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wonderlandwalker · 4 months

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Cherished Moments | Finnick Odair x Reader

THG Masterlist / Taglist / Inbox

Summary: Finnick is trying to get you to relax and, well, it works maybe a bit too much.

Content Warnings/Tags: Mostly fluff, small injury, lovesick Finnick, grumpy!reader x sunshine!Finnick, insinuations of violence, no use of y/n

Word Count: 1.2k

Requested by Anon: I love your writing!!! What do you think a grumpy reader × sunshine finnick would be like? Love the back cat gf golden retriever bf trope haha and I feel like finnick would be obsessed with someone who was mean to everyone BUT him! Feel free to ignore if you don't feel inspired, I'll read everything you write anyway!!

A/N: Can someone pls let me know if they actually manage to find the request after I've posted them I have no clue if these are getting through. Ngl this one was a struggle for me but once I found the right idea it came pouring out. Do they even have darts in the Hunger Games universe? Well, they do now. Keep sending me requests I genuinely love doing them!!

“Come on, I know you can do it! I’ve seen you throw knives, this is pretty much the same thing, only smaller.” Finnick was trying to encourage you, but you weren’t easy to win over.

“I’m telling you, I can’t. This is just different. The darts are so much smaller and lighter, it throws me off balance.” You were at a party in District 13, well, calling it a party would be generous.

“Just try. I’ll help you come on. I promise it’ll be fun.” He couldn't hide his smile at your antics, but he also knew if anyone was able to convince you, it was him.

“Fine, but if something goes wrong it's on you.” You looked him in the eyes, and could see a spark of light inside them, and you wouldn't admit it, not with all the other people in the room, but it warmed your heart a little.

“It’ll be fine, what’s the worst that could happen” He asked you, and you almost scoffed at the question.

“I could hit someone, and then everyone will hate me even more than they already do”

“They don't hate you, they just don't know you the way I do.” Whenever someone would ask him what he saw in you, he would always be dumbfounded. Sure, you had a hard exterior, but when someone has gone through as much in their life as you did, were you really to blame? No, he didn't understand the question, because, to him, you were perfect. Whether you were sulking at breakfast for having to leave the bed or smiling at him because they were serving your favourite dish for dinner, he would take anything you gave him.

“Are you telling me that you, the victor of the 70th Hunger Games, are afraid of hurting someone with a tiny dart?” He was challenging you, and it was working.

“I'm not afraid, I just don't want anything to go wrong.” The way your voice softened around him made his heart beat faster for you and sometimes, he swore you knew and were doing it on purpose.

“You won’t, just throw it straight into the board.”

Finnick is standing behind you, grinning like he’s just won some sort of lottery while he guides your arm up for you, you can feel his breath on your neck before he whispers “Come on love, do it for me.” You’ve never been able to deny him, to your own annoyance at times, so you do as he says.

The dart flies through the air, and it doesn't hit the board, but it comes relatively close. So you throw a second dart and it hits the board, but you don’t manage to score any points just yet. As you throw another one, it manages to hit the board, but only for a little while before it falls to the floor. You throw your hands up in defeat before saying “See, told you I couldn't do it.” But Finnick hasn't given up, in you, he would never give up.

“That’s nonsense, you just have to try again, be patient.” He walks over to collect your darts and hands them back to you. He steps behind you again, guiding you into the right position before speaking.

“Just close your eyes, imagine you’re throwing them at Snow.” It makes you laugh and he can feel your muscles relax. He would always feel so proud of himself when he made you laugh, he didn't mind that you don't do it often, it would only feel like so much more of an achievement.

You do as he says, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath right before you throw the dart, hitting it right in the bullseye. You throw another, hitting the bullseye again. But you miss the board with the next one when Finnick leaves a small kiss on your shoulder, and your breath hitches. You can feel his body moving from behind you, and focus to throw another dart. It’s only when you hear an exclamation of pain coming from right in front of you that you snap open your eyes, you would recognize it anywhere. In front of you was Finnick, standing right next to the board with one of his hands clutched in the other, and when you take a closer look, you can see the dart that is stuck in the back of Finnick's hand.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry are you okay.” He would never tell you this, but he doesn't even mind that it happened, seeing you being sweet on him so openly, it makes him forget anything even happened in the first place.

“I'm fine sweetheart.” there is a strain in his voice, and he knows you can hear it too from the way your brows furrow in regret. You knew he wasn't trying to be tough for you, no, you had moved past that years ago. he was trying to not make you worry, it was something he would always do no matter how much pain he was in. But you were worried, because in contrast to all those other times, this time it was your fault that he was hurt. It never phased you much when someone would get shot, it never phased you much as you heard the canons each night in the arena signalling another death, not in the way it phased other people, but this, this broke you.

“Finnick you are not fine, there is a fucking dart inside your hand and it's my fault.”

“Well, most people don’t throw a fourth dart sweetheart." He says, and he chuckles a little, but you don't hear it in your state of worry.

“I am so sorry I-” You were choking up over your guilt, and while he loved getting to see your raw emotions, this one he didn't enjoy.

“Hey, no, I'm sorry too, don't get yourself worked up over this. It's just a dart, I will be fine. Why don’t you go get me a first aid kit?” He really was fine, and he could have gotten it himself, but he knew how much you would get in your own head when you didn't have anything to do in these kinds of situations.

Once you come back and help patch him up, he looks up at you and you catch his gaze. A smile crosses his face in a way he knows his cheeks are going to hurt.

“Why are you smiling” you ask, confused at his glee in a situation like this.

“Because I know you care about me. You don’t always show it, and you don’t have to, because moments like these I’ll cherish forever.” His eyes are sparkling as he looks into yours, he swears he could just stand here and look at you for the rest of his life.

“Oh, would you shut up already” you tell him while swatting his hand away from your face and rolling your eyes.

“You can’t tell me to shut up, you threw a dart into my hand.” He’s still grinning like an idiot, and it's infecting you. One of the corners of your mouth lifts up, and it's subtle, but he catches it, how could he not with how intently he is watching you. You’re back to your old dynamic, but he loves it just as much.

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ervotica · 5 months

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Dunno if you're still taking requests regarding the slytherin boys, but I'll try my luck soo I was thinking like maybe something about spending time with Enzo in one of the dorms while all the other slytherins are out in hogsmeade or whatever and just cuddling and all that sappy stuff??

In case you do write it, thank you so much <3

pairing; lorenzo berkshire x fem!slytherin!reader

tags; established relationship, disgusting sappy toothache inducing fluff, very much calm!boyfriend x dramatic!girlfriend trope, shitty writing (sorry!)

The dorm is blissfully quiet; your rowdy bunch of friends have taken a day trip to Hogsmeade and Enzo has essentially glued himself to you, coaxing you to the common room to spend the day together.

And, well, you’re not going to complain. An entire uninterrupted day with your favourite boy in the world? How could you possibly object to that?

You sigh exaggeratedly and roll on the bed where you're sprawled next to him, pushing your lips out into a pout and blinking owlishly in that wide-eyed way you tend to when you want something; Enzo has always been particularly fond of your flair for the dramatic. His smile is soft in comparison, half-moon dimples pushing out of his perfect cheeks as he mimics your movements and comes to a stop mere inches from your face.

"What is it, my lover," he drawls in an awful attempt at some sort of Southern cowboy accent, a crooked finger tickling underneath your chin as though you're a cat. You seem to approve regardless.

"It's just not acceptable, Enzo!" you whine, throwing yourself onto your back in a mess of limbs and hair. He tilts his head, eyebrows raised and awaiting the continuation of your theatrical outburst. "We are not nearly close enough together. Look how much room there is between us!" You gesture wildly to the two inch gap separating you and him and feign distress, a hand clutched to your chest in faux shock.

"Come here then, sweet girl," he coos, hands reaching out to tug you up and into his arms. You settle between his thighs, chin propped against his chest as he gazes at you, tucking flyaways behind your ears when you wrap your arms around him. You scrunch your nose as he grazes it with the tip of his thumb devotedly and laughs.

"I love you." His fingers trail the expanse of your face; every crease and crevice, each bump and ridge and slope. He leaves nowhere without his gentle touch, his reverent worship.

You soften and rest your cheek against his warm shoulder, arms coming up to hook around his neck. You never feel like you're quite close enough with him, always wanting more, wanting to burrow inside of his very soul; everywhere you go, you always hunger after his touch- fingers interlinked, knees brushing chastely, a modest peck before you ever part from his company.

"I love you more," you murmur, promptly serious at his declaration. Your face gravitates towards him almost unconsciously and you're slotting your lips between his for a kiss. Once, twice, and then a long, lingering one before you rest your forehead against his, noses brushing.

"Don't ever leave me," you say suddenly. "I've never loved anyone like this."

This time he's the one to break the tension, squeezing you so tight you wheeze and pressing open mouthed kisses to every inch of skin he can reach. They're half-moon shaped, just like his dimples.

"Never," he mumbles into your skin, pulling the duvet over you as you snuggle further into his warmth. Your eyes are heavy.

By the time the rest of the group return from their outing, you're both sound asleep, wrapped in each other's arms. Enzo snores quietly and you're completely still, calm and content. It's the quietest your friends have ever seen you.

Enzo's your person. And your person calms the racing thoughts that spin in your mind. He allows you to relax in the cocoon of safety he's formed around you.

Pansy forces them all out of the dorm to let the pair of you sleep, and for that you are grateful.

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angelltheninth · 6 months

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Hi, can you do are you wearing my shirt? it looks good on you with kazutora?

I can! Love this trope so much! It screams fluffy and domestic.

Pairing: Kazutora Hanemiya x Reader

Tags: fluff, sharing clothes, sleeping over, cuddles, flirting, only one bed, new relationship, literal sleeping together

A/N: Prompt from this list.

42. "Are you wearing my shirt? It looks good on you."

How could you be so stupid to forget to bring pajamas to your sleepover with Kazutora? It was the only requirement, literally. What now? If he saw you half naked... no, no, too early for that kind of thinking. While both of you confessed your relationship was still new, and even the impulsive Kazutora knew not to push you.

Tease you? Oh yes, it was his new favorite thing, but he wasn't pushy with intimacy.

So in order to do the same and not give him the wrong idea you rushed through his closet and pulled the first shirt you saw over your head.

"What are you-" Kazutora paused at the door. He was holding a towel in one hand and a cold bottle of water in the other. Ah, that's right, he wanted to exercise a little tonight but then you reminded him of the sleepover. "Are you wearing my shirt?" He couldn't stop the giant grin from splitting his face in half, "It looks good on you."

"L-Listen... I forgot mine okay? And this one looked okay. Besides you weren't wearing it!" You crossed your arms over your chest, defensive and ready to be teased for this too. You knew someone as ruthless as Kazutora would never miss this chance.

