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tropes-and-tales · 2 months ago

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The Enemy of My Enemy

(The Predator/Yautja x F!Reader)

CW: Violence; smut (monsterf*cking; fingering; PiV, unprotected). 18+ only.

Word Count: 9889

AN: This was originally requested by an anonymous person!

The distress call is what bring Mah’tu to Earth: a Yautja ship infested with a single xenomorph that escapes its cell to wreak havoc before the ship crashes onto the planet of the oomans. Mah’tu, in a nearby star system, is the closest to handle it.

Thank the gods he has the foresight to call for aid. A single xenomorph on a planet full of soft, weak creatures…it turns into an infestation almost immediately. Mah’tu is grateful the Yautja ship at least crashed in a small ooman settlement

Still, the small settlement is overrun quickly. Mah’tu finds himself outnumbered, outgunned, overpowered. He sees some oomans as he fights: they scurry around, they try to run. Few manage to escape before they are slaughtered. He pays them no mind. They are a weak species and only worthy prey because of their inventiveness, but these oomans are panicky and stupid with fear, and easy prey for the serpents.

He finds himself cornered in a large building. He hears the faint crackle in his comms of other Yautja as they approach Earth, but he himself is lost: he’s trapped with two of the xenomorphs, and he dispatches one easily, but the second stabs him with its barbed tail, sprays acid blood, and Mah’tu falls.

The Yautja are strong, durable. They heal quickly, and neither of these injuries would be fatal, but he feels his vision edging in black, and he knows once he’s unconscious, the serpent will kill him.

Mah’tu is a noble warrior. He was Blooded young. His bloodline is ancient, and he’s sired many Yautja that will live on beyond him, so he does not mourn his own lost life as he slips out of consciousness. At least he won’t feel the blow, though there’s little honor in that sentiment.

It surprises him, then, when he doesn’t die. When he instead wakes up, comes to, and finds a ooman—small, trembling—crouched beside him.

No, not beside him. Not exactly. The ooman is crouched between Mah’tu and the second xenomorph. It lies dead and twitching as it oozes its acidic blood from where the ooman has impaled it with a metal pole through its long skull.

The ooman is a female of the species, even smaller than the males, and Mah’tu sits up with a grumble and takes in the measure of his savior. A small thing, filthy. Stinking of fear and sweat and the rich metallic tang of ooman blood and the acrid, biting odor of serpent blood. Trembling as she turns and stares at him, her too-wide ooman eyes studying him warily.

How did something so small and cringing manage to kill a serpent, and with a piece of scrap metal, no less? Mah’tu had seen better trained, better armored Yautja fall to serpents, and yet…

He knows what it means to kill one of the kiande amedha. The Yautja revere them as the ultimate prey, and to kill one is a feat to be celebrated.

He does it with little thought: the ceremony is ingrained in him, as it is ingrained in all of his kind. To kill a kiande amedha means the ooman is Blooded by Yautja culture, so Mah’tu reaches down and drags a claw through the pooling acid blood of the serpent. Then he reaches out to the ooman, who flinches away from him, makes a whimper of fear. But he reaches out his other hand to grasp the filthy face. He holds her still and traces a small mark onto her forehead that makes her cry out at the sting of the blood as it scars her.

He marks the ooman—you—as Blooded. In Yautja culture, it means you are an adult, capable of Hunting alone. But more than that, it marks you as a full member of the clan, and given the strange circumstances of this moment—Earth, a xenomorph infestation—he marks you as his clan.

When the crackle comes through his comms that his fellow Yautja have arrived, that the military oomans of this sector have loosed a missile of some sort to level this infestation, Mah’tu again acts with little thought. This is ingrained in him too: marked as his clan now, he grabs your wrist, tugs you to the roof of the building, and narrowly escapes with you before your settlement is leveled by your government.

He realizes what he’s done once the ship is safely away from your star system. He’s marked you as Blooded, as his clan, which means you’re his responsibility now.

-----

A famous ooman once wrote that the course of true love never did run smooth. Mah’tu, without the benefit of any sort of literature course in his Yautja education, never heard the quote, but it doesn’t make it untrue.

Who would have thought the cringing little ooman would be so relentlessly furious at him, once the fact of her situation became clear to her?

Reason must flee your little skull. There is nowhere for you to go unless out of the airlock into the void of space, yet you fight him.

Or you try to.

The first night you attack him, Mah’tu is taken unawares. Why would he ever think you’d try? He’s sitting in the pilot’s seat of his ship when the sensitive appendages on his head alert him to someone behind him, but not quickly enough: there’s a dull bloom of pain in his shoulder, and it comes accompanied by you yelling some ooman word he does not understand.

He turns in his seat and appraises you. He takes in the fury on your face, as it cedes to confusion, then dejection.

From the meat of his shoulder, a small shank of metal is half-buried. He pulls it out, the pain minuscule, the cut already mending. He examines the weapon, a pathetic thing that you’ve found and tried to shape into something that could kill him.

It makes him chuckle, which sounds like a trilling to you. Then he stands, takes your arm in his paw, and drags you back to the storage area he cleaned out to house you.

“Stay,” he orders you, and he locks you in anyway. He cannot know how you bristle to be ordered about as you would order a dog.

The second time you attack him? You’ve loosened the bolts on a seat in the cockpit. You must have been at it for hours at a time, working your feet against the fastenings while you slouched beside him and stuck the fleshy part of your mouth out in a pout. Mah’tu bends in his seat to recalibrate a certain piece of equipment, and a moment later, the loosened chair smashes against his skull.

The chair breaks into several pieces. His skull doesn’t break at all.

“God fucking dammit,” you breathe out as he straightens out, stands to his full height.

He locks you in again, and as he drags you to your quarters, you try to punch him. Your little fists aim for his face, his eyes, his throat, and they glance off of him with no effect. You land a punch to his mouth and it cuts your hand. Mah’tu smells the metallic tang of your blood as he tosses you into your cell.

He thinks on it a beat later, then tosses in a med-spray so you can heal your fragile ooman skin.

-----

From there, you change your tactics. You abuse him verbally. You narrow your eyes into slits and call him all sorts of names: monster, alien, crab-faced motherfucker. Slimy fucked-up lizard.

When he’s alone in his quarters, he must look up some of the words you use. A crab, for example, is a harmless water creature on earth that oomans eat. Mah’tu cocks his head, considers it. Have oomans ever eaten a yautja before? The records are silent on the matter.

The verbal abuse is much like your physical abuse. It glances off of him. His kind have little capacity for metaphor, for simile or abstract thinking, so when you call him a “motherfucker” it does not bother him because you are wrong—he has never mated with his dam. A silly thought.

-----

Your fury never seems to lessen, but it does cool into something more refined and less ruled by passion. You finally seem to grasp that he means you no harm and that attacking him could leave you stranded in a star system your kind has never even heard of before.

You don’t try to attack him anymore, and your verbal assaults have lessened as well. You still twist your too-soft mouth around into a look that means displeasure, and Mah’tu senses that you are assessing the situation. Waiting for an opportunity to escape him.

So be it. You may be a Blooded member of his clan now (a fact he must remind himself, as your behavior often puts him in mind of a youngling, rash and stupid), but he is your elder both in age and tradition. He has followed all the protocols: he’s alerted the head of his clan, who required several confirmations that yes, you were a ooman and yes, you had killed a kiande amedha. He registers your DNA in the clan’s codex. Lists both your ooman name and the Yautja one he chooses for you (his name means “Swift Judgment,” but yours translates roughly as “Vexing Thorn”).

And though you are Blooded, as your elder, he takes up your training. Against his judgment (swift or otherwise), it is protocol, so he trains you.

Wisely, he starts by teaching you defensive moves. Why put a blade or worse, a plasmacaster, in your twitchy little paws?

If he hadn’t seen the evidence of your killing the kiande amedha, Mah’tu would doubt it now. Even accounting for the general weakness of oomans, their lack of speed or agility or flexibility, you are terrible. Your reflexes…do you even have reflexes?

Mah’tu shows you how he’ll attack you, he shows you how to counter, he comes at you at quarter-speed, and still you fail. You take his punches, his slaps, the sweeps of his leg, and you always end up on the mat in the training room of his ship.

As your elder, he tries to give you helpful advice.

“You are very slow,” he tells you. “Move faster.”

His advice is not well received. “Fuck you,” you spit from your place on the floor, wheezing as you try to catch your breath.

Mah’tu shakes his head. “No, you must train more. How will you ever join the Hunt?”

“I’m not a hunter, asshole!”

“You are Blooded.”

“I’m a goddamned dispatcher at a heating and cooling company!”

He considers this—he did not know that the oomans could control the weather or environment in this way. He will add it to the codex so that other Yautjas may investigate it. But it likely will not help you on the Hunt.

He holds his hand out to you, and you glare at him for a long moment before you take it and allow him to haul you back onto your feet.

“Again,” he says. “I will attack you from the front, and you must feint and then counter by striking me low on my arm.” He pauses and adds, “I will go as slowly as I can.”

You make a growling noise in the back of your throat. “Fuck. You,” you grit out, but you change your stance as he shows you.

A second later, you’re on your back again, but at least you land a blow before Mah’tu puts you on the floor. Your weak little fist glances off his arm, but he is feeling generous and counts it as a win for you.

-----

At his next Hunt, Mah’tu judges that you are not prepared, so he leaves you behind at base camp. He’s not concerned that you’ll try to escape: if you run off, he’ll easily track you. If you try to steal the ship, you won’t get far, as you don’t know how to fly it.

“Stay here,” he orders anyway, and you do that thing with your too-close eyes where they move in their sockets. He believes it may mean you are displeased, but most of your expressions seem to mean that.

“Aye, aye, captain.”

He shakes his head, touches his hand to his chest. “No, I am Mah’tu. Not cap-tan.”

You do the thing with your eyes again. “It’s an expression. Sarcasm, in this case.”

He tilts his head, and you clarify, “a kind of joke.”

Ah. He nods, then turns back to his weapons. He inspects them one last time, then holsters them on his body. The different blades, the net-gun, the darts and spear.

“I will return victorious. You will stay here, little sain’ja.”

You scowl at the nickname but say nothing, and Mah’tu doesn’t tell you that it means “warrior.” It is a jest because you are no warrior. A kind of joke, as you’d say.

-----

It is a successful Hunt. It brings him much honor and new trophies.

You are unimpressed, but when he strings up his kills and begins to clean the skulls, you make an injured noise and dart to the edge of camp to retch. The retching goes on and on, so much so that Mah’tu pauses in his efforts to check on you.

“You are ill?” he asks. “You have eaten something poisonous, perhaps?”

“No, you fucking psycho!” You stand up, swipe the back of your hand along your mouth. “You killed those creatures just for their skulls?”

“Oomans kill for trophies as well,” he points out reasonably.

“Yeah, but we also eat the meat. Venison, turkey, whatever. Some humans, you know, use all of the animal. The skin and horns and stuff.”

Ah, a misunderstanding. It’s bound to happen. Mah’tu puts his hand on your shoulder and lowers his head to show he is sorry for not explaining better.

“Do not worry,” he tells you. “We will eat these creatures’ flesh as well.”

You blink at him, and then you turn away quickly to retch again. Perhaps there was a misunderstanding, but perhaps you are ill as well.

“I will get you a med-kit,” he tells you. “It will cure your illness quickly.”

“Dude, really?” You heave again, but your stomach seems to be empty of any contents. “Honestly, fuck you.”

-----

Living with you is never easy, but it does reach moments of ease, especially when considering how you tried to kill him at first.

He trains you, or tries to. You do get stronger, leaner. You lose some of the ooman softness you had, and through your spat-out cursing, Mah’tu learns small details of your life on earth. How, for example, your role as weather-shaman was a passive one that entailed a lot of sitting and little movement. You apparently were a leader of sorts, ordering other weather-shamans on where to go to bring heat or coolness to other oomans.

There is a limit to your abilities as a fighter, though, and you reach them quickly under his tutelage. You can block many of his attacks, and you can land a blow occasionally, but in twenty sparring sessions, you are lucky to draw his blood once.

He finds that the sparring helps to spend your general fury at him, and the time afterwards—your muscles trembling, your body fatigued and bruised—is almost pleasant. Mah’tu has always been interested in the ooman civilizations, and when he asks his questions, you usually answer them honestly.

“Who were your sire and dam?” he asks.

“My mom and dad?”

“Yes.”

“Then say ‘mom’ and ‘dad,’ you weirdo.”

This is how Mah’tu learns that word choice is important to oomans, that your species uses words to differentiate things that are essentially the same thing.

“I never knew my dad. He took off before I was born. My mom was an alcoholic. She died when I was twenty.”

“You did not know which clan sired you?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Fuck you. I knew my dad’s name, but that was it.”

“Did you share your si…dad and mom with others?”

That, for some reason, makes your mouth turn up at the corners, your lips curved upwards. “We call those siblings. Brothers and sisters. And no, I was an only child.”

“Ah.” Mah’tu nods knowingly. “Your dad was not worthy to sire many oomans.”

And that, for some reason, makes you laugh. It doesn’t sound like a Yautja’s laughter, but it isn’t unpleasant, Mah’tu finds.

“Mom would have liked that. Not worthy. Well, the bastard never paid a cent of child support anyway.”

-----

The two of you continue like this: misunderstanding each other, clarifying what confuses the other, navigating your two separate species and cultures.

It’s not easy, but it grows easier with each passing moment. He no longer has to lock you in your room each night, as you no longer try to escape. He no longer fears your fury (not that he feared it much anyway), so he doesn’t keep such a close eye on you.

He deems you worthy of a blade. He knows you’ll likely never be trained to a level of plasmacaster, but a small blade, designed and weighted for your size and strength seems appropriate for the rare Blooded ooman.

He spends long hours in his workshop crafting it for you. His sire was a renowned weapons master, and he passed his skills onto all of his offspring. Mah’tu forges the metal, hones the edge to such a sharpness that it could split one of the hairs on your head. He carves the handle to fit your hand perfectly, and finally, he tools a fine sheath out of leather, because he worries that you’ll cut yourself sooner than you’ll cut an enemy.

On the leather sheath, he picks out the symbols for your Yautja name. His Vexing Thorn.

-----

Mah’tu learns much from you, and he adds all of it to the great shared codex of information so that other Yautja may know and learn.

Your mention of child support, for example. It is a thing that a sire must use to support his offspring—money, which is the paper goods that represents wealth. He questions you heavily on this point; Yautja honor is derived from the Hunt, but ooman honor seems to come from which of your species can acquire the most of those paper goods. It determines who may live in a fine home and who may starve, and when he explains it back to you—to make sure he understands it correctly—you stare at him, then nod.

“I mean, basically.” But then you try to explain a thing called a stock exchange, and a thing called capitalism, but when he presses certain points, you get confused too.

“I dunno, dude.” You throw your hands up, a gesture of helplessness. “I never went to college, and if I had, I wouldn’t have majored in economics.”

-----

Early on, he calibrates to the ebb and flow of your body, and the questions he asks you in regards to your biology is what makes you the most anxious. Through his bio-mask, he can see how the heat courses to your face. He can hear your heartbeat increase in cadence, but he cannot understand why you respond in such a way. A body is a body. It’s systems and rhythms are what they are.

“You are injured,” he tells you, early. He’s still locking you in at night, and you’re still scowling at him and calling him, among other things, a fucking lizard asshole.

“’m not,” you reply.

He breathes the air of the cockpit. “I smell blood.”

The heat floods your face; it shows white-hot in his mask. “Shut up.”

“If you are injured—”

“I said I’m not.”

