A Bookmark Blog For FlightlessAngelWings

Reblogging fics here to go back to and read later instead of them getting lost in my likes. Always 18+ only!

[flightlessangelwings-readinglist]

Hey all! Jey (@flightlessangelwings) here! 💖

I created this side blog to reblog fics to read later instead of them getting buried in my likes or my drafts. Feel free to follow for fic recs here but this blog, like all my blogs, is strictly 18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Fics are tagged by character/pairing and author

[ollypopwrites]

for the intimacy prompt… emmrook (or emmrookanis???) 35?

Prompt is from this list.

35. running your finger down their spine

Emmrookanis

Written with Rhyea in mind, but she is not described (except for a small hint at her being curvy/plus sized).

Tags: smut, m/m/f, polyamory, anal sex, cunnilingus, P in V sex, Spite participates.

The groan he uttered into Rook’s cunt was muffled, and she gasped, eyes opening to land on him. Spite, in these intimate moments, either liked to reside with him in his body or lay and watch. He chose the latter this time, mostly because Rook was farther away in the tangle they got themselves into and he liked it when they were all close enough for him to see through Lucanis’ eyes. When he didn’t take over their body his commentary was only heard by Lucanis and Emmrich, Rook unaware that the spirit watched her purple eyes trailing down her body to where Emmrich was.

‘Hungry,’ Spite commented. ‘Ravenous. For her pleasure.’

Emmrich, as if to illustrate the spirit’s point further, pulled away to bite at her thigh. Thick with muscle and soft layers of cushion that Lucanis had come to think of as his favorite pillows.

“The next time Lucanis has a taste, you will understand, Spite.” He murmured into the skin.

The thought has Lucanis jolting his hips forward, maybe too rough, with little finesse. But Emmrich grunts, face pressed into her thigh and so Lucanis does it again. Rook doesn’t mind the pause in his feasting, just reaches out to scratch her fingernails over his scalp. Rook isn’t privy to the conversation, but like she can somehow sense the presence her face turns in the direction of Spite so it almost seems like they’re looking into each other’s eyes.

“How does he feel?” She turns to look at Lucanis.

Before he can answer, Spite slips back into his skin faster than he can process. Still wanting her eyes on him, and perhaps feeling left out, answers first in his place. He feels his hands tighten where they grab both of them beyond his control.

“‘Warm. Soft.’”

Rook giggles, toes wiggling and then flexing when Emmrich returns to his task with an eagerness that Lucanis can hear. The wet sounds of his mouth on her makes him shudder, Spite loosening his grip to simply sit back and be a voyeur again. Lucanis drags his fingers over the slight protrusion of his spine through the skin, a soft apology for the bruising grip Spite sometimes employs in his excitement. Mortals are more fragile, he reminds mentally so only he can hear, and the soft touch is sometimes just as satisfying.

Emmrich proves his point with a broken whimper and jerk of his hips. This seemed to be Rook’s breaking point.

She’s looking at him when she comes, the leg Lucanis isn’t holding flails off of his shoulder, and he can see the muscle in Emmrich’s arm flex when he wraps it back in its place. He never stops when either of them hit the peak, always testing, always experimenting — finding how long he can drag it out before they beg for his mercy. Sometimes even then he will not be moved.

When she shouts, pushing and pulling at his head like she can’t decide what she wants he lifts his mouth away. Lucanis is close, finding a rhythm finally, that picks up pace with the heat that burns through his veins watching her.

“Scoot down, darling,” Emmrich whispers frantically, trying to tug her but being bent over he can’t manage it on his own. “I’ll have you both at once.”

When Rook shimmies down underneath him, her legs moving to wrap around his waist. There’s a slightly off kilter moment when Emmrich slides his cock into Rook. But when he gets there Lucanis feels how tensely he holds himself. Full of Lucanis, buried deep in Rook — they’ve done this in another way before, Lucanis pressed between the two of them, and he knows first hand how overwhelming it is. It feels good to offer it to Emmrich.

Rook’s arms are reaching for him, so Lucanis presses his chest to Emmrich’s back. She can’t do more than grab at his arms but the contact is enough and muffled beneath two bodies he hears her let out a sound like a sob.

Lucanis comes first, hips slapping into Emmrich which grinds him further into Rook. And within moments he hears the gasping moans of the older man as his hips jerk forward.

They all go limp, and it lasts a few seconds before Rook’s tapping his arm.

“Kinda heavy, boys.”

Lucanis presses his body into them harder, Emmrich lets out a laugh, she lets out a grunt and he chuckles as he pulls off so the other man can do the same. Later, when they are all cleaned and sleepy, both are on either side of him. Spite takes control, and his fingers dance over two spines in slow sweeping movements.

[ollypopwrites]

For the nonverbal writing prompts - 03. grazing their knuckles along the other's hip or thigh in passing.

Prompts from this list!

Lucanis x Rook x Emmrich

(written with Rhyea in mind but i don’t mention her name)

Emmrich and Rook have little issue being affectionate in public. It’s never obscene, but it’s there. Emmrich puts his hand at the small of her back when he opens a door for them, Rook reaches out to fix his clothes after the dust settles from a fight, eyes looking over Lucanis for injury. They call each other “darling” and “sweetheart” without thinking.

Lucanis barely knows what to do behind closed doors. He’s just learned how to relax with his head in Rook’s lap and his legs laying over Emmrich’s on the couch in her room. He doesn’t flinch anymore when the necromancer grabs his ungloved hands to kiss the knuckles. He’s gotten used to the way — no, he closes his eyes like a content cat, when Rook runs her fingers through his hair. 

He wants to touch like they do, out there in the world. He wants to grab Emmrich by the waist when showing him a plant he thinks he might like. He wants to rest his hand on Rook’s at the dinner table, after she grins so warmly after the first bite of a meal he’s made because she mentioned she liked it once in passing. He wants, more than anything, to have them both loop their arms through his while he shows them Antiva. 

It’s too dangerous, he’s too dangerous. He’s selfish for even pretending that when they’re alone those two are safe from the fallout that threatens a Crow, let alone the grandson of the First Talon. 

It’s risky. But sometimes the temptation is too great.

Rook’s preferred clothes expose her legs completely, and she’s almost always barefoot. When she sits in chairs she drapes herself in them sideways, legs dangling over the edge and there’s nothing he can do to stop himself from running his knuckles over her thigh when he leans over to place something on the table. She always notices, her eyes turning to him with a cheeky wink and a smirk. 

Emmrich is always buttoned up more conservatively, but he’s no less tempting. He’s always poised, always graceful, even doing nothing but standing around. When his long body curves around him to grab a glass, a plate, an apple, anything, Lucanis grabs the edge of his sash. Sometimes tugging, just to get his attention. Emmrich always smiles, a slow blink and intent eye contact that feels as intimate as a kiss. 

Each time Lucanis’ eyes glance at the spot where his hands have touched them, half expecting to see blood or a dark stain, some proof that he’s tainted them with it. 

There never is.

[moonknightly]

eight fingers crossed—

poe dameron x gn!reader

word count: 1.4k ish

rating and warnings: rated t for injuries/burns, poe is worried that you're going to get yourself killed but this is otherwise tame and mild

summary: “one of these days, i’m not going to be fast enough. i’m not going to make it to you in time.”

notes: @poetic-solo wouldn't let me post this until she read it i'm a prisoner in my own home-

get notified when i post a new fic here *:･ﾟ✧:*

There’s a dull ache on your right side that starts to pull you from your sleep. You instantly know that you’re in your bed—you can hear the soft hum of the fan you insist on keeping in the bedroom. But it’s otherwise silent throughout your quarters, save for the rhythmic sounds of your own breathing. 

You can’t open your eyes yet to confirm if you’re alone. You try, but they’re just so heavy and honestly, with the pain growing stronger, you want nothing more than to fall back asleep. The medicine running through your veins is wearing off, you’re sure. 

This isn’t the first time you’ve woken up. You know enough to know that you’re hurt, and you also know that you won’t have to suffer through the pain long. Poe will be around shortly with another round of meds and bacta from the infirmary.

But you can’t remember what landed you in this position, not exactly at least. You’d been flying low on a planet in the outer rim when a swarm of pirates surrounded the squadron, and you’d been grossly outnumbered. The dogfight that ensued was mostly blurry at this point. You only know that you’ve been confined to your own bed and reliant on drugs to ease your pain for…you’re not even sure how long, really. 

More time passes as you try and try to pull anything from your memories, any little crumb that might be tucked away. 

The pain is getting worse, turning from a dull ache to a raging fire. It distracts you, keeps you from reaching those locked away thoughts. A cry catches in the back of your throat and you can finally open your eyes.

Poe is sitting at the very end of the bed with a syringe in hand, ready to push it through your IV like the medic taught him. But he doesn’t move. He’s just watching you, a deep frown etched into his handsome features. You’re sure you are wearing one to match.

You’re both quiet—it’s obvious that there’s something on his mind, something he needs to say, and you’re not sure if you want to hear it. He’s never looked so upset with you, borderline heartbroken. Suddenly any pain you were in didn’t come close to what was moving through his big brown eyes. It couldn’t even compare. 

He breaks the silence first.

“One of these days,” he starts, his voice cracking, shattering you further. “I’m not going to be fast enough. I’m not going to make it to you in time.” 

The pain is tearing through your side now, but that’s not what brings tears to your eyes. “Poe-”

“I thought you were dead. You were on fire when I pulled you-”

It’s slowly starting to come back to you. Five ships, all larger than your X-Wings, all locked on Poe. Jumping in front of him, putting yourself between him and the danger and taking them out one by one. The two fighters that had been tracking you that you never saw shoot. Crashing to the ground, everything erupting around you. 

You remember the heat. You remember feeling it creep closer and closer as you dangled in your seat, hanging upside down by your seatbelt. You remember when the flames first licked at your skin. The way that you screamed. 

And then you were flat on your back, and the fire had stopped spreading but Maker did it still burn where it had already charred your skin. You remember Poe’s voice, frantic and full of panic, even louder than it is now. 

“-and you’re not even listening to me!”

Poe never raises his voice at you, never at you. It catches you off guard. You want that medicine more than ever. The way he’s looking at you makes you want to melt into the sheets. 

“I was just trying to keep you safe,” you whisper quietly, sounding almost broken. Your bottom lip trembles and you can see Poe’s shoulders sag as some of the fight leaves his body—he’s not mad at you, not really. He’s just scared, and he’s not used to feeling this way. 

“You cannot risk yourself like that for me.” His voice is low, still dripping with a bit of anger that you’re trying not to let sting. “Not again. This isn’t the first time I’ve thought I’d have to carry your body home.”

He’s right. It wasn’t the first time. But-

“You can’t expect me to sit there and watch you get taken out when I can do something about it.”

“I can’t watch you die-”

“Tell me you wouldn’t do the same for me and I’ll stop. Tell me that you don’t.”

Poe goes silent. He knows he can’t tell you that truthfully. You know it too, and you dare him to lie to you. 

But he never says anything, and you’re too heated to let the moment fade. 

“Do you really think I haven’t noticed how you’ve assigned me the perfect spot in formation for you to always cut in front of me when we’re under attack?”

“You’re my second, of course that’s where I’m going to put-”

“No, don’t blame it on ranks. You know that’s not what it is, you know that if Jess or Snap or-”

“I’m your Commander,” he finally snaps, effectively cutting you off and holding your gaze steady, begging you to fold first. “It’s my job to make sure you make it home.”

“I don’t give a damn if you’re the General, you’re my husband first,” you counter immediately, refusing to be the one to back down. “We made a commitment to each other.”

Poe sighs, exasperated, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes. But you’re not done.

“And if you do want to put it all on rankings, yeah, you are my Commander. And it’s my job to keep your six so you don’t end up dead. Or worse.”

Poe doesn’t ask what you mean, he already knows. You’re the only person besides Leia he’s confided in about his time on the Finalizer, the torture he’d endured under Kylo’s hand. You are the only person who has heard him scream in the middle of the night, the only one he lets hold him when he falls into a panic attack and cries. The only one who is able to remind him he’s safe and not having his mind torn apart, because his fucking panic attacks feel like Kylo’s digging through his brain.

You’re not sure there’s middle ground for you here. You tell him as much.

“I can’t do what you’re asking me to do, baby,” you mumble. “I can’t sit back and watch you get killed.”

He’s still quiet, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. He knows he’s being a hypocrite. He knows he would face a firing squad for you any day of the week. 

But he still fucking hates it, so he hangs his head and sighs to let you know as much. But he doesn’t push, for once he doesn’t become insufferable until he gets what he wants.

The pain in your side flares, and another whimper tries to escape you at the random surge that shoots through you. Your discomfort seems to kick Poe into action. 

“Here baby, I’ll make it go away,” he whispers gently, pushing himself up from his seat. He pulls the cap off the syringe as he walks to you, tapping out the air bubbles like he’d seen the medic do. He pushes the medicine through your IV port slowly, knowing he doesn’t have long before you’re pulled back into unconsciousness. He sets the syringe back down once it’s empty and pushes his fingers through your hair.

“Will you stay?” you mumble, reaching for his free hand, wanting nothing more than to intertwine your fingers with his.

He nods, locking your hands together, eight fingers crossed. “Baby, I haven’t left.”

You’re under again within a minute or two, pulled back into the darkness where nothing hurts and you can rest. Poe waits until you’re unconscious to apply the bacta to your side, his fingers gentle against your melted skin that’s looking better and better by the day.

“I just need you to stay too.”

[dailyreverie]

Well why don’t you just RIP MY HEART AND STEP ON IT???? This was SO GOOD I love how protective they are with each other 😩😩

[drabbles-mc]

Before the Throne

M'Baku x GN!Reader

Warnings: 18+, angst, yearning

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: rewatched Black Panther last night and decided i had to do something with all the love i have for Winston Duke

You’d fought and thrashed against them nearly every step of the way even though you knew it wasn’t going to do you much good. You told them to let you go, told them they were making a mistake. You told them everything except the answers to the questions they were asking you.  

What is your name? 

How did you find us? 

What are you here for? 

There were honest answers to those questions, but not one that they would believe. The truth wouldn’t set you free this time. You doubted how much it would even be worth to them by now.  

The guards all but threw you down in front of the throne. Before you even got your palms flat against the cold stone and looked up, you knew who you were going to be looking into the eyes of. You’d felt it in the air the second you’d returned. It was a relief. It was melancholy.  

Still in your crumpled position on the floor, you tilted your head up so that you could see the face of the man they brought you to. He was the only reason you’d come back, after all.  

When his eyes locked onto yours, they widened just slightly, for the briefest moment, before he regained his composure. A leader cannot falter in front of his people, especially not over something like this.  

“They will not say who they are,” one of the guards spoke up. “We found them trying to get in from the westward side of the mountain.” 

M’Baku’s eyes were still on yours. The frown on his face was only partially for show—you knew there was real pain behind it too. “Is that so?” He leaned back, sinking farther into the throne. “Leave us.” 

They knew better than to question him but they still made an attempt. “There isn’t—”  

“I said leave us,” he repeated, firmer this time as he finally forced himself to look away from you and back to his guards. “I believe that I will be able to handle myself just fine against someone who couldn’t even avoid getting caught trying to sneak into our stronghold here.” He pinched his brows together in warning, not needing to say anything more before his men took off.  

As their footsteps receded, you brought yourself back up to your feet. Brushing your hands off on your legs, the taste of the mountain air on your tongue was impossible to ignore. Home.  

“Much harder to sneak back in than it was to sneak out,” he remarked, still sitting sunken into his throne.  

You smiled even though he wasn’t. Something about being spoken to directly by him after so long. He could’ve said nearly anything and you would have had the same reaction. His words soaked into your skin, too busy in the sensation to bother giving him a reply.  

“They could have killed you,” he said, partially because it was true and partially because he wanted to test your reactions to his words.  

“But they didn’t,” you replied simply.  

You saw how those three words made all the rigid, tense edges to him soften. There was still a frown on his face but the rest of his body seemed to smooth over. Like he’d been clenching his fists since you left but now that you were back in front of him again he could finally unfurl his hands.  

“What brings you back to Jabari Land?” he asked.  

It wasn’t lost on you that he was choosing to continue sitting upon his throne to continue this conversation. He could’ve stepped down, put himself on a more level playing field with you. But he kept his distance and the upper hand. You’d done that to yourself, you supposed.  

“I think you know the answer to that.” 

He leaned forward, forearms braced atop the broad surface of his thighs. “It cannot be what I think it is. Because if it was, you wouldn’t have taken so long to come back home.” 

Disagreements were sitting right on the tip of your tongue. You were no stranger to an argument, especially with the man who was sitting in front of you now. But that was what he wanted. All the time apart, all the hurt that had festered in the years and space between you, you both wanted to take that and try to put it on each other. It would’ve been easy to do it, hurling blame across the emotional chasm that separated the two of you. You wanted things to end differently this time, though. By the grace of a thousand gods, you managed to hold your tongue. 

Your newly found sense of self control paid off. Taking your silence as something adjacent to a truce of sorts, M’Baku rose to his feet. Your eyes darted all over him, watching closely as he rested his hands on his knees before pushing himself upright. You’d already been looking up at the throne, but standing at his full height, you were forced to crane your head back just a little farther to keep his face in your eyeline. 

As he stepped down towards you, he was still carrying a heaviness in his facial features. Knitted brows, tension in his jaw highlighted by the frown he had yet to shake. Truce or not, he was still wary of you. The most frustrating part was that you couldn’t hold it against him. 

He didn’t speak up again until the two of you were standing toe-to-toe. He was so close to you now that all it would’ve taken to touch him was the smallest movement on your part. You would’ve hardly had to lean in at all. A simple stretch of your fingers would’ve had you grazing against the fur-lined braces that covered his forearms. It was the closest that the two of you had been in years and yet the look he was giving you seemed to come from miles away. 

Tilting his head, he rephrased his original question. “Why are you here?” 

