

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munsster · 2 years

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lover’s pyrotechnics

A/N: i hate the fourth of july but……. big bright sparkly things in the sky win me over EVERY YEAR without fail. PSA requests are still wide open and ready to be written <3

Pairing: Eddie Munson x GN!Bimbo!Reader

Summary: You drag Eddie to an up-close and personal fireworks show. 1.0k words

Warnings: fluff, smoking, underage drinking, kissing, fireworks

Eight forty-five on a Friday night in July, and Eddie’s comfortable blowing smoke rings up at his water-stained ceiling. Until you purr his name and the front door swings open. Maybe if he ignores you, you’ll go away. But then you’re tugging at his wrist and staring him dead in the eye with the brightest smile he’s seen since he first invited you to one of his campaigns.

“Jesus Christ—”

“Don’t you know what today is?” you chirp, grabbing at his shoulders and getting even further in his face when he realizes your cheeks are smeared with red, white, and blue paint and your eyes are wild in the low light.

“Uh—”

“It’s fireworks day,” you huff, and he’d find it grueling if he weren’t so madly in love with you, “And Cindy’s boyfriend snagged a couple, so we have to leave now to make it on the boat—”

“Woah, woah, we what now?”

“C’mon, it’ll be fun, Eds.” You cup his jaw and press a kiss to his throat, and he sighs.

Which is how he wound up gulping down his third beer on Cindy’s boyfriend’s rich parent’s houseboat. He hates how easily your puppy dog eyes convince him to put on a nice shirt and play house for as long as you ask. If he wasn’t tipsy and if you weren’t wearing those short-shorts, he’d be curled up in bed and fast asleep by now. But God, you’ve got that stunning smile he can never stay away from for too long.

After mingling between your somewhat distant friends, you weave your way back to him, cooing against his ear and holding his hand and petting you fingers through his hair. You take a swig of his beer and cringe at the thick, malty taste.

“How d’you drink that shit?”

“The buzz is slow, baby. Gotta enjoy the ride,” he mumbles, smiling so sweetly, you can’t help but laugh at how pretty he is. As much as he denies it, goddamn is Eddie Munson a pretty boy. With his brown hair tucked out of his face and cheeks pink under the warm guise of alcohol. Like the lights blinking way above the trailer park or the cool pavement under your tires at night. How the dotted lines dash under your hood. Or like the boat sidelights shimmering in the wakes of Lover’s Lake.

“You’re so…” You sigh and let him hold your hips and bring you close. The cold metal of his heavy rings seeps through the material of your shirt, and you shiver.

“Cold, bug?” But he’s already draping his jacket over your shoulders, christening you in sugary heat. And he’s back on you with a lazy look in his eye just to dip down and kiss you. Some asshole elbows your back, and Eddie’s about to go rabid guard dog when you laugh against him because he tightens his grip on you.

Cindy shouts, “three… two… one!” from the bow, and a firework goes peeling off through the humid night fog, trailing a thin line of smoke beneath it. You jump when it bursts midair, Eddie cradling the back of your head and planting kisses over your smudged and cool face. You wrap your leather-clad arms around him, and he drapes his over your shoulders when you relax into his rapidly beating chest.

Another firework squeals into the air, but your eyes are closed, content to fall asleep just like this, swaying along the starboard lip of a twenty-thousand-dollar splurge that somebody thought might make it out of Hawkins one day. For a vacation, maybe. But as chance would have it, it never did. And now it holds a dozen almost drunk teenagers anchored to the center of the lake, firing possibly faulty, bargain-market rockets into the sky.

Eddie looks down at you. And he thinks you look so peaceful lending yourself to his heart. Even crowded by people who call him names, he wouldn’t trade it for the world because you’re humming some America First, marching band classic against his neck and slipping your fingers between his.

“Oh!” you say, grabbing your Walkman from your back pocket and slipping the headphones over his ears. “I forgot to tell you—”

“What?”

“Found this song!” You adjust the volume gear and beam up at him when a soft, synth guitar melody rolls through the foamy speakers. He watches you ramble to the background music—it’s not his style, but it’s cute how feverish you get when you’re eager to share things with him. He nods along to the words he can’t hear you saying, and you grin when he goes back to swaying with you against the boat’s railing.

You mouth a very exaggerated, like it? and he smiles, looking up at the quiet sunburst of light above the lake. It gets you distracted enough that he can catch you, mouth open, eyes wide and glimmering with the fading sparks.

They sat on the stoney ground

And he took a cigarette out

And everyone else came down to listen

The song is catchy and sentimental like a spring roadtrip just outside of town where people don’t know your names, but they might know your reputation. New wave and folky and hopeful, but not quite grungy or granola. He thinks he could like it, but only if you tucked the player into his hands that excitedly each time.

The guys set off the last batch of explosives before cooing into the night, howling and screaming like wild animals. He sets the Walkman and headphones back in your open palms before kissing your bottom lip to the cadence of the booming fireworks. They crackle out and die off into the night, and you blink up at him when the boat revs up under your steady feet.

You kiss his chin, and he leans down with a smirk, glancing at your lashes before taking a deep breath and laying a real good kiss on you. All nice and easy, tonguing the roof of your mouth and chuckling when he pulls away. But then he’s holding you nearer, fonder with you chasing for more and colliding with his flushed skin. He feels for your back under the jacket, reaching for your back beneath your shirt, his freezing fingertips leaving you a handful of goosebumps and a shiver.

You swipe your thumb over his cheek, saliva wet on your lips when you pull away, panting quietly and resting your forehead against his.

“Told you it would be fun.”

masterlist

#eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #x reader #x you #x gn!reader #bimbo!reader #stranger things s4 #stranger things spoilers #stranger things x y/n #stranger things x you #stranger things fluff #fluff #man i love this boy #*

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spymeister · 15 days

Text

@rifleseye

Oh, what will the signal be for your eyes to see me? Watching offside as i wait just in case you need me - Angel's song.

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

He hates how open everything is.

A couple hundred mili-vorns ago, and it wouldn't have been an issue. He would have been in the middle of it all, singing and dancing- occasionally picking subspace. Of course, he hasn't given up that last thing- as it'd kept him in good stead during most of the War™.

That's War with a capital W, thank you. War, the Only War, the Longest War.

Least, the longest one he can remember in his already long functioning span anyway. So, yeah- the whole wide, open spaces ain't doing it for him anymore, ya dig? Too many places where an ambush could occur, where he could have his own subspace robbed.

Though, more importantly, it's less about what they could do to him- and more about what he would do to them. You don't leave the battlefield behind, and the horror stays with it. No, War follows you like a rabid turbofox. It nips at your wheels, and digs it's claws into your undercarriage and snaps at the treads holding you together.

So, he keeps to one side or the other, optics narrowed behind the opaque visor band as he scans both goods and people. The assortment of species here is processor-boggling, as he's sure there's at least one vendor from every corner of the galaxy. Eventually, as no hands try to grab him to slap maglocks onto his wrists, and there's no booming voice of disappointment to leash him back to the Primal heel — he begins to relax by inches.

It's probably the only reasons he even notices the tall, stately scientist.

His helm jerks back as his HUD comes online, bringing up a centuries old dossier file on the other mechanism. Faux sunlight from the Station's lighting systems dances rainbows against white and black plating as those beams catch the crystal lightcatchers. He tilts his helm, idly noting the stiff line of the other's backstruts- the faint jitter of fingers against hip plating.

The small, unconscious actions of anxiety rigidly concealed. He feels his spark twist in commiseration, but no sympathy. His optics rove over the streamlined frame with its added treads and focusing prism on the scope.

Still, despite his aloofness- he is a gregarious mechanism, and as such begins his approach with a soft spit of static as he clears his vocalizer.

"Long time, no see-" he offers, pitching his vocalizer just for the other's audials.

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

#a/u: Heavy is the helm / with it's crown of thorns #Jazz | IDW #Perceptor: IDW

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lemonbxrry · 1 year

Text

Doctor's Orders

ZERO / ONE / TWO / THREE / FOUR / FIVE / SIX / SEVEN

Season One, Episode 5: Wildfire

I LAY IN MY TENT, staring at the wall. I cracked my knuckles, dry pieces of blood chipping off.

"(Name), you gotta come out," Shane said outside of the tent, I didn't respond. I closed my eyes and counted backward, trying to figure out what I could have done differently. He sighed and left my tent, his footsteps getting quieter as he walked away. I curled into a ball, shutting my eyes tightly. She was going to turn at any point and I couldn't even get up and see how long that was going to be. I killed her. I didn't kill her, a walker did. I could have saved her if only I was fast enough. I should have been fast enough. I'm a doctor for crying out loud. I covered my ears, pushing those thoughts out of my head. I sat up, looking at the cloth door. I need to do something, anything. I unzip the tent, seeing Andrea hovered over Amy still. The rest of the adults were huddled around each other, talking.

"Are you bleeding?" I hear as soon as I get close enough in range. I stop in my steps, looking over at Jacqui and Jim.

"I just got some on me from the bodies," Jim tried explaining.

"That blood is fresh. Were you bit?" I asked, anxiously, getting closer to the two. Jim bends down to pick up one of our people, standing back up.

"No, I got scratched during the attack," he lied.

"You got bit," Jacqui stood and backed up, I stood in front of her, narrowing my eyes.

"Jim, you can't lie about something like this," I began to tell him.

"I'm fine," he tried to change the topic.

"Show me. Show me your scratch. Prove you aren't bit," I pleaded, something like this can't be happening now. He looked up at me from where he was about to pick up what was on the ground. Everyone glanced over.

"Don't tell, please," he whispered. I took a step back with Jacqui, trying to keep my distance.

"A walker got him, a walker bit Jim," Jacqui began to call out. Everyone began to circle, enclosing Jim like an animal.

"I'm okay, I'm-"

"Show it to us. Show it," Daryl called out, having his pickaxe ready. Jim turned around and got his shovel, wielding it to protect himself.

"Jim, easy, we're just wanting to help," I told him, trying to calm him down. "Put it down," T-Dog came up behind him, grabbing his arms and putting them behind his back. I cautiously walk over, trying not to startle him more before pulling up his shirt up to the middle of his ribs. A large bite mark on his left side, oozing with blood.

"I'm okay," Jim kept repeating even after everyone saw he was bitten. We stared at him in fear, backing up.

"I say we put a pickaxe through his head and the dead girl's and be done with it," Daryl said, looking at us all.

"Daryl he hasn't shown any signs of turning yet," I tried to point out, "No fever, no slow movements, nothing,"

"Is that what you'd want if it were you?" Shane asked Daryl, I stood next to him, expecting a yes already from the man.

"Yeah, and I'd thank you while you did it," Daryl told him plainly.

"I hate to say it, I never thought I would, but maybe Daryl's right," Dale said, convinced by what the hillbilly said.

"Jim's not a monster, Dale, or some rabid dog," Rick said, his hands placed on his hips.

"I'm not suggesting-" Dale tried to talk, Rick cutting him off and continuing his tangent.

"He's sick. A sick man. We start down that road, where do we draw the line?"

"The line's pretty clear. Zero tolerance for walkers, or them to be," Daryl told Rick.

"What if we can get him help? There obviously has to be something, I mean for God's sake he is still alive and moving," I told him, throwing my hands in the air a bit, frustrated with how things were going, "Last I remember hearing was that the C.D.C. was working on a cure," I tried convincing everyone who wasn't on Rick and I's side.

"I heard that too. Heard a lot of things before the world went to hell," Shane said, shaking his head.

"What if the C.D.C. is up and running?" Rick asked, trying to go back to my point of the C.D.C.

"Man, that is a stretch right there," Shane said, shaking his head, looking at Rick, and then back at me.

"Why?" I asked, exasperated about how difficult this conversation was becoming. It was like Shane had lost all hope ever since Rick came back. "If there's any government left, any structure at all, they'd protect the C.D.C. at all costs, wouldn't they?"

"It's our best shot. Shelter, protection-" Rick began to back me up, Shane interrupting him.

"Okay, Rick, you want all those things, all right? I do too, okay? Now if they exist, they're at the army base. Fort Benning," Shane said, talking of a location that is the complete opposite of where we are trying to go now.

"That's 100 miles in the opposite direction," I slightly exclaim, throwing my arms out in frustration.

"That is right, but it's away from the hot zone. Now listen to me, if that place is operational, it'll be heavily armed. We'd be safe there, (Name), they could probably especially use your help, seeing that you're trying to be a doctor," he fought for his side of the argument, trying to persuade me out of my own side.

"That doesn't help us though, the military was on the front lines of this outbreak," I told him, "They got overrun, we all saw it. The C.D.C. is our best choice and Jim's only chance," A couple of people glanced back at Jim, who was a little ways off from our meeting.

"You go looking for Aspirin, do what you need to do," Daryl said, he began to take a running start at Jim, "Someone needs to have some balls to take care of this damn problem," everyone ran after him, Rick and I getting there the quickest out of the group, I ran in front of Jim, trying to use myself as a shield as Rick held his pistol at Daryl's head. Daryl stared right at Jim and me, huffing.

"Hey hey hey! We don't kill the living," Rick told him, Daryl turned to look at him as Shane came up beside me, holding his shotgun.

"That's funny coming from a man who just put a gun to my head," Daryl told him.

"We may disagree on some things, not on this. You put it down, go on," Shane told Daryl. Daryl looked at me and handed the pickaxe to me, huffing and stomping away. Shane followed after him, I waited to see what Rick wanted to do.

"Come on," Rick picked Jim up.

"Where are you taking me?" he asked worriedly, not liking what has been happening at all.

"Somewhere safe," he answered.

THE WALKING DEAD

I stood there, talking with Rick and Shane about what we planned to do, and what we should have for Jim, seeing that the infection hasn't gotten to him yet. Then something caught my eye. The corpse of Amy sitting up and Andrea just letting it happen. I gently pat their arms to get their attention to look and they noticed, getting into a defense and attack stance. I follow after them as they both bring out their pistols, having, the three of us quietly and briskly walk towards Andrea and the animated body of Amy. Then she did what none of us thought she would do. She shot Amy right through the head. The shot rang through the area, loud and clear as day. Andrea just caressed the now fully dead body of her sister. We all stayed silent.

THE WALKING DEAD

We walked up to where Daryl was at the end of complaining to Shane and Rick, "These people need to know who the hell's in charge here, what the rules are,"

"There are no rules," Rick answered, looking up at Daryl, stopping from digging one of the graves.

"Well that's a problem," Lori spoke, causing everyone to glance at her, "We haven't had one minute to hold onto anything of our old selves. We need time to mourn and we need to bury our dead. It's what people do," she finished. We helped put our people into the ground, Amy is one of the last people to be buried. Andrea struggling to bury her and Dale trying his best to help. Once that was over, we began our trek back to camp. I walked alone, trying to think and letting the people who needed to mourn, mourn. Carl walked up to me, holding onto my hand.

"Are you going to leave too?" he asked, looking up at me. I furrowed my brows, confused.

"No, I'm not going to leave," I told him, giving his hand a small squeeze. "I have so much I want you to learn and we still have all the time in the world," I tried to lift his spirits. He nodded, as though he understood. We got back to the camp and Carl ran off to go play with Sophie, I made a beeline to the RV that Jim was in. He was sweating profusely.

"Oh shit," I mumbled, looking through my bag and finding a water bottle, filled with the lake water from a little while ago. I dig through the cabinets of Dale's RV, trying to find a bowl. Luckily finding one, I dump the water into it, grab a clean rag and dip it into it, then go and press it on Jim's forehead, trying to cool him off. His bandage already needed a new change, damnit. I sighed through my nose, trying to think of the best possible solutions to make Jim more comfortable and also require fewer resources. I turn back hearing footsteps, seeing Lori and Rick come in, "His fever is worse," I told them, going back to dabbing at Jim's head with the cold water.

"You need anything?" Lori asked him.

"Uh, water. Could use more water," he answered, his voice raspy.

"I'll get some,"

"Okay," Jim mumbled quietly. I wrung out the water into the bowl and scooped a new clump of water into the cloth, I think I had some more towels in my tent, I don't remember. Lori left and Rick sat across from where we were.

"You save a grave for me?" Jim asked, swallowing hard. Rick looked away, biting his cheek.