“If you are bleeding, I can get a med-kit—”

“Fuck, dude! I’m on my period, okay?”

Mah’tu tilts his head and thinks back to the rudimentary studies he’d read about oomans. “Ah, you are menstru—”

You cut him off with another scowl, but your eyes fix on the stars in front of you outside of the cockpit. “And by the way, having one’s period in deep space is not as fun as it sounds. I bet Princess Leia never had to worry about it.”

He does not understand your ire. “Is this Princess Leia a famed statesman on your planet?” he asks, kindly as he can, but you cut him an icy glare and launch yourself out of your chair and out of the cockpit.

You manage to toss a strained “fuck you” over your shoulder before you leave, as you often do.

-----

So Mah’tu comes to understand the seasons of your body. He also comes to understand how your feel about those seasons. He does not mention when you are on your period, though he can tell. He is sure to give you more privacy, and that helps ease the strain between the two of you.

But with other things, your face does not get inflamed. When your head aches, or when you twist a joint in sparring, you are free with discussing these things with him. When you feel hunger or thirst, when you require a blade to trim away the excess hair that grows from your head. When you feel tired. You share these things with him.

The only other thing you don’t share is when you are in heat. Mah’tu can tell that too, can scent you when your heat is upon you. It runs in the same rhythm as your period does, the two part of the same cycle that seems to come every thirty or day earth days.

It happens so often, he thinks. Yauja females only have a handful of heats in their entire long lives, yet you could spawn eleven or twelve oomans in one earth year. His mind is baffled by the math of it until he checks the codex and learns that no, oomans do not spawn that much. Despite their numerous heats, they only produce roughly the same number of pups as a Yautja female would.

Mah’tu sighs and leans back in his seat once he reads that. He has so much to learn.

The next section in that part of the codex details observed ooman mating rituals, and below that, known instances of Yautja and ooman mated pairs.

It is the latter that makes Mah’tu lean forward, then glance over his shoulder, then lean forward more: a furtive move that would put one in mind of a teenaged human boy looking at pornography for the first time, though of course Mah’tu would not know that.

*****

Sometimes you wonder if you were in an accident that has left you in a deep coma somewhere. How else can you explain the hell that broke loose that night, your small town overrun by monsters?

And how else can you explain the monster who…what? Kidnapped you? Saved you? Because he stole you away from home, but you also saw that mushroom cloud from the porthole in his ship. Did earth even still exist? If you could escape, where would you go?

It’s easier to imagine this all as a fever dream. A coma. Some consequence of a broken brain throwing out insane story lines around monsters and aliens and space travel to worlds you couldn’t even fathom.

But then reality comes rushing back at you, usually in the form of the giant beast named Mah’tu, swiping at you or tripping you or hitting you with the dull blades of his goddamned fucking spaceship dojo.

Then you realize, arm or leg throbbing, bruise forming on your stomach, eye swelling shut or lip split: this is no coma. It’s real life.

-----

He doesn’t kill you. You learn, over time, it’s because you killed one of those disgusting black things with the giant head full of teeth. He had traced its blood onto your head, and you finger the scar sometimes when you struggle to sleep at night.

“You are Blooded,” he explains, like you know what the fuck that means. “You are a member of my clan now.”

Great. Wonderful. You finally had a found family of giant lizard aliens.

You try to explain it to him. Killing that thing was dumb luck. It was some animal instinct, flailing as it cornered you. Your hand had found the piece of metal, and the monster came at you, and you had swung in a move of self-preservation.

“Dumb luck,” you tell him.

But his beady little eyes shine at you, and he lays a heavy paw on your shoulder. “A warrior’s instinct,” he corrects you.

You snort. You, a fucking warrior. You barely passed gym class in high school, cringing during dodgeball, puking during the timed mile run.

“A mistake,” you counter.

He shakes his head. “Fate.”

-----

It’s not terrible. You’re no warrior, but your childhood with an unsteady mother left you with the ability to adapt pretty easily.

He trains you, or tries. He goes hunting for his psycho room of trophy skulls, but he doesn’t force you to eat the raw, dripping meat he harvests. He takes the time to feed you a fruit-type stew, great chunks of roasted vegetables, some kind of flatbread. You recognize the hypocrisy of it—you loved a good burger on earth—but now you’re a vegetarian by default.

He gives you your own space, a narrow storage closet that he cleans out and makes a little nest of furs. When you hurt too much or get sick, he administers some sort of alien medicine that heals you and gives you a boost of energy, like you imagine old-style Coca-Cola used to do when they made it with a little cocaine.

So you endure, and sometimes—you’ll never admit it to him, the goddamned asshole who stole you away from home—sometimes, you actually enjoy this new life. When the stress of work and debts and making rent each month and trying to save up for a new car fall away, when you are whittled down to a more essential sort of life, you find that your anxious mind calms.

You find that you sleep pretty well in that nest of soft furs, all things considered.

-----

The training, though.

The goddamned training.

He is unfailingly patient, at least. He never once gets frustrated when you fail to move the right way. In the rare off-chance you land a blow on him, his happiness is outsized, like a parent crowing when their toddler takes their first steps.

It should be humiliating, but sometimes his praise makes you smile in spite of yourself. You know he’s humoring you, but still. You’ll take your wins where you can get them.

The problem with your handful of training successes, though, is that he thinks you ready for more. He introduces weapons with dull blades. Today, you’re training with some fucking spear thing, and he raps you over and over with his own. A stinging blow across your knuckles. A stab to your belly that lands like a punch. Finally, a curt jab to your ankle that strikes you right on your ankle bone, and you hit the ground with a shriek at the pain that crackles like lightning from your foot.

“Asshole!” you wheeze. You pull yourself into a fetal position on your side, and you pull your injured foot up towards you. You flex your foot. It doesn’t seem broken, but you know it will bruise. And you know he’ll make you swallow a vial of whatever healing shit he has, and the bruise will heal within the day, and tomorrow you’ll be back here, tears leaking out of your eyes as you stare up at him.

“You were supposed to move to the left.” He tilts his head, studies you. “You stepped into my blow instead.”

“Fuck you!” You spit it out with all the venom you can muster. Sparring is as much choreography as it is strength and speed, and guess what? You’ve never danced in your life, aside from some drunken flailing at bars and wedding receptions when you were younger.

At your words, though, he tilts his head the other way, and his bright yellow eyes bore into you.

“Not now,” he replies. “Perhaps when you are in heat next.”

That immediately takes your mind from the throbbing in your ankle. You gape at him, and he stares down at you wordlessly. Did you misunderstand him? It seems a miracle he can speak at all, and English at that, but he is very literal.

“What?” you finally manage to choke out.

“If we are to mate, we should wait until you are in heat again.” He says it so matter-of-factly, and you can feel the blood flooding your face and neck.

“I don’t��”

“It will be upon you in four or five earth days.”

You uncurl yourself and sit up. “How the fuck do you know that?”

“I can smell you.”

You curl your nose in disgust. “Oh, gross. You can smell me? You sound like a fucking serial killer. Hannibal Lecter in space.” You struggle to your feet, and when he reaches out his hand to help, you bat it away.

He tilts his head again, but now there is a question in his eyes. “Is this a misunderstanding, little sain’ja? You have said numerous times you would like to mate with me.”

“The fuck I have!”

“Is that not what it means, when you say ‘fuck you’? The codex indicates that ‘fuck’ means ‘to mate.’”

You gape at him again. Then you close your eyes, pinch the bridge of your nose. You take a deep breath. He’s not wrong. You’ve said ‘fuck you’ a thousand times to him. Goddamnit.

You keep your eyes squeezed shut, and you manage to say as politely as you can, “yes, it’s a misunderstanding.”

You hear the huff he breathes out, the low growl, and then he replies, “another instance of ooman words meaning different things, then.”

“Yeah, update the codex, dude.”

“I will.” A beat, and then he adds, “this Hannibal Lecter. Is he a great warrior in your species?”

-----

The problem is, once he says it, you can’t get it out of your head.

Why do you seem more open to it as time passes? You read once that Stockholm Syndrome wasn’t real, but perhaps it is and you have some version of it. Or maybe you’re just lonely, and had been lonely before you got kidnapped by him, or saved by him, depending on the lens you took on the matter.

It’s true that you had been in a dry spell on earth. You lived in a small town with few prospects. Everyone your age was already paired up, many married with kids. You and your ex had broken up a year before the alien invasion, and you’d had no dates in the interim, no offers, no tempting moments with another person.

And anyway, your ex hadn’t been that great. It had been a relationship of convenience until you had gotten wise to the fact that life with him was not convenient at all. The sex was mediocre at best, he was always borrowing money from you, and never rinsed his toothpaste down the drain when he brushed his teeth.

He never got you anything as a gift either. Mah’tu, in comparison, crafted a custom knife for you…which isn’t exactly a necklace from Tiffany’s, but there is no other knife like yours in the known universe, either.

He’s also considerate to your temperament, your likes and dislikes. He makes sure you have food you’ll eat. He does his skull-cleaning grossness out of sight now. More than once, he’s taken a detour to a planet just to show it to you, just to watch you stand on alien soil and gape like an idiot at flora and fauna that no other human has ever seen.

The craziest thought you’ve ever thought: maybe this fucking alien is the closest thing to a healthy relationship I’ve ever had in my life.

“You’ve lost it,” you whisper in the darkness of your quarters one night. “You’ve lost your goddamned mind.”

Because you lie there for a long moment, thinking about it, and you find that you don’t need to be in heat (the word alone makes you groan in disgust) to feel the sharp knife of desire lance through your belly at the thought of him.

-----

One night, around the fire of a planet where he’s hunting, you ask him.

“Why did you save me?” You watch him as he looks up from polishing his knife. He seems to consider his answer.

“Because you are Blooded, in my clan.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t have to do that.”

He shakes his head, the dread-like things on his head moving as he does. “It is required. You killed a kiande amedha.”

“I’ve told you, that was an accident. Dumb luck.”

“Many Yautja die in the attempt to kill one.”

“But I’m no warrior. I could never kill another.”

He makes a low trill, which seems to be his version of a chuckle. “No. But you only need kill one to be Blooded.”

You look down at your hands. They are calloused now from all the training, the nails trimmed short. “So it’s just that, then? Just dumb luck that got me here?”

“Not only that, little sain’ja. You could have killed me but did not.”

“So you owe me?”

“No. There is no debt.” He pauses. “Why do you question me?”

You lift your hands in a helpless gesture. “I dunno.”

“The codex says that oomans often question their fate.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” you snort. “I just was curious. I thought maybe it was that thing, you know. The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

“You think I brought you here because we mutually aided each other against the serpents?”

You nod. “Sure.”

Mah’tu shakes his head again, and he chuckles in his way. “No, little sain’ja. I brought you here because you are Blooded in my clan. I’ve kept you with me because I enjoy your presence.”

It’s not Shakespeare, you suppose, but it’s a sweet sentiment, in his own sort of way.

*****

There is a series of Hunts, and Mah’tu fails in one, succeeds in the others. His trophy room has much more Honor added to it, though you remain unimpressed by his prowess.

“Gross,” you say when you peek in at it.

He points to the long skull of the kiande amedha, the one he killed to become Blooded. “Had we more time, I would have beheaded yours so you could keep your trophy.”

You make a face and lift a hand to touch the scar on your forehead. “I think I have plenty to remember it, but thanks. If I ever end up back home, I’ll need to look up a plastic surgeon to handle this.”

It takes some explaining what you mean, but when Mah’tu grasps your meaning, he is outraged. You think the mark makes you unworthy. Ugly, you say.

“It marks you as worthy. A special ooman,” he spits out. “The others of your kind would be fools to not see you as such.”

Normally, you’d do that thing with your eyes, but instead you study him. Stare at him, steady and unblinking. Finally you say, “you may be the only creature who sees me that way.”

He huffs. “Then I am the only creature with eyes to see and a brain to think.”

-----

He is not sure what changes with you. Perhaps you only needed time to adapt to life with him. Oomans, he knows, are highly adaptable.

You have stopped the verbal abuse entirely. You make an earnest attempt when training, and by applying yourself, you earn the right to learn the net-gun. You earn your own bio-mask, and Mah’tu labors over it for several star cycles. You have such a tiny skull, and your eyes are so far apart. It must be custom made.

You join him on a Hunt. It is just a small one, a training to whet a new spear he has made. The prey is hardly worthy, but Mah’tu uses the opportunity to teach you how to stalk, how to move silently, how to be still and watch. You are much better at that than you are at fighting, and though you kill nothing on your first Hunt, you earn Honor for yourself by successfully stalking a herd of very jittery prey. They never once suspect you, and Mah’tu trills in pride when he sees you get close enough to reach out and touch one.

That night around the fire, he gives you much praise. You like that, he finds—you duck your head as if ashamed, but it is to hide your smile. Which means you are pleased.

“Had you been a moment quicker, you could have killed one,” he tells you. “Though it would be a small skull. Our younglings often kill them to learn their blades.”

You laugh. “Oh, fuck you. Our younglings. Yeah, yeah, I get it. This weak-ass human is less skilled than a Yautja infant.”

That phrase again. He knows what it means now, though he was greatly disappointed that it wasn’t what he thought. Still, he bristles; he sits up straighter and looks at you when you say it, and when you realize what you’ve done, you give him a sheepish look.

“Be at ease,” he says. “I know what you mean.”

Incredibly, you lower your head, and he sees no smile there. You kick your foot in the dirt, scuffing it, and you mumble, “maybe I meant it the other way.”

“Which way?”

You groan, and you place your hands over your face. He isn’t wearing his bio-mask, but he can guess that your face is inflamed.

“Don’t make me say it.” The words are muffled, and your voice is tight.

“Say what?”

“Ugh, the gross way you phrase everything. You know what I mean.”

“I do not, little sain’ja.” Though he does—it is a lie to say he does not understand. As you’d say, it’s a kind of joke. Pretending one thing when another is true. A ooman sort of jest.

“You know what I mean. Fuck’s sake, I mean mating.” You whisper the last word, make it small in your mouth, but he hears it anyway.

He wonders what changed in this respect too, but he can consider it later. “We should wait until your next heat is on you.”

That makes you squawk, a sound of outrage. “Absolutely not! I’d never survive it if I got pregnant!”

He chuckles at your horror. “There would be no risk. There are no Yautja-ooman hybrids. It is an impossible thing.”

You sag in relief. “Then why wait?”

“We cannot if you are not in heat,” he points out.

Now it is your turn to laugh at him, and then Mah’tu has another clarification to add to the codex: oomans can mate nearly any time, any place, so long as the mood is upon them.

As it turns out, the mood is upon you now, and Mah’tu is grateful that his face does not show his emotions as blatantly as yours does—otherwise, you may see how he is flustered, then aroused in equal measure.

*****

He would take you outside, you think, but you douse the fire and lead him back into the ship. For one, you don’t want this to be out in the open, where any creature could witness.

For another, you want to be as close as possible to his array of med-kits and healing sprays. God knows how this is going to work. He’s bigger than you in every way possible. It may not work at all.

He seems confused, but he lets you lead him. You, for once, hold your hand out to him. He makes a low trill, and takes it, and he follows you into the ship. You start to lead him into your quarters by habit, but he stops, tugs you towards his.

“More space,” he says.

In his quarters, he only stands and watches you. Waits for you to make a move. Which is novel, for you: you’re used to letting your partner lead, though your partner up until now has exclusively been a disappointing and generally clueless human male.

“Um.” You kick off your boots. You fiddle with the hem of your shirt, then take a breath and pull it off, as quick as you can. “How do you usually?”

That curious head tilt of his. “Usually what?”

