#I wonder how many of these prompts I can do at once :P

[elizabethrobertajones]

ffxiv sapphic week 2 "vulnerability and vacation" just made me think immediately of poor Zero dealing with sunlight for the first time in a zillion years and I'm cackling about this hat having the same brim effect as her usual hat.

She is killing me with her mind for doing this to her.

Frog is empirically correct that Zero needs a vacation where she's ordered to do nothing and soak up sun for the good brain chemicals. They will kiss about it later, but for now this definitely feels more like medicine than a date :'D

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Since you said you were looking at requests could you please do something with Dom Daryl with overstimulation, breeding, and cockwarming? Maybe after the savior war trying to get pregnant or any later seasons Daryl? It’s almost 6:30 in the morning so those are just the prompts that came to me first, anything you write with them will be wonderful, thank you 🩷

If I get a Little Prettier, Can I be Your Baby?

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Alexandria (post Savior's War)

Warnings: Poorly written smut; p in v; cockwarming; forced orgasms; overstimulation; a hint of breeding, I guess? A/N: This request has been sitting in my inbox for weeks. Gods, I am so sorry for making you wait! I'm even more sorry that I was all over the place with this so I hope it's just good at all. I tried, Anon! I promise!

“S’the matter? Thought ya wanted this?” 

Daryl was sitting against the headboard, just as bare as you. You straddled his hips, stretched around his cock and had been for—well, you weren’t sure. He had kept you there, softening slightly every once in a while only to press a thumb against your swollen clit to quickly bring you to orgasm. Your convulsing walls brought him to fully hard within seconds. You’d lost count of how many times he’d done it, sometimes not even needing the stimulation. He would be throbbing with just as much need inside of you and still worked at you until you came, shuddering and whimpering his name like a mantra. 

“Please, Daryl, I need—”

“Ya need to sit there ‘til I say diff’rent.” His voice was low, gravelly. Stern, even. You felt your cunt clench and his hips jerk. You were so sensitive, yet still craving him. He could work miracles with those fingers but being so full and stretched without feeling him drag along your inner walls was torture. He wasn’t cruel, never. There was a safe word in place, always, no matter who held the reins. Whether out of sheer stubbornness or overwhelming desire, neither of you had ever used it.

“Yes, sir.” You breathed. Your fingers were splayed over his stomach, his muscles twitching with each miniscule movement you made, though you tried to sit stone still. 

The battle with the Saviors had been won. Negan was imprisoned. Alexandria was being rebuilt. Everyone was working together and there was, for at least the time being, a feeling of relative peace and safety. While you had never officially married, you had become Mrs. Dixon in every way except on paper, and that didn’t seem to matter much in those days. You and Daryl had talked about a family before, but always seemed to find some reason to deny yourselves. His worries of becoming his father, Wolves, Saviors, and of course, the dead. There was always something. 

It wasn’t until Daryl had been locked in Negan’s cell that he came to realize that waiting was futile. The world would never be safe. If you wanted to have children with him, he loved you enough to travel that road with you. He’d love his children because they were a part of both of you.

This? This was the first session in what would be many “practice runs.” Or maybe one time would be all it would take. 

“You’re bein’ such a good girl. Wanna cum for me again?” He smirked, tucking your hair behind your ear and letting that finger carve a trail down over your collarbone, circling your left breast before he pinched and rolled your nipple. You gasped and arched your chest toward him, making him hiss when your hips shifted. 

“S—sorry, sir.” You gasped, breathing heavily from just that slight stimulation. If he fucked you now, you feared you’d cum so quickly that it’d be embarrassing. From the twinkle in his eye, it didn’t seem like you were going to have a choice. You let out a squeak as he flipped you to your back, never separating from you but punching a moan from you both with the slight friction. 

“Think I’ve had enough’a toyin’ around. How ‘bout we get to work on puttin’ a baby in that belly?” Pressing his mouth to yours in a sloppy kiss, a dance of tongues and teeth, he hooked the back of your right knee over the crook of his elbow and rolled his hips. You pulled back from him, lest you bite his lip, which he’d honestly probably rather enjoy. Another deep thrust saw your hips rising to meet his. He didn’t stop you or reprimand you, so it was safe to say this was all about the endgame.

“Fuck, you feel good.” You whined with your nails scratching over his shoulders, red marks all the way to where you settled your hands on his ribs.

“Yeah?” He knew the answer, even if he did make the next snap of his hips a little rougher. Raising your head, you nuzzled your cheek against his and placed your mouth against his ear.

“Don’t hold back.” You whispered, licking the lobe and then the spot where his pulse raced. Daryl growled, letting your leg drop. When he reached up to grab the top of the headboard with one hand and then the other, you knew you were about to get absolutely ruined.

And couldn’t have been more turned on by the thought.

With a smirk of your own, you chose to let your legs fall open as wide as they could, almost to the point of painful. You were soon digging your nails right into his buttocks. It started with a cadence of rough snaps, his pelvic bone and the coarse hair above his cock slapping against your oversensitive clit. He chuckled above you, knowing exactly why you were making those sinful little noises. Your humiliatingly slick cunt squelched with each push and pull of his cock, only adding to the debauchery that could potentially be heard by the others in the house.

You only dug your fingers in harder, drawing up your knees but keeping your legs wide open. “Come on, Dixon.” You panted, biting back a cry when the next thrust made you see stars. “I thought you wanted to fuck a baby into me. Put in a little effort.”

It was that moment, you knew you had fucked up. 

Daryl went motionless, looking down at you through that curtain of sweaty, dark hair. He had one brow arched. He never let go of the headboard but leaned down between his arms until he was nose to nose with you, the most deliciously wicked smirk lifting one corner of his mouth. 

“Ya better hold on tight, Sunshine.”

The first thrust shunted you straight up to the headboard, one hand releasing its hold on his ass to slap palm down against the wood and protect the top of your head. And then he was absolutely ruthless. Fucking feral. He used his hold on the headboard as leverage and fucked you at a pace you’d never experienced. Soon, you had let go of him altogether, both palms planted firmly against the smooth surface above you. You couldn’t stop shouting long enough to even let him know you were cumming. Once, twice. A third sparking to life low in your belly. His grunts and groans above you were just fucking delectable and you distantly wished you could focus on the sounds your pussy was coaxing out of him but the feeling of him just absolutely splitting you in two took precedence. 

“‘Nough effort for ya?” He panted, slowing only slightly, just enough for you to see him scanning you for any signs that you wanted to stop, that you needed to use the safeword. You scoffed at him. However, you couldn’t seem to speak, so close to yet another orgasm. You saw his grip loosen, knew he was getting concerned, so you communicated your consent by flattening your feet on the mattress and rolling your hips up to take him deeper, both of you groaning. He worked his way back to the same brutal pace, his cock swelling and twitching inside of you. He was close.

You were closer.

Drawing in enough breath, somehow assembling enough presence of mind, you moaned out “I���m—I’m close—Please—”

Daryl grunted, dropping down from the headboard with a hand on either side of your head. “Let go, Sunshine.” He commanded through gritted teeth. “Fuck, m’gonna cum.” You had just felt the first tendrils of pleasure rip from your core when he thrust twice more, stilling against you and holding himself deep with a guttural moan, his muscles spasming and body trembling. “Fuck!” You were too lost on whatever cloud he’d sent you to, your eyes rolled back and mouth agape. Your chest was arched into him until you felt the burn in your muscles suddenly dissipate and you collapsed to the mattress, his name falling from your lips like a mantra. 

Daryl was still thrusting into you lazily, dragging out both of your orgasms until you just couldn’t take anymore and twisted your hips to the side with a whine. He let you lie down flat again before gently, slowly pulling out of you, barely moving himself over before he collapsed into a trembling heap. You could feel his cum leaking out of you, burning as it slid across the flesh of your abused cunt.

It never failed that no matter how fucked out he was himself, your well-being came first. Rolling his head toward you, he gave you a once over. “Y’alright? Did I hurtcha? Ya didn’t say—”

“I’m so good that I don’t think I’m ever coming back down to earth, thanks.” You blinked lazily at the ceiling before turning your head, letting it lull toward him to meet his eyes with a lopsided smile. “My god, Daryl Dixon, you just rocked my world.” 

God, you loved it when he blushed. He could be an absolute beast in bed—as he had just proven—and then go red as a tomato—as he currently was. Licking his lips slowly, he turned to admire the ceiling at the same time you did. 

“I’ll get up in a minute an’ get us cleaned up.” He was finally starting to sound like he had found his lungs and put them back in their rightful place. You lazily waved a hand. “Are ya really alright?”

You nodded, smiling stupidly once again. “I may not walk right for a few days.” You moved with a wince. “In fact, when you get up to get that towel, can you grab me a wheelchair? I think you dislocated my vagina.”

Daryl, of course, looked mortified. “Oh, come on. I’m fine. Just a little sore.” Propping up on your elbows, you grinned at him. “Besides, payback’s a bitch and next time, it’s my turn.” He mumbled christ under his breath and rolled off the bed, staggering toward the bathroom while you stared intently at the perfect round of his ass. “I’ll find the blindfold and handcuffs tomorrow!”

[tune-on-in-folks]

Day 12! Truthfully this was rewritten on the 13th because what I posted last night was a hot mess. I realize that as much as I want to post these fics everyday, I want to post fics that I'm proud of. And I think this is enough redemption. Now let's see if I can get day 13 out today as well, haha.

Tags/Warnings: Face fucking, fem!receiving face fucking, oral sex, rough oral sex, throat fucking, male!receiving oral, p in v mention. Word Count: 1,446

Alastor had been antagonizing you for the last couple of months, insulting you or giving you a backhanded compliment whenever he could. What he enjoyed about you, was the fact that you responded back with an equally witty and scathing retort. You snapped back at him like you weren’t afraid of him. It was different, it was refreshing. You were intriguing. Alastor quickly began to seek you out, looking forward to your little game. 

The back and forth between you dissolved one night into something more; When far too many fingers of rye were involved. Not that you minded. You still sassed Alastor constantly, earning the same in return. Your relationship always felt tentative, like it could end in a matter of moments. So you held onto the stolen moments you had with Alastor. Wondering often, if he’d ever end whatever was between you both.

Tonight you were in his radio tower, listening to him broadcast. Something that not many were privileged to. Husk had told you once that he was certain you were the only one who Alastor allowed in while he broadcast. It felt nice to have that knowledge. That trust from Alastor. So, you enjoyed it. Quietly listening to Alastor as he broadcast about anything and everything. You never really paid any mind to what the topics were about, focusing on his captivating voice instead. 

Alastor’s voice surrounded you, captivated, and distracted you. You didn’t realize that the cup of coffee you were setting down wasn’t on the table, your attention solely on him. The cup crashed to the floor, shattering loudly. You stiffen, a cold fear running through you as your eyes snap from your shattered mug, up to Alastor. The radio feedback picking up around him is the only sign of his annoyance at the interruption as he continued on into his next statement. Slowly and quietly, you get up to go gather a towel and a dustpan. You were going to have to apologize profusely for the interruption, you knew.

You hadn’t noticed he had finished and was off air until he cleared his throat. Your eyes caught on his shoes first before trailing up his body. You met his gaze, holding it despite the fact that he was glowering down at you.

“I’m sorry, Alastor,” You say softly, sitting up on your knees, holding his gaze. “I didn’t mean to break the cup. To interrupt your broadcast.”

You were truly sorry for accidentally interrupting, knowing you had broken his trust in you. You had promised to sit quietly and not make a sound, only for that to come crashing down around you, like your mug had. Now you were wondering if the tentative relationship you had formed with Alastor would do the same and shatter.

“Hmm.” He hums, his expression softening, “It was an accident, my dear, don’t you worry your little head about it!”

You bite your lip, averting your gaze. You had learned to read him enough to tell he was still frustrated. How could you make this up to him? Was it even possible? Alastor tipped your chin up with one of his claws, making you meet his gaze again. Just like you could read him, he could read you.

“Though I suppose you could make up for this if you wanted to.” He prompts, smile widening. “Perhaps by allowing me to punish you.”

His thumb brushes your chin, the pad catching on your lip, you swallow, face flushing a deep shade of red at his insinuation. You couldn’t deny that the idea of him punishing you for interrupting his broadcast was arousing. 

“Well I’m on my knees.” You offer, feeling heat begin to pool in your gut.

“Yes, you are.” he acknowledges, “And you’ve been quite the bad girl tonight, haven’t you? Disrespecting me earlier in front of our guests, and now you’ve interrupted my broadcast.”

Alastor takes a step towards you, reaching  to undo his pants. Your eyes follow the movement, captivated.

“I think you are overdue for a lesson, my dear. Open.”

You swallow down your nerves but you open your mouth. He pulls his hardening cock out of his pants, running the tip around your lips.

His voice was lower, dangerous, “Show me how sorry you are, little doe.”

You lean forward, kitten licking at his slit, closing your hand around his cock. Your tongue swirls around his cock-head before you close your mouth around him. Alastor grunts at the contact, rolling his hips forward, forcing more of himself into your mouth.

“You can do better than that, darling.” He taunts, watching you take him further with each pass of your lips.

You hum around him, rolling your eyes as you suck his cock. You move your tongue to caress the underside of his cock as you bob your head. Alastor’s hand tangles in your hair as he watches you suck him off from half-lidded eyelids. He begins to roll his hips forward, forcing more and more of his cock into your mouth with each thrust.

“Do not forget that this is also a punishment, my dear. You only touch me because I have permitted it to happen. I can take this away from you in an instant.”

You whine around Alastor’s cock, which quickly turns into you gagging as his cock-head hits the back of your throat. He pulls back, allowing you to catch your breath for a moment before sliding right back into your mouth. His pace is steady as he begins to fuck your mouth. You swallow around him, tears biting the corners of your eyes as he forces you to take him down your throat, over and over. His pace grew faster, his breaths coming in short gasps.

“You look so beautiful, darling. Taking my cock so well.” He praises, his hand tightening in your hair.

Alastor began to move your face in time with his thrusts. You brace yourself against his thighs, moaning around him. You were enjoying the thrill of him fucking your face. Every thrust in, choked you, every withdrawal gave you the opportunity to breathe. It was sinful how wet you were, not even having been touched once.

“You will never interrupt my broadcast again, understood, my dear?”

You can only moan around Alastor as his pace increases. His thrusts were growing shorter and faster as he got closer to his own release.

“And if you ever dare disrespect me like you did earlier I will ensure everyone in this wretched hotel hears your screams.”

You moaned around his cock again, earning another groan from him. Alastor’s hips stuttering was your only tell that he was getting close to cumming.

“You’re going to be a good girl and swallow every drop of my cum. Or I will extend your punishment. Is that clear?”

You closed your lips around his cock tighter, sucking hard as you tried to coax him over the edge. A stuttered curse fell from his mouth, radio effect totally gone. He thrust forward harshly as he pushed your head down onto his cock. You swallowed uncomfortably as the first rope of his cum hit the back of your throat. You felt the need to cough, but you refused to waste a single drop of his seed. Alastor rocked his hips as he began to pull out of your mouth, his cock twitching with the aftershocks of his release. You force a breath in through your nose as you suck and swallow around his retreating cock. When you were certain he was totally spent you let him slide from your mouth with a wet ‘pop.’ You swallowed again, before your body caught up to you and you began to cough harshly. Your lungs burned in protest as you took in heaving gasps of breath air in between each cough. After what felt like forever, but was actually just a few moments, you catch your breath fully.

Alastor pulled you from the ground, slamming his lips roughly against yours in a searing kiss, stealing your breath once more. He could taste himself on your lips, his cock hardening again.

“Now,” He remarks, pushing your skirt up, and pulling your panties off, “I believe after such a grand performance, you deserve a reward.”

He wraps one of your legs around him, thrusting fully into you with one thrust. 

You pull Alastor down into another kiss, “I am sorry, Al.”

“Water under the bridge, my darling.” He reassures you, returning a gentle kiss to your lips.

You would never interrupt a broadcast again, that was for certain. And though you were sorry, you couldn’t fully be remorseful when your behavior ended with him inside you.