"Nobody wants that,"

"It's not about what you want," Jim gave a small pause and looked distant. "That uh, that sound you hear, that's God laughing while you make plans," Jim had a solemn look on his face, already accepting his defeat.

"What I want, Jim, if God allows, is to get you some help," I told him, a concerned look placed on my face, He gives a small and short smile until his face contorts into pain and he starts having a coughing fit. Rick hands me a pot that sat beside him, giving it to Jim as he coughs blood into the pot. He groaned, inhaling some fresh air, and finally began to calm down from the fit.

"Watch the mangroves. The roots will gouge the whole boat. You know that, right? Amy is there swimming. You'll watch the boat, right?" he glanced between Rick and me. I placed my hand over my mouth, nodding. He stayed looking at Rick, who hadn't given him his answer yet. "You said you would,"

"I'll watch the boat, (Name) and I will both watch it," Rick told him. Jim nodded, mumbling a small okay.

Rick stepped out of the RV as I continued watching over Jim, dumping out the old water into the ground through a window, opening another lake water bottle, and getting fresh water. I wrote in my notebook about the last couple of days, seeing I wasn't really able to write about last night. I ran a hand through my hair, letting it out of its usual updo, it causing a massive headache from how tight I've been putting it up.

THE WALKING DEAD

I was sitting on one of the pullout chairs next to Carl, showing him one of the newest books I got him and for the other kids to read. Then Shane, Dale, and Rick came back from their sweep, finding their place in the small broken-up circle.

"I've uh, I've been thinking about Rick's plan. Now look, there are no, uh, there are no guarantees either way. I'll be the first to admit that. I've known this man for a long time," he looked directly at Rick, then glanced at me. "I also trust (Name)'s instincts about this too, she's a doctor and the C.D.C. probably has stuff for her to help with. I say the most important thing here is we need to stay together. So those of you that agree, we leave first thing in the morning. Okay?" he asked rhetorically, knowing we couldn't really say much about the time.

THE WALKING DEAD

I awoke at dawn, panting, I unzipped my tent and began to walk out. Stumbling out I headed out to start packing, finding anything that I could take and what I should leave behind or possibly give to another person. After a couple of hours, everyone began to wake up and pack, I had a black duffle bag, a small grey medical bag, and my own bag.

"Those of you with C.B.s., we're gonna be on channel 40. Let's keep the chatter down, okay? Now you got a problem, don't have a C.B., can't get a signal or anything at all, you're gonna hit your horn one time. That'll stop the caravan. Any questions?" Shane finished, making sure everyone knew what the plan was. I stood next to him, having been told by him that he wants to be riding with me, seeing that he needs to make sure I am protected as best as possible, not really trusting anyone with my well-being seeing as the last couple of times I went out without him I met a couple of bad experiences.

"We're uh," Morales began, causing everyone to look at him. "We're not going," everyone stared in disbelief.

"We have family in Birmingham," his wife, Miranda, explained. "We want to be with our people," she held her daughter Eliza tightly.

"You go on your own, you won't have anyone to watch your back," Shane told them, trying to convince them to stay.

"We'll take the chance. I gotta do what's best for my family," Morales explained, looking at Rick.

"You sure?" Rick asked.

"We talked about it, we're sure,"

"Alright, Shane," Rick said, the two going through the duffel bag with the guns. They handed him a gun and some ammo.

"Thank you all, for everything," Miranda said, her voice cracking. Carl sat on the hood of the car, crying to himself as Lori stood up and hugged Miranda. I walked over to Eliza and Louis, giving them both hugs, shifting through my bag, and handing them some candy I found while going on a supply run that I was planning to give them later during the trip.

"You guys take care of your mom and dad, alright?" I told them, rubbing both r of their shoulders reassuringly. The kids all hugged, crying, then they began to walk away to their car.

"What makes you think our odds are any better?" Shane asked Rick, not saying goodbye or feeling saddened by their leaving. "Come on, let's go, let's move out," that made everyone go into the cars that they were assigned to. I gave a small smile and waved at Glenn before getting into the car that Shane had for us. I stared out the window, my legs propped up on the seat. Just thinking and watching the scenery pass by as we went faster behind everyone. I closed my eyes, trying not to cry from everything we lost. Shane grabbed hold of my hand, giving it a tight squeeze and then just gently holding it. I took a small breath, knowing that I wouldn't be here without him and know who I know today.

THE WALKING DEAD

We stood in the street, looking at the RV. It overheated and steam was pouring out of the engine area.

"Y'all, Jim," Jacqui said, getting out of the RV. "It's bad, I don't think he can take anymore," she told us. I quickly rushed into the RV after her, I sit beside Jim, placing my hand on his head, wincing at how hot his head felt.

"Leave me here," Jim begged. "I'm done, I want to be with my family," he told me. Rick stood behind me.

"They're dead, I don't think you know what you're asking. The fever, you've been delirious more often than not," Rick tried to convince him to stay.

"You don't think I don't know?" Jim replied, wincing in pain. "I'm clear now. In five minutes, I may not be," he told us, I furrow my brows. He's right. The infection is going faster at this moment. "Rick, (Name), I know what I'm asking," he told us solemnly. "I want this, leave me here. Now that's on me. Okay? My decision, not your failure," I looked down.

THE WALKING DEAD

"It's what he wants," Rick told the group.

"And he's lucid?" Carol asked, not believing us.

"It appears that yes, he is lucid. He was responding to us extremely well and knew what was happening around him," I told her, knowing that they were most likely going to take my word for it seeing that I am the only doctor in the group at the moment.

"I would say yes, back in the camp when I said Daryl might be right and you shut me down, you misunderstood. I would never go along with callously killing a man. I was just gonna suggest that we ask Jim what he wants. And I think we have the answer," Dale said solemnly, turning to look at us all.

"We just leave him here? We take off? Nah, I'm not sure I could live with that," Shane said, glancing down, then looking back up at Rick and me.

"It's not your call, either one of you," Lori said, giving us a look. I sigh, heading back into the RV to tell Jim about what we decided.

THE WALKING DEAD

Shane and Rick lay Jim against a tree, the three of them grunting. I dab at his forehead with the towel from earlier, trying to make him as comfortable as possible.

"Yeah, that's it," Rick mumbled to himself, we circled him with solemn stares. Everyone came up to the hill where we laid Jim, each person having mixed emotions.

"Hey, another damn tree," Jim chuckled, looking at Shane.

"Y'know Jim, I mean, you know it doesn't need to be this," Shane tried to plead with him.

He shook his head in response, "It's good. The breeze feels nice," Shane nodded his head, looking down.

"Okay," he told Jim, standing up, "Alright," he swiped at his face, backing up from Jim.

Jacqui knelt next to Jim, placing her hand on his cheek in a comforting move, "Just close your eyes, sweetie. Don't fight," she gave him a kiss on his cheek, standing and walking away, lightly crying. Rick knelt next to him, holding out a small pistol.

"Do you want this?" he asked him, wanting to not leave him with nothing to defend himself.

"No, you'll need it," Jim said. Rick nodded, "I'm okay," Dale was next to say goodbye to the man,

"Thanks for uh, for fighting for us," he gave a thin smile, patting Jim on the leg lightly. Jim only nodded, mumbling a small 'Okay'. Soon everyone began to disperse, I lingered behind with Daryl, the two sharing a look. Daryl turned to leave, walking back with the group.

"I wish I could say you are going peacefully, but I can't promise anything," I told him softly, squatting down next to him. "I can only hope and pray for whatever you believe in that it is peaceful," I squeezed his hand, giving him a soft look. "Though, I can say that you are going to see your family again," he smiled up at me, nodding, then looked at the sky and closed his eyes. I took this as my queue to leave and walked back to the group, getting in Shane's jeep.

THE WALKING DEAD

We exit the cars, finally coming up onto the CDC building. All of us got out quietly and carefully. We hold our breaths, the stench of rotten corpses filling our senses. My eyes began to sting, and I furiously blink, trying to get my tears out of the way. I held my bat closely, making sure I had my knife in range.

"Alright, everybody. Keep moving, go on," Shane whispered to us, waving his hand in a circular motion so we weren't just sitting ducks gagging at the bodies lingering around us. I stop for a second, thinking, 'What if there are some medical supplies,' I shook my head, moving again, 'Someone would have gotten it by now,'. "Stay quiet, let's go," he jogged up to where Rick and I were, looking around. Flies buzzed all around us, flying into our clothes and onto our faces.

"Stick together, keep moving, come on," Rick and Shane said, the two taking the lead, I turned around to try and hush anyone who was walking too loudly, making sure the kids were okay and that their moms were too. The others began walking faster, almost bumping into one another. A couple of 'Oh gods' were mumbled amongst the group. We were finally at the entrance of the door, all of us jogging up to it.

"Keep together, we're almost there," I called out gently. Rick pressed against the door, it only squeaked against his weight. Shane tried pushing with his back, the door again only squeaking against the pressure but not moving. Shane began to pound on the door, it makes a loud couple of rattles.

"There's nobody here," T-Dogg said, sounding defeated.

"Then why are the shutters down? The only way to have them down is if someone is in here," I told him, looking around the door and down at the other shutters.

"Walkers!" Daryl called out, everyone aiming their guns at the walkers starting to come around. Carl or Sophia whimpered in fear. "You led us into a graveyard!" he exclaimed, walking furiously towards me, I back up a bit, trying to not close the distance.

"She made a call!" Dale tried excusing.

"It was the wrong damn call!"

"No, there's someone in there, there has to be," I tried to explain, trying to make it seem like this was for nothing. Once he got a little too close Shane jumped in between us, shoving Daryl away.

"Just shut up. You hear me? Shut up. Shut up!" Shane told the man, pointing at him, "(Name), this is a dead-end," Shane said, turning to look at Rick and me.

"Where are we going to go?" Lori asked, pulling Carl into her.

"Do you hear me? No blame," Shane told us, Rick and I looked around, trying to find anything.

"He's right, we can't be here this close to the city after dark," Lori explained, Carl whimpered into her, the boy tightening his grip on her.

"Fort Benning, it's still an option," Shane pleaded, desperate.

"On what? No food, no fuel, that's 100 miles," Lori argued.

"125, I checked the map," Glenn said, cocking his shotgun.

"Not the time to be a smart-ass Glenn," I commented, glancing at him, giving him an exasperated look.

"Forget Fort Benning. We need answers tonight, now," Lori demanded, looking between us all. Everyone begins to talk hurriedly, repeating 'Let's go,'. I look back up at the camera, noticing it moved.

"Rick, Rick the camera, it moved, I told him, grabbing his wrist and pointing up.

"You imagined it," Dale said, glancing at me and then back at the camera.

"It moved," I pleaded to Rick, trying to convince him that it did.

"It's an automated device, it's just gears. They're just winding down, come on," Shane said, grabbing my arm. I tried to stand my ground, putting all my weight down, "Man, just listen to me. Look around this place. It's dead, okay? It's dead. You need to let it go, (Name)," I pulled myself away from him, looking right at the camera, pounding on the shutter.

"I know you're in there. I know you can hear me," I called out, anger swelling in my body. "Please we're desperate. Please help us, we have women, children, no food, hardly any gas left," I begged, tears threatening to pour out. Glenn walked up to me as I threw my hand out, pushing me back from the camera.

"(Name), there's nobody here," Glenn tried shoving me back as I pushed against him.

"We have nowhere else to go," I pounded against the door, almost throwing myself into it.

"If you don't let us in, you're killing us," I screamed at the camera, tears falling already as I wiped furiously, looking back at the group. "Please!" I begged, Shane and Glenn, having to drag me away as everyone headed back to the cars. Everyone shouting over each other. I kept repeating, "You're killing us!" over and over again to the camera, fighting against the two men. Then the sound of the shutters opened behind as they threw me forwards, I stumbled a bit, catching myself and looking back, my eyes wide and tears still falling. Everyone looked at the sight, a bright light engulfing us.

#reader insert #romance #x reader #female reader #daryl dixon #glenn x reader #merle dixon x reader #quotev #rick grimes #shane x reader #daryl x reader

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roguelioness · 2 years

Text

for a moment (it feels like heaven)

Fandom: Wayfarer Pairing: (pre-relationship) Zayah Medrash/Aeran Kellis Rating: G Words: 1410 (read on AO3)

It’s raining again.

Edgewater’s dilapidated buildings take on a pallid grey hue, the dull pewter of the heavy rainclouds reflected in the myriad puddles dotting the steet. Zayah’s long given up on any attempt to keep dry - she keeps her head bowed as she strides purposefully towards the ramshackle apartment she and Aeran call home.

The sight of Mulch Lane has her sighing with too many emotions, disappointment and relief at the forefront. It deepens her sense of failure, highlights the many ways her life has declined over the years. Ever since the Spire… don’t think about that, she chastises herself as she carefully picks her way up the wet and slippery stairs. There’s no point in dredging up old, painful memories. Exhaling in a huff, she manages to balance the worn wicker basket against her hip as she opens the door.

The air inside is stale and smells of mold. In this weather, the damp rot is more pronounced, near-cloying even with the window open. Zayah wrinkles her nose, sets the basket on the ground, and gets to work building a small fire in the chipped, stained brick hearth.

It takes a few tries, but soon an orange glow half-heartedly fills the fireplace. She takes a moment to observe the flicker and sway of the flames. It’s a simple kind of pleasure to watch them and let the rabid, frenzied thoughts drift away from her, the troubles of being penniless and in the web of a powerful, dangerous man momentarily forgotten.

Aeran is out somewhere, still searching for clues. Usually they’d stand in the line to the soup kitchen, but not today. Today, they’ll eat well - she’ll make sure of it. Humming to herself, she pulls out the two cod she caught with her shabby fishing pole. Standing on the pier had gotten her some strange looks, but she’s a wayfarer - strange looks are all she knows.

She scales and debones the fish with ease, a fond smile on her lips as she thinks of Hymah. The family chef had taught her a great deal about cooking, lessons that Zayah uses to this day. Of all of those who inhabited the Medrash villa, Hymah had been the wisest - she had foreseen a rough path for the family’s unwanted magianis daughter and had tried to prepare Zayah accordingly.

There will be a day, Hymah’s words play in her mind, when you will not have access to the luxuries you are granted now, Zayah. When that day comes, knowing how to cook using the barest scraps will be the difference between life and death. Now come and tell me which of these onions are truly spoiled.

A chuckle breaks free at the memory, as she trims away the bruised and discolored bits from the assortment of vegetables she’d been able to salvage from the market. In Rona, where every third person went hungry, even spoiled food has value. It had taken every last bit of her charm and persuasion (and even some flirting, which had amused and flustered Aeran) to get some of the vendors to set aside some of their damaged produce for her.

Onion, chopped. Garlic, minced. (She may have snagged some when the vendor wasn’t looking - she’ll find a way to make it up to them later). Four maybe-too-green potatoes, three squishy, overripe tomatoes, zucchini and bell pepper that have seen better days. Ale from the Slippery Weasel… and she also nicked some spices from the cook there, dill and thyme and peppercorns and four precious, precious bay leaves (he wasn’t using them properly had been her defense when Aeran gave her his disapproving look).

She hangs the pot over the campfire, a dented, blackened thing that Thelkar had (reluctantly) donated, adds the last of the oil she’d bought from Emari.

The onions sizzle in the heat, their scent driving away that of the decaying wood. The garlic adds to the aroma. In go the vegetables, and as she stirs them about the tomatoes release their juices. She adds the herbs, debating over whether or not to break the bay leaf in half before she shrugs and tosses the whole thing in. Finally, the fish, ale, and a generous mug of water, some cracked pepper and salt to taste, before she covers the pot and lets it simmer.

A heavy tread outside tells her Aeran has returned. He gingerly opens the door, the curly mop of his hair plastered to his scalp, a frustrated twist to his features.

“Any luck?” she asks as he steps in.

“No,” he shakes his head like a wet dog, droplets of water flying everywhere. “Had to pay Yarrow a crown to get her to keep an ear out.” He gives the air an experimental sniff. “Something smells good.”

“I got lucky,” Zayah points at his muddy boots and frowns. Aeran obediently takes them off and leaves them near the door. “Caught two cod off the docks. There’s fish stew in the pot.”