He leaned his head to the side, revealing both his eyes to you, "If you wanted to wear my clothes you could have asked. I gotta say though, I didn't expect you to be possessive. I always figured that would be my thing." He placed the bottle and the towel on his desk and walked over to you, his steps light as a tiger approaching his next meal and his eyes matching that hunger.

Like any pray you backed up, right onto his bed. "Wait, h-hold on, this isn't- I'm not- I really just wanna sleep with you Kazu!"

"Only sleep?" He asked, grinning as he took his spot next to you on his small bed. "Just kidding. Gonna take more then that for you to get in my pants." You wanted to deny these not at all baseless accusations but you couldn't form the words when Kazutora hugged you close against his bare chest, "Play your cards right and you'll get there soon. Not tonight, I'll let you sleep for tonight." Implying that he wouldn't on any other night.

#tokyo revengers fluff #tokrev fluff #tokyo rev fluff #kazutora hanemiya fluff #kazutora fluff #kazutora hanemiya #kazutora #kazutora hanemiya x reader #kazutora hanemiya x you #kazutora x reader #kazutora x you #tokrev x reader #tokrev x you #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x you

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fatesundress · 7 months

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⭑ life of the party. tom riddle x reader

summary. when one game is ruined, another begins.

tags. explicitly fem afab reader, smut with as minimal plot as i can physically allow myself, minors SCRAMMM, loosely implied hogwarts university au as always, flirting via mutually assured jealousy, impeccable communication skills, established relationship, the guy the reader is talking to gets annoyed she doesn’t want him but he doesn’t do anything, religious undertones that might have accidentally become overtones, party setting (background drinking & general degeneracy), probably the meanest tom i’ll ever write and i still tried making him nice because lots of heavy jealousy tropes are misogynistic icks fo me, fingering, piv, a little degradation but that's life, fawwwk the weeknd but the song this is based on is so sexy, etc

note. Me writing this: nightguard: ON, religious themes: RIFE, shame: ABOUNDING. i am so embarrassed by this. have i mentioned smut doesn’t come naturally to me? i don’t even know how i got here. i’m on heelys at the proverbial skatepark and everyone else apprenticed under tony hawk. Do you understand? ok.

word count. 4.5k

request. yes!

He is what he is. Stoic, sacred, silent and then verbose. You knew he had his fixations before you knew him at all — no one made top of every class without a shadow of obsession to contrast the glint of their excellence — but you could not anticipate how that obsession might translate when applied to a person. You’re not sure he had either.

He is what he is. The muggle world taught him religion and in it he learned only the tenor of devotion. When his fingers take your jaw, trace slow at the stripes of your thighs, steady your hips from under you and hold tight, there’s reverence in it. His kisses don’t wane with the months gone by; they soften with purpose. They rouse with hunger. His eyes don’t waver. Should a good man gaze upon his altar? Should he smile like sin when he gets on his knees?

He does.

Tom Riddle is what he is and you solemnise in equal part.

You don’t come to these things often, taken aback by the sight of the Slytherin common room in ribbons and banners tattered within the first hour of the night. Bottles glow green in the lake-light on every available surface, scattered about the place and spilled in sticky puddles.

You’re a wallflower tonight, though not for lack of options. You observe from a comfortable distance the drunken antics of new adults, free to carry their liquor in hand rather than hidden away in pockets and pillowcases. There’s something vaguely entertaining about it, intoxicating where someone else might mind their business and actually get intoxicated, but you see no harm done. Whispers fall on your ears before the rumours make their rounds, couples slink away in the darkness where someone in the crowd might not notice, and the night’s first instance of someone hurrying up the stairs in tears comes barrelling right past you. You invent a story for why to keep yourself busy.

It’s all just buzz.

Now, if you don’t come often, he certainly doesn’t.

Tonight, he has, and for reasons explicable but few, you’ve found yourselves on opposite sides of the room.

It began on the green couch by the window with a chess set spilled across the velvet — a bet you made with him upon arrival; you find wizard’s chess trite, Tom finds it feckless, but it makes for a good challenge.

What else could convince a man so perpetually controlled to pour himself a drink? And you imagine, from his perspective: what else could convince a woman so determined to outwit him?

It’s for no nefarious reason — to slight him or see him stumble — but because you love the fractions of relief that colour him, soften him, temper him. It’s because he loves you in every shade, in every pliancy, in each and every fervour. But mostly it’s because you love kindly to best him, and he loves mirthfully to best you.

So you play. The game is slow and teasing, hard to see in the ripples of the lake, and toppled over in the final moves (which you’ll insist you were winning) by the same swaying body that spills its drink down the front of your dress. And so you’re up, brushing your index finger over the corner of Tom’s sudden scowl. You whisper like a joke not to kill anyone but he’s so quick to look like he might that you consider repeating yourself with more conviction.

You poke at the spot where his jaw is tense. “I’ll be right back.”

Drying liquor from lace is a matter of precision even with magic, and this is half-gelatinous like someone raided the kitchen’s supply of jelly and steeped it in something offensively alcoholic. You utilise the clearer light of the Slytherin girl’s lavatory, wetting your dress before evaporating the water from it. There’s the matter then of transforming the stained fabric back to its original colour, and you huff in the mirror at having a game you thought you didn’t care much for ruined so close to its end.

You care about Tom, though. The omphalos of your issue resides there.

(It is fair to say most of your issues reside there.)

With only minutes gone by, the common room crowd looks doubled when you return, and though you wade through you’re pushed back like debris caught in a tide, the bodies more stubborn rubble than you. So you retreat, stand flush at the wall with your arms crossed, and wait for Tom’s eyes to land on yours. To, perhaps, open your mind and let him in, tell him exhaustedly from afar that the game is at rest and you’re ready to leave.

But even he’s hard to find in the bodies unified in breath, flux like a big set of lungs — and nothing about Tom blurs into the background.

So you wait. You wallflower. You pour yourself a drink.

The moment stretches on longer than anticipated, and after many detached observations of the room, someone else finds you instead. He’s tall, blond to Tom's inkwell black, kissed by summer sun even as autumn soothes its blister. Your gaze wavers back to him a few times though his own is uncertain for all its focus. He seems to be waiting for you to stop, perhaps for the silhouette of someone else to slip by and prove you were looking at them instead. When no one else comes, he traverses the crowd with a straightened inch of pride, stepping through new colours until he’s close enough to you that the light settles emerald-black and you can see the great chasm of his beauty up close.

His freckles are carefully dusted, his structure strong, all squarish, rugged lines and shades of August.

The chasm is not a lack of allure, per se, it’s just a lack of him. One man’s August to your adherent’s December, the intention of his warmth, a thing that does not come to him like everything else but that he makes and makes and mends when it lapses because he does not want to see you cold. The singular reward of a rarity like that.

“Hi," you say, glancing over a broad shoulder.

“Evening," he responds. He takes you in with a look of (unappreciated) appreciation. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“No, we haven’t.”

He extends a hand. “Oliver Belby.”

“Pleasure.”

You don't offer much in the way of conversation. He’ll vie for your attention regardless of how much of it you offer. So you lean against the wall where the buzz of sound prickles your hair, let him talk, let his hand come up to rest beside your head, and you find Tom.

He’s right where you left him, a new clearing in the crowd making space for your eyes to meet.

His are ice even at a distance. As if you proselytise — as if you could — kneel for another man or let one kneel before you, all of your trysts together faithless.

They aren’t. He must know they aren’t.

But you put yourself here and standing at the target of his gaze has never been marred by the severity of it.

You decide then; when one game is ruined, another begins.

In truth, you can’t deny the element of theatrics in the way Tom denies everyone but you: his soft, penitent smile, the apologetic cant of his head, how his eyes can find you in any crowd and whoever is clinging onto his every word that night will follow his gaze and deflate when they discover you at the end of it. Sometimes it’s harsh. Final. He lacks the patience of pretence.

Sometimes, the week is dull. Sometimes, the whoever is undeterred. Sometimes you’ve pushed him here.

No — You’ve never done that before. This is new.

So it’s one of those weeks, and one of those whoevers, on an anomaly you may as well have directed the encounter yourself, and Tom is half-indulgent as he forces his eyes away and you force yours to stay.

You watch him from across the room as the woman drapes herself across the arm of his chair. There's a furious blush on her cheeks even in the dark, a pretty disarray to her shoulder-length hair, skirts pleated over knees she faces toward him. She smiles and offers him a glass of something, and you know for certain Tom understands this game because he accepts it, eyes flicking back to you as he swirls the glass in contest.

To that you take an inappreciable sip of your own.

“ — Which is why no one has even attempted to kill one in decades. And capturing one is another thing entirely. My mother works with the Greeks on occasion, and the nearest she came to a den was in the twenties. If she had gone any nearer I wouldn’t be here.”

“Hm?” You look back at the man in front of you. His lips glisten with having licked them between every phrase.

“The manticores,” he says, undeterred.

“Right. Five-X beasts, aren’t they?”

“That’s what I said. I heard from one of my mother’s colleagues that — ”

The woman is whispering something in Tom’s ear, her hair on his cheek. He’s looking at you as if you had said the words. You don't shy away when Oliver leans in to whisper too. It's a strange, fractured language. Too intimate while too detached. Whispers from across the room, desire from another in the place of desire for each other. But the strangeness should not surprise you anymore. This is Tom: beautiful and wicked and the one you chose.

“ — And Nundus are worse. Deadliest creature there is — ”

She’s laughing about something, the woman. Half-reserved, she’s angled toward the party despite her leaning on his shoulder and the dissipating inches of distance.

“ — They stalk in silence. Think of the size of one, right? They’re apex predators… so commanding and still they could be in front of you one instant and gone the next.”

You engage with detached interest. “Really?”

And now Oliver barricades your view, his other hand coming to rest on your other shoulder.

“Do we have any classes together?”

You blink up at him. “No.”

“No, right,” he says, eyes darting to your lips. “I’d remember you.”

His hand comes up to cup your cheek, and you wonder if for some men one-sided discussions of class five beasts qualify as foreplay.

You place a hand on his chest, eyebrows raised and half a startled smile curled.

“You’re not going to kiss me," you inform him.

His face falls, but with it, at least, does his hand.

“Did you hear me?"

“It’s loud,” he decides suddenly. “Can we go somewhere else?”

You’re not sure you believe that.

You duck under an arm and search the crowd again. The woman is on the arm of the chair looking thoroughly dismayed, and for good reason —

Tom is gone.

Your breath is caught.

“This isn’t… You’re not going to…?”

You flash Oliver with a glare. “So you did hear me.”

He makes a pathetically sad face, and you think: it’s a wonder he made it this far when his courtship evidently hinges on the subject of his affection not listening to a word out of his mouth.