You swear to god that he’s toying with you. His stupid face gives nothing away, but he’s not usually so dense.

“How do your kind mate?” You undo the snap on your pants, the zipper, and you push them over your hips. You kick them off, peel out of your socks, and stand in front of him in your underwear.

They mate like they do everything else: with ceremony, rules, customs, elaborate steps that either mean honor or dishonor. They mate due to some confusing clan alliance, and the mating is always towards breeding the next generation of Yautja. They don’t generally mate for pleasure, though of course it is pleasurable to mate, he explains.

“But you are not beholden to those customs,” he adds. “As you cannot add glory to our clan by breeding with me.”

“Noted.”

“Even if we could have offspring, they would be very weak.”

“I said I got it, thanks.”

While he gives his explanation, he strips too. He lays aside his greaves, his gauntlets, his weird footwear. The data pad he wears on his wrist. The fine netting of his invisibility tech. The thick belt that holds more weaponry than Batman’s setup. He leaves his loincloth-thing on, though, and stands to look at you.

He makes no move. You give him a long moment to lead, but when he only stands and watches you, you decide to lead.

You bridge the few steps between you, and this close—sans most of your clothing and most of his—the size difference has never been more stark. Hell, the difference in your damned species has never been more stark. He’s objectively ugly, you suppose. You must be just as ugly to him, but you wonder if he finds you as fascinating as you find him?

He's a greyish green at first glance, but you’ve noticed that his coloring depends on the light. Sometimes he looks more like a gem, glimmering a darker green like an emerald. Now, in the lower light of his berth, he shimmers almost iridescent.

You’ve touched him plenty in the training sessions, so you know that your first impression (cool and slimy) is incorrect. His skin is dry, warm to the touch. You reach out a tentative hand and lay it on one of his massive pectoral muscles, and when you do, he lays his own hand over yours. Engulfing it.

“How do your kind mate?” he asks, and honestly? He kinda nails the bedroom voice because he lowers his register and growls it, and the sound makes the ache between your legs grow stronger.

Who knew he had it in him?

You think on how to answer him, but he adds, “show me, little sain’ja.”

*****

It takes much of his strength to not overpower you. He can smell your arousal, sharper even than when you’re in your heat. He can hear your heartbeat growing faster, can hear your breathing getting a harsh edge to it. Mostly, though, it’s just his instinct to want to fight you, to submit you to him. To treat you like a Yautja female, really.

But you’re not Yautja. The sight of you in your thin underthings is proof of that. Your fragile skin has no variations aside from a few scars. Your fleshy mouth, your too-wide eyes, the strange lifeless hair that sprouts from your head…he should find you repellent, but when you touch him, he leans into the sensation of your hand on his chest.

He orders you to lead. He does not want to hurt you, so he puts the moment in your hands.

You pause, considering your moves. Thoughtful of what to do in order to make this work. You nod then, and remove the remainder of your clothing, and Mah’tu takes in what has been hidden from him: your breasts, despite having no younglings to nourish. The curls that cover your sex. You gesture to him, and he removes his loincloth, and your already-wide eyes go wider to the point where he fears they may fall out of your skull.

“Fuck,” you breathe out.

He nods. “Yes.”

You laugh at him, and it’s the merry version, not the frustrated kind. “We have to go slowly.”

“Yes.”

“I mean it. You have to….” You pause, and he hears the way you swallow as you study him. “You’ll basically have to not move until I, uh, get used to it. Once we…start.”

Another nod. “Yes. I understand.”

"But you can, uh, touch me. If you want. Before we start."

He lies down on his furs when you tell him to, and you approach him carefully. You cast a wary eye on him as you kneel beside him, then shuffle closer. He takes a hand and chances to touch one of your curves, the one from the dip in your waist to the swell of your hip, and you like that. He can smell the way your arousal blooms, so he continues touching you. Slowly. Carefully. He leads you to lie down beside him, and he touches all the parts of you he never has touched in your training sessions.

Each place is a revelation.

Your breasts are soft, malleable, yet they are tipped with firm nipples. He molds his hands around the shape of them, which makes you moan, but when he skates a blunt nail carefully over each nipple, one and then the other, you part your lips and swear at him.

“Fuck’s sake,” you say, and your voice is tight, like you’re pained.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No. God, no.” Another hard swallow. “That’s…that’s good. You can do that again.”

So he does.

Oomans, he finds, perhaps like their pleasure with a little pain, or even just the threat of it. He is gentle with you, careful of his strength and his claws, but your arousal grows sharp when he draws a nail over your tender skin or when he wraps one hand around your neck to hold you still from your wriggling.

His exploration leads him lower, to the source of your arousal. He slides a gentle finger between your legs, feels how hot you are, how wet you are, how the slick seeps out of you in anticipation for the joining with him.

All the same…

“Your sex is very small,” he mutters. He drags the pad of one finger through your folds and finds your entrance. He tests it, pushes it into you, and it goes fine with how wet you are, but a lone finger is nothing compared to his cock. Still, when he breeches your entrance with his digit, he hears the breathy way you whisper his name. Better, he feels how your sex twitches against him. Like it seeks to draw him in deeper.

So he adds a second finger, which makes you curse, but it is much the same. The same twitching from the smooth muscles of your sex. A fresh pulse of wetness coats his fingers, and he pushes them in, draws them out, mimics mating in this way. Spreads his fingers inside you, to stretch you in preparation.

“God,” you whisper. “Please, don’t stop. Keep…keep doing that, okay?”

He nods. He’s an eager pupil, and you can teach him this. A moment later he feels it: your tiny hand, fumbling for his cock. Circling your slender fingers around his girth. You have little strength but it’s enough to give him pleasure, and he wonders how much is due to your grip and how much is due to the fact that it’s you, his Vexing Thorn, gripping him there.

“This gives you pleasure?” he asks.

“Yes.” You hiss it, draw the word out. With your other hand, you reach down yourself and show him another part of you, a firm little bud also slick with your arousal, just above your entrance. “If you, you know, touch that carefully. Rub it? Carefully. It will be…ah, fuck, yes. Like that. Just like that.”

As he works his hand, he feels you relaxing. Loosening. You are still very small, but it seems more likely that you can take him now, so he keeps going, and you writhe against him, stroke him as you whine out all sorts of words he’ll have to study later.

You reach some point where you deem yourself ready, and you push his hand away. You take your own hand from him, and he grumbles in disappointment, but then you are on him, on top of him, pushing him back, and he lets you.

“Are you okay with this?” you ask. You straddle him, and he feels the hot slick of you pressed against the length of him. “I mean, I don’t know the politics of this. Is this even consensual?”

“Explain your question more.”

You sigh, but you also slide against him, your lower body moving back and forth in small motions as your hands brace on his stomach. He feels how you’re coating him in your arousal, and the mechanics of it make sense. If your sex is slick and his is as well, it will make the mating easier—

“I mean, we never reviewed consensual sex with other species in high school sex ed.”

“I do not understand.” He grips the fat of your ass, you’re so soft there, and he urges your movements. There is pleasure even in this, and he feels himself growing harder underneath you.

“Am I…fuck, I don’t know how to say it without just saying it. Is this what you want? Am I coercing you for sex?”

He chuckles under you, trills deep and long. “Little sain’ja, how could you coerce me? You are so weak.”

You pout, the fleshy lower lip of yours stuck out and wet. “Asshole.”

“I could throw you off me in an instant. I could be on top of you before you could even blink.”

That makes a fresh beat of arousal pulse out of you, coating him more. He notes it. Perhaps you would find pleasure underneath him, just as he is enjoying being underneath you.

“Okay, yeah. Good. So we’re good, then.”

“This is what I want,” he clarifies to your question. “You can feel how I strain to seat myself in you.”

“Well, then.” You gaze at him a beat longer, but you shift, reach your hand down. You grasp him at the root of his cock, and you lift yourself up enough to slot the flared head of him against your entrance.

“I mean it. Please don’t move at all until I tell you. This is…” You trail off, and your pink tongue darts out to lick your lips. “This is a lot.”

He nods. “I will not move until you order me to.”

At that, you begin to lower yourself onto him.

It goes so slow. It must, despite your arousal. You are so small, and he is large, but your anatomy is such that it can take far more than he thought. But it must go slow, so your sex can adapt to him. Wonderful, adaptable oomans: your sex twitches and grabs at his cock as you work yourself onto him, but he enters you bit by bit, and you breathe deep and mumble curses, but you also groan at what you’re feeling, and it sounds like a pleasurable noise to him.

But you take him to the root, in time. In time, you sit flush on him, no space between where he ends and you begin, and Mah’tu has never felt a mating like this in his long life.

“Fuck, I can feel you in my throat,” you whine, and you wriggle at where you sit on him. It sends him a fraction deeper, and he can feel the end of his cock nestled against some inner part of you, though he assumes it is your womb and not your throat. But he also assumes it is one of those things where you say a word and it means something else, but he doesn’t ask for clarification because he needs all of his strength to lie still and wait for your command to move.

It doesn’t come just yet. You sit on him, the back of your thighs flush with his hips. You don’t move much; you move and resettle, you wince and then move, and your tense face cedes to one of panting pleasure. Little by little, you start to move: lifting yourself off of him a fraction, lower yourself back down. Your arousal keeps it as easy as it can be, and in moving, he feels your sex relax more, molding itself to the shape of him.

“Is this okay for you?” you whisper, and he nods his head. He keeps his grip on your ass but only as a place to touch you, not to harry you along. How can he describe what he’s feeling? He has no tricky words like you do, and he fears his blunt speech may anger you.

If he could say what he’s feeling, it would simply be this: that you’re his mate, and now that he’s felt this once, you’ll be his mate for life. He would not give you to another, nor allow another to touch you, and if you wanted to return to earth, he’d go with you and find a way to live amongst the other weak, tricky oomans.

Eventually, you begin to move in earnest. Riding him in a steady rhythm: raising off of him until only the broad crown of his cock is nestled in you, then sinking back onto him. Over and over, in this way, your constant phrase of ‘fuck you’ is realized, and Mah’tu growls at this new way of mating.

“You can…you can move,” you finally tell him. “But slowly, slow….ah, fuck!”

You don’t finish the thought because he moves. Not as you expected, probably, but Mah’tu is a quick study. He shifts one hand from where it kneads at the softness of your ass, and he draws the pad of his finger at where the small nub peeks out at the apex of your sex. He rubs it carefully, mindful of his claw, and it makes your hips jerk against him.

“Yes, don’t stop. Jesus, you’re….keep doing that. Just that.” The pace you’re riding him picks up in speed, and it makes your breasts bounce, drawing his gaze for a moment before it snaps back to where he disappears into the confines of your body.

“I’m close,” you tell him a moment later.

“Close to me?” he guesses.

You laugh, breathless. “Close to coming.”

“Coming where?”

Another laugh, and your rhythm falters for a moment. You reach out and steady your hand on his chest, and your face is perfectly relaxed, radiant in happiness, and Mah’tu thinks that even if you are ugly with your ooman features, he finds you beautiful. Perfect.

“Close to…my pleasure,” you clarify, and you resume the quick pace of fucking him, riding him, drawing him into your body.

“Ah.” He strokes the hot, swollen bud above where he slides into you, and he considers himself. His own pleasure has been close for a while now, his seed close to bursting. “I am close too, then, little sain’ja.”

“You can….come….with me.” You’re panting now, pushing out your words in time to each time you reseat yourself. A sheen of sweat glistens along your skin, making you look almost part Yautja in the low light. “If you…want. Want to…feel you.”

He nods. “I will do as you ask.”

Another breathless laugh, but then you say no more, and he can only observe your body for any clues. Ooman pleasure is blatant, he finds, because your sex gets wetter, and then you moan loudly. Then your entire body seizes in a way, trembles and shakes above him, but your sex tightens against him like a fist, and it’s easy for his pleasure to break as well. He feels it in a way he never has before, like a great wave carrying him towards you, and he spills inside you with a roar that must shake the walls of his ship.

-----

With Yautja mating, once it is complete, the two part. If they meet again, it is only incidental, a consequence of sharing younglings.

So it is strange, how you nestle against him after you both reach your pleasure. He remains nestled inside you, a snug fit that keeps his seed confined in your body—but you lean your upper body down onto him, nuzzle your face against his broad chest, and just lie there.

It is very strange. But it is not unpleasant. A beat after you settle, he places a hand on your back to hold you firmer against him. Your skin is warm and soft under his palm, and he strokes you softly.

“I did not hurt you?” he asks after a long while of lying like this.

“Only in the best way.” Your mouth is near his skin, and he can feel your warm breath against him.

“Explain your meaning.”

“I’ll definitely be aching in the morning.” You pause, seem to think on it. “But it’s a good ache. Like…the ache of training really hard.”

Mah’tu chuckles, and he drags the blunt tips of his claws along the skin of your back, which makes you squirm against him. The motion makes his cock, only half-hard now, twitch back to life.

“You are much better at mating than training,” he tells you.

“Asshole.” You turn your head against him, and he feels the blunt edge of your teeth. You are biting him, but there is no pain. The sensation—your wet mouth on him—makes his cock twitch harder, make the blood pool there to make him grow harder.

You can feel it. You breathe against the wet spot you’ve put on his chest, but then he feels you move—a deliberate rocking, very carefully.

He has many questions he’d like to ask you—other ways your kind mate, for example—but he saves them for later because the mood is upon you again, just as the mood is upon him. And anyway, in the course of your second mating, some of his questions are answered by showing, and Mah’tu is an eager pupil.

#kinktober2024 #clear the inbox 2024 #tropes and tales #the predator #the predator x reader #the predator imagine #yautja #yautja x reader #yautja imagine #the predator series

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blackjackkent · 7 months ago

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Down the parsed dialogue rabbit hole again, this time looking at Ethel's Vicious Mockery lines for all the characters, and goddamn, they are brutal.

ASTARION You're one thirsty night away from betraying everyone. Deep down, you like being leashed, don't you? Is there still rat stuck in your teeth, slave?

GALE I can smell what's under those bandages, wizard. You're all rot and ruin. Come to greet death early? You'll be a lovely spectacle. Who would be jealous of you, apprentice?

KARLACH Let's pull your strings, infernal puppet. Happy to sell everyone's soul but your own, aren't you? When I'm done, even the Hells won't want you.

LAE'ZEL Your people will never take you back - illithid scum. Do you miss kissing Vlaakith's feet, gith? A toad with a tadpole! How fitting.

MINSC How quaint! The hamster has a pet. Only evil here is what's inside you, ranger. Go rub your rat, soft-skull.

SHADOWHEART You're so far up Shar's cake you can't see straight. Pathetic. Why would Shar love you when no one else does? You're no complex puzzle. Just a sad little girl.

WYLL Do you think losing that eye made you a hero? Oh, look! It's daddy's regret. Fraud of the Frontiers!

DRAGONBORN Aww, where's your clan? Bet they'd exile you for that brainworm in a blink. Bet that honour of yours shatters easy as your scales. You foul-breathed little lizard!

DWARF No flabby dwarf's a threat to me. More beard than brains, the lot of you. Bet you'd trade your friends for a trinket or two, gold-eater!

DWARF (DUERGAR) Bow your head, slave. You remember how, don't you? Grey and useless as a stone comb. I'll squeeze that stone heart until it bleeds, dwarf. Need a new master, illithid lover?

ELF Fancy yourself immortal? We'll see how long that lasts. I'll show you what a true fey does, dearie. Elves are so pretty. Pretty worthless!

ELF (DROW - FEMALE) Filthy underscum! Just another of Lolth's pretty harlots. Slaver. Sadist. How dare you judge me?