“Then it’s a good thing I have this,” Aeran grins, and digs through his pack, triumphantly pulling out something wrapped in wax paper.

“What is that?”

“My share of dinner,” he’s still grinning, the corners of his eyes crinkled up in genuine delight. His damp curls form pretty ringlets, and she has the momentary urge to curl a finger around one and give it the gentlest of tugs. He’s so pleased with himself, so happy about whatever it is he’s holding, that she wants, desperately so, to go to him and kiss his cheek. “I got some bread!”

She gasps theatrically. “Fresh bread?” Her smile threatens to take over her face.

“Fresh bread,” he confirms, unwrapping the loaf and displaying it as though it were a sacred trophy.

“How did you manage that?”

He winks at her. Her cheeks heat up, and she prays he doesn’t see the flush tipping her ears. “That’s my secret, Zee.”

“Go on, dry yourself off and then we can eat.”

Aeran nods, and starts to pull off his armor. She keeps her back turned to him to offer him a semblance of privacy, though it’s more for her sake than his. She’s seen him without clothes plenty of times - hell, they’ve seen each other naked - but she knows if she peeks, there’s a good chance she might be able to stop herself from staring. He’s your friend, give him some respect, dammit.

It’s easier said than done, though. Especially when she has those ribbons of want and desire curled around her heart.

He comes to sit by her side, hair freshly toweled, wearing a dry tunic that reveals those muscular arms. He’s so close to her, and he smells faintly of sweat and the scent she associates as Aeran; his arm presses up against hers and their knees bump in the space that forms their little bubble. He rolls his shoulders with a groan, the action drawing attention to his tattoos. Zayah smiles at the sight of that familiar pattern, those three lines that are also part of hers. “Is it done yet? I’m starving.”

“Yeah, I think so,” she lifts it from the hook and places it on the floor. When she opens the lid, fragrant steam pours out like a roiling fog, filling their tiny apartment with a cozy ambiance.

Aeran tears the loaf, and hands one half to her. Without further ado, he dunks the soft, sweet, yeasty bread into the stew and bites into it, his eyes fluttering closed as he savors the flavor. “This is so good, Zee. You’re a genius.”

She laughs. “You’re easily impressed,” she retorts, dipping her own piece of bread to sample her cooking. It’s nowhere close to Hymah’s cooking, but that’s okay. It tastes of comfort and offers satisfaction and satiation. It is warm food, good food, and she made it for them, and they’re eating it together, and there is contentment in the act of sharing.

The rest of the meal is enjoyed in affectionate camaraderie, filled with fond teasing and warm memories. The storm worsens outside, rolls of thunder accompanying the heavy, pelting rain. Somewhere out there is a Count searching for a chalice and a contract that needs to be fulfilled. The world, cold and callous, will always be waiting to tear them down. Here, however, in this moment, nothing matters more to Zayah than the taste of fresh-baked bread and food made with care, shared with the man she loves.

#wayfarer fic #aeran kellis/wayfarer #aeran kellis/zayah medrash #wayfarer #roguelioness writes

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the-letter-horror-lover · 2 years

Text

Kuroshitsuji Kink Fills

orphan_account

Summary:

This is a series of very short Kuroshitsuji prompt fills I'm doing on my NSFW blog!

Chapter 1

Summary:

Sebaciel + Orgasm Denial

(Ciel is of age in this)

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

It gives Ciel no small amount of satisfaction to see proof of how much Sebastian wants him. He becomes so wildly aroused watching an immortal creature of sin prostrated in front of him, driven out of its senses for want of something that only Ciel Phantomhive can give him.

"Again," he says—no, he orders. He’s completely naked, relaxed with post-orgasm, lounging on the edge of the bed.

"Master," says Sebastian through gritted teeth. He’s hunched over, his head on level with Ciel’s knees, his claws embedded in the rug. Until very recently, he was nestled in his master’s tight, warm body, only to be rudely kicked out as soon as Ciel was satisfied.

"You know what I told you to do," Ciel says, an evil smile on his doll-like face. "And believe me, I’m not letting you ding this. If you want to come, you’re going to beg me to come. It’s as simple as that."

Sebastian groans loudly and longly, but the groan turns into a bout of hoarse laughter. “My little tyrant. You hold a candle to the devil, did you know that?”

"You may have said something along those lines before," Ciel demurs. Then his expression changes to one of all business. "Now, beg, Sebastian. I’m not going to give you another chance.”

Sebastian sighs before leaning forward, putting his hands lightly on Ciel’s feet. “Oh, young master. Please, oh please. Be kind to your humble, helpless servant. Allow me to come, grant me that privilege, please, my lord.”

Ciel makes a show of thinking it over for a moment. Then he leans forward, fisting his hands in Sebastian’s hair and kissing his demon hard on the mouth. “You can come,” he whispers, “But you can come humping the bed like the dog you are.”

And the snarls and growls Sebastian makes as he comes, the grimace on his face, the lengthening of his fangs and the inhuman redness of his eyes, all of this arouses so much that Ciel almost feels as if he could come again.

Notes:

Victorian Slang:

ding- to throw something away, to pass on

hold a candle to the devil- another way of saying that someone is evil

Chapter 2

Summary:

Sebastian/Claude + Biting/Scratching

Sebastian, this is a disgrace,” Claude hisses.

The two of them are hard at work in the ballroom of Trancy manor. Their masters are busy playing a hormone-riddled dramatic game of chess in the study, and Sebastian and Claude knew that they would have a good amount of time before one of the boys knocked over the chessboard, even more time if it ended with them clumsily copulating.

So their two butlers decided to pass the time as only demons would: having furious sex, sex that was much more of a battle than it was an act of love. It often turned into more of a show of dominance than anything else; Sebastian loved every opportunity he had to slam Claude to the ground, mark him up and show him that Sebastian Michaelis was not only a better butler. And Claude, poor, wretched, masochistic Claude, loved when Sebastian did it, although he’d never admit it out loud.

This round was a bit more intense than most, and the ballroom was nearly destroyed. Their time to fix things up before their masters return is dwindling, and the two demons, still shirtless, are scrambling to make the ballroom immaculate.

Claude, however, is slacking off; typical of him. He’s investigating the scratches and bitemarks on his chest, his hips, his arms, his back. “You’re a savage,” he says. “Demons aren’t mindless rabid animals.”

"Oh! My apologies," Sebastian says insincerely as he fixes a table. "I was under the impression that you were very keen for me to make those marks on you. Considering that as I made them, you clung to me like a child and moaned for me like a whore."

Claude can do nothing in response but snarl and look away.

Chapter 3

Summary:

Sebaciel + Chikan/Groping

Chapter Text

“Don’t you dare,” Ciel whispers angrily, putting his hand over Sebastian’s with a warning glare.

“Babe,” says Sebastian, gently stroking Ciel’s thigh. “it’s fine.”

“It’s literally not fine!” says Ciel. “What part of this is ‘fine’ to you, Sebastian? We’re in class.”

“We’re in a lecture hall,” Sebastian says. “There are over 40 other people here, and we’re in the back row. Professor Abberline talks loudly, and he isn’t paying attention. It’s fine.”

“You’re such a pervert… nnn,” Ciel moans quietly as Sebastian’s hand reaches his groin and squeezes it.

“I can’t help it if you’re so goddamn sexy,” Sebastian says. “You’re gonna make me fail this class, you know that?”

“And you’re going to drag me down with you!” says Ciel, squirming as he feels himself harden.

Sebastian only chuckles softly, his breath hitting Ciel’s ear as he continues to grope.

Chapter 4

Summary:

Elizabeth/Sebastian + BDSM

Chapter Text

“Lady Elizabeth, please,” Sebastian says, wincing ever-so-slightly as the rope around his left wrist tightens.

“Oh, hush!” scolds Lizzie, only letting go of the rope when it’s tightened to her satisfaction.

“Master told me that you had planned to visit Lau today in order to find out where the latest drug is being smuggled into England,” Sebastian says.

Lizzie rolls her eyes. “He’s your master, not mine. He’s merely my husband; I don’t have to listen to a thing he says. Anyway, I’m sure he won’t be vexed; I’m planning on taking a few pictures to show him when he comes back from his business meeting.” She leans back and admires her handiwork with a devilish grin on her doll-like face.

Sebastian is clad only in his black trousers, and his naked arms have been spread, tied to the bedposts without any slack. If he were human, it would be quite painful.

He sighs. “Be that as it may, I really must start preparing supper for-”

“Can you stop whining?” Lizzie says. Now she’s pulling up her chemise so she can straddle Sebastian’s torso, giggling at the feeling of his smooth skin against her inner thighs. “And stop pretending you’re not enjoying this. My knots may be good, but they’re certainly not strong enough to restrain a demon. You’re obviously letting me do this.”

Sebastian holds her gaze solemnly for a moment, before allowing a sly smile. “You know me so well, my lady.”

“I know,” Lizzie says smugly. Then she slaps him full across the face. “Now shut up and bark for me; dogs don’t talk.”

He snarls loudly and elongates his fangs, putting on a show the way he knows she likes.

Chapter 5

Summary:

Sebaciel + Against a mirror

Chapter Text

“Open your eyes, my lord.”

Ciel gasps, shaking his head. “Se… Sebas-”

“Open your eyes.” This time, the words are murmured into his ear, in a voice that sounds like how melted chocolate tastes.

“Nnnn…” he manages. “No, I can’t!”

“You agreed to this, did you not?”

Hands stroke his body, tweaking his nipples, scratching his ribs, smoothing his sides, and finally grabbing onto his hips and roughly pulling them back into the long, thick cock that’s snugly inside him.

He cries out, hands clawing at the smooth glass he’s pressed against, nipples peaking as they rub against the cold surface. HIs hips are being pulled too far away from the surface to rub his aching arousal. “Please…” he whines. “It’s embarrassing, Sebastian; I can’t… please, can you just-”

“My lord, you know how much I love to hear you beg,” says Sebastian, kissing behind his ear and making him shudder. “But you also know that I am not going to allow you release until you open your eyes.”

“Damn you!” swears Ciel. He opens his eyes to glare over his shoulder at Sebastian, but before he can, he sees himself in the mirror.

He’s naked, and a flush travels from his cheeks down to his navel. His hair is mussed, revealing both his clean and marked eyes, which are blown wide in lust and threatening to spill over with unshed tears. His mouth is open, drool beginning to trickle down his chin, his lips red and swollen. Speaking of red and swollen, his arousal drips precum and twitches visibly, bobbing up and down with Sebastian’s every thrust. And speaking of Sebastian…

Sebastian’s head leans over his, that trademark demon’s smirk serving as a direct contrast to his doe-eyed look of pure, desperate pleasure. He sees Sebastian’s naked hands trail over his body, sees the contract seal as the hand it’s attached to travels down his abdomen and wraps itself around his arousal and… and…

And he’s pushed over the precipice, the heat and pressure building up inside him until he explodes, rocking back and forth between Sebastian’s hand and Sebastian’s member as he comes against the mirror. The whole time, he’s yelling out garbled versions of ‘god’, ‘fuck’, ‘oh’, and ‘Sebastian’.

Just as he’s relaxing, Sebastian picks up the pace, shoving him against the mirror and thrusting until he’s whining with overstimulation and pleading for reprieve. Finally, Sebastian collapses against him with a groan of his given name, before quickly standing up and pulling out of Ciel, picking him up and taking him to his bath.

“Now do you see what I mean when I say you look beautiful during sex?” Sebastian says as he watches his master soak.

Ciel replies by splashing water in his demon’s face.

Chapter 6

Summary:

Sebaciel + Petplay (but it really turned into a neko fic oops)

Chapter Text

Sebastian feels himself begin to salivate, his fangs elongating as he watches Ciel fidget on the bed.

“This is unbearable,” Ciel grumbles. He’s kneeling with his arms crossed, face flushed, dressed in only his white nightshirt. “How will I be able to put on trousers?”

“I assume you won’t be able to for a while, my lord,” Sebastian answers, unable to hide his leering smile.

Ciel huffs. “I can’t believe you lent Sieglinde demonic materials for her to use in her chemistry experiments.”

“My profound apologies,” says Sebastian. “But, if I may speak freely… I am very glad I did.”

Ciel looks up, notices Sebastian’s greedy gaze and blushes. “You… you pervert!” he says. “I can’t believe… no, actually, I’m not surprised. Just disgusted.”

“You wound me, my lord,” Sebastian says.

Ciel ignores him, gingerly lifting his hands to feel the slate-grey cat ears growing out of his head. He gasps at the contact, takes his hands off his ears quickly with a disgruntled, “Ugh.” Next he grabs at the twitching tail growing just above his bottom, and reacts similarly. “Ughhhh…. they’re so goddamn sensitive! This is unbearable.”

Sebastian inhales deeply as a most bewitching scent permeates the air. It smells like his master’s arousal, but stronger; he almost stutters as he speaks, “My lord? Would you consider giving your loyal servant permission to… touch?”

Ciel looks at him, a flush painting his cheeks. “As if you don’t touch me enough,” he says, but he sounds as if he’s considering it.

“That may be true, master, but I certainly have never had the chance to touch those before,” Sebastian says, eyeing the ears and tail lustfully.

Both newfound appendages twitch as Ciel seems to be mulling it over, then droop as he acquiesces, “Fine. But don’t paw at me like a beast, they’re sensi- nnn!”

Sebastian strides forward as soon as his master gives him leave, taking his gloves off to stroke the delightfully soft fur of Ciel’s new ears, coaxing high-pitched noises from Ciel’s chinaware throat.

“Se…Sebas… rrrrrr,” Ciel says, his eyelids drooping as he begins to rub his ears against Sebastian’s hands. “Rrrrrr, rrrrrrrr.”

“Young master,” Sebastian says softly after a moment, stilling his hands. “I believe you’re purring.”

Ciel’s eyes open fully, and the purring ceases. “I am not!” he protests.

Sebastian raises an eyebrow and resumes scratching. Almost instantly, Ciel’s eyes drop to half-mast and he resumes his purring. “Ah, what a beautiful little kitten,” Sebastian says reverently.

“Shut up,” says Ciel, but he says it devoid of any actual objection, tilting his head into the scratch. His tail begins twitching back and forth, and when Sebastian gently takes it in hand, Ciel moans. “Oh, that feels…”

“How does it feel?” says Sebastian.

Ciel sighs airily as he leans forward, putting his hands on Sebastian’s chest and actually kneading at the fabric. “So good….”

“We can do better than good,” Sebastian says. He moves his hands to the globes of Ciel’s ass and cups them, lifting up the nightshirt enough to trace the crack. “May I play with you more, kitten?”

“Y-you… you may…” Ciel says, trying to sound haughty even as he pushes his ass eagerly against Sebastian’s fingers.

Carefully Sebastian slips a finger in between Ciel’s cheeks, rubbing at that little pink entrance until it relaxes enough for him to push through. Soon after, he adds a second finger and begins lightly thrusting them into Ciel’s tight, slick warmth.

Wait… slick?

Ciel mewls, reaching up to dig his little nails into the back of Sebastian’s neck. After a moment, he becomes accustomed to the probing sensation and starts riding Sebastian’s fingers. “Oh,” he says, pushing his face into Sebastian’s neck. “Oh, oh, oh, Sebastian…”

“You’re so wet, young master,” Sebastian says delightedly, moving his fingers faster as they squelch in the strange liquid. “Your insides have become slick on their own.”

“Feels… ugh,” says Ciel, bouncing a bit faster on Sebastian’s fingers. “Messy…”

“Yes,” Sebastian says pleasantly, sliding his free hand down his master’s body, caressing Ciel’s every curve. “You’re a very messy little kitten, tonight.”

Ciel moans, ruts his hips once more before crying out. “I’m… I’m… it’s so soon, but I’m going to-”

“Come on, now, come for me, be a good kitten,” says Sebastian, leaning down to nip at one of Ciel’s ears with his lips, grabbing Ciel’s tail with his free hand and lightly brushing his nails against it.

Ciel shakes and a yowling moan spills out of him as he comes, once again kneading at Sebastian’s chest with his little hands. As soon as he comes down from his orgasm he flops onto the bed, rolling onto his stomach.

