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muniimyg · 2 months

Text

4: the cold // series m.list

note: reblogging w fic taglist cos the limit is annoying n my posts keep glitching </3 sorry for the long wait! i literally finished c2u and was working on c2u's extras as well as attempting to keep my life together LOL . this jk is literally GETTING INTO IT YUHHH . hope everyone is enjoying the story ,, i'm so excited for the rest ! we're halfway thru :( if u missed aao jk ,, lmk ur fave moment of his as of now huhuhuuuu

taglist request: send a request with the title of this fic “aao” // DO NOT comment here or on the masterlist . it gets confusing and i prefer answering and tagging through asks !!!

🏷️ permanent taglist: @joonsjuice @taetaecatboy @pb-n-juju @miss-rainy-days @firesighgirl @whoa-jo @vantxx95 @pamzn @kakixaku @casspirit0705 @tae165 @defzcl @sopebubbles @leefics @ggukkieland @bebebutbetter @yoongimentita7 @boraength @era-genius @4ksj @vampcharxter @miss-jupiter @floweryjeons @taegijns @jeonqkooks-main @ellesalazar @jkslvsnella @parkinglot-nights @kissyfacekoo

Picture this.

Jungkook sent you a text, claiming to be sick. He said:

jungkook (liar) 3:09PM: no fr i get so dizzy standing up lol

jungkook (liar) 3:09PM: deadass i’m wearing like 7 layers and i’m chilly af .. need the warmth of ur arms, baby 🙏🏼

jungkook (liar) 3:10PM: do u think u can come by w some medicine? i’d owe u like… my whole heart

jungkook (liar) 3:10PM: nvm gave that to u already 😘✋🏽

Your natural response to his concerning text messages was to call him. When you called to check up on him, you noted how he coughed at every perfect pause... How his voice was toned groggy with a hint of pathetic.

Just as pathetic as his lie.

Does he think you're dumb? Fine. Two can play this game.

The second Jungkook opens the door and is greeted by his friends, grinning goofily with alcohol in their hands—he feels the urge to shut the door at their face. “Ah, for fucks sake—”

“Not so fast!” Hobi squeals as he grabs your wrists and tugs you from the back of the crowd to the front. Offering you to Jungkook, Hobi winks, “I believe this belongs to you.”

Jungkook’s eyes soften at the sight of you.

Lowering his head, he purses his lips for a kiss. You blink at him, letting him stand there like a fool. A few of his friends chuckle at the rejection, but it doesn’t dishearten Jungkook. Instead, he lifts his head and carries on.

Hey, the kiss was worth a shot.

With a patient tone, he tries to talk this out. “I thought it was just going to be you coming over...”

Shrugging at him, you answer; “And I thought you were sick.”

"Well, what can I say? I always feel better whenever you're around." Jungkook chides.

Unimpressed, you tsk at him. “Nice try, buddy.”

Your hunch was right.

Jungkook wasn't sick.

There was no eye bag in sight, no cough to be heard, and with the short amount of time it took him to answer the door; he doesn't seem dizzy at all. If anything, he looks freshly showered and prepared.

For a sick man, his 5PM fit was rather suggestive. He's wearing jeans, and a white wife beater with an off-white button-up unbuttoned. He must know he's hot, right? He wore this on purpose.

"A little dressed up for someone who should be pretending to be sick..." you poke his chest.

Jungkook grins, instantly shrugging his button-up off. "Oh, my bad. Here, I'll undress and—"

"Jungkook!" you gasp as you tug his button-up back on. "Your friends are here! Don't be so shameless—"

"Whose fault is that?" he laughs. "___, was I not clear when I asked for you? You. Not the circus.”

“Hey!” Nam Joon cries from the crowd. “Are you calling me a clown?”

Jungkook lifts his head and shakes it. Smiling at his hero, he assures Nam Joon; “Not you, hyung. I love you.”

Earning a few laughs, the moment ends when Jin interrupts and pushes past you. Jungkook places his arm in front of your body, gently moving you against the wall. He shoots Jin a glare but Jin doesn't seem to catch on. He makes one final comment before inviting himself into Jungkook's home; “Stop sucking Joon's dick and let us in!”

As his friends cheer and begin to invade his home, you stand still and laugh at them hustling in. As they make random remarks, Jungkook warns them not to touch certain things in his living room and that his bedroom is off-limits. Walking in, his friends can't help but feel out of place when they spot the homecooked meal Jungkook prepared for you two. The table is all set up. The projector is ready to go in the living room corner, accompanied by the ever so comfy set up of pillows and fuzzy blankets on the couch… The fuzzy blanket on the couch that Taehyung and Hobi have now wrapped themselves in.

Yeah..

Jungkook did not see this coming. He groans at the very sight. His plans were ruined.

Once Jimin gets his little ass inside, you take that as your cue to head in. You duck under Jungkook's arm and just as you think you’re about to get away—he stops you. He takes a step back and swoops his other arm around your waist.

“Not so fast.”

You huff. “Okay. I’ll walk in slow motion—”

“___…” Jungkook says in a warning tone. “Yah, I said I was sick and you show up here with my friends?”

You poke his chest. “I had a feeling you were up to no good. I brought reinforcement.”

For the most part, Jungkook likes to think he has you figured out. Then, you pull shit like this and he is completely tongue-tied.

Jungkook can’t help but applaud your move. It’s petty and nonchalant… It’s well played. Yet, he feels bittersweet at the very realization that you’ve outsmarted him so early on.

To be fair, his main moves are centered around lies.

… Is it so wrong that he thought he could at least get one last good lie before facing the truth?

The truth is that he has grown to like you so much he has completely lost control of his words and thoughts. Every time he’s around you—that’s it. That’s the entire moment. That’s his entire world. He doesn’t know how to keep it that way, you know? He hasn’t figured out how to freeze time and just be with you. So, he lies. He lies in an attempt to make the moment last just a second longer.

He knows he could have you with a simple conversation and his bunny smile. He knows he’s kindhearted and would be a great boyfriend if you let him… He’s just having a hard time navigating through all the feelings. They consume him faster and fiercer than he expected. The only way to keep up is to keep you near, and the only way to keep you near is to keep making excuses.

Thus, this week’s excuse.

He huffs at you. "A home-cooked meal, a movie on my projector, and comfy blankets... Means I'm up to no good? Come on, ___. This is ridiculous!"

"You've been so mischievous ever since—"

"It was just the ice skating thing!" Jungkook defends himself.

"It was also the pocky thing—"

His eyes light up. Jungkook’s lips curve into a smirk. "Ah... Thinking about our kiss, huh?"

Now you feel sick.

Was he serious? How does he do this to you? He says everything so bluntly and out of pocket, your tummy has no choice but to flip upside down and feel all the butterflies flutter.

"N-no!" you panic.

"Pucker up and prove me wrong," Jungkook insists, shutting his eyes and pursing his lips at you. "Like you said, I'm not sick. Kissing me won't get you sick—love sick, maybe..."

You cross your arms at him.

"Jungkook."

Opening his eyes one at a time, he puts his hands up and lets you go. He'll admit defeat here. Clearly, you aren't happy with his moves...

He'll try this.

He'll try honesty.

“___," he smiles, attempting to lighten the mood. "Hey, I was trying to—”

“Flirt?” you finish his sentence. “Yeah, sure… Has it ever occurred to you that you can flirt with me without lying?”

His eyes widen.

“Does it bother you that much?” He asks, feeling like he is completely messed up. “I’m sorry, baby. I thought it was harmless—”

You shake your head, denying his accusation. It was deeper than that. It is the principal and the root of his lying being a habit in your relationship.

“It’s not that it bothers me that much… It's just... Y-you don't have to do all this, you know? I like getting to know you, but it feels like it's impossible. You keep setting up scenarios for yourself to look good in or for me to take care of you in. I'd do it regardless if you're hurt or not. You know that, right?"

"I do," Jungkook agrees. "I just..."

You look at him with sincere eyes. "Jungkook, I'm just not understanding... Why? It’s just weird to me that you were so confident and honest when you confessed. To be honest, I really admire that part of you. B-but now that you’re… That w-we’re…. Uhmm—it's different. You're acting differently. You can flirt with me all you want. It's whatever... But maybe try something else? I'm tired of you lying, Jungkook.”

He gulps.