ELF (DROW - MALE) Bare your throat, spider-bait. Kneel, boy. Just like the matriarchs taught you to. Bow to your betters, boy.

GNOME Disgusting burrow rat. Bet your clan's happy you're gone! Try laughing after I rip your throat out, gnome.

HALF-ELF I wonder which parent regrets you more, half-breed. How revolting. Another thin-blooded mongrel. Half-elf. Half-human. All useless.

HALF-ELF (DROW) Even the Underdark doesn't want you, half-breed. A half-drow? How grotesque. Surprised you show yourself in public, abomination.

HALF-ORC Come now, tusks-for-brains! Doesn't this make you angry? All that bloodlust. A little tap, and I bet you won't know friend from foe! Lumbering half-orc. Twice as ugly as your parents combined!

HALFLING Come closer, little softie. You'll be tender. A tiny, sweet morsel. Just for me.

HUMAN Another human rat infesting Faerûn. A human! So desperate to be special. Pity. That tadpole actually made you interesting.

TIEFLING I'll burn you alive and everyone will celebrate. You're everyone's punching bag and no one's favourite. I see the Hells spit out another tragic little tiefling.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 dialogue #astarion #gale #wyll #karlach #lae'zel #shadowheart #minsc #(none for jaheira or halsin again; maybe they're just too old for this shit and ethel can't get through to them XD )#bg3 ethel

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merakiui · 10 months ago

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never-ending noctuary; love forevermore.

yandere!malleus draconia x (female) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, somnophilia, non-con, overblot!malleus, obsession, breeding, baby-trapping, malleus is written to have two dicks, spoilers for part two of book seven note - and sitting powerful on his throne of thorns, omniscience at his fingertips, the lord of malevolence takes a bride.

An eerie, all-consuming quiet has fallen over Sage’s Island.

It is frigid and unfriendly like winter. Harsh and oppressive like silence. Painful and abrasive like brambles. Time has come to a swift halt here, and with it the people fall into never-ending euneirophrenia. Delights so dreamy shall inhabit the minds of all who sleep, the grandest gift granted to those unwilling. Like fate itself, wound around every living soul, it is inescapable. Inevitable like death—unfair and unforgettable.

But then it is also peaceful and secure. Quaint and warm like a blanket. Fluffy and floral like spring’s first kiss. Solace is far sweeter when spent in oneiric solitude, and so it will seem for one-thousand years. Forevermore, stretched taut into the future, the dream persists.

Is that not the best blessing? To those who wish to savor a fleeting moment just a second more, is this not a wish granted generously tenfold? Rather than immortalizing the past with photographs, it shall never come to pass. There is no need for bittersweet recollections or tearful farewells. The present will persevere, lived out in endless dreams.

Surely this is the correct course. Not just for Malleus, for he is a gentle, kind creature who recognizes the mutual desire for interminable merriment, but for the entirety of the island. Although in hoping for love forevermore, he has shackled himself to selfish, Epicurean pleasures. The type which normally lasts as long as a vision spent on cloud nine.

Currently, sitting proud and alone on a cold throne, Malleus knows of no greater joy.

The party may have fallen still as the grave, bodies slumbering in stiff propinquity, but it hasn’t finished. The food may have congealed, inedible and decaying, but it is there. A testament to spirits kept aloft, if only to ensure no one ever knows the desolation of endings.

Paradise is what you make of it. Thus, should you hope for it, you can walk on the clouds in your mind and never know of Icarus’s plights. You can shed insecurities and anxieties and taste delectable metamorphosis. You can be anyone and anything. You can be strong and wealthy. You can be fearless and heroic. You can be an impossible ideal.

You can be loved.

Malleus watches your seemingly lifeless form splayed on the sofa, limbs draped over that of Ace and Deuce. It’s a tranquil sight, a marionette freed from the strings of somber, suffocating life.

Under a roof of thorns, you are reborn.

Paradise is wondrous for Malleus, albeit a touch silent. He wonders what you might say if you were to stand at his side and observe this eternal slumber party. Would it fill you with awe? With appreciation? With abject terror?

Perhaps there is no use in theorizing. He doesn’t need to know, for you will love him even in sleep.

He rises, taking each step at a time. Thorny branches and roots part to make way for him, a groom traversing the aisle in search of his bride. You lie still, secrets sealed behind pretty, plush lips, and if he was not the cause for your current state he might assume you were late.

But there is no death here. It cannot reach. It will never reach because Paradise knows not of death or suffering.

Paradise is the garden before the infestation. Paradise is the body before bacterial devastation. Paradise is love before departed lamentation.

Malleus gazes at your restful face, leaning down to trace a clawed, blot-tainted finger along your cheek. There are no tears; you are a doll incapable of such sorrow, sculpted to portray perfect neutrality. He is most pleased with this development, his chest rumbling with a triumphant chuckle. Now you shall never know an ending ever again. Now you shall remain here, safe and stagnant in his arms, far from the mirror that may allow you to return home.

Gathering your body in his arms, he lifts you from the cushions. You crumble in his grasp, head lolling and arms noodling at your sides. Sagging dead weight, but he places his ear to your chest to listen to the melodic thrum of your heart. You’re alive, frailty shielded from the horrors of the world. Here, in thorny idyll, you will live forevermore.

Historically, all rulers must have someone to call their own. Whether it be by way of arrangement or convenience, strung together for the sake of conjoined power or out of obligation, this is an irrefutable fact. Historically, all rulers must bear an heir—someone to carry on the glory of an ever-present lineage.

Malleus refuses to bring a child into the world unless they are given the blessing of the one thing he was deprived of since birth.

A mother.

You fit in his embrace, a puppet tugged into a one-sided waltz. He steps over fallen bodies as he holds you against his chest, following the routine even though you aren’t awake to reciprocate.

Historically, a married pair must share the first dance. Or that’s what he’s read in fairy tales.

There are no rings here; promises are left unspoken. He won’t entertain rejection because there is no room for it in Paradise. Every unsavory, horrid thing—pestilence and pain, death and destruction, and sadness and sin—is packed away in Pandora’s box and shelved. Malleus won’t risk opening it to release the tiny shred of hope desperately clawing for escape. It’s not worth it.

He will foster his own hope if he must, and she exists in his arms—beautifully motionless.

The steps are executed with care, up the stairs and towards a lonesome chair. He attempts a twirl, lowering you into a dip. Your arms hang limply, eyes shut in permanence. Brimming with fondness, Malleus tugs you back up to press his lips to your forehead.

“Dearest one,” he mumbles, “may you know many fruitful fantasies in the arms of Morpheus.”

He reclaims his seat and situates you to face him while perched on his lap. You slump against him, near-boneless. He smiles at you, imagining the ruckus that would certainly come about from such a daring gesture. Sebek would squawk at you to have more respect and dignity. Silver would tut and shake his head. Lilia would look on in amusement.

These are small pleasantries, little wishes he hopes to witness someday.

Historically, a married pair must consummate their bond.

Malleus’s fingertips flit across your figure, feeling fabric beneath his palms. He tries to exercise restraint and take it slow—everything in moderation, Lilia would remind him—but he can’t contain his nympholepsy. Your clothes are discarded at once, shredded to scraps in his haste. He moves clumsily, following the searchlight of intrinsic ardor. You’re softer when bare, he observes, peeling your bra from your skin. A pallid hand presses down onto your breast, the pudge of which caves beneath his fingers. He withdraws and it bounces back to its shape.

Fascinating, he marvels with wide, enchanted eyes.

Claws tweak at your hardened nipples next. He’s careful because you’re notably weaker. Even in sleep, he must mind his hedonism. Too much and you will break. Too little and he’ll be left unsatisfied. Malleus watches your expression. It was mostly neutral, but now your eyebrows are twitching in response to his touch.

In sleep, you are the most vulnerable.

He knows this because he’s peered in from afar, admiring you through a glass barrier while you slept unaware in Ramshackle. He would never do anything without invitation. Though it may not be in writing, your body is oh-so-inviting. And he indulges because he’s only known this fervor in the deepest, darkest dreams.

Curiously, in his pursuit of passion, Malleus happens upon the special space between your legs. Delicate like a flower, it’s the prettiest part of your anatomy. If he wishes to connect with you, to tie himself to you in unholy communion, he must acquaint himself with this sliver of seventh heaven. He’s never seen one up close; the sight is foreign but very welcome. He drinks it in, burning your form into his retinas. Two fingers trace your labia, stroking along flowery folds in V-shaped strokes. You twitch in his arms, an unconscious, knee-jerk reaction.

At some point, in the middle of his experimental exploration, Malleus begins to hum. It’s a soft, genial lilt. Low and soothing, the lullaby fills the silent halls of Diasomnia’s common room like poison gas.

He contemplates whether this is enough. Can you feel these sensations even when you’re so deep in your dreams? Perhaps so, for when he brushes back the hood protecting your clit to rub at it you soak his fingers. Lubricious, your wetness shimmers on his fingertips when he pulls them away to admire the very essence of you. Without hesitation, he places his fingers on the pad of his tongue to clean both. It’s a divine taste, proof of pleasure.

You cannot speak, so instead your body does so for you. A most bewitching behavior.

Malleus’s hand slithers back towards home, his fingers sliding in with surprising ease. Gummy walls cling to slender digits, embracing the intrusion as if it’s meant to be. With each pump of his fingers, your body warms. The sinful squelch of scissoring fingers joins his humming in a salacious song. Every now and then, you spasm in his arms, your lips parting ever so slightly to release a sigh or a breathy moan. It’s musical, a whimsy he’s only just discovered.

“My beautiful bride,” Malleus croons, “you will know love in my arms. Love forevermore, here in this sanctuary. Fear not, for I have done away with all that may terrify and traumatize.”

Pressure is straining beneath the belt, an itch that must be promptly dealt with. Removing his fingers, he shifts you on his lap so that he may free his cocks from confinement. Twin monstrosities curve towards his stomach; perhaps you’d have been frightened if you were awake to behold them. His hand settles on the small of your back, steadying you as he lines one of them up with your body. The tip just reaches past your navel. For a moment, Malleus ponders whether he might break you.

Careful now, he can hear Lilia’s chiding. Impatience will lead to injury.

He heeds the unspoken warning, lifting you with both hands until the head of his cock is kissing your pussy. And then, slowly, he lowers you down onto him. Your pussy stretches around him, a snug squeeze that only grows tighter with every inch swallowed. Malleus pulls you flush against his chest when he’s halfway slotted, his breathing staggered. Your body quivers, walls fluttering around him, while his other unsheathed cock presses against your navel. Pre-cum smears on your stomach.

He’s determined to cherish you, thrusting all the way to the hilt after a few determined tries. It’s a firm fit, but it’s still bliss. Hissing through his teeth, brows knitted in concentration, Malleus wraps his arms around you and fucks. Mindless, mostly, but with the intent to reach the only acceptable end here: orgasmic ecstasy. He makes up for the lack of motion on your part by moving his hips to meet yours as he rocks you up and down. Whimpers slip past your lips; he shushes you with song, humming through groans and grunts.

This is love.

Malleus thinks so when he positions your hands over his other untouched cock. The illusion doesn’t last long because your hands are quick to fall away. Instead, he grasps your hand, guides it back to his shaft, and pumps himself using your precious palm for friction.

You’re bounced up and down in a parody of consensual copulation. Malleus dwells in imagination, picturing you in a wedding gown. He considers what you might say, the vows you would undoubtedly swear, and the sweet nothings you’d exchange late into the evening. He’d twirl you across an elegant ballroom while everyone looks on with tender adoration and reverence. He’d show you the stars hanging just within reach, and when you’re swept up in riveting romance the sky is tangible and dreams are spun from sugar.

He’d place you on his bed, stripping you of your dress, hands trailing up to tug the frilly garter from your thigh, and you’d smile at him, open your arms and welcome him with mutual affection. You’d bloom for him like a moonflower, your heart beating in sync with his, as he fulfills the final promise—one so bodily imperative. An oath to disturb desolate halls with noise. To hear the pitter-patter of tiny footfalls upon stone floors—he can’t imagine anything more harmonious.

You would soften throughout the months, bright with that foretold pregnancy glow. He would press his hands to your rounded belly and feel squirming within, restless kicks and nudges. You’d discuss potential names over breakfast, and he would hover even though he knows you’re plenty capable. But he worries because you’re so fragile and fleeting. So pretty. So round with child. He wouldn’t leave you alone for a moment; you’re far too enchanting. Perhaps, in some distant future, he’ll lower to the height of your stomach and sing to the baby.

A smile would tug at your lips and you’d reach down to pat his head, running your fingers over his horns. And then—

Malleus cracks his eyes open, his breath hot against your face. His chest heaves as he comes down from the high of domestic daydreams to find your stomach spattered with cum. Swallowing thickly, he peers between your bodies at your pussy stretched around his other cock.

Oh, he came inside.

Unexpectedly. Or perhaps not, for this was his intention. But once is not nearly enough, and he must fill you until you’re fit to burst—until it’s biologically certain you’re pregnant.

An emotion flickers on your face. Malleus mistakes it for jubilation, the type which calls forth a sunshower on your cheeks. He kisses the tears trailing down your face, ending at your lips for a chaste peck.

This is not the finale. It is simply the beginning.

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere malleus draconia #yandere malleus draconia x reader #yandere malleus x reader #yandere malleus #n/sfw #tw: noncon #tw: breeding #tw: baby trapping #tw: somnophilia

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eddiemunsons-missingnipple · 1 year ago

Text

The Meetup

《Part 2 for Next Caller

《Pairings:College!Eddie Munson x shyfem!reader

《Summary: After your call with Eddie, you can't get him off your mind. You promised yourself to let your fears go and finally speak with him in person. Some things don't go as originally planned because Eddie just so happens to walk into your coffee shop.

《Warnings:fluff,smut. 90s!Eddie, a little tiny bit of dry humping, oral ( female & male receiving) dirty talk, pet names (good girl, sweetheart) phone sex, masturbation (male). Sex toys (fleshlight)

Word count: 7.7k

A/n: Please reblog like and leave a comment to show support. Not proofread ignore any mistakes you come across.

Disclaimer: Please read part one linked at the top to understand the rest of the story.

Mini series masterlist

18+ minors dni

Almost a few days after the stunt, you pulled on the radio with Eddie it didn't take long before word got around on campus. It's all anyone could talk about they wanted to know who the mystery caller was, and Eddie seemed to be cornered more so than usual. As people surrounded him, he wished maybe one of them were you. Hiding amongst the crowd of people.

Anytime a woman called in, his assistant would jump out his skin. He knew he should have shut it down the moment it started, but he trusted Eddie. Now, anytime the phone rings, he instantly goes into a frenzied panic. Eddie just laughs at how over dramatic he was being. He knew if someone called in trying to pull the same stunt as you did, he'd turn them away. He's not gonna tell his assistant that, though. He likes how jumpy and absolutely horrified he gets when there is a female voice on the other end of the line.

You still listened in every show since that night. Almost every time someone called in, they would either want to do what you did or want to talk about you. One thing that pretty much kinda bothered you were some of the girls calling and pretending to be you. Sometimes, you felt like it was bait, and someone was just trying to get the real "Miss caller" to give away her true identity. Much like how tonight was going, if you were tired of it, you can only imagine how he must feel.

"Yeah hi its me calling you back." An unfamiliar female voice spoke.

"Nice try, you don't really sound anything like her, buh-bye." His voice etched with annoyance as he hung up on the fifth woman of the night.

"Anyone want to call in and talk about I' dunno sports?" He sounded absolutely over it.

"I'm fucking desperate over here."

He emitted a long sigh into the mic. "Can someone call in with an embarrassing or some shit?"