[heavenlyvision]

I’m literally inlove with your writing! Anyways I was wondering if you could maybe do a Kuai Liang x reader one shot where he’s had like a stressful day and basically goes crazy with back shots. English is not my first language so I’m sorry if this does not make sense.

Thank you sm !!!! Kuai is a little ooc because he is a bit grumpy in this but he is a little sweet in the end (kinda) 🫣 This fic is shorter because I got brain rot for Kuai atm and I can only write on my phone. Also, your English was great !!! Thank you heaps for your request and I hope you enjoy it <33

Not sorry

Wc: 2.7k

Pairing: Kuai Liang x Afab!Reader

Warnings: 18+ only, smut, no use of pronouns, p in v sex, creampie, biting, minor burns, no use of y/n, Kuai is a little mean… sorry !!!

When Kuai Liang walks through your front door you can immediately tell he’s had a bad day, mostly because the door slams behind him and he doesn’t even flinch; he just walks over to where you’re sitting on the couch and drops down beside you.

“By the way you’ve just slammed my door I’m guessing you had a great day,” you speak sarcastically; not looking up from your book.

He sighs beside you, “Sorry… today was… trying.”

He sounds drained from beside you but he also seems angry, like something happened to royally piss him off; well, something or someone.

You go to ask him, “Do you want to talk about–”

“–No.” He cuts you off.

You drop your book and look him in the eyes, “Yes, clearly whatever happened is not an issue that should be discussed.”

He doesn’t look at you, instead keeping his eyes on the wall in front of you both. The frown resting on his brow is prominent and you feel the need to reach over to smooth it out but as your hand reaches for him he grabs your wrist and holds it up.

His eyes lock onto yours, “What are you doing?”

You feel a bit flustered and you don’t know how to tell him you were going to touch his face, “Nothing, don’t worry about it.” You mumble a bit before pulling your wrist from his hold.

His eyes are examining you, trying to understand your intent but you’ve looked away and started to read your book. Or you’re pretending to read your book, you’re a little preoccupied by his heated gaze on you.

You sigh, “Why’d you come over if you’re in such a bad mood?”

“Because I always visit you around this time,” he’s snippy, whatever happened has obviously pissed him off severely.

He does always visit around this time, though you wouldn’t think he would come around when he’s in this bad of a mood. How kind of him to subject you to his incredibly annoyed demeanour. It’s a bit irritating but you also think it’s a little bit sweet, his want to see you outweighing his poor mood.

“I don’t know how to help you when you’re like this,” your eyes are still on the book, not reading any of the words on the page.

He’s stoic beside you, still watching you, “For starters, you can stop pretending to read.”

“I’m not pretending,” you lie.

“You’ve been on the same page since I walked in,” he observes.

You scowl at your book, “No I haven’t,” you double down.

From beside you, he grabs your book and pulls it away, chucking it across the room.

“Hey!” You exclaim at him, you move to pick up your book but he pulls you back onto the couch. Making you look at him.

“I also came here for a specific purpose,” his eyes are hard, looking at you firmly.

You’re unamused, “And what’s that?”

The way he’s looking at you is setting you on fire, he’s making you flustered and it’s completely unfair. You have been carrying a torch for this man for many years now and he’s never once shown signs of reciprocation but with the way he’s eyeing you right now, you feel completely exposed to him. He’s looking at you like he wants to eat you alive, and you might let him.

“Something happened today and I want to– need to know, how do you feel about me?” His question stuns you.

You’re unable to speak for a few moments, lost at where his sudden question has come from. “W–What prompted that question?”

He doesn’t answer you, just looking you head on, waiting for your answer. An answer you don’t really want to give.

You deflect instead, your confession coming in a non-committal way. “Well, I love you of course, I always have.” You make it sound as casual as possible, hoping he doesn’t see through you.

“I see,” he replies, his tone even.

You’re both sat looking at each other, not sure where to go from here. Unconsciously, your eyes flick to his lips, lingering for a moment too long, giving away your desire for him. You look away quickly, wishing you still had your book in front of you.

“I think you are lying,” his hand reaches towards your face and pulls it back to him, “I think you have feeling for me.” The emphasis on the last word confuses you for a moment but before you can ask him about it, his lips are on yours.

He leans in closer and pulls you towards him by the hand on your face. His kiss is harsh and needy, his bad mood still lingering under his lust for you. He pushes you back onto the couch, following you down; his lips never leave yours. When your back hits the couch, you gasp against him and he shoves his tongue into your mouth. The shock of it has a whiney moan pulling from you, the sound you make has an appreciative grunt coming from Kuai.

Your hands grab at him, holding onto his shoulders, needing the leverage. He is so large above you, his body heat consuming you, his mouth overwhelming you, he’s driving you insane. He’s taken over all your senses, when he pulls back, you’re huffing underneath him. His kiss has taken your breath away, you’re dazed by the way he’s just kissed you. You can practically feel the hearts in your eyes as you gaze up at him. His own are filled with a desperate heat, dark and lustful.

“I need you… on your stomach,” his voice is deep when he speaks.

You feel the blood rush to your cheeks, heating your face up. Taking a moment to look up at him, completely dumbfounded. He leans down again and kisses the look off your face, his hand moves to your neck and hold you as he does.

When he pulls back again, he tells you, “Roll over.”

You immediately roll over for him, lying on your stomach beneath him. His hands pull your hips up onto your knees, the dress you’re wearing falls upwards and pools around further up your body. Your arms move to hold yourself up slightly, your back arched low. The position has you feeling completely exposed to him. His fingers graze over your core through your panties, the slight touch makes you twitch.

He hums at you, “Already so wet, I’ve only kissed you.”

“Kuai–”

His touch moves back to your core, firmer this time. The feeling cuts off your words, he pushes the tip of his finger into your pussy hole, held back by your underwear. The action results in your panties getting wetter. He’s toying with you, playing with you over your panties. His touch grazing over your core, making you twitch and squirm for him. He’s making you moan for him, purposefully touching you so you’ll whimper out his name.

His touch withdraws before he leans down, his face pressed to your core, his mouth over your panties. His tongue licking at you over them, the stimulation has you jumping forward and moans tumbling from your lips. His mouth soaks your panties completely, ruining them. Ashamedly, he gets you impeccably close to your end like this, so close to cumming in your underwear for him. Your moans reaching a higher pitch, coming more frequently.

Suddenly, he pulls back, removing all stimulation, your cunt pulsing from your almost orgasm.

“Mmm I bet you were close,” he comments, his observation makes you huff at him, your hips moving back at him, trying to entice him.

He hums and then his mouth moves to your arse cheek and bites down, you gasp and jump at the feeling. He’s no doubt left an impression of his teeth in your skin. Once he’s pulled back, he borderline moans at the state of you.

His tone is dark and pleased, “You look great with my teeth marking you.”

“Kuai, please, do something.”

He seemingly considers your words for a moment before answering, “Remember, you asked for it.”

The shuffling of his pants can be heard behind you and then he’s pulling your panties to the side. The head of his cock sliding through your slick for a moment before notching on your pussy hole, he slips the head in, giving you a moment to adjust to the stretch. The sensation is burning, he’s large in every way apparently and you really wish you could see him right now. What kind of face is he making, what does his cock look like entering you.

Your thoughts almost have your mouth drooling, instead, it’s your cunt drooling on him. Your wetness leaking from you onto the head of his cock. The sight of your obscene arousal has Kuai twitching inside you and a moan pulling from his chest. He can’t help the way he stuffs more of himself into your small pussy. His length opening you up, your cunt taking him as he inches into you. You’re pulsing around him in need, completely desperate for him at this point.

“Gods, I wanted this to be different but you drive me crazy,” his words are hissed out between his teeth.

You don’t have the time or brain cells to pull apart what he means, your hips push back on him, taking more of him. He moans and meets your thrust, pushing his cock all the way into you. Stuffing you full, your arse rests on his pelvis. He grinds into you, his hands gripping at your hips, holding you flush to him.

He groans reverently at the way your cunt grips him tightly. At the way you’re throbbing around him, you’re driving him just as crazy as he is you.

Whimpers spill from you as you try to speak, “P –hah– lease, move~” you squirm against him, grinding back on him, needing the friction, desperately.

His fingers dig into your plush skin, holding you tightly, “Give me a second, pretty. Gripping me so –mmmph– tight, I nee –ah– d a second.”

His words broken by whiney sounds set you on fire, you need him to move. Now. You draw forward, aiming to fuck yourself back on him but he grabs you and pulls you back forcefully, the sensation exactly what you wanted. A moan tumbling from you at the action, you want more. Greedy for him and his fat cock.

He grunts, “You’re needy –hah– fuck.” He pulls out slowly; leaving only the tip inside you, “–mmph– I’ll give you what you need,” he promises, before forcing himself back inside you.

You moan loudly, your fingers grip into the couch, your forehead pressed into the cushion below you. Kuai’s thrusts are harsh and fast, fucking you silly, using your body as a fuck toy. His hands holding you and fucking you back onto him, his cock hammering into your cervix. Your cunt pulses around him, your slick coating his dick completely. Lewd noises fill the room, wet slapping sounds echoing in the lounge.

He grunts and moans from behind you, the way he’s shoving his dick into you has you willing to worship the ground he walks on. He’s in the same boat regarding your cunt, obsessed with the way you cream around him, the way you grip him, the way you’re so wet he’s slipping in and out of you with ease.

You cry out his name, almost literally, eyes wet and glassy, “Kuai~”

“Hmm?” He asks mindlessly, too obsessed with watching the way you suck his cock in to pay attention to anything else.

“I wanna –hah– see you,” you whimper out to him, wanting to see him, to touch him.

He chuckles at your desperation, “Next time.” His promise of a next time makes your pussy jump, “You like that? The idea of me fucking you again? Having you regularly take my cock?”

You moan out shamelessly, not even trying to hide the way you’d love to be fucked by him daily, loving the idea of being stuffed full of him. Sitting on top of him with his cock in you, not moving just full of him. Your own imagery has you clenching down on him again, your whimpers spilling from you, a tear slipping from your eye at his relentless thrusts.

His hands on your hips are hot, his body heat in general making you sweat. His pelvis slaps into your arse consistently, you’re spasming around him. So close to finishing.

“Kuai~ I –mmph– I’m close–” Tears fall down your cheeks.

“Cum then,” he grunts out, encouraging you to finish on his dick.

His thrusts and the moans he’s letting slip have you cumming for him, hard. Your cunt grips down on him tight, vice like. Your own orgasm has him grunting loudly, his dick twitching inside you. Ropes of his cum filling you, he continues fucking it into you. Prolonging your orgasms and enjoying the way his cum leaks out around you both when he pulls out and stuffs himself back in.

The heat on your hips burns and you wince in pain, a small whimper exiting you at the feeling. He removes his hands suddenly, “Fuck, sorry. I’ve burnt you.”

“It’s okay…” you huff out, dazed from your orgasm but also okay with the burns.

He pulls out of you slowly, both of you groaning as he does. He pulls his pants up, taking his time to enjoy the view of his cum leaking from your pussy hole.

His hands gently trace over the burn marks of his hands, humming appreciatively. Enjoying the way his hands are burned into your soft flesh, “It’s a good look,” he comments.

You laugh airily at him, “Help me up?”

“Of course,” he pulls your panties back into place and then moves you into a sitting position on the couch.

“Thank you,” you smile at him.

He looks at you thoughtfully, his hands pulling your dress off completely out of nowhere. Your hands go to cover your chest at the sudden exposure, “What are you–”

“Wanna see the burns,” he frowns, looking you over, his hands so gentle with you. “I’ll be back, gonna get you some ice.”

He wanders off and grabs some ice blocks, wrapping them in tea towels and coming back to you. He holds them against your hips, soothing the burns. You aren’t bothered though, you like knowing that his hand prints will be seared into your skin for a while.

“I’m sorry, for burning you.”

“It’s okay… I liked it…” you shy away from his gaze, looking off into the distance.

He takes in a deep breath from beside you, “I didn’t say earlier but… I love you too.”

You look back at him, a shocked expression on your face, “You do?”

“Of course,” he smiles softly at you, “I was rough and didn’t express myself in a healthy way.”

You implore him, “What happened today?”

He frowns, “You know that guy, the one you hang out with.”

“My friend? Yes…”

“He�� was boasting about you liking him, about how obvious it was. When I told him you did not, he called me jealous… He is not a good person, but I realised I was jealous. Because I want you. And I want you to only want me…” His words are filled with annoyance, getting angry again at the memory of your so called ‘friend’ being a pompous ass.

Your hands move to hold his face, making him look at you, “I do want only you, always have.”

He melts for you, “Good.” His smile is soft but then his eyes wander down, staring at your uncovered chest. It makes you roll your eyes at him.

“Eyes up here,” you joke.

He doesn’t look back up, gaze staying on your tits, “I know.”

You move a hand to his chin and use it to tilt his eye line back up to yours, “Don’t be a perv.”

He raises his eyebrows suggestively at you before he holds the side of your face tenderly, serious as he says, “I know I’ve already said it but I am sorry about taking my anger out on you.”

“And like I said… I liked it.”

“You’re making it hard to be sorry,” he sighs, amused by you.

You smile coquettishly at him, “I don’t want you to be sorry.”

He leans in and kisses you, it’s tender and warm. He makes your brain fuzzy and you’re happy, always happy when he’s next to you.

You can feel his light smile against your lips when he pulls back, “Then, I’m not sorry.”

₊ ⊹

A/N: Thank you for reading!!! I hope you enjoyed it :)) and I should have access to my laptop tomorrow so hopefully ‘Bare’ pt 2 will be up sooner rather than later <33

As per usual, if you have any thoughts, feelings or requests feel free to slide into my inbox <333

[bokutosbiceps]

don't overthink it

tokita ohma x gn!reader | fluff | 1.3k words

prompt: ohma + “since when do you blush around me?”

warnings: some suggestive/18+ themes but nothing explicit

a/n: the more i write for ohms the more i fucking love him 🥺 it’s so pathetic. ALSO, AGAIN, OHMS IS NOT A TYPO. IT’S MY CUTE NICKNAME FOR HIM THAT NO ONE CAN TAKE AWAY FROM ME. also i’m p sure i made this gn, but please let me know if there are any gender specific identifiers so I can fix that 😉

18+ MINORS DNI

You scrunched your nose at a tickling sensation that woke you up. Willing your eyes to creak open, you squinted at the bright afternoon sunlight flooding into your window. Not really bothering to find out the source of the tickling, you made an effort to turn around in bed but a sturdy hold on your waist forbade you from doing this. You figured you had just wrapped yourself too tight in your blankets again and made a pushing movement to whatever was around your waist.

The feeling of your fingertips coming into contact with skin made you jolt from your stupor and you fully opened your eyes to see a mess of wavy, brown hair just below you. You knew exactly who this unruly head of hair belonged to. Looking down, you saw Ohma holding on to you tightly, his face nestled in your bosom. You felt your face heat up at the intimacy of the situation and wondered when you ever got this close. Then you remembered.

You had been invited by Ohma to come watch the Kengan tournament, and weeks of watching him train and watching him win matches had ensued, and you were always there after the matches to keep him company. You were one of the few people that Ohma could stand for more than a few minutes; he liked your personality and he liked your face. He really couldn’t complain. But he especially liked how you doted on him after his matches, always worrying over his bruises and scrapes or gaping in awe at his strength despite his injuries.

The events of last night flooded back to you as your brain sprinted to catch up with your thoughts. Ohma had showed up to your hotel room at two in the morning, completely unannounced. You quickly allowed him inside after seeing an unusual look on his face. You had only seen him like this once, and that was after meeting Setsuna for the first time after many years. He looked like he could’ve killed a god in that moment.

After an hour of him silently laying on his back, staring at the ceiling, you coaxed him into speaking. He started to talk about his childhood, his past. You were worried, he was not a sentimental person. You asked him about the future, since it seemed like he was specifically avoiding that topic.

“I don’t think about the future much.” Ohma blinked at the ceiling before turning his gaze to you.

“How can you say that? You’re always thinking about your next meal.” You teased, reaching over to flick him from where you sat cross legged on the bed with him.

“True.” He sat up and propped himself on his elbows still looking at you. “Thinking about the future is pointless, though. I don’t know what will happen and thinking about it won’t change anything.” His gaze was unusually soft.