"You want honesty?" Jungkook begins. "Here it is... I like you too much. Like, so much that I don't know what to do with myself whenever you're around—not to mention it's even worse when you're not. I want your attention. All the time. Everything about me for everything about you."

"Jungkook—"

"Can you wait for me?" He asks you unexpectedly. "Wait for me to get it right... Because I know I can. I will get it right."

When you two join everyone inside, Jungkook’s apartment is filled with so much chaos it’s difficult for him not to A) partake and B) be upset about everyone crashing his date night (by ambush).

Honestly, Jungkook’s been pretty busy lately. He’s been neglecting his social life as school, work, and you (not that he’s complaining) have been taking over. In a way, he finds it sweet that you ruined his plans with yours. Especially since you came in with all his friends. It was a nice surprise. He will definitely take note of your sneaky ways too.

By the time everyone gets hungry, there’s barely any space for anyone to eat. Some friends are sitting on the floor, eating off the coffee table or parts of the couch. Others are eating standing up, and the rest crowd over his tiny kitchen island and dining table. There are a few girls you’ve invited here and just as usual, you all went to the bathroom together. As you all enter back into the scene, there is absolutely no space.

“___!” Jin calls you over. “Eat with us.��

You look at the girls and exchange laughs. They tease you before pushing to towards the dining table. As you approach, you realize there’s barely space let alone a seat. Without much thought, you gravitate towards Jungkook who is sitting and eating. Squeezing your way through, he notices you and nods towards Hobi. Hobi then responds by handing you a plate of food Jungkook set aside for you. Taking the plate, you thank Hobi. Jungkook then pushes his chair back and just as he’s about to get up from his seat to give to you—

“No, it’s okay. Sit.” You insist.

“But you don’t have a seat—”

Then, it happens so naturally.

You place your plate on the table next to his and take a seat on his lap. When you do this, all the boys exchange looks but say nothing. Their eyes almost pop out of their head and Hobi even chokes on his food. He tries to hide it and turns away so you don’t think twice about it. They’re all aware of how shy you are and this? This was a big thing for Jungkook that they couldn’t ruin. You were finally coming out of your shell.

Thank god.

Meanwhile, Jungkook feels winded.

He can’t believe this.

He can’t believe you.

But given the circumstances… He might just have to. So, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he smiles at you warmly and tells you that he put all your favourites on your plate. He tells you to eat everything and that he ordered strawberry bingsoo for dessert.

“I love strawberries!” you gasp. Looking up, you bat your eyelashes and tease him, “yah, you make it too obvious you have a crush on me… You know that?”

Jungkook squints at you, followed by scrunching his nose. You lean against his forehead and mimic his little stare.

It takes everything in him to not lean in and kiss you.

Slowly but surely, everyone leaves. The only ones left are you, Jungkook, and the other 6 clowns. Yoongi and Jin went out to start the cars while Joon, Taehyung, Jimin, and Hobi finished up taking the trash out or washing the dishes.

You and Jungkook are tidying the living room. He thanks you for organizing the little get-together and apologizes again for lying to you about being sick. You tell him it wasn’t that serious—it was just built-up confusion and frustration. Further, you tell him that you don’t want him to see you as someone that he has to jump through hoops to spend time with. You tell him you want it too. You want to spend time with him too. You want to get to know him too.

You want to fall in love—

"I can do that," Jungkook nods, understanding where you're coming from. Your thoughts are interrupted as he fluffs the final pillow and grabs your hands. He squeezes them and then lets go. "But only if you stop being so oblivious. At least try, you know? It's hard for me too. Like, we're dating and I'm trying to woo you and shit—"

Dating?

Woo you?

Shit.

Your heart skips a beat.

"Wait," you pause. "Jungkook, a-are we dating?”

Just when he opens his mouth to speak, Hobi interrupts.

“___, let’s go! Jin wants to race Yoongi!”

Jungkook blinks at Hobi. “You’re not racing when ___’s in the car. Are you mad?”

Hobi lifts his hands. “Shit man, I’m just the messenger!”

Without skipping a beat, Jungkook turns to you with stern eyes. “I’ll drive you home.”

You decline. “You’re already home. Relax, it’s Jin. He’s all talk and no bite.”

“___…”

As a compromise, you promise him; “I’ll ride in Yoongi’s car.”

He thinks about it for a moment. Then, he realizes he has no other practical choice. “Fine. At least if you guys do race, you’ll be in the winning car.”

Hobi coughs. “Yo, what the fuck? I’m riding in Jin’s.”

You laugh and tell Hobi you’ll meet them out the door in a second. Hobi leaves immediately, yelling at Jimin to trade spots with him so he can ride with Yoongi. Once he’s out the door, Jungkook’s apartment falls in silence.

“.... I better get going,” you breathe. “I’ll see you around?”

Scanning his apartment, you smile at the sight of everything being tidy. Picking up your feet, you head towards the door. Like a sad puppy, Jungkook trails behind you.

As you head out, Jungkook feels an urge in his stomach to make this moment last longer. “Oh... S-sure. See you at the library tomorrow?”

“You hate the library.”

“No, I don’t—”

“It’s also Saturday tomorrow.”

Jungkook blinks at you. “I love spending my Saturdays in the library.”

Giggling at his awful attempt, you remind him, “hey, we just talked about you and your fibs—”

“Sorry, sorry,” Jungkook surrenders. He puts his hands up and tilts his head. Pouting as you put your shoes on, he continues to ramble. “See what I mean? I say the wildest things just to be with you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, plopping back up. Jungkook then helps you put your jacket on and gives you your tote bag. “Whatever you say, liar.”

He rolls his eyes at you. As you open the door, you face him with a silly face. He ruffles your hair as he bids his farewell, “Goodnight. Text me when you get home, baby.”

Then, just like that, the door shuts and Jungkook is all alone.

As he turns away and finally feels like he can catch his breath after everything that happened between you two tonight, he hears the door knock. Turning back, he reaches for the doorknob, opens the door, and sees you standing there.

“Did you forget something?”

“Goodnight kiss.”

He draws a blank.

“What—”

Jungkook’s heart skips a beat as you tiptoe and reach for the nape of his neck and pull him close. Leaning in, you press your lips against him and kiss him softly. Without hesitating, he kisses you back and chases your lips the second you pull away.

You pull away too fast for his liking.

“Okay, goodnight—”

He kisses you again, deepening it as much as he can. When you pull away to catch your breath, he sneaks in one last kiss. Then, he kisses your cheeks and turns you around. Before sending you off, he teases you one last time.

“Go away. I hate you.”

Laughing at his words, you realize that sometimes—they aren’t so bad.

Him and his lies.

You and your reading in between lines.

#bts fanfic #jungkook scenario #jk fic #jk f2l #jungkook drabble series #jungkook fluff #jungkook boyfriend au #bts f2l #bts fluff

468 notes · View notes

ilylovelyz · 9 months

Note

can you pros & cons of sakusa during s*x?

⍣ ೋ pros & cons with sakusa

☆ i wish sakusa had more screentime :/

pros.

he's very clean.

he's always clean regardless, he smells like mint and fresh laundry detergent.

he's very attentive, and focuses on your pleasure much more than he focuses on his own.

the perfectionist in him has him trying to literally take mental note on what you like and don't like.

he's a quick learner too, and after a while, he's already learned how to make you cum so good it has you seeing stars <3

his sheets and bed are always cleaned before you come over, even if the two of you aren't going to be doing the deed.

his bed is quite nice too, and he'll let you take the best pillow if you want.

he's respectful; and always asks for your consent before doing anything.

he's really good with protection and is always prepared.

if you don't want to do it, then he'll stop with no questions asked.

he'll let you borrow his clothes and wash yours while you sleep.

aftercare is a must for him, simply because he can't imagine falling asleep sticky.

speaking of which, he'll run a bath for you afterwards and wash you so nicely <3

cons.

he can be a little too obsessed with being clean, and will often stress over if he's clean enough or not.

used to stress over if you were clean enough too.

sometimes he'll be too focused on pleasuring you that he'll just have a blank face, his eyebrows furrowed as he was focusing so damn hard.

not necessarily a bad thing, but he used to be so awkward at first, you thought he was scared of you.

since he's focused on you, he used to refuse blowjobs or anything like that, because he wasn't interested in them at first.

it took a while before he performed oral on you too (he's addicted now <3)

sometimes he'd like do a survey on how well he performed in bed, it would be a bit awkward because he'd ask the most random questions.

he's rarely up for anything risky unfortunately.

breeding kink? what's that lol

omg he didn't know what a queef was and deadass stop in his tracks and literally stared at you like this 😟😐

please like and repost with tags

#haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu!! smut #haikyu x reader #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu angst #sakusa x y/n #sakusa headcanons #yandere sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa x atsumu #sakusa x reader smut #sakusa x you #sakusa x reader #sakusa #sakusa smut #hq sakusa #sakusa kiyoomi

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cursedcola · 2 years

Note

I want mine to be a crack post. So the dorm leaders + Sam(whom they’re buying the supplies from) reacting to mc buying prank supplies and scaring Crowley just for fun.