You begin to drown out the sound of him talking as he tries to move along the segment.

You felt bad you truly did for what was happening to him now. You don't regret choosing him to help you, but you wish the circumstances were a little different. You hope he didn't hate you for this. You don't think you could live with yourself if he did.

Eddie on the other hand couldn't get you off his mind. You infested it, and no matter how hard he tried to think of over things, you creeped your way back in. He dreamt of you, and every dream was the same. He could hear you speaking to him, but right when he got close enough to reveal who you were, he'd wake up.

He got absolutely chewed out by his boss that following day. His show was close to being taken off the air, but once they saw how much buzz it was getting, they decided against it. He was on thin ice, though, when it came to how raunchy his segment was allowed to get. The conversation made local news in your town, which created more concerns for you.

The thought of someone figuring out how to trace your call back to your home terrified you to no end. Could they even do something like that? You don't know and definitely don't want to find out. Eddie did make a promise to keep you anonymous, but that didn't mean everyone else who worked there did. You try to push the paranoia to the back of your mind and just put all of your focus on school and work. This whole situation should blow over shortly you hoped.

Even with all of the chaos at your campus right now, that still didn't persuade from wanting to go see him play Thursday. Which was perfect timing since your roommate was going out of town that same day. Leaving you to an empty home all to by yourself. Who knows, maybe you'd get lucky and take him home. It was wishful thinking on your part, but still, it could happen.

Little did you know you didn't need to wait that long to see him after all. As you just rang up a customer's coffee order, he was next in line. He was too preoccupied looking at all the coffee options on the menu to see he's the next one to in line. You cleared your throat to get his attention and he looked right at you.

Your heart felt like it was in your throat when his eyes met yours. He looked very good today, making it much harder for you to focus. He had his hair pulled back and wore a oversized black corduroy button-up shirt with black ripped jeans. He gave an apologetic smile for holding you up.

"Uhhh, sorry, I really don't know what this shit means." He laughs, pointing back to the menu above.

Your mouth goes dry, and you try to play it cool.

"Well, what kind of coffee do you usually like?" You asked, trying to forget about who's standing before you. He's just some guy you kept reminding yourself.

He pressed his lips in a thin line, "Well, i usually don't drink coffee. if I did, I guess I wouldn't want it to taste like ass."

"So whatever you suggest."

You giggle and smile, turning to look at the menu as well. "I'd suggest maybe a vanilla latte. It's pretty basic."

"I'll take whatever you tell me to." He holds his hands up in surrender. "I'm putting all my faith in you."

"Wait a minute, are you implying im basic?" His mouth agape throwing a ringed hand over his heart pretending to be offended.

He was toying with you hoping to get you to laugh but instead you panicked.

Swallowing hard." N-no...its just a pretty standard drink to order."

"Hey, it's cool. I'm messing around." He reassured.

"Oh..um okay well then."

You try to regain your composure as your face begins to tingle.

"Okay, and what size? Small, medium, or large? " You asked him, trying to hide the fact that you're rapidly about to lose your mind.

"Oh, I need a large."

You nodded, putting in his order and ringing him up. He stands there a moment too long, and it's making you a little nervous. "Do I know you from somewhere?"

Your eyes grow wide, and you quickly turn to look away.

"Nope." You shook your head.

"You sure? You seem so familiar to me." He bends down on his elbows leaning on the counter. He's trying to examine your face to remember where he knows you from.

"We may have a had a class together at some point." You shrug.

"I mean yeah--but I don't know there is something else." He continued staring while you ran around behind the counter, putting away fresh croissant.

The longer it took for his latte to be finished, the more anxious you got. He wouldn't stop looking at you. You wanted to tell him it's rude to stare, but you don't. He kept trying to make small talk with you, which didn't help your nerves at all. You kept stumbling over your words or clearing your throat because it was getting dry.

You took a breath of fresh air when they finally called his order number. He took his coffee and waited around until you came back. "So, uhh, I don't know if this weird, but you wouldn't be apposed to going on a date with me?"

You blinked twice trying to figure out if you just heard him correctly.

"Come again?" You ask in disbelief.

"Oh, well, I was wondering if I could take you on a date?" He repeated as a small blush creeped along his cheeks.

"Yeah, sure. I mean, I'd love to." You tried to keep your cool, but on the inside, you were jumping for joy.

His smile grows ten times wider when he hears you accept his date. "Great, write down your address and phone number so we can keep in contact."

You nodded and ran to grab a pin and paper, giving him all of the information he needed. He also wrote down his number to give to you as well, just in case you needed to get in touch before your date.

"Cool, how's Friday sound?" He asks, taking the piece of paper you handed him. "Friday sounds great, actually."

"My names Eddie, by the way." He added motioning to himself.

He smiled again, taking a sip of coffee as he began heading for the door. He turns to look at you one last time before leaving. "I'll see you Friday, pretty girl."

"Thanks a latte." He joked, holding up his cup before finally exiting the coffee shop. His face scrunched up with embarrassment as he turned to leave. Why the fuck did I just say that? He thought to himself as he practically chugged down his drink, heading to his first lecture of the day.

You're standing still behind the counter, frozen in place. Did that really just happen? That fast? You started to think someone was pulling a prank on you. Maybe everyone did find out you were the caller and decided to mess with around. No, Eddie doesn't seem like the type of guy who would do something like that, you thought. You just couldn't get over how easy that was, a little too easy.

The week went by way too fast for you, and the closer it got to your date, the more anxious you became. You wanted to tell him so badly it was you who called. Would he even still like you after that? He seemed just as eager to meet you as you wanted to meet him. Doesn't really matter now. You'd tell him eventually anyway. Especially if this date goes well.

You didn't see or hear from him too much during the days leading up to Friday. You figured he was very busy since he still was doing his show on the radio and playing with his band. On top of attending classes, he seemed like he didn't have much free time. Which is why you didn't cancel on him like you were probably going to. After you thought about it for a while, you realized he definitely was making the time to take you out.

Eddie called you a few times to check in and see if you were still willing to go out with him. He'd make small talk to ask how you were and if your classes were going well. He'd crack a joke or two, making you laugh easing your mind of any self doubt you had before.

Now that it was officially Friday evening, you quickly left work early to go home and get ready. He said he'd be come by eight o'clock to pick you up, giving you a few hours to decide what to wear. You searched through each article of clothing hating every single piece. You know deep down he doesn't care about what clothes you're wearing. He asked you out while you were in your work attire. With your coffee stained apron and dumb hat.

Still, you wanted to look nice for him, and you don't get out much as it is. So you opted for just a simple black dress. Dowsing yourself in a sweet perfume and putting on a pair of heels. You pray you don't end up falling and busting your ass in front of him tonight. You were shaved, plucked, and smelt of vanilla and spice.

You were just putting the last touches to your makeup on when you heard a knock at your front door. You did a last mirror check, making sure everything looked well put together. You take a long, deep breath and exhale before you go to open up for him.

When you opened the door to greet him, he was standing there with one hand in his pocket. While the other is holding a bouquet of flowers. He wore a black pullover sweater with the sleeves pulled up to his elbows, revealing his tattooed arms. His dark curly hair loose around his shoulders, and he smelled like mint and tobacco. His smile widened when he saw you for the first time since your last meeting. His dimples on full display, and you couldn't help but melt a little. "You look beautiful."

"Thanks. You don't look too bad, either." You smile, stepping out to stand closer to him. "Nah, I just wanted to impress you."

He blushes, and this is the second time you've seen him do that. He gave a boyish smile and handed you the bouquet of flowers he picked. "These are for you, sweetheart."

"Thank you." You reached out to accept the flowers. "They're beautiful."

There is a moment where you both don't say a word and just stand there gazing at one another.

Eddie cleared his throat. "Shall we?"

You nodded, closing the door behind you and making your way to his van. He walked next to you with a hand on the small of your back. He moved past you quickly to open the door and help you get into the passenger seat. Eddie made his way to the driver side and hopped in no longer after you.

The drive to the restaurant was fairly quiet except for the music playing on Eddie's radio. He humed along, tapping his thumbs on the steering wheel to the beat. You both steal glances here and there when the other isn't looking. Your heart beating a mile a minute.

Eddie seemed calm and collected, but on the inside, he felt just the same. Usually, he was pretty confident around women, but there was something about you that made his heart skip a beat. He doesn't know what it is that pulled him in so quickly. He's not complaining one bit either.

You finally see the restaurant up a head and sigh in relief. He pulled up and parked in the front. He made you wait there while he jumped out of the driver side to jog over to help open up your door. You took his hand and carefully got out while trying not to flash anyone in the process. You wish the dress you finally decided on wasn't so short.

You make your way inside where a hostess greets you both and guides you to a table in the far back. You sit across from one another while she handed you a menu to look over. A waitress soon comes by to ask what drinks you'd like, and you both settle on a Dr pepper.

She returned not too much longer to take your orders and set down your drinks. You and him seemed to be in sync tonight since the both of you ordered a burger with onion rings on the side. Once she took your order, she left, leaving you alone together again.

"So I'm gonna ask a boring question and say what do you enjoy doing for fun?" He playfully asked, taking a sip of his soda.

"Uh, well, I haven't been having much fun lately with work and school taking up my time." You confessed feeling a little embarrassed you don't live an exciting life you imagined he did.

"You don't hang out with friends or go out?" His brows furrowed.

You play around with a piece of paper on the table, avoiding his gaze. "Uh, well, I don't have that many friends here."

"I mostly just keep to myself and stay home a lot." You continued on.

He frowns. "Boyfriends?"

You shake your head, trying not to even think about any of your exes at a time like this.

"You know what? I'm sorry. I shouldn't ask about boyfriends while in the middle of a date." He gave an apologetic smile.

"Hope he doesn't mind sharing you for the night, though." He winked, making you laugh.

He seems to enjoy making you laugh when he notices you're uncomfortable or getting shy.

The waitress finally arrived back with your food, and you didn't hesitate to start eating immediately. He watched you with amusement and started eating right behind you. The longer you both talked, the more relaxed you became.

You were already familiar with him and found a form of comfort when listening to his show. But being alone with him felt different. You never thought this moment would come. You almost wanted to cry, thinking it was just some elaborate dream that you'd soon wake up from. The date was going amazing so far, and you never wanted it to end.

"So, um, how's your show going?" You ask him, not wanting to seem like he was the only one asking the questions.

"It's good..well actually I'm in some trouble, but they'll live. More people are listening in now, so I think the money will shut them up." He openly admited, shoving an onion ring in his mouth.

You raise an eyebrow "in trouble for what?"

You already knew but wanted to hear him say. You kept wondering what he thought about that phone call. Even if it might hurt your feelings, you were dying to know. Your curiosity always got the best of you.

He shakes his head. "Maybe I'll talk about it on our second date."

You giggle, finishing off the last bit of your dinner. "What do you like to do for fun?"

"Well, I play DnD when I have extra free time, I play with my band at the bar by campus." He frowned a little at the mention of his band.

"Sadly, we probably won't be playing much together here very soon." He adds.

Changing the subject quickly, not wanting to bring the mood down. "Girlfriends?"

"No girlfriends."

He eyed you up and down, grinning wide poking his tongue on the inside of his cheek. You swear you could see a little twinkle in his eye.

He leans forward, getting awfully close. " You almost ready to go?"

"Um sure, yeah." You respond a little sadly, not wanting the night to end so soon. He waves for the waitress to bring over the bill. Once he was done paying, you both got back in his vans.

The van ride back to your place wasn't as awkward as before, but there was something electric in the air. There is too much tension between the two of you. It felt like the silence was lingering until one of you decided to make the first move.

He pulls up in front of your home and helps you step out of the passenger side. Both of you walking up to your front door, not speaking. This was your chance to invite him in. You thought to yourself. "I had fun tonight."

"Yeah, me too." He smiled, putting his hands back in pockets.

You look up at him and whisper. " Do you want to come in?"

He paused for a moment, hoping he heard you correctly before answering. "Yeah, I'd love to come in."

You unlock the front door and take his hand, pulling him inside and guiding him to your bedroom.

The moment he was finally in his lips, crashed onto yours in a heated kiss. The kiss was sloppy and passionate as your tongues fought for dominance. Your lipstick smears on his mouth. He breaks away to move down your jaw and nip at your neck right under your ear. He nibbled and sucked at your tender skin, causing your knees to buckle. You grabbed onto his biceps, holding on tightly to keep your balance.

He stops to look at you in your eyes. "You wanna get undressed for me?"

You swallowed hard and nodded.

"Words, pretty girl." His voice is low and husky.

"Yes." You panted.

Eddie reaches around to unzip the back of your dress, letting it pool around your feet. He squates down his face mere inches from your heat. He looks up at you through his long lashes. He kisses your tummy right above the waistband of your panties before reaching to grab your ankle. He brought it forward to unclasp your heel. Your hands grip onto his shoulders, steadying yourself. He tosses the shoe to the side before moving to the next one and doing the same.

He stands up, reaching around your back again, unhooking your bra, and letting it fall to the floor, exposing your breasts. Your nipples harden in the cool air of your bedroom. You watch him as he takes his shirt off, exposing his bare chest to you. You notice tattoos you've never seen before. One of a faded demon on his peck and a black widow right under his clavicle. "Be a good girl and lay back on the bed."

You hesitate for a moment as your mind is already feeling hazy. You turned to slowly make your way up the bed, laying back against your pillows. You watch as he took his boots off and unbuckeld his jeans, letting them hang low on his hips. He seductively crawls his way up until he is hovering above you.

You push on his chest. "Umm....I don't think it's a good idea if we have sex."

He sit back on his knees. "Want me to leave?"

"No, we can do other stuff. I'm just not ready to do that." You confessed.

"Hey, we don't have to do anything you don't want to." He reassured you, bringing a hand to gently cup your cheek.

You let out a shakey breath, feeling a little more comfortable . You were worried he would be mad at you, but he wasn't.

"If you don't like anything I'm doing, don't be afraid to tell me,okay?" He's being sincere, you can tell. He wanted you to feel safe with him.

You nodded again. "Okay, i will."

"Good." He smiled and leaned down to give you another kiss to your lips.

He brought his hips against yours grinding his hard cock against your core. You moan in his mouth when his cock applies pressure to your clit over your panties. He pushes against you harder, causing him to grunt. He moved to lay by your side, pressing his front right up against you. His fingers dance and play with the waistband of your panties. You can feel his prominent buldge pressing against your outer thigh. His calloused fingers slowly slips past the delicate lace. You can feel him brushing past your clit. He carefully glides his middle finger in between your wet fold, collecting your slick on his finger. Ignoring your aching bud in the process.

"Fuck you're so wet." He murmured against your mouth.

He pushes one finger inside your entrance, pumping it agonizingly slow. Your head falls back, giving him the perfect opportunity to attack your neck. He nips and sucks on the skin by your ear. Biting, licking, and sucking while his finger is knuckle deep in your pussy. He adds another stretching you open around his thick fingers. His thumb pressing firmly on your clit. You squeezed your eyes shut and let out gasp.

"Think of my cock pretty girl." He whispered curving his fingers upward.

"Mmm!, s-so good." You whimper.

That's all you could respond with your mind completely gone. All you could do was focus on how he seemed determined to make you feel good. You feel him smile against your neck when where his lips were leaving feather like kisses all over. You clench around him as his fingers start working on that sweet spot on your walls.

"F-fuck." You let out a strangled moan bucking your hips.

He grinds his cock against your thigh. "Feel that?"

"Feel how hard I am for you?"

You look up at him with big doe eyes."y-yes I can feel you."