Sebastian watches that beautiful tail swish lazily back and forth, feeling his arousal grow almost to dangerous proportions. “Is my lord exhausted for the evening?”

But Ciel has begun to squirm, moving his hips against the bed and making little whining noises. “No,” he says, muffled into the blanket. “I want more.”

“Perhaps that potion also served as an aphrodisiac,” says Sebastian thoughtfully. Then he smiles wickedly.

“Or, perhaps the young master is simply in heat.”

Chapter 7

Summary:

Cielois + Heavy Petting

Alois, I swear to every god. If you don’t stop bothering me-”

“Whatcha gonna do about it? Hmmm?”

For the last hour, Ciel has been trying to write up a letter to the head of the Irish branch of the Funtom company, a letter demanding updates on the new additions to the factory.

But he was a fool for thinking he could get any work done at all on the day Alois Trancy was to visit the Phantomhive Manor.

At first, he played nice; but the paperwork would not wait. Excusing himself from tea, he walked upstairs to his office, hoping that Alois would be content with the countless pastries Sebastian prepared.

He had hoped in vain.

Once more he feels a slender finger poke at his side, and once more he twitches and swats Alois’s hand away. “Alois, for the last time. Leave me be.”

“But Cielllll,” whines Alois, wrapping his arms around Ciel’s shoulders, rubbing his head against the back of Ciel’s. “I’m so bored.”

Ciel sighs, yanking Alois’s hands off of him. “As an Earl I have responsibilities, Alois.”

“I’m an Earl, too,” says Alois, running his hands up and down Ciel’s biceps. “And I don’t have any nasty responsibilities.”

“Yes, and you’re incredibly unfit for your position,” says Ciel. “Just leave me be for an hour or so, and then–”

“Too long!” Alois says, jumping up on the desk and sprawling out on it.

Ciel watches his papers get crumpled and crushed, absolutely speechless.

Alois seems to notice Ciel’s less-than-favourable reaction, and his eyes widen. “Oh, I… Ciel, geez, I’m sorry…” he says gingerly. “I didn’t mean…”

“My papers,” says Ciel.

“I can fix them!” Alois insists, jumping off the desk and attempting to straighten up the mess. “I can–” Ciel shoves him aside, pushes the papers off the desk in one swoop of his arms. “Ciel?”

Grabbing Alois by the lapels of his violet waistcoat, Ciel pushes him onto the desk, clambering up to crouch in between his legs. “You are such a brat.”

“Ciel?” Alois says again. He sounds frightened, but his wide eyes and slight hopeful smile communicate that he’s realized he’s getting his way.

“Can’t leave me alone for one measly hour, can you?” says Ciel, fisting a hand in Alois’s hair and leaning in to kiss him roughly.

“Mmmmm!” Alois moans in surprise; he tenses for a moment before wrapping his arms around Ciel’s shoulders and opening his mouth, allowing Ciel’s tongue in so he can suck on it.

Ciel pulls away, only to place a knee in between Alois’s legs and press it firmly into Alois’s crotch, prompting a soft yelp from Alois’s pretty parted lips. “Wanted some attention, did you?”

“Oh, Ciel,” Alois sighs, grinning as he pushes his hips forward. “I did, I really did. All I wanted was attention…”

“Well, I guess you win,” says Ciel. He moves down Alois’s lanky body, begins kneading at Alois’s growing erection with his hands.

“Fuck,” whines Alois, desperate and needy. “Fuck, more, Ciel. Take off… take off my clothes…”

Ciel lets out a bark of laughter. “But, my dear Earl Trancy, I’m afraid we don’t have time to undress. As I told you, I really am very busy.”

“But… but,” says Alois, pouting even as he squirms with pleasure.

“But nothing,” says Ciel. “You’re going to come in your trousers or you’re not coming at all.” He brings his mouth down to Alois’s crotch, begins licking and sucking at the bulge.

“Bu- oh, Ciel, oh fuck, Ciel, oh! OH!” Alois cries, beginning to writhe as Ciel continues. “Oh, oh, oh, OH….”

“You do realise that all you’ve done is encouraged my bad behavior,” Alois informs Ciel, as he watches the sullen Earl sort the now-quite-disheveled paperwork from his seat on the floor. “Especially since you let me get you off as well.”

Ciel growls, purposely avoiding Alois’s gaze. His pants feel sticky.

#black butler fanfiction

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janshu · 3 years

Text

Inu!Bakugo...for @ultimate-astridwriting's Hybrid collab!

Summary: My part of the hybrid collab. I had so much fun writing an angry Pomeranian Bakugo. 10/10 would do again. I'm not completely happy with it but who ever is? I'm still proud of myself!

Word count: 2.2k.

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Bakugo being an ass, sexual content, somnophilia, collars, choking, humping, creampie, name calling (bitch, slut, whore etc.), use of the word cunt.

You sigh as you rummage around in your pocket to produce the key to your home. After a long day's work all you want to do is get some dinner, take a bath and go to bed but none of those things would be possible would they?

No, not after the spur of the moment decision to adopt a hybrid of all things. The week earlier was one of torrential downpours and near freezing temperatures, the roads making a slushy substance of half-melted ice and salt to prevent the very thing it was being mixed in with. People stayed indoors the best they could when they weren't at work but life had to shit on you and make your car breakdown in the parking garage. Umbrella rested on your shoulder, rain boots on your feet with your spare in your bag and you trudged through cold, mushy hell back home. The streets were barren as a Walmart on a weekday at 4am, no life passing by you until you crossed an alley between two businesses. A pathetic whimper had caught your attention and your gaze drifted down to a soaked cardboard box. What was in that box you weren't sure if you should curse or love. A hybrid.

Narrow red eyes stared at you in suspicion, fangs bared at you but the creature didn't make any attempts to nip at your fingers when they neared to ruffle the spikey head of hair. The hybrid had leaned into your touch before recoiling away as if you had smacked him. The black and orange collar had seen better days, the charm that dangled on the hollow of his neck read "Dynamite" but he didn't give any indication that was his name when you repeated it outloud. He was barely dressed in anything, a thin t-shirt, shorts with ragged Converse that had more holes than Swiss cheese. Truthfully he looked a few days away from starvation and how could you keep that on your conscience if you left him there? After laying your warm coat over his shoulders you somehow, someway, managed to get him back to your place. Everything went downhill from there in the blink of an eye.

The weak puppy persona was gone the moment warm food settled in his belly and within the hour he acted as if you had crowned him king of the house. Beginning his rambles of curses, demands and biting at your fingers. The worst of it happened when you tried to take his collar off for a new one, one that wasn't frayed and barely hanging on. "Katsuki" as he spat out his name with enough venom to put a Black Mamba to shame had flipped over a coffee table, ripped up every couch cushion and went so far to chew on the linoleum on the kitchen floor.

No doubt you'd be greeted with the same sight as always. Messy, dirty, unknown stains everywhere and dishes still in the sink waiting to be moved to the washer. Maybe if he wasn't such a loud ass you could train him but your frazzled nerves were at their wits end. You didn't know what to do, you were about to throw in the towel and put him up for adoption. Yep, you were disappointed to be proven right. Katsuki reclining on the couch lengthwise, remote in his hand with the most bored expression on his face while idly flipping through channels.

"Fucking finally, you're home! I've been waitin' for fucking hours for your ass to get back! I'm hungry, get your shitty ass in the kitchen and make dinner." He barked. Barely giving you any time to hang up your coat and slip off your shoes before his orders began.

"Katsuki...I can't, not tonight." Could your voice portray anymore pleading? Apparently not because he didn't seem to notice, or care.

The fluffy ear at the top of his head only flicked in response, the top lip curling into his signature snarl. "Then what the fuck are you good for? Get your fucking ass in that god damn kitchen and fucking make dinner already."

All that you were good for? All that you were good for? How dare he! He's been freeloading off you for a week now without so much as a thanks for saving him from the streets, feeding him, clothing him, keeping him warm and dealing with his bullshit and this is how he repays you?

"I've fucking had it with you!" Your voice rose higher than you meant to but at this point you didn't care, a line had been crossed. "You fucking sit there and ruin my shit and yet I'm the useless one? I have half a mind to kick you out! You can make your own fucking dinner, I've had it! I'm done! I can't take this anymore!"

Despite not having any clunky shoes on your feet still managed to resonate in the small living room while you stormed past the couch. You had expected anything, anything at all. A slap, a punch, a groan, literally anything but you were met with only silence and that somehow pissed out off even more. How could silence be so infuriating?! You didn't even notice the terror that washed over his face as you screamed at him or the way his chest heaved with the sob or how he trembled underneath your wrathful gaze as you walked away. The bedroom door slamming made short work of that.

"Fuck I'm such an ass.." You mused to yourself already regretting blowing up at him but what would an apology do that wasn't already broken? So better yet why not send yourself to bed without dinner as some kind of punishment? He'd linger at the doorway to the kitchen, staring at you with those intense eyes if you made dinner anyways so why let him win? He could his own shit for fucks sake!

After a quick shower to dethaw your bones and warm up what was left of your dead soul the softness of your pajamas helped ease the guilt gnawing away like a puppy on its first bone. Laying in bed until sleep eventually overcame you and when he knew it was safe to slip in and sneak over towards your bedside.

Rustling was what woke you. The rustling of clothes and the jingle of something metallic in the darkness of the bedroom. Whatever grogginess you normally suffered when waking up was vanishing the more details were dissected and understood by your half-asleep brain, a process that took an embarrassingly long time. Clothes rustling, the bedsheets moving, heavy pants and something incredibly warm nudging up against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. Naturally your brain assumed the worst and your eyelids flew open to show nothing; at first. As your eyes adjusted to the pitch black room they found the blazing stare of those vermillion eyes, the bared fangs that belonged to your hybrid.

What the hell was Katsuki doing on top of you?

Noticing that you were awake the snarl turned into a smirk as he huffed, his large chest expanding with each desperate pant. Why did your folds feel so good just as you were waking up?

"Feel that?" How could you not? The feel of a scorching cock bumping up your folds and sensitive clit, wet from the pre leaking from the tip. There was so much of it from what you could feel, too sticky to be your own. His hips had yet to cease moving, no word from your shocked form to still his rutting hips.

"W-what the hell are you doing?" Was the most logical question your brain could come up with in the moment.

"Humping...fucking dumbass." His warm breath created goosebumps on your cool skin, his head must've been so close to yours by the hair tickling your forehead. "Tryin'ta...help ya. Shitty woman.."

"Help? How the fuck is this helping?"

"You've been working so hard so I thought maybe...a good fuck would calm ya down, relax ya." Katsuki's voice was so desperate, so needy, the humping of his cock on your labia increasing.

He was trying to help? He was going to fuck the frustration out of you? Is that was he was offering? Having sex with a hybrid was common enough to not be considered taboo but you couldn't help but feel he was trying to worm his way into your good graces. Unless your words had struck some kind of cord with him. "Okay, alright, I'll let you help."

"Fuck yeah!"

With that the head of his cock nudged against your cunt, already spread and waiting for him. How long had he been doing this for? The burn of the stretch was delicious, he was just big enough to fill you up but not hurt. Settling right up to kiss the tip of your cervix when he bottomed out. His hands grip at your thigh and hip, pulling his back to slam his cock right back into you. Over and over, over and over, over and over. Practically using you as a fleshlight to get himself off but damn if it didn't feel good, him bouncing you on his cock so roughly each thrust was sending the headboard against the wall.

"Oh fuck...oh fuck, Katsuki!" Your hands pat around and eventually find his biceps and you cling on for dear life, your nails digging crescent shaped markings into his skin.

"Yeah, yeah...you like this form of stress relief, don'tcha you dirty slut?" Undoing the collar around his neck the frayed cloth of the strap is tied around your neck, the buckle clamping down tightly to constrict your airflow while two fingers slip under it to pull and tug. "You're my dirty fucking slut! Mine...mine...mine...mine, fucking mine!"

Your fingers trailed down the tiny amount of space between your bodies down to the precious, neglected nub between your legs. Barely able to wiggle your index and middle finger down there from the rabid fucking you were receiving to circle the bundle of nerves and send yourself over the edge. Each clap of your thighs smacking against each other forcing your hate for his behavior ebbing away. If he was going to act like this all the time how could you kick him out?

"F-fuck! Gonna cum...fucking cum..cum for me. Cum with me!" Katsuki snarled as the pressure around your throat increased. Your hand was smacked away from your clit and was replaced with the large pad of his thumb, frantic circles sending your body into a writhing mess of flails and kicks.

The orgasm that had been steadily building from your ministrations had been ripped away and replaced with one quickly approaching to push you over the edge. The white hot pleasure-coil that formed underneath your belly button snapped and all of it coursed through your system in one go. Paralyzing your body for a split second as you squirted all over the hybrids cock, his still rubbing hand sending the liquid everywhere. Coating his thighs, your thighs and the bed underneath you.

"Fucking fuck! Such a whore, such a dirty girl for me! Oh my fucking g-god!" One last slam of his hips and his own body stilled, burying his cock deep inside your cunt to shoot his cum deep in your womb. He stuttered before his body collapsed on top of you, suffocating you in his sweaty muscles.

Bathing in the afterglow, coming down from your high you could've sworn you heard something. Mumbling, soft mumbling too indistinct to understand. Katsuki's head laying on your shoulder, his nose brushing along your collarbone and was he laying kisses here and there? No, you must've been seeing things. Still buried to the hilt he turned his head to speak, his fluffy ears perked and his tail gently swishing behind him. The sudden light from your phone illuminated the room, casting light on Katsuki's face and the sight made your breath hitch in your throat. Clearly he had been crying. Tear stains streaked down his cheeks, brows knitted together and the same lost look he had plastered on his face appeared again.

"Please, please don't kick me out. I'll do anything, please...please don't abandon me. Not again." His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer as he hid his face in your neck. Voice breaking, shoulders trembling, the verge of crying all over again quickly approaching.

Your heart broke and you returned the favor by hugging him around the shoulders, a hand carding through his hair to soothe him. Had he been abandoned? Did his previous owners not like him? Was all his aggressiveness some kind of defense mechanism? Was he giving you a reason to kick him out to keep himself from experiencing that kind of pain again? Oh, poor baby. "Never again...just don't destroy things anymore, okay? Help me around the place a little more will ya?"

"Yes." Katsuki snuggled on top of you. Finally believing he had a real home with you, a place where he could belong. "....Master."

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #katsuki bakugo #inu bakugo #hybrid bakugo #hybrid au #bakugo katsuki x reader #x reader #tw:nsfw #tw:hybrid #tw:humping #tw:creampie #tw:collar #tw:choking #tw:naughty words #tw:name calling #tw:somnophilia

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syven-siren · 3 years

Text

Penance

Summary: There is a balance between pain and pleasure, between life and death. Michael loves that you willingly walk that line with him. But when you both veer off into the harsh darkness, it is you that brings everything back into focus.

Warnings: 18+ / Smut / Corruption Kink / Breath Play / Accidental Suffering / Hurt & Comfort

Forgiveness is a fickle thing. Elusive, yet frequently desired. Always needed but rarely gained. If there is one thing Michael was certain of before this point, never would he seek forgiveness. It is for the weak-willed, those that don’t have the strength to step on and over the bodies of their allies and enemies. It’s designed for those that hold hope close and humanity even closer.

No, forgiveness is not for Michael.

Power, on the other hand, was something he craves desperately. Much like the oxygen he relies on to keep his mortal body alive, it is the required element that he can not live without. He was born of it: the obsidian rage. And can now feel it vibrating, almost with an aching rattle, in his bones.

More and more he yearns for it. He finds tethers of it in the fear washing over those at Hawthorne. Michael finds that power looms heavy in the eyes of the waning Supreme and it drips from her word. Though she does her best to use it, each time they meet, it flows from her and seeps into his every pore. It’s everywhere he looks and he salivates over it like a rabid beast after its next meal.

“Michael.”

And even you, the sacrificial lamb before him, offer a source to the power that he seeks. Your moans and pleas spark desire, causing his nerves to crackle with electricity. The pain of your nails breaking the skin of his forearms as he pounds into you leaves him in exhilaration.