A/N: Aight. I gotchu. I love writing crack mm mm mmm it's the good juice. We love torturing bird-man in this house. Especially after he threw us in that dirty-ass dorm like we were trash. Like, you expect me to sleep on dust covered sheets with spiders making a nest in the corner? Nah. This isn't Cinderella bestie and we have standards.

Setting the Scene <3

MC to their love interest after being Crowley's bitch for yet another day: Listen. The F*ck. Up. We will not be taking this abuse. We will not be taking this absolute DISRESPECT. Okay, we have a saying back on "earth," and it's called "hoez mad". Which is me. I am the hoe and I am mad. And you? You are my accomplice. You see this ring???

*waves promise ring in their face*

THIS is the ring that YOU gave me when I snagged you up and made you mine. The chain of foreverness that you imposed on my alien-ass-self.

I pulled your emo-wannabe ass back from the brink of valhalla and you will be paying me back - at a very unfair trade on my end - today. We are destroying whatever pride that cocky pigeon has and we are doing it now.

Riddle Rosehearts

-100/10. Will not comply or even be associated

bitch he isn't getting in trouble for you??? The fuck you think he's going to do?? Collar the headmaster?

The moment you step out of that door, he's tattling - no cap

Best drag him by the ear because he'll throw you under the bus

does not pass the vibe check

threatens to break up with you if you get him in trouble

so YOU threaten to break up with HIM if he doesn't at least carry your stuff

aight. he's in. it was a bluff so please don't dump him

he will cry and then stuff his face with tarts

he doesn't understand how covering everything in Crowley's office in tin-foil will make you feel better? but go off I guess

The entire time he is just complaining about how you both are wasting resources and time.

Riddle really needs to stop ruining the fun (T ^ T)

Leona Kingscholar

"That's hot"

Likes when you get mad lol Crowley should piss you off more often

He’ll watch but won’t do nothin

Another spoil sport in that he thinks it’s too much effort

He’s got some balls considering he’s no better than Crowley

Deadass is this a relationship or are you his servant

Okay that’s Ruggie’s job not yours

Speaking of, he suggests just making him doing it or the literal man children you babysit (*cough* deuace *cough*)

Lets you drag him by the foot to Sam’s shop. Why fight back?

Watches you swap Crowley’s toothpaste for mayo and wonders if you should really be considered future royalty

Doesn’t trust you around his food or personal items when you’re pissed at him

Azul Ashengrotto

“Can we get icecream after?” (〃ω〃)

Yes Azu, we can get nommies after but you must pull your weight

Man is Simp? Simp do anything for affection? Need I say more?

The BEST at covering tracks too. One bat of your eyelashes and he’ll buy out Sam’s store just to make you happy

Has a bit too much fun. One taste of rebellion and all the pent up r a g e from getting his businessman privileges revoked blossoms

They grow up so fast . He’s a natural born criminal

You wanted to do something small scale, like swapping the sugar for salt in Crowley’s coffee. He lets you, but goes the extra mile

Azul says “go big or go home,” and uses his henchmen to spam Crowley’s close conspirators with complaints from ‘student families,’ and essentially throws all of NRC’s shady business *cough*ghostbride*cough* back in Crowley’s face

Now the headmaster is up to the neck with work

Are you proud of him? He avenged you both and barely moved a fingie

Azul accepts payment in cash, credit, or kisses pls <3

Kalim Al’Asim

“Pulling pranks isn’t nice MC”

“And neither is nearly giving me a heart attack with diabetes tea. Quit complaining and move-“

You must trick the sunshine to comply

This is a game and the headmaster is happy to be pranked! It’s all in good fun Kalim~

He comes up with dozens of ideas but settles on on you pick bc he loves u

Anything to make his treasure happy ^_^

If worse comes to worse he can just throw some money to pay for the next school event so you don’t get expelled

You both get to work on covering the floor of Crowley’s office in plastic cups full of water

And…Kalim does not get the memo and blocks your way out *facepalm*

No problem tho! He calls his magic carpet through the window and it rescues you both from the makeshift island, also known as Crowley’s desk

Did he just step on important trade documents? Oops-

Fwoooooosh you both are out the window and safe

Thank him because you both were actually caught, but he payed off the snitches to not say nothin

All in the name of love so you get a taste of sweet sweet revenge

Vil Schoenheit

Uhm…no 💅

Too much effort

Honey why do you even want revenge? Keep stressing like this and you’ll be a potato for the rest of your life

Is that a potato spore or just a dry patch of skin? Nono dear lets go put that money towards some skin care products okay?

Ugh

U g h

Fiiiiiiiiiiine. One prank. And it better be both small and still funny

A schoenheit does not waste their time. We must be efficient with the best results

Which is why we are putting hair dye in Crowley’s body wash. J u s t enough to stain him a lovely shade of baby blue, okay?

Okay

Rook will do it. He’s better at being a cockroach on the wall anyways

Now lets do our nails. In exchange for helping you, Vil is picking the color. No, you have no rights in this exchange

Idia Shroud

“Alright” （；￣ェ￣）

…….

Yes, it’s that easy. He hates conflict

With you and ortho. He doesn’t mind messing with other people

Especially since that rotisserie chicken confiscated his talking tablet at the last ceremony

Idia wants vengeance. If it wasn’t for you, he would airdrop photos of Crowley picking his nose to the entire campus

Instead he settles for something more basic. For you. Because you don’t know how to have fun 😒

Special orders truth peppers from sam’s black market. All you have to do is eat one and you can’t tell a lie for at least a month

Idia does his little techy thing with the cafeteria camera so you can slip it into Crowley’s lunch (that you are forced to bring bc he treats you like an errand boy)

A few hours later, you both are chilling in Idia’s room with nommies and watching Crowley make a fool of himself by spilling his secrets

Cruel? A bit. Necessary? Yes

Malleus Draconia

“Is this what you like to do for fun? Have I misjudged your character”

Mans is so down. He wants to be a little rebellious

And damn is he e v i l

Like y’all forget that he is a powerful wizard. You think he hasn’t made a potion or two for his own purposes

He doesn’t even give you room to think. Just shoves a coin purse in his pocket and poofs you both into sam’s store

Nearly giving said tradesman a heart attack but whatever

“I need everything here and whatever you have in the back,” malleus purchases enough to make an alchemy lab in your dorm

And conjures the most v i l e smelling potion you have ever seen with a smile

And a little evil cackle for measure. Lilia taught him that no good villain is worth their salt without an evil laugh

He leaves you with a kiss on the forehead to go “do the dirty work,” and doesn’t even tell you what’s up

He…turned the headmaster into an actual bird

But like, Crowley can still talk so all you hear around campus is him squawking for someone to fix this

It’s pretty obvious who pulled the prank. Malleus is the only one powerful enough to make something even Trein can’t reverse

You both end up in the slammer

Still better quality than Ramshackle tho

Sam ze Tradesman

Cha-ching 💰💰💰💰💰

He knew there was a reason he liked you

Has Sam ever mentioned that you are his favorite wallet student??

No?