“Goodnight, Oliver,” you say tersely.

“What was that for, then?” he asks, and it comes out practically whined.

“That was talking.”

“But you’re —”

“Belby.”

He is what he is. It shouldn’t surprise you when he appears beside you all fatal rage on a quiet lead, narrowly fixed to you.

Tom’s cold is his median temperature, yes, but in moments like this it’s as much for you as his handmade warmth. He’d pluck the fingers off a boy like Oliver. The digits would string eaves like icicles.

Oliver is looking between you and Tom like something terrible has dawned on him, hands urged to his pockets to soothe the flames your unveiled ties to a man seemingly singed him with.

“Riddle — Mate, I didn’t… I didn’t know she was…”

Tom’s voice is flat, edged with something that makes his monotony sound merciful. “Pity. If only you knew as much as you talked.”

Oliver’s mouth opens and closes and opens again, but wisely he settles on silence instead of excuses, and wastes no time fleeing slowly into the crowd.

The instant he's stolen by the wave Tom's eyes are on yours and they’re molten. You move to say something but his patience was for show — he’s dragging you by the arm out of the common room and into one of the dungeon's empty classrooms without giving you the chance.

“Tom —" You start to protest, mouth twisted in a scowl. “Tom, you're being —"

He shuts the door behind you and locks it with such delicacy your breath catches at the question of how badly he's holding himself back right now.

“I'm being what?"

“You're…" It's hard to formulate an answer when he's like this. “It was a game. Don’t pretend you weren’t playing too."

Tom inches in, chest rising with angry breaths. “A game, was it? Did he know that?"

“Did she?” you hiss.

“It certainly became apparent when she was discarded so that I might retrieve you.”

“It was as apparent to Belby, judging by the way he was left gawking.”

“And with great restraint I let him. A mercy I didn’t take his eyes so he was left without the ability.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, now I understand; the problem wasn’t the game, it’s that I played it better than you.”

He looks at you for a long time before casting a silencing charm on the room.

Oh.

Oh — your heart barrels off somewhere. You’re without it for a moment, breathless in the wake of the implication of a spell like that.

“Tom," you say politically, “It was hardly a matter of rescuing.”

He nods imperceptibly. “No, it wasn’t.”

“So we’re in agreement.”

He hums a non-answer.

Each step he takes forward, you take back. It's a peculiar way to have a conversation, but part of the game, you suppose.

Interesting he’s still playing.

You still gasp when you inevitably hit the wall, hands going to the carved edge of a windowsill.

“You’re terrible when you win,” he whispers. His lips brush your ear.

You shudder, mouth dry as you press against his shoulder. “You’re worse when you lose.”

His mouth drags down your jaw but he refuses to kiss you, still withholding something, still holding back in some terrible, electrifying way. Instead one of his hands starts to dip down your side. You shiver as he grazes the skin of your breast, exposed by the cut of your dress, and continues down your waist. His mouth traces your bare shoulder as his tongue makes a slow pass, skin beneath leaping at his careful ministrations.

With long, slender fingers he's pulling your dress off button by button, torturously slow, and you feel mocked to have cleaned it earlier. You feel foolish to have left knowing the night would have ended like this regardless.

“Tom,” you say. His name is followed by staggered breaths. Your fingers are clutching the windowsill.

The air is thick as he watches you, flesh exposed by each undone catch. And still he will not kiss you, even as his lips trail along your collarbone and you start to tug instinctively at his belt. He makes the barest sound of disapproval and spins you to face the window, your hands urged on instinct to press against the glass.

“Tom...”

He hikes your dress up your thighs. It clings to your hips, a meagre two buttons left attached to keep it from falling.

Your wand clatters as his fingers work the clasp of your bra and his teeth skim your shoulder, leaving little bites he laves at softly with his tongue. You shudder, arching into him, searching for friction. His touch traverses the shape of you and stops feather-light between your legs.

“Tom —”

“Quiet," he admonishes, a little tut.

Your skin jumps at the caress of his fingers tracing deceptively timid up your thighs, like he hasn’t done this before, like it’s care and not punishment. His favourite oxymoron: the gentlest torture, the cruelest succour.

His index draws upon the lace of your underwear and tugs it aside with a tenderness that makes you gasp. Is there a way to press harder to the glass without breaking it? Is there ever enough to grab onto when he gets like this — so singularly focused on ruining you?

One of your hands latches onto the arm half-disappeared in your skirts instead, clinging steadfast to the white of its sleeve, your body swaying as if at sea. He keeps you steady, but this is his crown achievement: that he is all there is that can do it when you’re so singularly focused on being ruined by him.

The sinews of his forearm work imperceptibly under your fingers as he appreciates the newly unfettered flesh, two digits sliding between your legs, and he makes a satisfied sound against your shoulder at the wetness he finds there.

You’re swallowing air with a moan stuck in your throat; too dry, you realise, and feel like you’re choking when he starts to move, gripping his arm somehow tighter.

As a rule, you know how much he loves this, but it’s tenfold under his jealousy and you think deliriously, probably wrongly, that for how much he enjoys pushing you you enjoy pushing him to get here. You’re his and he’s yours, there’s no doubt in it — but what he can reduce you to — this desperate creature, writhing and panting, trying in vain to satiate herself with a simple finger — this is the translation; the fruition of his fixations put to a person rather than a subject. This is what it is to be his.

Tom’s mouth opens in a smile at your throat, and there it feels more like bared teeth, a smile that is as animal as it is pretty.

And still he whispers with all the affection of a lover, your name peppered between kisses.

His fingers inch inside you and curl. You’re wedged in the perfect balance of his discrepancy; your disciple and your devil. He worships you in white. He ruins you in it too.

Now his name comes out in a babble, wet, half-drooled. A nip pinches the little space beneath your ear and you clutch impossibly harder to his wrist, your free hand squeaking down the window pane as you grind on his palm. He crooks his fingers against a spot that has you seeing stars, thumb pressed to your clit in a subtle motion, and you feel yourself tip off into an unknown he aquaints you with often. In a blurry, flickering moment, the light gleams somewhere beyond the stained hues of the window. And that should be it. The edge is at your heels and you should be falling. But the sinful press of him at your back commands you to lurch against him, and when you moan for more he pulls his fingers free.

You stumble weakly into his chest, startled.

“What… What?”

“Ask me for it,” he says, his voice hoarse, markedly wanton in spite of himself. But there is hunger and there is greed. There’s a sacrificial lamb and there’s a hunted one— there’s religion and there’s Tom. He invents something that demands greater devotion.

And the sound of leather rasping serge and metal clinking metal reels your conscience in. There are no stars. There’s just him. His belt is coming undone.

“Tom.” You swallow. “I told you —”

“And I want you to ask.” He cups your jaw in his hand, thumb tracing your lower lip. “Nicely.”

Your mouth opens for him and you shiver, pressing further back for contact he doesn’t allow. Instead another small tut is whispered at your neck, relinquished to a kiss.

His finger brushes your teeth when you speak. “I want you.”

You feel him shake his head and you all but whine.

“I want you inside, Tom — need you — please.”

“Please?” he echoes mockingly.

“Please,” you say in an uneven voice, and when your tongue grazes his thumb he eases it further into your mouth with an appeased hum.

And so his zipper comes down and you hold your breath with the weight of your dress at your hips.

He pushes inside you with minimal pause, slow still, to relish the way your little pants hitch, stop, and shudder out in a broken moan; the way your breath is guided by his rhythm, how you’re shaped by him, fitted around him. You careen forward and your palms flatten on the window, trembling at the first thrust. Your fingers quiver down the glass.

Tom pulls you into him on the second, patience abandoned. His lips chase your pulse. His grip on your jaw tightens as his thumb pops free with a string of spit. He nudges deeper at a new angle, your body forced as far as it can lean back, gasping heavenward when your head falls helplessly onto his shoulder.

It’s profane. Your ears almost dull to the sound of his hips snapping against yours, the obscenity of your skin on what he offers of his, but you waver between earth and something else, brought back to him by the torturous sight of the edge he stole you from. Always brought back to him.

He’s gripping your jaw in one hand as he pushes deeper, and your fingers are lost for purchase on his forearms, trembling to hold onto something.

When he pulls out of you at your brink again, you practically cry out. But you understand when he spins you around again, hiking you up against the windowsill, your shoulders hitting the cool glass with a gasp you barely register in the fog of your desperation. His eyes are dilated to midnight rings. The weight of his desire is frightening. The insistence to claim you better yet.

He wastes no time before slamming into you again, pausing at the hilt to watch your eyebrows wrench together before resuming his pace. When your mouth falls open, he swallows the noise that tries to come out of it.

It doesn’t feel like a kiss. It feels like the prolusion to a bite.

His fervour is all the reminder of how you got here in the first place; the teeth, the force, the grip on your waist. There’s a rough sound he makes in your mouth that you taste more than you hear. The vibration of him is everywhere. You’re too hot and it only occurs to you because your fingers are clawing at fabric instead of skin that he’s fully dressed and your last button has finally snapped, lace pooled on the classroom floor as he fucks you. The thought is consigned to oblivion as quickly as it came. It doesn't matter.

You're clutching at his shoulders, the nape of his neck — trying to kiss him back, but you feel torn in two by the intensity of his ministrations, a low, immolating pressure building in your abdomen. He’s proving something with you, and his is a relentless, unending appetite. You don't really stand a chance. You think you've known that from the start.

Tom is all-consuming. Tom is a force of nature, a whirlwind that sweeps over you. He leaves you breathless and somehow needing more as he wraps his hand around the small of your back and seizes you in place.

Still you find yourself wanting to be held tighter.

“T-Tom —" you sob through the kiss but he doesn't give you enough air to do it. He pushes harder, a rasp at the back of his throat, some carnal thing. He’s not withholding your release now; he’s spurring you towards it.

When he withdraws his lips from yours, his brows are furrowed in concentration. There’s a fine lustre of sweat on his forehead, stray curls pulled across dark, wicked eyes. The sight of him alone is condemnable, but it isn’t for you.

He likes to watch you like this. When your moans dissolve to the torn syllable of his name, again and again. The veneration. Your choked litanies.

You give them to him.

Sleeves drawn up by your body’s baser instinct for skin, you’ve carved a canvas of praise into his arms, marked up to his elbows where your fingers had jerked upward to rake at his back. This time, when you find the cliffside, nothing stops you from teetering off its edge. Flames dance across your skin in an explosion, your collar damp and bitten, your waist in Tom’s vice-like grip. One hard thrust and you’re falling.

The stars are blinding. You decide then they were made by him.