Refraining from touch had never been so difficult. “To see you.” 

“Why now?” 

You felt his breath fan across your skin as he exhaled. Hopefulness and defeat both existed in the shared air between you. A small wave of bravery went through you, some tiny part of you that didn’t feel like it was buckling under the weight of his stare and the emotions stopped up between you. Extending your hand just slightly, you caught the tips of his fingers with your own. You braced yourself for the possibility of him pulling away. Perhaps it was one touch too far after everything, a pebble kicked that would trigger an avalanche. 

Instead, he enveloped your hand with his own. He traced his thumb across the back of your hand as the callouses of his palm passed beneath your fingers. It was warm, rough, the way you remembered. But his hold was gentle, and you remembered that feeling too. 

Your next words had to fight their way out past the lump that had formed in the back of your throat. “It’s been a long, long time.” 

He nodded, that solemn look still lingering. “I know this.” 

Perhaps you should’ve said more, but there was nothing that you could say to him that he didn't already know. The words I miss you seemed to fall terribly short of what you were really feeling. 

Far from ignorant to the amount of time that had lapsed since you left Wakanda, it was a different thing entirely to see it conceptualized in the way that M’Baku looked now compared to how he’d looked when you left. He’d never been a small man in all the time you’d known him, but now his body had built itself to match the image of himself that he’d always held inside his head. Becoming a leader was always his path, but seeing him now that it’d come to fruition was a truly magnificent experience. You allowed yourself a moment to mourn the fact that you hadn’t been around for a majority of that journey. He’d evolved over the years, but he was still every bit the man you remembered. He was all of that still, and then some. You wondered if he held similar sentiments about you. 

“There are plenty of roads that lead you back here, my love,” he watched as the weight of those last two words caused your eyes to close for a moment, “but you and I know that you being brought to me like this is not one of them. This road is not one of permanence.” 

A statement, not a question. Because he knew that you were both aware of the truth his words held. 

You forced your eyes open despite the tears that were welling in them. “Because I cannot stay.” 

His hold on your hand changed as your words hit the air. You could feel how he wanted to pull away from you but stopped himself. Familiar wounds being opened, but he wasn’t shrinking away from you this time. 

“The world out there is vast, M’Baku,” you said, your tone more pleading than you meant for it to be. “You could see it if you just—” 

“This,” he cut you off, pulling his hand away from yours so he could outstretch both his arms, gesturing to the space around you, “is the world that I am responsible for. What is out there, no matter how much, is not my concern.” 

This wasn’t the first time the two of you fought this fight. Before you left, you’d tried to get him to go with you. He wouldn’t then, and as soon as you’d come back you knew that there was even less of a chance now. The stakes were too high, too many people relying on his strong shoulders to carry the weight of it all. But you were only human, and you had to try. So you did.  

“I am out there,” you said, a reminder that made him flinch. Perhaps one thing was his concern. 

The same hand that had been holding yours was now cupping your face. His thumb hooked beneath your chin, forcing you to keep looking him in the eye. “And that is your choice,” he said, more sadness in his tone than you had been prepared for. “I cannot make you stay—I never could.” 

You leaned into his palm and allowed your eyes to close for a moment. Being touched with so much love was something that had been just a distant memory for so long now. You were afraid that one day you’d wake up and forget the way he felt. It was reassuring to know that you hadn’t been viewing it through rose-colored glasses all this time, that it really did feel this way to be held by him. 

Your eyes were still closed when you felt the press of his lips against yours. Instinct took over, reflexes you hadn’t needed in a long time. Leaning into him, you placed your hand on the back of his head and pulled him closer to you. He could taste the hunger on your lips as you kissed him back. You soaked it up, the way that he wrapped his arms around you and locked you tightly to him. The feeling of him was all-encompassing, fur and leather and skin.  

There wasn’t a single part of you that wanted to come up for air, content to drown in the taste of him and the shared breaths passing between you. Suddenly there was no great big world out there, no Wakanda, no Jabari Land. It was just the two of you and all the rest of it fell completely away.  

His forehead was pressed against yours even after he broke the kiss. The plate of armor covering his chest did nothing to hide the deep, heaving breaths that he was taking. You didn’t open your eyes, not yet willing to be back in reality. Instead you breathed him in, the feeling of his nose brushing against yours, of his beard while you dragged your fingers through it.  

“You know what I'm going to say,” he finally broke the silence, his voice lower than it had been. 

You nodded, a small gesture, determined not to break the connection the two of you currently had. “I know.” You kissed him, quick and soft on the lips. “And you know what I'll say in return.” Another pause, another kiss. “So don’t say it.” 

When he pulled away from you, it was the first time you really felt the chill of the mountains, goosebumps rising over your skin now that you were no longer catching the warmth radiating off of him. He wasn’t frowning like he had been before, but you could still see the hurt in his eyes. You were holding your own brand of pain in yours too. 

“I hope you find your way back here to stay, my love,” he said, the gentlest beginning of the end you’d ever experienced. 

It still felt like a punch to the gut. The lump in the back of your throat returned. “I—” 

“But until you find that road,” he reached, cupping your face in both of his hands, “do not come back here just to break my heart another time.” 

Tears on your cheeks, you nodded. There was no argument against what he had said that had any legs to stand on. He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours once more. You each took a deep breath in at the same time, that sense of deja vu creeping back into your bones. He was kind enough to brush the tears off your cheeks as he pulled his hands away. 

You knew that you had to leave, but you couldn’t force yourself to move. It wasn’t until M’Baku nodded towards the door that would allow you to slink down off the mountain and out to the rest of the world the same way you had so long ago that you finally forced it. You stole one last touch on your way out, reaching to cup his face and run your thumb along his cheekbone. It was fleeting, but he still chased it for a moment after it passed. Then all he could do was watch you leave again, wondering how hard it was for you not to turn around and look at him. 

Marvel Taglist (please let me know if you'd like to be added!): @late-to-the-party-81 @garbinge @artemiseamoon @blackhawkfanatic

ps i didn't include folks who specifically had been asking to be tagged in my invisible silver linings fic, but if you're on that and also wanna be on my general mcu taglist please tell me! xo

[jolalibrary]

i’d look for you

din djarin x f!reader | masterlist

summary: din offers you something else in a field of wildflowers

warnings: 18+, allusion to smut ONLY. soft!din. idiots who have feelings but don't know what to do with them. jo's writing din so it gets weirdly poetic again. wordcount: 2k notes: pairing is the same as other din fics by me. but don’t need to read to enjoy. written for @morallyinept's Flora & Fauna Challenge - this fic has made me smile so much, I hope it does the same for you.

“Can you do something for me?”

The question hangs, burns, in the air of his bed. Your eyes blinking awake, having been roused from slumber by his gloved hand on your cheek.

You’re aware he’s waiting, biting the inside of your cheek, as you nod.

Swallowing the longer answer which burns on your tongue, finding it now tastes of acid and wrongness, having been trapped inside for so long, having let it overstay its welcome.

You suspect he knows it all anyway. Likely as easily able to read you, as you are him. Able to hear the words you don’t say, just from the way you stare at him, like a written passage all on its own.

He helps you up, but doesn’t hurry you. You almost smirk at the purposeful, cautious touches on your side, trailing his gloved hand along the curve of your back as he leads you to the refresher, awakening thoughts more sinful than you suspect is his intention.

It’s then he tells you the time, but shares nothing else about why the ship is quiet.

“What about—”

“He’s asleep.”

Your mouth clamps shut, taking the clothes he hands you as you bury the rest of the questions. Each piece you slide on, you don’t shy away as he stands waiting. Letting him stare, letting him take in the sight of you in more light than he can when your bodies usually writhe.

Are you admiring me, Din? you want to ask. Do you feel the invisible string between us too?

Sometimes, you dislike that he told you the shade of his eyes, because you look for them. Peer through the visor with more hope than you’d allowed yourself to have before.

“Can you turn around?”

It should sound like a command, but his tone is softer, more brittle. Something unspoken within it, tightening around each letter, bending and forging with it—likely things he’ll never admit.

Still, you obey. Closing your eyes as you feel him behind you, his presence crowding and looming—recollecting when he’d been barer than he is now, draped over you.

If you will it enough, you swear you can feel his breath fluttering over your shoulder—remembering how he makes you feel full and sated, content and happy. The last time, you’d been in a haze, fucked out, blissfully aware of the naked fingers resting at the base of your neck as you came down and the way he had tilted your head back and swallowed your whine like he knew it belonged to him.

You do, you think, belong to him.

Not because he has taken, but because he has earned—he has proven. A thing which rises to the tip of your tongue and sears alongside the other words which linger and ferment.

“Trust me,” he says.

Not a question, but an ask. And you don’t mean to, but an unintentional gasp escapes at the feel of the soft, smooth fabric when it slides over your eyes. Light fades as though he clicks his fingers, blanketing you in night in the middle of the day as it tightens around your head—rendering you quiet, shyer, almost smaller, as your sense is removed, willingly given but taken all the same.

Then you stand, breath hitching, anticipation threading through your veins as you wait. For him to move, to speak, to do. Each second stretches into eternity, making a protest wish to appear. A change of mind, a declaration of wishing to do something else, than this.

But, you don’t speak it. Instead, dancing your fingers against the tops of your thighs, waiting, not patiently, but not rushing.

“Relax.”

You snort to smother the shiver that darts down your spine at his voice.

Unsure how one does such a thing when you hear the ramp going down, subtly listening to the sound of water running. You feel lost, adrift in a sea of darkness—of nothingness—with every fibre of your being yearning for a familiar anchor, teeth rolling over your bottom lip as you fight the urge to whisper his name into the void, a silent plea for reassurance amidst the engulfing uncertainty.

Din, you think.

Wondering if he can hear his name in your mind. If he’ll come to your calling, hold your hand; allow you to ask if this is necessary, if this—

“Breathe.”

And you do.

Chest filling, lungs flooding—his gloved fingers sliding between your bare ones, rooting you as he repeats it. Calmness spreads through you inch by inch, in the same way he makes pleasure surge through your muscles.

He gives you a minute, a moment. Likely waiting until your head turns in the direction you think he’s in, before he leads, offering stony orders to be careful—one that almost makes you grin until your steps take your soles to meet something softer than his ship.

The smell greets you first. It’s crisp and sweet—unlike anything you’ve encountered. Then the drizzle, how it forces your clothing to bind to your skin in a way that should feel suffocating, but instead feels freeing. Lips beginning to stretch, teeth showing as your cheeks ache with the intensity of your grin.

It’s then you feel him move behind you, the squelch of his boots signifying it. His chest meets your spine, the ghost of his touch along the side of his neck, before you feel the fabric over your eyes, loosen and light begins to seep in.

Then, it goes from nothing to everything. It being almost too much to take in all at once—the unveiled surprise, the thing he’d wanted you to see in its wonder and not in pieces as you descended.

And—

“It’s beautiful.”

It being the delicate blooms that stretch out before you. Each one a mysterious burst of colour against a backdrop of greenery. Vibrant splashes of colour, all wild and free, rising from the ground like the scenes from books you used to read. With each sway and ripple in the breeze, you spot more flowers. All of them stirred by the falling rain, watching each motion, all in awe; lost for words.

Distantly, you become aware that he’s moved to the side of you, but you’re unable to tear your eyes from the world. Not able to take your sight from the striking array of hues, every colour flower you think you could ever imagine swaying. Because there are iridescent blues and purples; there are some that glow with luminous gold and reds that look stained with blood. Shares you can’t even name, but are drawn to, reluctant to steal your gaze until you spot another.

Fingers reaching out, knee bending, you touch one, find it softer, more delicate than you ever thought. Tears springing to your eyes, chest swarmed with warmth as you admire the way the stems twist and spiral in graceful arcs, all beaded with the sparkling mist that continues to fall.

“What do you think?”

“It’s…”

Words fail you, a thing you’re not sure he could ever believe.

The only conscious thought is that you wish to live amongst them. No words exist that can describe how serene you feel; how as wild or as drenched as the petals you admire.

Because it’s then you really notice the rain, coming to sit amongst the living and the flowers. Ground soaked with it, it falling in torrents. Each droplet is a percussion against your skin, seeping through the layers and soaking you to the bone.

It's a different kind of loveliness. It’s all free, raw and unyielding, a mosaic of shades that aren't bowing or converting into a glistening canvas of liquid silver—even if the skies try to.

In truth, you thought you’d seen rain. But this is something different.

It is more akin to the sky having been ripped open, split in two, cracked, all but pouring its tears upon the land in a symphony of water and wind. Your fingers dig into the dirt, feeling his equally soaked thigh press against yours as he joins you, feeling him watching, studying, even if you can't see his eyes.

“My mom used to say that a flower sprouts when a person leaves us,” you say, soft, barely your normal volume. “I always wondered where they did—I guess I know now.”

Shifting, you peel your sight from the flowers to see his legs extended, his body so close to yours. So much so, it would be easy to lean into it. Into him. To press your drenched clothing against his equally drowned frame, seek warmth, and take what he will offer you in the brightness of the day.

“Din,” you continue, tuning in to the gruff noise he makes for you to continue, as you move your shoulder closer.

His head turns, the front of his helmet facing you.

Allowing you to see a bead slide gracefully down the silver, moving like a serene symphony—as others fall, and then another. All being left by the sky above, weaving paths you wish to trace with your fingers.

You shouldn’t, but you want to wipe each away with your touch, rest your palms against the places his cheeks should be and will your hands to remember the warmth you know they can be.

“Can you remember the last time you felt the rain on your bare skin?”

Silence. Rain slides against leaves before rolling down to the soil below. The sound increases and decreases in odd waves as the storm tries to square itself against the sun, against the blossoms which rise like an army unwilling to cower.

“No.”

His reply is rough, croaked out through the modulator—caked in openness you’re not sure he wishes to show.

And, it makes a memory resurface. Sharp and clear. The first time you’d felt him unmasked, the vulnerability etched into his features—frame tense, rigid. Nervousness flowed through him as easily as the blood that races. How you’d kissed him, felt his cracked lips gain confidence against yours as his muscles rippled under your palms.

In a different way than then, you reached out, offered comfort—providing something you’re not sure he easily is given.

“A person could get lost here,” you sigh, the words practically tumbling out.

A stillness follows, one only punctuated by the rain. That is, until he shifts, until you hear him exhale, before adding, “Not you.”

Dragging your eyes from the landscape, you watch as more droplets slide and skate down his helmet, against his armour. Desperate to cling. It’s nothing but mesmerising, making him appear like he’s made of the sky. Reflections of the flowers there, muted shades mirroring.

“No?”

He’s silent for a moment. Just one. “Wouldn’t let you. I’d find you.”

Smirking, you turn back to the view. “You’re good at that—practically a professional.”

He allows a beat, lets your shoulder settle against him—the heels of your boots digging into the ground of this place, hoping a little bit clings on and comes with you.

“I’d look for you.”

Breaking your gaze from the flowers and the falling rain, you rest them on his helmet. On him. On the space you think the brown eyes he’s told you about are currently watching you.

It’s slow to appear, taking its time to spread up into your cheek as the implication of his words ring out. Look, not find; search but not hunt.

“I wouldn’t run to begin with.”

You feel it, the shift, slight tilt of his head at your words.

And you swear you hear him breathe good, light almost airy—before gloved fingers find their way between yours again. Soaked, sodden. But neither moving as seconds become minutes.

“Cyar'ika?”

You hum, preening, almost blooming under the name he’s just begun using. Nestling further against him, watching the flowers sway and turn in the rain before his gloved hands come in front of you—a bunch of flowers held out to you, offered, given.

“My hair is brown too.”

You smile, taking the bunch, bringing them to your nose. “That’s nice to know.”

[bitchin-beskar]

Bounty

Rating: M

Pairing: Boba Fett x fem!Reader

Warnings: very slight hunter/prey kink? not really super obvious, but it's there a tiny bit. (boba is very turned on by reader's competence, lol), threat of arranged marriage, bargaining sex for freedom, technically, though everything is absolutely consensual. blowjobs, cockwarming, overstim, dirty talk, typical boba being boba. you know the drill by now.

Word Count: 5.6k

A/N: This is the full fic based on the ask that @firstofficerwiggles sent me, lol. I wrote about 1k words worth of a drabble, and then immediately decided it needed to be a full oneshot. So, I hope y'all enjoy!

By the look on your mother’s face, this is supposed to be good news.

“I’m marrying who?”

Your mother flounces to your wardrobe, pulling it open and tsk’ing in disappointment at the clothes inside like they’ve personally offended her.

“Dear child, if you’re going to be marrying Senator Vondell, we simply must find you some new clothes. None of these are fit for the future wife of a billionaire!”

Your voice rises in protest above your mother’s simpering. “Did you not read any of the holo-articles I sent you? The man’s had three wives already, and every one of them died!”

But your mother will not be dissuaded. She doesn’t even turn to look at you, merely flapping her hand at you while she rifles through racks of clothes.

“Don’t be ridiculous, child. So what if the man’s previous wives had the misfortune of being frail or sickly? You certainly aren’t. Their loss is our gain.”

You wish the callous way your mother spoke of Vondell’s three deceased wives surprised you. Unfortunately, you’d grown up with her. You knew exactly how cruel she could be.

“Mother, I-”

She whirled around, hand flying through the air and striking you across the face. The sound echoed across the room, and it was only from years of practice that you didn’t flinch away, though your cheek began to throb painfully.

“Silence,” she hissed, venomous and deadly as she always was at the mere threat of not getting her way. “You are marrying Senator Vondell and that is final.”

She turned and floated out of the room, gauzy train brushing the ground behind her as she walked away, leaving you standing there, cold terror gripping your heart even as her handprint began to form a bruise on your cheek.