His picks up the pace, his fingers plunging in and out, making your head spin. Your pussy wet and loud taking his middle and ring finger. The tightness in your core building with each pump of fingers. Your moans getting more pornographic. His warm breath on your neck making you squirm.

"You're such a messy girl. My hand is getting soaked." He purrs in your ear.

He ruts harder against your thigh, violently rocking your bed.

"Can I taste you?" He rasped.

You let out groan. "Please"

You swallow hard as your heart feels like it's beating out of your chest. You're already breathless. A small frown forms on your face when you feel his thick fingers leaving from inside of you.

"Ah ah, no pouting." He wiggled his index finger at you playfully.

No one has ever done this to you before. None of your exes cared about your pleasure they only wanted to get themselves off and then leave you to handle the rest. Eddie was the first man to help you cum and now he's going to be the first man to taste you. All of your ex boyfriends were selfish lovers. Which brought on so many insecurities you've been working hard to overcome. There was a part of you that didn't want him to keep going, but there was another part that was telling you to let go and enjoy it.

He gave you one last deep kiss on your lips before moving and kissing his way down right above your sex. He looked up at you again, and his pupils were blown out with lust. He never breaks eye contact as he slowly drags your panties down your legs. He sits up higher for a moment, admiring your naked body spread out before him. You went to close your legs, but he stopped you. "Let me see you."

Thats all you needed to hear before spreading them wider for him.

He cursed under his breath, closing his eyes, trying not to attack the moment you show yourself to him. "I'm gonna make you feel so fucking good."

He dips down again, his face so close to your pussy now. He hums in approval when he sees how soaked you are for him. Your slick dripping down to the curve of your ass. He kisses the inside of your thighs, testing to see how much you can take before you're begging him for more. It doesn't take long before you're already impatient. He nips and sucks at the soft skin, making you buck up against his face. His nose nudging your throbbing clit.

"Patience, sweetheart." He laughed.

You buck up again, wanting desperately wanting his mouth.

Without warning, you feel his warm tongue licking a long strip between your wet folds. You sucked in a breath, never having felt something like this before. "OOh!,Eddie." You mewled

He pulls you down hard against his face, grunting against you. He sucks and laps at your folds, letting your slick cover his face. You grind against his mouth, throwing your head back against the pillows. Your legs go to squeeze around his head, but his strong hands hold them in place. He takes his tongue to flick across your clit making you wriggle. His mouth attaches to your sensitive bud, and he sucks on it softly. You went to push his head away as the sensation is too much. He removed his mouth, checking see to see if you're okay. "You okay?"

"Why'd you stop?" You whined.

He smiled before reattaching his plump lips to your clit slurping and flicking his tongue over it. He watches as you writhe above him. His eyes never left you as he almost seemed mesmerized by the sight before him. You've never felt this desired by anyone before. Your hips bucking as you grind on his face as he begins sucking harder on your aching clit.

You grip the blankets beneath you. "i-im getting close."

His removes a hand from one of your thighs and carefully pushes one finger inside your entrance. You grab and pull on his hair, making him grunt against you. He adds another finger, curving them upwards to stroke that sweet spot on your walls.

Removing his mouth for a moment "Yeah is my good girl gonna cum?" He asked quickly reattaching his lips to your sore clit. Your backing arching off the bed as you pull on his hair some more.

Your walls pulsating around him as his fingers pump in out of you fast. His mouth sucking on your clit harshly as his fingers plunge deep inside your pussy. The wet noises his mouth is making as his tastes you, mixed with the squelching of your pussy fill the room.

He's lapping away at you, getting lost in your taste, driving you absolutely wild.

"Mmphf! Don't stop." You begged him.

You feel that all too familiar tightness building again, and you clench around his fingers. Your legs are twitcing and trembling. You're breathing harder than before. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as your orgasm washes over you fast, leaving your body to shake. Eddies mouth never letting go of your clit. While his skilled fingers work on your pussy helping you ride out your orgasm.

He removes his mouth and fingers from you tenderly, not wanting to hurt you in any kind of way. His face glistening with your slick and his lips look swollen. He moves to lay next to you on your bed. You're slowly coming down from your high. Your breathing evening out as you come to. You both lay there in silence for a few minutes.

"Can I taste you now?" Your voice sounding small as you asked.

"Fuck." He murmured under his breath.

"Yeah, you can taste me." He whispers back.

Moving to sit back between his legs, you reached to take off his pants off. He helped you by wiggling them down his legs and discarding them to the floor. You notice how painfully hard he is in his boxers, and you lick your lips. Hooking your fingers in the waistband of his boxers and pulling them down. His his cock spring free hitting his belly button. The head an angry red leaking precum down his shaft. He hisses when the cool air hits sensitive his tip. Your eyes widened at the size of him. You now know he was telling the truth. He was big, and you don't know how you're gonna be able to fit all of him in your mouth.

He grabs it, giving it a few light strokes eagerly waiting for your mouth. Precum still dripping alongside it, getting on his hand.

"Don't be shy." His voice low and deep just like how he spoke to you that night on the radio. "I hope you'll let me be inside you one day."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? He bites his lip, waiting for your response.

"Yes." Your voice barely above a whisper.

His eyebrows raise, and a cocky grin spreads across his face. "You felt so tight taking my fingers. I can only imagine how you must feel when I'm spreading you open."

"Just thinking about you taking my cock. The little noises you'd make as you're begging for more."

He presses his thumb on the leaking slit his mouth forming an O shape at the pressure. The veins along his shaft are prominent from the amount of blood rushing to his cock.

"Making you cry because it feels so good." He's breathing heavier while eyeing you in front of him. He wants to get you worked up until you can't take it anymore. Teasing was his favorite part before anything. He didnt even have to touch anyone before he had them begging to be fucked in some type of way.

He kept going on. The way he was speaking to you brought you right back to the night you called him. You squeeze your thighs tightly together, desperate for any small amount of friction.

"Gonna think about that tight pussy when I'm cuming down your throat." His voice deep and seductive. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Hes thinking about all the ways he'd fuck you. Imagining what your pretty tits would look like with his cum is dripping down them. Filling you up with his cum and watching it dripping out after removing his cock.

Watching him stroke his cock as he thinks about fucking you makes your pussy flutter. You wonder what he must feel like. The feeling of him stretching you open. You're getting tired of him taunting you. You needed to taste him now.

You smacked his hand away, replacing it with your own, giving it a few more light strokes. You move your thumb to press down on his tip. He grunts and bangs his head back against your headboard. You bend down to give the head of his cock a quick peck. You remove your hand and spit into it as you grasp his thick shaft, rubbing it up and down lazily. His mouth hangs open as relaxes and enjoys what you're doing.

Moving your mouth closer, you kitten licked at his tip, tasting his precum. His thrusts his hips as you continue teasing him like he did to you earlier. You take the opportunity to pull away and spit directly on his cock earning you low groan deep from his chest. You begin to suck on the head of cock. Using your spit mixed with his precum as a lubricant to continue stroking his hard length with your hand.

Gliding your mouth down his length until he's hitting the back of your throat, making you gag a little. You removed your hand, resting them on his thighs. You try relaxing your throat while taking as much of him in your mouth as you can. He wasn't even all the way in, and he's already has you gagging. Tears leaking from your eyes smudging your mascara.

"Oh! fuck!, c-careful, sweetheart." He coaxed you.

Drool spilling down your chin as you try to take more of him in your throat. You attempt to keep him back there and focus on breathing from your nose. Sucking lightly on him, you pull him all the way out and swirl your tongue around his tip. "Hmm! your mouth feels so fucking good."

Your tongue wet and warm teasing the head of his cock. Eddie does everything in his power to not push you back down on his length.

He breathed heavily. "Shit! I-I not gonna last if you keep doing that."

Removing his cock from your mouth, creating a loud pop in his absence.

"you like it when I tease your cock eddie?"You asked in a sultry voice.

You wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine.

"Look who's not so shy afterall." He taunted you

You don't know what has come over you suddenly, but having him here in your bed tonight gave you a boost of confidence you never knew you had.

Putting the head of his cock to your mouth sucking it firmly almost forcing him to answer. "Y-yeah I like...I like the way you're teasing me."

You slip his length back down as far he could go in your throat, swallowing around him.

Hearing him like that only spurred you on more. Sucking his cock a little harder than before. Your head bobbing up and down faster. Your other hand moves to cup his balls, and he jerks at the feeling. The sensation of you massaging his balls and your mouth working on his cock practically sends him into a coma of bliss. His abs flexing and his toes curl. His entire body glistened with sweat. "Shit i-im gonna fuck... I'm gonna cum."

"You're gonna make me cum." He panted above you.

With a few more pumps of your hand and mouth sucking harder on his length. You feel his cock twitch and he's shooting his cum deep down your throat. Some spilling out and leaked from the corners of your mouth. He moans out loud and holds your head down until he's finished. You tried to swallow as much of him as you could take. Your mouth not leaving until you're collecting every bit. " S-sweetheart, please."

You let him go with a long string of saliva connecting you to his cock, his cum dripping down your chin. You collect it on your fingertips, bringing it to your mouth, not wanting to waste a drop. Sucking your fingers clean enjoying the salty taste of his cum.

He goes limp as he comes down from his high. His eyes glossed over watching your every move as you lick his cum from your fingers.

You moved to lay back next to him as you wait to see if he will soon leave. His chest rose and fell calmly now, but his head was still foggy. You don't want him to go, but you understand if he does.

"Thank you for tonight" you turn to smile weakly at him.

"No problem." He snorted.

There is a long, drawn-out pause, and you decided it time to tell him your secret.

"Um, I have something to confess to you." You're nervous, and he can tell.

He sit up straight and looks over at you, concern etched on his face. "Yeah? "

"Well, umm, I was the one who called you that night.....on your show." You confessed, looking down, playing with your thumbs.

He blinked, taking in what you just said. Not really sure if he heard you right or if he's still a little dazed.

"Are-- are you serious? " He sounded a little harsh, but he didn't intend to. That night was all he could think about since it happened. You were all he could think about. He lost hours and hours of sleep coming up with different possible scenarios on how he would find you. Who you could possibly be.

"Yeah. Are you mad?" You look over at him, tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

His face softens immediately when he notices. "Are you kidding?"

"I've been thinking about you ever since." He sprang up on his knees with excitement scooting closer to you.

You wipe at your eyes and laugh when he takes your hands into his. The fear that was building up moments ago slowly fading away."Really?"

"Oh, you're definitely not getting rid of me now." He exclaimed.

"So, do you maybe want to go out again?" You shyly asked.

"Fuck yeah I do!" He celebrated clapping his his hands together.

You laughed at his excitement. Making you feel so much better now that you got that off your chest. No one has ever made you feel like this before. You felt like you've known him forever even though you just met in person. "Can I call you... like all the time?"

"Yes, absolutely you can." You giggle.

"Hope you don't mind late night ramblings and bad puns," He advised.

"I love bad puns."

He laid back down next, throwing an arm around you. The both of you stayed like that for the rest of the night. Staying up for hours laughing and telling each other stories about your life. You wish you and him didn't have to ever leave this bed.

Another couple of days have passed, and you really haven't heard much again from him since your date. You were starting to think he was just saying all of that stuff because he thought it was something you wanted to hear. You tried not to think like that and just chalked it up to him being extremely busy because he was.

He did talk about you a little bit on his show but never mentioned you were also the mystery caller everyone has been gossiping about. You listened in biting at your nails when he talked about going on a date with a cutie from the coffee shop across from campus.

Eddie never once talked about hooking up with you, and you're grateful for that. He didn't use your date as a way to have another story for his show. He genuinely wanted to take you out and have a nice time. He didn't hook up for a new story to keep his segment interesting. Most of the girls he was with actually asked him to talk about it. Otherwise, he never would have done it to begin with.

You sat on your bed feet dangling over the side, contemplating if you should just bite the bullet and call first. You don't wanna seem desperate, but you also really want to see him again. He agreed to go on another date with you. Since you haven't heard much else from him, you don't want to come off pushy.

Maybe you should call first? Let him know you're equally as interested in him.

You snatch up the phone and the little piece of paper he gave with his number on it. Putting in the digits and waiting for the dial tone to start ringing. You felt like you were waiting forever, but it's only been a few seconds. You were almost ready to hang up and pretend this never happened until you heard him answer.

"H-hello?" He panted into the phone.

He sounded like he was currently in the middle of something. What that something is you don't know yet.

"Hi, it's me....just wanted to call and check in with you." You spoke softly in the other end.

"Y-yeah, uhh, I'm doing good." He stumbled over his words.

He sounded out of breath, and now you're really hoping you didn't interrupt him. Especially if he has company at his place. The thought of that makes you feel a little sick. You're not dating him and barely even know him. You shouldn't feel this way even if he did have someone over. "I can let you go. You seem a little busy."

"Wait, don't hang up!" He exclaimed.

He ponders for a moment on how he can keep you on the other line.

"Wanna help me...with... something? " he asked with a nervous laugh.

You swallow hard before answering. "What do you need?"

You hear him curse under his breath in your ear. Low grunts can be heard, and it doesn't take long before you can figure out what's going on.

"W--wanna talk to you while I fuck this toy." He breathed heavy.

You go to lay back on your bed playing with the hem of your pajama shorts. You know what he wants you to do. Since he helped you out, you might as well do the same for him. It's only fair, right? The last time you did this, hundreds of people were listening. This time, it's just the two of you. Making the situation more intimate, but it also helps take the edge off.

Eddie was currently balls deep in his fleshlight when you called. He just got out of the shower hair still wet and sticking to his body. All day long, he kept thinking about you. He's been painfully hard and wanted to see if he could come over to your place again but didn't want to be so forward. He didn't want you to think he was using you to get off. He really really liked you and hoped there could be something more between the two of you. So he was going to do what he normally would and take of it himself. That was until you called him, and it sparked a little idea in his brain.

He was leaning back against a wall with one hand on a chair next to him, trying to keep his balance upright. Lube was all over his toy, leaking out onto the soft curls between his legs and balls. He glided the toy up and down his length at a steady pace trying not to cum so soon already. His mind races with vivid thoughts of you.

"What do you think about when you do that?" Your voice coming out so small in his ear.

He smiles to himself. "Well I--was thinking about you."

"Like, what exactly?" You played innocent.

Eddie knows what game you're playing, and he has no problem going along with it. He pulls his cock almost all the way out of the toy only to slam it back down hard causing him to groan loud. His legs almost giving out from under him. He pulled out the chair next to him and plopped down.

Biting his lip to stifle another moan.

"Thinkin' about you squeezing around me." He breathed heavily in your ear. "Wishing this was your pussy instead of some..F-fucking toy."

Sinking his cock back inside making a loud schlick noise you can faintly hear in the phone. Pumping his cock while his other hand runs along his abdomen. He's trying to balance the phone between his shoulder and cheek praying he doesnt drop it. His face and chest flushed a crimson red. He lets out a loud moan when he thrusts upward. "Ooh! Shit!"

"Did I feel good?" You purred into the phone.

"God yes--- so fucking tight. the way you hugged my fingers when i was knuckle deep inside you."

You squeeze your thighs together involuntarily, and you can feel a wetness pool in between your legs. You bite down on your lip hard listening as he fucks himself while talking about you. You want to touch yourself so badly. Your nipples hardening under the sheer thin material of your tank top.

Pumping his cock faster in the toy, lube splashing all over his pelvis and wrist dripping down onto the of floor. He's making a total mess and he doesn't care. He thinks about how messy he could make you.

You interrupt him from his thoughts

"What do you wanna do to me?" You whisper.

"Fuuuck, I wanna do the nastiest things to you." His voice ragged.