“Ohms, what’s going on with you? You’re scaring me.” You scooted closer to him and placed your hand on his knee, almost pleading with him. “We’re friends. You can talk to me about anything.”

With speed that only Ohma could muster, he grabbed your hand from his knee and used it to pull you forward into his lap, keeping his eyes trained on yours. Before you could ask what he was doing, he moved your hand to the back of his neck and you gripped it, allowing Ohma to pull you to his lips.

He kissed you roughly, but with a slow sensuality that seemed almost like he was savoring it, drinking in every second. He laid back down on the bed, pulling you on top of him and continuing to move his lips with yours.

You placed your hands on his chest and pressed, effectively pulling your lips from his, only a thin string of saliva connecting you.

“What are you doing?” You panted, somewhat shocked that Ohma had just crossed that bridge with you but also somewhat pleasantly surprised.

“Kissing you.” Ohma smirked up at you, letting his head rest back on the bed, your face still in his large hands.

“Why?”

“Because I’ve been wanting to do it for a long time.” Ohma traced your lips with his thumb, still looking up at you. “Do you want to stop?”

“No.” You muttered, and before you knew it, your head was dipping back down to connect your lips again. Ohma rolled over so that you were under him and separated his lips from yours to pull off his shirt before making quick work of yours.

You and Ohma had crossed the bridge that you never dreamed that you would cross, but you had always hoped you would. And you didn’t know it, but he had been hoping, too.

And now, here he was, cuddled up to you and snoozing peacefully.

You felt your eyelids begin to feel heavy once again and cast aside all of your frantic thoughts to welcome a short nap. You would deal with this later.

Two hours later, you woke up to an empty bed. You assumed you must have been dreaming about the romp you had shared with Ohma last night, or that you woke up in his arms, and turned over on your back to stare at the ceiling. You thought back to how nice it felt to be held by him, kissed by him, touched by him…

Once again, you were jolted from your thoughts by the bathroom door opening and shutting, producing a very naked Ohma.

You sat up quickly, blushing deeply once you realized this was real and you were also very naked, and gathered the sheets to cover your chest.

“Since when do you blush around me?” Ohma cocked an eyebrow as he approached you, standing next to the bed. You averted your eyes from his body, trying your hardest not to stare.

“Since you came in here last night and fucked me?”

“Was it that surprising to you?”

“Yes! I thought we were just friends! You never seemed interested in me, or anyone, for that matter!”

Ohma let out a dry laugh. “You didn’t know I was into you?”

“No, Ohma, I didn’t!”

“Well, now you know.”

Silence ensued for a couple of seconds, both of you wondering how this would continue. You were the first to speak up.

“So, what are we?”

Ohma frowned.

“Labels are stupid, you know? Isn’t it enough to know that I love you?”

Your mind was thrown into a frenzy. He loved you? You had barely ever seen emotions come from this man, but here he was, telling you he loved you?

“Ohma…love? What do you mean by love? As in, like, a friend or a girlfriend, because, we just had sex and—” Ohma shut you up with a kiss and a sigh, a small smile playing on his lips as they met yours. He held your face by your chin once he pulled away. You relaxed a little bit.

“You remember when you asked me what I think about the future?”

You nodded slowly.

“I think about you.” Ohma let go of your chin and gazed down at you. You tried extremely hard to avoid looking at his tanned and toned body before you, since the guy had just confessed to you, but you found yourself really struggling. He spoke again, snapping you out of your lustful daze. “Does that answer your question?”

You thought about it. Ohma was the type of man to mean what he said and say what he meant. If he was telling you he loved you, it must have been because he truly meant it. You stood up and placed your hands on either side of his face, watching your thumbs as they lightly skimmed over his cheekbones. You felt him staring at you as you took your time admiring his features, likely awaiting your response. You placed a chaste kiss to his lips.

“Yes.”

[alwayslurkinginthebackground]

After - A Pedrotober Drabble

Day Twenty-Eight of Pedrotober: Any Marcus Pedrotober Hosted by @norththelemon and @alyssamariag. View the full prompt list HERE and view my entire Pedrotober drabble catalog HERE.

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x f!reader

Rating: You already know it's E. Rough p in v (but also soft?), oral (fem receiving), pretty heavy hints of PTSD.

Word Count: 1414

a/n: Back by popular demand, our Roman Empire. This directly correlates to "Before," and the original fic "Fate," but neither is necessarily essential for you to understand this.

He comes back to you.

Against all odds, he's here. In your arms. Marked by scars that run in long lines across his skin, but with a heart that still beats surely beneath the surface. Your hands run through his hair slowly, trying to understand the way his mind has changed, too. To determine what you can do to help ease the horror you know consistently repeats there.

Because he never wanted this life. Not for himself. Not for you. Not for anyone in Rome.

"Marcus?" you question, easing one leg over his thighs so you're in his lap. The water is warm around you, a luxury you have largely gone without in the years since his departure, and you can feel the way your fingertips wrinkle after the time you've spent wading in it. "Marcus, please," you beg, hoping that you can draw him back to the surface and away from whatever is replaying behind his darkened gaze.

When he still doesn't respond, you kiss him, shifting in his lap so his hardening cock is pressed between you. Your hands run up the firm muscles of his chest to the sides of his face, trying to convey to him that he's safe through your touch. That for every day you marked on the walls of your chambers, you've thought only of him. Prayed to Mars that he would find his way home and to Jupiter that you would live to see it.

They answered, and for however short a time, they are allowing you this.

It's fleeting, the moments you share with him, because there is no question where his fate will lead him next. Back to the halls where you first fell in love, destined to exhibit the same strength that overtook entire cities. Vitality that is now nothing more than a simple amusement to the Emperors enthralled by the brutal battles that take place in their arena. It makes you frantic, the reality that at any moment he could be ripped from you again. Only this time, you are certain that there will be no return.

"Come back to me," you plead again, resting your forehead against his, determined to make the most of the present. Of the time you do have left. It takes a moment longer, but you know he's finally broken free from the confines of his mind when the wide expanse of his hand rests against the small of your back, pulling you ever closer. He finds his home against your neck and your head falls back, the ends of your hair dipping into the water.

Slowly, you rise on your knees, Marcus following your lead as he reaches between you to guide himself between your folds. "I love you," he whispers, the echoes of before lingering as he slides you back down, filling you completely in one swift motion. It's not close enough. It never has been and it never will be, but this in itself is a blessing. The feeling of him inside you, around you, here with you.

The way you were once so certain he wouldn't be again.

But there are moments where you wonder if the man who rocks into you now is the same one who murmured promises into your skin. Before, when your darkness turned to light in his presence and he vowed to take care of you. Before he was forced to complete his duty to the empire and returned to your arms broken and shattered.

In many ways, you're sure it is. You hear it in the way he says your name and how he holds you against him during the night. Feel it in the way he breathes you in every time your lips touch his. And when you can coax a laugh from the depths of his soul it sounds exactly how you remember, so full of life and love. The sound that is the very reassurance that the Marcus you know, your Marcus, is alive.

But there are hints of something else there, too. Something dark that looms at the edges of his reality. He's rougher, not just in appearance, but in the way he commands your body. So much of the gentleness you can recall seems lost on the battlefield and replaced by something raw and tinged with violence.

He lifts you from the water with ease, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carries you back to his bed without ever slipping from your core. The moon offers no light this evening, darkness only overpowered by the soft glow of candlelight, glistening on your wet skin as he lowers you to the bed. He pumps into you roughly once, then twice, before pulling out to turn you on your stomach, and you barely have time to crawl to your knees at the edge of the bed before he thrusts his cock home.

It doesn't hurt, the way he takes you, not truly, because you know it's what he needs. He needs to feel you, to use you, because you are the only one who can help him forget. This is what allows him the respite from the nightmares, to let the memories of his own inhumanity fade from existence as he loses himself in pleasure. Loses himself in you.

Marcus lets out a harsh groan, the pitch of his voice low. His breathing is erratic, and as you glance back at him over your shoulder, you notice the way his eyes are distant once more. Tense fingers grip at your hips, leaving indentations in your skin as he pulls you back against him at a rapid pace.

You let your arms give out beneath you, head falling into the sheets that still smell of sex. It changes the angle, allowing his shaft to ease deeper, and a moan flows from your chest at its impact. "Marcus," you mutter, your hand reaching behind you to grasp his wrist, to try again to drag him from the haze.

This time, it doesn't work.

He never falters, not even as he fights against the demons that threaten to consume him. He allows himself to be lost in you, in the way you feel around him, in the pleasure you ring from his body, and you take it all. You let him sculpt you like wet clay as he hauls your body against his, gripping at your breast as he buries himself inside you. A large hand dwarfs your own when he spills his seed in your welcoming heat, his breath heavy even as he bites into the delicate skin of your shoulder.

It's paralyzing, the way Marcus holds you like you are life itself. Grasping at it before it can shift just out of reach and clinging to it like a dead man walking. And in some ways, that's what you both are. Two souls fated for something beyond your control, destined to find each other, to consume each other, and to ruin each other in the process.

But again, the Marcus you remember returns. Slips back to the existence you share as he eases out of you, holding you in place at the edge of the bed when he drops to his knees and replaces his length with long fingers. Without hesitation, he runs his tongue through your folds, erasing the evidence he has left between your thighs, and it's familiar, the way he shifts the heavens and the earth before you come crashing down with a whimper and a whispered "I love you."

He remains with you in the aftermath, running a damp cloth across your skin and kissing away the marks he left in his wake. You let him tend to you, each whisper an apology for what he has done. Not just to you, but to the world. To every soul he has touched and every life he has destroyed.

You long to ease the pain that taints his heart, and you try. You try to relieve the agony by bringing his head to your chest to confirm for him that you're alive. That for however long the gods give you, he can return to this place where he will not be judged for his strength or for the atrocities he has committed.

And, you reassure him, that even if you cannot keep him here, you will follow wherever he goes. Regardless of time or place or life or death, you will pursue him. Into the after, into the beyond. Forever.

[callsignthirsty]

Thirsty - 55 AND JAKE IM BEGGING YOU

HEY SUNNY!

YOU DON’T NEED TO BEG unless you wanted it in a timely manner. I HOPE YOU LIKE IT.

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x F!reader Word Count: 850 Warnings: smut, overstimulation, p in v, mentioned fingering, mentioned oral (fem receiving), the mortification of being walking in on Minors DNI

Smut Prompt #55

You’ve been seeing Hangman for a couple months now. Suffice to say, the uranium mission had made him much more agreeable. Easier to palate. Just enough of his edges smoothed to make his smart mouth charming where it had once provoked with sarcasm and biting wit. And in that time, you hadn’t exactly wanted for sex. Hangman’s appetite was something else; you can’t think of a single time he’s left you wanting. But that doesn’t mean that you don’t like to take things into—ahem—your own hands every now and then. So when Hangman grumbles that Cyclone has wrangled him into a late night at North Island, you decide to have some fun.

Your assigned housing unit’s door doesn’t creak anymore since Hangman fixed it. Not that you’d have noticed after half a bottle of wine, anyway. You’d been too distracted to hear your spare key snick the deadbolt or the door open. So you were shocked into momentary stillness when Jake appeared in your doorway hardly thirty minutes after he’d usually roll around. Staying late, your ass.

“What’s wrong, darlin’?” he asks, eyes drinking you in unabashedly where you’re spread out on your bed, fingers buried between your legs. “Don’t stop on my account.”

You heaved a sigh. That wasn’t how you’d planned on your night going. Reassuring your situationship that taking your pleasure into your own hands wasn’t a reflection on his ability to get you off. “It’s not like that.”

“What’s it like, then?”

You decide direct is the best approach. “Sometimes I just want to cum.” And you’d assumed he wouldn’t be stopping by after his apparently-not-so-late night.

Hangman hums as if he’s mulling it over while he unbuttons his khaki top, dropping it as he steps forward to tower over you in his undershirt and regulation pants. “Well, since you want to cum so badly, why don’t we see how many times I can make you cum right now.”

When Hangman gets something in his head, he chases after it with his entire being. It’s one of the things about him that had both infuriated and fascinated you.

So, the answer is five.

Once as he guided your hips in a sinful grind against his thigh, sucking a bruise into your collarbone. Again with his fingers massaging the sensitive walls of your cunt and pure filth caressing your ear. Twice with his face nestled between your thighs—technically a third when he used his tongue and fingers in tandem.

“Jake,” you whimper, lightly swatting his head away from your quivering, oversensitive pussy. “That’s– ah! That’s enough.”

He chuckles, the sound originating deep in his chest. “You sure?” he asks, crawling up your tired body. All you want to do is sink into your mattress, but plush lips catch your nipple, and you can’t help the way you arch into the slick heat. He lets your nipple go with a pop. “I think I can get one more out of you.”

He takes his time playing with your tits before he nudges your legs far enough apart for his hips to slot between them. He shudders as he presses himself close, lazily thrusting his long-ignored cock along the length of your cunt. Nudging your clit and sending sparks crackling all throughout your system before drawing back to start over again. You wonder, a little hysterically, if he broke something inside of you. If he’d knocked a screw loose for you to want it after the wringer he’s purposely put your body through.

As the sensation walks the fine line between pain and delicious pleasure, you wrap your legs around his hips and roll into his next thrust. Offer him more of the friction you know he craves. He looks every bit the cat who got the cream as he brings a hand down to position himself at your entrance, but he pushes in slowly. Relief and restraint warring on his face as his jaw slackens and he fights to push in slowly, the movement slick from how wet he’s gotten you.

“There you go,” Jake rasps, muscles bunching as he lowers himself to capture bitten lips in a kiss. The rhythm he starts is gentler than you think he’s been with you before, but he’s brushing all the spots that wind you tightest. His pale eyes are half-lidded. “This okay?”

It’s over far sooner than you could have anticipated, but with everything else you’ve endured and the way Jake grinds against your sweet spot with unerring accuracy, liquid gold rushes through your veins as he makes you fall apart in record time.

“So fuckin’ hot,” Jake groans, pulling out of you to strip his cock. Grunting as he shudders through his orgasm, pearly ropes decorating your abdomen.

“Six,” he says, pressing a kiss to your stomach before leaving the bed to retrieve a washcloth.

You’d throw your pillow at him if it weren’t so comfy… or if you could get your arms to work. “Don’t sound so smug.”

“Whatever you say, darlin’.”

You’re asleep by the time he gets back to the bed with that washcloth.

[corazondebeskar-reads]

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

well it’s love, make it hurt series

seven: you say who I am is quite enough

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

dom!Din Djarin x sub!f!reader

Word Count: 6.6k

Summary: Boundaries get blurred when following a trail for a big-ticket bounty leads to a nightclub catering to clients of a specific taste. AKA you and Mando go to a sex club (but for work.)

Warnings: BDSM, bdsm club, bdsm scene, dom! Din Djarin and sub!reader, established relationship, minor original characters, bondage, p in v unprotected sex, orgasm denial, use of a vibrator, nipple clamps, bounty hunting, soft!dom Din Djarin, aftercare

Originally written for Kinktober Day 12 - Orgasm Denial, inspired by @absurdthirst’s wonderful prompt list,

also on ao3

3 ABY - Winter

“There,” Mando says, “Wait, go back.” He takes the datapad from you and scrolls back up, pointing out a location ping from the target’s log. “I know that place.”

The bounty, Olin Vanda, was former ISB who had made a lot of enemies in his time terrorizing the citizens of Morlana One. Without any recent location data to work with and most of the ISB scattered or underground, you were stuck digging for clues.

“What is it?” you say, pulling the map’s edges to get closer to the grid.

“It’s a nightclub in the leisure district.”

“He sure was a frequent visitor.” Vanda’s records show him at the club once a week or so over his three-year stint on planet. “I thought we decided Morlana was a dead end.”

“We thought there wouldn’t be anyone with anything of value to tell us. But I know someone there.”

“Oh, were you also a frequent visitor at a nightclub in the leisure district?” You tease, but he looks away for a moment, thumb rubbing against the side of his fidgety fingers while the other twitched where it rested on his knee.

“Oh, shit, you were.”

He heaves a world-weary sigh, shoulders slumping, and looks up at the ceiling. “Yes.”