Well you are

He sells you anything and everything you want. No questions asked and a firm believer of snitches get stitches

If he gets caught tho then you’re on your own

Jk he wouldn’t do is favorite customer like that

Or would he???🤔💭

Well. Maybe not so long as these pockets of his stay stashed with cash

909 notes · View notes

chuuyrr · 2 years

Note

hey chu i have a request for gojo reader, you know that the original gojo adopts megumi and tsumiki some time after the fight he has with toji right? , now imagine gojo reader arriving where dazai and chuuya are and telling them: congratulations honey now you are a father and then proceeds to show megumi and tsumiki XD

congratulations

bungou stray dogs x gojo! reader

masterlist of infinity

╰➤ CW(s): possible spoilers for jujutsu kaisen (gojo's past arc is referenced for gojo! reader) and bungou stray dogs, major themes of fluff with light angst, repetitive scenarios

╰➤ PAIRING(s): dazai x reader, chuuya x reader (separately)

hello!! thank you so much for requesting and for being patient. hopefully, i was able to write this scenario well because i feel like my writings have been off lately. this written request was way funnier in my head tbh. anyway enough me rambling something nonsense, enjoy ♡

nakahara chuuya !

chuuya may not appear to be observant, but he is. after all, if he relies solely on his abilities, he wouldn't be a port mafia executive. although it may not be on ranpo or dazai's level, but he is capable of deduction just as he is very much capable of fighting.

it all started when you came home one day, bruised and battered. your black high-neck jacket had come undone, your hair was a mess, and you didn't have your black round glasses on, and you also appeared to have been stabbed. from your clothes to your face, you were covered in blood. chuuya nearly screamed when he heard your knocks on the door, only to open to find you standing there with a nonchalant expression.

"[NAME]?! WHAT HAPPENED?!" chuuya immediately dragged you inside, eyeing you from head to toe, "ARE YOU OKAY?! BABE?"

"i'm alright, don't worry. just had to deal with a non-ability user who deadass has a pet worm." was all you said as you walked calmly towards his kitchen to get some sweets to eat, as if you weren't covered in blood or injured in any way, with him tailing you, completely baffled by what you had just told him.

you began arriving home significantly later in his penthouse, which you now shared with him when he asked you to live with him. chuuya doesn't mind at first because he knows how busy you must have been with your work. after all, you were under heiwa's organization, which was in tokyo, a different city, and you might not be one of the higher-ups or elders, but you hold a very high position in your line of work.

but then there were times when you didn't go home to him at all. a single day turned into days, then weeks, and when you finally got home, you seemed completely out of it. you were exhausted, and there were several occasions when you were already in bed with him or about to sleep when your phone rang and you had to leave.

chuuya trusts you. he really does, and he knows you wouldn't cheat on him even if you were literally capable of swooning boys and girls, but it makes him wonder why you don't approach him about it or open up about whatever is bothering you all the time and making you leave.

after a weeks had passed, your boyfriend finally understood what was going on.

it was your boyfriend's break, and when he's not working, he just stays at home in the penthouse. chuuya was preparing dinner for you two, which isn't exactly unusual given that, despite his line of work as a mafioso, he's quite the domestic husband material whenever you two are alone together or somewhere private. furthermore, he was not raised by ozaki koyo for nothing. anyway, he was working on some salmon dish when he heard shuffling and you talking behind the door, which caused him to come to a halt and stare.

chuuya turned off the stove, wiped his hands clean with his apron, and walked up to the door, where he finally heard your voice, except you seemed to be talking to someone, or perhaps two people?

"ack, megumi-chan stop pulling on my hair!"

"megumi, be nice to gojo-san!"

before chuuya could open the door, it swung open, and you burst inside after a while. the ginger-haired mafioso was taken aback when he saw you, his beloved, carrying a little spikey black-haired boy while holding a brown-haired little girl's hand.

"i'm home!" you exclaimed cheerfully, certainly bubbly in comparison to the previous days when you returned home exhausted and somewhat sluggish.

"congratulations honey! you're a father now!" you continued to speak while proudly showing the little boy and girl you were carrying and holding hands with.

"huh?!" chuuya felt as if his brain had short-circuited the moment he heard the words spill from your mouth.

chuuya was so taken aback that he accidentally activated his ability, causing his ginger hair to take flight. thoughts flooded his mind like a massive ocean wave. since when did you have kids? did you always have children? what?!

but the boy and girl staring at him with curious yet cautious eyes don't seem to resemble you at all. they didn't have your white hair or your six eyes' color nor any of your features.

"gojo-san, who is he?" the little girl hiding behind you inquired, gently tugging on the sleeve of your black high-neck zipped-up jacket. chuuya noticed how scared she appeared to be of him.

"this is nakahara chuuya-kun," you said as you peered down at her, squeezing her hand before releasing it to ruffle her hair, "he's a good guy, sweetie."

was it just chuuya, or did you just seem so motherly and incredibly soft for a split second?

"just who are these children?" chuuya finally spoke up, breaking from shock, "are they yours?"

"she's not our mom," the spikey-haired boy exclaimed, his face flushed with annoyance as he stuck out his tongue in disgust, "this grandma took us in."

"oi, who are you calling you grandma, you gremlin?!" you remarked as chuuya looked at the boy and your exchange with a surprised yet amused expression, trying to hold back his laughter.

"you have white hair." the boy exclaimed, tugging at your hair.

"i may have white hair, but i'm not that old!" you exclaimed in a grumble, before pinching the little guy's cheek with your fingers, "i'm a young woman, not a granny, you rascal. respect your elders."

"so, you are old?" you gasped at the smug grin plastered on the spikey-haired-boy's face.

"okay, you two, break it up," chuuya said, stepping in before you and the child got into a fight. "you've got some explaining to do, [name]," your boyfriend said, sighing deeply and folding his arms across his chest before looking at you with a serious yet concerned expression.

"alright, alright," you sighed in defeat, shaking your head and pretending to wipe a tear, "i gave birth behind your back."

a nerve irked on chuuya’s temple, "i’m being serious!"

you introduced megumi and tsumiki to your boyfriend and made them stay on the couch before he could scold you. you and chuuya then had a private conversation in his bedroom.

"they're not my kids," you said, your gaze avoiding chuuya's as you slid your black round sunglasses away, "but i've been looking after them for a while now."

"so, that's why you haven’t been coming home." chuuya’s eyes softened, "but, why didn’t you tell me right away?"

"well, to begin with, i wasn't sure. i hadn't intended to take my 'babysitting job' seriously, but i couldn't leave those kids alone. they have no one," you pursed your lips, "and i killed their father."

"you what?!" chuuya nearly screamed.

"shhh!! it isn’t like that!" you immediately waved your hands defensively in the air before chuuya could freak out even more.

you explained to chuuya that megumi and tsumiki had different mothers but the same father, and that their father abandoned them and became a hired assassin for an organization seeking the life of a young girl who is supposed to be the vessel of a god.

you told him about your organization's mission, how everything went wrong, how their father ended up killing the girl you were escorting and protecting, and how you killed him out of spite. chuuya was stunned, but he couldn't help but feel genuine sympathy and sorrow for you, the kids, and especially the girl you were accompanying; she reminded of him of himself, as well as megumi, when you mentioned he was supposed to be sold off because of how good his ability is.

chuuya was impressed. he was astounded by your ability to deal with all of that while already shouldering responsibilities due to your involvement with heiwa back in tokyo. he now understands why you are exhausted and overworked. you truly are the strongest, and he was proud of you.

none of that was easy, and caring for children was no joke. you'd have to pay attention to them, tend to their needs, and make sure they don't do anything stupid.

"i know it's a lot to ask, but i can't raise megumi and tsumiki by myself. i want to give them a home and a good childhood," you say after you've finished explaining to chuuya.

"you do understand this is a risk, right? i’m part of the mafia, and you’re under heiwa, and neither of us know a thing about parenting or how to care for a child, let alone two, babe." chuuya scratched the nape of his neck, prompting you to frown.

"it's okay if you don't want to," you said solemnly, "and i do understand the risks."

"i didn't say no, dumbass," chuuya said, narrowing his eyes and flicking your forehead, causing you to yelp due to the lack of infinity between you and him, "let me finish first."

"i'm willing to work with you," chuuya said with a smile, causing your eyes to light up, "there's no way in hell i'm letting you do it alone, baby."

"so, you really are a father now, huh?" you shook your head as you laughed quietly.

chuuya smirked at you, "then that makes you a mommy now, aren't cha, [name]?"