Less than 3 hours later, you were on a freighter ship headed towards the Outer Rim.

~~~

Boba looked at the tracking fob before glancing at the planet visible through the viewport.

Hoth.

This had to be a fucking joke.

But the fob was blinking steadily. You were definitely on Hoth. If he wasn’t so pissed about the fact that he’d have to trek through the snow, he’d almost be impressed.

With a sigh, he began the landing procedures. Unfortunately, the fob only gave him a direction, not your exact location, so he’d have to spend some time hunting on the ground. He directed the Slave I to land in a a small field near a cliff, so there would be some protection from the storm raging.

He landed as smoothly as he was able, and put on his thermal kute in an attempt to hold off the freezing wind. He disembarked, locking up his ship more out of habit than any concern that someone would steal it on this maker-forsaken pit they dared call a planet.

It took him a few hours, but eventually he found your trail, leading him to a small cave in the ice. If he hadn’t been trained, he might’ve missed it, the cave was so well hidden.

It was impossible to sneak up, so he readied himself for a fight. Normally, he wouldn’t be concerned. By all accounts, you were the daughter of an obscenely wealthy couple, a spoilt princess throwing a tantrum because you didn’t like the husband mommy and daddy picked out.

But spoilt princesses didn’t evade trained bounty hunters for damn near seven weeks. Spoilt princesses didn’t choose Hoth to hide out on. Every assumption he’d made, he’d been wrong. It wouldn’t hurt to be cautious.

His instincts proved correct when as soon as he stepped through the threshold, he was assaulted by a figure wielding a blade with surprising accuracy. Had he been a lesser man, he would’ve been gutted like a fish.

Boba spared a brief moment wondering where exactly you’d managed to procure a bodyguard before he was forced on the defense, blocking against the repeated blows.

But there was only one person in the small cave with him, and he quickly had to concede that you were far more capable than either of your parents, your fiancé or any of the household staff let on, if you truly were the being attacking him like you had nothing to lose, and not some random soul who’d decided to set up on Hoth of all places.

You’re a vicious little thing, that much is clear. You’ve got technique, and it’s clear you’ve had some formal training. He’s actually having to focus on the fight at hand, and he’s slightly glad this is happening in an area as isolated as this because otherwise the fact that it’s taking him so long to subdue you would absolutely wreak havoc on his reputation.

But eventually, inevitably, he gains the upper hand.

~~~

You’d fought valiantly, but unfortunately the secret lessons that you’d bribed your favorite guard into giving you weren’t enough. The fight ends, and you’re laying flat on your back in the cave, the bounty hunter straddling your thighs to hold down your lower half. He’s got one huge hand tight around your wrists, pinning them above your head while his free hand holds a vibroblade against the skin of your throat.

You try to shift your hips, but the bounty hunter is massive, solid and unyielding, and there’s nothing you can do to move him. He looks vaguely familiar, and you realize you’ve seen him on holovids and propaganda posters. Boba Fett, the best bounty hunter in the galaxy, turned Daimyo of Tatooine.

There’s only one thing left to try, one last card to play.

“Kill me.”

The plea escapes you as a whispered hush, but you can tell from the set of his shoulders that Fett heard you.

He doesn’t say anything, so you continue, your last hope hinging on the words you whisper.

“Kill me, or keep me for yourself, but don’t take me back to him.”

He scoffs, but the noise sounds off, a little strangled. “Not exactly how this works, princess. You’re not exactly in a position to bargain.”

You can’t see his eyes behind the beskar, but you try to meet them regardless, voice unwavering with your commitment.

“Either you kill me, keep me, or take me back. And I promise you, if you take me back, I'll take my own life before I let him do it.”

There’s no question as to which him you’re referring to.

There’s a long silence, but Fett removes the vibroblade from your throat, instead pulling a pair of cuffs from his belt. You can’t stop the soft sigh from escaping, having expected this, but nonetheless disappointed. Your parents certainly wouldn’t have spared any expense when it came to getting you back, it’s just unfortunate the bounty hunter they hired seems determined to protect his reputation.

He hauls you to your feet, and you stumble at the sudden movement. He doesn’t stop you from falling against his chest, one thick hand on your waist as he belatedly steadies you. You can feel the heat through his gloves and your clothes, like a brand against your skin. His helmet tilts down to look at you, and you can see the reflection of yourself staring back through the visor.

But then he spins you and begins to nudge you out of the cave. You stumble along, despite having dressed as best you could for the weather, your planet had always been more temperate, and the extreme change of Hoth’s climate still sent a shock through your system.

At least Fett gives you the dignity of walking back to his ship, instead of hauling your body over his shoulder and lugging you there.

It takes a long time, trudging through the wind and snow. You trip multiple times, your bound hands not helping your balance, but each time, Fett’s arm around your waist keeps you from getting a face full of snow and ice. Eventually, he keeps his hand on your upper arm, helping to steady you. The kindness is a surprise, and you wonder if he feels bad at all about taking you to your death, either at your own hands, or that of your new husband’s.

Finally, the shape of his ship materializes through the snow, and even though you know your inevitable return to a horrific fate is creeping ever closer, you can’t help but be grateful for the shield from the weather.

He tugs you up the ramp, leading you to his carbonite freezer. You eye the unit, fear mixed with dread swirling in your gut. He pauses, and you wish, for a moment, that he’d accept your offer.

But then he gestures forward, and you can’t help the soft sigh that once again escapes. your eyes slide closed, mind already racing as you think about how best to get your hands on cryptberry, the best option you know about for a relatively quick and painless death.