“What do you do at a nightclub? Do you dance?” You grin ear to ear, poking him in the side.

He groans, gloved hands covering his visor. “It’s not that kind of club.”

“There are other types of nightclubs? Oh, kriff, are you saying—”

“Yes. It’s a sex club. I went to a sex club.” He has his arms crossed now, looking at you with his helmet tilted slightly forward. Waiting for you to say something stupid.

But you flush and shut your mouth.

“Nothing smart to say?”

You shake your head.

“Go on. Ask me.”

“It’s fine, that’s, um. That’s your business.”

“You’ll have to know before we get there, anyway.” He kicks back, legs crossed at the ankle, and leans against the wall with his arms behind his head.

You don’t dare speak, and after he gives you a moment to interrupt, he focuses on you, wanting to see how you react to his story.

“I ran with a group for a while when I was younger. Rougher types. I was a different man, then. Angrier. They liked to blow off steam in a lot of ways, most of which I couldn’t or wouldn’t participate.” He dips his helmet briefly.

“They’d give me a lot of shit over it, so I started going when they went to these clubs. It was something I could do, that I wanted to do. But Axis was different. It caters to a certain kind of clientele. With particular tastes.”

He looks down for a moment, and you gasp softly. “Oh,” you brush a hand over your collar. “That’s—”

“Yes. That’s where I learned about all the little games you let me play, sweetheart. They all thought it was a fun laugh. Some of it hot, but a lot of it just a big joke. But I kept going back. After a few times on my own, one of the Madames who runs—or ran, I guess I don’t know—started to show me things. Back then, I thought she pitied me for being clueless. Now, I think she was more worried that I was dangerous.”

“Because you’re Mandalorian?”

“No, because I was a headstrong, large being with a clear rage issue. There are so many ways things can go wrong like that. I guess she wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to hurt anyone.”

It was your turn to tilt your head a little, examining him under the new information you had greedily absorbed. “I can’t imagine you being capable.”

“You didn’t know me then. Anyway, I wouldn’t have. The whole idea of abusing your sub was too baffling to me—the beauty of it is in the symbiosis. The give and take.”

You smirk. “You are very good at both.”

He lowers an arm to reach for you, pulling you across the crate to sit beside him as soon as you scooch near enough. “Thank you, cyar’ika,” he murmurs, arm wrapping around your shoulder.

You lean against him, tucked into the warm gap where his arm and side are free of beskar.

“So we’re going to see if she still works there?”

“I was close with a few of the workers. Couple of the professionals, bartenders, other management. I used to help out a little with the troublemakers. If someone was crossing a line.”

You shake your head. “Knew it. You were a softie even then.”

“Oh, I’m a softie?”

“Very much so.”

“That's what those bruises on your ass mean to you?”

You nudge him with your shoulder, laughing. “Kind of. I mean, I did ask for it. All I ever have to do is ask nicely.”

“Hmm.” He taps his foot, and you suddenly don’t like the way he fell deep in thought. “I’ll remember that.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Uh-oh is right, sweetheart. But we have a job to do.”

You land on Morlana One two days later. You pace in the cockpit, with nothing to do but wait for evening.

Mando was in the hull, working on modifiers for one of his pistols. Or, he was trying, but the possibility you would wear a hole in the floor and fall through was distracting.

“Come down here,” he calls, setting his tools to the side.

You clamber down the ladder, jumping off halfway. “What?”

“Sit,” he points at the stack of crates where your old bedroll still lives.

You hop up and cross your legs. He watches as your right knee bounces and your eyes cast around the hull, head swiveling like a convor.

“You’re nervous.”

You stop moving entirely, his scrutiny a wedge in your gears. “Why would I be nervous about recon? There’s not even going to be a fight today.”

“Hmm.” He's not so sure. But the fight he anticipates is a little more internal, and he wagers a bet you were struggling with the same thing.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask. Your knee slips back into motion.

“Like what.” he says flatly.

“Oh, ha ha. Yes, it’s funny, see, because you have a helmet, and no one knows what you’re thinking, but you can see everyone else’s feelings and—”

“Hey. Take a breath.” He stands and walks to sit next to you.

You sigh. “You’re so calm about this.”

“No reason to be anything else,” he shrugs.

Easy for him to say. You had both agreed this had to go a certain way. If no one there remembered him, he was an armed bounty hunter walking into a club of people who would not want to be recognized.

People who would probably be more comfortable if they saw him on the same level.

So you had agreed, yes, to “pose” as his sub. You would wear his collar. You would dress and act the part.

You were used to playing stupid or flirting with marks, but you still held the power in those situations. You had the advantage. This time, you would have no way to influence the outcome. Unarmed, and weak.

“We don’t have to do this,” he says, reaching to hold your hand. He's not geared up yet, and the warm strength of his grasp helps a little.

“I’ll be fine, it’s just weird.” Even the outfit felt weird. It was yours; you had worn it for a hundred ops—it fit in perfectly on Cantonica. Granted, it wasn’t a lot of clothing, but you usually felt good in it. Strong.

Right now, you just feel exposed. The nylon shorts areshort, with straps not unlike a holster down one thigh. The shirt is cut short, too, with thick bands that crisscross your shoulders. It has a soft linen cloak attached, with a generous hood and a split panel that runs about mid-calf down your back.

The design was meant to help you conceal weapons. Actual holsters blend into the strappy patterns, and the cloak helps conceal firearms. Not that you’ll be taking any, this time.

You shift on the bench, tugging at the hemline of your shorts.

“It is a little weird,” he agrees. “There’s going to be people fucking and tying each other up, and I’m supposed to keep my hands off you?”

You huff a laugh that doesn’t reach your eyes. “I don’t want this to change how you see me as a partner.”

“Cyar’ika, if anything, I know better than anyone how absolutely terrifying you can be.”

“Shut up,” you mumble, but smile.

On your walk to the district, though, it becomes apparent that he is not as calm as he wanted to be.

“You probably shouldn’t make eye contact with anyone,” he says as you turn a corner. He had been dropping these little fun suggestions the whole way.

“Okay,” you had agreed to each. Don’t talk to anyone who doesn’t talk to you first. Sit still and listen. Look to him before agreeing to anything you’re asked. And on and on.

“Will they kick us out if I forget any of this?”

“No, just. There’s a certain expectation for experienced guests. And we don’t want anyone to think you aren’t experienced. Or that I’m not. Draws attention from the wrong people.”

You consider this quietly until you're steps away from the club. “Mando,” you grab his arm to stop him. “If these are expectations, do you—are you—”

“Do I wish you did all of those things?”

You nod, rubbing your arm and focusing on the neon reflecting off the puddles.

“No. If I wished you would behave a certain way, I’d tell you. Like now, when you’re not looking at me.”

You look up at him immediately, feeling very foolish for worrying about it in the first place. He hasn’t been shy about correcting your behavior or coaching you on the way he likes things done.

He puts his hands on your shoulders. “Everything you do for me is perfect. And this is going to be fine.”

You can only nod, nausea eating away at your nerve.

He shows something to the Devaronian at the door, who steps aside to let you both through. Mando guides you by the hand so you can keep your eyes down.

It's so hard. The club is noisy, claustrophobic despite its sprawling footprint, with red velvet and leather and the smell of polish and sweat. You don’t dare look closer.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the blur of bodies. People sitting and chatting, sipping at drinks. Someone dancing on a small stage. Someone with a cock down their throat, kneeling before someone else in tall leather boots.

Mando stops by the bar and leans over, talking quietly to the Twi’lek mixing drinks. She nods and ducks through a curtain behind the counter, and Mando leads you over to an open sofa. He settles, but you waver. Should you sit next to him? Should you kneel on the floor?

He makes the decision for you, tugging you into his lap so you're straddling his thighs, allowing you to hide your face in his cowl, or—as he probably intended—lean your ear down near the helmet to hear him.

“Doing okay?” he murmurs, and you nod into his shoulder. “You can hide this time,” he says, a hand settling on your lower back.

You take a few deep breaths, willing your body into holding a loose, relaxed position. Like you're comfortable here. Like you do this all the time.

He scoops the tails of your cloak to the side, tucked up and out of the way, but unfortunately, also showing off how high the shorts ride up on your thighs. Before you can fuss, though, he solves the problem by wrapping his other hand around your ass.

He lounges, idly watching the activities. He nudges you and points at a couple in the corner nearby. An older man is tied securely to a post, arms above his head and ankles bound to brackets in the floor so his legs are spread wide. His partner works him over with a short whip. They are both clearly enjoying themselves.

You promptly bury your face back in his shoulder, and he chuckles. “Too much? Or would you let me try it?”

Your hips give a very small jerk forward, catching on the seam of his pants before you get control of yourself. “Um.”

But whatever you were about to say is cut off when a stranger approaches. “I have to tell you, I didn’t quite believe Nia when she said you were looking for me.”

“Anissa,” he says, reaching his arm away from your back to accept a sideways hug from the woman. “It’s been a long time.”

“It’s been a damn decade, Mando. Too busy to visit me?” She pauses, seeming to notice you for the first time. “Well, certainly a little busy.”

He nudges you, dipping his head to let you know it was okay to look. It was harder than you would ever admit to pull yourself away from him. You hadn’t felt this unmoored in a situation in decades.

“This is my girl,” he says, warm pride in the undercurrent of his soothing voice. “Cyar’ika, I’d like you to meet my good friend, Madame Anissa.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Madame,” you say softly, inclining your head. My girl. Your brain trips over the echo of his voice, and you forget what comes next. Should you shake her hand? Was it okay for you to have addressed her directly?

“It is very nice to meet you,” she says, extending her own hand to save you the trouble. You shake it, and she clasps your hand gently between both of hers. Her hands are soft and dark, with short nails painted bright blue. She's tall and very beautiful, older, with some white in her curls, and laugh lines deep in her face. Her eyes, though. Pretty as they are, what holds your gaze was the inherent kindness behind them.

When she lets go, you take a quick look around, which is when you notice the woman kneeling patiently at her feet. She's looking at you already, not hesitant about where her eyes linger, though she does not look at Mando.

She looks tense, almost defensive. Her shoulders are taut and her spine straight, hands clasped in her lap. Not defensive, you realize. Postured. A practiced pose. When you look up at her face, she smiles.

You smile back, somehow, despite the constant beat of run run run in your chest.

“So, Mando, business or pleasure?” Anissa asks with the rise of a carefully groomed eyebrow.

“Both, unfortunately,” he says.

You look at him, a little perplexed at the honesty in his tone. He strokes gloved fingers up and down your spine, and you hold your tongue.

“Business first, shall we? Why don’t we let the girls go to the lounge while we talk?”

“She can stay,” Mando says immediately. “She knows my business.”

“I wouldn’t want Mara to be left alone,” Anissa says. Her meaning us clear, and so Mando looks to you.

“The lounge is just over there, and it’s for subs only,” he says. “You stay with Mara.”

“Yes, sir,” you say, rising from his lap. It makes you jittery to call him that in public. While working.

Mara stands and offers you her hand. Not usually one to be tactile with a stranger, you take it anyway and let her lead the way.

She punches in a code at the door’s panel, and it slides to the side to reveal a small parlor in shades of blue. The walls are pale, and there is a soft, lush carpet in navy. An archway leads to a dressing room of sorts, with tables and lighted mirrors and cushioned stools. Mara points out the door to the refresher inside.

“So we don’t have to share with the doms,” she says. “Y’know.”

You nod, trying to get your bearings. It's like being two people at once. Bounty Hunter you takes in every detail, noting the faces of each being, and registering the single exit and entry point. But the Other you, the new one who never had to talk to anyone but Mando, is overwhelmed.

She leads you over to a corner where a small kitchenette is set up and offers you a drink or snack. You accept a bottle of water but, as good as they look, pass on the iced cookies. You aren’t sure of the integrity of your lunch with the way your nerves refuse to settle, so something sweet feels like an invitation for disaster.

When you were seated on a plush sofa, legs tucked underneath you and twisting the lid on and off the water, she sets a hand on your knee.

“Do you need help?” she asks, voice soft. leaning forward so her long, red hair fell over where her arm reached for you.

“What?”

“Just, you know. Are you safe? We can help you if you aren’t.” Her dark eyes are wide and genuine.

Warm relief washes through you. “Oh! Yes, I promise. He looks scary, but he’s very kind.”

“And you’re allowed to say no?” Mara asks, still very serious.

“Yes. And we have a… a safeword?” You aren’t sure if the term he used was universal.

She sighs and smiles. “If that changes, you let me know, okay?”

You agree easily, though you doubt you’ll ever be here again.

She pulls out a small datapad and stands. “Wait here, I’ll be right back. Madame wants a drink,” she says, with an exaggerated roll of her eyes.

Mando pauses mid-sentence when Mara ducks in to slip a pink cocktail to her Madame. He waits until she's gone back toward the lounge.

“I take it I passed the test.”

Madame Anissa laughs, setting the drink down since there is no need for the pretense. “It has been ten years,” she says.

“I’m glad you did it,” he agrees.

“She seems like a sweet girl,” Anissa muses, “if maybe inexperienced.”

“I thought you wanted to talk business first?”

“You haven’t changed at all, have you? Good.” She claps her hands together and rests them on her knees. “What do you need?”

Mara returns to find you talking to a man, a younger Twi’lek named Ari, whose light green skin is barely visible through his extensive tattoos.

“So you don’t know what he looks like?” he was asking you.

You shake your head. “I don’t know what his face looks like. Except, I don’t know. I do?”

“You peeked?” Mara asks as she takes her seat back beside you.

“No! No, I just mean. The helmet is the only face I’ll ever know, right? So, I don’t know. I don’t really think about the other one.” Except when he was between your legs, hot mouth making you see stars.

“You’re not curious at all?” Ari asks.

“I didn’t say that. But it’s not important.” You shrug. “That’s just him, to me.”

They let you change the subject and chat a little about their own lives, who they are outside of their relationships. The whole time, though, your stomach churns. You don’t belong here, it seemed to say. These are good people.

And something horrible aches inside you. You like them. You want to stay here on this little couch and talk and laugh. They're nice and so comfortable with themselves, even in this weird tiny room where you all exist between two halves of yourselves.

Another life hangs in the air. A bad habit of yours, to conjure what you can’t have. A life where Mando brings you here all the time, to be together outside of the Crest. Where you’d lay your head in Ari’s lap and listen to him gossip about the will-they-won’t-they customers or Nia’s affair with the doorman. Where Mara would let you braid her hair, and you could swap secrets and laugh at jokes only the two of you understood.

A life with Mando in it for a long, long time.

You're saved from them asking why you had gone quiet, saved from your childish desires, when Mara’s datapad chirps.

“They want us to come back out now. Or, I’m guessing, your Mandalorian is getting lonely,” she teases.

More like he had completed his mission and was ready to move on, you think.

But instead of standing to leave when you find him, he gestures for you to sit back down on his lap. Mara helps herself to Madame Anissa’s lap, earning a swat for being cheeky, but no other scolding.

“Mando,” Anissa drawls. “Is she wearing a collar?”

His grip tightens, his fingers digging into your waist a little. “Yes.”

You hold very still, breathing shallow, trying to parse his reaction.

“I never thought I’d see the day,” Anissa shakes her head. “Maybe you have changed.”

“I like to think so,” he says quietly.

You stare at the edge of the sofa just over his shoulder. Afraid if you move, draw his attention by hiding your face, that you’d be caught listening. Not that they really could expect you not to, you reason.

“Cyar’ika,” Mando says.

“Yes, sir?”

He's quiet, this conversation just for you. “Madame Anissa offered us a room, if you’d like. A private room, I mean. For a couple hours, or for the night. We could get going in the morning.”

The air is thick and cloying, catching in your throat. He wants to stay here? He didn’t want to get on the trail, sleep through the journey?

“We don’t have to,” he rushes to assure you.

You bite your lip. Your gut says yes, please, let me have you like this for a little bit longer. “If you’d like,” you test.

He quirks his head, and you raise your eyebrows before you realize your mistake. He was asking your opinion and expected you to give it.

“I’d like that, I mean,” you confess, looking right into his visor.

“Is that a yes, then?” Anissa asks, not at all ashamed for eavesdropping.