Your head lulls back as shocks of pleasure course through your body, the coil snapped, the hard shape of him inside you demanding impossibly for more. You stumble through the light, vision blurred, praying and praying and praying. His grip comes to find your jaw again.

You keen, addled through the ecstasy, barely conscious of the way his panted breaths hitch at the sight of you in his hands, soft-eyed and puddy.

He always comes apart soon after you, but it happens rarely that your body is so taut on the wire of rapture that his twitching inside you takes you with him.

This time it does.

You sink against him, thighs numb and wet, one hand slipping dumbly from his figure and swiping across condensation-foggy glass. The second orgasm is an aftershock of the first. It’s slow. It feels like being caught from the last fall. You land in Tom’s arms and they’re holding you through whitened knuckles. His eyelashes flutter, ink-dipped twines of quills, and he steals the shaky sigh from your mouth by pressing it to his.

You kiss lazily and softly. The room feels sheeted in static. The electricity lingers on both of you.

It’s hard not to fall against the window when he slides out of you. You slump on quivering legs into his chest instead, heaving, spend trickling down your legs.

Tom holds you close, adjusting his trousers before sinking down to settle you on his lap. He wipes the sweat from your face and presses his lips to the feverish skin it plastered. Forehead, cheeks, nose, chin, whispers of your name down your jaw like a prayer answered. Your eyelids flutter shut and he kisses you there, too. His lashes tickle.

You love him more than you worship him. You think he likes that more.

He grabs your forsaken dress from the floor and slips it over your bare shoulders, summoning the snapped button back in place before he begins to meticulously clasp the rest together again. His mouth leaves a path at the skin under each one before it closes, and you hum in dizzy gratitude.

“That was,” you say in a very worn voice, “a terrible way to reinforce not making you jealous.”

He glares at you from one of the lowermost buttons and you giggle sleepily, curling a hand into his hair. “Don’t look at me like that. You liked it too.”

He leans back up at that, tipping your chin with his fingers, gaze darting over the wrecked state of you with a pleased gleam in his eyes. “You liked it? What a modest interpretation.”

Now it’s your turn to glare.

He is what he is — pursuit of buttons forgotten as you’re laid down on the moonlit floor to be reminded just how much you liked it.

taglist. @lyis @indimoss @poddzi @esolean @d1anna @maripositanoctruna @mentally-in-northern-italy @ronniemaximoff1234 @moobell55 @jaerang @ramayantika @saltwaterbythesea @acube07 @togenabi @adazito @kitcat334 @blaurghhh @shutupfinn @jaymeeshayden @lilu842 @leaosee @garfunkelworld @definitely-not-captain-america @multiplefandomstan @mangoesareorange [ note: inexplicably, a bunch of my tags aren't working. i tried to fix it but if you didn’t get a notif i’m sorry! ]

#tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle smut #tom marvolo riddle #voldemort #voldemort x reader #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle oneshot #tom riddle fic #tom riddle fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #wizarding world

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thisonehere · 4 months

Note

Could you do headcanons for Reiko, Rain, Havik and Bi-Han with a siren reader?

You got it!

Mk Men x Siren!reader

A/n: Hey you, nice to see you again. I love this idea so much. It reminds me of a series I did on this blog a while back...we don't talk about that... Tags: Mk1, MK AU, Siren!reader C/w: Yandere tropes, (in captain america voice) language! , allusions to s3x

Reiko

He hadn't even met you yet and already he was interested. There is no doubt about it, he is a madman.

He'd come to you no doubt to get your aid in General Shao's ongoing campaign against the royal family. Shao had just gave a brief description of you and Reiko was almost instantly obsessed.

He would jump off the ship and swim to you before you even knew of their presence and could start singing. So the sight of him was confusing as much as it was beguiling.

He almost didn't want to bring you back to Shao. He wanted to keep you all to himself. Finally he would relent and brig back to his leader. To his luck, Shao assigned the both of you to work together.

He'd steal as many moments away as with you as he could. He refused to share you with anyone. He'd be in a fury whenever he heard a single soul showing any interest. Perhaps they wouldn't even show up the next day.

If a single soul said a single bad thing about you he'd beat the ever loving shit out of them. Hell, he'd beat them to death if no one stopped him.

He tells you how much he loves you every day. If given the chance, he'd show his love by sending gifts, odd things he knew you loved, or even dismembered limbs for you to feed off of. He would also show his love for you in... other ways, if he had enough time.

You are the only reason he even would show Liu Kang any bit of praise. He begrudgingly thankful to him for creating you.

The realms shudder at your joining hands with him. Your union is one of the deadliest ones in the realms. Both Shao and Liu Kang would worry about you two and how much of a threat you were slowly becoming.

Rain

While one the run from Empress Mileena, Rain came across you as he traveled the seas. Or you came across him to be precise. At the sound of your call, Rain came to you unable to control himself. Much to your surprise, when Rain finally came to you he wasn't terrified at all, instead he was in awe. You were the most magnificent thing he had ever seen in his life.

So you let him live, you went with him, you have not parted with each other since.

Rain did everything he could to impress you, your perception of him seemed to matter to him most of all. He'd do every trick he knew of to amuse you. Your smile, your laugh was intoxicating to him.

To others, you were a horrid monster, to him, you were a beautiful mermaid, his muse. You inspired him in so many ways he'd be here for countless hours to name them all.

But as much as his interest in this relationship was about you, it was him. He loves you, but he also sees you as the perfect person to help him expand his skills and mastery. He'd want you to teach him everything you knew. His hunger for power sometimes eclipsed his interest in you.

But even then, he'd never want to betray you. The idea of not only betraying but leaving you is something so painful that he'd refuse yo imagine it. He already betrayed his Kingdom, he has lost everything. He can't lose you.

Havik

You two had met when he was working with Rain to overthrow Seido, you were trying to lure him to his death, the usual. But this time was different, he wasn't going to because he was under your influence, he was doing this under his own fruition. You amaze him, a creature who is both beauty and beast. He had to have you.

The sight and realization that his chaotic nature subsides your control, as well as the fake that he's crazy enough to willingly approach you, it amuses you.

You both had a chaotic nature within you both, so you have an instant connection. His love for you is so great, he can't get enough of you.

Like Reiko, he sends you gift after gift. Keep in mind that these would be no normal gifts. They include but not limited to oddities, cursed artifacts, dismembered limbs (if he was feeling frisky, he'd send certain ones over others).

The things you'd do together are as insane as you'd imagine. You would lure people into your trap and he would torture them in whatever sadistic way you'd like.

Other times you'd do the most disturbing things to each other just for fun. Things so vile that it would make Shinnok sick. But you don't care you love doing these things together. You love being together, and all the realms shudder at the very thought of your union.

Bi-Han

The very concept of you fascinates him. Everything about you amazes him, your beauty, your voice, your willingness to kill. Though he won't admit it, he's been obsessed with you ever since he first met you.

But how did you first meet? Ah yes, when you tried to lure him and some of his Lin Kuei to their deaths while they were at sea. He wasn't affected though, his iron-will protected him from your lull. But he couldn't get you off his mind from that point on, he had to get you by his side no matter the cost.

You were intrigued by him also, the way he resisted you. It brought you to him, ironically.

You two have been inseparable ever since. Together you formed an alliance so deadly that all the realms shuddered at your union.

Whenever you went away or weren't by his side, he felt alone and miserable. He couldn't live without you, he refuses to admit it but he does.

When you were together he'd insist that it was just you and him, no one was allowed to be present unless necessary. He wanted you all to himself.

Even though you were with Bi-Han, that didn't stop from continuing your habits. You'd still lure men to their deaths or worse, even if those men were Lin Kuei. But this didn't anger Bi-Han for you could do no wrong in his eyes. In fact, this makes him jealous. Is he not enough to satisfy you? What is so good about them that you prefer over him? Is what he thinks to himself.

He will never say to you, but he adores you and he'd never leave you alone, no matter what you do.

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runningfrom2am · 3 months

Text

cold nights // part eleven

summary: may the odds be ever in your favour.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 3.9k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, indirect suicidal ideation (she's losing it just a little), r is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

a/n: the games are almost over...

series masterlist // playlist

You climb up out of the hole in the floor you had first entered with Jessup over a day ago, peeking carefully over the edge. Coral and Mizzen were standing guard at the vent exits in the stands, too distracted to notice as you wave at Reaper, trying to catch his eye.

You had spent the past half hour dragging Jessup toward the exit, you wanted to help, but you couldn't get him up the rocks you stood on now; not with the weakness of hunger leaving your hands shakey and the wound on your leg making it nearly impossible to move much on your own.

"No, no... Come on..." Coryo groans to himself, shaking his head at you as you try and grab your enemy's attention. Clemensia wasn't there, but if she was, he knew she would be laughing. He thought you might have been dead in those vents, especially after watching the other two tributes go in after you. You were alive, but seemingly not for long.

"Reaper." You whisper, your voice almost silent. The air carries his name to him and he turns his head to look at you. He tilts his head, standing and reaching for his blade, but you're not scared. You duck back down quickly before Coral or Mizzen hear his footsteps and look to see where he's going. They wouldn't go after him, not yet, but they were absolutely after you.

You check to make sure he's still coming before climbing back down to where you left Jessup.

The District Eleven boy peers over the edge to make sure this isn't some kind of trap, and you sense his hesitation. "Can you bring him up?" You whisper, kneeling again next to the body of your friend. "I couldn't get him up, but he deserves to be with them. He needs his dignity. Please, Reaper."

His expression softens and he nods solemnly, climbing down. "You can kill me, if you want." You say softly, and he looks at you confused as he hoists the boy up in his arms. "I'll go with you. Just, lay me with him. Please?"

He sighs, shaking his head softly before climbing up with Jessup draped over his shoulder. You follow, limp in every step as you make your way across the floor toward your demise. Head held high.

Coryo is clutching the edge of his desk as he stands over it, shaking his head. He looks back at his cousin, only briefly enough to catch the tears forming in her eyes at what they both know is about to happen.

"Can I... Can I say something first? For them?" You ask, just as Coral and Mizzen realize at the same time that you're out in the open, no longer hiding.

"I'm not going to kill you." Reaper mutters, shaking his head as he pulls the fabric over your friend's body.

You look at him with tears in your eyes, offering a smile. Coryo knew that smile, one of realization and fear. The very same one you had on your face at the reaping. "No..." He shakes his head at you, pleading with you to just run.

You look away from Reaper as Coral is climbing down the wall, clearly intent on getting to you.

"I'm sorry about Dill." You tell him and he's already gripping his weapon tighter, ready to defend himself. You could see in his eyes he didn't want to.

He looks at you, respect being the only descriptor of what's behind his gaze as you kneel before the flag of the country that had so deeply wronged you.