You step into the carbon-freezing unit, and your last sight is Fett standing stoically in front of you, before the world goes dark.

~~~

When you come back to awareness, it’s a slow and painful process. Your whole body is freezing and sweaty at the same time, and your limbs are shaky. You can feel your eyes blinking, but you can’t see anything. Your hands are no longer bound, but you’re so disoriented that you begin to fall forward as soon as you come to.

A firm grasp on your shoulders stops you from face planting, but you can’t stop the panic that surges through you at the confirmation that you aren’t alone. Instinctively, you lash out at who you assume is likely a guard, or in the worst case scenario, your fiancé.

You manage to get a punch in, but then your wrists are grabbed and you’re hauled forward until you’re pinned against a broad, armored chest. An arm wraps around your waist and a surprising voice fills your ears.

“Easy, princess.”

You freeze, body going still, and eyes desperately flicking back and forth, but still unable to see anything.

“F-Fett?”

There’s no response, but you’re slowly moved until you feel a seat against the back of your legs, and you sink into it gratefully, the cushion soft beneath your aching legs. You’re incredibly sore from the pins and needles rushing up and down every inch of your body, and you weren’t sure you were going to be able to stay standing much longer.

“Give it a minute, princess. Let me know when you can see.”

It’s incredibly difficult, just sitting there, vision dark, but slowly, shadows and light begin to filter back in. It’s closely followed by blurry colors and shapes that slowly form a clear picture.

Fett is sitting on a small table right in front of you, still in most of his armor, close enough to reach out and touch. It explains the blooming pain in your knuckles. However, his helmet is off, revealing a stern expression, though it softens almost imperceptibly when he sees the recognition in your eyes as your vision slowly returns.

“I can see you,” you whisper, eyes taking in the sandstone walls and floor, trying to figure out where he’s taken you, before you see a large seat that can only be described as a throne upon a pedestal against the far wall. “Where am I?”

He lets out a low chuckle.

“You gave me three options, princess. Remember?”

Your mind flashes back to the ice cave that had been your home for a few meagre weeks, where you’d fought for your life and freedom, and had been subdued regardless. You almost don’t want to speak, but you know he’s waiting.

“Kill me, keep me, or take me back and I’d kill myself.”

Fett nods.

“It’d be a damned shame to kill such a pretty young thing,” he says softly, tone slightly cruel and mocking. “Even bigger shame to let you kill yourself over that pathetic piece of bantha shit.”

Your mind immediately jumps to the third option.

“So,” Fett says, contemplative and with a hint of a challenge. “Convince me. Why should I keep you?”

What he doesn’t say, what you have absolutely no way of knowing, is that he’s already told your parents and shit-for-brains fiancé that you’d perished in the freezing temperatures of Hoth, your body so destroyed by the creatures living there, desperate to survive, that there was nothing left to recover aside from a bracelet that had been an engagement gift. They’d paid him his fee, and he’d left to the sound of your parents and ex-fiancé arguing about how to keep the political arrangement in place now that their bargaining chip was gone. Unbeknownst to them, you’d been safely encased in carbonite, locked in his ship, ready to be brought back to his palace on Tatooine.

You don’t give yourself any time to think about the ramifications of what you’re about to do. You can’t. If you start to let your mind wander, you’ll panic and chicken out. You can’t afford that.

Leaning forward, you place your hands on his broad thighs as you gently press your lips against his. He sits completely still, and you don’t let yourself falter. You nibble lightly on his lower lip, letting the tip of your tongue soothe the sting and beg for entrance. He grants it to you, though you honestly cannot tell if he’s just humoring you or not.

As soon as his tongue brushes against yours, he’s pulling back, and you worry for a second that you’ve done something wrong, or worse, that he’s changed his mind.

But he reaches out and grabs your waist, yanking you forward so you’re perched in his lap. Your hands fly to his chest to steady yourself. he looks up at you, eyes dark and hungry.

“That’s a good start, princess. Why don’t you see what else you can do to convince me to keep you?”

You blink slowly, unable to fully believe what’s happening right now. But he’s solid beneath your hands, and you couldn’t dream up the smirk that’s crossed his lips as he waits for you to process everything.

“Don’t tell me you’re shy, princess?”

The mocking challenge is what finally breaks through the last of the fog clouding your mind.

Your hands come up to cup his jaw, and you kiss him again. You try to tell yourself that it’s part of your plan to convince him not to give you back, but the truth is, you just want to feel his lips against yours again.

He’s a far more active participant this time, his huge hands gripping your waist as he pulls you even closer, tilting his head back and kissing you with an ease that suggests this is the hundredth kiss the two of you have shared, not the second. He abruptly stands, hands sliding down to grip your thighs as he holds you tight against him as he strides across the room, towards the throne.

He takes a seat, making sure you stay secure, squarely in his lap, his lips never once leaving yours.

This time, he’s the one who coaxes your lips apart, letting his tongue dart out to toy with yours. You wonder for a brief moment if he can tell that you’ve never done this before, but all thoughts quickly flee as he sucks on your tongue, making you moan.

The tables are quickly turning, and he takes control back so easily it’s like you never had it in the first place. His kisses are becoming possessive, deep and claiming. It’s wet and messy and everything you’d never dreamed you’d ever get, knowing the type of man your mother had always planned for you to marry.

“You taste sweet, little one,” he murmurs against your lips. “I can see why your fiancé wanted you back so desperately, if you kissed him like that.”

You’re in a bit of a haze, but when his words register, you pull back slightly. “I never kissed him.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

Suddenly, you feel very determined to give him everything you’d fought tooth and nail to deny your betrothed.

Before he can stop you, you slide off of his lap, kneeling between his spread thighs as you peer up at him through your lashes. “I couldn’t stand to be in the same room as him, let alone touch him.”

Fett looks down at you kneeling between his thighs, looking every inch the warlord who rules Tatooine with a beskar fist. He’s got a small smirk on his lips, like he’d fucking planned this.

“You couldn’t stand to marry a Coruscanti billionaire, but you’re willing to get on your knees for a lowly bounty hunter, princess?”

You don’t bother to answer, more than aware that he wasn’t really expecting a response. Instead, you think back on all the secret holodramas and holobooks you’d read over the years, fantasizing about the naughty and exciting things they’d shared about forbidden pleasures. If you were going to convince the daimyo to keep you, you’d need to make it worth his while.

Careful fingers slowly pluck at the soft black fabric of his pants, your eyes never once leaving his. He looks regal seated on his throne, like he’s the one with all the power in the galaxy. It’s heady, intoxicating.

“May I?” You ask softly, manners drilled into your head since you were a little girl making a reappearance, and you hope he won’t deny you.

He just nods, his features indifferent, aside from the dark heat in his eyes.

You carefully undo the tie of his trousers, the silky black fabric easily parting as you wrap your fingers around his cock. He’s already hard, and you wonder if it’s because of you, or just a natural reaction from having a woman squirming in his lap.

Well aware that Fett has likely had the opportunity to fuck dozens of women, you’re determined to make sure that he doesn’t regret sparing you.

He’s pretty. It’s an odd thought to have, but you’d heard whispers from the serving girls about their trysts with the manservants or guards, and the various compliments and complaints they’d had. You’d listened, curious, but detached. But now that you have him in front of you, your fingers wrapped around him, you can’t help but feel like they’d all be extremely jealous.

He’s thick, your fingers barely able to fully wrap around him. You have the fleeting thought that if he fucks you, there’s no way you’re going to be able to walk for at least a day afterwards. Maker, you hope he does.

You’re determined to make this memorable, so you force yourself to take it slow. You keep your eyes on his as you lean forward and press a fleeting kiss to the head of his cock, before taking him into your mouth.

You suckle lightly, humming as you taste him, not unpleasant like you’d heard some men taste, but something unique and heady. Outwardly, Fett doesn’t react, but you can see the way his eyes follow your movements, the way he cocks his head as he watches you suck on him.

Slowly, you begin to bob your head, carefully taking him deeper, the stretch and ache in your jaw a stark reminder of just how big he is.

You hollow your cheeks as you suck, the weight of him pressing down on your tongue as you work him deeper and deeper. The stretch is obscene, the way your lips are wrapped around him, and you can’t help but wonder what Fett sees when he looks at you.

The tip of his cock nudges at the back of your throat, and you moan at the odd sensation. Fett’s hand comes up to thread through your hair, as though he’s preparing to pull you off of him.

But you absolutely refuse to stop here, barely halfway down. It’s the first time you’ve been able to put to use the little trick you overheard some of the servant girls twittering about in the halls late at night. You curl your left hand into a fist, squeezing on your left thumb as you push forward further, taking him down your throat.

He curses darkly, in a language you don’t recognize, his fingers tugging on strands of your hair. But you don’t relent, determination and stubbornness at war within you as you swallow around him, focusing on breathing through your nose as he fills your throat.

“Fuck, princess,” he groans, and you feel a shiver of pleasure course through you at how wrecked he sounds. It’s immensely powerful, kneeling in the throne room with the cock of the most dangerous man in the Outer Rim down your throat.

Finally, you’re able to take him all the way down, lips pressed to the base of his cock as you swallow reflexively, trying to get used to the sensation. It’s overwhelming, the heat and weight of him almost oppressive, but you’re quickly growing addicted.

You’re drooling, unable to stop the saliva from escaping your lips as your throat massages his cock. Your eyes have long since rolled into the back of your head, thighs shifting as you squirm at the heat that’s rapidly pooling in your belly. You’re damn near delirious from lust, sucking and swallowing around him as you try to drive him just as insane as you already are.

“Makin’ such a mess, little one,” he grunts, the hand not in your hair coming up to stroke at your cheek possessively. “Drooling all over my lap. Filthy, filthy little girl.”

His words are mocking, almost cruel, but you feel a thrill run down your spine as he speaks. His voice is doing things to you, and you’ll do damn near anything if he’ll just keep talking to you in that sinfully dark tone.

His fingers trail down your cheek, across your jaw, before they brush over the skin of your throat. He rubs his thumb over the bulge his cock makes, and you moan helplessly.

He groans as the vibrations from your moan send shockwaves down his spine, and it creates a feedback loop that just sends you further into a tailspin. You’re making such a mess, but he certainly doesn’t seem to care.

Finally, the need for air becomes too great, and you have to pull back. Fett lets you ease off, still keeping his fingers tangled in your hair, a possessive gesture that makes heat curl in your belly. You let your eyes slip open, looking up at him while you catch your breath, absentmindedly stroking his cock, slick with precome and saliva.

He doesn’t say anything, merely watches as you kneel before him, as you worship him.

Your lips are slick with spit, and your jaw aches, but you can’t describe the intensity of the desire to take him back down your throat. You feel empty without him, and you don’t understand why the servant girls seemed to hate this act so much. You’d spend the rest of your life happy with his cock buried in your throat.

Pressing messy kisses against the flushed and weeping head of his cock, you eagerly take him back into the wet heat of your mouth. He groans again as you swallow all of him, faster this time now that you know what to do.

“Eager little thing, aren’t you?” His tone is conversational, but he’s clearly not expecting an answer. “What would your family say, if they saw you now? Whoring yourself out for a bounty hunter, of all the scum in the galaxy.”

You let up a bit on the tight fist you’ve been holding, letting yourself gag around his length as your throat works around him, trying desperately to take in air. It’s downright filthy and debauched, the sounds of you chocking around his thick length obscene in the throne room, echoing throughout the space and consuming your every thought.

“That’s it, princess,” Fett growls, running both hands through your hair and helping to hold you down. “Choke on it, that’s a good girl.”

You’re helpless to do anything but obey, your throat constricting as you try to suck him even deeper. His hips twitch, the first sign that he’s not as in control as he’d have you believe.

Abruptly, he pulls you off, grip unyielding but not harsh. You whine at the loss, mouth hanging open and drool running down your chin as you try to fight against him, but he’s too strong.

“Uh uh,” he tsks, one hand gripping your jaw as he forces you to look at him. “As much as I’d love to come down that pretty throat, I have other plans for you, princess.”

He helps you up off the floor, your knees aching and sore from kneeling on the hard sandy ground, though he stays seated on his throne as you stand before him.

“Take off your clothes. Now.”

Your hands are trembling as you follow his orders, less from nerves and more from excitement. It seems your desperate plea has a chance of working after all.

You make quick work of your clothes, letting them fall unceremoniously to the floor. You’re soon standing before him, completely naked. It’s a strange sensation, knowing that someone could walk in and see you, but you’re surprisingly not worried. The lady your mother tried to raise would’ve been horrified. But then again, you’d never been quite the lady she wanted you to be.

Fett holds out a hand, and you take it, letting him spin you and pull you down onto his lap, legs dangling over his thighs as your bare back rests against his breastplate.

He settles his hands on your waist, and you feel his breath ghosting over your ear.

“Gonna let me fuck that pretty pussy, little one?”

You bite your lip, unable to stop the whine that escapes. He chuckles, and you feel his chest move against your back.

“Good girl.”

You’re absolutely soaked, probably wetter than you’ve ever been in your entire life. Even your most secret fantasies couldn’t compare to this, and you almost can’t believe that it’s really happening. Can you hallucinate, while trapped in carbonite?

But then he begins to press the blunt head of his cock inside you, made easier by the fact that he’s still slick with your spit. You let your head tip back, breath coming out in pants as he slowly slides inside, stretching you impossibly wide. You’ve only ever used your own fingers, and Fett is certainly far bigger than that. Your legs start to tremble from the strain it takes just to take him, and you worry that he won’t fit.

Even though you don’t say anything, it’s like Fett can read your damn mind. If he wasn’t famous for being less Force-sensitive than a rock, you’d think he had read your mind.

“Don’t worry, princess. We’ll make it fit.”

He keeps pushing deeper, your walls stretching to accommodate him, the ache deliciously deep. You’re not gonna be able to walk, let alone stand after he’s done with you, that much is certain.

One of his thick fingers finds its way to your clit, the bundle of nerves swollen and sensitive to the touch. He lets the rough pad of his fingers toy with you, making you arch your back and slide down his length another inch.

“Maybe I will keep you,” he whispers in your ear, tone dark and pleased. “Keep you right here, impaled on my cock as I rule this shit-hole of a planet. It’d make it a lot more enjoyable, having to listen to all these sycophants and leeches as they try to win my favor.”

You whimper again, the thought of being on display like this for the scum of Tatooine not as scary as it might’ve been, if he touches you like this every time.

“Does my princess like that?” He croons, free hand leaving your waist to toy with your breasts, playing with your nipples, pulling them taut and letting them bounce. “Does my princess like the idea of being my personal whore?”

His repeated assault on your clit, combined with the way he tortures your tits and buries his cock inside you, make it damn near impossible to answer. But regardless, you manage a shaky nod.

He shifts his hips, and finally, finally, he’s fully hilted inside you. You’re so full, it feels like he’s back in your throat. He lets you rest for a moment before he’s back to playing with your clit, grunting as you clench down around him.

“You’re gonna be good for me, little one, aren’t you? Gonna make me come?”

You can barely breathe, but you manage to gasp out a response.

“Yes, Boba.”

He groans, low and deep, abruptly pressing a wet kiss against the side of your neck. “My name sounds so good coming from those lips, princess.”

The pads of his fingers speed up, and suddenly you’re coming, completely unexpected. You’d had no idea you were so close, but your release washes over you like a tidal wave, making you writhe in his lap. He doesn’t let up, continuing to play with you. He’s unrelenting in his attentions, your climax not even giving him pause as he forces you further into delirium.

His arm is like a bar of beskar across you, keeping you pressed against him and unable to move beyond the small jerks of your hips as he spreads his own legs, forcing yours further apart. You’re completely at his mercy, but unfortunately for you, he doesn’t seem inclined to relent.

You can feel something surging within you, threatening to rise up and drown you in waves of pure pleasure. It’s almost scary in it’s intensity, and you begin to squirm and writhe, trying to convey that something’s wrong.

But Boba doesn’t stop. It’s like he knows your body better than you know it yourself, evidenced by the words he starts growling in your ear.

“Let it take you, princess. You can do it, be a good girl for me. Don’t fight it.”

“B-Boba..?” you whine, confused and breathless, short gasps escaping as the intense sensation threatens to completely overcome you.

He grips your tit with one huge hand, fingers pinching your nipple as he simultaneously jerks his hips up into yours and slaps his fingers lightly against your puffy clit.

A scream erupts from you as you damn near strangle his cock, clenching down hard as fluid gushes from you, a feeling so completely foreign you almost feel like you’re having an out of body experience. It’s transcendent, your muscles tense and locked tight as you spiral into insanity.

Boba wraps an arm around your waist to keep you pressed against him, though you’re not going anywhere with the way the aftershocks keep jolting through your system, keeping you trembling and off balance. He begins to pump his hips, barely just thrusting, but each slam sends more shockwaves up your spine, the feeling of his cock brushing up against a spot deep inside that makes tears spring to your eyes.

He doesn’t stop playing with your clit, alternating between rubbing at the bundle of nerves and slapping lightly. The repeated jolts of pleasure just send you further off the edge, sanity slipping away like grains of sand though your fingers.

You’re beyond overstimulated, vision blurring as you teeter on the edge of passing out, your body not used to this level of heightened stimulation. Boba doesn’t seem to care, merely using your body for his own enjoyment. You can’t bring yourself to mind it one bit.

“Gonna let me come in this tight little pussy, princess? Gonna let me defile your perfect cunt?”

You can’t even speak, you’re so far gone. All you’re capable of is a frantic nod, accompanied by whimpers you hope he can understand. You can’t even tell where one climax stopped before the next begins, and you’re lost to it all as he continues relentlessly.

He absolutely slams your hips down, buried to the hilt as he finally comes, filling you impossibly full. A brief, fleeting thought crosses your mind that you’re not on any contraceptives, but you’re barely able to blink before it’s gone, washed away by the pleasure still coursing through your veins.

Boba’s lips are pressed to your ear, his deep groans all you can hear. He presses his palm flat against your belly, and you can feel the bulge of him inside you. You twitch weakly, another small climax wracking your frame, far weaker than the previous ones had been, your body too exhausted to muster up much more.

Finally, thankfully, he pulls away from your clit, and stops the rocking of his hips against yours, letting you breathe. You slump back against his chest, thighs aching from the strain of being split apart in such a position for so long. You’re panting, gasping for air as your repeated orgasms finally peter off.

Boba’s thumb rubs against the skin of your belly, his grip light, but still possessive. He lets his lips trail from your ear down to your neck, where he presses soft, wet kisses against the sensitive spots there.

“Mmm,” you moan, still not entirely coherent, but tilting your head regardless to give him more access. You feel wrung out, and you’re positive you look absolutely wrecked, but you couldn’t give two shits, not with the way Boba still holds you like you’re something precious and dear.

“Well, princess,” Boba murmurs, lips brushing your neck as he speaks. “You’ve convinced me.”

You make a questioning noise, not connecting the dots, your brain still hazy.

He chuckles, the hand he’d used to torment your poor clit coming up to wrap around your throat in a gentle, but possessive hold.

“I’m gonna keep you for myself.”

[mattmurdocksscars]

Injuries and Confessions

Hello, hello! This is my first Lucanis fic so I hope I did alright! Let me know what you think in the comments or with a reblog 💖

Characters: Lucanis, Fem!Rook, Emmerich, Teia, Viago, unnamed healer

Word count: 2184

One moment, Rook, Emmerich, and Lucanis are owning the battlefield. They move together as a unit, taking down foes and quipping to each other about their kills. Lucanis is sure they're going to win this fight. 

The next, Rook is shoving Lucanis out of the way of an enemy and taking the blow meant for him. Lucanis watches in what feels like slow motion as Rook falls and doesn't get back up.

“Rook!” Lucanis isn't sure the sound comes from him at first. Spite is raging behind his eyes, and Lucanis forces himself to focus on the fight at hand. Spite's wings come out and Lucanis is unsure whether it is him or Spite that finishes off the remaining enemies. When the last one falls, they run to Rook who still has not moved. 

Carefully they roll Rook over and Lucanis immediately sucks in a sharp breath.

“Mierda.” The wound is deep, and Lucanis feels dread fill him. Emmerich kneels across from him and examines the wound. 

“We must get her to a healer. For now, see if you can get a potion in her.” Lucanis reaches for his supply of potions and pulls one out. He quickly uncorks it and holds it to Rook's mouth. 

“Come on, Rook. Drink for me.” Her eyes flutter behind her eyelids before cracking open. He presses the potion to her lips and she manages to swallow most of it.

“W-What happened?” Rook croaks. Lucanis breathes a small sigh of relief, seeing her awake. 