“Yes, please,” Mando tells her.

She stands, Mara scrambling off her lap in time to avoid falling.

Mando makes to follow her, but Mara grabs your hand before you can go with him.

“I meant it,” she says. “You come find me if you need anything.” She stares unwaveringly into your eyes.

“I will,” you say, squeezing her hand. “I won’t need to, though.”

She squeezes back and lets you go.

The room is intimidating. It wasn’t meant to be, draped in shades of green and brown. But in addition to the huge bed is an assortment of furniture and accessories unlike you had ever seen. Not that it was hard to guess what they were for.

When Anissa leaves, door clicking into place behind her, it's the most awkward you’d felt with Mando in nearly a year. He, of course, didn’t miss a thing.

“We can just sleep,” he says, tugging your hand to sit beside him on the edge of the bed.

You shake your head and sink to kneel in front of him, leaning your head against his leg.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says, tugging his gloves off and cupping your cheek. “You’ve been on the edge all day, haven’t you?”

You nod against his palm, eyes slipping closed. The floor is warm, unusually so, like there was a heating system beneath. The planks were practical for a room that probably saw a lot of fluids, but not uncomfortable.

“So if you don’t want to sleep…” he says, running a thumb over your bottom lip.

You look up at him, something warm in your gaze. “Let me guess,” you say, pressing a soft kiss to his digit. “You want to try something.”

He laughs, and the last of the uneasiness leaves you in a soft sigh.

“I do. But not with any of that,” he gestures to what you could only describe as sex furniture. “Not tonight, anyway. Just something simple. Easy.”

“That sounds nice,” you agree. Your limbs are heavy, and you're starting to come down from the adrenaline rush from all the new and intimidating stimuli from the day.

“Climb up here, cyar’ika, and get comfortable.”

You obey. The mattress is thick and covered with a dense layer of blankets. Enough pillows to fill the Crest are piled against the headboard. You sink into it, face first, and sigh.

“Goodnight,” you tell Mando.

He gives your ass a light smack. “Too late for that, sweetheart.”

You groan dramatically, flopping over onto your back and throwing an arm over your face. “You’re so cruel to me.”

“Oh? I thought I was a big softie?”

Your eyes shoot open. “Uh oh.”

“Told you I’d remember that, cyar’ika.” He had procured soft cuffs from somewhere, and is already in the process of wrapping them around your ankles and securing them to the bed, which you realize then has little u-shaped brackets all over the supports.

“Whoa, that’s kind of neat,” you say, sitting up on your elbows to get a better look.

He pushes you back to the bed, shaking his head, and makes quick work of your wrists.

You tug gently, a sharp rush of arousal and a heavy warmth spreading when nothing budges. You lift your head to watch as he carefully removes his armor, setting each piece aside on the long padded table across the room. It also has brackets down the sides, you notice, and looks like it could be raised and lowered at multiple points. Your mouth goes dry thinking about finding yourself atop it.

“This is such a pretty outfit, cyar’ika. Did you like everyone seeing you like this?” He runs his hand over your bare midriff, teasing up the bottom of your shirt.

“I’ve worn this before.”

“Not with me, you haven’t. I’d remember.” His fingers wander just under your breasts before he withdraws his hand, smoothing back down across your stomach. “It’s practically underwear, sweetheart. Does it make you feel pretty?”

“I guess,” you mumble. He's treading into uncomfortable waters, and he knows it.

“It should. You look so strong and soft. Makes me wish I could taste you.”

You whine, his hand trailing over your shorts. The thin, stretchy fabric was great for being on the move, but it does nothing to dampen sensation.

“Sorry, sweetheart, not tonight. I shouldn’t tease.” The tips of his fingers trace the seam of your cunt, and you buck up toward him. He draws his hand back immediately and grins as the realization spreads across your face.

“Figured out what game I want to play tonight?”

“Fuck.”

“What’s the matter? Are you worried I’m going to be mean?”

“Uh-huh,” you whine as he resumed his caresses, hardly more than a breeze.

“I thought you said I’m soft? That all you have to do is ask nicely?” He scrapes a fingernail across your shorts, and you jerk your hips again, whimpering and straining against the cuffs as he draws back.

“I haven’t even gotten started, and you’re already this desperate.”

You burn at the taunt, biting your tongue to keep from whining again. You force yourself to take a deep breath, closing your eyes and trying to center yourself. You could play his game.

He doesn’t like that, apparently, reaching up to flick a nail where your shirt pulls over your hard nipple. It startles a yelp out of you, turning the wrath of your glare to him.

“I wonder which of us will tire out first,” he muses, tweaking it with a quick pinch before rolling his palm over your other nipple.

You. It would be you. You know it, he knows it. But you set your jaw and steel yourself to take whatever he gives you.

Though you hadn’t counted on the cabinet of toys. When he walks away from the bed, you sigh and take a moment to gather your wits.

His saunter on the way back should have warned you. He holds up a hand, three foreign items clutched within. “Know what these are?”

You shake your head.

“You will.” He sets them down on the mattress in your line of sight. “But not yet.”

The two small clamps aren’t hard to figure out, and a shiver runs over you. It goes straight to your cunt, where you're sure you've soaked through.

The wet patch doesn’t escape his notice, either, and he resumes brushing his hand over you with incredible gentleness.

A scream is building in your chest, a ferocious thing. You focus on breathing again and not trying to figure out what the little capsule is for.

He takes his time teasing you through your clothes before finally lifting your shirt over your breasts. While he had intended to resume the same impossibly soft touch, he can’t resist giving your tits a few firm slaps, watching them bounce and reaping the reward of your breathy little moans.

Having had his fun, he switches back to barely touching you. His cock is painfully hard, but easy to ignore as he watches your face screw up in delicious agony. You’d taken the bait and were refusing to beg.

Good. It’ll be so much more satisfying when you break down and plead with him.

By the time he begins to apply gentle pressure, you're starting to lose your battle. Your chest heaves with the effort, desperate cries falling from your lips. You writhe against the bonds, trying to shake his hand away.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart? You need something?”

You let out a sob, flinching away from him and wrestling with your conviction.

So he presses his thumb down firmly against your clit. You jerk, unable to get far enough away.

“Please,” you cry, voice breaking. “Please, please, please.”

“What was that?”

“Please,” another breathless sob. “Please, can I cum, sir? Please?”

“You are good at asking nicely,” he muses, rubbing a soft circle against your clit. “But no.”

“What?” your head snaps up, tears welling.

“Not yet, cyar’ika.” He removes his hand and watches as your hips twitch to chase him.

“You’re sweating, sweetheart. Let’s give you a break and get you out of those clothes.” He unclipps the cuffs and brings you a bottle of water. You gulp half of it down, glaring at him.

“Alright, up. Strip.”

You don’t budge from where you sit on the edge of the bed, holding the water to your chest.

He tilts the helmet. “You’re mad I said no, so you’re going to be disobedient? That seem like a wise choice?”

“No,” you grumble but don’t move.

He can see the fight you're having as you chew on your lip, scowling at the floor. You take another drink of water and stand, reaffixing your glare on his visor.

He waits, one hand on a hip. “Watch yourself, sweetheart.”

You set the water bottle on the nightstand, fingers flexing near the hem of your shirt.

“Take it off—”

“Or you will?” You roll your eyes. But you realize your mistake the minute the words slip out. “Oh, kriff. I'm sorry.” You scramble to pull your clothes off.

He lets you frantically fumble, watching as you even fold your clothes and set them neatly on the nightstand.

You go to kneel in front of him and apologize, but he cuts you off.

“Back on the bed.”

When you're in place, he moves to strap you back down. Your lip trembles, and he knows it's killing you not to beg forgiveness. He strokes your cheek.

“Done pouting?”

“Yes, sir, I—”

“Quiet,” he says, not unkindly. “I knew this would be hard for you. I do spoil you. You get through the rest of this without the attitude, and I’ll consider it forgiven.”

You nod, lips pursed.

“You can beg. But you’ll accept my answers.”

“Yes, sir,” you whisper.

Satisfied, he moves to better access your cunt. He runs a hand over your trembling thigh and finally parts you with one finger, not quite dipping inside. Your groan wracks your whole body, your hole clenching at nothing as his finger traces the outside.

After a while (and you had no concept of the passage of time, it could have been years), he abruptly shoves two fingers in to the knuckle.

You scream. It sensd a rush through his body, his cock twitching where it still lay beneath his clothes.

“No, no, no, please,” you cry as he begins to pull his fingers out, only to break into a moan when he shoves them back in.

“Doing okay? Do you need a break?”

“No, please don’t stop, fuck,” you gasp.

He slides his thumb up to rub against your clit, smirking at the way you wail and struggle against the cuffs.

It wasn’t enough. He needs you to break again. He flicks his thumbnail against your swollen bud, and you fall apart.

“Please, please, please,” you're full-out sobbing, now. “Please, can I cum, Sir?”

He pinches your clit harshly. “No.”

You scream, thrash, and fight to keep control of yourself. He lets go, letting you back away from the edge. His goal isn’t to make you disobey, but simply to toy with you until he's had his fill.

“Time for something a little different, cyar’ika,” he says, standing up to walk around to the side where he had left the toys.

Your head snaps to the side, and your cries stopped abruptly, fear curling in your gut.

“I really think you’re going to like these,” he says, showing you the little clips in his hand. “Hold still.”

You suck in a breath and hold your body tight, eyes squeezed shut.

“Look at you, pretty girl. You’re being so good for me.” He holds your left breast in one hand and brings the clamp to it, easing the pressure off to let it slowly close. The moan reverberates through your body, and when the accompanying shudder shakes the clamp, it gets even louder.

“How’s that feel? Is it too tight?” He’s fairly sure you’re fine, from your reaction, but it would be remiss not to check.

You groan. “S’good, fuck.”

“Ready for the other one?”

“Oh, fuck,” you sob, nodding.

He takes his time, now that you know what to expect, and drags the tip of the clamp around your nipple first just to watch you squirm. After he eases it on, he gives you a firm slap on the side of your breast.

It's fucking ethereal, the way your back arches and the desperate way you cry for permission to cum.

“Still no, cyare, sorry.”

You have the sense of mind still to stare at him incredulously. “Sorry?!”

He laughs. “You’re right. I’m not sorry.” And he hits you again. The way your whole body shakes with the effort to be good has him moaning and stroking his cock through his pants. “Osik, I might just cum from this.”

It doesn't have the reaction he wanted this time. Instead, you still and looked at him, eyes wide and lip trembling. “You’re not going to fuck me?” you whisper.

He rubs his hand over your side, letting the soothing motion distract you from your throbbing cunt. “Depends,” he lies. “You going to keep being good for me?”

“Please, I will, I’ll be good, I’ll do anything, please.”

He knows you're about to break. Harder than you ever have before, he expects. “I know you will, cyar’ika. I’ve got one more, can you take one more challenge?”

You try to choke back the sobs wracking your body, nodding.

He hesitates. “It’s not going to be easy.” He sits, for a moment, watching. Waiting to see if you calm down. When your sobs subside, and you're breathing easier, he stands up and retrieves the water, pressing it to your lips.

Once you've had a few sips, you blink your wet lashes open and look at him. “I can, I swear. I want to. I can take it.”

“Okay,” he says, standing up, and he shows you the little cylinder.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” he says. “And I’m going to turn this on and hold it against your clit until you can’t stand it anymore.” He twists the base, and the vibrator jumps to life. He holds it against your side for a moment so you know what to expect. “Or we can stop, and I’ll still fuck you, and we can go to sleep.”

You don't hesitate. “I can take it,” you insist.

He had intended to fuck you after you begged from the vibrator, but it seems unwise. So he climbs onto the bed between your spread legs before unclipping your ankles.

You don't even notice, too distracted by the smooth way he pushes into you.

“You’re fucking soaked,” he groans.

“No shit,” you moan. “Someone’s been torturing me for hours.”

He pulls back and began fucking into you, too wound up to take it slow. Plus, he knows when he turns the vibrator on, you are going to fall apart in just minutes. “Hmm, that doesn’t sound like me. I’m a softie.”

“Shut up,” you groan, words punching out of you as his cock batters into you. “I take it back.”

“Oh good,” he says. “Then I can do this now.”

He pauses his movements, to your disappointment, but your whine is cut off when he pushes the vibrator right up to your clit and turns it on.

He meant to keep fucking into you, but you clamp down so tight he thinks his cock might snap. You scream silently until he tugs the clamps off, and it cracks into a wail.

“Cum, cyar’ika,” he says, grinding his hips to reach into you, to carve out a place for himself in you, and you fall apart.

He joins you, holding your legs tight against him so he won’t slip out, and as soon as your cries turn sharp, he pulls the vibrator away, turning it off and tossing it to the ground. You keep your legs wrapped around him and don’t let up, so he doesn’t try to pull out just yet. He lets his cock stay warm within you as you twitch through the aftershocks.

The sheets are soaked, your cunt leaking as he softened. He runs his hands over your hips and stomach, crooning praises.

Finally, your legs fall limp to his sides, and he slides carefully out, wincing at how swollen you are. You're still twitching, but also very clearly falling asleep. Fuck it, he thinks, and leaves the mess. Carefully, he releases your wrists from the cuffs, red marks dug in where you had struggled. He lays your arms carefully down and then climbs in next to you.

You nestle up to his chest, and he wraps himself around you, stroking your hair. “You’re right, cyar’ika,” he whispers as you drift off. “You make me soft.”

*title from "New Again" by Taking Back Sunday.

[andreafmn]

Kinktober ⛓️ Day 11

Word Count: 2.9K Paring: Paul Lahote x Human!Fem!Reader Prompt @kinktober2023: Sensory Deprivation WARNINGS: SMUT 18+ (minors DNI), oral (female receiving), sensory deprivation (handcuffs, earplugs, blindfold), fingering, p-in-v sex, unprotected sex

Summary: Paul Lahote has always had trouble trusting and letting other trust him. Parts of his past have left him doubtful and uncertain of everything, even (Y/N)'s feelings for him. No matter what she says or does, he believes they are only the result of the supernatural ties that bonds them. But she will do anything to make him understand otherwise.

A/N: First Paul fic of the season, many more to come 😉😉 also, yes, I am behind schedule... are we surprised? 😅😅

<- Previous | Next ->

Trust was not something that came easily to Paul Lahote. Not giving it or receiving it. The very people that he should have believed in the most were the first to break it, and it had done nothing for any of his future relationships. 

After shifting, it only got worse. He was forced to lean on his brothers in the pack. They required mutual trust to ensure everything ran smoothly between them. He couldn’t help but trust them. There was no other path he could take. 

But imprinting on (Y/N) brought on a level of uncertainty he had never thought possible. He had been lucky enough that she shared his feelings once he confessed everything he was and everything the bond meant. Yet, he’d felt that way about her before the shift, and he couldn’t help but wonder if her feelings were because of the supernatural link that tied them together. Even if she told him many times that the way she felt about him had nothing to do with the imprint bond, a part of him always wondered. 

(Y/N) was nothing if not determined, though. She would get Paul to understand that her feelings ran deeper than a supernatural tie, that the universe has brought them together for a reason, even if he didn’t believe it to be so. 

Truth was, she’d had feelings for him long before they even said a word to each other. When walking down the halls of their school, she wondered what it would be like to be the girl under his arm and not just another student he nodded to as he walked to class. At that time, she didn’t know that he harbored the same thoughts but always believed she was too good to be with someone like him. 

But long gone were the high school days, and the fates had decided that their lives should cross. Even if Paul questioned the why every day of his life, (Y/N) knew they were meant for each other. And she planned to show him just how much she thought so. 

“Can’t you just tell me what we’re doing?” Paul chuckled as (Y/N) led him up the stairs of her home. “You’ve been so secretive about tonight.”

“I told you that it’s your anniversary present,” she responded. “Now, stop dragging and get in the room.”

Behind the closed door, Paul saw a plethora of candles lit around her room, basking the area in a warm light. On the bed, a small back box with a bow around it rested, waiting for him to open it. “Is that for me?” he questioned. “The black box?” 

“It is,” she smirked. “Check what’s inside.”