He’s dipped his cock into your fountain of power frequently and each time he becomes bathed in the liquid of your innocence. Soon that pool will be tainted completely, becoming a power of a different way. And for that, he waits in excited anticipation.

His fingers trace along the angles of your shoulders, slipping over the joints and following the muscles leading up to your throat. The back of your head presses into the mattress, tipping your chin upward, and exposing more of your neck to him. So open and vulnerable you are beneath him. You offer him more power, more control than any one person should have.

“Would you give up anything for me, (Y/N)?”

The pads of his fingers dip into the column of your throat. Just as quickly as his hand found a home there, it disappears. It is a test of your willingness, of your obedience. You purr in desperation, an attempt to draw him back.

“Yes.”

Michael stutters out a pleased groan when your hips roll back in time to meet his thrusts. How your back arches is sinful. Your movement provides a glimpse of your future endeavors, the ones where you have finally given in, body, mind, and soul, to the darkness. You may be washed clean of sin, but Michael knows for certain that the corruption of you won’t take long.

He rocks back onto his knees and then drives forward, making your back arch again at the harsh pleasure. Each thrust of his cock pulls at the hot cords coiling in your lower belly. The large hand settled on your throat begins to cut off your air supply. Your lungs constrict and the muscles of your chest jerk with your desperate attempts to suck in air.

The forward snap of his hips coincides with the flexion of his fingers. The pressure he applies continuously deepens.

In. Squeeze. Out.

There’s no relief and a heavy fog begins to close in on your mind. Michael watches as your pupils dilate; only a thin ring of color visible. Leaning down, his soft lips find your own, successfully sealing off any chance of oxygen sneaking through.

In. Harder. Out.

Your pussy flutters around his cock, squeezing him just as his hand does to your neck. It forces a satisfied chuckle from Michael and in playful retaliation, your airway is pinched off to the point of bruising. The cartilage and soft spongy tissues grate against each other with forceful friction.

Michael watches with peaked fascination as your mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. Pride wells somewhere in the darkness of his heart. Willingly, you have put your pleasure, your pain, your life into the hands of the devil’s kin. His cock twitches within you. The thought of owning your life makes the beast within him snarl and snap for release.

Mer...

A jumbled whisper sounds in the distance. It’s soft and low, too difficult to understand over the sounds of sex and the thundering of his heartbeat in his ears.

...cy.

He breaks his concentration to listen closer but finds the word is echoing in his mind. It’s spoken only to him.

Mercy. Michael, please. Mercy.

It is you reaching out, forcing your way into his mind. His body pauses, stopping mid-stroke, and observes your features. Your eyelids are slid shut, lips slightly parted with a tinge of blue around the outer edges, and your fingers once anchored to his body lay limply at your sides.

“Fuck! (Y/N)!”

A rushing train of panic barrels into him and seizes control of his body. Your name spills from his lips with frantic pleas. Smooth hands cup your jaw with a softness that strikingly contrasts their previous hold.

The room grows eerily still, only his rushed panting and your rasped breathing fill the space.

“Mi..Michael,” you smile at him. Like the gentle creature you are, you hold no animosity for him. Instead, you cradle him close to your chest as your hand smooths over the expanse of his back. Shudders escape his spine and snake along the entirety of his body. His lips move against your sternum, forming words that don’t reach your ears until he picks his head to stare you in the eyes.

“(Y/N), forgive me.”

Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed. It means a lot when you do. Feedback is always appreciated!

AHS Masterlist • Wanna Be Tagged?

Tagging the Lovelies: @moth3atspussy @brithedemonspawn @annikathebananana @marilynmonroefanfics @whitemanshoe19

Requested by Anon: “...if you don’t mind doing the innocent reader x corrupt kink with Micheal Langdon, she had to use the safe word on him…”

#michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon x you #michael langdon x y/n #michael langdon smut #ahs x reader #ahs #american horror story #ahs apocalypse #ahs imagine #ahs smut #ash imagines #michael langdon imagine #michael langdon imagines #ahs apocalypse imagine #ahs apocalypse imagines

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katsuflossy · 3 years

Text

His Wildest Fantasies

Pairing: Shigaraki Tomura x fem!reader

Wordcount: 1.5k

TW: Smut minors dni, fem Dom, m!sub, hair pulling, bondage, slight spit kink, degradation, slight gun play, slight praise kink, unprotected sex

A/n: This really wasn’t planned at all but thank @mythiccheroacademia for me lifting my no shigarki request ban 😭 but I tried. I’m slowly breaking into nsfw fics but i hope i did well on my first try. Ps. This was from a dreamy I had and may or may not follow the conventions of the nsfw community and stuff.

Taglist: click to be apart of my taglist!

“If you keep going like this, I’ll have to leave you with blue balls for 30 minutes, again.” You tutted above Shigaraki, who threw his head back in frustration. You were filling his fantasies, yes, but fuck was it killing him slowly.

His personal journal was thrown to the other side of the room, filled with all the sinful things he had written with only one person in mind. How could he help himself when you owned every room you walked in? Or when he sees the smirk that graced your lips after getting a hero to spill even their own most profound secrets. He knew he lost it when he felt his pants tighten after you scowled at his presence in every meeting, the upturn of your nose making him swallow harshly.

Now, what breaking news would it be when the league finds out he wanted you to spit on him. Or how badly he wished you would step on his dick to the point where he’ll confuse the pain with pleasure. Those ideas brought more euphoria than disgust, but it didn’t matter when they were turned into reality.

The pain from his scalp brought him back to the present. Your glower only let the blood flow faster to his cock, which was evident in his tattered jeans. Your gaze averted to his hard-on before going back to his eyes. A cold laugh escaped your plump lips.

“This really turns you on? You really are a sick fuck.” Your words only made him squirm harder in the chair, rattling the cuffs that ensured he kept his hands to himself. He already lost contact on the tips of his fingers, tape wrapped around each digit so he won’t disintegrate his bindings. His whimpers only gain dynamic as he sat down in front of you, legs spread out to accompany his enormous hard-on.

“And look at your little nub. How adorable.” You teased, fingers trailing up his covered member to the exposed happy trail and back down. Unable to conceal his voice anymore, Shigaraki groaned loudly, hips bucking for more contact. Except for the opposite only happened as you withdrew your hand entirely from his body, the pain in his scalp slowly moving to a dull ache.

“No! Please! Touch me, touch me, touch me!” He writhed in his bindings, the heavy chair legs scraping on the wood of the floor. His energy focused on getting cuffs off, yet the duct tape left nothing but inflamed skin. He flew his neck around, teeth bared in frustration before bowing his head, chest panting from his struggle. He could only hear your heels clacked against the wood boards before you grabbed his face, nails digging into his cheekbones.

“What I need you to understand is that rabid mutts get nothing in life,” you released your hard hold on his face, your manicured hand slowly trailing down to his chapped lips.

“Only good boys do. Are you my good boy?” He nodded vigorously, only for your hand to snap back, holding his face still in a vice grip.

“Use your words, boy.” You commanded, sitting right on his lap. In your skirt, your cunt sat just inches away from his aching dick. Whether it was imaginary or not, the heat he felt from your hot core had him more than obedient.

He was submissive.

“Yes, yes, I’ll be a good boy.” You smirked down at his pleading gaze, the submission making your cunt clench around nothing.

“Fine then, you deserve to enjoy this.” You hiked up your skirt to the point where Shigarki’s eyes met your lace panties. Another groan escaped him as you rocked back and forth on his dick, relieving some of the tension in his pant.

The main room echoed his moans and curses as you grind against his dick, your clit stimulated by the rough denim above his tent.

“This is what you’ve been waiting for?” You laughed as you swirled your hips, making Shigaraki thrown his head back in a groan. The strain in his neck almost unnoticeable due to the waves of the pleasure

“You’re embarrassing, dick pulsing by just me whining on your cock. Now, what if the league walked in on you like this, huh?” Your words only spurred him on, pressing his feet into the ground to deliver you a sharp thrust into your cunt.

“Fuck,” you whispered out.

“You really are into that shit.” You chuckled. You rubbed against him for a final time before getting up. Shigaraki whimpered at the lack of contact, his pleas leaving his mouth the minute you came off.

“Oh fuck, please, keep touching me. I’ll do anything just, please keep touching me.”

“Then shut up.” The tip of the revolver sent a chill down his nose straight to his dick. He didn’t realize you had the strap attached to the holder on your thigh. And yet, he didn’t care because it only excited him more. You watched as his cock twitch uncontrollably, a prominent vein greeting you after unbuckling his pants. With the gun still pointed at his nose, you brought down his brief; his massive dick sprung out from its release, a stream of precum now soiling the black fabric. Your eyes looked back up at him; the gaze stayed mischievous and domineering since the beginning.

“Shiggy, are you gonna be my good boy?” He bit his chapped lips out of habit, the skin breaking off into his mouth.

“Yes—fuck please— yes, I’ll be your good boy. I’ll be your best boy.” You stood over his erection, lining the tip to the opening of your pussy.

“Good,” a moan ripped from the both of you as you sank on his hard length; the pressure almost felt like it was ripping you open. Meanwhile, Shigaraki nearly cummed right there, your spongy walls enclosing all around him. The gun returned to its holder as you prepare for your ride.

It didn’t take you long to move; your slick, making your riding easier as you rolled your hips on his cock. Shigaraki watch as you took in length, your pretty clit just kissing his pelvis before lifting back up and slamming back down. It was a sight to behold.

“Nngh—fuck yes, right there.” He moaned out. Taped fingertips rubbing raw against his palms, only causing more pleasure than pain. He just wanted to touch you, to have your juices smeared across his pointer, to have his index and middle tweaking the stiff peaks of your clothed breasts, to have four fingers grab your jaw and draw you into a kiss. The tightness of your cunt sent lightning through his body, his mind cloudy, not knowing what to do. So, he pushed up against you, trying to kiss your lips.

“Just what are you doing, boy?” You stopped riding, your cunt still sheathing his cock. You shoved back his upper body. He whimpered out again, his body begging for him to move, to do something to cum. Your gaze demanded otherwise.

“Aw, did you try to go in for a kiss?” His cheeks burned further red by your teasing. His bangs hiding his embarrassment as he turned away. You grabbed his chin for him to face you, your shifting causing his dick to twitch.

“Fine then, open your mouth.” Confused but still obedient, he opened his mouth wide, tongue slightly bowing out. You pursed your lips together, letting the spit slowly fall out of your mouth into his. The cold foreign substance touching his tongue quickly dissipated as you pulled him into a kiss. Your hips starting to move again, bouncing on his cock while he swallowed your moans. His thrusts met you halfway, your clit stimulated by the repeated clash on his pelvis. The wet sounds of hard fucking and cries echoed through the empty room, only you and Shigaraki knowing of each other presence. A trail of saliva connected your lips as you looked at him straight in the eyes. Your hands holding on to his crewneck as you bounce harder on his dick, the sounds of slapping getting louder and faster. You were moving faster than he could, his hips stuttering to connect to yours. The short babbles efusing from his lips told you his state; he was close to becoming undone.

“You’ve been such a good boy, treating me like this. You’ve been the best baby boy. Now cum for me, baby. Cum.” His balls tightened on him as he came on demand, followed by the tightening of your walls as you came too. You rode out your orgasm before collapsing on your leader, your legs and ass burning from your endeavors. With tired legs, you lifted off Shigaraki, only to see him dazes with his head knocked all the way back. You smiled at his fucked out face before slipping your panties back in place. White numbers on your phone told you how many minutes you had left before the rest of the league came.

25 minutes remaining.

Looks like you have time for round 2.

#shigaraki x reader #bnha shigaraki x reader #tomura smut #shigaraki smut #shigaraki tomura x reader #bnha x black!reader #bnha x poc!#bnha shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura x y/n #tomura x reader #tomura x you #shigaraki x you #bnha x reader #bnha smut

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wild-karrde · 2 years

Text

Reunion - Part 1

Master List | Next Part

A/N: ALRIGHT KIDS, IT'S HERE! This story takes place after "In Command" and "Guarded", so if you plan on reading those stories spoiler-free, I'd recommend starting with them and coming back. But without further ado, here's part one! THANK YOU to the WONDERFUL @teletraan-meets-jarvis for beta-reading this for me! :)

He crashed through the underbrush of Takodana’s forests like a rabid bantha, branches whipping him in the face as he ran onwards. I’ve really kriffing done it now. His blonde hair was soaked through with sweat as was the cloak he was wearing. A blaster shot winged over his head, slamming into a rock formation just to his left. He ducked and rolled down an embankment, splashing into a stream at the bottom. Scrambling to his feet, he kept running, his cloak now heavier with the weight of the water. He finally just flung it off, revealing the blue and white armor underneath.

Relieved of the weight of the cloak, he was able to open up his stride more as he pushed onwards. He turned to look over his shoulder, searching the forest behind him for the flash of white plastoid. Suddenly, he exploded out of the edge of the trees and stumbled, his foot catching a rock as he ran and he flew forward, sliding on his chest plate as he frantically grabbed at the ground. He realized the reason the trees had ended: he was quickly approaching the edge of a cliff, and he tried to dig his toes in, but could find no purchase as he slid towards the precipice. His legs slipped over, dangling into the abyss as he managed to lock his fingers into a small crevice, clinging for everything he was worth to stop his momentum. Kicking his legs out, he tried to find a toehold, but found nothing but air. This must be an overhang. Of kriffing course it is. His fingers were slipping from the edge, and he allowed himself a look down to see how far he would fall. I’m not going to survive that. He dug his fingers in harder.

He heard a rustling as the four stormtroopers that had been pursuing him stepped out of the brush carefully, pushing forward with their blasters trained on him. “It’s over, you’re surrounded.”

“Does it look like I’m going anywhere?” he shouted back defiantly. I might be, it just might be down. He felt his fingers slip and tried to tighten his grip, but his shoulders slid over the edge, and he was no longer able to see his captors. Kriff. He strained with effort to hold on, and his thoughts drifted to her again, the way her blue eyes captured the light in the morning, the way her long braid hung about her shoulders, the sound of her laugh. Just in case.

Over the blood pounding in his ears, he heard blaster fire and what he could have sworn was the hum of a lightsaber. He shook his head trying to clear his mind, but before he could have another thought, his fingers slipped from the crevice he had them wedged in. He felt the nothingness below him embrace him as he tumbled backwards silently. He fell past the precipice and could see the overhang as he plummeted. He watched as the sky fell away from him. Her eyes are bluer.

A figure dove over the edge after him, cloak billowing out behind them. Throwing their hands forward, they shot towards him like a missile. His brain couldn’t process what was happening as slender fingers reached out and wrapped around his ankle, gripping tightly as they suddenly snapped to a halt, swinging from a line tied to his rescuer’s waist. As they swung back and forth, he looked up to stare at the hooded figure who was grunting from the strain of holding him. The figure’s left hand snaked out from the cloak, glinting in the sunlight as slender metal fingers wrapped around his ankle over the other hand. Blue eyes sparkled at him from underneath the hood and he was certain he was imagining things.

“How’s it hanging, Rex?” Senna chuckled as she pulled him back up towards her, righting them both in the air.

She managed to help him pull himself up and get his legs wrapped around her hips, his arms gripping around her shoulders as she reached down and pressed the retract button for the cable feed that was attached to her belt. They slowly rose back up towards the cliff edge, Rex completely silent. He could smell her as her hair tickled his nose in the breeze, and memories came flooding back: the last night they were together, how she’d felt in his arms, the immense loss he’d felt when he’d awoken to find her absent with no hint as to where she’d gone. He was angry and sad and confused, and his inner turmoil did little to abate even as they slipped back over the edge of the cliff, laying next to each other on the hard stony surface.

Pushing himself to his feet, he took in the scorched bodies of the stormtroopers that lay scattered around him, lightsaber burns marring the clean white plastoid that covered their torsos. He nudged the arm of one with his foot, and it fell limply back into place. “I see your penchant for wreaking havoc hasn’t changed,” he muttered. “Is this the part where you just leave then?”

She sat up and looked at him, her brows furrowing as she yanked a glove back over her metal hand. “You know, most people would say ‘thank you’ in this instance.”

Rex whirled on her. “Yeah, well I’m not most people, so I think I’ll start with ‘where the hell have you been?’”