“You're hurt, Rook. We're going to get you to a healer.” Emmerich tells her. Her eyes flutter close again and Lucanis panics. He puts a hand on her cheek.

“Stay awake, Rook. You have to stay awake for me.” It doesn't work though and Rook's body goes slack in his arms. 

“We need to move. Now.” Lucanis slips his arms under Rook’s back and legs and carefully picks her up, trying not to jostle her too much. She still makes a sound of pain and Lucanis can feel his heart break at the sound. Spite immediately responds.

“Get. Rook. Help!!” 

“I'm trying.” Lucanis grumbles back to his other half, adjusting his grip to make sure he wouldn't hurt her further. Lucanis and Emmerich hurry away, heading for the casino. Lucanis hopes the healer is close by and not away on business. It takes some adjustments to make it to the casino but once they do, they hurry through the doors. Emmerich is first through and immediately calls for help. Teia and Viago are drawn in by the sound and gasp upon seeing Rook.

“What happened?” Viago asks as he leads them to a room on the side. Lucanis carefully sets Rook down on a bed. Teia takes the time to get a healer and she brings the older woman in. Even she lets out a curse at the sight of Rook's wound.

Lucanis feels his throat close. This was his fault. If he had been paying more attention, Rook wouldn't have had to shove him out of the way. 

“Not. Our. Fault.” Spite says but Lucanis shakes his head and stays silent. Emmerich answers in his silence.

“It was the Antaam. She took a hard hit and went down.” The healer peels away Rook's top and Lucanis grimaces at the wound. 

“Everyone out, except Teia. There's too many of you gathered around and I need quiet to work.”

“No!” Spite does not like being told to leave but Lucanis grits his teeth and turns to head for the door. But Spite apparently feels more strongly than Lucanis anticipated and the spirit rushes to the forefront of Lucanis's mind. 

“No. Leave. Rook!!!” Spite growls. Everyone in the room turns to Lucanis, who is struggling to gain back control. 

“Spite, it's to help her. We need to leave so that the healer may work uninterrupted.” Emmerich explains slowly. 

“Lucanis, get your demon under control.” Viago tells him. It takes a minute but Lucanis is able to wrest back control from Spite, but the spirit shows his unhappiness by making their nose bleed.

“Lucanis-”

“I'm fine. Let's go.” Viago, Emmerich, and Lucanis shuffle out of the room, closing the door behind them. Spite rages in his head, throwing a tantrum that would rival a toddler's. Emmerich even grimaces at the volume. Viago watches the two of them warily. Lucanis pretends not to notice.

That's how they spend the time it takes for the healer to work on Rook. Lucanis is unsure of how much time actually passes but knows it feels like a lifetime. When the healer and Teia walk out, Lucanis immediately turns to them.

“Go. See. Rook.”

“Not yet.” Lucanis mumbles. He waits impatiently for the healer to speak. She sighs and cleans her hands with a rag.

“Your friend will be alright, but she needs rest. I've done everything I can for her. Her body will need time to heal and recover.” The older woman says. Lucanis feels bad that he doesn't know her name but there are bigger concerns for him. 

“We should get Rook back to the Lighthouse.” Emmerich says but the healer shakes her head.

“You will need to wait until she awakens at the very least. Moving her now is not a good idea.” Lucanis crosses his arms over his chest and nods. Emmerich nods as well and thanks the woman for her help. She leaves them with instructions on how to care for Rook's wound. 

“We. Need. To see. Rook!” Spite growls in Lucanis's mind, the spirit raging against his skull. Emmerich gives him a sympathetic glance then gestures to the room.

“Lucanis, why don't you watch over Rook? I'll return to the Lighthouse to let the others know what has happened. I'll return in a couple hours to see if she has awakened.” Lucanis is already walking towards the door by the time Emmerich finishes speaking. He says a quick thank you to Teia and Viago, then opens the door and steps in.

The room is quiet, aside from Rook's breathing. Lucanis hesitates for just a moment before he finds himself walking over to Rook. Glancing down at her when he reaches her side, he feels a lump in his throat. Her torso is wrapped and he can smell the elfroot from where he's standing. The bandages are already staining red over the wound. 

“Damnit, Rook…” he murmurs. “Why would you do something so foolish?”

Rook is silent, as expected. Lucanis drops down into the chair by her bed and puts his head in his hand. He itches to hold her hand that lies closest to him but he doesn't allow himself the luxury. 

Time passes by slowly. Every second Rook stays unconscious is a second of hell for Lucanis. Spite is oddly quiet now that they're in the room with Rook. But Lucanis's mind is a flurry of thoughts. He wonders why she would do such a thing, what was going through her mind when she did it, if she'll be angry with him for not noticing the attack sooner.

His thoughts distract him enough that he almost doesn't realize Rook is waking up. A soft groan pulls him back to reality though and his head snaps up to watch Rook.

Her eyes blink open slowly and she tries to sit up, only to hiss in pain and lay back down. Lucanis immediately lurches forward and gently puts his hand on her shoulder.

“Lie still, Rook. You're injured pretty badly.” He says softly. Rook's attention shifts to him then and he braces himself for her anger. Instead he sees relief on her face.

“Lucanis… you're okay?” She asks. He nods and she relaxes into the bed. 

“What happened? I remember we were fighting, but not much else.” She says. Lucanis swallows past the lump that suddenly forms in his throat. 

“You pushed me out of the way and took a hit meant for me.” Lucanis admits. Rook is silent for a few moments, making Lucanis want to squirm, before she nods.

“Sounds exactly like something I would do.” Lucanis raises his eyebrows in surprise at her nonchalance.

“You're not angry?”

“Why would I be angry?”

“I should have seen that Antaam coming. I should have been able to move in time. If I had, you wouldn't have been-”

“Lucanis. We all have blindspots. Even master assassins. Plus, in the heat of battle with that many enemies, it's hard to keep track. I don't blame you for something I chose to do.”

Lucanis lets out a soft breath, looking at Rook hard. It is her turn to raise her eyebrows at his stern look.

“Why did you even do it? You could have gotten yourself killed! What were you thinking?” Lucanis asks, a tinge of anger in his voice. Rook looks sheepish and Spite speaks up for the first time in a while.

“Do not. Yell. At Rook.” 

“Stay out of it, Spite.” Lucanis growls. Rook raises an eyebrow, curious over what the demon said. But Lucanis doesn't elaborate, he simply stares at Rook and waits for an answer. Rook closes her eyes for a moment then sighs.

“I did it because the thought of you dying does something to me. I can't… I can't lose you, Lucanis. I care too much about you.” Rook admits. Lucanis blinks in shock and feels his face warm at the idea of Rook caring for him. Rook looks away from him and sighs.

“I know you don't want to get in to anything because of Spite. And I respect that. But you deserve to know how I feel.” Rook continues. Lucanis feels his stomach twist at her words. Spite. It always comes back to the demon. Before he can say anything though, Rook is speaking again.

“You should also know that Spite doesn't bother me. If you ever changed your mind, Spite wouldn't be a problem for me.”

“Tell. Rook. How we. Feel?” Spite asks. Lucanis sighs through his nose. Being hit from both sides makes it seem like he's the one overreacting. But the idea of getting into a relationship with Rook is a terrifying one. While Rook has seen his mind and seen the darkest parts of him, he doesn't know if she really understands what all it entails. Spite and him are working together more often than not lately though. He can't deny that entering into a relationship with Rook is something he wants.

“Rook, I-” Lucanis cuts himself off though when Emmerich enters the room. 

“Rook! You're awake!” He says, not realizing what he just interrupted. Rook forces a smile at Emmerich. 

“Emmerich. It's good to see you.” Rook says. 

“We were waiting for you to wake up. I thought I heard voices in here so I thought I would check on you. Do you think you could make it back to the Lighthouse? I am sure you will feel better in your own space.” Rook nods and slowly tries to sit up. Lucanis can't help but to reach over and assist her. The smile she gives him is tight. He hates that he's once again made her feel like he doesn't want her. It couldn't be further from the truth. But he resigns himself to staying silent.

Together, Emmerich and Lucanis help Rook stand and then help her make her way to the Eluvian. She says a quick thank you to Teia and Viago on their way. Once back at the Lighthouse and back in her room, Rook lays on the chaise. Lucanis produces a blanket from somewhere and lays it over her. Emmerich quietly excuses himself and Lucanis finds himself sitting next to Rook on the chaise. He debates saying anything but then steels himself.

“Rook. You can't put yourself in danger like that again. The world can't afford to lose you.” Rook's face screws up but before she can say anything, Lucanis cuts her off. “I can't afford to lose you. Especially not like that. You were right earlier, about me not being ready for anything. But you also deserve to know how I feel. How we feel. Spite cares about you just as much as I do and we'll do anything to keep you safe. But we can't do that if you throw yourself into danger every chance you get.”

“Lucanis…” He places a hand on her face and she leans into it.

“I can't give you a relationship right now. And for that I'm sorry. But never doubt that I, we, care for you.” Lucanis is afraid of her response but she simply nods and breathes out a soft okay.

“Will you stay with me? Until I fall asleep?” Rook asks, her voice timid. Lucanis is helpless against her plea. 

“Of course, Rook.”

And so he stays by her side, long after her breath evens out and she slips into sleep. Watching her be so vulnerable so willingly around him stirs something in him and he vows in that moment to figure out his shit so he can finally be with her.

Until then, he'll watch over her like an avenging angel.

[campingwiththecharmings]

In Your Arms I Feel at Home

AN: Inspired by a prompt from this list. This got a little angstier than I'd intended but the muse wants what it wants. Happy last day of Poevember, besties 🥰

(Un-beta’d)

Poe's favorite part of the day is coming home to you.

Rated: T Words: 698 Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader Warnings: Mild angst, feelings of hopelessness, emotional hurt/comfort AO3

——————

It’s Poe’s favorite part of the day, coming home to you. He looks forward to it from the moment he wakes, your side of the bed long empty and cold thanks to your obscenely early call time. He thinks about it all day, walking in through the door, seeing you on the couch; the mental image alone brings a smile to his lips. He can already feel the warmth of your gaze, of your smile, the press of your lips against his. He longs for it, for you, wanting nothing more than to be in your presence, to be afforded even a moment of your attention. 

Today is especially rough, a combination of the latest recruits not being up to snuff, news of numerous failed missions, and the capture and destruction of, not one, but three Resistance bases in the outer rim territories. Needless to say, morale is low. He tries to stay positive, tries to keep the faith, knows that people are looking to him, but sometimes it’s just so hard, you know? 

He’s slow as he trudges down the corridor toward your shared room, the events of the day weighing him down as he tries to keep his head held high. How much longer can he keep this up? How much longer  can any of them keep this up? This isn’t sustainable, not at the rate they’re losing allies. 

But what else is there to do but keep fighting?

His thoughts weigh heavy on him as he keys in the door code, the familiar snick of the door opening satisfying as he knows what lays behind it—

“Hey, you,” you say, smiling softly at him as you glance up at him from your data pad.

The sight of you is like a balm to his soul.

Without a word, he drops his things to the floor, making a beeline to where you sit comfortably on the couch. You know immediately something’s wrong, your brow furrowing in concern. It makes his heart ache to worry you.

“Bad day?” you ask, taking his hands in yours as he pauses before you.

Your hands are steady and sure, your touch warm and comforting. He wants to tell you everything—and he will—but he can’t, not yet. Instead, he just nods, finally allowing the hopelessness he’s kept at bay all day swallow him whole.

Without another word, you pull him down onto the couch with you, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug. He buries his face in your neck with a shaky sigh, his body going limp and heavy against yours. You shush him softly, running your hands soothingly over his back, shoulders, and neck. He melts into you, his arms encircling your waist as you press gentle kisses against the side of his head. You always catch him when he falls. He’s so grateful for that, for you, that he can be like this with you, that he can let his guard down, that he can be vulnerable.

You hold him like that for Maker knows how long, giving him as much time as he needs to collect his thoughts, to work through everything. When he presses a kiss against the side of your neck and shifts so his head is in your lap, you know he’s ready. You gaze down at him with an encouraging smile, your fingers sinking into his soft curls. He sighs contentedly, eyelashes fluttering closed at your touch. He’s quiet so long, you think he’s fallen asleep, but then he speaks, his voice low and soft as he gives you an account of his day. You listen attentively, twirling your fingers around his silken strands. 

He feels lighter by the end of it, a gentle smile on his lips, a small flicker of hope reigniting in his chest. He gazes up at you, capturing one of your hands in his and bringing it to his mouth for a kiss.

“And how was your day?” he asks, lacing your fingers together.

You smile down at him, still playing with his hair, a lightness in your chest that hadn’t been there before he’d walked into the room.

“Better now that you’re here.”

If you enjoyed this, please let me know! I appreciate every single reblog and/or comment. Thank you. 💖

🌟 Masterlist 🌟

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[ivystoryweaver]

Just for an Hour - Poe Dameron

Poe Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Happy Poevember!

Summary: You lure your best friend to a picnic by a lake, trying to get his mind off of his responsibilities...only to find his mind is fixed on you.

Pairing: Poe Dameron x gn!reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Content: romance, sex is implied and described briefly. More erotic than explicit. Best friends to lovers, slow and soft, in the water, not beta’d

•¨•.¸¸☆*･ﾟﾟ･☆¸¸.•¨*•

"Isn't it perfect?" You nudged your best friend's shoulder as the two of you finished up the picnic you had prepared to surprise him.

Polishing off the last of his beverage, Poe stared out over the serene lake, releasing a cleansing sigh as the water lapped against the tall grass along the shore. The sun, rich gold and majestic purple neared the horizon, sending shimmering beams of light across the water’s surface.

“We should go swimming."

The sound of your voice brought the Resistance commander back to reality, and you regretted having opened your mouth once you heard his reply.

"I have to get back."

"Come on, Poe, it’s quiet out there. This is supposed to be your day off.”

“We don’t get days off.”

“The First Order will still be as evil and dreadful right now as they will an hour from now.” Standing, you kicked off your boots, reaching to unzip your flight suit.

This got Poe’s attention.

Sure, you’d changed clothes in front of him dozens of times. You’d even shared a bed. For sleeping.

But he was wound pretty tightly just ahead of an important mission and it had been a long time since he’d blown off steam in particular ways.

Maybe a swim wasn’t such a bad idea. Could be fun.

“Okay. Ten minutes,” he agreed, granting you a lopsided grin as he rid himself of his own boots and flight suit. This left the two of you in white tank tops and shorts, but as you laughed delightedly and sprinted toward the water, he shed his top as well.

You squealed in excitement and surprise at the surprisingly warm water, which felt absolutely divine against your skin.

“Cold?” Poe asked you before he stepped one toe in.

“No, it feels amazing,” you gushed, twirling around as Poe waded in a few steps before diving right in.

He disappeared for several long moments, prompting you to look around for him. It would be just like him to mess with you, but he was gone for so long that you finally called his name.

Suddenly he tugged on your ankle underwater and you shrieked before laughing. “I’m gonna kick your ass, Dameron!”

Poe popped up behind you, grinning wickedly as he shook wet curls out of his face. Sunlight kissed his dark eyes, making them shine golden as they raked over your body.

You lunged for him, but he turned away to dodge your attack, so you ended up hanging onto his back, with your arms around his neck. Your thighs locked around his torso and you squeezed while attempting to pull him under and dunk him.

“Nice try, sweetheart,” he taunted, even as you both tumbled back into the water.

You came up sputtering, with Poe chuckling, amused that your revenge had backfired. “Don’t choke.”

You splashed water right in his smug face, which, of course, started a splashing war. The two of you laughed like kids, splashing and dodging and diving until you were breathless and exhausted, and, for once, thinking about something that wasn’t the First Order looming over the galaxy.

Finally calling a truce, you bobbed in the water, the sun almost gone from the sky and twilight hanging magically around you.

“I needed that,” Poe admitted, tongue swiping over his lips as he noticed the way your white tank top clung to your wet skin.

“You probably need a lot more than that,” you cryptically returned, mesmerized by the water droplets dancing on his long lashes.

“Yeah, like what?”

“I don’t know,” you answered seriously. “I haven’t seen you smile like that…” Chewing on your lip, you tried to come up with an answer. “I can’t remember the last time I heard you laugh.”

“Well, that’s why I have you,” he shrugged, swimming toward you until he was close enough to hold you. But he didn’t.

“That’s why I made you come with me today,” you agreed. “What can I say? I live to see Poe Dameron smile once in a while.”

“We both know that’s not true or you wouldn’t torture me so often,” he teased, splashing you again.

“Please don’t start that again or I might actually drown,” you dramatically pouted, sinking below the water’s surface to emphasize your point, thinking, in the back of your mind, that it might make Poe laugh again, or at least smile.

But he caught you before you went under, his forearm flexing against the curve of your back as he pulled you flush against his chest. “I would never let that happen. You know that.”

“Save me, Commander Dameron,” you teased in a sing-song voice, but your laughter trailed off as his gaze dropped to your mouth. You swallowed hard, attempting to ignore how your body fit up against his like you were two adjoining puzzle pieces.

Your chest heaved at the sudden shift in mood. Spreading your palms against his chest, you braced yourself, feeling as if either of you let go, that you would indeed, drop straight to the lake’s bottom.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, folding you against him for a body engulfing hug. The two of you had shared countless hugs - after successful missions, sometimes playfully, during a fun night out, and ever so rarely, when he would come to you exhausted and broken. Those were the nights he fell asleep in your bed, but it had never gone further than his arms clinging to your waist, seeking comfort.

But the way he pressed your body into his now felt altogether different.

He was giving you something here - you weren’t sure what exactly - but you wrapped your arms around his neck and twisted your fingers into his wet curls, pulling yourself against him harder and whispering his name.

You held one another, suspended in twilight, for a few etherial moments, but it didn’t calm either of you.

Instead, it ignited something. Perhaps it was something new, or something dormant. Or perhaps it was there simmering below the surface, but one turn of his head brought those heated breaths to your cheek. Plush lips grazed the corner of your mouth - the sensation sending you right back to the memory of that half-drunken kiss near the end of last Life Day.

One moment longer passed, the two of you the precipice of something new. Then he covered your lips with his own, sharing your breath for one final moment before licking hotly into your mouth with unrestrained fervor.

Every part of him was touching every part of you somehow, with his thick, muscular thigh wedged between your legs, holding you in place. Gripping your shoulders, he clung to you with everything he had.

You had never been kissed like this in your life, and certainly not by Poe. He was giving you everything while taking it at the same time. You went weak in his arms as he stole your breath and your will to resist, yet you had never felt safer. It took your mind a moment longer to catch up, but once you realized he might pull away in doubt, you tilted your head and kissed him back with all the wild hunger burning inside you.

You heard something deep rumble in the expanse of his chest as his hands pressed the curve of your back, fingertips inching underneath your top, pushing it up to your shoulders. A dizzying euphoria of what could happen here left you gasping as he tore his mouth away, tugging at the hem and murmuring, “Let me feel you,” against your wet, bruised lips.

The slightest nod granted him permission to tear the garment over your head and toss it aside to flop on the water’s surface. Then his mouth found yours again as his hands touched every soft and supple part of you - in ways he’d dared not try before, not even asleep in your bed, against you.

You couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t think. You might as well be drowning, but in him, rather than the warm lake.

Poe had always been the leader, but you were strong too. He wanted to go right when you insisted on going left. You challenged him, sometimes rather infuriatingly, but he outranked you and you respected that. In your personal friendship however, you always took the lead.

Like today, when you insisted he promise you an hour to relax. Just one hour to not be in charge or everything and carry the hope of the Resistance on his shoulders. He did, and it was wonderful and fun and easy - the way things always felt between you when you weren't butting heads.

And now, in this moment, in the serene, clear water, you'd never been so in sync, holding onto one another as desperately as you had on dangerous missions. Here, where he was now pulling away the flimsy fabric keeping you from feeling and knowing everything about each other.

Finally tearing his mouth from yours, he eased back enough to look into your eyes, and right to your soul - to the utter depths of you. You realized suddenly that he might see the raw, uncertain wonderings and possibilities of what it could be like to love him - really love him. You shivered in his arms and his head tilted quizzically, worry skittering across his handsome features - fear that he read this all wrong and had wounded the bond between you.

Even as he looked at you, his hand guided the thickness of your thigh around his waist and you responded eagerly, wrapping yourself around him and granting him the sweetest smile. A thousand quips came to mind, but this wasn't the moment. Not here, when he kissed you and laid himself bare in every possible way.

You could feel him now, intimately - his arousal rubbed quite obviously against you but he swallowed hard, restraining himself one more moment, to be absolutely certain.