With a confused look, Paul reached for the box, untying the white ribbon around it and letting it fall onto the floor as he lifted the lid to the box. His stare turned amused as he pulled item after item from the container, unsure of what it meant. He pulled out leather handcuffs, a silk blindfold, and small foam earplugs. 

“What’s this?” 

(Y/N) crossed the room, closing the door behind her and taking Paul’s hands into hers. “I want you to know that I trust you completely, baby,” she said. “I trust with my mind, my body, and my soul. Tonight, I want to give you all of my senses. I want to let you know that there is not a single drop of doubt in my body that what we have was always supposed to happen.” 

“(Y/N)… I-I don’t think I can.”

“Please, Paul. I need you to take this leap of faith with me,” she pleaded, resting a hand on his cheek. “I need you to trust yourself and trust us as much as I do.”

“I do trust you, baby. Of course, I do,” he sighed. “But I don’t trust myself. I’ve never been able to.”

“Then let me show you how,” she whispered. “Trust yourself with me. Trust yourself with my body because I do. If you don’t believe yourself, then believe me.”

Paul kissed her tenderly, taking her jaw in his hand. Her lips were warm and expectant, and as loving as the first time they had kissed. He caressed her skin and cradled her body, pulling her body to his. 

He did want to believe in himself, believe that the universe did think they were the perfect match. But where she was calm, he was explosive. Where she was kind, he was sarcastic. Where she was caring, he was stubborn. How could he trust that someone didn’t make a mistake along the way?

But at that moment, he knew he had to trust her. He had to because she was trusting him. And he kissed her to let her know that. His hands reached behind her back as he unzipped her dress, pulling the straps gently from her before allowing the fabric to pool at her ankles. 

As they parted to remove Paul’s shirt, (Y/N) took the blindfold and placed it in his hands. He stared at the piece of fabric as she placed the air plugs and the cuffs on top, smiling at him as if he had placed the stars in the sky. 

“Do it,” she said. “I trust you, Paul. You’ll take my sight, my hearing, and my touch. You’ll have it all in your hands to do as you please. Mind, body, and soul, baby.”

With another chaste kiss to her lips, Paul started by taking her sight, slipping the silk over her eyes. He tied the blindfold behind her head. He led her to the bed, still dressed in her black lace underwear, where he clasped her arms to the headboard. “I love you,” he said as he slipped one plug into her ear. “More than you’ll ever know.”

“And I love you,” she responded as he placed the other. “More than you’ll ever believe.”

It was exhilarating to not have her senses. Everything made her sensitive. The gentle breeze that came in through her window made her skin erupt in goosebumps. Every slight movement from anything around her made her jump. And the anticipation made her drenched with desire. 

But Paul couldn’t help the nervousness that took him over as he heard her heart hammering in her chest. It was running like it wanted to crawl out of her skin, and it made him question just how much she truly wanted that moment. 

Trust. That’s what it was all about. He needed to trust what (Y/N) said. Needed to trust the love and care she had put into their relationship. It was time that he believed the words she said and not the thoughts that clouded his head. 

He took it slow at first. He caressed her skin, reveling in the way her body arched toward his touch. His hands traveled the expanse of her body, from her face to her legs, mapping every inch in sight. Paul kissed her softly on the lips, beginning a trail of kisses down her body. From her cheek to her jaw, from the spot on her neck that made her moan to the swell of her breasts that made her mewl. 

Paul’s tongue left a trail of wetness across her body as she panted. Cutting off her senses made her more sensitive than he’d ever thought possible. Simple caresses and kisses made her keen in pleasure, her body arching to where the touch came from. It made his cock press against the seam of his jeans, hearing her moan because of him. 

In a swift rip, he removed her underwear, leaving her exposed under the light of the moon. Her legs pressed together in an attempt of modesty, but Paul spread them before she could hide her weeping wetness. 

“You should know you owe me a pair of underwear now,” she said rather loudly, but all Paul could do was laugh, knowing she could not hear an answer. “That was my favorite matching set, just so you know.” 

Something came over him then as he came face to face with her wet cunt. An animalistic urge to dive into her and claim her as his own. He wanted his ears to fill with her pretty sounds, wanted her legs to close around his head as she wailed in pleasure because of his tongue, wanted her to beg him to fuck her like never before. Her entire body was on display and under his control. She was his, from now until forever. 

He kissed his way up her legs, sinking his teeth softly into her skin and licking the pain away after. He trailed her limbs until his mouth fell on her core, licking from her folds to her clit, spreading her and tasting her like never before. He closed his lips around the small bundle of nerves, sucking in his cheeks as his tongue caressed the mound. 

(Y/N)’s breath hitched in her throat at the contact, her hands trying to snake their way into his hair but being held back by the restraints. Her chest heaved as Paul attacked her sex, moving his tongue expertly around her clit. She could feel him expertly twisting it around her, lighting a fire deep inside her stomach. Unconsciously, (Y/N) tried to close her legs again as pleasure traveled across her body, but with very little force, Paul kept them open. One hand on her leg, the other kneading her breasts and pulling at her nipples. It was overstimulation at its finest. And not being able to see him or hear how loud she was being, or even touch him made her that much more aroused. 

But Paul wasn’t satisfied with only that. As she screamed out his name the second her first organs hit her, he slid two of his fingers into her cunt, scissoring the digits as her walls contracted against them. He could hear the rattling of the cuffs’ chains as she tried to stop the assault, but it only worked to make him smirk and keep going. 

His tongue was aided by his fingers as he licked, sucked, nipped, and pistoned, making (Y/N) wail his name into the quietness of the house. Just like he wanted. He wanted everyone to know just how good he was making her feel. Wanted them to know how much she did trust him, that she had relinquished control of her body to him willingly and lovingly. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her. They were one. Mind, body, and soul, they were meant for each other. Paul knew what (Y/N) needed without her having to say a word or even move a muscle, and he had to believe it. 

With another finger inside her, (Y/N) felt stretched. But she knew that wasn’t the most her cunt would take. By the end of the night, she’d be sore and tired but completely satisfied. She knew Paul would see to it. And by how it was already going, she knew just how she’d be left trembling and satiated, and with a newfound trust between them. All because of a pair of handcuffs and a blindfold. 

Paul remained buried between her legs until they closed on either side of his head as she moaned out his name loud enough for her voice to carry to the Young cabin. With a satisfied chuckle, he cleaned his mouth before placing his hand over her lips, prompting her to let his fingers into her mouth. He moaned as he gazed at her tasting herself on him, a mix of wanting her tongue around his cock instead and watching her moan out at her own taste. 

With his free hand, Paul untucked his cock from his pants, stroking himself as she feasted on his fingers, taking them in as if it was him buried deep inside her mouth. He spread his precum along his lengths, groaning at the sensitivity of his member. He wanted to make the night last. Wanted to prove to her that handing over control of her body had been the best decision she could have made. But all he wanted was to be immersed in her warmth, covered by her fluttering walls and her glistening essence. He wanted her to know how hard she was making him, how in love with her he was. 

Begrudgingly, he took his fingers out of her mouth, her lips making a popping sound as the digits exited. He slipped his pants alongside his underwear down his legs, tossing them at a corner of the room. His erection stood proudly in front of him as he climbed over her in bed, towering over her body as he trailed it with his mouth once more. 

He grabbed his shaft with his hand, stroking the head against her floss, spreading her only slightly but not entering her yet. He crossed from her entrance to her clit, running back and forth on the outside. 

“Stop teasing, baby,” she dead breathily. “You’ve done enough teasing for the night.” 

Once more, Paul chuckled in response, knowing she would not hear a word he said. He kissed her lips then, using her gasp from spreading her with his cock to slip his tongue into her mouth. She tasted of her own juices, making him groan into her mouth, and her hands to struggle against the restraints. 

“Move already, baby,” she groaned against his lips. “Please.” 

How could he not when she was begging so deliciously? Her legs crossed around him as Paul finally entered her completely, thrusting slowly as her body got used to his size. The initial stinging always made her wince, but it wasn’t long until the sound was replaced with a pleasure-full moan. It was a tango they had perfected over time, adding and removing steps as they saw for. But the choreography always ended with both of them pleasantly satisfied. 

(Y/N) didn’t want to wait, though. Her legs pushed Paul’s hips into her at a faster speed. Though it was not fast enough yet. There was only so much she could do with her limbs. 

Her skin felt like it was on fire. Her desire to run her hands across his skin, to draw into him lines of love and pleasure that only she would remember were there, was enormous. Every time she felt the urge to do so, the throbbing of the leather against her wrists reminded her that she could not. If she wanted to touch Paul, he would have to decide so. Only he could touch her. Only he could give her all that she desired. 

“Faster,” (Y/N) mewled. “Faster, Paul.” 

And that’s what he did. His hips resounded against her ass in a thunderous clap as he thrust into her at the tempo he knew she wanted. The slickness of her insides mixed with the slapping of their skin made him grow feral. He moved in a way only he knew how, hitting the spots that made her cry out in pleasure. 

“More!” she cried. “I’m close, baby. Give me more!” 

Paul couldn’t deny her request. He had already rested on her like she was her essence of life and had taken her body for himself. If she wanted to cum, he would make sure that she did. His hand reached between them to find her clit, twisting it between his fingers as he angled his cock to the spot he knew would have her bursting around him. 

Between his hand and his cock, there was no way (Y/N) could last much longer. It only took a couple of minutes more for her to come undone around him. Her back arched off the bed as she came with him, her arms held back as she cried out his name in pleasure. The only way she could get him closer was by wrapping her legs tighter around him, keeping him inside as their ends mixed inside her, filling her until she spilled around him. 

As their orgasms ran through their bodies, Paul slid out of her slowly, gasping silently as their essences spilled out of her onto the bed. He then took off her earplugs, followed by the blindfold and the cuffs, kissing the redness that had formed on her wrists. 

Finally free of her restraints, (Y/N)’s hands cradled Paul’s cheeks to bring him in for a passionate kiss, the need to touch him at an all-time high. She ran her hands all over his exposed skin, making up for the time she could not. 

“Tell me,” he said breathlessly as he parted from her red lips. “How did it feel?” 

“Why tell you when I can show you?” (Y/N) smiled devilishly. “This is an exercise of trust, and trust goes both ways, baby.” 

“You want me to wear the blindfold?” Paul asked, his cock already hardening at the idea.

“It looks like you like the idea,” she grinned. “I gave you everything that I am, Paul. Now it’s your turn.” 

After only a second of silence, Paul smiled and gave her another kiss, pulling her toward him until she was straddling his lap, their chest pressed tightly together. “Okay,” he said breathlessly, his eyes trained deeply on hers. “Mind, body, and soul, right?” 

“Mind, body, and soul,” she repeated. “Now, ready for round two?”

Next ->

My content will always be free, but if you’re feeling particularly generous, you can leave a tip on any of my posts  or buy me a coffee to support me and my love of writing If you’d like to be tagged in every Kinktober work, any fandom or story: click here Make sure you have my notifications on so you know every time I post!

Taglist:@winter-soldier-101@zheezs14 @a-sifu-hotman @sunflowerleii@dyslexiccatterpillar @blackbluerose666 @slutforsainz @kortniec696 @xcastawayherosx@minhaimaginacao @bluebirbnamedjay @sirenheadenby @andreiaafaria @bluetreecloud20@sunshine2894 @valejewel @mushroomelephant @swidkid @skyesthebomb@esposadomd @nocturnalherb16

@avis15@wonieeee@baebeepeach@krazyk99@catgirlpwr@klf1999@sl-ut@adaydreamaway08@cinffy23@toomanythoughts33 @laylaskywalker @fandomonetwo @fruitylilfuck @a-slut-for-loki-bucky @honeywxter @haroldpotterson@kaita11 @gangstalicious06 @uwunuggetchan@elijahssuit @multifandomreader73 @ellabellabus07@blackloveangel13@euphoria1992@saltedcoffeescotch@lowkeysaurus@zealouscookierebeltrash@sleepilysworld@laylasbunbunny @american-sataness @cevans-winchester@avada-kedavra-bitch-187@jstarr86 @coquita @ilikepunsbeth @itsmytimetodream @laury-blackbeak @unstablekay@midnightmisses@magical-spit @ratsys @hopexargent @druigsluver29 @fresita1218

@the-house-of-rose-and-ember @unicornicopia1 @nessaasstuff @simon-e-mallory @urmomsfav-stuff @evattude @the-irish-princess @caosfanblr @heartfilia01 @jinxxangel13 @rinalouu @haikyuuswhore @arcaurix

[eddieschains]

prompt: “look at you, you little slut” but its reader saying it to Eddie? You can choose the details :D

omg yes yes yes i hope you like this!!

TW// 18+, masturbation (m receiving), voyeurism, brief degradation, slight sub!eddie, oral (m and f receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), let me know if i missed anything!!

Look At You, Such A Little Fucking Slut

You and Eddie had been best friends for years. You had met on the playground as kids when nobody wanted to play with either of you, and you’d been inseparable ever since.

Once you got to high school, your lives changed. Not drastically, but you two definitely shared different interests. You were more focused on school work and getting into a good college, while Eddie payed more attention to D&D and starting a band. You wouldn’t call Eddie a slacker, but he was on his second senior year so take that as you will. Even with your paths going in different places, he still managed to drive you to and from school everyday and keep you company while you studied at night.

Today you had to stay after hours for one of your club meetings, and while Eddie was upset he wouldn’t be able to spend time with you on the drive home, you promised to get a ride from someone else and meet him at his trailer afterwards.

You hated doing club work. All you wanted to do after school was be with Eddie, but you knew it would look good on college applications so you decided to just deal with it. Although you loved Eddie with all your heart, you didn’t want to repeat any years of school like him. But, that just meant you were able to go through senior year at the same time as him.

Your friend pulls up to Eddie’s trailer and you give her a thank you before hopping out and running up to the porch. Wayne’s truck was gone, signaling he probably went in to work for an early start. Wayne and Eddie established a no-knock policy for you. They treated you like family, and family was welcome anytime.

You walk into the trailer, but find no sign of Eddie other than the van parked outside. He was usually on the couch watching TV or could be heard learning some new Metallica song, but it was oddly quiet today.

“Eddie?” You call out, getting no response. “Eeeddiiieee…” You sing out while roaming the living room, looking out the windows but still, no response.

You thought maybe he went over to the neighbors to help with their car again, so you make your way to his bedroom to wait for him. The door is closed, and as you reach for the handle you can hear something on the other side. Some form of heavy breathing, and moaning? You thought maybe he was working out, which he didn’t do often but still dabbled in. Until you heard it.

“Fuck, Y/N.” Oh god. Was he? No he couldn’t be. But…

You open the door to find him spread out on his bed, completely naked with his hand wrapped around his cock.

“Shit!” He yells out, trying to grab a blanket to cover himself up as you just stood in the doorway, jaw agape. “Shit, I-I didn’t know you were gonna be here so soon.”

You’re in shock. Your best friend of nearly 10 years was sat in front of you, pleasuring himself to the thought of you. You know that you’re intruding on his private moment, but you can’t help the way it turned you on.

You wonder how many times he’s been sat in bed at night, rock hard just at the thought of you. How many times he just couldn’t help himself from getting off to the image of your face. You wonder if it’s the same amount of times you’ve been in a similar situation, only his face clouding your brain.

“Well don’t let me interrupt. Go on, continue.” You stand across the room with your arms crossed, as Eddie looks you up and down, trying to figure out if you’re being serious or not. “Did you hear me?” You say, a more forceful tone lacing your voice.

Eddie mumbles something incoherent before slowly lifting the covers off of his legs, exposing himself to you again. His cheeks are red, and you can see beads of sweat start form on his temples.

He slowly reaches down his body, placing his hand around his member and stroking slowly. His eyes don’t leave yours, making sure you’re positive this is what you want him to do. You watch his hand move up and down his cock, which only makes the pool between your legs grow.

“How does it feel?” You ask, your eyes still focused on his hand.

“G-good. Really good.” He stutters.

“What are you thinking about?” You already know the answer, but you want to hear it from his mouth.

“You. Always you.” His eyes finally start to close, the pleasure taking over him. The room starts to fill with his moans and heavy breathing as he slowly picks up the pace.