"CHUUYA!"

dazai osamu !

dazai knew you were hiding something from him right away, but despite his intelligence, he couldn't figure it out. you used to visit his city frequently, but your visits have been decreasing. you'd always have to cancel your trip to yokohama because something came up.

he knows you're the most powerful. you literally have your limitless ability and six eyes. dazai assumed for a short time that you were just busy with your line of work, knowing how heiwa is a very important and large organization that essentially does the work of the three organizations in yokohama as one, but he's quick to pick up on things when you're actually around him after being gone for so long.

while you constantly tease dazai about how clingy he is and how much he misses you, he notices how you occasionally doze off and look and think about souvenirs. he wonders if that was just your sweet tooth in general, or if you were giving the souvenirs you bought for someone because you'd buy so many before returning to tokyo.

and the fact that the food you brought was so specific was quite questionable. what, no red bell peppers? you buying candied ginger and omurice with a flag on it along with several packs of chocolate and strawberry milk? since when did you become a picky eater?

apart from that, dazai was a tiny bit bothered to find you excusing yourself to answer phone calls, only to find you scolding someone on the phone, whom he assumed to be your subordinates.

although dazai is extremely curious and wishes to question you, he does not. dazai wants to hear it from you, and whatever it is, you don't seem ready to tell him, as he noticed you shrugging off his casual questions that could lead him to a lead by changing the subject or simply telling him, 'it's nothing.' as a result, he does not push it.

but when the day finally came, dazai was taken aback, which was certainly rare of him to be.

dazai was waiting for you in the cafe, as usual, promptly sat on a table, and was overjoyed to see you when you said you were coming over and wanted to meet up. he even skipped work to do so, completely ignoring kunikida's calls and texts. he came to a halt as he was about to stand up and run to you when he noticed you holding hands with two children as you entered the cafe. the boy had spikey black hair, and the girl had brown hair.

"osamu!" you chirped as you practically skipped towards him, dragging the kids behind you., "congratulations honey, you're a father now!"

for the first time in a long time, dazai paled and became speechless. him? a father? what the fuck is going on?

he looked at the two kids, who were staring at him like scared kittens, now hiding behind your back and squeezing your hands. his adam's apple bobbed, and his heart pounded against his chest as if it were about to rip out.

you had your own children all this time?

that was perfectly fine, but what?!

looking at the boy and girl staring at him with curious yet cautious eyes, they don't resemble you at all. they didn't have your white hair or your six eyes' color. when dazai realized this, he calmed down, his eyes no longer frantic.

"sensei, who is he?" the spikey-haired little boy inquired, his eyes narrowing into a small glare as he assessed dazai.

"he's my boyfriend, the guy i wanted you two to meet, dazai osamu-kun," you exclaimed, ruffling the spikey haired boy who immediately swatted your hands away. you then turned towards your boyfriend, "osamu, this is megumi and tsumiki."

after recovering from shock and blinking and slightly parting his lips, dazai finally spoke up to confirm, "are they yours?"

"she's not our mom," the little girl said quietly and timidly, "she's our caretaker, and somewhat our teacher."

"caretaker?" dazai asked, puzzled, before turning to face you, "belladonna, when did you start babysitting?!"

"yeah, abooouut thaat.." you nervously laughed, trailing your last words before glancing at the two children with you, "you two be a dear and take a seat alright? i have a lot to discuss with osamu."

"i want pizza, but no red bell peppers," megumi said before taking a seat next to you, with his sister beside him.

"yes, sweetie. you said you wanted pizza for the third time," you sighed, shaking your head before turning to dazai, "let's order my gremlin a pizza before we chat, okay?"

"can i get a milkshake too?" tsumiki asked politely.

"sure, sweetie." you nodded and scratched the back of your neck, "and a milkshake too."

dazai couldn't help but smile and laugh as he watched you interact with megumi and tsumiki, especially when you cut the crust of megumi's slice of pizza and wiped tsumiki's cheek with a tissue after whipped cream got on her face, lightly scolding but still endearing them. how the hell did you manage to be patient?

"yes! yes! i know you hate the crust you gremlin, but you better eat the olives and onions, okay?" you grumbled under your breath.

"i will, i'm going to eat the olives and onions." megumi confirmed.

"i can eat megumi's pizza crusts." tsumiki offered, gently poking your arm after you had sliced megumi's food.

"thank you. please do." you sighed in relief, "you guys shouldn't be wasting any food."

when did you become so motherly and parent-like? dazai had already speculated that something had happened to their parents based on tsumiki's earlier response.

anyway, after tending to their needs, you proceeded to explain to dazai about how you took custody of the two, as well as their father who abandoned them, but when you got to the part about their father, you had to pull dazai somewhere private, about a good distance away from megumi and tsumiki as they ate.

"why are we talking so far from them?" dazai asked, raising a brow.

"because i'm going to be talking about their deadbeat dad, and i don't want them to hear about it, especially megumi, who doesn't want to know about him," you sighed, shoving your hands into your pockets.

"what about their dad?" dazai inquired, slightly concerned that you might admit to dating the guy.

"i killed their father," you exclaimed, widening dazai's eyes. don't get me wrong here. you, despite not being a member of the mafia, dazai is aware of the type of work you do and the necessities, but it was quite unsettling for him to learn that you had killed someone.

"what?" dazai blinked profusely.

"you remember how i didn't come home for days one time?" you asked, glancing over your shoulder to make sure megumi and tsumiki were still there before returning your attention to dazai, "i was on an assignment of protecting and escorting a little girl, a vessel for a god."

"okay." dazai nodded slowly, urging you to continue, "go, on.."

"their father was one of the assassins hired to kill the girl, and he was successful. you could say i failed my mission," you said lightheartedly, managing a small laugh, "but the real reason i didn't come home wasn't because i got injured when we fought, it was because of what he said. how he insisted on selling off megumi and then i found out about how megumi had a half sister too."

"so, you couldn't leave them alone." dazai concluded for you.

"children won't be children forever, they'll eventually grow up to be like us adults." you sighed deeply, "it isn't right for their youth to get taken away from them so early."

dazai couldn't help but smile when he heard you say that. you were just like him. in fact, you and he were quite similar in demeanor and such, but you didn't walk in the dark. instead, despite everything that has happened to you, including the expectations and traditions that have been imposed on you, you have chosen to live in the light. you were truly the strongest, and not just in terms of abilities.

"i..." you started, but dazai cutted you off with a quick peck on the lips before answering you.

"i'm here to help you," dazai said, smiling at his final statement. "i know what you're thinking, we've never been parents before, and even though i'm not sure if i can be a good parent, err, caretaker, but I'll try to be a little bit better."

"are you sure?" you asked, "you don't have to if you don't want to. i was just messing with you earlier."

after that, dazai grabbed your hand. he is aware that you can tell he is hesitant in this decision, and he knows he has never been the best with children, considering how he treated the very first one he took under his wing back at the mafia.

but a very good friend did tell him to save the weak and protect the orphaned.

"i want to." dazai confirmed, prompting a genuine bright smile to tug on your lips.

"okay, we'll make it work." you nodded your head, squeezing his hands as they interwined with yours, "together, osamu."

"yeah, together." dazai nodded in agreement with a closed-eye smile on his face.

but then, he just had to say it.

"alright, let's get back to megumi-chan and tsumiki-chan, mommy."

"OSAMU!"

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sstormyskyess · 4 months

Note

hii!! may i request a prompt from your winter prompt list?🥺 i would like number 4 but i cant decide between my comfort men Soap and Gaz.. so i guess whoever you feel like would suit it more?🥰 ((also, let me tell you, i would have requested the found family trope in any other year, but it seems like this christmas is going to be the first one in my life when my dad is not deadass drunk, but as sober as a man can be, and there's peace in my family and everyone is actually looking forward to spending time together!! i am so incredibly happy!!))

Family Matters

author's note: i got your update so i figured i’d mix the two prompts you mentioned, think of this as my christmas gift to you 💜 please enjoy!!

cw: vague familial conflicts, intoxication and drinking, anxiety, fluffy stuff

word count: 1300+

John “Soap” MacTavish / GN!Reader

Your phone clatters to the granite kitchen countertop, your hand coming up to pinch the bridge of your nose. You mutter a few curse words under your breath and yank the closest barstool out to sit in it, its wooden legs scraping harshly against the floor. You press your forehead into your palms. Seems like the Christmas party was going to be a no-go this year.