You nodded again, shifting your hips in a suggestively obvious way, pulling him closer with your legs. Wetting his lips, his eyes flickered down between your bodies, where he reached to guide himself inside you, exhaling sharply as he pushed deeper and opened you up to feel the full, heavy length of him.

He groaned in satisfaction and relief, eyes rolling back in his head for a moment before his gaze locked with yours again.

The sensation of being this close to Poe - of actually feeling him inside you went beyond every dream that stirred secret yearnings: previous possibilities you’d crushed with common sense as soon as the sun rose and duty called. He was your friend. Your best friend and it could never be more than that - it wasn't even a thought you’d entertained, because to let the mere notion flicker and dance in your imagination was to give it life, to let it grow and then it would be this thing - this living idea.

And you couldn't kill an idea. It would grow and take the room it needed in your heart and suddenly you'd be overcome with the ridiculous notion that your best friend, and sometimes piloting rival, could ever be as in love with you as you so obviously were with him.

The surge of it overwhelmed you so that you squeezed your eyes shut before it washed over your like a wave, but it was too late - it was swelling and cresting and drowning you, sending your fingers grabbing desperately for his curls and your mouth crashing into his.

•¨•.¸¸☆*･ﾟﾟ･☆¸¸.•¨*•

Darkness enveloped your sated, naked bodies, bobbing gently in the cooling lake. Everything would change now. You both knew it, so you held onto this serenity with adoring caresses and soft kisses.

Something about the cover of night felt perfect as you helped each other out of the water, searching for your discarded, drenched undergarments and laughing under the rising moons.

You dressed in your dry gear and packed up the picnic supplies in silence. But it was the comfortable quiet of a best friendship - the two of you moving in synchrony just as you would in a ship or on a mission.

He reached for the bag of picnic supplies while you held the wad of wet clothes, each of you using your outside arm, leaving hands free between you. His arm brushed yours as you walked - the two of you were always bumping shoulders and causing gossip to ripple through the Resistance base. You assumed tonight would be no different, especially if you returned from seclusion with wet hair.

Gone was the tension in his shoulders and corded neck. As you glanced in his profile, illumined by the moons’ glow, you noted that even his typically clenched jaw had relaxed. The corner of his mouth curved upward as you stared. It made you giggle and elbow him in the ribs. He nudged you right back, starting a flirtatious struggle that ended when he took hold of your hand.

But it wasn’t like before when his grip would halt your playful assault and likely start a wrestling match. This time, tenderly, he brushed his thumb over your knuckles before tangling his fingers with yours. With a gentle squeeze, he lifted your joined hands to his lips and pressed a kiss there.

Your breath caught. You swallowed hard as his gaze bore into yours for a brief eternity.

As the base came into view, you fully expected him to release your hand and act the way you always acted. Like friends. But he pulled you aside, behind a tree and crowded into your space.

Chest heaving with trepidation, you wondered how he would end this. What he would say to safely return you to the status of his bantering best friend.

But he kissed you. He dropped the picnic supplies, which clattered loudly to the ground. He took your face in his hands and stole your breath away - made you even weaker, somehow, with the fire of his kiss. Your hands fell limply to your sides, wet clothes thudding on top of the picnic bag.

Before your hesitation could give him one moment’s doubt, however, you gripped his flight suit in your fists and pulled him closer, kissing him endlessly, and with all your heart.

Touching his forehead to yours, he whispered your name, the shape of it tickling your cheek. Turning your mouth to meet his whisper, you kissed again, endlessly, wordlessly.

To love Poe, to touch him, to know him in every way, would present a wondrous journey and beauty you never dreamed could exist in the ugliness of galactic war.

"You're so quiet," he finally whispered, holding you against him. "Can I kiss you next time you defy my orders?"

"Only if you take me swimming after," you laughed, playfully but gently shoving him away.

He caught your hand in his, and granted you the smile you lived for.

•¨•.¸¸☆*･ﾟﾟ･☆¸¸.•¨*•

Supplies gathered, appearances straightened, you made it back to base, bumping shoulders as you walked too close, as usual.

This time, however, as the door whooshed open, Poe slid his fingers through yours and led you inside.

•¨•.¸¸☆*･ﾟﾟ･☆¸¸.•¨*•

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[drabbles-mc]

Perspective

Bishop Losa x F!Reyes!Reader

For @narcosfandomdiscord Book of Balancing In Between: Fanwork whose setting is in a liminal space (i chose the carniceria after-hours)

Warnings: 18+, language, light angst, emotional hurt/comfort, reader is the oldest Reyes sister

Word Count: 2k

A/N: MAAAAAAAAN it's been a while since i've written for Bishop and i simply just love giving him complicated relationships with Reyes Women.

You knew better than to sit with your back to the door no matter where you were or what time it was. But, after how the last few weeks had gone you were too tired to think about it. You were too tired to think about it, it was two in the morning, and out of all the places in the world to sit with your back to the door you figured that Felipe’s shop was one of the safest. So there you were, camped out at one of the small tables inside the shop with your back to the door.

It'd been a long time since you made a point to notice the sound of motorcycle engines. It was like having the fan on at home or the window down in the car as you drove, noise that you heard but never really listened to. The sound of the bike engine went in one ear and right out the other, but the shifting lights and shadows of the singular headlight coming through the front windows of the shop are what caught your attention. Then you heard the rest of it.

Taking a deep breath, you wiped at the years in your eyes, the ones smeared across your cheekbones. Raking your fingers back along the sides of your head, you tried to take breaths deep enough to get your heartrate and your breathing back on track.

The sound of the engine went away, the light streaming through the window went away too and sent all of the shadows running with it. You sat perfectly still, and within seconds, right on cue, the bells above the door chimed as someone pushed it open.

The pacing of his strides gave it away before he even opened his mouth to speak. “Shouldn’t turn your back on the bad guys, querida,” he said, resting his hand on your shoulder.

Something about the feeling of the callouses on his palm against the exposed skin of your shoulder was more comforting than usual. Reaching up, you threaded your fingers with his. “Only bad guys who come here tend to be pretty good to me, so I think I’ll be alright.”

His hand fell away from your shoulder as he walked to sit across from you, and you begrudgingly let his hand slip out of yours. Leaning back in the chair, you watched as Bishop sat down across from you. Once he sat, he immediately leaned forward onto the table, hands resting in the center of it close enough for you to hold if you wanted to.

There was something so familiar about the way he looked in the patchy light coming through the windows from the streetlamps outside. It reminded you of when you’d first met, first really gotten to know each other. A lot had changed since then, and it reminded you of all that too.

“What’re you doing here, Obispo?” you asked, mirroring his position but not taking his hands in yours again just yet.

“You weren’t home,” he offered up simply.

You chuckled. “And why were you—”

“Because you didn’t stop by the clubhouse.” He pulled his phone from his kutte and tossed it onto the table. “And you didn’t answer your phone.”

Tears were gathering in your eyes again but you still smiled at him. “Something going on that I should know about, then?” you asked, already knowing the answer.

Bishop looked at you, studied the expression on your face. He could see the puffiness of your eyes, the way that the tears beginning to creep over the edge were not the first ones that you’d shed for the night. He saw the tiredness in your eyes, even though only the smallest traces of light were hitting your face.

“Why here?” he asked, completely avoiding your question.

“What?”

He made a tiny gesture, a flick of his hand motioning to the expanse of the shop. “Why do you end up here at three in the morning when shit goes sideways?”

You chuckled. “It’s only two in the morning, first of all.”

“You know—”

You pointed to his kutte. “Can I?”

There was a pause, and the look on Bishop’s face let you know that he was contemplating holding out on you until he got some answers from you, but he’d never been good at turning you away. Reaching back into his kutte, he pulled out his pack of cigarettes and lighter. You watched as he went through the motions that were so second-nature to him now, placing it between his lips and sparking the lighter, waiting to make sure it’d catch. He pulled one drag off of it before holding it out to you. You let your fingers touch for a second longer than necessary before taking it.

The inhale that you took off the cigarette in your hand was the steadiest one that you’d taken for most of the night. You tried to savor it, the steadiness and the burn you felt. Closing your eyes, you let your breath sneak back out one calculated centimeter at a time.

Finally opening your eyes again, you found Bishop still staring at you, that same unique mix of anger and concern in his eyes that never truly seemed to go away. “The worst thing happened here,” you said, quieter than you intended.

Bishop’s frown deepened in a way you didn’t know was physically possible. Nodding, he kept his voice just as quiet as yours as he said, “I know.”

You brought the cigarette back to your lips for a moment to buy you some time. “So now, when other bad things happen, sometimes I’ll come here. Get some perspective…or some shit like that.”

The tacked-on ending got weary but genuine chuckles out of both of you. “Right. Some shit like that.” Bishop took a moment to light up a cigarette of his own. “Still don’t like it.”

You hummed in amusement. “You don’t have to.”

“I do if you’re gonna keep comin’ here.”

“Only if you’re gonna keep comin’ after me.”

It was a sweet moment, one of small smiles and tendrils of smoke making it even harder to get a clear picture. But you each knew how the other looked even in pitch black darkness. There was a warmth about it, separate from the scorch down the back of your throat. You almost wanted to reach out with your free hand to take his.

But then the moment passed. Pressing the knuckle of your thumb across your brow, you asked, “So, did you come hunt me down tonight to tell me something that I already know?”

His expression faltered. “I didn’t think—”

“You didn’t think I would’ve known by now that my brother got shot?” Ash fell from your cigarette onto the table, a mess you’d be sure to clean before Felipe found his way back to the shop again. “You didn’t think that between the hospital, and his girlfriend, and my other brother that’s part of your fucking club,” your palm slammed down on the tabletop, causing it to rattle, “You didn’t think that with all of that, I wouldn’t find out?”

“Querida, I—”

“Ah-ah,” you shook your head. “You didn’t come here to break the news to me, Obispo. When you called me a few hours ago? That was to try and break the news. And you were still too late on that, by the way. But the rest of it? Showing up to my house? Here? You only go that far when you know you’re up shit creek with no fucking paddle in sight.”

Neither of you said anything then. The longer you looked at Bishop, the less you felt that you knew what he was thinking. If tradition held, he was probably trying to come up with excuses for a few things: why EZ got shot, why he wasn’t the one to tell you, and why there wasn’t blood running down the streets of Santo Padre yet. You didn’t need the laundry list for it all, but you’d played games like this with him enough now to at least be curious about the answers.

The same thing happened when you found out Ezekiel had killed a cop and was going to prison, and when Angel was joining the club, then again when Angel was looking down the pipe at eighteen months in Chino, then again when you heard that not only was Ezekiel getting out of prison, but he was getting out of prison and funneling himself right into the club alongside his brother. The same song and dance again and again over the years, and to think that neither of you would’ve had to learn the steps if Bishop hadn’t found you here, alone in the shop in the middle of the night, scrubbing at the floor because you were convinced that the last of your mother’s blood still hadn’t been washed away after the police department left.

Clearing his throat, he started again. “I didn’t think that you should be alone.” He paused, waiting for you to start right up again. When you didn’t, he continued, but tentatively. “I’m sorry that you head to hear it from…” he trailed off, realizing that you hadn’t said through which avenue you found out.

“Gaby,” you filled in the blank, shaking your head as you remembered the sheer terror in her voice.

“I’m sorry about that.” He sounded genuine as he was saying it. Before the scoff in the base of your throat could make its way out, he said, “I am. But would hearing it from me have felt any better? Would you have ended up,” he gestured to the carnicería with both hands this time, “anywhere else?”

You chuckled, a bitter sound. “You almost had a decent apology going for a second there.”

He took a deep breath, and you could see it on his face that he was actively fighting the urge to say the first thing that came to his mind. “I am sorry. And I am fucking here. And if you ask me to do something for you right now, I’ll do it.” He waited for you to look him in the eyes again. “What do you want right now?”

Pulling every last bit you could from your cigarette, you snubbed it out. Smoke cascaded from between your lips as you sighed. Leaning forward, you dropped your head into your hands as you tried to wrap your head around Bishop’s question, about what your answer to it was.

“Where’s Ezekiel?” you asked.

“Out of town. Gaby’s with him.”

You nodded, hands dropping back to the tabletop. “Right.”

He covered one of your hands with his. “What do you want right now?”

You focused on the warmth seeping from his palm into the top of your hand. You zeroed in on the way he dragged the pad of his thumb across your knuckles. Looking at his face, you felt yourself getting pulled underneath the waves of desperation in his eyes. He always looked so sad, and so earnest about it. And the undertow of it all always seemed to get you.

Turning your hand, you interlocked it with his. “I don’t know.”

“Thought this place was supposed to give you some perspective?” he asked, a twinge of a smile on his face.

It got you to laugh if nothing else. Giving his hand a gentle squeeze, you said, “Maybe I just gotta sit here a little longer.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

He squeezed your hand before standing up. You tilted your head to the side as you watched him walk deeper into the shop. “What’re you doing?”

He crumbled the last of his cigarette into the small trash can by the bookshelf. Picking it up, he brought it over to the table where the two of you were sitting. “Cleaning this up before you forget,” he said as he swiped the butt of your cigarette and the ashes from it into the trash can. Once he brought it back to its rightful spot, he sat down across from you again. “And I’ll sit with you.” He watched as the tears started welling in your eyes again. “And I’ll bring you home before Felipe comes back.”

You managed a smile, and despite all the mess and the hurt, you felt a little bit of relief at his offer. Nodding, you gave a soft but sincere, “Thank you.”

He took your hand in his. “Whatever you need.”

(divider by @silkholland 💞)

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[eyelessfaces]

about time we found each other again.

leto atreides x reader

summary: even years after your wedding got called off, leto is not sure he truly really got over you.

warnings: implied cheating (I am so sorry lady jessica I love you), death of a parent, angst, probably inaccurate dune lore stuff my most sincere apologies I did my best

tags: f!reader, arranged marriage, first love, love confessions, estrangement, time jump where the second part takes place a few years before the first movie (this doesn't matter at all tbh)

word count: 2.1k

this is my first time writing for leto so I hope he's alright lol<3

When you came to meet Leto Atreides for the first time, it was instantaneous; maybe you couldn't rightfully affirm it with conviction yet, but some deep part of you immediately knew that you desired him to be the one by your side for the rest of time. 

He had been the only other person around your age when you and your family attended a special meeting on Caladan, and you could very well feel your heart beat faster and your cheeks burn hot at each of his furtive glance thrown your way and each slight smirk over either of your faces when your gaze met his. 

Maybe leaving your home land and being sent to eventually move to Caladan wouldn’t be as bad as you had thought, after all.

And it wasn't. You quickly, borderline scarily quickly fell in love with Leto, you were sure of it by now. His manners were those of a man of respect, and he was kind and compassionate, he didn’t have the over excessive pride you would expect from a destined duke.

And ultimately, you grew to also be almost pretty sure that he felt the same way towards you, from the way he listened to you with no feigned interest whenever you shared stories with him, from the way his warm brown eyes so gently looked over at you, from the way he always made sure you were treated right.

You remembered it to be a warm evening when he officially confessed his love to you. 

You had been walking mindlessly through seemingly never ending fields, talking about anything and everything for what felt like a lifetime, eventually stopping to lay down and watch the sun set. 

Leto had settled on gently putting flowers in your hair while you told him about your childhood on your home land, smiling radiantly as he admired you lovingly, brushing your cheek with the back of his hand before he leaned in to kiss you. 

Your own hand was quick to find his dark curls neatly slicked back as he hovered over you, the tip of his fingers delicately tracing your face and neck before he pulled away from your lips when it became absolutely necessary. 

From there, the sunset and everything else became insignificant, everything could be crumbling around you and you wouldn’t pay it any mind; nothing mattered, not when Leto promised to love you until his very last breath here in the middle of nowhere. 

So when you eventually had your parents visit you on Caladan and announce to you that you had been sent there for them to agree with the Atreides upon arranging a marriage with Leto, you couldn’t be happier and it couldn’t be more convenient; you would have chosen him anyway, if given the choice.

Leto had the competence of making everything seem so easy, and he turned out to be quick to ease your worries about your upcoming future as a duchess.

Even under the looming political pressure of your marriage, this wedding meant a starting point for the rest of your life, a part you could not wait to share with him, even if it meant a lot of responsibilities and changes.

Then so suddenly, all at once, it all fell apart, everything. 

It was late in the night when you and Leto were laughing and dancing, rehearsing for the forthcoming wedding. Servants had knocked onto your shared room door, and Leto’s hand left your waist as he scurried away to answer the door, opening and making way for them to enter the room. 

They came in with a polite nod, one of them unrolling a parchment letter, reading out loud to the both of you.

The letter was from your father, announcing the news that your mother had died while on a mission, resulting in the need of your presence at your home land to take over her legacy and responsibilities for a while.

You didn’t understand what it involved right away, maybe from the shock of the sudden, dreadful news, the loss of your mother too hard to swallow.

You didn’t understand that it meant that you and Leto were bound to be no more, that either of you were now assigned to different fates and responsibilities, that the marriage was therefore called off for the moment being.

And you quite certainly didn't realize that the night you spent tossing and turning around your shared bed with eyes wide open until the sunrise was the last night by his side, that the morning you left was the last time you would see him.

Until years later, what felt like a lifetime.

When you came back to Caladan for political and business reasons, it was only because of the absolute necessity of your presence, otherwise you wouldn't have shown up.

Finding him again after so long drowned you right back again in the same hollow feeling you endured the moment you were drawn apart years ago, and while you mirrored his polite nod and smirk, you couldn't help but still feel the pain of being estranged so brutally, of seeing him again after so many years.

He was wearing the slowly appearing gray streaks of hair beautifully, and the beard suited him like he was made for it; it made his handsome face look a bit more harsh and severe, but he was a duke now, after all.

You lightly cleared your throat as you made your way to leave the meeting once it was over, troubled as you could feel the weight of his gaze burning holes through you all along. You could feel your heart pound through your ribcage the exact same way it used to when he held you when you were younger, and you ultimately came to the rotten conclusion that your stay here in his presence would be a tough, challenging time for you, and that dwelling on the past had been a bad idea, exactly like you had anticipated it to be. 

—

It was wonderful out there, just like you had remembered it to be. The view from the balcony offered you an endless panorama over Caladan and its lush lands, and while you loved your home land with your whole being, you couldn’t deny missing living on Caladan.

The fresh breeze of the night was nothing but pleasant, and even though you were slowly starting to feel goosebump growing over your skin, you figured the view of the sun starting to set was more important.

“I thought I could stay focused while in your presence.” you recognize his voice all too well, and you wonder if the shiver running down your spine is caused by his sudden apparition or the wind hitting you. “I was deeply wrong”

“Leto,” you chuckle sheepishly, blushing as you turn around and face him.

A bittersweet smile has quirked upon his face, and he steps further and approaches you. The years have been unkind to him, lines of wisdom and experience growing upon his face transforming him into a man hardened by duty. Yet, beneath the rough facade, you can still see the eyes and soul of the man you once knew and loved.

“Why only now?” he asks, a certain helplessness painted across his face.

“What?”

He sighs as he looks away, licks his lips as he walks besides you and grips the barrier of the balcony with both hands. You only hear the wind as you watch and wait for him to do, to say something.

“This should have been yours. All of this” he mutters, gaze fixed on the sight before him. The clouds look like cotton ripped apart and spread through the wide sky, and the sun setting over Caladan turns them into an abnormal color, one you wouldn't even be able to define. “I waited for you.” Leto declares, head turning to look back at you like he is trying to figure out how you feel or waiting for you to say something.

Your eyes close as a small exhale leaves your mouth. “Why should it matter now, Leto” you scoff, turning away to try to escape his gaze, heavier than you remember.

“It has always mattered” he declares, following your steps as you try to inch away from him. He calls your name in a weak plea, his hand coming to rest over your arm. “Look at me. Please”