“Look at you, such a little fucking slut.” You tell him as you make your way over to the bed. You sit on the edge of the bed next to him, causing him to open his eyes again. “Want some help?”

He nods, not able to form any words. You bring your own hand to your mouth, spitting in it before removing his. Wrapping your hand around his cock, you start to pump him slowly, earning a loud groan from Eddie.

“Fuck your hand feels so good wrapped around me.” He watches the way you twist around him, spitting occasionally to lube him up even more. Before he can say another word, you bend down to lower your mouth on to him. “Shit.” He hisses, his hands immediately reaching for your hair.

You bob your head up and down his shaft with your hand pumping the excess that doesn’t fit. His fingers are laced in your hair, guiding you on his cock, moaning and groaning your name above you. His cock twitches in your mouth as his hands grip tighter in your hair, signaling he’s close to an orgasm. You pull yourself off of him and stand up next to the bed.

“What the fuck Y/N? I was about to cum.” He complains, as you stare at him with a smirk on your face.

“I know.” You respond, taking your pants off.

“What are you doing?”

“You think about fucking me when you jerk off, yeah?” He nods, furrowing his brows. “Them don’t you want the real thing?”

He scoffs as he watches you undress in front of him. Never in a million years would he have thought he’d have his best friend sucking his dick, let alone offering to fuck him.

Once you undress fully, he pulls you by the wrist, slamming you against the bed. He hovers over you before attaching his lips to yours. Furiously moving his mouth in time with yours, as you lift your hips to grind yourself on his cock.

“Mmm you taste good.” He moans, trailing his kisses down your neck. “Wanna eat your pussy. Return the favor, is that okay?”

You nod, twirling the ends of his hair in between your fingers. “How could I say no?”

He smiles, placing a kiss to your lips one more time before moving his body towards the end of the bed. Now face to face with your already dripping pussy.

“God you have the prettiest pussy, baby.” He says, spreading your lips with his fingers. Even considering everything that just happened, you get a little embarrassed thinking about the fact that your best friend is now looking at your naked body. “I bet she tastes so good too. Shall we find out?” It’s a rhetorical question of course, as he doesn’t wait for an answer before licking a stripe up from your entrance to your clit.

“Shit.” You breath out, finally getting some feeling of satisfaction from the ache between your legs. He takes his time, just like you did with him. Licking up and down your cunt, moaning at the taste.

“Mm just like I thought, delicious.” He smirks into you as you lightly smack him on the side of his head, giggling at his words. He licks one more stripe with the flat of his tongue before attaching his mouth on to your clit. You start to close your legs around his head, the pleasure almost becoming too much, before he pushes them back open.

“Oh my god, Eddie. Feels so good.” You moan, absentmindedly pulling his hair making him moan into your pussy. “Fuck, don’t stop. I’m gonna cum.” And with that, Eddie removed himself from you, sitting up on the bed watching you squirm. “What the fuck Eddie?!”

“Just returning the favor babe.” He smirks, as you mumble a few curse words, pulling him on top of you. You attach your lips to his, kissing him feverishly while your hand reaches down to his cock once again. He moans into the kiss as you stroke him, grinding yourself into him. “Want you to fuck me Eddie.” You swear his eyes almost popped out of his head.

You remove yourself from him as he kneels above you, replacing your hand with his own and sliding his dick in between your folds. “Ready?” He asks, bringing a hand to your cheek, caressing you softly. You nod, giving him permission.

He slowly pushes inside of you, both of you moaning at the feeling. He presses into you inch by inch, allowing you to get used to the feeling before bottoming out. “My god you’re so fucking tight, i’m not gonna last.” He chuckles, before pulling out almost fully and thrusting back in.

He gives you a couple more slow thrusts before his torso falls on top of yours. You wrap your arms around his waist and begin placing sloppy kisses on his neck as he continues thrusting shallow and deep. “Eddie…”

“I know baby, let it go. Whenever you’re ready, cum for me. Don’t hold back.” He moans into your ear, interlocking his fingers with yours as he speeds up his movements. He moves his hand down in between you two, rubbing circles on your clit to push you over the edge faster.

“Eddie, shit i’m gonna cum. Fuck i’m gonna cum.” You moan, before feeling the wave pleasure of rush over you. You curse his name under your breath as your back arches underneath him. He continues rubbing your button to push you through your high.

You feel his cock twitch inside of you before you’ve even come down from your high. His breathing becomes more rapid, along with his thrusts. “Oh my god i’m gonna cum baby. Where do you want it?” You don’t have the energy to form any words. You just open your mouth, sticking your tongue out as he nods in understanding.

He pulls out, crawling on top of you so that his cock is right in front of your face. “Fuck Y/N. Fuck fuck fuck.” He groans as he pumps his cock, before spilling his load into your waiting mouth. He continues stroking as you swallow all that he has to give you. The sight alone is almost enough to make him cum again.

He slides down your body, pressing his head into your chest as you rub his back. “Jesus christ. I love you.” You stop in your tracks, looking down at him as he curses under his breath. You didn’t think he felt that way for you, the same way you’ve felt for him all this time.

“What?” You ask, pulling his head up to yours.

“Fuck… I-I didn’t mean to… i’m sorry, just heat of the mom-“ You interrupt him by pulling him in for a kiss.

“I love you too. Always have.” You smile.

He smiles back, pecking your lips. “Always will.”

[beevean]

a star ⭐ AND a query: are there any particular notes you have for Rain or What We've Lost and What We've Gained?

Ohhh!

Not much to say about Rain, it just came from a prompt and the idea that Hector would be "odd" enough to prefer rain over the sun. I'm not particularly proud of that one, to be honest, although I liked writing from Rosaly's POV and I took the chance to flesh her out a bit without straying far from what we know of her: she's disgustingly cute, she trusts Hector unconditionally and doesn't judge him for his weirdness, she's traditional in many aspects including having prejudices but willing to meet Hector halfway, and in short she embodies the better qualities of Christianity. I tried to incorporate other symbolisms, such as comparing Hector to a snake echoing his edgy moment in PtR, or Rosaly coming to appreciate the rain because it does kind of resemble his beloved in a way. And as I said in the notes, I just wanted to write a fully happy Hector for once lmao, let the man have one joy in the trauma conga line called his life :P

WWLAWWG is dearer to me, because I wrote a big part of it after suffering a loss - Julia's words about Isaac and her blaming herself for not loving him enough resonate too close to how I was feeling back then. I have all the feelings about her relationship with Isaac :) and i might have teared up a little when i wrote "i just want my big brother back!"...

It's worhty of note that it was born out of an idea that has little too do with the general theme of the fic - that Hector and Isaac can't have children due to their powers, something that would weigh on Hector when married to Rosaly as he'd see it as yet another consequence of his mistakes - and then spiralled into a much more wholesome headcanon that at last fixed all my grievances with the idea of Hector going to live with Julia. Maybe in the game Rosaly's makeshift orphanage doesn't exist... but nothing stops me from integrating it into the setting >:) I also go absolutely feral over the idea of Hector becoming Dracula, but this time in a positive way: by welcoming unwanted children and actually raising them with love, not to use them ;A;

Julia is a fascinating character for me to write, because she is a big big liar lmao. "Unlike her brother, whose thoughts and emotions were akin to a river in flood, and unlike Rosaly, with her clear, crystalline honesty, Julia was a placid lake, surface smooth and undisturbed." I could have phrased it better, but I liked the imagery here: Rosaly was gently honest and Isaac was brutally honest, but Julia hides everything behind her smile and slightly witty attitude, and Hector knows that something is lurking under the surface, and it's only a matter of time before it breaks the illusion. makes you wonder why she's like this...

I also tried to make Hector sound a little different here. This is post-CoD Hector, this is a Hector that has fully affirmed himself and his own agency. He's no longer the boy who would let himself be eaten alive to fill someone else's void :) it was very important to me that he took the decision to remove himself from a toxic situation, while still not looking like he was simply running away: I'm proud of myself for the idea of leaving the Devils with Julia, who in Kojima's art is shown taking care of them. There is something to be said that in theory, Julia would be an even better companion for Hector than Rosaly, because she fully understands Hector's powers and "curse", and being shunned because of it, and they can both be fully themselves around each other. This alone makes me imagine that the two would keep in touch through their lifetime, even from a distance.

(similarly I like the part where Hector muses that trying to assign blame on one person is eventually a futle endeavor, becase "it would always return to its starting place". You can't run away from grief, and what's the point in blaming dead people or yourself?)

And as I said in the notes, it's funny to me that it's the very first fic that used the Hector & Julia tag lol. But I still feel I wrote them as rather romantic, even though it wasn't my intention, perhaps for the moment of vulnerability they share together. I suppose you can read them as having the potential to fall in love, but kept apart by their trauma, which is the whole point of the story lmao.

and finally, this

“Then I’d better start packing as well,” she snorted, “for you seem hardly willing to part with your money.” “With all due respect, one hundred gold for a short sword may be on the excessive side–” “I’m simply teasing. Forgive me, but your pride is too easy to prickle.”

was a heartfelt jab at the game, specifically at my first playthrough where I didn't know how to stop being too poor for her shop :P

[our-future-is-up-to-us-2]

It's No Secret

Weeee more Narcovember content! Fic number 16 @narcosfandomdiscord

Again with expanding my fandom repertoire and wanting to twist how the prompt might be seen, so, I listened to Concerto in F and fell in love with An American In Paris all over again <3

Prompt #16, Book Of Locally Sourced: Notebook

Word Count: 800

Relationships: Lise Dassin/Jerry Mulligan, Henri Baurel & Lise Dassin, Henri Baurel & Jerry Mulligan

Warnings: None

~ Read the fic under the cut ~

Lise Dassin is an enigma. 

It only makes sense that such an enigma is followed. 

She doesn’t realise it, though. Instead, she dances through the streets of Paris, helping strangers who fight, who are prickly because of the war. 

Instead, she dances for a living, because she is beautiful, graceful, and elegant. She is a neat package covered by a bow: A pristine black bob, if you will. 

She is the best one there, so many proclaim. She is the best one by a long mile, so the great Jerry Mulligan wishes to shout to the rooftops. 

He draws her elegance into his notebook. Sketchbook, after all, seems too revealing. He’s noting her down, her edges and curves, the stretch of her legs and the points on her ballet shoes. 

Because, once he’s done with Paris, he’ll never see her again. And he wishes to stay for the longest time. 

***

They meet first in a department store, and then, by the River Seine. He serenades her with love and song, an instant infatuation, adoration, for a woman of few words. 

She’s meek and withdrawn, sticking to her place. “Sir, please, don’t touch that! No! Oh, why are you making a mess?!” 

And all the while, Jerry twirls and twirls, only wishing to be seen in good faith, only hoping to be called by name. He is no ‘Sir’, no one of importance. He is a free spirit instead. A wanderer. 

She calls him silly and irresponsible, and prefers Lise over Liza. Liza is too American, too drawled out with the tongue. It makes her feel foolish. Meanwhile, Lise is short, curt, traditional, and precisely describes who she is. 

She’s not going to remove any boundaries for him. Not this man of all men, with twinkling eyes and a gorgeous face… 

“Alright. Just to help with my English, we’ll meet here. And that’ll be all.” 

“That’ll be all? Of course!” He smiles like she’s just hung the moon for him, “I swear, I won’t do anything else with you! I mean, except for dancing–” 

“And I wonder, then, why I’m the ballerina.” She shrugs, pirouettes, and proceeds to follow him in movements, never touching, and yet mirroring one another. 

Well, minus the part where she shoves him into the Seine. 

And yet, he doesn’t curse her out, simply laughs and sputters, waving to show he’s alive. 

***

The collection of notebook drawings grows and grows. It’s never devoid, never still, even if he’s just copying his references and doodling over and over again. 

Art is a fine and fickle thing, so he’s discovered, and yet, there is Lise, full of artistry. Sure, she struggles, and he struggles, too… But craftsmanship is not without its doubts and failures. 

It’s just a miracle she hasn’t been hurt yet. And, if she is ever hurt, he’ll protect her. Whether she likes it or not, he’ll be there. 

Two souls, alike in dignity, profession, and passion. 

She exposes herself in front him, through dance, through song, through truth. 

And at the end of all things, they are made for each other, and not even Henri can deny it. 

He knows he’s only holding her for a limited time, purely to satisfy his familial obligations, all the while, his heart drifts off in other places. 

It’s not fair to her. It’s not fair to her. To Lise Dassin, such a darling girl, an enchanting woman, a faithful friend. 

She lights up the eyes of everyone she encounters, not just Jerry. 

And nevertheless, Henri congratulates him down the line. When they get engaged, then married, following the trajectory of life that he was meant to have with her. 

He is not sorrowful, though. He just knows, and has learned, from people like the Parisian dancer, the American artist, that everyone has their own path. They have time. 

He has time. 

And all that time, down the line… The world changes, history changes, lingers, and moves on. But there are constants: Good food, good environment, good family, good friends.

They never stop checking in on each other because they’re always so engaged. Curious. Not just Mulligan and Dassin, but Davenport, too, the entrepreneur.

The same goes with Adam: Bad leg, music-making and all. They keep to their talents, and enlarge their horizons. After all, they are in Paris.

And, to Jerry’s disbelief, he’ll always have Paris. He has Paris to spend a lifetime in, no longer a quaint trip away, no longer a fever dream or temporary happiness.

Everything is as real and true as it can possibly be. He sketches out the morning haze, the Eiffel Tower and River Seine for days on end, perfecting beauty. 

And then, there’s Lise Dassin, perfectly captured in his notebook. For she is simply one thing: The light of his life.  

[lonesome-witching]

You Didn't Disappoint

One more anonymous prompt for you guys. That is three days in a row. For context, in this one Robin is a siren and Nancy is a fairy. And I would like to admit I know nothing about fairies and only a tiny bit about sirens. So, I made it my own. I hope you enjoy!

Do you have any prompts yourself? Or do you want to dive into what I wrote before? You can read my previous prompts or send me some new ones.

Robin wasn’t used to setting foot on land. It’s not like she minded much, it just wasn’t her natural habitat. It was good for her though. That’s what everyone said. Broaden your horizon. Meet new people. Find fresh victims.

Beach towns in the summer usually had some of those to offer. Beach towns in the winter though… then they were just sad. The only hope was the town bar. There were usually a couple of sad drunks trying to drink their life away. It would have to do for now.

She hated the smokey smell of the bar. Each time she wondered how human beings could stand this smell. Perhaps they had grown immune to it. Robin wasn’t sure she ever wanted to become immune to it. Not if it meant having to spend her time in places like this.

She walked towards the bar. One drink wouldn’t hurt. In fact, it might help her ruse. No one ever thought anything of a lonely girl if she was drinking. Perhaps that was normal for human beings. She hadn’t noticed many other lonely girls drinking. But lonely women drank all the time, alone at the bar with something red in front of them. Robin had tried them a few times. It didn’t really work. Those women only talked and talked and talked. They couldn’t be seduced into doing anything. They pitied themselves too much.

Men on the other hand were easy. Too easy. And each time Robin had to lower herself to that, she felt disgusted. She hoped it wouldn’t come to that tonight.

She felt hopeful as she sat down at the bar. “Just a beer, please,” Robin asked with a fake smile on her face.

“ID?” The bartender didn’t even look up. It wasn’t Bart or John. Those men were easily convinced to leave the rules behind. This was a newbie. Someone Robin hadn’t seen before. She didn’t like that.

“Is that really necessary? It’s just one beer.”

“I’m afraid so.” But this time the bartender looked up. It was easy enough to convince him now.

“Please,” Robin nearly sang, her tone slightly picking up at the end of the word.

“Just this once.” The bartender slid a beer her way.

A girl laughed into her glass next to Robin. She hadn’t even noticed her before. But now Robin couldn’t not notice her. She had dark curly hair, pale skin and sharp cheekbones. If Robin didn’t know any better, she’d think this girl was magic. Luckily, she knew better.

“What’s so funny?” Robin called out, taking a sip of her beer. She shouldn’t have sounded so hostile, but she did.

“Nothing,” the girl replied, with a grin on her face.

“Apparently something is amusing you though?” Robin shot back.