Senna pushed her hair out of her face, slowly standing and brushing herself off. “Around.”

In an instant, he closed the gap between them, his face centimeters from hers. “Where. Were. You.”

---

Senna searched his eyes, her brows knitting together as she stared into his amber irises that were glowing like hot coals with anger and pain. It stung to know that she’d hurt him like this, even if her intentions were pure and it was the right thing to do. When she’d left him on Ryloth, she’d quietly cried the entire time she was on the transport to the next planet, and the next three after that. She’d pictured him finding her note, and it shattered her as she put more and more distance between the two of them.

But it was to keep him safe. Even now, she felt her anxiety slamming her heart against her ribs, terrified that an Inquisitor would emerge from the forest behind them and take him. She’d seen it in her nightmares and awoken sobbing. She could see the wound on his neck where the Grand Inquisitor had held his lightsaber had healed, leaving only a pale scar along his throat that disappeared under the collar of his blacks and likely traced along his shoulder.

“I’ve been a lot of places, Rex,” she said quietly. “And sometimes…I check in.”

He took a step backwards. “What do you mean ‘check in’?”

She chewed her lip before finally taking a deep breath. “I check in on you and the boys sometimes. From a distance. Just to see how you’re doing.”

Rex felt as though his heart was about to drop out of his chest. He’d been sure he imagined it, the few times he’d seen the glint of a metal arm in the crowd or her eyes watching him from under a hood before disappearing around a corner. His anger surged again as he choked on his words.

“Why?”

She looked at him, confused. “Why what?”

“Why did you leave?”

“I feel like the note was pretty clear, Rex.”

“Why check in at all? Why keep your distance and then come around if your presence is what endangers us?”

Her teeth dug back into her lip. Because I missed you. Because I love you. Because I’m selfish. “You weren’t supposed to know I was here,” she said quietly after a few moments. “But I couldn’t let you die.” She ducked her head and tried to move past him, but his hand shot out, strong fingers wrapping around her arm that was still flesh and blood. She felt his fingertips trembling as he met her eyes.

“Rex-“

“Why are you really here?” he snarled. She could see the pain in his eyes, and it ripped her old wounds back open. It took everything in Senna’s power to not fling her arms around his neck. She wanted so desperately to smell his skin again, to feel his arms around her like she’d dreamed about so many nights only to wake and find herself alone in a bed on some random planet. Here he was, and somehow having him angry at her like this was so much worse than being without him. I shouldn’t have let him see my face. “I told you, I-“

“Don’t lie to me.” His voice was low, dangerous, and it sent a shiver down her spine.

Fine. She’d found an excuse to come here, knowing he would be too, but that wasn’t her only reason. She drew a deep breath as she pulled her arm from his grasp. “I’m hunting for the location of a hidden Imperial base. It’s supposed to be where some of their top science and engineering operations are happening. Got wind a clone commander might be out here that knew where it was. Was looking for him when I stumbled across you being chased. Not exactly subtle in that armor, you know.”

He rolled his eyes at that. “Let me guess, you were looking for Wolffe.”

She nodded. “Figured you were looking for him too when I saw you.”

“Yeah, well we’re both out of luck. He’s not here. Never was by the looks of it, so I guess your trip was in vain. Sorry you wasted your time.” He was trying to stay angry, she could tell that much, but there was hurt in his voice, a soft cracking like when a sandcastle breaks apart under a wave.

“I’m not,” she said quietly. His head whipped around at that, his eyes burning into her as he examined her. She knew she was more haggard than the last time he’d seen her, a few more scars tracing across her skin, a few more greys in her hair. He’d changed as well. The lines in his forehead and around his eyes were more pronounced, and he looked like he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since the last time she’d seen him. I can relate to that. Her hands nervously clenched and unclenched at her sides and she watched as his eyes flicked to them and then back up to her lip where her teeth were currently gnawing nervously.

“If you don’t stop doing that, I’m not going to have anything left to kiss.”

It had been so long since he’d said those words to her, and she stopped chewing as they echoed in her mind. Rex was staring her down again and when she met his gaze, the air between them buzzed with something. She was tempted to reach out to try and read him, but she decided against it. He wouldn’t want that. I don’t want an advantage right now. Senna also realized she hadn’t really planned this far. She’d just run into the fight when she saw Rex being chased, diving after him as he slipped over the cliff without a second thought, and now, here was the reunion she’d been trying to avoid since the day that she left. It was more wonderful and painful than she could have ever imagined.

Finally, Rex huffed. “I guess there’s nothing left to say then, is there? I assume you’ll be slinking back off to the shadows now, and I’ll just never hear from you again.”

Her eyes fell to her boots, studying the wear of the leather on her toes, and she heard him turn and start walking away. Senna knew she should let him leave, allow him to go his own way and find his own path, but before she could think about it too long, she spoke.

“I know another place he might be.”

Rex halted, turning back to her. “I don’t suppose you’ll just tell me, will you?”

“I could. Or…we could go together.”

“Sure, let’s just hop back on that track again. It ended so well for me last time. I’m not sure I want that help, Senna.”

She stared out over the treeline, fighting the tears that were threatening to leak from her eyes. He had every right to be angry, she couldn’t deny that. I really thought he’d understand with time. Guess it hasn’t been long enough for that yet. Don’t know what I expected. “Alright.” Senna tried to keep the word short and emotionless as she gathered herself internally before walking past Rex back towards the city. She paused after a few steps. “I’m glad you’re alive.”

He just grunted in response. Pulling her hood up, Senna began making her way back through the trees, picking carefully over the roots and vines that reached out to snag her ankles. Don’t cry until you get back to your room at the inn. Hold it together until then. She was concentrating so hard on holding back her emotions that her foot caught a root, and she flailed for a second before a set of plastoid-covered arms grabbed her, helping right her.

She whirled to stare into Rex’s amber eyes. There was still anger there, but something else that caused hope somewhere in her stomach to flare for just a second like an ember being blown upon. Senna gripped Rex’s arms as she got her feet back underneath her, studying his face.

“Thanks.”

“Still the epitome of grace, I see.” It was almost playful. Almost.

“Yeah, something like that,” she huffed.

Silence hung between them as the seconds dragged on. He was clearly struggling with something, his eyes darting between her and some distant point before he finally settled on a decision. She waited patiently, allowing the silence to continue until he finally rubbed the back of his neck, running his hand over his face in frustration.

“Fine. We’ll do this together. Then you can go back to whatever the hell it was you were doing.”

“Rex, it doesn’t have to be like that. I-“

“I don’t want you here,” he snapped. “You made your decision. You left. But as it is, I don’t have any other leads on Wolffe or where he might be, and I need to get to him. You should be grateful I don’t get the location and just leave you here on this rock, and I absolutely would, but I imagine I know why you want that base’s location. You’re still chasing that super weapon, aren’t you?”

She nodded, hiding the pain she felt at his words. “Among other things.”

“Alright.” He turned, walking back the direction she was headed, and she fell into step beside him. “Tell me what you know.”

Senna took a deep breath. “I’d heard Wolffe might be here, and it was closer, so I figured I’d try this place first. But there’s another rumor that a clone with a cybernetic eye was recently involved in some sort of incident on Pantora. Some spat at a weapons depot or something is what I heard. Sounds like there’s a good chance he’ll be court-martialed. I don’t know if he’s still on Pantora or not, but I figured that’d be a good place to start.”

Rex didn’t meet her eyes as he mulled it over for a few moments before speaking. “Fine. We’ll leave immediately. I’ve got a small personal transport I’ve been using.”

“I’ve got some stuff at the local inn I need to swing by and get, but yeah, then we can go.”

Rex nodded but said nothing.

---

The captain focused on placing one foot in front of the other as he allowed her to lead him back through the small town. He’d retrieved his cloak from where he’d dropped it during the chase and had slipped it back over his clone armor. He’d hoped that perhaps seeing him in his armor would somehow help Wolffe remember he was a friend, that even if the chip was still in, there was common ground to be reached, but it had all been for naught. And now, here she was, the woman he’d chased across the galaxy for as long as he could before he’d finally given up hope of finding her and tried his best to move on.

Rex was struggling to discern where one emotion ended and the next began at this point. Acceptance had been the hardest thing to get to, acceptance that she was gone and with her, the future that he’d dreamed of with the woman he loved. As much as he hated it, he did understand why she’d left, and he knew she was right, he may have done the same thing. But not without talking to her first. Not just in the night with no goodbye or explanation. These were the justifications he used for his anger, and he’d nurtured that rage for many months after Senna left until he was just too exhausted to keep that flame burning. Now, that anger had been fanned back into a furious fire within him, at war with the joy he felt at seeing her and the need he felt to reach out and touch her, to hold her, to kiss her. It was overwhelming to feel such conflict within himself, and rather than allow it to betray him, he just walked silently a half step behind her.

She was tired, that much he could see. She’d always had terrible posture, but her shoulders seemed more slumped now, as if the weight of the galaxy rested on them and she’d grown weary. He was sure she’d taken on too much as always. He wondered what her latest engineering project was, his eyes falling on the sliver of metal on her hand that was peeking out of the top portion of her glove. At least it looks like that’s working out. Tech’ll be pleased to know. He hated that he could still pick out all the details of her, still read her so easily. It was just more evidence to him that he’d been fooling himself for the last few months in thinking that he’d finally let her go. Damn.

Senna paused outside of the inn. “This is it. I’ll be right back.” He nodded wordlessly at her, leaning up against the wall of the storefront across the street. As she walked away from him, he pulled his hood a little lower, his eyes scanning the area. Suddenly, he noticed a few figures across the way watching Senna intently as she entered, a Transdoshan and a Weequay. As she entered the front of the inn, they waited for half a beat before following her inside. Kriff. Rex flexed his fingers for a moment before jogging across the street and following them into the inn.

---

Senna felt them before the cool metal of the blaster pressed to the back of her neck.

“Masssster Aven,” the Transdoshan hissed.

“Don’t know anyone by that name, friend,” Senna said quietly, raising her hands in surrender as she turned from the door to her room. “Name’s Valla Cardell. It appears you fellas have your wires crossed.”

“Should have probably picked a different alias than the one you used on Lothal, Jedi scum,” the Weequay cackled.

Senna rolled her eyes. “What do you want?”

“The Empire’ssssss bounty for you of courssssse.”

“They’re paying handsomely for any Jedi these days,” the Weequay added.

“What makes you think I’m a Jedi?”

“Your lightssssaber.”

Kriff. She’d forgotten to tuck it back under her cloak, and it hung at her belt flashing brilliantly in the dim hallway lighting like a beacon for unwanted attention. Careless. You’re off your game. Senna caught the flash of blonde hair behind her two captors before Rex fired his blaster twice, dropping them both in the next breath. The two bounty hunters slumped to the floor, the blaster wounds still smoking in the back of their skulls. She met Rex’s gaze across the hall.

“Better hurry,” he mumbled, and she nodded, punching the key code into her door before pushing inside with Rex close behind, dragging the bodies inside the room to hide them. Senna quickly moved to toss her change of clothes and datapad in her rucksack. When she turned, Rex was looking around the room before settling back on her. “That all?” he asked.

“Don’t travel with much these days.”

“Alright, let’s get moving then.” He gripped her arm, guiding her out of the room quickly. They walked out of the inn just as a pack of stormtroopers were jogging towards the front entrance. Rex pinned Senna against the wall, turning his face away from them as they rushed by. She could feel his breath on her cheek and became acutely aware of the way his gloved grip felt on her arm. “Probably heard the blaster fire,” he muttered. His eyes found hers from beneath the hood, and for a second, Senna’s breath stuttered as they stared at each other before Rex shook his head, stepping back from her. He kept his grip on her arm as he guided her down the street towards the town’s landing docks.

Corellian in make, the small ship Rex was using was far from the most aesthetic thing Senna had seen, but she assumed it got the job done. She followed him up the ramp and through the hatch, her head on a swivel as she took in her surroundings. The cockpit was a two-seater and glancing at the controls, she could tell it was armed with a forward cannon and appeared to be hyperspace-capable. At least this bucket of bolts will get us where we need to go. There was a small kitchenette tucked into one corner of the central space with a tiny refresher opposite it. The central part of the ship seemed to double as the cargo hold. A few crates were neatly stacked against one wall, and as Senna looked around, she could see Rex’s military precision in the cleanliness. Everything had a place, nothing was unnecessary or cluttered. The lack of decoration was more or less his personal touch, and she smiled to herself. At the rear of the craft, she spotted a door that hid a somewhat spacious bunk. That part surprised her, but Rex did like to sleep, so she supposed that slight splurge on comfort made sense.

“What did this set you back?” she asked, letting her rucksack fall next to the crates.

“Nothing,” he grunted. “Gerrera needed to offload it and I was in the market. He was more than happy for me to take it off his hands.”

Senna grinned at the mention of her old friend. “How is he?”

“Fine. Still fighting.”

Rex’s clipped answers didn’t go unnoticed, but Senna decided it wasn’t the time to mention it. Stepping towards the kitchenette, she brushed her fingers over the caf press, smiling when she felt its warmth. “Anything still in here?” she called over her shoulder. Rex glanced back from the pilot’s seat.

“Should be a bit. Not as strong as you like it though.”

Senna smiled at the note. “It’s alright. I just need something to keep me awake.”

“Bed’s in back if you want to sleep. It’ll take a bit to get to Pantora.”

“Thanks.” She pulled a mug from one of the overhead cabinets, emptying the dregs of the caf press into it before taking a sip. Not as strong as I make it, but not far off. She dug around in the cabinets as Rex lifted the ship into the air, heading towards the atmosphere.

“No sugar,” he stated flatly, and her nose wrinkled. Still, she wasn’t about to complain right now. He was at least speaking to her unprompted at this point. Strolling around the interior, she peeked through his cabinets to see what food he had.

“No noodles either.”

She stifled a sigh as she noted the surplus ration bars he’d stocked. Great. Better than nothing I suppose. But barely.

She peeked through the half open door to the bunk. The bed was made with military exactness, not a wrinkle in sight, but something about seeing the indentation on the pillow where Rex’s head rested made something within her stir. Sleeps on the right side still I see. Her thoughts drifted back to the last night they’d spent together on Ryloth, draped over one another as he snored softly and she planned her exit. Her heart ached at the memory, and she turned away quickly, striding to the cockpit and picking up the cloak Rex had placed in the other seat before plopping down next to him.

He kept his eyes forward and she tried not to stare. There were a few more scratches on his vambraces, one particularly deep through the blue stripe on his right arm. She noted he glanced at her quickly out of the corner of his eye and she turned her attention to the cloak in her hands. She realized it was the same cloak he’d had with them on Lothal. He’d patched the hole where the blaster bolt had torn into his chest, and as she rubbed the rough fabric between her fingers, she remembered how hard she’d clutched it when she’d been shot in the capital city. He’d patched her up in a back alley while Imperials hunted them, and she’d gripped the cloak so hard she was surprised she hadn’t at least stretched it, permanently leaving indentations of her fingers in the threads. She folded it carefully and set it off to the side before she resumed sipping her caf.

They sat in a tense silence for a while before Rex made the jump to hyperspace. Heaving a deep sigh, he stood, moving past her without so much as a glance. Senna didn’t dare turn around, but she could hear him grunting as he removed the plastoid pieces of his armor. She’d come to know the distinct clicks and snaps of each piece coming undone when they were together, and she could practically tell which pieces were coming off.

Gauntlets first, then the vambrace with his comm so he can set that somewhere within reach. The vambrace on the opposite arm, then his pauldron. The chestplate next so he can twist more easily to reach his shoulder bells.

A soft curse snapped her out of her imagination, and despite her brain telling her not to, she turned. Rex was gingerly pressing on his shoulder, trying to turn so he could see himself in the mirror of the refresher. Senna could see he’d been grazed by a blaster bolt, and before she could stop herself, she was standing next to him.

“Here, let me help.”

“I’m fine. Go sit back down.”

“Rex-“

“I said I’m fine,” he snapped. “I’ve gotten really good at patching myself up. Now go. Sit. Down.”

Senna withdrew her hands, ducking her head before she slunk back to her chair, pulling her cloak a little tighter around her shoulders. She let out a shaky breath, shuddering at how cold he was towards her. You should have known this was coming. You were a fool to think otherwise.