You do. You turn back to him, and he looks at you like you will be slipping away from him any moment now, like you're just a ghost, like you're water in his bare hands. “Tell me you did not think of me all those years and I'll leave you alone.” he whispers feebly, face close to yours as he still holds onto your arm, and you can feel your breaths mingling from how close he is to you.

His unwavering gaze is locked on yours, desperately waiting for you to say something. Eventually, your lack of response speaks for itself, and he nods slightly. “That's what I thought.”

“Leto.”

His hands come to cup your face, holding it steady as with a sigh, his forehead rests against yours. Your eyelids fall shut under the weight of it all and you exhale softly, your hand wrapping around his wrist, stroking along his forearm.

“I have loved you since I met you. I should have found you and married you regardless.” he mutters, barely louder than a whisper. His declaration makes something flutter deep in your core, and you grimace like his words feel sour to hear. You should have done it differently, should have come back to Caladan after everything went back to normal after your mother's death.

“And your wife?” you rhetorically ask, with a dubious scoff.

“She's not– we never married.” he shakes his head, pulling away from your forehead to look back at you, your hand falling to your side again when you let go of his arm. His gaze and the way his eyebrows are angled weakly are conveying everything you need to know, confirming every conclusion you made. 

Your lips part slightly, some part of you refusing to believe in what he's indirectly telling you, refusing to believe that he gave up on some part of his life waiting for you.

“We were promised a marriage together, a life together” he continues, taking hold of your hand, fingers lacing with yours tentatively. “I always hoped you would come back and we would resume our life together where it stopped.”

“Now still?” you weakly ask, equally pained and somehow flattered that he never really got over you.

Again, the lack of answer and his previous actions prove the point, and you hold his hand tighter when you swallow with difficulty. Your other hand slightly trembles when you reach to touch his face, settling to rest at his bearded cheek, and you smile weakly as you trace the lines that you never got to witness appear. 

“We were so young” you smile, drawing one out of him. The corners of his lips turn upwards as his hand covers your own over his face, pulling it to bring it to his mouth to kiss your knuckles softly, the feeling of his warm breath over your skin taking you years back.

“Don't go back.” he begs against your hand, his voice wavering a little. There’s a glint in his eyes as his gaze darts up at you that makes it impossible for you to consider refusing and giving up on him again. “You belong here.”

Your eyebrows knit in uncertainty as you tear your gaze away from him, looking at the endless view again. You can't help but overthink every consequence coming back to Caladan is going to involve, for you as much as for Leto, and especially for his own concubine that is at this point already long forgotten by him.

This is unfair, but some part of you acknowledges your younger selves feelings and remembers how devastated you were to leave him; leaving again while knowing that he still cares after so many years and regrets not marrying you may hurt even more.

“This will make people talk, Leto.” you wince, looking back at him.

He shakes his head carefreely. “Let them.” he affirms with a dismissive scoff as his hands settle over your hips. You grin softly as he pulls you closer, and a soft exhale leaves your mouth when your arms wrap around his neck.

He takes a while to admire your face, how it has changed despite still remaining the one of the woman he fell in love with long ago.

When he kisses you, it is the exact same way he used to when you were young.

—

SUPPORT YOUR FANFICS WRITERS, REBLOG, LEAVE A COMMENT, IT IS WHAT KEEPS US GOING!!!!

people who wanted to be tagged<3: @beezusvreeland @steven-grants-world @hammerhead96 @ominoose @clemdango04 @campingwiththecharmings @unear7hly

[jolalibrary]

bite me nicely - chapter 4*

pairing: vampire!javier peña x f!reader*

rating: explicit, 18+ creature: vampire + javier peña wordcount: 6.1k warnings: mentions of blood/vampirism. SMUT, SMUT, SMUT. detective/crime scene investigator javier. colleagues to 👀. bones is reader's surname, no desc used.

READ ON AO3

*mini-series now complete

sorry for the tags, i can't remember who i promised i'd tell if there's a chapter two (or more), don't hate me:

@sawymredfox @msjarvis @angiewatson @schnarfer @florxdexcerezo

@texassmiller @harriedandharassed @dancinglotusbud @quinnnfabrgay-writes @almostfoxglove

@flightlessangelwings @wordywarriorwrites @thundermartini @starwarslover-81

[flightlessangelwings]

FawKtober2024 Part 7- Marc Spector

Kinks- anal, double penetration, toys

Marc Spector x fem!reader

Word count- 1.5k

Warnings- s.mut (18+ ONLY!), unprotected sex, pwp, established relationship, toys, overstim, praise, feelings, no physical description of reader other than body parts, no use of y/n

Notes- I love writing Marc with a filthy mouth and lots of praise it's just so much fun! And i need Moon Knight season 2 like yesterday lol!! This one was so fun to write and I'm happy with how it turned out so I hope y'all like it too!!

~

“Oh shit, baby,” Marc groaned, “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

“Marc…” you whined as you clutched the sheets, “Feels so good…”

“You feel so good, baby,” he purred in your ear. 

He had you on your stomach, a pillow propped up on your hips to give him better access to your pussy. Sweat lined both your bodies as he thrust into you over and over again, hitting spots so deep that your mind spun. Your eyes rolled back into your head with every thrust of his hips and your mouth hung open so every moan and cry flowed freely. And both of you loved it.

“Fuuuck… Marc…” you mewled as he drove his cock even deeper than you ever thought possible, making you see stars. You clawed at the sheets as you screamed loudly as tears filled the corners of your eyes. 

“Baby,” he mumbled incoherent praise as he nibbled on your ear, “Oh fuck…”

Every muscle in your body tensed as your climax suddenly snuck up on you. You cried out in pure ecstasy as you trembled underneath Marc, your inner muscles squeezing his cock as you came hard. The tears in your eyes flowed freely as an overwhelming wave of emotions crashed into you. 

“Shit baby,” Marc groaned as he felt a wave of pleasure run up his spine as he savored the feeling of your release, “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he kissed his way along your neck, turning your head to kiss you deeply on the lips, “You think you’re ready for what’s next now?” he purred against your lips.

“Fuck yes,” you panted as you caught your breath. Between your orgasm and the way Marc kissed you, you felt like all the air had been sucked from your lungs. 

“That’s my girl,” he kissed you again before he grunted as he lifted himself up and slowly pulled out of you. “Fuck…” Marc was captivated as he watched your pussy clench around nothing as he pulled out of you. Between your legs glistened with your release as you laid comfortably on your stomach right where he left you. Trailing his gaze up, Marc’s eyes landed on the jewel that sat nested in your other hole. “Just when I thought you couldn’t get prettier,” he murmured as he caressed your ass.

“Marc…” you whined as you felt his hand on your ass. As nervous as you were at first, you were even more needy for him to fuck you in the ass now. You trusted him, and you needed to feel him inside you more than anything. “Please…” you begged. 

“I can’t say no to you, baby,” he groaned as he carefully wrapped his fingers around the toy, “Deep breath, baby.”

You winced as he slowly pulled the plug out of your ass, but you could tell even in your post climax haze that he was extra careful with you. Faintly, you heard soft words of praise as he caressed your body with his free hand as he finished pulling the toy out and set it aside. From behind you, there was a pop as Marc opened the lube and thoroughly coated his cock with it.

“You ready, baby?” he asked, his tone low with concern.

“Ready,” you breathed as you propped yourself up some more, presenting your ass for him.

“Shit…” Marc gasped at your display. He froze in awe as he soaked in the sight of you before him, but then he got an idea. “Wait here.”

Before you could ask what he was up to, Marc was gone and back in a flash. You felt the bed dip behind you once more  as he settled back into position.

“Tell me the moment it gets too much. Got it?” He turned serious.

“I will,” you promised.

Marc leaned over and kissed your lower back as he eased a toy into your still soaking wet pussy. He groaned against your skin as you cried out as he nestled it deep inside you. 

“Good girl,” he moaned as he stroked his cock once more, coating it with more lube, “Now, you ready for me?”

“Oh fuck yes,” you didn’t care how eager you sounded, you needed him.

Marc groaned as he squeezed your ass, slapping it once before kneading your soft flesh and parting it to reveal your asshole. He swallowed hard, focusing as he lined himself up with your tight hole before he slowly pushed just the tip in. Both of you gasped at the intrusion, but moans and cries of pleasure from both of you quickly filled the room.

“You ok, baby?” Marc panted as he fought with everything he had to hold himself back as he moved as slow as he possibly could to avoid hurting you.

“Yes,” you gasped as you clutched at the sheets, “It hurts a bit,” you admitted in a hushed tone, “But I’m ok… Starting to feel good.”

“Fuck you feel so good,” he groaned as more of his cock pushed into your ass, “So tight,” Marc caressed your hips as he finally sheathed himself completely inside you, “I won’t last long, baby.”

“Marc…” you whined as your emotions completely overwhelmed you. Never before in your life had you felt more full, more satisfied, more loved. It wasn’t just that Marc had both of your holes stuffed full. It was the way he tenderly held you, making sure he never hurt you while he took your ass for the first time. It was the way he kissed your skin and whispered sweet nothings against you.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he murmured as he rocked back and slowly thrust forward, eliciting a moan from you, “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

All you could do was moan, even though you wanted to say how much you trusted him. You wanted to tell him how safe you felt in his arms. You wanted to tell him how good he made you feel, even though the pain. But all you could do was moan and cry out with every thrust of his hips.

“Fuck, baby,” Marc grunted, “You feel so good,” he repeated himself over and over, the same praises the same curses as he started to speed up his thrusts, “Won’t last long… Fuck…”

“Marc… Fuck…” was all you could get out as you felt his cock rock in and out of your ass while the toy started nested in your pussy. With every time he moved, it jostled inside of you, hitting your sweet spot again and again. 

Marc snaked one hand out in front of you, taking your hand in his. He clutched it tightly as he thrust into you, holding you tightly. His other hand reached around your hip to rub at your clit, and you could tell he was close and wanted to take you over the edge with him. It was an edge you would gladly follow him over.

“Baby… Fuck… I’m gonna cum,” he moaned, “Cum with me, baby. Let me feel you,” he grunted as he felt a tingle up his spine and he knew he was about to explode, “Come on, baby. I’ve got you.”

“Marc!” you screamed as his words were the last push you needed.

With one final deep thrust, both you and Marc fell apart at the same time. He groaned your name in your ear as he spilled himself deep inside you. His legs trembled as he fought to keep himself from collapsing on top of you while your whole body shook underneath him. A harmony of yours and his screams echoed in the room as he rode out your climaxes together, his hand still tightly holding yours.

As you whimpered, Marc slowed his thrusts, kissing anywhere he could reach as he stilled himself. “Hang on, baby,” he groaned, his throat sore, “I’ve got you.”

Carefully, Marc pulled out of you just as slowly as he pushed in. Both of you gasped and whined as he did, the act almost as intimate as when he entered you the first time. Marc never let go of your hand, and he kissed along your back in a comforting gesture. Once he was fully out of you, he stopped for a moment and watched as his seed came next, leaking out of your ass and down your folds. 

“Baby, I lied before,” Marc admitted.

“What?” your mind was still a whirlwind, but you turned over your shoulder to meet his gaze. Your eyes were puffy from the tears and you were sure you looked like a mess. But Marc only stared at you with loving adoration and a big grin on his face.

“Now you’ve never looked more beautiful,” he said with a smile that lit up the room.

“Shut up,” you giggled as you flopped back down onto the bed.

Marc joined in your laughter as he leaned forward and kissed your skin, staring at your ass. He made his way up your back, stopping to nibble at your shoulder before making his way up your neck. His large hand caressed your jaw and turned you to meet his lips where he kissed you deeply. His tongue immediately darted past your lips to taste you and hold your tongue with his. 

“I love you, baby,” he whispered against your lips.

“I love you too, Marc,” you murmured back.

“Now let me take care of you.”

“You always do, baby,” you replied with a smirk.

[jolalibrary]

bite me nicely - chp 3

pairing: vampire!javier peña x f!reader*

rating: explicit, 18+ creature: vampire + javier peña wordcount: 4.8k warnings: mentions of blood/vampirism. mention of a gunshot. detective/crime scene investigator javier. colleagues to 👀. *bones is reader's surname, no descriptions used. lots of longingggg/slow burn.

READ ON AO3

sorry for the tags no pressure and all that.

@sawymredfox @msjarvis @angiewatson @schnarfer @florxdexcerezo

@texassmiller @harriedandharassed @dancinglotusbud @quinnnfabrgay-writes

@flightlessangelwings @wordywarriorwrites @thundermartini @toomanytookas

[gothcsz]

oh to have javi come over and seduce you when you're out at a bar and then fuck you so good you can't even think straight

tags: f!reader, mentions of infidelity, established relationship, no use of y/n, roleplaying, smut, unprotected p in v sex (be safe), any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, if i missed any other tags pls let me know ok thx.

~ 2k w/c - gif cred

a/n: you guys must be stopped! leaving me sexy prompts like this! i have no choice but to write themmmmm! i got an ask a few weeks ago talking about roleplaying with javi and well... i had to incorporate it somehow. also, that one scene in narcos (hence the gif…) hehe enjoy cariño 🖤

You sit hunched over your martini glass, idly swirling the ice. The air in the bar is warm and hazy, filled with laughter and conversations you’re barely aware of.

It’s been a long week—the kind of week that crawls under your skin and leaves you in desperate need of a drink.

You had left work with no destination in mind, eventually finding your way here, hoping your favorite cocktail would smooth out the edges before you had to face the quiet of home.

You take the last sip of your drink just as the bartender places a fresh one in front of you, her lips pulled into a knowing smile. “Courtesy of the cute guy down there,” she says, jerking her head toward the end of the bar. Instinctively, you turn to look.

And he’s… well, calling him cute feels criminally inadequate.

He’s handsome as hell, with dark, captivating eyes and features that would look more at home on the big screen than here, in the half-light of this neighborhood bar.

He smirks like he knows exactly the effect he has. You meet his gaze, lift your glass in acknowledgment, and take a careful sip.

That’s all the invitation he needs. He slides off his stool, weaving his way through the scattered crowd until he’s beside you, easing into the empty seat with a smoothness that feels almost practiced.

The confidence only adds to his appeal.

“Didn’t know people still did this,” you say with a wry smile, though you’re subconsciously reveling in the attention.

You shift your hand subtly, so the glint of your ring catches the light—a reflex, a reminder to yourself and a warning for him.

His gaze sweeps over you with an unapologetic gleam. “Did I come off too strong? Couldn’t help myself, especially not with a beautiful woman drinking alone. Feels like fate.”

You laugh, the sound escaping you before you can stop it. There’s something invigorating about his brazen confidence, and he seems to notice, leaning a little closer.

“He must be out of town or something,” he murmurs, his eyes drifting down to the diamond on your ring finger. “No way he’d let you sit here all by yourself.”

You tilt your chin up a little, defiant. “I’m perfectly capable of going out on my own, thank you very much.”

He hums, a low, amused sound as he lifts his glass and takes a slow sip. The scent of bourbon reaches you, mingling with the subtle notes of smoke and black teakwood radiating from him.

“So you’re married,” He murmurs, more of an observation than a question.

“Three years,” you reply, and when his brow arches with playful curiosity, you can’t help but feel the tiniest thrill. There’s something intoxicating about a stranger’s interest, especially one with beautiful brown eyes that linger just a second longer than they should.

“Three years… Happily?” His words are gentle, teasing, yet they strike a nerve, and you can’t help but tip your head back and giggle, feeling the warmth of the alcohol and his presence loosening something inside you.

“Is this your thing?” you ask, feigning suspicion as you lean toward him, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “Chasing after lonely, married women at bars?”

His head tilts slightly, intrigued. “Lonely?” he echoes, the word rolling off his tongue like a test. His brow lifts just a fraction. “Now, don’t tell me he’s not taking care of you.”

You straighten, getting a little defensive. “He does, trust me,” you say, and though you mean it, there’s a flicker of something—a crack in the polished surface you present. “It’s just… his job. He works long hours, and it’s been hard, not seeing each other as much as we used to.”

You’re definitely tipsy, venting to this stranger that’s hitting on you about your marriage and how it’s fallen into a rut recently. To keep yourself from digging yourself a deeper hole, you drink more of your cocktail.

As if sensing the vulnerability behind your words, he leans in closer, his attention unbreakable, drawing you in like a force of gravity. His eyes move, tracing the shape of your lips against your glass, dipping down to the glimpse of lace beneath your blouse.

He lets out a low, exaggerated sigh, shaking his head as he lifts his drink again. “Shame, really,” he murmurs, eyes flicking back to meet yours. “If it were me, no job would keep me from a wife as stunning as you.”

His words hit you like a warm gust of wind, filling you with a sudden, startling awareness of how long it’s been since anyone looked at you like this, made you feel desired. And you can’t really blame your husband, you knew what you were getting yourself into when you said yes to his proposal—how demanding his job is.

But all of your logical reasoning seems to disappear entirely in the presence of this rugged, attractive man.

Your cheeks heat, and instinctively, your thighs press together. He notices, a spark of amusement lighting his face as he leans just a bit closer.

And then, his hand lands on your thigh, his fingers spreading out over the fabric of your pants. It’s a bold move, but there’s something about it that thrills you, and you feel a low hum of excitement settling in your core.

Oh, he’s bold.

“What are you doing?” you whisper, though there’s no true bite in your voice.

“Just testing the waters,” his hand inches slightly higher, fingertips grazing your skin. He leans in, breath warm against your ear, and your skin curls. “Seeing if I’m readin’ things right.”

“Are you?” The words are barely audible, more of a breath than a question, but he hears you.

“Why don’t you tell me?” he murmurs, his thumb rubbing circles that send electricity up your leg.

You swallow, feeling a surge of reckless abandon taking over as you ask, “What’s your name?”

“Javier,” he answers, “Call me Javi. Or whatever you want, really.”

“And what makes you think I’d throw away years of my relationship for one night with you, Javi?”

His smile morphs into a cocky smirk, confidence radiating off him. “Because,” he whispers, eyes glazed over with a heat that makes your pulse race, “I’d make it worth your while.”

For a second, you consider letting him take you on this bar in front of all these people. His hand squeezes your thigh gently, the pressure igniting a spark low in your belly. 

He leans back, his gaze fixed on you as he studies your face, waiting, watching for any sign of permission.

At last, you let out a breath, reaching down to place your hand over his. With a polite smile, you slide it off your leg. “I can tell that handsome face of yours always gets you what you want. That won’t be the case tonight, but I’m flattered. Thank you for the drink, Javier.”

He drags his thumb across his bottom lip, a slow, almost contemplative gesture as his gaze rakes over you one last time. “No problem,” he says, voice dripping with an almost playful disdain. “Have fun with your husband.” His words dance in that gray area between teasing and tempting.

You know better than to stay any longer, aware that another moment with him will get you in trouble. It’s already dangerous that you let his hand linger on you, already a risk that your mind wandered to how blissful a night with him would be. You’re not the kind of person who cheats—or at least, you didn’t think you were.

He downs the rest of his drink, his eyes fixed on you with that lingering, dark curiosity before he finally pushes back, letting the warmth of his presence slip away like a tide retreating, leaving you almost breathless.

You can’t believe yourself, how part of you feels ready to throw caution to the wind for one more minute in his attention. 

A surge of longing—a need to feel desired, to feel seen—overcomes you. Before you can stop yourself, your voice slips out, soft but clear. “Actually…”

He halts, that cocky smile curling at the edges as he turns, his eyes glinting as he faces you, slowly, like a cat stalking back into a room. His grin grows wider, a spark of victory there as he watches you, waiting for what you’ll say.

“I think I could use another drink.”

Your body is flush against Javier’s, his skin hot and slick beneath your fingers as you straddle his lap on the couch. Every inch of you feels alive, heightened, as you move with purpose, grinding down on him like the cock starved woman that you’ve turned into.

He fills you perfectly, stretching and pressing in ways that make your toes curl and your mind blur. Sweat slips down your spine as you cling to him, feeling his mouth on your neck, trailing heated kisses that turn into little bites on your chin, each one sending another jolt of pleasure through you.

His hands are rough and possessive, gripping your ass and guiding your movements, matching the frantic, hungry rhythm you’ve both built together.

There’s nothing but him—the heat, the pressure, the way he’s burying himself in your cunt.

You’re mindless, every thrust bringing you closer to that tipping point. You can feel your pussy tightening around him, already on the edge.

You’ve lost count of how many times he’s coaxed you to release tonight. On his tongue, his fingers—each one drowning you in white heat and leaving you gasping.

This one on his cock, though, is building with a tantalizing pressure, leaving you almost immobile as you near it.

Your body is already feeling sore.

“Look so pretty bouncing on my cock.” His praise, laced with his own need, sends you over.

You shudder, your walls clenching around him as you gush your creamy release all over his cock. Your head falls back while another orgasm surges through you, crying out his name.

He growls in response, shifting you beneath him, your back hitting the cushions as he moves over you. His hips snap forward, each thrust sending another shock of pleasure through your oversensitive body until he pulls out with a grunt, fist jerking his cock until his milky release paints across your skin, warm and sticky.