"One summer Sabbath day I strolled among the green mounds of the village burial-place;" You start, closing your eyes in attempted acceptance of what was to come. "Where, pondering how all human love and hate find one sad level..."

What you and your mentor are both expecting doesn't come as the two tributes get closer, and shockingly to him, Reaper steps between them and you, blade held tight. He's armed to defend the eulogy all of those kids deserved which only you could offer.

"And how, soon or late, Wronged and wrongdoer, each with meekened face, and cold hands folded over a still heart," Your voice begins to shake. "Pass the green threshold of our common grave, Whither all footsteps tend, whence none depart, Awed for myself, and pitying my race, our common sorrow, like a mighty wave..."

Coryo is angry when the face of Dr. Gaul interrupts your eulogy on the screen. He would miss your last words, your death. He couldn't even be there in your final moments, and it made him sick. However, it was the respect you deserved. As she talked on about the death of his classmate from the bombing, he hoped the cameras wouldn't show you at all. Just your body covered by the fabric of the flag, a new figure wrinkling the material, occupying the space underneath it next to Jessup.

"I swear to you here and now, before the sun goes down tonight, a rainbow of destruction will engulf our arena. Even if it means there is to be no victor in these games." Dr. Gaul's words finally pique your mentor's interest, memory, and realization coming back to him. He quickly taps through his communicuff, typing rapidly and hitting send before rushing out of the hall. He promised you he would do everything he could. The least he could do for you was stay true to his word.

"Well, those were some lovely last words." Coral laughs bitterly and you just hum.

"They are for you as well, should you see it fit." You tell her, opening your eyes but making no effort to flee, palms resting on the battered and bruised skin of your thighs.

She chuckles, shaking her head. "No, no. The difference between me and all of you is that I'm gonna win."

You watch as Mizzen looks away from his ally, eyes landing on the ground and Reaper clenches his jaw.

"Swept away all my pride, and trembling, I forgave." You finish off the poem, looking back down to the red sheet in front of you.

"What are you even talking about?" Coral asks. "Genuinely, what do you mean? I'm sick of this. I don't understand a thing you say!"

"I forgive you, if you win." You tell her in plainer terms, tilting your head. "I hope you can forgive yourself, that is all."

"No forgiveness needed." She says through gritted teeth, raising her trident as she moves to run at you.

You close your eyes again, tipping your head back and letting out a slow breath to combat the intense beating of your heart.

Again, the pain doesn't come as you hear the clashing of weapons just next to you, and the subtle hum of approaching drones.

Looking up behind you, you see several flying in a row and you duck quickly enough as it flies toward you for it to just miss you. You scramble to get up, ignoring the chaos around you as one by one, the water bottles fly into the other tributes. Reaper was much better at dodging them than the other two were, and you can't help but view it as some kind of justice. If Coryo was sending them in one after another as some kind of distraction, to save you, you were glad Reaper wasn't being harmed in the process.

It must have been Coryo. All of them seem to circle in on you, and as you spin out of the way they take out Mizzen and Coral just enough to buy you time. Their mentors had clearly been less generous; to you, their efforts to evade the flying metal drones were pointless.

The last one is different, coming in moments later than the others as Coral and Mizzen struggle to get back on their feet.

You drop down to let it fly over you, scrambling for the small container that looked like the previous ones that had contained a note. You grab it and run into the debris in the middle of the room, using it to hide while you open the note.

"Get up high. No time. -C"

You look out the side facing the other tributes you just ran from. "How did you let her get away?" Coral spits at her ally, once again uninterested in going after Reaper. "You're useless!"

You shake your head, slowly shuffling over to the other side. Looking across the floor and up to the stands, you think you could make your way up to the rafters. You take a deep breath. You have to run.

You're working up the courage to do it when a loud whirring sound comes from above you. Now's your chance- they won't hear you, so you might buy yourself a few extra yards. You're glad you did when you look back at the large tank being lowered down onto the pile of rubble you were just under, the wind whipping your hair around and in your face.

Coryo must have been warning you about whatever that is, so you run as fast as you can on your injured leg, feeling blood soak through the material again with the exertion. You quickly scale the wall, not looking back again as you quickly climb the stairs to the back of the stands. You stop at the top, adrenaline coursing through your veins with every heartbeat as you reach down to untie the scarf with frantic hands.

You glance down as you do, surveying the arena just as Wovey walks out. "Is it over? Can we go home now?"

"Wovey..." Reaper warns, having taken your spot kneeling next to the bodies that are now exposed from the wind.

"Wovey!" You call to her and she doesn't even turn to look at you. "Wovey, come up here, sweetheart! Quickly!" You try to mask the urgency in your voice, already descending the stairs again to try and get to her. Then you stop yourself when you get to the railing.

What would be the use in helping her now? That was your gut instinct, but if you saved her, you would have no choice but to take your own life if you were left the only two survivors of whatever came out of that tank. Or would you? The you who boarded the train to the Capitol would do it in a heartbeat, but she was someone else now, hardly more than a voice in the back of your mind.

You're still facing this internal battle as the tank shatters, thousands of snakes pouring out over the ground as Coral and Mizzen attempt to follow the same path you did up into the stands. It's too late for Wovey, so you turn to run back up the stairs.

You didn't realize how fast snakes could be. By the time you reached the top, they were already climbing the base of the stairs below you, right behind Coral.

"Y/N! Wait!" She cries out helplessly as you're backed against the wall.

The old you would be mortified at the smile that forms on your face as you watch her stumble, allowing the snakes to reach her. "No... Y/N, please... I'm begging you." You just stare at her, tilting your head and still fighting the smile on your lips. "No... It's not fair. It's not- it's not... I can't have killed them all for nothing."

"The wheel is come full circle." You quote, "Don't you see, Coral? It was always going to be for nothing." You're unsure if she even hears it before she goes limp.

You don't have time to revel in the irony, though, looping the bloodied scarf over the beam above you and hoisting your feet off the ground just in time to avoid the snakes. They climbed the wall, so you don't stop there, swinging your leg over and pulling yourself up, standing on unsteady legs to shuffle across to the next point where you can get higher.

Coryo watches as you climb higher and higher into the remains of the crumbled ceiling, huffing from just having run back into the crowded hall. When would Dr. Gaul call it? You had escaped, and you were clearly the only one left by the time you got so high you couldn't walk in the rafters anymore, having to tie the scarf on both sides of a pipe to build a makeshift hammock for yourself that you just squeeze into enough to sit on.

You can finally catch your breath, gripping onto the bar you're hanging from and resting your head against it.

"She cheated! She shouldn't have even been allowed to bring that in!" Festus cries out, clearly upset by his own tribute losing.

"Wearing clothes is cheating now? If you had it your way they would all be sent in naked, right?" Coryo spits at him, gesturing to the screen and turning to look up at Dr. Gaul in the stands. "Get her out!"

"There's two tributes unaccounted for." She shakes her head.

"Yeah, they're dead by now! You saw the snakes go in there!" He argues, gesturing to the screen. "She's won, Dr. Gaul. Please." She eyes him skeptically.

"Get her out!" Tigris stands, having his back without any hesitation.

Dr. Gaul raises a hand to silence the room as others start to voice their agreement. "Tomorrow morning we will send people in to search for the other two tributes." She states, leaving no room for argument as she steps out.

Coryo huffs, shaking his head and walking over to his cousin. "What do I do?" He asks her quietly as she stands to speak with him.

"I think we just have to wait it out, Coryo..." She answers, reaching up to rub his shoulders. "It's not ideal, but she can survive one more night. No one can hurt her now."

"With all those snakes in there with her? I wouldn't be surprised if those snakes grow legs in the night and climb up there."

"Coryo, they won't." She assures him. "All we can do is wait."

Sitting up there for hours with no signs of help coming has made you feel incredibly lonely. Your mentor can't send you anything, there's no shot you would catch it or even be able to move out of the way. That is, if he was even still watching. The sun had set a while ago, he should have gone to bed by now.

You yawn and rub your eyes, back cramping from holding your weight the way it has for so long. You sigh, gently tapping your forehead on the cold metal bar you're hanging from in a weak attempt to keep yourself awake. If you fall asleep, that could mean your death. You'd come too far, sacrificed too many of your morals to lose now.

You regret what you had said to Coral before she died. You regret not trying harder to save Wovey. You regret setting the salt trap on Treech and Tanner in the vents, though your overtired and malnourished mind is still convincing you it was just table salt. You regret not helping Jessup while you still could have. You wonder if Coriolanus regrets what he did to Bobbin.

You take the compact out of your pocket, slowly and carefully. You turn it over in your hand for a moment, mulling over everything you had done. Even in one day, you had tossed away everything you stood for. You felt like you weren't even yourself anymore.

Coryo yawns as he looks over the book in his hand, rubbing his eyes before returning his gaze back to the screen when he catches your movement in the corner of his eye.

You're opening the compact, staring into it with such intensity that he truly cannot tell what you're thinking. He couldn't see if it was empty or not, but he hadn't seen you touch it until now and the angle at which you were holding it without powder pouring out made him assume that the boys in the vents were not likely dead from snake venom.

Coryo is quickly doubting what is left of the powder he gave you when a tear falls from one eye, steadily sliding over your dirtied skin. No. She wouldn't- not when she's already won, right?

Maybe it's because you hadn't heard from him that you felt so alone. Before he can think over the consequences of possibly knocking you down from the rafters he's sending you more water. Just so you know he's there.

The leftover residue of the salt that was inside the compact was looking like it could help. On what level, you didn't fully understand anymore, but you knew that if you just smelled what was left of it, you would feel better. You would be free of your regrets and would be home in an instant; such a tempting thought was hard to resist.

Coryo couldn't be more pleased that as you began to lift the metal compact toward your face, the drone flew in and missed you just close enough that it knocked the compact out of your hand, throwing it to the floor below you.

You hadn't heard it coming, completely zoned out. You blink a few times, looking around and watching as the drone gets caught in the rafters and falls into the stands, the water bottle shattering in the process.

The crazed, evil look in your mentor's eyes is another thing able to keep you up by this point. It didn't look like the boy you knew at all. It's like your Coryo wasn't even there- it was Coriolanus. But now, he was still with you. The irony of it isn't lost on you, and you find yourself laughing.

Coryo was no longer Coryo, and you were no longer you.

"Coriolanus, can you hear me all the way up here?" You call out, expecting nothing anyway.

No response, but in Heavensbee Hall Coriolanus is taking a breath of relief, having seemingly prevented you from taking your own life. You were so close. He wouldn't lose you now.

"His sword, death's stamp, where it did mark, it took. From face to foot he was a thing of blood, whose every motion was timed with dying cries!" Your laughs quickly devolve into sobs, tears warming the cold skin of your cheeks. You thought you knew him. You thought he cared for you, and that was crushed so quickly that you ran.