“Everything alright, bonnie?” Johnny walks into the kitchen and stands at the counter across from you, tilting his head. You don’t bother to look at him when you shake your head solemnly. He takes your hand in his and squeezes it gently, a small frown on his face. He rounds the counter and wraps his arms around you, kissing the top of your head. “Was it your family?” You nod.

He stands holding you for a couple minutes, just letting you rest your head on his shoulder and process. You had warned him that things might happen like this; everyone in your family had been walking on eggshells for a month or so at this point, and it hadn’t been much better than that for even longer.

You let out a shuddering sigh and pull away, looking up at him with a sad, frustrated look on your face. He caresses your cheek with a gentle touch and gives you a comforting smile, his thumb grazing over your cheekbone. “How about this,” he starts, catching your attention. “Let me take you out with the boys and then we come back to watch some bad Christmas movies? The Hallmark ones that everyone hates.”

You smile back at him, the suggestion warming your heart. You had only met his teammates once or twice before when they came by to pick him up for various post-mission celebrations, but they were always kind and respectful. It couldn’t be too bad an idea to come along, right?

“Okay, that sounds nice.” You giggle when he leans down and gives you a big, exaggerated kiss, pulling you close against him. “Go get dressed then, I’ll wait for you down here.” He lets you go on your way, his bright smile still painting his face as he watches you go.

You and Johnny were the first ones to make it to their preferred bar. He has his arms around your waist while you sit in the booth in the far corner of the open space. You told him that you sitting on his lap was inappropriate in public, but he just shot back with, “It’s too dark back here for anyone to see us anyway, bonnie!”

He rests his head on your shoulder, peppering the side of your face and neck with kisses, your face heating up under his ministrations. “They’re gonna get here any minute now, John, stop it—” He shuts you up by turning your face to the side to give you a kiss on the lips, your complaint dying in the back of your throat. All you can do is huff when he pulls away, that silly grin on his face, making you roll your eyes.

“We interrupting something, Johnny?” A rugged voice calls over to you two, your face somehow heating up more from being caught. You shoot Johnny a pointed glare, but he’s got his attention on the man who just walked in on you. “Not at all, L.T., not at all,” he replies. You figure that must be Ghost, if the skull-painted balaclava was any giveaway.

You peek past him and see a shorter man, but he was no less broad and imposing. He stands next to the table while Ghost scoots into the booth seat across from you and Johnny and crosses his arms with a smile on his face. “Is this the one you’re always going on and on about?” He asks Johnny, chuckling when he spots the Scotsman's face turning a bit pink. “Aye, sir.” He clears his throat, trying to hide his bashful look from you as he introduces you.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He gives you a firm, professional handshake before sitting down next to Ghost. It’s around that time that another man, who you learned ws Gaz, approached and gave Johnny a jovial greeting before scooting into the booth seat next to him. He had a faded blue baseball cap on and a very pretty smile on his face, a smile that almost topped Johnny’s.

After a little light ribbing between the two of them, Ghost passes you the drink menu and you order yourself some of the spiked eggnog garnished with a bit of cinnamon and nutmeg and Johnny follows your choice. It’s ridiculously tasty, and you end up having another round within twenty minutes of the first. And then another round, and another.

By the time everyone calls it a night, you’re honestly wondering if you and Johnny are going to make it home, especially with him clinging onto you at every possible opportunity. Even worse than usual. Ghost suggests taking you two home; Johnny disagrees but you welcome the idea, so you end up in the backseat of his car.

You look down at your lap as you sit. Johnny’s hand was resting on your thigh loosely as he drifted in and out of sleep. Tonight was fun. The most fun you’ve had over the holidays for a while. But that didn’t lock out the troubled thoughts that were playing at the edges of your mind. You sigh softly. All of that could wait for tonight when you’re staring at the ceiling, though.

You pull the bedsheets up over yourself and listen to Johnny doing whatever he was doing in the bathroom to prepare for bed. Your mind drifts off to thoughts of your family and what they might’ve been up to without your presence. It made you sad to think about; it seemed like it was always you causing problems. It felt like, if you would just suck it up, maybe things would be fine with you and your family.

You look at Johnny when he emerges from the bathroom and watch him climb into bed. “What’s wrong, dove?” he mumbles into your chest once he lays down, his face pressed into your side. You look down at him and shake your head. “It’s nothing, baby, don’t worry.”

He huffs. “That’s not the answer of someone that doesn’t have anything bothering ‘em.” He peeks up at you with those pretty baby blues that were practically glowing under the moonlight filtering in through the window. You frown. He knows what his puppy-dog eyes do to you. The bastard.

You run a hand through his frazzled mohawk, looking away from him. “I was just thinking about tonight.” He stays silent, a wordless encouragement for you to continue. “It was great. I kinda forgot how that felt.” You smile wistfully, your words hushed.

You don’t realize that you’re tearing up until Johnny’s hand comes up to your cheek, gently caressing it and causing a tear to fall down your face. He pulls you closer and kisses your cheek, holding you tight. “I’ll take you out with us anytime.” He rolls you so you’re laying on top of him, his lips pressing kiss after kiss on your head.

“No, it’s okay,” you frown before muttering under your breath, “I’d probably just weigh everything down anyway.” That got his attention immediately. He sits up, looking at you with something like offense on his features.

“Don’t you say that, bonnie! You are not a burden, never say that.” His voice is stern in a way that catches you off-guard. It isn’t rare for him to get worked up defending you, but this is the first you’ve been on the other end of it. You’ve never been defended from, well… yourself.

You blink, staring at him befuddled for a few moments, but you eventually feel yourself tear up again, a wobbly smile quirking up your lips. “Okay… okay.” You laugh, and he laughs in return, tackling you in a hug and kissing you all over your cheeks, and forehead, and shoulders, and lips. Maybe next year won’t be so bad.

𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

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loyaltykask · 4 months

Text

Chapter 23

@journeythroughjourneytothewest

I just... I just love these two interactions. Bajie being lazy but also has a point that they don't need to get the journey done in one day, they have to take breaks while Wukong says that slacking off would only worsen the journey but putting their own bodies at risk by pushing them to the limits won't help either. Also, just Wukong and Bajie bickering like old people makes me laugh.

Wukong would call Bajie a DORK.

Like Wukong says that only cares about Sanzang's safety here and I just love how that is going to change when Wukong takes responsibility for making sure all his brothers are safe as well. They have only been traveling for about a few months together this is legit the start of their journey 23 chapters in.

Bajie really calling Wukong out

OKAY SO THEY DO SAY THE HORSE IS A DRAGON AND HIS SCALES AND HORNS ARE GONE

What a shit, scares the horse and makes Sanzang literally gallop for a mile

Breaking and entering

Nevermind fuck the law

You know it's a demon when the host being nice

SHE ASKED 3 DEMONS TO MARRY HER DAUGHTERS THIS LADY GOT IRON WILL

Snaznag really be saying "No and thank you"

HE DENYING AND DEFLECTING. Damn Cheng'en lay off the guy

He got anxiety

Sanzang: Bajie I swear, if I catch you simping

Sanzang like “the only riches is the riches of enlightenment

The girls are FIGHTING

Sanzang throwing his disciples under the bus! Man does not do confrontation well at this point damn.

Wukong really said: I don't know how to marry the fuck?

Wujing being a true homie, he fucking offended they even ask

Bajie bitching that Sanzang could have been nicer in denying her so they could still get a meal. There just something funnier about how their past gets brought up after months of traveling and they just deadass don't know things about each other. Like they must have wild conversations.

Bajie: We are all tempted! Wukong with his ace ass: ??? Sanzang with his aro ass: ??? Wujing also with an ace ass: ???

I like how Sanzangis like: Don't tease your brother Wukong doesn't go "Okay" he goes "I know" suggesting that he knows he shouldn't but he shall anyway

The mama aint picky but Bajie is like 'don't teach your daughters to be shallow then damn'

I love how the boys all turned their heads when the ladies came in like something about that is kinda sweet that Wujing, Sanzang, and even Wukong were shy in front of company

Also, Wukong making wedding plans is adorable! Wujing the go between, he is the witness, and Sanzang is the in-law he got it all planned out

Wukong: we can go bing on the flowers and wine but I want the fireworks to be set off at 8 Bajie: Won't that be too early? Wukong: I know when the sun sets Baije: Okay okay it's your mountain jeez

Also love that this whole time Bajie was like "let's talk about this" but both WUJING and WUKONG were like "Get married already so we have wine and a wedding!"