Moving the toy up and down his cock as he spoke in the phone, trying to keep It balanced as best he could.

He lets out whimper, "Wanna fill you up with my cum and clean it out of you with my tongue."

"W-wanna..fuuuck...wanna cum all over those pretty tits." He's panting and grunting louder in your ear.

....."Yeah?" You cooed.

"Make you cum in all sorts of ways you never even imagined you could."

He legs kick up, and his stomach tightens. He was getting close but didn't want this to end, not yet.

You're still lying in bed, looking up at your ceiling. You never thought you'd have this burst of confidence yet again, but it's different with him. You don't feel ashamed of anything. The way he's coming undone just by talking to you only made you never want to stop. You felt empowered.

There is a throbbing ache between your legs that you desperately want to take care of. You try to ignore it and put all of your focus on him. You wiggle around clenching up. Doing anything to ease that ache.

"Tell me what you think about you when you touch yourself." He breathed.

"You think of me?"

"Yeah," you muttered quietly.

"So tell me." He commanded gently.

You stammered. "I um, I think about what you would feel like inside me."

"Oh yeah?" His voice getting low.

Goosebumps prickle all over your skin when he does that voice. You squirm in your bed just thinking about that night he used it when he helped you cum over the phone. It was domineering and seductive.

"Mmhm, you're so big." You whimper.

"I don't think I could fit all of you."

"Fuuuck." He groans

"You wanna feel my cock struggling to stretch you open? Is that it?"

You whined into the phone. "Yes, I need it so bad Eddie."

His cock steadily plunging in out of his toy in a brutal pace. He's getting closer to his release, and the phone drops with a loud thud in your ear. His other hand moving to cup his balls mimicking how you massaged them. His hips thrusting up and all you can hear is the squelching sound his cock is making in the toy.

"Oooh shit!" He groaned louder. With a few more strokes and he's spilling his cum inside the toy. Still pumping his length, milking himself of every drop. His cum spilling out and coating his balls. He lays there in the chair, head falling back before realizing he dropped the phone. His head all foggy, and his vision is blury.

He went to get up, but his legs gave out, and he fell back down.

"Shit"

"Fuck"

You heard him cursing from afar. You laughed to yourself, knowing he probably had fallen down.

"Hang on!" He called out

He leans over and reaches out far to snatch up the phone off the floor. His breathing is ragged when he goes to talk. "I've never came that hard in my life."

Smacking a hand on his belly he changes the subject.

"Okay, so what were you originally calling me about? " He asked still panting in the phone.

"Umm, well, I wanted to see if you were still up for going out again....Maybe?" You closed your eyes, waiting for his response.

"Yeah, actually, you know my band is playing Wednesday. Why don't you come see us." He said matter of factly. Like you didn't just help him jerk off on the other line.

You don't understand how one minute he can say some of the most dirtiest things to you and the next be totally nonchalant. All you want to do now is hang up and take care of the ache between your legs.

"I'd love to!" You accept his offer excitement etched in your tone.

He lets out a laugh. "Great, it's a date."

Before you both go to hang up, he stops you.

..."Oh, and thank you for helping me this time." His tone sultry.

Your eyebrows shot up, and you gulp. "No problem--it was fun."

"Goodnight, Eddie." You said sweetly.

"Goodnight, sweetheart."

You both stay on the line, neither one wanting to be the first to hang up. Eventually, you had to hang up first since it seemed like he wasn't going to be the one to do it. You roll over on your side, trying to relax and ready yourself for sleep. Your mind racing with excitement that you're finally going to see him play.

Maybe after your date, Eddie can take you back to his place this time. The ache between your legs was not subsiding. You needed him, and after your date, you decided it was time to have him.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #joseph quinn #eddie munson fanfic #my writing #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader smut #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie x y/n #90!eddie #shy!reader #college!eddie

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qwimblenorrisstan · 4 months ago

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Glimmering Shadows | Azriel x Reader

Summary: While visiting Spring Court on political business with Rhys, Azriel meets you, a Faerie with little glimmering sparks that help you in the same way his shadows help him, and he decides that visiting you a few more times afterwards couldn’t hurt.

Word Count: ~ 1.8k

Warnings: None!

A/N: This was so cute to write, hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

Masterlist | Next

It had been an ordinary visit to Spring Court, Rhysand arriving with only Azriel flanking his right side. Cassian was off in Windhaven, probably about to bite Devlon’s head off, per usual.

Spring Court had shaped up since Tamlin had gotten himself together. The Court was working better now, still recovering from the war like many were, but after a few changes and adjustments to the system and ruling, the citizens seemed happier, the land and economy thriving, and most of the houses were put back together from the previous damage. Azriel’s shadows surveyed the area around them while Rhys walked to Tamlin’s manor, it also being freshly restored it seemed.

They entered, a slightly tense welcoming from the Fae at the door, before walking in, only to meet Tamlin, seeming unhappy as ever to see the High Lord of Night, gesture them to follow and led them into his office. The house was made primarily of wood and vines, with delicate colored windows that, when the sun hit them, portrayed wonderful patterns of flowers and vines shining onto the floor.

The office had a few windows open that were quickly shut by vines, those of which moved on their own, it seemed. The desk was made of what looked to be expensive wood in a deep chestnut color, bookshelves coating the wall to the left, a large map of Prythian on the right, and underneath it a map of Spring Court in personal detail. Tamlin was freshly shaven, his blond hair silky and shimmering as it flowed down, his green eyes clear, clothes ironed and expensive as any other ruler’s.

Try as he might, the son of Spring could never acquire the same casual power as Rhysand. Azriel knew that for sure.

That was when he felt it. A small feeling of something flickering, and going out, before a shadow slithered back up to him, seeming agitated. Tamlin noticed, eyes narrowing.

“I’d rather our discussion stay private.”

His voice, carefully neutral to Rhys, said. A pair of violet eyes glanced back at the shadowsinger, before Rhys gave a casual shrug, and Azriel, knowing what that meant, promptly left the room and began wandering the manor. He felt it again. More flickering, then the shadows returned to him despite his repeated attempts to make them go back out. They were agitated, but wouldn’t tell him what was wrong, it made him wonder what it could be.

Nothing around the manor seemed to be causing it, though the bugs that made his skin itch were annoying. He huffed, exiting the manor, only for his mind to promptly be told something.

‘Don’t go too far. Wouldn’t want Tamlin thinking you’re spying on his precious bug-infested land.’

The smug voice of his High Lord rang out in his mind, before retreating as quickly as it had come. A few of the servants, mostly lesser Fae, glanced at him as he passed. Some with wonder, some with fear. However, the closer he got to the area where all his shadows that had been had gone out, he found one female who only looked at him with amused curiosity.

It was a bit far into the woods, trees in hues of deep amethyst purple and a light shimmering pink hanging down like a curtain, he pushed them aside, met with an area with long grass and blooming flowers, and you, the female sitting on the somehow-not-rotting fallen tree that was hollowed out, holding the tiniest little bunny he’d ever seen.

As soon as he’d caught sight of you, the bunny had hopped off, his attention now directly on you. There were tiny little sparks around you, but when he looked closer it seemed more like globs of see-through glitter, like a toddler’s art project come to life through the shimmering pieces of what he could’ve imagined as pixie dust surrounding you. Not to mention the wings, nothing like his own, yours being thin and delicate, shaped like a butterfly’s, with a rich hue of translucent colors. A rare species of Spring Court faeries had such wings, most choosing to hide them from sight, as you promptly did when seeing him, the delicate appendages slowly fading from view.

He’d been staring.

“Who are you?”

He asked with a mild frown, you raised a brow, an amused smile on your face. The gesture sent an odd aching feeling in his chest flaring up that he tried to shove down.

“I’m guessing you’re the one who’s been sending all those shadows?”

You asked, completely ignoring his question. He sighed through his nose.

“You’re the one that's been putting them out?”

He asked with a knowing tone, shadows darting out from him to meet your little tiny pixie pieces, both warring against each other as they intertwined, some shadows sending the glittery things back to you, some of your sparks sending his dark, shadowy creatures back to him. It was almost as if they were playing.

“That would be me, yes. What’s your name, … shadowy figure?”

You asked, and he then realized that he was cloaked in the shadows that had returned to him, making him look like a splotchy black figure in this Court’s bright light. No wonder the servants had been giving him weird looks.

“Azriel. And yours, pixie-dust?”

You giggled a bit at the name, finding it amusing. He found it odd how much he liked hearing and making you laugh.

“Y/N. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Azriel.”

You said with a small smile, offering a hand to shake in greeting. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had offered him a hand besides maybe Elain, and even she’d been scared of him at first. He took your hand, suddenly feeling self-conscious about the scarring that coated his calloused hands, compared to your soft, gentle ones.

“A..pleasure to meet you as well.”

He replied, cautiously watching you, the way you held yourself. A hint of recognition entered your gaze as you examined him further.

“Oh! You’re that Spymaster, aren’t you? Night Court?”

You then asked, and he internally cringed at the fact that the only reason you knew him was because of his occupation that involved slaughtering and torturing people, not to mention spying.

“Yes..”

Before he could even finish his sentence, you continued talking. You were very talkative and friendly. It was almost overwhelming, but he found that he liked it, surprisingly.

“That’s what those shadows are for, like little spies, I’m guessing? My little pixies work the same way, they just run around and help me with things, it’s honestly —“

He stood there, listening to you talk before he was pulled to sit down by his shadows next to you on the log. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, listening to you rattle on and on first about your nieces then your one nephew who would always sneak out of his crib, or your mom who still treated you like you were a little girl despite you being at least a few centuries old….

‘Someone’s lovesick~’

A certain High Lord’s voice in his head called out, and though Azriel wanted to deny it, he knew better.

He was an absolute goner.

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

He’d been looking for any excuse to see you, honestly. Even lying straight to Cassian’s face about why he’d missed training. The truth? He’d been flying to Spring Court, visiting you.

It had become a real problem, honestly, how distracted he was because of you. Even on missions he couldn’t stop thinking of your smile, how he loved listening to you speak about things you loved, like the flowers and flora of your homeland, or the way you’d showed him your delicate little wings after his first few times visiting you. A few months passed, and his little crush hadn’t gone yet, in fact, it had blossomed into something much more than a crush, and the others were starting to notice.

“What’s got you so distracted lately, Az?”

Cassian’s confused but intrigued voice rang out from in front of him where they sparred, iron clanging against iron, bodies moving in a dance of death they’d practiced too many times before.

“Nothing.”

He said simply, shaking his head. Cassian only laughed, a sound that only reminded him of you, and your —

And then he was on the floor, Cassian’s sword at his throat as he grinned triumphantly.

“What’s her name?”

His annoying brother asked in a teasing and knowing tone, Azriel only huffed, getting back up and dusting his leathers off.

It wasn’t anything serious, he told himself.

Even when he found himself flying hundreds of miles to go see you again that very same night, he found you on the windowsill of your house, watching the sky with a sleepy smile. He landed silently, walking closer to you and stepping on a twig on purpose, so he wouldn’t frighten you. Your gaze snapped over to him, and you beamed, getting off of your windowsill in a smooth motion to pull him into a warm hug, a gesture he always melted into.

“Do your wings not get sore from all that flying?”

You asked him, separating only enough to look at him. He smiled, barely, but any sort of smile from him was enough to make you happy.

“It’s worth it, for you.”

He replied before his lips curled into a more genuine grin.

“Though maybe you should come visit sometime.”

He suggested, tone joking but also with a hint of actual meaning. He’d talked about his home, Night Court, to you before, and tried getting you to come visit it or even just let him fly you over it, but you’d always denied it.

“What would I tell my family? They wouldn’t support me with you, and-“

That was when it happened, when your eyes met, his pleading, yours empathetic, when it snapped right into place. Everything was warm despite the cold chill of the night, and the breeze as it blew past. Both of your eyes widened, the only sounds being that of the leaves rustling for a few moments, but you both knew what had happened.

Before you could get a word out, his lips were against yours, yours against his, both savoring the feeling of finally crossing that final bridge and letting each other feel. Your little pixies danced with his shadows that night, in harmony for one moment, despite being the opposite of each other.

When you finally separated, he smiled, full this time of warmth and happiness.

“Does this mean you can come visit now?”

He asked, and you only laughed despite the tears in your eyes, and the ones in his, and pulled him closer into another kiss.

He’d be lucky if you ever weren’t visiting now.

Tags:

@hqmsby

Part 2

#acotar fandom #acotar fanfiction #writers on tumblr #acotar x reader #azriel acotar #azriel #azriel x reader #acotar fluff #azriel fluff

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swampstew · 7 months ago

Text

Tulips

Summary: sex pollen trope is infesting my brain.

Warnings: Eustass Kid X Female Reader, consent is implied, dom/sub dynamics, exhibitionism because its outside sex but no one actually witnesses it, vaginal penetration, etc etc.

Minor Do Not Interact

"Oi, Y/N. Where are you going?" the brash voice of your Captain stopped you in your tracks.

"Explore a little since we're still here. Is that not ok?" the carefree smile on your face creased with worry.

You had been growing closer with Eustass Kid day by day since you had joined the crew. In retrospect it wasn't that long ago he found you on your island and invited you to join him on his adventures. You did what you could to stay on his good side, and every opportunity you spent with him seemed to drag slowly as you learned more about each other; you wouldn't have it any other way.

He lit up every corner of your mind even when he wasn't in your presence. Infiltrating every region of your brain with his sexy, brooding demeanor. That only seemed to perk up when you kept him company. At least, you hoped that's what you saw and felt, and not something you imagined.

"How many times do I gotta tell ya - don't leave the ship without telling one of the higher ups! Don't wanna lose you, dummy."

"Well there's nobody else here so I thought it was no big deal!" you stuck your tongue out at him, "I'll try to remember next time."

Kid's face broke out with an amused look, "If you fall down into some ancient, underground dwelling and no one hears you, what then? Or if you come across a carnivorous plant that tries to eat you, you think you'd regret not telling someone you'd left the ship?"

"Oh my gods stop with your whataboutisms, I get it, I'm sorry! If you're so worried about me, come along then," you resumed your walk to the gangplank.

"Let's go on a side quest," you beamed up at him. Hoping your smile would win him over so you could greedily hog his attention.

Not that he was never not willing to give it to you. He seemed to enjoy making you beg for it lately, so you were trying a new approach that didn't feel quite so...pathetic for your own sake.

Kid studied you with a piercing gaze, the grin on his face never leaving. Only growing wider.

"Just us hmm? Sure, I guess I can spare the newest, and weakest, member some one-on-one time so they can feel safe. It's a big, scary world out there."

"Byyyeeeeee," you waved as you descended the ship, leaving him with a gaping mouth.

"Hey wait up!"

---

The weather was just right, not blazing hot and just enough cover from the foliage to create an intimate atmosphere. You could talk to him about anything and everything it felt like.

Coming up on a small field of flowers, the sudden burst of color made you hover over them in appreciation. Kid was standing behind as you smelled them. Admiring the way your curves and body rounded you out so perfectly that it made his eyes glaze over.

You let out a sneeze, straightened your posture and continued your walk. Kid watched you silently before moving, falling in step with you before you ever noticed he was gone. Soon you met a fork in the path.

“Which way?” you asked him.

“I dunno,” he smirked. Pulling a handful of flowers from behind his back, he handed them to you, not looking at you but at the two routes. “Pull the petals or something.”

Stunned, you took them, “Oh! But these are so pretty, I don’t think I can.”

With a snort, he plucked a stem from your fingers and began, “Left, right, left, right…”

You fidgeted as you waited, a sudden warmth taking over you, making you clench the stems in your hand hard enough to make them wilt.