The hairs on the back of his neck stand up as he watches, completely unable to help you while you clearly fall apart.

"Do you regret it?" You cry. "Coriolanus? Is that who you are?"

"No..." He mumbles in response.

"I thought..." You sniff. "I thought you were good."

He remembers what Tigris told him that very same night. That he wasn't full of hate like his father. That he could be good. That he is good. He did what he had to do to survive, and his heart physically hurts hearing you say that you saw something different. He remembers what you wrote in your note that he shouldn't have read yet. You believe- believed he was good too. Even just knowing that you changed your mind makes his stomach turn.

You're quiet for a few moments before you continue. "But I can't blame you for what you did..." You say, so quiet that the microphone hardly picks it up at all. "I am no better."

Coryo furrows his brow. You were so much better. He's almost certain that your kindness, your purity is one of the only reasons he feels regret for his actions at all.

"I wish it was me." You cry out. "It should have been me!" You're screaming now, your anger finally eating away at you.

He shakes his head at you, grateful that he is the only one still around.

"What if this cursed hand were thicker than itself with brother's blood? Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens to wash it white as snow?" You sob out every word, begging the universe to forgive you for what you had done. This night was your karma. Without that compact, it would go on forever. "Please..."

All he can do is return to the book, trying to remember you as you truly are, hardly taking in a word of it as he reels over what to say to you come your freedom in the morning.

The sun is rising, finally, when you look down and see the piles and piles of lifeless snakes. They must not have survived the night. It was too cold.

Hesitantly, you shimmy your way down the bar so you could climb back down, getting close enough to see if they really were all dead. You pick up a piece of broken cement from on top of one of the beams, tossing it down onto the large pile of snakes on the stairs. Almost no movement. As you scan the arena, you don't much slithering. It's quiet. Seems safe enough.

You jump down quietly onto the stairs, finally able to fully stretch out. It felt so good as you walked down even with the wound on your leg, making your way over to where you had seen the compact fall the night before. You take a few minutes to find it under the arena seats, before pocketing it and sliding down the same rubble pile you climbed up last night. That was the longest night of your life. Your eyes were puffy from crying for hours, lips dry from dehydration, and your skin felt clammy from your body trying to keep itself warm all night.

You walk across the ground, stepping carefully over all the dead snakes, turning and waving to the camera, plastering on your smile. You were exhausted. You needed something. Anything.

But nothing would come. You frown, looking around again. You settle just for wandering, once again tying the scarf around your waist. Coryo must hate you for what you said. You shouldn't have been so mean about it, but you were angry- hardly even yourself anymore. Or maybe he was just sleeping. He said he would be with you the whole time, but it would be nice to know that he at least went home to get some rest.

Even when you were angry, when he had taken what you needed from you last night, it was hard to deny how much you still cared for him.

As you walk in circles around the centre of the arena, you're startled by some of the snakes beginning to move. Or maybe they always had been moving, and you just weren't observant enough from being so overtired. They make no effort to attack you, though. Minding their own business even after the fervor at which they hunted everyone last night.

Scanning the large pile of rubble in the middle to see how many snakes were seemingly coming back to life, you tilt your head as your eye catches on something white. A piece of paper, unfolded on the ground next to where the tank used to be. You have to step past dozens of snakes to get there, curiously picking it up. Any living snakes made no effort to bite you as you grabbed it and turned it over in your hand. It was your note, the one you asked Sejanus to give to Coryo before you entered the games.

You look around, unsure how this could have gotten in. Maybe he had dropped it while he was here the other night, but you weren't sure how a single piece of paper could have gone unnoticed that long.

You reread it as you make your way over to where Lamina and Marcus had been, climbing up so you could lay down there while you wait for rescue to come.

taglist: @soulessjourney , @that-veela-girl , @dreamyysouls , @rockstarbfs , @maysileeewrites , @baybieruth , @kitscutie , @fratboyharrysgf0201 , @totallynotkaibiased , @stelleduarte , @secretsicanthideanymore , @bejeweledreverie , @drewsandsebastianswife , @niicole-87 , @queenofshinigamis , @innercreationflower , @nallasstuff , @scorpiolystoned , @iovemoonyy , @thatmarvelchick19 , @wearemadeofstardust0 , @regulusblackcore , @puredreamagination , @fantasticchaosthing , @becauseseaotters , @secretsicanthideanymore

okay suddenly tumblr isn't letting me tag more people than this so i just made some cuts unfortunately :') i just left the max amount of people i could whose users i recognized and see in my notifs all the time :) if you're not on here and you should be i'm so sorry!

also this taglist is closed now!! if you’d like to get a notification when i update, turn on my post notifications!! i promise i won’t spam y'all :,)

#tbosas #tbosas x reader #tbosas fic #tbosas fanfiction #hunger games #thg #thg series #thg fanfiction #the hunger games #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #coryo #coriolanus fanfiction #coryo x reader #snow lands on top #coryo snow

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destieltropecollection · 11 months

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DESTIEL TROPE COLLECTION 2023 | DAY 24 | Firsts

Worth Waking Up For | @blessyourhondahurley

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1,565 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe, Morning After, One Night Stand, bottom!Dean Summary: The morning after a one-night stand, Dean and Cas hash out some differences in temperament.

A Most Wonderful Time | @pluckydean

Rating: General Word Count: 2,007 Main Tags/Warnings: Fluff, Alternate Universe, Office Christmas Party, First Date Summary: Dean despised champagne and idle chit chat and stuffy corporate parties. He was here for one reason and one alone: to finally talk to his long time crush, Castiel Novak.

Ridden Hard | Destielshipper4Cas (AO3)

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 2,433 Main Tags/Warnings: Strangers to Lovers, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Submissive Alpha Cas, Omega Dean, Top Dean, Bottom Cas, First Time, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot Summary: Alpha Castiel tries to pick up an omega at a rut bar and gets fucked by a feisty omega for his trouble.

Like Something Holy | @pointyearedelvishprincling

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 3,042 Main Tags/Warnings: religious imagery & symbolism, castiel can hear longing, first kiss, emotional hurt/comfort, oral sex, post godstiel arc Summary: Still struggling with the fallout of his Godstiel days, Cas breaks down after a hunt. Hearing Dean's longing behind the comfort of his words, they finally find some much needed closure.

it started with a photograph | @demonmary

Rating: No Rating Word Count: 3,821 Main Tags/Warnings: Closeted Dean Winchester, AU : Boarding School, Secret Relationship, Fluff, Kisses Summary: Not even twenty minutes prior, Cas had been curled in the corner of the hallway, tucked into his English studies. So many things had changed in such a remarkably short amount of time. And on top of that, Castiel was comfortable, joking with Dean and acting like this was alright. Like it was normal. Could it be?

Hunger Pains | @follows-the-bees

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 6,657 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Creature Castiel, stabbing, firsts, mutual pining, Summary: Castiel has been able to keep his hunger in check but now nothing can quite sate it, except perhaps his next-door neighbor and best friend Dean Winchester.

A Kind of Paradise | @viridiandecisions

Rating: Mature Word Count: 9,851 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Library, Librarian Castiel (Supernatural), Openly Bisexual Dean Winchester, Cat Owner Castiel (Supernatural), References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Flustered Dean Winchester, Charlie Bradbury Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, Self-Indulgent Book Recs, Flirting Via Books, Castiel Wears Glasses (Supernatural), US Midwest, Summer Summary: "Hello, Dean," Castiel rumbles at him, and God, the way his name sounds in Castiel's mouth. Dean could drop a rock down the well of that voice and never hear it hit bottom. "Charlie said you might stop by. Is there anything new I can help you find?" "I just wanted to check you out, uh—check these out. The books. For my brother. Sammy needs more books." Fuck Dean's life.

at the edge of chaos | @sharkfish

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 10,154 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Dinosaurs, Paleontologist Cas, Photographer Dean, Trans Dean Summary: They saw some dinosaurs in the fly-over the day before, so Dean knew he was really, actually, truly going to see real, actual, true dinosaurs, but he still almost drops his camera in the mud when the first stegosaurus comes out of the trees. Stunned, Dean says, “I’m going to win a Pulitzer.” Equally stunned, Cas says, “How do I go back to bones after this?”

you should floss more | @songliili

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 15,440 Main Tags/Warnings: Gay Castiel (Supernatural), Bisexual Dean Winchester, Dentist Castiel (Supernatural), Interior Designer Dean Winchester, Meet-Cute, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Date, idiots to lovers Summary: “You know I told you I had to book an appointment to a new dentist? Because the old one retired? Well I may or may not have said something huh inappropriate? Not on purpose! I swear!” “Dean. What did you do?” “Well, huh he- he said something about us being strangers or whatever and I- well, I said 'you’re not a stranger, you’ve been inside my mouth for 20 minutes!'” OR the one where Dean embarrasses himself at the dentist and still manages to get a date with the blue-eyed dentist.

For Evermore | @casblackfeathers

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 110,572 Main Tags/Warnings: angst with a happy ending, childhood friends, reunion, mutual pining, underage drinking, panic attacks, top Castiel, bottom Dean, top Dean, bottom Castiel, friends to lovers, fluff and angst, soft Dean, single parent Dean, misunderstandings, hurt and comfort, virgin Castiel, Dean’s first time with a man Summary: There's no place like home. This was a line Castiel used to know by heart when he was a kid, watching The Wizard of Oz and believing fairytales were real. At thirty-one years old, he isn't a kid anymore, and it has been twelve years since he has known what home feels like. Twelve years. That's when his world had come crashing down and he had left his hometown, Holly Springs, with the broken pieces of what he once was to build a new life in San Francisco. But as circumstances force him to come back to the only place he swore he would never return to, Castiel is finally forced to face everything he once knew and loved. Especially when said everything is made of spring-green eyes and a stardust of freckles, wrapped in all the memories Castiel was not able to erase from his heart. After twelve years, Dean is as mesmerizing as Castiel remembers, but the scars of what was broken still run as deeply as the marrow of his bones, and Castiel will do everything he can to protect himself. After all, his favorite movie also taught him that 'until hearts can be made unbreakable,' he can’t listen to his own.

#destiel trope collection #destiel trope collection 2023 #destiel #fanfic #firsts #day 24

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flavia8 · 5 months

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I kinda wanted to touch on something I mentioned in tags, that a lot of awful aspects/tropes of how "strong/badass" women can be done well. It is hard to do it well, but it is possible. Very often it's the way these aspects are handled and/or the combination of all of them that make the character absolutely awful/insufferable. Here are some books with these things that I think are actually well written and genuinely good. There will be a range of genres and target audiences (I am only going to list the titles, and obviously the books can't be boiled down to one aspect so don't mistake it for "This is the MAIN aspect of the book/character" Also multiple could apply to these but I'm just listing them as I think of them and will only mention a book once.