“It wasn’t that easy for me, is all. He made it hard for me to get my drink.” The girl turned towards Robin, allowing the view of her deep blue eyes. They were magnificent. They reminded Robin of home.

“Why do I doubt that?” Robin’s lips moved without her fully realizing.

“Because you are easily charmed, aren’t you?”

“Not at all,” Robin admitted.

“I’m Nancy.” The girl reached out her hand. A dangerous movement.

“Robin.” She shook Nancy’s hand.

“Pleasure to meet you, Robin.”

It almost felt like she was lying. Robin hoped she wasn’t. She hoped it truly was a pleasure for her to meet Robin. Because it was a pleasure to meet Nancy. A pleasure Robin couldn’t afford.

She considered her options. Dragging Nancy out of here and killing her. It didn’t sound very appealing. Walking out of here and start the search for a new victim. She didn’t really want to part from Nancy. Staying here, spending her night with Nancy, knowing that nothing Nancy said could be truly true simply because of Robin’s powers. She wasn’t sure she could bear it.

“Another one?” Nancy pointed at Robin’s half empty beer bottle.

She wanted to refuse. She should refuse. “Sure,” she said, nodding her head.

Nancy almost looked victorious. As if her masterplan was working out accordingly. It was probably quite similar to how Robin herself looked when she was trying to lure in her prey. Maybe Nancy was just like her. A part of her was hoping for it.

“So, Robin, where are you from?”

“Right here, actually.”

Nancy nodded her head. As if she knew that was coming. As if she prided Robin on having the guts to say it.

“I’m not. This is the first time I’ve set foot in this town. I’m not the biggest fan.”

Robin laughed. She could relate. The town was as dull as they come. “Anything I can do to brighten your experience?”

“I’m sure you can.”

Was Robin using her powers? She wasn’t even sure at this point.

“Are you going to kill me, Robin?” Nancy took a sip from her drink. She still hadn’t ordered the second round. Maybe Robin should’ve.

“What? No!”

Nancy sighed, disappointed. “Robin, you were doing so good. You were being so honest.”

“What?” Robin’s mouth must be hanging agape. “I’m not going to kill you.”

“You considered it. You were still doubting what to do.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“You don’t have to lie, Robin. I know what you are,” Nancy whispered the last sentence. Pretending it was their little secret. It was.

“How could you? Unless… Are you a fairy?” Robin had lowered her own voice as well. She had never said the word out loud and it almost sounded ridiculous. The existence of fairies was highly unlikely. Except for the girl sitting right next to her right now. It almost made sense.

“You doubt yourself to much, Robin. You’re right on the money.”

“So, why introduce yourself? Why did you want my attention?”

It must have been the right question because Nancy smiled again. “I wanted to see where things would go, what you would do.”

“And?”

“You didn’t disappoint… yet.”

Robin nodded her head. She wasn’t sure where to go from here.

Nancy finished her drink. “You’ve got two options, Robin. You can either walk away and find another victim. That man behind you has looked over at least four times so he’s a pretty save bed. Or you can walk out of here with me, we’ll have a drink somewhere more private and you can show me how you’ll brighten my experience.” Nancy was already turning away, getting ready to leave.

Robin rushed to her feet. She would not pass up this opportunity.

[fallrimxreader]

psst hey I know i'm a couple months late but i saw the confession dialogue prompts list and like...nick valentine + "you deserve to know" just speaks to me

It's definitely still February. :P

It hadn’t taken long for Valentine to get feelings for Sole. He’d never expected himself to feel anything more than friendship for anyone. But Sole managed to sweep him off his feet. They were sweet, kind and funny. They were the greatest, most loyal and protective person he had ever met. The way they put themselves out for the commonwealth so quickly after just coming out of the vault, he thought they were quite unbelievable. Yet he kept his feelings to himself for a long time, not wanting to ruin the friendship he so dearly cherished.

People of the commonwealth were very fond of Sole, yet there were a few that disliked their friendship with Valentine. They would often make comments about how Sole should abandon him and get new friends. This disheartened Valentine slightly, occasionally he felt like he may have been holding Sole back from greatness by being at their side. But Sole would very quickly take those feelings way, telling him that he was the only friend they needed. Sole would threaten anyone who said something mean to Valentine, proving to him that they really did care for him.

Sole and Valentine entered Diamond city, tired after another successful but long quest. They walked past Takashi’s noodles, a Diamond city resident sat at the end of the bar. They turned to Sole, smiling.

“Sole! Welcome back.” He cheered.

“Thank you.” Sole replied politely.

“Why don’t you join me for a drink?” The man asked.

“No thanks, Nick and I are going home to rest.” Sole stated trying to walk past, but their arm was grabbed.

“You don’t want to go back with him. Stay here with me, I’m a real person, so I’m much more fun. Just give me a night to show you.” The man laughed. Sole roughly pulled their arm away.

“Nick is more of a real person than you ever will be. He’s kind, and warm and makes me happy. And I’d rather spend a million nights with him, than one night with you.” Sole spat harshly, then stalked away. If Nick had a heart, it probably would have skipped a beat from hearing those words. He never asked Sole to stand up for him, but the fact they did anyway made him love them more. Together they walked past the civilian and back to Nick’s agency. Once inside Sole plopped down into a chair with an exhausted sigh. Nick kept standing, his mind deep in thought.

He wondered if Sole meant those words. But of course they did, otherwise they wouldn’t have said them. How he makes them happy, how he’s warm and Sole thinks of him as a real person. He wondered what else Sole thought of him. They often told him how much they cared about him, but he always wondered if it was platonic, or romantic.

This was the millionth time Sole had defended Nick. He pondered if they did it just because they were friends, or if Sole had a more personal reason to defend him.

He was worried, saying something might ruin their friendship. But Sole had been with him for so long, they had confided their deepest thoughts and worries with him. They put their life on the line for him, so many times, he felt they deserved to know how he truly felt about them in return.

“Hey Sole, would you mind if I take a few minutes of your time?” Valentine asked.

“You can have all my time Nick. What’s up?” Sole replied. Their words made him smile, even if they didn’t realize what they were doing they always said something to make him feel warm inside.

“I think, you deserve to know.” He took a second to think. He hadn’t planned out what he was going to say, this was just a spur of the moment. So, he didn’t quite know how to start. He wanted it to be perfect, the next words were some of the most important he could ever say.

“Know what?” Sole looked at him quizzically a single brow raised.

“You deserve to know, how I feel about you. We’ve been working together for some time now, and I have come to really enjoy your company. More than anyone else, and I quickly realized that I have fallen in love with you.” It was simple, yet sweet and straight to the point just like him. He watched Sole’s face flush red, and quickly turn into a wide grin. They leapt onto him, embracing him into a tight hug. He instinctively wrapped his arms around them, holding Sole close.

“Oh Nick. I love you too. I have for a long time.” He had hoped to hear those words, they made everything feel right. Now that he heard those words, he felt complete, like his whole world had just gotten bigger and brighter. He knew that going forward everything was going to be ok, because Sole loved him back and that was the most important thing. He held Sole tightly, kissing the top of their head.

“A lot of people ain’t going to be happy about this, about us.”

“I don’t care what they think. All I care about is you Nick, and how happy you make me. If they have a problem, I’ll stick a sock in their mouth so they can’t say anything.”

“You may run out of socks doing that.” Nick said, making Sole laugh. Nick was honored to be the one that Sole loved, he hoped he would be able to give them a good life.

“It’s going to be me and you doll, against the world, ok?”

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” Sole pulled back from the hug, their hand reaching up to gently caress Valentine’s cheek. He leaned into the touch, placing his own hand upon Sole’s face. He leant forward, resting his forehead against Soles.

[saturn-sends-hugs]

Ty for the tag @ihaventpickedausername!

Rules: Post the first sentence in your last 10 works; if you don’t have 10, do as many as you have.

Y’all always manage to find a way to get spoilers, don’t you bkshsjsjks

Anyway, I think I have ten? Idk, let’s see:

1. Echo woke to the smell of blood.

Chap four of Slow Down. Cause ofc it is :P

2. “Just go, I’ll catch up!”

From my Echo meets Hemlock wip which I… barely started… (so this probs won’t be the first line lol) But I have it all planned out! Just need the time 🫠

3. The empty silence in the cockpit was deafening.

From and Angstpril prompt! This one plays on that repeated line of “Just like old times” and uh… it’s v sad lol. Hoping I can do at least a couple of the prompts

4. “In that case, you all are coming with me…”

Really wonder if anyone could guess where this quote comes from lol. And shockingly, this one is both fluff and not Echo centric?? Somehow??? Idk my sister made me do it lol, Tech’s her fave :)))

5. “So what do I call you?” Echo asked, eyeing the bounty hunter suspiciously.

Again, haven’t worked much other than planning the idea on this one, but that’s the first actual line I have down. Absolutely obsessed w this longfic idea, once I’m done with slow down I can’t wait to start this one aaaajsgjshsjsjsk

6. Rain pattered gently against Echo’s armor, sliding off and forming small streams as it flowed past him on the Marauder’s ramp.

Now this one, this is the start of the sequel to On the Reg :)))) (Not gonna spoil the title just yet)

7. The transport shuddered violently as they broke Coruscant’s atmosphere and Echo squeezed his eyes shut, the dull pain flaring in his chest again.

Next chap of Arc Business, which is fairly fleshed out honestly? Idk just not motivated to finish it rn

8. The shuttle was right there.

Yeah….. betcha can’t guess how this one starts bskhsjsjs Basically an AU where Echo escapes Skako on his own, but loses his memory in the process. Confusion ensues, lots of tearful reunions, but uh honestly, it gets a little boring since the batch isn’t there? Might come back to this one and see if I can work them in, idk 🤷

9. The Bad Batch hated regs.

Wow so interesting lol. Pretty much a one shot where the batch realize Echo’s never spoken abt himself despite him always listening to them, and they desperately try to convince him on how important he is to them :))))

And for ten, gotta be honest I don’t have any real lines written for it but I think this bit is funny so:

10. Why hurt one of them when you can hurt both in the exact same way???

Completely self indulgent Fives Lives AU where he’s a sith tormenting them pre-order 66, the batch get him out and help him regain control of his mind only for order 66 to strike and only affect Echo :)))) So it’s the exact same problem, but swapped :))))) Yes this is all pain and no I really doubt I’ll ever write it lol

No pressure tags: @thebispaceace @floundrickthewayfarer @phis-writing <333

[ffxiv-swarm]

prompt 3: i think of you lonely

Wrapped around a dragon’s horn:

Master Mordeterre,

I hope this letter finds you Well and Unharmed, both in mind and body, for Well do I Know the Cruelties which your Superiors are capable of. Do please tell me you have something Else with which to occupy your time – a Hobby, perhaps? A beloved pet? Something which does Not find joy in Fire and Blood?

I recall you expressing your Disbelief that my comrades and I would survive the retaking of the Stone Vigil. Do kindly find attached my Proof to the contrary, and note that I intend Many More victories to come.

Regards,

Ritanelle Soleil

Tattered and smudged, in the same package as a glowing green feather and a broadsheet advertising a comedic play:

Master Mordeterre,

Relieved I am to hear from you, and yet Further Relieved that you are a man of Taste and Learning. You simply Must tell me the name of your cat, his features, and how you came to acquire him, and as for your many Languages – I Demand to know all that you know of Old Gelmorran, how you came to speak it, which texts on the subject I may somehow acquire, etc., etc. I am of that extraction myself, tho’ I have not been blessed with a strong connexion to the Culture and Heritage which is Mine by right. (I shall spare you the Many sheets of paper which I might fill with the depredations of the Gridanians upon my people.) My most fervent desire has Ever been for Greater Knowledge.

I do note, however, that you have only listed solitary pursuits. Surely you must leave the house! I, for one, can spend Many hours at the theaters of whichever city in which I find myself. The tale depicted on the attached sheet is a Particular favorite, and I believe it is also being performed in Your fair city. I would be Most appreciative if you would tell me your own opinion, should you chance to see it.

Sincerely,

Ritanelle

P. S.: The feather was dropped by Garuda, a Most Fierce adversary. Alas, ‘twas the Empire which struck the killing blow. I do not anticipate any threat to Ishgard, but please do take care.

Accompanied by several newspaper clippings:

Avery,

Thank you, thank you, thank you for your loan of the Old Gelmorran primers! I have indeed received them safely, and you may rest assured that I shall return them in Immaculate condition. I have not yet dared to open them, for I know that once I do I shan’t wish to stop even to Eat. And don’t you Dare apologize for your marginalia, you Ridiculous Man! I Adore seeing the evidence of a book Well-Loved. (Even if it is loved by Galloway, who I see has left his tiny fangs imprinted on one corner! Cats are even more trouble than carbuncles!)

Additionally, I am full glad that you enjoyed the play, tho’ I was much Grieved to hear of the zeal with which your Ishgardian Censors ply their trade. The scene with the Sahagin and the apple cart truly must be seen for later developments of M’khebbe’s character to land Properly! And yes, I assure you that there is development of her character, for it hides Quite the clever message if you know to look.

[Several paragraphs follow, explaining Lominsan theatrical conventions, the importance of stage direction, and the double entendres excised from the Ishgardian version.]

Ah, but I am sure you are Wondering about the newspaper clippings. No doubt you have heard of the success of Operation Archon. I am not here to reiterate it, merely to share that I have had to give Several newspaper interviews regarding my role in Expelling the Garleans from our fair land, and I wished for you Not to think I was bragging Unduly. It was [large inkblot] a Most Terrible Battle. That we Survived can only be attributed to Hydaelyn’s Will and Love for Us. This is not the word of a Foreign Heretic, merely the Truth. You are not the only people who are Beloved by your Goddess.

And on that note, I wish you a happy St. Daniffen’s Day! I understand this is the holiday with all the fish-shaped pastries, yes? Do you know where I might procure a recipe? These past few weeks I have found myself with an Excess of free time.

Most sincerely,

Ritanelle

P.S.: I understand you are an Accomplished archer. Perhaps you might enjoy making the acquaintance of my new Scion partner? She is a woman from the Far East of surpassing skill with a bow. Hanchecheg Ganchecheg Gantsetseg is her name.

[A lengthy correspondence follows. Ritanelle seems determined to update Avery on all the strange and lovely things she does and encounters in Eorzea—ancient Allagan crystal spires, fierce battles against primals, plays she’s seen and delicious meals she’s eaten—with a strong undercurrent that he is missing out. They have several lengthy discussions of Gelmorran pronunciation and grammar, particularly its relation to Old Elezen. At one point, she does indeed go on a several-page-long rant regarding Gridania. They do not, as a general rule, discuss his career.]

Unsent:

Dear Avery,

I have met the woman you call Iceheart and [inkblot] she is not Icy at all. Merely fierce in her convictions, as a falcon is fierce. It is true she is a heretic, and a truer one than you ever called me, but though her methods are harsh and misguided that does not make her motivation evil. She believes man and dragon can live in peace, and I am not sure she is wrong. I truly think that, could she actually speak to someone in power – Ser Aymeric, perhaps – some True Change could be made. You cannot tell me you want to fight dragons for Another thousand years!

Perhaps you do.

Perhaps I’ve misjudged and you

I know you will call me Mad. Will say I have lost my Mind. But I am thinking clearly, soberly, and could you but Speak to her – she is an Intelligent Woman. You can be Reasonable. If nothing else, I think the discussion would be Illuminating.

If you don’t just turn her over to your bosses

I have seen what they do [large inkblot]

~Rita

On the reverse of a sketch of an elezen woman in a ball gown:

Avery,

The Sultana of Ul’dah is giving a ball to celebrate Ishgard’s Return to the Eorzean fold, and the Scions are invited! Attached please find a sketch of what I plan to wear; I know not if you can Acquire an invitation, but perhaps if the Stars Align we shall see each other there. You will enjoy the Food, if not the Weather – Ul’dah is Quite Warm, especially if you are not used to it. Fortunately, I am – and I certainly plan to be dressed for it! One can never have Too Much gold, in my opinion. Should we meet, I am looking forward to discussing our Usual Topics in person for once – I have been diligently practicing my Old Gelmorran, but I daresay you shall not laugh if I am less than fluent.

Wish me luck!

~Rita