She missed the way Rex’s gaze lingered on her before he turned to work on his injury as he had countless times before.

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ratmonky · 3 years

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Stranger Danger

Word Count: 2K

Warnings: non-con

AO3 Link

Don’t trust strangers on the internet.

Just like how they taught you not to walk off with someone you didn’t know, it was the first thing your parents lectured you about when you started using the family computer. Simple. Stay away from the people who tried to befriend you because they were probably out to get you.

That was why you were wary of making friends online when you first started using the computer, scared that someone might kidnap you through the screen.

Pfft, you had quite an imagination when you were little.

Your parents were also a little too paranoid, of course, you had to be careful on the internet as they told you but there was nothing wrong with making friends. The internet brought people of the same interests together and it helped many people like you who had a hard time making friends start talking to others. Especially with helping you find many sorcerer students like yourself.

You had many friends now, some you video chatted and some you even had met in person.

Today, you were going to meet another one of your friends in person. Another sorcerer college student around the same age as you. You had met Kokichi on one of those sorcerer dating websites and instantly hit it off from the moment you had met before becoming more than friends.

Although his webcam never worked or how he was always out of breath while talking to you, it didn’t stop the two of you from falling in love.

Kokichi lived in Kyoto, far away from where you lived, and trying to manage a long-distance relationship was hard. That was why he had suggested that the two of you met in Kyoto and tried to see if you felt the same about him after meeting in person. If you liked him even after meeting him in person, then your relationship could progress into something more.

You blushed thinking about moving in with him. Ahh, wouldn’t that be wonderful!

Shaking your head you tried to stop yourself from daydreaming and park your car where Kokichi had told you to. Apparently, the parking rules in Kyoto were different than in your city, you had to find a parking lot almost far outside of the city so you wouldn’t get a ticket.

It took you two hours to get here using the highway. Although you would have rather taken the train or bus, it was a lot faster to drive. It took you another fifteen minutes to get to your meeting point with him after you took a taxi.

Kokichi didn’t pick up his phone. You had been trying to reach him since this evening. You weren’t sure if he was already standing next to the alley of the bar your cab driver dropped you off a little while ago or if he was late.

Sick of waiting, you took out your pack of cigarettes and walked deeper into the alley to check. After taking a cigarette out and putting it between your lips, you lit the tip, inhaling deeply.

You were going to scold him for making you wait. A laugh escaped you at the thought of Kokichi telling you how he had explained to you that he was taking the train and it would be slower than you driving here or something along those lines.

Well, it would be a nice icebreaker.