Constant Quipping: Little Thieves or The Monstrous Regiment

Too perfect/Over-Competent: Graceling, The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie

"I grew up around 7 Brothers": Magyk (Quite Literally lol she has exactly 7 brothers)

Wearing Heels/Stuff that would be uncomfortable to fight in: Dragon Slippers or Soulless

"Showing Emotion Makes you weak": The Hunger Games, The Screaming Staircase, Vespertine, A Master of Djinn

The Whole Femme Fatale Thing: Killers of a Certain Age, Etiquette and Espionage, Cocaine Blues

There are a lot more but I would like to keep this pretty short.

#eta #books #booklr #tropes #these are books I personally enjoyed #I like some a LOT better than others #lockwood and co #flavia de luce #Monstrous Regiment #Magyk #Dragon Slippers #Soulless #Vespertine #The Hunger Games #Little Thieves #Cocaine Blues #Etiquette and Espionage #Killers of a Certain Age #A Master of Djinn

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musicallisto · 6 months

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𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐨'𝐬 𝟏.𝟓𝐤 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 :: 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒈𝒂𝒎𝒆

♡ : · • now playing... how you get the girl by taylor swift

hola guapas <3 no, your eyes are not deceiving you... clara's back in town with a follower celebration!! so much has happened since i left—i hit 1500 followers (which is an insane number, thank you guys so much!!), and i & this blog turned 21 and 6, respectively🩵 and how else can we celebrate this than by doing what I do best: throwing a party? sooo yeah, put on your cutest swimsuit, get your piña coladas ready, because we are pregaming on the beach <3

from nov 1st to nov 8th...

ੈ♡˳ reblog this post when you send one of these in¹!! so more people can join the party<3

ships!!! send me 🐚 + a description of you (gender preference, hobbies, personality, turn ons and offs, and any relevant info you want to include! the more detailed the better) + a fandom² = i will tell you who i ship you with & write a few headcanons about your relationship :)

playlists!!! send me 🌅 + a character + a scenario or relationship trope and I will make a little playlist and moodboard associated with it :)

playlists x2!!! send me 🥥 off anon and I will make a little playlist and moodboard based on how I see you or your blog :)

battle royale!!! send me 🦈 + a fandom and I'll spin a wheel to randomly select three characters and I'll tell you who I think would survive the longest in a death match. if you send no fandom i'll randomize my mutuals instead

((mutuals only)) simselves!!! this one's so self-indulgent but if you know me at all you know a core characteristic of my summers is spending 9 hours/day on the sims send me 🍍 + your ethnicity (just so i don't accidentally whitewash you or anything sob) and i'll create you in the sims!! or at least how i imagine you look based on your vibes lmao

go crazy and send as many as you want (in separate asks though, please)!

¹ it's really important you rb this post so more people can participate and i don't feel like a human flop pls & love you

² fandoms i will write for: formula one, stray kids, grishaverse, bridgerton, game of thrones, stranger things, the haunting (hh & bm), the hunger games, top gun, red dead redemption

tagging the girlies (gender neutral) because i love them @tsuncda @permanentreverie @eclliipsed @mishelin @cosmic-railwayxo @hotgirlsrk @catsbooksandmusic @starkeyslut @mgcldydrms @its-me-satine @margofiore @atlabeth @faerieroyal @softeninglooks @amirahiddleston @ughgclden @magpiencrow @heliads, @destourtereaux, @daydreaming-optimist

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siennasfix · 1 month

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Pareidolia

Summary: This story is set sometime in the future. Hyunjin is a claimed son of Aphrodite. Y/n and her sister are the only unclaimed children who know the identity of their godly parent. They’re college students in Camp Jupiter. A new streak of murders takes off and all the tracks point to Luna, Y/n’s nine-year-old sister, which leads to Y/n making it her mission to prove the little girl’s innocence. One mishap leads to another and Hyunjin and Y/n find themselves working together to find out what they can do to solve the mystery.

Notes:

 This fic is inspired by the world of Percy Jackson and will contain many elements of the Hunger Games franchise. I’ve been a fan of both for years and I thought I’d try my hand at weaving both of these universes so that they flow seamlessly. Regarding mature themes and violence, it will definitely lean more on the Hunger Games side of the spectrum.  This fic is going to be long af so buckle up. There will be 3 books, the final chapters of which will be marked in the endnotes. I have an idea of how many chapters the entire fic is going to be, but of course, it might be longer than I have planned because I want to describe everything in such explicit detail that it WILL drive many of you nuts, and there's also the thing with me wanting to give the characters their chance to shine and develop properly. The girls that get it, get it. The point is; this fic might take not months but years to finish and the finalization will keep me from ending it all so I’ll try my best not to die before then.  This fic will contain mature themes. There will be many lighthearted moments but it’s more of a reprieve from all the heavy shit going on than anything. So do not read this if you’re expecting a cheerful romance or a happily ever after for every character. In addition to this, there will be depictions of death, torture, assault, sex, and so on, things that not everyone can stomach, which is more than fine but just be sure that this is your cup of tea before starting to read it. I will try to tag it as well as I can for each chapter and include the TWs in the beginning notes so don't skip them. • An array of power dynamics will be depicted as the story progresses. • The romance ranges from sweet to radioactive so keep that in mind. • Romance tropes: 1. Hyunjin x Reader- enemies to lovers, annoyances to lovers, mutual pining, dark romance, obsessive lovers, don’t blame me love made me crazy coded 2. Jisung x Minho- mutual clowning, friends to sort of strangers to fwb to lovers, they got that 80s rock aesthetic vibe going on 3. Seungmin x Jeongin- initially unrequited, strategy meets theatre, friends to lovers  I’ll try to update regularly, maybe once every two or three weeks. This is more for me to be honest as I’m a major procrastinator and this might help me sit my ass down and WRITE.  Make sure to always read the opening notes as many warnings pertaining to the events of the chapter, ones I have been unable to include in the tags above, will be revealed there.

Book I: Part I, Part II, Part III

Book II: Part I, Part II, Part III

Book III: Part I, Part II, Part III

#stray kids #skz #hwang hyunjin #hwang hyunjin skz #hwang hyunjin angst #hwang hyunjin enemies to lovers #hwang hyunjin x reader #skz godly parent au #skz godly parent #stray kids godly parent au #stray kids godly parent #skz pjo #stray kids pjo #minsung #lee know #han jisung #kim seungmin #yang jeongin

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filthyfluffyfantasies · 6 months

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✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . DL;DR - this fic is not meant for anyone under the age of 18 as it contains the following: a/b/o dynamics a little less subtly -read, poorly, hinted at by writer, use of pet names ( little one, pretty little thing, etc), hints at a breeding kink / knotting is mentioned, mate marks/biting, p in v sex - unprotected, fuck or die trope -also probably v. poorly written, dominant!Eddie, but make it soft and gentle. writer does not give permission for her works to be reposted, with or without permission. ✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

prompt seventeen - a/b/o ( told in two parts )

character | fandom - alpha!werewolf!eddie munson | stranger things

reader | original character - female reader, omega & non -or vague, description.

words - roughly 2k.

tagging - < taglist here >

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . eddie's taken you back to his cabin to keep you safe. when you slip into the throes of heat fever, it just might turn into a fuck or die situation but sweeter/gentler...✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

❝ Sweetheart...❞ Eddie’s husky laugh rouses you from a feverish sleep. You whimper quietly, everything aches and you're so damn hot you feel like at any second you'll burst into flames. He's sitting at the edge of the bed, one arm over your body partially caging you in. ❝There ya go. Good girl. Open those pretty eyes f' me.❞ he coaxes as you start to wake up a little better.

The hearty scent of home cooked stew hangs heavy in the air and for just a second, your hunger competes with the burning desire you feel towards your newly found Alpha. I-I.. I need him closer, you think to yourself, surprised when the thought unspoken is answered by Eddie gingerly pulling back the scratchy olive colored blanket he placed over your body before leaving. As he arranges himself next to you, he chuckles quietly.

❝ Your mind..its uh..kinda loud, sweetheart.❞ he explains as he lets you settle in next to him.

❝ Oh. I,uh..I'm sorry.❞ you apologize and he chuckles again. ❝ Don't apologize, angel.❞ he smiles at you.

Long, thin fingers skim over your sides as he nuzzles his nose against your neck. Inhaling slow and deep. Your scent is enough to bowl him over, he's just barely holding on to restraint. Sharp fangs prick at his gums, begging to come out.

When he groans against your neck and pulls you into him even closer, you make the cutest little filthy sound for him.

❝Wanna mark you, little one.❞ he murmurs, soft as silk and rough as gravel against your soft, hot skin. His hips snap against you and as soon as you feel the way his cock pushes and pulses, straining against dark denim, you moan. Rock yourself right back against him and the way he's still growing, still getting hard. ❝ So do it.❞ you gasp out, breathy little sighs that hang in the air between you both. He chuckles. ❝ I could. I could do it, easy.❞ he's pushed you flat against the bed and settled himself over you, his torso keeping your legs spread. And the sight of the slick as it gushes down your thighs, that has him growling all over again as a thick tongue drags over plush and dark pink lips. ❝ If I do this,❞ he locks eyes with you, doe eyes take on a somber cast, ❝ You’re mine. All mine.❞

❝ I-I..❞ you're begging, you arch yourself up into him, grabbing his strong jaw to make him look down at you, ❝ I wanna be yours.❞ and he laughs, shakes his head. ❝ You barely know me, sweetheart. And I got nothin t' offer. I'm an alpha with no pack.❞

❝ I don't care. I belong to you.❞ you insist, rubbing yourself against him more urgently. You're so needy, so responsive. Dripping so bad already that there's a huge puddle pooling beneath you. You're showing him your neck, a sign you’re willing -and ready,more than ready, to submit yourself, give yourself to him.Doe eyes train on the soft skin revealed to him. Taunting him.

His fangs push through. ❝ This might sting a little, doll.❞ he mutters, smooth as silk against the shell of your ear as his tongue drags hot against your racing pulse, ❝ But I’m gonna take real good care of you, I swear to Ozzy..❞ and his fangs sink into your neck, piercing your skin. Marking his territory for the world to see. He growls, thrust completely into the throe of rut as he rocks himself against you and when he pulls away to admire his handiwork, you whine in need, missing the rush of the bond, craving the flood of intimacy, the connection you felt as he marked you his own.