You’re both panting, bodies sated and tangled together in a haze of lust and satisfaction.

He leans his weight onto you, pressing close without a care for the mess between you as he buries his face in your neck, letting your heartbeats slowly calm in sync. 

“Lonely, huh?” he murmurs, his voice gravelly, breaking the cozy silence.

You can’t help but snort softly, fingers finding their way into his dark hair and giving it a playful tug, a gentle reprimand. “It’s true.”

Javier pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes tender and filled with that unmistakable love, deep and unguarded. “I’m sorry, baby,” your husband whispers, shifting up on one arm while his other hand finds your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. “I promise it won’t always be like this.”

His words settle into you and you nod, still feeling the lazy warmth in your body from his touch, his kiss. Your legs wrap snugly around his waist, pulling him close. “I know, Javi. I don’t always feel like that, and I see how hard you work to make it home to me.”

He leans down, brushing his nose against yours. You close the distance, pressing a light kiss to his still-swollen lips, savoring the feeling of him so close.

After a beat, he chuckles, a playful glint flickering in his eyes. “Gotta say, the whole ‘strangers at the bar’ thing was kind of hot. Had me wondering just how many guys try their luck when you’re out there alone.”

Your lips curve into a smirk, mirroring his. “Likewise. You’re a natural flirt without meaning to.”

He scoffs playfully, shaking his head. “Other women haven’t existed to me since we met, mi amor.”

Then he goes and says things like that, a reminder of all the little ways he shows you how much you mean to him.

started a tag list for my works here, so if you're interested— pls check it out 🖤

🏷️ : @almostempty . @auteurdelabre . @persephone-girl . @magneticecstasy . @miss-oranje-disco-dancer . @pepperstories . @greenwitchfromthewoods . @maiyart . @pedrohoe04 . @natalieispunk . @thewisesalmon . @bitchesuntitled . @puddles221b . @swankyorange . @bbyanarchist . @thottiewinemom . @heyhihello-4771 . @danaehldy . @sunflowerfive . @libre-sol . @harriedandharassed . @untamedheart81 . @moel-jiller . @honeyedmiller . @alexxavicry . @angiewatson . @sunshinefive . @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff . @dinanabuu

[maybege]

Drained

Summary: Donating blood suddenly has a very different meaning.

Pairing: vampire!Paz Vizsla x fem!!Reader

Wordcount: 3.9k | Rating: E (18+ only!)

Warnings: Modern AU, explicit sexual content, dry humping, blood

Happy October everybody! I hope that autumn is treating you well and if it is not, that I can make you feel a little better with this Halloween-y Paz piece. As always, this is an AU that has existed extensively in my mind for a very long time, so it was fun to actually write something about it lol I hope you enjoy it and if you do, please leave a comment or a reblog, so we can all freak out about what a hot fun guy vampire!Paz is.

masterlist | crossposted on AO3

The night air was crisp as you made your way to one of the most exclusive clubs in the whole city and your choice to wear high heels felt stupider with every step you took over the wet streets of downtown but it was too late to change your mind now. In more ways than one.

You threw another look at your phone, where your navigation app guided you down yet another dark alleyway until you arrived at a door that couldn’t look further from trustworthy if it tried.

But as you pushed the door to Vizsla’s Speakeasy open and made your way behind a deep red velvet curtain, you were suddenly enveloped in pure luxury. You could make out leather tufted booths in the candlelight. The walls were dark but shimmery, looking soft to the touch, and more than one wall was covered in golden picture frames. Jazz music played in the background, though you could not see a live band, though maybe they were just hidden in the depths of the bar.

The place was packed – so packed, in fact, that you were surprised you hadn’t heard the commotion outside. Those brick walls must be very thick, indeed.

Trying very hard not to think about the fact that you were surrounded mostly by vampires, you made your way to the bar which was set up on the long side of the room. A tall woman stood behind the counter, looking busy. The shelves behind her were stacked with easily hundreds of liquor bottles, creating a colourful backdrop.

“Uh, hi, I am here to, uh, to – “

“New donor?” the gruff woman asked, not stopping her work of wiping down the counter.

You nodded quickly, trying to make yourself feel tall and confident and hoping that no one saw how tightly you were gripping your bag.

Marylin had sworn on her new designer bag that blood donating was one of the safest things one could do (“and it gets you bags like these!”). Considering how long you had worked together, it was kind of tragic that it took four years and her floating into work with that cherry red bag that you had seen in a window one day and had dreamt of ever since to ask her where she had all that disposable income from.

After all, you both worked the same job.

“Oh, that is easy,” she grinned, “I am donating blood.”

It was common knowledge that the streets of the city belonged to the creatures of the night. At least it had been that way ever since you could remember. Your grandparents sometimes still talked about the time before vampires and werewolves suddenly appeared at every corner, drastically changing life as they knew it.

The time of change was something neither of your grandparents ever talked about. It must have been rough. But somehow, after years of tensions and deaths and protests, it all settled into something that everyone could live with. And part of that was that the cities were flooded at night with people that previously had to hide. There were establishments specifically for them, where like and like mingled, and from a young age you were taught never to go out at night.

As you grew older and actually moved from your parents' place in the peaceful suburbs to the city, you knew that nighttime was not as dangerous as they had made it out to be. The interest vampires and werewolves had in actually tearing you up was overrated and you could still go out for an after-work drink or celebrate your birthday by going out until the sun rose. There were just some streets you tried to avoid.

But a huge part of why it was no longer so dangerous was because blood banks existed. And not the kinds to save people’s lives. Although, in some way, they did. Vampires no longer having to hunt and drain innocent bystanders entirely of their blood to survive made the biggest difference in being able to share a society.

You could go to any hospital and donate blood just like in old times and, just like in old times, you were compensated with a small fee. Charitable work, truly.

Unless you wanted to get a cherry red handbag, pay off the medical bills inherited from your childhood, finally afford an apartment bigger than a shoebox, or invite your friends out for dinner sometime.

Then, you wanted to go where Marilyn directed you. Into one of the vampire-owned locations where said vampires would splurge a lot of money on getting blood that was not vacuum sealed in a medical-grade plastic bag.

“It is like a very unusual cocktail bar,” your colleague had explained, showing you her neck and wrists to make her point about how no marks were left after a few days, “And I have never felt safer anywhere else. Just try it and thank me later!”

Which is why you were now standing in front of a woman who looked nothing like how you imagined a vampire to look. She was wearing normal clothes, for one, and her tattoo sleeve did not make her look very immortal. “Name’s Steph,” she introduced herself. “Care for a welcome mocktail while you wait?”

“No, thank you.”

She nodded. “Mar sent you, right?”

It took you a moment to realize that Mar was Marilyn and you nodded, nervously looking around. There was no official dress code but you were happy you ended up going with the black pumps and the little black dress. Everyone here looked like they were dripping in understated wealth. “She said she wouldn’t be here today.”

“Nah, she only comes on Tuesdays,” Steph explained and set the glass down, “But you’re not here to see Mar.”

No, you were not, and the reminder made your throat feel very dry.

“There is no reason to be nervous,” she smiled, “The first donation is always with one of your more senior guests. They have more experience with feeding off someone alive and can control themselves if you show any signs of discomfort. If you feel in any way unsafe, just say Geronimo, and I will come and make sure you are okay, okay?”

You nodded, biting your tongue to ask how she was supposed to hear you over the noise.

“I am sure you want to get to know who is going to be assigned to you tonight – Pat!”

A woman turned around with the happiest smile you had ever seen. Her dark hair was in a tousled updo and heavy diamond earrings swung when she turned around. Though that was not what you focussed on. There was a small trail of blood down her throat and you wondered if you should tell her. How hard was blood to get out of clothes anyway?

“What’s up?”

“Where’s Djarin tonight?”

“Oh, he's gone camping again,” she explained, “He asked Mr Vizsla to take over, he should be here somewhere, I just saw him …”

“He is right here, ladies,” a deep voice said right behind you and you turned around.

You were not sure what you had been expecting. Certainly not this specimen. He was tall. And broad. And handsome.

Oh fuck, why is he so handsome?

Mr Vizsla was the biggest man you had ever seen and if you didn’t know better, you would have thought he was a werewolf. He had a strong, stubbled jaw and his dark hair was swept into a hairstyle that made you think of your grandmother's movies. He wore an all-black suit with the first few buttons undone, which meant you got a peek at his chest and the gold chain that was around his neck.

“She’s the newbie that was assigned to Djarin tonight.”

You met his gaze and immediately knew he had caught you ogling him. Shit. But then his eyes roamed over you and you swallowed, trying to stand a little taller even if your feet were already killing you. This was the most beautiful man you had ever seen and everything in you wanted to impress him. The side of his mouth quirked up into a charming smile.

“I'll take it from here,” he announced and held out his hand to you, “why don’t we get you somewhere more comfortable, darling?"

You followed him silently through the bar that seemed to much deeper in the building than you had originally thought. At one point, you even passed the band. You spotted his face in a few pictures, several of them black and white.

He looked older than you but he didn’t look old. Not like he had lived entire millennia. Maybe he hadn’t. Was it considered rude to ask vampires their age?

“Did you read the pamphlet?” he asked when he stopped you both at a small and empty booth. His hand was warm and dry, you could feel a few callouses at his fingertips and you wondered if he worked. Or if he had always been a … businessman? Bar owner?

You nodded, listing off every bullet point that had been on the online info sheet Marylin (Mar, apparently) had forwarded to your email. “I made sure to hydrate plenty, am not taking any blood thinners and my last check-up at the GP did not show anything wrong with my bloodwork. I should be good to donate blood.”

“Good,” he nodded, “do you have any questions before we get started? Anything at all?”

You shook your head. You knew why you were here but why did it suddenly all feel so fast?

His strong hand wrapped around your wrist and you let your eyes drift over the tattoos on his knuckles and the girth of his fingers and … damn it, how could one man be so … handsome? You had always thought of vampires as pale-faced, porcelain statue versions of humans. But he looked … rugged, and warm, and real. And pretty damn sexy.

“Do you have a preference?”

“What?”

With burning ears, you realized you hadn’t listened to a word this handsome stranger had said. He realized it too because he had that cocky smile again. “Don’t get distracted by my dashing looks, sweetheart,” he teased you, “This is important.”

You nodded numbly, still watching your hand in his. “I will take a bite at your wrist first,” he repeated gently, “Some people have a strong preference for where to bite and we find that it is a good test to see how you feel afterwards. I usually suggest the non-dominant hand but maybe you already have a preference?”

“No, uh, non-dominant is fine,” you murmured, holding out the hand in question.

Mr Vizsla did not look away from you though. His dark eyes were filled with mirth as he patted the spot right next to him. “Might be a bit more comfortable if you're closer,” he said and you looked down at the big space between your bodies. He was right, you knew that, but you also knew that your heart was not just racing because you were nervous to give yourself over to a vampire. No, you were pretty sure that the closer you got to him, the likelier you would be to embarrass yourself.

You really did not want to embarrass yourself.

Not even a second later, you could feel his thick thigh press against yours. Your heart skipped a beat and you wondered if he could hear it. It had been too long since anyone touched you and of course, it had to be at the most inopportune moment that you realized that.

“No need to be nervous,” he assured you, “If you feel in any discomfort if you want to stop for whatever reason, just say Geronimo and Steph is right there to punch me off you if you feel unsafe.”

“Steph?”

Who was Steph? All you could focus on was the sight of him gently cradling your hand and brushing his mouth over your palm. The touch was so gentle, yet so intentional, it made your thighs clench. His lips brushed over the inside of your wrist and your breathing stuttered. “Think of nice things,” he winked at you before his teeth sank into your skin.

An image flashed in front of your eyes. Nice might be the wrong words to describe it. You saw him – felt him, more like – bent over you, driving into you from behind. Your eyes rolled back, hands fisted into white sheets. It was warm, you were in the tropics somewhere, but that did not bother you. Because the man behind you fucked you so good you were crying, begging him for more and all you could see was –

“How are you feeling?”

You blinked, feeling dizzy at how violently you were pulled away from an idea that felt so real. What was that?

The dark-haired man still had your hand in his and you could see two little drops of blood forming on your wrist. It did not hurt, not really, except for a dull throbbing in your veins. You frowned, trying to clear your head of the image that had been so real for a moment that your body still craved being filled by … him.

“Good,” your voice felt hoarse and you swallowed, trying to get rid of the sudden dryness in your throat. He had no business looking so devilishly handsome with his lips stained dark from your blood.

Your neck would be next, you knew, and immediately your mind was filled with pictures of you in his lap, closer than what was probably appropriate. Then again, it didn’t exactly seem like society’s rules were followed in this place.

He shifted in his seat, his legs spreading and your eyes involuntarily darted to the bulge hidden by his slacks. With the dim lighting, you shouldn't have been able to see anything but still, you imagined to see a very distinguishable something between his legs.

And then an idea popped into your head that you could not get rid of.

“Would it – would,” you swallowed again, trying to find the courage to ask what you wanted.

“What, darling?” he asked, his tongue darting out to lick over the puncture wounds on your arms. You gasped at the feeling. Maybe someone should add spontaneous arousal to the side effects section of that pamphlet.

“Can I – Could …”, you stopped short, frustrated at how nervous you were.

“You want to straddle me?” he suggested his legs spreading the tiniest bit more and you could feel your core pulse at the sight of it. Shit. Fuck. Damn it.

“Is that very inappropriate?” you rushed out, “I am sorry, I don’t mean to put you into an awkward position and –“

“Hey,” he murmured, his hands on your waist gently guiding you to him “Whatever makes you feel the most comfortable, all right?”

You took a deep breath, “All right.”

His large hand was on your neck, gently cupping one side so you could rest your weight against it, offering him up all this space. There was faint music in the background and you could feel his breath wash over the sensitive skin.

Your breathing stuttered, your heart raced and you shifted closer to him, your core settling over his which made you even more.

“Calm down, sweetheart,” he whispered, his thumb brushing over your jawline, the tip of his nose over your neck, “It is like I can hear your thoughts from here.”

Your laugh sounded breathy even to your ears but before you could worry about how you wanted to make sure you were not being a nuisance; his teeth sank into the soft skin of your neck.

The images returned almost instantly.

This time it wasn’t him behind you in the tropics. This time it was right where you were sitting. But instead of straddling him, you were kneeling between his legs, your mouth wrapped around the girth of his cock. You were caged in by his thick thighs, you could feel the heat of his body at your shoulders, his hand at the back of your head, pushing and pulling you on his shaft.

Good fucking girl, he rumbled in your mind and you gasped out a moan. With a particularly deep thrust, he hit the back of your throat and you gagged, your eyes eager to find him even through the tears.

The scene morphed and you were somewhere else, wearing next to nothing. There were people all around you, club music pounding in your ears. You wore a mini-dress with an orange pattern looking like it came out of one of those retro shows. But that was not what you focused on, no.

You were on him, his cock nestled inside you as he faintly talked with other people and you were just there, moving in minuscule thrusts as he kept his hands on you, his mouth occasionally on your neck, whispering things you could not hear but knew were dirty.

Oh fuck. You wanted to pull away, feeling your pussy getting wetter. At this point, you would not be surprised if you had left a wet patch on his pants. But you would be really fucking embarrassed.

The burning in your cheeks made you want to jerk back, get off his lap and run away to move to the other side of the county.

Don’t, sweetheart, you will hurt yourself.

Your eyes flew open, seeing nothing but the dark corner of the ceiling. He was in your head. Was he in your head?

You are in my head?

His mouth did not leave your throat and his other hand landed on the small of your back, pulling you closer to him. Right onto the growing bulge in his pants.

Believe me, that’s my first time, too, his voice sounded amused, almost, don’t stop on my account. I quite enjoyed the little picture show.

The hand on your neck spanned wide and suddenly he was tilting your head differently and your eyes fell closed, returning to the images in your minds – and in his, too, apparently.

Your hips started moving on their own accord, grinding against his prominent erection as you found yourself chasing a high you had not felt in a long time.

Fuck, sweetheart. You could faintly hear him groan against your neck and you bucked against him again, the pressure on your clit delicious. The hand on your back wandered lower, to your ass and with how you were moving against him, it was easy for his fingers to slip under the hem of your dress.

Please, Paz, you thought, your pussy aching when his calloused fingertips brushed the lacy edge of your panties before finding the wet spot between your thighs.

Come for me, sweetheart, his voice commanded in your hand.

Countless scenarios flashed in your head, each one more pleasurable than the last but all of them too quick to focus on one. Even if you had wanted to, you would not have been able to form a coherent thought as your orgasm crashed through you.

When you came back into reality, his tongue was on your neck, closing the wound just like on your wrist before. Your thighs felt uncomfortably wet and you could hear your heartbeat in your ears.

“Well, that was a first,” Paz breathed and you blinked, trying very hard to be present. The high you were still floating on came crashing down when you realized you were still sitting on his lap and you had just come in front of this, essentially, stranger when that had really not been the plan.

Fuck, you had to get out of here before he kicked you out. How could you have dropped the ball so badly on this?

“No movement,” his hand flexed your back, stopping you from clambering off him, “We don’t want you to get dizzy. Stay here for five-ish minutes and we will see how you feel after some aftercare.”

“A-aftercare?”

He nodded, his fingers brushing over your neck. “A mocktail and the pastry of the day,” he elaborated, “I think it’s croissants today. “

You really liked croissants.

“I am so ashamed,” you whispered, your eyes firmly fixed on his collarbone, “I am so sorry. I promise I will never come back. When Marylin explained donating blood, it didn’t sound like – I wasn’t prepared for –“

“Please do come back,” he interrupted you gently, fingers tipping your chin up until you had to meet his dark eyes, “It – What happened is rare. And I never heard of both happening at the same time.”

Your puzzled expression was enough for him to continue.

“Some people are more … sensitive,” his deep voice sent a shiver down your spine, “When it comes to feeding from them. And I have heard of the odd pair where there was a telepathic connection, but I’ve never – haven’t experienced either. There is no reason to be ashamed. Clearly, I was affected too.”

Your cheeks burned at the memory of that one image that you were certain your head hadn’t come up with.

“Though I have to warn you that if you do come back, I might ask you to be assigned to me every time,” he teased, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. You wondered what it would be like to be kissed by him. When he spoke, his fangs did not seem all that prominent but would it be different if you kissed?

“I – I wouldn’t mind that, Mr Vizsla,” you admitted quietly.

He scoffed, “Call me, Paz, sweetheart, please.”

The arrival of the waiter interrupted any further conversation and Mr Vizsla (Paz) gently eased you off his lap until you were sitting right next to him. Although the movement was slow and minimal, a wave of dizziness still washed over you and you understood why he had kept you from fleeing.

“Drink,” he offered you the fancy glass and you took it. His arm was draped around the back of the booth right behind you and you felt both comforted and nervous by how close he was.

“Slow and steady,” he murmured as you gulped down the fruity mocktail. His forehead was almost leaning against your temple and you had to resist the urge to just … relax into him.

This felt like the best sex you ever had and yet this man was virtually a stranger. But there was no hesitation in his gentle touches as he offered you the plate with the croissant and there was no flinching on your part when he put his arm around your shoulders.

Was it possible to feel such deep trust in someone you had met only once?

His phone rang and you watched as he pulled it out of his pocket, the sizable screen dwarfed in his hand. A frown formed on his face and your smile fell.

“I am so sorry, but I need to go now,” he announced with a frown on his face. With you still sitting down, he seemed even bigger and you looked up at him with big eyes. Somehow, you had hoped that he would stay. That you could get to know him more.

“So soon?”

“I have to be home in time to feed the cat,” he replied.

“You have a cat?”

“Yeah, her name is Biscuits and if her dinner is late she will start killing any mice she can find and I will not spend my eternal life digging small gravesites.” As if to prove his point, he unlocked his screen and showed you a picture of the fluffiest cat you had ever seen. Biscuits seemed a fitting name.

“Will – will you be here next time too?” you asked before you could lose your courage.

“Oh definitely,” he grinned, “Remember what I said, love, you’re stuck with me now.”