Like they both double-teaming on Bajie to just hurry up and get hitched in a night!

THEY BEING MODEST

My favorite dork

Both Wujing and Tripitaka called out to Wukong cause they were SCARED! They wanted the monkey protection!

Also Wukong more than willing to leave a sibling at the grocery store.

Wukong: I lost my brother can I make a call Some guy: Sure? Wukong: Goodbye you little shit

#jttw #journey to the west #book club

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alastairstom · 5 months

Note

Do you have other TSC fanfictions aside from yours that you have enjoyed reading ? :)

Anything by @vwritesaus or @luciehercndale is amazing. They're definitely two of my all-time favourite fic authors, so you should check them out.

My favourites of their fics:

a (too few) hundred hearts (v, this is actually the fic that got me into reading fanfiction again instead of just writing it)

what's in a kiss? (by any other touch would feel just as sweet) (v, this fic literally owns my ass i reread it like once a week)

dear christopher (v)

breathe (v)

Desperate Times Call for Desperate Measures (tweety, yet another fic that owns my ass)

Thomas and Alastair: Forever and Always (tweety)

Happiness Was Itself a Chemical Reaction (tweety, deadass my fave Gracetopher fic ever)

A Different Kind of Music (tweety 18+)

To Grow as Strong as That Cherry Tree (tweety)

Some other fics I love in no particular order (the order is me clicking through my bookmarks):

Chain of Lies, a Thomastair-focused canon rewrite. Unfortunately it was never finished, but I was really into what's there.

paris, 1902: waiter's pov (Thomastair one-shot)

The Beginning of Forever (Wessa multichap, 18+) by @ashesandhoney

seventeen (paris, 1901) (alastair character study w/charles) by @alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer

build yourself a citadel among the foothills of regret (alastair & matthew oneshot)

romeo must die (alastair telling charles off)

freckles (thomastair one-shot)

Under the Rain (Sophideon oneshot)

Pride and Prejudice (thomastair AU) by @tleeaves

In Which Bets Are Made (gideon and will oneshot) by @oursoulstheyplay

Thomas Lightwood and the Six Vaguely Familiar Cats (I definitely think about this every fucking day lol I'm so sad it was never completed)

Fine, I'll Go, But Only If there's Cake (matthew and alastair oneshot)

Tired of nothing left (alastair character study w charles)

I'm also really excited to read you are my unfinished business by @faithfromanewperspective, Qui Totum Vult Totum Perdit by @caterpillarinacave, and the electric devil by @thevagabondexpress. those are the next 3 on my TBR and those three are all dear, dear mutuals of mine. i haven't read them yet because the fics are longer and i want to actually take the time to process them and make nice comments and stuff, since they're my bros.

I'm sure I've missed some and for that I am sorry. These are just ones that stand out to me and yeah.

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gggoldfinch · 11 months

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Hatchetknife

Richard B. Riddick x OFC (or reader)

(disclaimer: photo found on pinterest ^ )

A/N: I’ve been gripped by the most manic and inexplicable riddick brainrot ever and needed to get this out of my system or I’d deadass explode ‼️I usually don't write oneshots like this so it was a nice breath of fresh air actually. Hopefully now this sexy bald bitch will leave my poor brain alone so I can do something else other than binge watching vin diesel movies

warnings: original female character (descriptions vague enough to be reader insert), possibly a little ooc, very brief discussion of SA (in a non-threatening manner), minor violence & injury, explicit language, forced proximity, only one bed, explicit sexual content, smut, oral sex, praise kink, scent kink, size kink, light choking, biting, pet names. MINORS DNI

word count: 12,114

{AO3 Link}

summary: A low-profile merc masquerading as a man has her ship (and life) invaded by an unlikely guest. She gets found out, and things progress interestingly.

***

There's a ship that's been sitting idle in the upper-east Storage B-Port for weeks now; Riddick knows this. He also knows he hasn't been this incapacitated in a while. It's a hard thing to admit to himself, but he can feel the exhaustion creeping in. He hasn't slept in over 72 hours, and has been fighting and running for most of that time. He's out of his element— stuck in the heart of a congested city-planet rather than out in the wilderness of some uninhabited backwater planet. He's bleeding from somewhere— his side, maybe. His nose is broken, too, and there must be some sort of nerve damage too, because he can't scent who's coming after him anymore. He lost his goggles somewhere during this most recent scuffle, too, so all the neon signs are like miniature suns searing his retinas.

There's an idle ship gathering dust in Storage B-Port. He recalls it looking like a good model, some custom parts. It'll be easy to hijack. It'll be easy to leave this planet and his merc pursuers in the dust.

———————————————————————

Everyone has their own way of surviving in this nightmare of a universe. Some kill, some are killed. That's just something each and every person has to come to terms with while they draw breath. While not exactly thriving, this one particular individual has found their own way to survive. Some may call her a mercenary, and they wouldn't necessarily be wrong— but she prefers to call herself a mere gun for hire. It's easy to make a living when you have a thick head and nothing to lose, going from one job to another with little in the way of possessions and even less in the way of social relationships. She goes where the proverbial wind takes her, planet-hopping and working odd jobs. Sometimes the jobs entail hunting dangerous quarry, but more often than not she's hired for non-violent jobs running security for personnel protection or transport. Honestly, the only jobs she turns down outright are those having anything remotely to do with the Necromongers. Sure it isn't ideal, but it's better than living in the slums of the over-crowded metroplanet where she'd grown up.

It's a risky job, no doubt, made no less difficult by her deliberate choice to fly solo. Solo is safe. Solo, she don't have to worry about crewmates stealing or betraying her, or worse, taking advantage of her. Barely an adult when she'd begun her life hopping between merc crews, she'd learned early that being on her own is better, safer. No— she keeps to herself with nothing but the ship's computer system for company. And, when the occasion rises where she does have to venture out into civilization again—to find a job or stock up on supplies—she takes heavy precautions.

Strong from years of fighting and labor, her body can shoulder the burdensome weight of armor; broad shoulders and sturdy bones make her intimidating and capable. Years worth of mismatched armor plates make up her regular uniform, both metal alloys and plastic prints. Some pieces were taken off fallen quarry—or former crewmates—some purchased responsibly. Each plate has a little story she can recall, fondly or not. When worn all together, her form is virtually unrecognizable, and more importantly, masculine. The crown mantle is her helmet: sturdy, sleek, black, with a visor capable of internal screen display. The vocal distorter programmed into it deepens her voice to a disguised pitch. The suit of armor isn't entirely comfortable, but it's a requirement for her safety.

"Hatchet!"

She swivels her helmeted head, looking in the direction from which she hears her codename. She hadn't been calling herself anything when she'd assumed this masculine persona. Her various employers just began calling her a shortened version of her ship's name—the Hatchetknife—and it just ended up sticking within the merc circle she floats in. No one knows her true identity, as far as she's aware. If they do, no problems have arisen from it yet.

A man approaches her, stocky and shorter than her. He's been her employer for the past several weeks, paying her to be a glorified bodyguard for his uppity son, on probation for yatta yatta yatta. She'd tuned out the rest once she'd heard the price of the paycheck. 350 thousand units just to babysit an alcoholic man-child for a month while he's on probation. She couldn't pass it up.

Her employer holds out a datapad, the blue screen alight with money transfer information. She's about to receive her payment and get the fuck off this stuffed metroplanet. Maybe she can finally replace some of the older parts on the Hatchetknife with this payment.

"Don't be a stranger, now," the man says amicably once the digital paperwork has been filled. She receives a notification ping on the screen of her visor, indicating the payment has gone through successfully.

She inclines her concealed head, thanks him for the business, and turns tail to leg it back to the ship. The thing has been docked in storage for nearly a full month cycle now— long enough for the ticket expense to be a bit of a blow to her newly acquired units. It doesn't matter; this planet will be long behind her in only a matter of a few short hours. She's been idle, been on this polluted and overpopulated planet for too long.

And she'll be damned if a little blood on the exterior hatchpad of her ship is going to deter her from getting out of dodge in a timely manner. It's a handprint, maybe a couple, smeared all along the white panelling of the cargo bay door's control console. The cargo bay door is locked up tight though, so she's not particularly worried that any ne'er-do-wells have tried breaking into her sturdy old ship. It's a good model, she tells herself. It has a security system that would alert her of suspicious activity through the link between her helmet and the ship's mainframe. Sure, someone clearly tried to get in, but there's no sign the bay door had been opened recently.