“Left, right, aaaaaand left,” he shook the remains of the pollen in the air as he tossed the last petal. With a cool touch of his metal hand on your hip, he gently pushed you on, “C’mon, the flower decided.”

A blush touched your cheeks as you wordlessly let him lead. Kid’s touch lingered for a few yards before he let go, suddenly walking ahead a little faster.

“Everything ok?”

“Yeah, just scouting for a place to rest.”

You picked up your pace, yet you were no match against his long strides. He almost escaped your sight as he halted and let out a sigh of relief.

“This is a good spot. Hang out here, I need to take a leak.”

Without waiting for you, he jogged between the trees.

Perplexed, you reached a natural spring and some large, flat rocks stacked upon each other towering over the stream. You chose that spot to wait, enjoying the babble of water and low trill of insects in the breeze. Checking your watch every few minutes, you soon became impatient and rocked subtly against the stone, subconsciously seeking relief for a wispy ache.

After 15 minutes, you decided to look for your Captain. Maybe one of his wild warnings came true and he was impaled in a hole somewhere. Or he got lost. Neither option made you feel good. Thinking of his hulking, muscular body dirty and bloody, you bit your lip, gnawing on the idea of nursing him back to health in the wilderness all by yourself.

You heard frustrated curses and followed them to the source.

Eustass Kid, slamming through tree barks. The wood splintered from the impact, his mechanical arm not bothered by the strike moved on to the next tree. Grabbing the trunk with both arms—

--and rutting manically against it.

“Fuck fuck fuck!!! Go away!!!!” he bent his head down and seemingly screamed at himself.

“C-captain?” you stood a few feet from him, unsure if you should have called his attention or quietly run away while you had the chance. He seemed pissed.

Kid’s scowl should have sent your soul to the grave with how fierce it was, but the only thing you felt was your blood boiling and the ache in your body growing severely. You couldn’t help the way your body naturally shifted, thighs tightening and rubbing faintly.

He saw. His golden amber eyes never missed anything.

“Y/N,” his gravelly voice was lower than normal. Slowly, he stood to his full height and turned to you. A raging boner straining against his pants. “I-I think I’m having an allergic reaction or some shit,” he tried to explain.

Your eyes went from his face to his erection, to the flowers still in your hand. Cautiously you walked up to him, closing the distance he could feel your body heat despite not really being in contact with you. You dropped all but one to the ground, cradling the bulb in your palm as you put it in front of your faces.

And crushed it.

Puffs of pollen escaped between your fingers. Your body felt like it was a slow burning candle, and the fire was not where you yearned it to be. Kid’s pupils dilated they hardly left slivers of the color you love so much.

Your bodies crashed into each other with needy, hungry fervor. Kid’s lips devoured yours, metal hand clutching your body and pinning you to a nearby tree. You wrapped your hand around his covered cock and he let out a deep groan. He thrusted into your hand, hard enough that his body trapped yours against the tree, bucking with reckless abandon. It wasn’t long before you abandoned your grip and pulled yourself up and wrapped your legs around his waist.

He eagerly accepted the change of pace, using his flesh hand to grab at your ass to stabilize his grinding directly between your legs. A lovely melody spilled from your lips as he kept up his ministrations, unwilling to let go now after hearing the beautiful sounds you made for him. When he wasn’t even inside you yet.

It was for that reason he took his time walking back to the spring while groping and making out with you. Slamming you against every other tree so he could pleasure you both, drawing out the anticipation with agonizing edging and teasing.

“K-Ki—” you couldn’t speak, desperation robbing your brain cells as tears streamed from your eyes. “Please!”

“I’ll take care of you,” he bit your lower lip. Quick to shed both your clothes, he laid you against the smooth rock, caressing your shoulder and hip as you felt his hardened length pressing against your core.

You let out a needy whimper, Kid kissed you as he pushed in. Feeling your mewling cries against his lips, his tongue slipped into your mouth and freed your voice.

It rose higher and higher with each thrust of his cock. His own wanton moans joining yours in chorus as you climbed your peaks together.

“Fuuuck, I’ve wanted this for so long,” he groaned, panting heavily over you. “U-under different c-circ—”

You hushed him with a scrape of your nails against his back, “Me-me too! Don’t stop, don’t—”

Kid shifted and grabbed your legs to sit higher on his hips, slamming into you deeply. The edges of your being felt hazy as your core tightened. Your walls fluttered around him as he rolled his hips, your moans coming out near breathless as your orgasm washed over you.

You clamped on his cock with a strangled shriek, head hitting the stone and nails digging into his arms as you came. A veil of white flooded your vision as you rode the wave, feeling your body moving with his in synchrony. Sweet moans spilled from your lips with every slap of his balls against your sopping cheeks.

Kid’s hips stuttered, letting out a choked cry as his hips pistoned faster. You felt his cock twitch before it left your gummy walls. He jerked his hand on his cock and when that wasn’t enough he pressed his length against your quivering lips, tip of the head nestled over your clit, and rut his hips until he came.

You could feel the hot spurts land on your belly, smearing and spreading between your bodies as he kept going. Pushing you both to the point of overstimulation.

“I can’t I can’t fuck I don’t want to stop!!” he roared, burrowing his fingers deep into your skin to leave bruises.

You answered with your own grinding, hungry for so much more. With each slide of his cock, your stomach coiled, wounding tightly quickly.

When you came, it was pain, pleasure, euphoria, hysteria, and tingling numbness all at once as your body tensed and pulsed. You felt the wave crest and then wetness on you. Then hotter, heavier droplets as Kid followed you with his own bliss.

A pool of fluids mixed between your bodies as you stayed locked in position, both of you catching your breaths, hearts beating wildly against each other.

“I meant it,” he finally muttered. Raising his head to look at you, rubbing his fingers on your jaw, “I did and still do. Meant to wine and dine you first.”

You smiled tenderly, half-lidded eyes drinking him in, “You still can. I’ve been wanting that very much.”

“Yeah?” he leaned to kiss your cheek, his slight movements triggered his arousal as he swelled against you. “What else have you been wanting from me?”

“A few things,” you let out a shy giggle, “Want to try some of them out while we’re here?”

Kid grinned widely, “You can have me for as long as you’d like.”

Unbeknownst to either of you, the aphrodisiacal effects of the flowers you inhaled will last for several, several hours.

#eustass kid #eustass kid x you #swampstew bedtime stories #eustasscaptainkid #eustass kid x reader #eustass kid x y/n #eustass kid smut #cw bd/sm #pollen trope #slight exhibitionism if you squint #swampstew stories

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edgeray · 6 months ago

Note

hi, ray 💟

remember that siren!arle and pirate!reader idea? consider:

siren!arlecchino who preys on pirates lost at sea (not by coincidence, i fear). she doesn't enjoy them much, especially the men. then, she spots you. she's never seen such a pretty little pirate before! she must have you.

of course, she's fortunate enough that you're one of the ones who sits alone on the deck at night, foolishly stargazing while everyone else is tucked away in their beds.

she sings to you, calling you to her, trying to reel you in, only to find it isn't working. you seem to hear her, looking for the singer of the melody, but you're not quite entranced.

she keeps trying, only to eventually be spotted by you. she's... a little embarrassed, to say the least.

whatever else happens is up to you, or feel free to totally change the plot! ♡

The Sea's Calling

(Arlecchino x Fem! Reader)

A/N - Hi aris!!! Ty for the ask, and for being my first! <333 love you. I hope you like this one. Since it's my first ask, I'm a bit nervous. Is this semi-One Piece-inspired? Perchance. Wasn't sure if you wanted fem! or gn! reader, but considering your writing I chose fem! reader, though I tried to not reference reader as female as much as possible. I kind of didn't know what to do after they met, so I threw in some not so good dialogue :(. It is also 02:00 as I am writing this, and I'm supposed to wake up at 06:00. Quality dropped at the end because I am tired. This was not a good idea doing this tonight but whatever. Content warnings / info - implied fem! reader, monster x human, arle is ooc because she's a siren, 1.7k words

You had always thought that the sea was calling out for you; it's been your dream since you were young–to explore the vast ocean that this world had to offer, to be surrounded by nothing but the comforting waves, to be free. Being a pirate allowed you to fulfill your dreams. You went on all the adventures you wanted, stole whatever the hell you wanted, and all while doing that with your crew, who cherished each other, you included, like no other. Yes, you've longed for the ocean, and you'd like to think that the ocean was always trying to draw you in.

Still, when you meant that the sea was calling out for you, you meant in a figurative sense. Not in a literal sense. Though if this was the kind of sign the ocean was giving you, you might as well jump the ship.

—

Pretty gems came far and few in Arlecchino's eyes. Humans, lost at sea and lured in by her voice, were easy meals. She was rarely picky with her meals, sustenance was sustenance, she supposes, but still she finds it disappointing the lack of humans that were easy on her eyes. The seas were infested with brutish and crude-looking humans, particularly among the males. It is a shame that it's been a good while since she's seen a human female, with their fair bodies and their soft features– a suitable mate for her.

She wanders the sea again, not especially hungry, but if she finds a meal or two, she wouldn't have to find another for a few more days. Traveling through the waters, sniffing for the faint and familiar scent of human musk, she finds a ship soon, to her mild delight. She approaches the ship, it being smaller than most ships that wander this part of the ocean, but no matter. She is sure that she'd be able to snag at least one human tonight–there is bound to be one that is awake?

Peeking her head above the water, she observes the deck of the ship for any humans yet to have slumbered. Humans in slumber were always hard to lure in, but possible. Her eyes gleam when she spots a lone figure on the surface of the deck. It seems like tonight's hunt would prove to be easy. Nearing closer, however, the smell that comes from this figure is distinct to the usual humans she encounters. Though still reeking of the musk that all humans contain, the human contains a refreshing fauna smell and lacks the liquor aroma that most males contain. Curious, she nears the ship more until she can observe the distinct features of the human that sits so carelessly on the edge of their ship.

Her cold heart thumps like never before when she finally spots you, and oh, how she pauses in utter awe. A human whose beauty far surpasses that of any ivory pearl or glittering gold. Has there ever been a human more majestic than you? She would dismiss any notion of a human achieving flawlessness, but yet here you are, shredding her previous foolish thoughts. How do you attain such, so effortlessly? Oh, how fortunate for her to have decided to roam the sea tonight, for the ocean to have given her the most perfect mate in waiting. She must have you, no human male could ever treasure you like she can. She would give you the sea, if it made you hers.

And so she sings, her sweet song carrying into your ears like a gracious invite. She hopes for you to accept.

—

The stars are beautiful, you often think to yourself. It is another reason why you love being out in the sea. Directly underneath the stars, sometimes you feel that you're close enough to reach out and touch them. Little dancing specks of lights were all they were to you, and yet you were entranced each time. The stars and constellations have become one of your closest companions, always twinkling down on you regardless if you were facing soothing waves or warring riptides. Like so many nights before, you find yourself perched on one of the railings of the ship, simply gazing up, observing the midnight canvas that spans above you.

Is there something more beautiful than stars?

You find your answer that night when you hear a voice, melodic and sweet sounding, sugarier than any honey-coated treat. It piques you, as you know from the sound's direction it does not come from inside your ship, but beyond–somewhere in the waters. You'd imagine it's what people would describe as a voice from the heavens, because a light song fills the air, nearly entrancing you, however you're too busy searching the source of the sound for the intended effect to be inflicted on you. Instead of impelling your body to go overboard, you whip your head around, still seeking for the singer.

You've heard of instances like these. You've heard of the warnings: if you hear a beautiful song coming from the waters, you cover your ears and ignore it as much as possible. Though, many say that once you hear them, it is much too late for you. The fates of those who had fell for those voices, you know of them too well, and you intend not to share the same fate. You've heard that among those that were able to escape a siren's call, they're easily dissuaded after one song. All you had to do was to ignore the voice until the song's end.

The song ends soon after. You pay no mind as silence fills the void, just the sound of waves and the whistles of the wind as your company. But then, another song, the same one. After the second repeat, it starts again, and after that, another.

Were sirens this persistent? You've never heard of one this stubborn. But it is thanks to these songs that you're finally able to pinpoint the origins, and your eyes catch the slight glint of scales in the moonlight, and then the head of ivory hair. A pale face peaks from the water's currents, along with the tip of something–a tail, you discern. You gasp slightly once crimson-pupils land on yours, but then the head sinks down, like a shy animal having been caught.

Adorable. Was this an unfitting description of what was most likely a siren? You disregarded that very thought, instead, opting to wondering why this siren wanted your attention so much. After all, you should give her the respect of your acknowledgement of her existence after four songs.

Perhaps you were an idiot. Perhaps you were just heading straight to a gruesome death. But had those things stopped you previously, you would have never been out here, never would have been a pirate. Foolish curiosity may be the death of you, but not tonight. And so, like a pirate in search of their treasure, you take to the seas; in this case, literally into the sea. You let yourself lean backwards on the railing, arms outstretched by your side as you freefall into the sea.

Surely, if the siren wanted you so badly, then she would save you, wouldn't she?

The icy waters greet your form, and you shiver. Your breath is stolen away, and it is only you start sinking that you start to question your choice. You stare up, with only the moonlight reflecting off the water, your source of life and you instinctively reach out towards it. Your eyes burn from the brine, so you close your eyes, trying to combat the swallowing waves as you futilely flail your arms.

Something moves in the water, and before you know it, a weight presses against your chest, something distinctly cold and what you imagine scales to feel like, and something else slides underneath your arms, the texture much like human skin. You feel your body begin to rise, until the sudden rush of oxygen barrages at you, and you greedily inhale the air with heaving breaths, while coughing out the sea water from your throat. Once you're done hacking up your lungs, you crack open an eye, greeted with the same gorgeous face you saw earlier.

“You're beautiful…” The both of you say at the same time, and you feel your ears burn from the compliment. Her voice, deep and resounding, rings through your ears. Meanwhile, her expression visibly brightens, akin to the stars you adore so much.

“Y-you won't eat me, right?” You ask hesitantly, and to your relief, she shakes her head no. She pulls you closer, before nuzzling her face into the crook of your neck. The arms wrapped around your figure tightens, and so does the tail around your legs.

“No. Want to be my mate.” She says bluntly, and you feel sharp fangs prick your skin. You gasp, and she pulls her mouth away, deciding to lick your neck as a quick apology.

“Why me?”

“Pretty human. But stupid.”

“Hey!” You exclaim out of feigned annoyance, but then she purrs into your neck, the noise vibrating through your body. Sirens purr? That is adorable. “What does being a mate mean?”

“You are with me, forever. I feed you, protect you, love you, always. Mine, forever.”

A tempting offer, truly, especially with the way her clawed hands grip your sides so tenderly and the way she looks at you like you are her sun.

“But what about my companions?”

“You do not need them.”

“I do,” you assert, and her face falls. It's like being stabbed in the heart, seeing her expression like that. You raise both of your hands and cup her face.

“I want you,” she says, with as much of a whine as a siren can possibly make. It is cute, a mix between a cry and a groan.

“I need them too.”

“I am not enough?”

“I want to be free. I don't want to stay in one place.”

“Then I will follow,” the siren asserts, her red pupils ablaze with determination. It is as simple as that, apparently. “Can I?”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay,” you affirm with a nod. “Don't eat them either. Then I'll be yours.”

The siren nods, purring again. “My pretty human. Mine?”

You smile. “Yours.”

Salty lips are brought against yours and you've never been more elated–here is the freest you've ever felt.

#arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #arlecchino #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact fanfics #genshin impact fic #genshin x reader #genshin x you #edgeray.writes #edgeray.requests #edgeray.answers

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