While you were busy smoking and lost in your thoughts, sharp pain to the side of your head made you stumble forward. You dropped your cigarette and before you knew it your knees gave up under you, making you crumple to the ground as your vision went dark.

~~~

You froze. Not wanting to move or open your eyes until you could recall what had happened.

There were faint sounds of grunting. The next thing you noticed was the smell. Earthy, cold, and coppery. You tried to identify the foreign smell as you become aware of the tingling from between your legs. It had started to hurt, your hips felt sore and your eyelids felt heavier than usual.

The grunting sounds were soft and you could easily recognize the other sounds aside from it. It was like gears moving, a machine, closer to the sounds your door made when it wasn’t oiled up well, creaking and kinda ringing...

You had probably left the television on, slowly, you opened your eyes.

All you saw was dark, your back felt cold against something metallic. Your back was being roughly rubbed against your metal. What? It was hard for you to understand what was going on. With a pathetic attempt to move your legs, you only felt them being held tightly. There were splashing sounds, your ass was splashing against water. Tears started streaming down your face. you still couldn’t comprehend what was happening but you could feel it. You started to panic as the sudden realization of something thick and firm moving hastily inside you hit you hard.

Opening your eyes, you stared at a man in bandages who was kneading the soft flesh of one of your breasts, his mouth on the other, sucking your nipple in his mouth. You felt his hot tongue swirl around your nipple and an involuntary moan left your lips.

The sharp smell of the medical liquid made you nauseous as you remembered what had happened. But you had to stay calm and try to understand where you were.

You began to panic, trying to move your muscles but you could barely move. Strained, fear of the darkness drove you to move your limbs slightly. You threw your head back in shame and noticed the robot that was holding you instead of looking at the man inside the bathtub of medical liquid. Finally having your mind schooled back online, you started to notice your surroundings. First of all, you were in a cave-like place, being held by a robot by the back of your knees and the robot was moving you up and down on this man’s-

Another moan left your lips when the man’s cock hit a good spot. Glaring at the man, you tried moving your arms that hung slack by your sides but your limbs were weaker than you had realized. Your legs wouldn’t move either, your entire body felt sore.

There was nothing you could do as the robot lowered you up and on this man’s cock other than try to understand what had happened.

You stayed limp in the robot’s arms and took it as your assaulter kept furiously fucking you like a rabid dog in heat with the help of the robot. While the robot lowered you onto his cock and leaned forward for a second, you felt his hand reach to the back of your head and pull you down forcefully to crash your lips against yours as he used the same hand to run his fingers through your hair. He let out a quiet groan into the kiss and lolled out his tongue to lick your face, leaving a trail of his drool that chilled your skin. His hand in your hair crept between your bodies and he flicked a finger on your clit.

Jolting, you bit back a moan.

“The pictures on your profile didn’t do you any justice,” he spoke, planting kisses on your chest. “You’re so much prettier in person.”

Out of a sudden, it clicked.

“Kokichi?” His name broke into a moan as the robot slammed you down onto his cock. The robot was still bouncing you on his cock but to him, it wasn’t enough, he needed more. He had to feel more of you.

The robot dropped you in the bathtub, on top of Kokichi with his cock deep inside you. Your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck so you wouldn’t sink deeper into the bathtub. The medical liquid inside was cold, it made you shiver but Kokichi’s body was warm. He wrapped his arm around you and pressed his face into the crook of your neck.

“I can’t move my lower body without Mechamaru, I need you to comply.” His tone was impatient, the arm around you was trying to guide you to move your hips.

A grunt left you from the massive effort it took just to move your arm. Finally, you managed to move your arms, although it was heavy and almost impossible, luckily you succeeded. You shook your head, weakly pushing him away from yourself but as tiny, the bathtub was you didn’t have much space. Kokichi wasn’t going to let you move away from him either, he suddenly grabbed you and pulled you back, the liquid inside splashed from the force.

He groaned and you saw Mechamaru move again. The robot’s hands grabbed you from under your armpits, lifting you up and pushing you down onto Kokichi. He had his arm around you, moving your hips freely as he wanted since your weight had lightened thanks to his robot.

Your gummy walls clenched around his cock as you squirmed uselessly. He was breathing slowly and evenly while he carefully pulled you down for another sloppy kiss, paying no attention to your whimpers or the tears streaming down your face.

“You look so erotic when you cry,” he grunted, his hand moving to squeeze your cheeks together until your lips puckered. “Makes me wanna ruin you.”

You glared at him through your tears as he licked your tears that had streamed down to your cheeks before kissing you hungrily. He was inexperienced, you could tell from the way your teeth clashed and how desperately he tried to snake his tongue down your throat for no reason.

Mechamaru started frantically bouncing you on Kokichi’s cock, taking you by surprise. The irregular pace was gone, now, he was fucking you frenziedly, making sure that your gummy walls took the shape of his cock. After a particular spot his cock stroked, your pussy squeezed around him, causing you to moan into the kiss.

He broke the kiss, groaned loudly as your gummy walls started spasming around his cock. His bandaged hand went to grab your hip tightly to move you on his cock forcibly.

Medical fluid splashed and splattered on the ground each time you slammed yourself on his cock frantically with Mechamaru’s help.

You gasped in pleasure, your body was getting aroused. He must have noticed it because a smug grin spread on his lips before Mechamaru pounded you on Kokichi’s throbbing cock.

The knot of pleasure building in your gut quickly took over your senses, your gummy walls clenched around his cock and your muscles inside started pulsating.

Kokichi was caught off guard by your cunt trying to milk him for all he was worth. His cock twitched inside you as he lost control of Mechamaru who abruptly dropped you onto his cock. With a wanton moan, you wrapped your arms wrapped around him to balance yourself. His cock throbbed inside your pussy and thick spurts of cum burst inside your womb.

It continued coming out until you felt it overflow. As if he had been saving everything he got for this moment.

You went limp on his lap with his arm barely holding you up. Still, Kokichi managed to press a kiss against your temple, silently promising to keep you safe from the strangers on the internet from now on.

Or rather, he wanted to keep you for himself. Kokichi, as someone who had grown up on the internet, was desensitized to many things. He had no idea how women worked and most of the things he had learned about sex were from hardcore porn. Sometimes from even a more disturbing genre of porn. Having you here with him was something he had planned for a long time. He had been patient, patient, and patient. There was no way he was going to let you go. No, not when he finally had a taste of you. He wasn’t going to be only an internet friend or someone you met online who you got to be more than friends. He was going to be something a lot more than that. Perhaps, a boyfriend. Yeah, that had a nice ring to it.

One thing was for sure, the two of you weren’t going to be in a long-distance relationship anymore.

#mechamaru x reader #kokichi muta x reader

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beatleszeppelin · 3 years

Text

You're A... Inexperienced Chapter 2

Summary: On watch one night you find out some thing that Daryl has never done. And you offer him some experience.

Category: Friends to Lovers, Eventual Mild Smut, just a good ol’ time

Paring: Daryl x reader (second person)

Warnings/Includes: General Walking Dead grossness, Smut (but not in this chapter), swearing, use of weapons, non-graphic hunting, mention of past child abuse, (let me know if you see anything else)

Word count: 3k

Chapter 1 Masterlist

Chapter 2 Naked in a Lake

The next few days were fairly uneventful. Seeing Daryl only in passing. He stayed outside when you were in; you stayed outside when he stayed in.

Not even shifts brought you together. Since the fall of Woodbury, there have been plenty of new people taking shifts to give you all a break.

Most of your time was spent helping with the kids in the library when Carol was too busy doing important things to “babysit”. Or you occasionally helped out at the farm on the south side of the prison. Rick and Hershel had started it over the past few months, and already it had yielded some fine meals.

Those meals were also made courtesy of Daryl, who went out into the woods on the daily, not going far, but far enough to be out all day and come back with a belt full of squirrels and rabbits by night. You had no idea how he did it or how far he went, but he seemed to be used to the days of solitude, in nature alone.

That was all until he planned to go out a bit farther, only for a couple days, but that was more that he had been gone in a while, more than anyone had been alone for a while. When he shared these plans, you decided that you would go out hunting with him, you know, because there is safety in numbers, (and you were dying to see what he spent so much time doing everyday).

So when morning came, and it was time to leave you brought your bag and followed him to the gate. He squinted at you being blinded by the morning light that rose over the prison. “I’m coming with you, is that alright?” You asked him knowing that he couldn’t argue. You awaited his response, but it never came, instead he had the gate opened and held his arm out like a gentleman letting you lead.

You guys walked past the spikes that guarded the outside of the gates, just as the queens guards once did outside of Buckingham palace. Kicking rocks and dust clouds along the path, walking went fairly slow. Not much to say, not much to do this early in the morning. You hadn’t even waited for Carl and Carol’s shift, which normally signified morning, to start before you had left. (You were sure he had said good-bye to them, Rick, and Judith the night before though. He was good like that.)

When the sun, which was barely peering over the land when you left, had risen enough to give you a long shadow, stretched out in front of you; you decided it was time to eat. Taking the backpack off your shoulders, and unzipping it when it was in front of you, you pulled out a small loaf of bread. You broke it in half and handed some to Daryl. He gnashed into it like a rabid dog, grunting a thank you in between bites.

You nibbled off bites as you walked, trying to savor it as something to do. The scenery of trees and a dirt path was getting old. You couldn’t understand how someone could go out along this path all day every day.

It was hot, too. Hot and sweaty. By mid-day you felt as though you were dragging, lifting your legs in a pedantic manner. Daryl’s hair was stuck to his forehead, and he had stripped his poncho, just left in a cut off flannel. He seemed to be perfectly fine in the heat though, barely even touching his water.

You wonder if he stayed outside a lot before as well. There’s something about him that makes it so hard to imagine him in his house, in a domestic setting. Did he do the dishes, and make himself food? Was his room clean, did he make his bed every morning before work? Did he have a job? What did he do? But you know that wondering these things will only pass the time, because there is no way he’d ever casually mention his previous life.

People had tried guessing, to no avail. Beth’s new boyfriend, Zach, was the leader of the guessers, being followed by the children, and you’ve even discussed it with both Michonne and Carol before. It would really take something special to make him confess his stories to someone, who knows who could get that close to him though.

You spent the majority of your walk picturing him in an office setting, wearing a tie and answering phones. Or at a gas station glaring at little kids who try to stuff candy bars up their sleeves, scaring them into obeying the law.

Mechanic seemed to fit best. Not a sleazy mechanic that finds more things to break to get

some extra cash, but one that spends day and night tracking down an original piece to some old beat up motorcycle. He wouldn’t charge extra for labor, cause he’d be doing the thing he loved most. He would treat each bike as his own, tirelessly making it perfect until the finishing pieces were in their exact place, like the sprinkles on a sundae.

“Gonna cut into the woods, right here.” He nodded, directing you.

“Oh yeah, sorry,” you said, snapping out of your little daydream. “Ya’ okay?” He ducked down, meeting your eyes though his hair.

“Yeah, I’s just thinking.”

“‘Kay, just watch out in here. Can’t make too much sound.”

You walked through the dense forest, making as little noise as you possibly could. Heel, toe; heel, toe. Only cracking branches and crunching leaves every few steps, listening to Daryl’s deep steadying breaths in between.

He taught you how to lay traps, and snares; different knots and when to use them. By the end of the day you could set your own, with the reassurance that he would help kill whatever you caught. No matter how many walkers you would kill, and how much bad shit you’ve seen. It still felt weird killing animals to eat.

The trapping, and mapping out your paths came to an end as night fell. The darkness made it too difficult to achieve the superb knots you were tying, and the sub par snares that Daryl would set, so you two decided to call it a night, sleeping in shifts back to back.

The next day went the same, but it was now time for the actual hunting. You left the killing to Daryl, using your lack of a silent long range weapon, like the crossbow as an excuse. You guys sat up wind, and out of the line of sight of any animals that may pass. It was quiet, and you understood why he liked it.

Hunting wasn’t all killing like you had imagined; hunting was 99% sitting quietly in nature, 1% killing.

You can’t lie about the fact that when a deer came into sight, you closed your eyes and didn’t open them until you heard the click of the trigger on the crossbow. You didn’t want to see the animal die, but you can’t feel bad about how many people that deer could feed.

Daryl took care of the dirty work, cleaning, and “prepping” the deer to be taken home. You sat by and watched.

Once the task was complete, you started back for the prison, hoping it would cut some of the time of the walk back tomorrow. This time was cut short by the approaching darkness of night.

You two set up a small camp to spend the ever closer night. And with cans on strings, as tripwire, and your backs to each other, you two felt it was safe enough to get some rest, that was until the cans rattled.

The sounds of metal clanking, shook you from your not so deep sleep. You whipped around to see a walker reaching over your barricade of tangled fishing wire and old soda cans. It stumbled over and grabbed Daryl's boot, luckily he tied up his pant legs with cords to keep from being scratched. You scrambled over to a half awake Daryl and pulled his knife from his pocket, stabbing it into the undead's brain. He nodded graciously as you handed his knife back. You both sat still in the early hours of the morning, breathing heavily until your adrenaline died down.

Your eyes stung from lack of sleep, but it was nothing compared to how Daryl looked. His eyes were puffy, and had dark purple craters around them, and what little you could see of his eyes were bloodshot. His hair stuck up in every which direction, the bangs that normally cover his face, were defying gravity, and exposed his forehead.

“You can sleep, but let's face each other this time,” you planned.

“You sure?” he said groggily.

“Yeah, if you saw yourself, you’d be sure too.”

He scoffed, and pulled his vest out as an acting pillow, tucking one arm under it, and laying his head down. He fell asleep shortly, and you watched.

The expression he made was soft, and innocent, less like a child and more like a puppy that tired out running in a field all day. He subconsciously held his thumb to his mouth. He breathed heavily through his mouth, with quiet snores escaping occasionally.

You didn’t sleep at all that night, you couldn’t let anything disturb the peace. You weren’t tired, though, you actually felt like you had gotten a full night’s rest.

The two of you started home at the crack of dawn, with dull yellow light illuminating the grass you stood on. You took to the woods for your trek home, rather than the long road you took to get there.

Halfway through the day you happened upon a lake that looked beautiful, a direct juxtaposition to everything you had been used to seeing. The water sparkled, and light refracted off the ripples in every which direction. Birds made chirping sounds that echoed through the dense forest, and made a song through the trees.

Daryl grabbed a plastic bottle, and some of the sandy silt that covered the edge of the water, making a makeshift water filter. As he did so, you took off your shorts and threw them aside, wading into the water. The water was greenish, but you could see your feet, and the dust clouding around your steps. The water was warm enough to not give you the chills, but cool enough to be refreshing.

Once the water hit your hips, you took your shirt off and threw it a few feet away from Daryl, joining your shorts, and shortly after your bra. You watched him finish his contraption and fill it.

“Should have some water in an hour or so…” he looked up and saw you, then quickly looked back at his bottle.

“Maybe we could catch a fish or something, too,” you said, smiling at his back. “You should join me in here.”

“Nah” he shook his head.

“Yeah, when was the last time you got cleaned up?”

“I ain’t gonna, someone needs to be a lookout.” He looked up at you, standing his ground. “Anyway, I gotta piss.”

He started walking away and you yelled to him, “Yeah, sure you do, Dixon.” You splashed his way, but he had already walked behind the trees.

A noise came from your left, behind a couple of thick trees. Two walkers stumbled out, slipping on the sandy hill. You didn’t have any weapons on you, and getting back over to your clothes seemed like a death wish. They were closer to the clothes and things than you were. Daryl didn’t even have his crossbow with him, it was in the pile next to the water filter.

You yelled for Daryl, hoping he’d get back before the walkers could reach you. You yelled again, and it drew their attention. They were about at the edge of the water now, and you were fucked… but a whistle came out of the woods.

Daryl showed up and whistled loudly to catch the attention of the dead walking toward you. It worked. They started toward him at a slow pace, and you ran over to the pile of stuff. You picked one off with the crossbow. Daryl tripped backwards on a rock, and the walker stumbled towards him, wishing to bite into the leg that was trying to kick it backwards. He grabbed the rock, lifted it over his head, and smashed it down onto the walker, and hitting it again smashed his head open, covering Daryl in it’s blood. He leaned back and dropped the rock. He took a second to catch his breath.

“Hey, thanks” You said to him as you were naked and dripping like a wet dog.

He sighed and raised his eyebrows. Which you will take as a “no problem.”

Daryl’s hair dripped with blood, guts, and rotting chunks of flesh. His shirt was wet, red, and sweaty. The muddy sand covered his pants and hands, leaving him dirtier than before.

“I guess you have to join me now” you said, still mostly naked.

He begrudgingly kicked off his boots, and slid his vest off down his shoulders, letting it drop on the floor. He started walking to the edge of the water, when you had to stop him.

“What, NO!” You said haulting him, “You are not still wearing your socks.”

He took off his socks, and his pants. He walked into the lake, a couple feet in and the water hit the bottom of his shirt.

You never took Daryl as the type of person to not be okay with taking his shirt off, but here he was: standing in a lake with his shirt on, contemplating whether he should take it off or not. He stood there for a couple seconds before looking at you, and when you gave him a reassuring smile, he took it off. He looked good with it off, you didn’t see a problem, until he turned around.

He whipped around fast to throw his shirt on land, and as he did, you saw his back. He was covered in scars. Yeah, some could be new, from fighting, from surviving, but you take it he’d been surviving for a lot longer than the rest of you had.

The slashes that riddled his skin were old. He could have gotten most of them when he was still a kid. You swallowed hard, he turned and faced you but neither of you met each other's eyes. He got quiet. And as his hand pensively rubbed the back of his neck, as he thought about what you must think of him.

“Hey, come on in the water’s fine,” you said to ease the tension.

It seemingly worked, because the next thing he did was dive under, swimming to you in a second. The water rippled along the path he had swam, and broke around his emerging body. You met his eye. He nodded to you as a thanks, and you shook your head back at him in a no problem kind of way. This practice had become routine, it was easier than constantly owing thanks to the other person for some trivial task such as saving their lives.

He broke eye contact and looked down, “Still gotta piss.”

You snickered. Then stepping back a couple of feet you gestured for him to go right ahead.

He looked at you, head cocked a little, and then the realization hit and his ears turned bright red. He turned around, and you got a better look at his scars. Some were short slashes, some longer, and others crossed over each other. You couldn’t fathom the person that would hit a child, let alone Daryl; Daryl was sweet, and could never have done something that deserved this treatment.

He finished up and faced you, but didn’t meet your eyes. You got a look at him, the man that just pissed in the pool in front of you, his ears were red as well as his cheeks making a bridge across his nose. The blush trailed down to his upper chest in splotches, like watercolors splaying out.

He chewed the corner of his thumb and said, “Ya’ know, I used to piss the bed as a kid.”

“I mean we all did,” You said. “Come here.”

He complied, “Nah, I mean ‘til I’s like 8 or so.”

“Bend over,” you told him.

He leaned back and you started washing his hair for him, detangling it with your fingers, and picking things out of it like you were monkeys.

“I remember a couple times it happened, had to sneak out late at night and do my laundry in the bathroom, so no one’d hear me. But this once, my dad wasn’t home so, I didn’t get… but my mom had this whole ‘nother way of doing it. She took my clothes. Pinned me down, Merle helped. She put a diaper on me, made me sleep outside.”

“When you were 8?” You cupped some water and dumped it over his head.

“Uh huh, made me wear ‘em to school, too. Under my clothes. Said if I took ‘em off she’s gonna tell my dad, so I didn’t.” He went back to biting his thumb.

“That shouldn’t have happened to you,” you said, moving to wash his shoulders.

He shrugged, and flinched away when you ran your finger over a scar on his back.

“You know, stress and trauma cause children to start wetting the bed later on in childhood, it's called enuresis, it wasn’t your fault,” You splashed water on his shoulders, noticing the freckles made by the sun.

“Done?” He asked, standing up straight.

“What?”

“Am I done?” he asked and shook his hair out like a dog.

“Yeah, you’re good.”

Daryl quickly made his return to land, you however stayed in the water until the filter was done giving you each a bottle. Every once in a while you catch him glance over at you floating naked in the lake, but his eyes would quickly divert.

#daryl dixon #daryl x reader #twd fanfic #twd #daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead fanfic #the walking dead #tw past child abuse #I love the lake scene

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korpuskat · 3 years

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i'd be appalled if i saw you ever try to be a saint [Pagan Min/Reader]

[Ao3 Mirror] Rating: Explicit Wordcount: 1,944 Content: DFAB & Gender Neutral Reader. Blasphemy & Sacrilege, Inappropriate Use of Religious Objects, Shibari, Bondage, Suspension, Begging,

"I didn't think you'd be into... this..." You murmur, raise your arms as Pagan's nimble fingers slide the rope around your chest, once, then twice, forming lines across your skin with the deep red-brown material.

"Oh? Why's that?" He grins and it makes your stomach flip- a completely different anxiety than the one that's born from being completely nude as he takes his time forming shapes with his preferred medium. "One must be adventurous to rule a kingdom, and it's quite aesthetically pleasing."

"Thought it would be too similar to your work."

"Work, hah." He carefully threads the ends of the ropes back behind you, pausing to give you a moment to turn away from him. "Maybe for De Pleur, but I for one do not make it a habit to personally tie up terrorists with this much care." With only light touches he brings your arms back and binds them at your elbows, weaves the rope around your outstretched limbs until you can no longer pull them apart or lift them, as he secures that set of knots to harness forming at your chest.

"Though," He starts, then taps your shoulder to make you turn again. His eyes wander over your body, appraising his work thus far before lowering himself to his knees to begin working again at your waist. "This does give me some ideas."

"Thought you didn't want to tie up terrorists." You tease him and it earns you a half-amused glance and raised eyebrow.

"I don't, but someone must. It's the only way to stop them from making a mess of things." His hands are tireless, forming a thick, intricate weave along your outer thigh before it splits into individual strands- and Pagan tips you backwards onto the bed as he finishes that foot with your toes extended, leaving your leg as immobilized as your arms. Only a few minutes in and you can't move the majority of your body- and the thought sends a wave of heat through your body, culminating between your legs. In a vain attempt to subdue the building desire, you press your thighs together- which does not go unnoticed.

"Always so needy." He tsks, but his words carry no weight. Even if you didn't know your neediness made him feel wanted, his own excitement was obvious, tenting the front of his pants. "Almost done." He purrs and rolls you onto your stomach. He touches your unbound leg. "Lift, please."

The angle is odd, but you raise your leg as much as you can. It must be enough, because Pagan rests your ankle in the crook of his arms as he works more rope down this leg. He seems to work quicker, his own impatience growing- and you can't blame him. That heat burns between your legs and you have nothing left to sate it with other than the imaginings of what's to come.

"There." Pagan sighs, and steps away from the bed. He walks around in front of you, once again appraising his work- and you realize you can't put your leg down. Without his support, your leg hangs in the air, the rope shorter on the back of your leg than the front, the tension alone keeping it up. It's an odd sensation, like your weight isn't spread the way it should be- but you don't focus on it long as Pagan retrieves his phone.

All at once the heat rushes to your cheeks and you're ducking your face into his plush beddings. He laughs, always one to enjoy your embarrassment. "Nothing to be shy about, darling. Don't you want to look good for your king?"

"You're horrible." You grumble into the mattress, try desperately to close your legs as he circles around.

"Mmm," His clothes brush against your inner thighs. "Is this so horrible?" His fingers slip between your labia, slick and easy with your building arousal. Unbidden, your hips buck as best they can with the ropes restricting them, and still Pagan is as careful as he was threading the ropes. Never once do the pads of his fingers touch your clit, circling tantalizingly close and never quite making contact. All it does is fan the flame, all your focus centered on the feather-light pinpoints of his touch.

He stops as quickly as he started, coming around in front of you once more. Your mouth is already open, correctly anticipating his ritual of making you clean his fingers.

"Now this may take a moment." Behind you once more, he messes with the ropes- and you struggle to figure out what's happening- until you feel a peculiar pull across your body. You twist in your binds, try to glance over your shoulder- all you get a glimpse of him with his shirt sleeves rolled up, buttoned to expose more of his forearms as he grabs the rope again and pulls.

This time you slide right off the side of the bed. "Pagan?" Your voice shakes, not quite sure what to make of it- and he pulls again, not even answering you. One leg bent back, you balance carefully on the toes of one foot- each pull on the ropes takes more and more of your weight. He keeps going until you're nearly hanging by your leg, almost inverted except for your one leg that still dances across the floor, skittering across Pagan’s plush carpets for purchase, not quite supporting you and not quite dangling.

Pagan exhales, and with your new position you spin lightly in the center of the room, field of view drifting around until you catch sight of him again. He's trying off the rope, and mutters half to himself, "Let's buy a winch next time."

Though he sweats lightly, as soon as he makes eye contact with you the exhaustion wears off quick. His fingertips remain light and teasing as they trace down the long lines of rope, testing the strength of his knots that keep you in your perilous position.

"I think," He says, breathless, "this is right where you belong, don't you?" His fingers race along your arms, up to your shoulders, up and up till they're stroking through your hair. You strain to look up at him, watch as the fire builds in his eyes. "It's what you really want, to be under my power. Nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, nothing to do but to obey me."

With a whine you avert your eyes, try once more to bring your thighs together- and all it takes is a rough tug at your hair to bring your focus back to him. Your hands flex aimlessly, staring at him as he licks his lips, "That sweet pussy of your must be aching by now. I know you want to beg, so go on."

"P-please." It's hardly more than a whisper, and Pagan's face hardens, more insulted than amused by your first attempt. A forceful swallow and you try again, "Please, Pagan... touch me?"

"Tsk, that was pitiful. You can do better than that."

A bite to your lip and you’re still fighting to get the words out past your shame. "Please, I need it, I'm aching," You whine, can't even drop your head with his hand still tangled into your hair. "I- I'll do anything you want."

The knuckles of his free hand caress the side of your face. "Oh, I know you will, darling. But that's bargaining not begging. Is the blood rushing to your head already? Come on dear, let it out."

You're aching and he won't stop, ruthless, almost sadistic and all you want- all you really want- "Use- use me. Please, King Min, please, use me- I want- I want to make you cum, I want to taste you, please-"

Pagan grins, unashamedly pleased in your slow descent into subspace. "All you had to do was ask." Finally, he releases his hold on your hair which leaves your scalp tingling and your neck straining to keep watching. It's a sight worth fighting for; he unbuckles his belt and makes short work of his pants, the pink fabric parting- and your whole body throbs. With one hand he strokes himself, takes care to draw his foreskin back and watch as you begin to drool. If he could, perhaps he'd tease you like this for hours- make you watch him slowly please himself while you beg and insist that you could help. It would be agony for you both.

His own impatience is what makes him grasp your hair again- and he doesn't even have to tell you to open your mouth.

His taste and scent fill your every sense- the faintest twinge of sweat, but mostly soap and his cologne. Until, of course, he holds the sides of your head and begins to move. The first hint of bitter precum has you moaning, remembering the last time you'd had the privilege of making your king come undone with your tongue.

"I didn't tell you where these ropes came from, did I?" He manages to say between grunts, doesn't wait for you to try to answer. "Some unloyal citizens had thought to- oh, to rebuild one of those bell towers."

Your mind fights to the surface to understand, but all you can manage to do is stare up at him with big, glassy eyes. "They're sanctified. Meant to dispel fucking demons." He says and lets his head fall back. The weight of his words begins to settle in- and he pulls you as far as you can go and holds you there. Your nose flush with his abdomen, pressed against the black, well trimmed hairs. Your throat spasms with the intrusion, gagging- and Pagan doesn’t let up until your chest begins to burn.

He pulls you off him entirely. You gasp in lungfuls of air as he wrenches your head up again. He's half-crazed, panting, as rabid as you've ever seen him- "Are they working? Do you feel like you're curing evil?"

There's no right answer. Nothing you could say would be right, but he’s pleased enough at your open-mouthed panting, how you’ve nearly come undone just from sucking him off.

Pagan grabs the rope and spins you, your one foot dragging on the floor until you're facing away from him again. His hands find your hip and your strung-up leg- and there's nothing for you to do but squirm. He pushes in and his first thrust is like music; your whole body sings for the stimulation, the attention, the touch of your king. As rough as he can be with your body swaying, his fingers dig into your skin, desperate for any sort of leverage. Hard, then harder- his short-clipped nails biting into your skin. It's still not good enough; he grabs the ropes that twist around your arms, his fingers winding around his own knots as he yanks you back onto his cock.

His other hand reaches around, latches onto your throat and pulls as hard as he can, your body aching as you're bent backwards, straining against the ropes. Close, close enough for him to pant in your ear as he fucks you- "They're for worship.” He spits the word, drives it home with a thrust so hard he must bruise your cervix- and follows it with a hand sliding over your side, over each line of rope. Down, over your belly, down to your still-neglected clit. You keen as he brushes it, draws faint circles over it- "Do you feel worshipped?" His teeth close around the shell of your ear- and that's all it takes.

Lightning passes through you, leaves you gasping, begging with empty words as Pagan grunts, mutters a "Fuck, fuck!" A long, stuttering sigh- and his forehead rests against your shoulder, breath slowing in rhythm with your still-twitching body.

The serenity doesn't last long- the ropes cutting into your skin brings you down from your high. A single tiny "Ow." has Pagan up- and through his own post-orgasmic stupor manages to cut through the ropes and steady you enough to fall back onto his bed together.

With half-asleep limbs you shuck the knots from your body. Pagan watches with one eye before conceding, "Maybe too adventurous."

----

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#Pagan Min #Pagan Min x Reader #Far Cry #Far Cry 4 #Pagan Min x You

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