❝ Sweetheart..❞ he pauses, begins to protest as soon as the reality of the situation settles over him, breathless and helpless; still rutting himself into you fully-clothed, ❝ We gotta slow down. Think about it, okay... This is kinda permanent. If you're not sure, it's not too late t' stop before..❞ he’s trying to remind you that to be saddled with him is permanent and it’s not a choice to be made in the throes of heat or rut. Not that I won’t happily take it, he thinks to himself, his nose buried deep in your neck, rough lips smoothing over the mate-bite that he gave you, But I just wanna make sure she knows she’s stuck with me. Forever. Because I won’t let her go. I’ll have t’ die first.

He’s seen the mate bond be broken before, it wasn’t pretty. His poor uncle nearly lost his goddamn mind when his mother chose his uncle’s brother -his so-called father, over him.

But you won’t be swayed. You reach up, soft and delicate hand gripping a strong jaw lined with stubble. ❝ It’s what I want, more than anything. Please?❞ you beg, your thumb rolling over his cheek and resting in the center of a full bottom lip as you arch yourself towards him even closer. Your breathy whisper is enchanting, especially considering you’re saying everything he’s always wanted to hear.

A rough hand finds it’s resting spot against your soft cheek as Eddie ponders what you’re saying. ❝ You barely know me. I barely know you. How’s this supposed t’ work, huh? Answer that one, sweetheart.❞

❝ It will. It has to. I’ve been searching for this…❞ you pause and take a deep breath, ❝ For you, I mean.. Since I was a little girl. I know enough, okay? I know what I want. I want you. I want our bond.❞ you insist.

Eddie swallows hard, this still doesn’t rid him of the massive lump in his throat. It doesn’t rid doe eyes of the way they tear up because what you’re saying is something he’s always longed to hear. It’s something his uncle -the wolf who raised him, always swore would finally happen to him one day.

And it’s finally happening.

And here you are, he thinks to himself, trying to fight it off. Are you really that damn stupid?

No. The answer is no. And you’ve managed to entangle your body with his, his larger frame engulfing yours in the bed that’s just barely big enough to hold him. He can feel your heart, it’s calm and reassuring thudthud thud thud as your breathing syncs up to his.

You find yourself pinned below the lanky body of your handsome mate and you’re staring up. His ponytail has started to fall, thick dark hair springs free from a simple brown hair elastic. Your tongue dances behind your lips. He’s not close enough for your liking so you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him down on top of you completely. This is met with a growl. Eddie can feel the knot beginning to form, his rut taking over completely. This clouds his thoughts.

But he knows what he wants.

And he knows that you want it too.

Be an actual Alpha, goddamn it. Take what you know belongs to you. - this particular thought comes in the form of his late father, all the teasing and torment because Eddie wasn’t like the other boys in his old pack. He was sweeter. Quieter. More observant and sensitive.

It’s enough to make him contradict himself, but only for a split second, because the scent of you amps up, all sweet and ripe. He pauses as it hits him and he needs a few seconds to process.. Your scent isn’t diluted. It’s pure and it’s strong.

This prompts the question he finally asks a second later, voice all velvet, gravel and sex against the shell of your ear as he snaps his hips into you in a frenzy and one of his hands lingers at the thin pair of panties you’ve soaked through beneath the Iron Maiden t-shirt he changed you into because it was something with his scent all over it and he didn’t want your fever getting any worse.

❝ Have you uh..❞ he pauses, - Christ, this is crazy, there’s no way this isn’t a dream, I’m losing my fucking mind, leaving full lips as he tries to focus enough to continue his question, ❝ Have y’ ever done anythin’?❞

You swallow hard. Laughing softly at what he’s just said. A shy and soft little smile as you shake your head no at him. ❝ I told you, Alpha. I’ve been waiting. My ma..❞ you go quiet for a second or two, ❝ She always told me that true mate bonds were real and I wanted that instead ‘f settling. Broken heart killed her, sadly..❞ you laugh quietly and shake your head, ❝ Guess I shoulda given up but honestly, I didn’t wanna. I never..❞ you’re squirming, nervous beneath his intent stare.

His face is moving closer to your own, close enough that his rough lips brush your soft ones. A large hand palms at your hip, squeezing as if he’s making a last ditch effort to center himself. ❝ Never what, pretty girl? C’mon❞ he coaxes, ❝ Tell me, sweetheart. Finish th’ sentence.❞

❝ I..❞ your breath catches because he’s rutting himself into you faster. Every single time his cock brushes against your body, it sends a painful throb straight through your core. Every single time this happens, you can feel the slick coating your thighs get even more slippery. It’s hard to think about anything beyond letting him knot you, re-open the mate bite in your neck and make the whole process permanent and proper. It’s difficult but you’re trying. ❝ Please, I–❞ you beg for him to slow down just a little and Eddie just barely manages pulling himself together. You take a deep breath and continue to speak, ❝ I never clicked with anybody else… Like this.. I didn’t want ‘em as much as I wanted you when I saw you.❞

❝ Fuck.❞ it leaves his mouth in a breathy groan and any restraint he had left is completely gone. He knows you’re being completely honest but he has to ask again. He needs to hear you say it one more time. ❝ You’re a.. You’ve never… oh fuck..❞ he chuckles quietly as your little nod confirms what he already suspected.

You’re untouched. You’re his and his alone.

❝ P-please?❞ you beg, arching yourself up into him as you raise a hand and it catches in thick dark curls to tug. Any restraint Eddie had left is gone in a split second. It’s gone and Eddie doesn’t want it back.

❝ Don’t let me hurt ya.❞ he mumbles, soft as silk as his mouth crashes against yours, a tongue parting your soft lips and taking dominance over your own. It’s dominance you give over willingly. You nod. Begging for it, pleading. Telling him how much you want to take his knot.

His hand slips down between the two of you, long and thin digits slipping into your soaked sex after he’s torn off your panties and let them hit the floor of his bedroom. First the one, and it’s careful. A little too careful until you start to rock yourself over it and he can feel how velvet soft you feel on the inside, how hot and wet you are and he needs more. Like a drug. A second finger joins the first, and you gasp because you feel a little more stretched now. A little more full. You whine, the sound needy as it punctures the heavy breathing and quiet noises in the room. Eddie melts down into you and this time, when his fangs prick at his gums to re-appear, there’s no split second’s panic. It happens. He adds a third finger, groaning aloud ❝ Y’ feel s’ fuckin good, sweetheart. So goddamn sweet.❞ as you’re stretched even more. You slip a hand between your bodies and give a tug to the waistband of his faded jeans, looking up at him with begging in your eyes as you dance your finger up his happy trail and bite your bottom lip.

He chuckles, it’s a hearty sound. Doe eyes fix on your hand and he gulps. His heart is racing, about to pound right out of his chest. ❝ Patience isn’t your thing, hm?❞ he teases gently. You nod in agreement. He pulls away, but it’s just so he can pull off his pants. As his thick cock springs free, long and veiny with an angry red tip and the knot fully formed, your eyes widen almost comically. ❝ Changin’ your mind on me, sweetheart?❞ he questions.

You shake your head as you swallow hard. You’re reaching for his body, whining in need and he can’t deny you anything so he slips back onto the bed, body parting your legs to spread them wide for him. Rough hands catch in the bottom of his Iron Maiden t-shirt and it’s tugged away from your soft little body, tossed out into the room over Eddie’s shoulder. He sinks down into your body, his nose brushing silk soft strands of hair away from your neck as the tip of his cock pushes against your throbbing cunt, teasing at entry. His fangs sink into the mate mark, digging into soft flesh even deeper this time as his hand slips down between your bodies and circles his cock, lining it up with your weeping cunt.

You tense up from head to toe as his cock stretches you out and inch after inch disappears inside you until you’d almost swear you feel the tip touch your cervix. Eddie happens to glance down just a second or two, catching sight of the way his cock pushes against your tummy from the inside. And he’s growling against your neck.

You wince as the knot buries inside you, locking the two of you together until he’s given you every last drop of his seed and he can’t keep going. Your nails dig against his skin, dragging up and down his back as your legs squeeze either side of his body. He’s still at first, just letting his thick length sit inside you so maybe you stretch to accommodate him just a little better and it doesn’t feel like he’s ripping you apart from the inside. But the pain melts away and you start to rock yourself against him, your tits pushing against his chest.

Your heart is beating exactly as fast as his own is right now. The more you thrust yourself against him, the wetter you get until he can feel his cock coated in your juices. His hand settles on your hip and he brings you to a gradual stop, lips against your forehead. ❝ I wanna take my time with you, pretty little thing. Let me.❞ he coaxes as he starts to fuck into you at a much slower pace. You’re obedient, but you whine about it. As the bite deepens, you’re overwhelmed by the rush, the way his emotions and thoughts and yours mix together and flood you, driving you straight into euphoria. You cling to him and he starts to fuck into you just a little faster, both hands on your hips to keep you still as he does it.

❝ I-I..❞ you gasp quietly, ❝ I wanna get on top, let me please? I.. I wanna ride you.❞ you beg. Eddie flips you so that he’s pinned below you and you’re topping him, his hands straight to your hips as he picks you up and slams you down onto his cock. When he bottoms out three times in a row, you’re whining, his name falling out of your mouth like a wanton prayer.

You’re so goddamn tight, your cunt squeezes his length way too damn good. He comes to a stop because if he doesn’t, he’s going to explode, he’s going to fill you full before he’s really done with you for the time being. His eyes flutter open and closed and you stare down at him in awe as he fucks up into you slow and steady. Your knuckles are white against the headboard you’ve reached out to grab just to keep yourself upright.

He’s staring up at you, a hand leaving his hip to cup your breasts, squeezing at them. When he pulls himself up into a sitting position and your legs wrap around his waist, this drives him in even deeper, cockhead striking against soft and spongy walls. He’s growling your name over and over, one hand squeezing your hip to guide you up and down on his cock and the other hand cupping one of your breasts as his lips latch on.

But he can’t hold off much longer. And when you start to beg him to let go -and to allow you to let go, he can’t possibly tell you no. He knows he’s fucked already, he’ll never be able to refuse you anything you want.

❝ Sweetheart, oh fuck..❞ he groans against your healing mate-bite quietly, ❝ Gonna fill y’ up.❞ as the high of a shared orgasm hits you both and it leaves you clinging to him, fucked dumb and whining as he fucks himself sloppily into you, through his orgasm.

The knot is gone and both of you could move a few minutes later, but neither of you makes an effort, you’re both too busy touching and kissing, talking to each other in quiet whispers as you cling to each other.

Two halves have become whole. And neither of you ever wants to be apart from the other ever again.

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #🔞ɴғᴡ. ᴍɪɴᴏʀs ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ʀɪsᴋ.#( ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ʟɪsᴛ ✓ )#lazyghoulskinktober2023 #( ᴍɪɴɪ sᴇʀɪᴇs ; ᴘᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ ᴏғ ᴛᴡᴏ )

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