She pays her exorbitantly priced docking ticket and opens the bay door herself. She remains completely oblivious to the other trail of blood, smeared up the side of the ship and leading to the secondary hatch. She doesn't notice the cut wires either, spraying pathetic little sparks instead of warning signals to her security system. To be fair, she doesn't notice much of anything—doesn't even remove her armor or helmet—in her haste to take off. She just charges through the cargo bay, vaults the ladder to the upper deck, and wedges herself behind the control console.

It feels like home, being behind the console. More of a home than she's ever really had, at least. She exhales against the interior of her helmet. Her reflection gleams in the bare windshield, the sleek black glass and metal of her high-tech helmet staring back. Gloved fingers press buttons and flip switches, igniting holoscreens and a rainbow of lights. Meters and regulators all seem to be in check despite the ship's extended idleness, and the hyperdrive kickstarts with a comforting purr. She has to take the ship up and out of the atmosphere before kicking it into warp speed, lest the planet's nasty police force pick a fight with her. Fog and flames lick the nose of the Hatchetknife as it accelerates upward, breaking through the upper atmosphere at a smooth 15 kilometers per second, and an even 75 degree angle. Only then does she crank the hyperdrive and watch as the countless stars warp around the nose of the ship.

She plots an aimless course, avoiding setting a firm destination until she can get her hands on another potential job lead. Upon throwing it into autopilot, the ship's automated computer system welcomes her back on board. Hatchet, it calls her. Not even her own ship uses her true name anymore.

Her boots are heavy as they tramp out of the cockpit. Reinforced steel and acid-resistant soles, these boots are. They're her favorites. They make a robust thump thump as she walks into the narrow hallway of the Hatchetknife. Here resides her bunk, and across from that is the kitchenette and table where she eats and works and sometimes sleeps. It's barely wide enough to fit two people standing shoulder-to-shoulder. She's used to close-quarters; it's almost comforting, like a womb. The hatch and ladder down to the cargo bay gapes at the end of the hall, and this is what she beelines for once acclimating herself with the interior of her ship again. Her bunk looks awfully inviting, but first on the agenda is to shuck off all the armor.

Boots bracketed on either side of the ladder and gloved hands holding tight to the side-rails, she slides down until landing on the grate panels of the cargo bay floor. This area is vastly larger than her living quarters— it has to be, in the event she has to transport sizable goods or heavy machinery. A armory case for her weapons and uniform sits bolted against the side wall, its grate doors barely revealing the contents. She opens the thing up, removing the machine gun strapped to her back to place it on its rightful hooks.

She hooks her thumbs under the seal of her helmet and disables the suctioned airlock. Just as she's preparing to lift the burdensome thing from her head, something collides with her right side, knocking her clean off her feet. It takes only a few frantic moments to realize it's a human being— a male attacker. Her deactivated helmet collides with the metal flooring at an odd angle, instantly disabling the visor's screen as a result of some internal damage. The force of the tackle and impact against the floor has the breath drawn from her lungs in a violent, rattling wheeze. The muscles over her ribs convulse and tighten, sending a shock of panic and pain and adrenaline through her system. With little time to think, no weapon handy, and no opportunity to scan the stranger, she starts thrashing. Amidst the scuffle and blow to her head, she can't quite see clearly, only able to make out a blur of squirting blood. The blood isn't her own— she's sure she would feel it if she'd been shanked in any of her armor's vulnerable spots.

She thrusts a gauntleted arm upwards in the direction she thinks the intruder's head is. Her metal-sheathed wrist collides with something and the oppressive weight above her slumps over to the side.

Hatchet scrambles up to her knees and tears the nearest gun from off the rack. She spins, points the weapon at the stranger's head, and... doesn't shoot.

Sprawled on the cold metal floor is a man. A large man. Bald-headed and covered in blood she knows she hadn't drawn from him herself. It's old blood, old wounds— maybe hours, maybe days. Despite the vaguely stunned look about him from being hit in the head, he wears a wry little smile upon his full mouth, lips and nose bloody from what looks like a previous beating. His eyes glint in a peculiar fashion, almost like feline eyeshine, silvery and shifting.

He holds his hands out by his head placatingly, palms facing upward. Then, he grins. "Okay, okay. You got me." His voice is deep and smooth like rolling thunder. It's almost startlingly in its intensity.

"Who the fuck are you? What are you doing on my ship!? What do you want?" she barks into the voice modulator, keeping the hardy submachine gun trained on him.

"Got a pretty nice ship here, don't you think?" he rumbles out.

"Fuck you!"

He chuckles at that, although the action looks like it pains him. The blood, she realizes, is oozing from a substantial stab wound on his left flank, just below the contour of his shapely pectoral muscle. She swallows thickly, choking down the apprehensive lump in her throat. Still a little off-kilter from the blow to her helmet, she shakily rises to her feet, steady finger not leaving the trigger once. The man clenches his silvery eyes shut, sucking in a substantial breath only to groan it all out again. One broad, tan hand shifts to press against the wound on his side, the other remaining innocently idle.

Without prompting, Hatchet's line of sight raises to the secondary hatch within the cargo hold. There it is: a smear of blood and sparking wires. That's where he'd gotten in. Must be a determined fella—let alone smart—to have hacked the ship's security system to override the locking mechanism and find which wires would send out a warning signal before they even had the chance to. She looks back to him, curiously tilting her head to the side in observation of him.

"What the fuck do you think is supposed to happen now?" she grits out. The voice modulator gives it an extra bit of bite.

The man laughs, blood staining his straight teeth. "I dunno. Thought you might hand over your ship."

"Hand over my— Do you have a fucking head injury?"

He laughs again and she kicks his calf roughly.

"What about this is funny? Please, illuminate it for me. Because all I see some fucking stowaway who has a gun to his head and a nasty stab in his side. You're not getting my ship, pal. You'll be lucky if I let you see tomorrow."

"Bad timing," he murmurs, voice thick with strain and sardonic amusement. His expression slackens, the crease between his thin brows flattening out gradually.

"What?"

She kicks his leg again; he's unresponsive. Unconscious, actually, judging by the sudden lack of tension in his face and limbs. She drops the gun-wielding hand to her side and lets out a high-pitched wail of frustration.

She's not a cold blooded murderer. Sure, she's had to take a life or two throughout her days, but then again, who hasn't in this line of work. Those times were different— kill or be killed. This is... this is an injured, apparently unarmed guy on her cargo bay floor. Yes, he'd broken in, but maybe he has a valid excuse. She's had to break into places to survive before, it's really not that unusual. And despite all the shit she's been through, deep down Hatchet has a bleeding heart. She'd be pressed to admit it, of course. The sight of the stranger, wounded and unconscious, male as he may be, pulls at her tender and guarded heartstrings.

Fucking hell. She can only hope that someday in the future, if she's ever in time of need, that some stranger will treat her with kindness.

The man is heavy. Not deceptively so, as his height and build imply a great amount of mass, but hell if she's not winded by the time she drags him over to the cargo lift. The small elevator is usually for objects and not people, but it's the only way she can get his dead-weight ass to the upper level where the only cot and good light source are. She hasn't taken her armor off, and at this point she doesn't think she's going to. Certainly not with a strange man aboard, unconscious or not.

Upon both arriving at the upper level, it takes a great amount of effort to haul the man over to the bunk. The space is barely big enough to comfortably hold Hatchet, and she's nowhere near the size of this beast of a man. The cot creaks as she lowers him onto it, his boots scraping the wall as she crams him into the broom closet sized space. Flicking on the overhead light, it illuminates him with white fluorescence. It's only then does she realize he's not entirely unconscious; somewhere in there, he's aware enough to wince at the light coming on. She squints at him for a long moment, scrutinizing the situation. He doesn't show any other sign of cognizance besides for that averse reaction to the bright light beating down on his eyelids. When she decides it had only been some sort of odd reflex, she goes to retrieve the medical supplies from an aptly labeled storage cabinet.

Modesty be damned, she has to remove his shirt. It's barely holding itself together, anyway, and she has replacements to dress him in after she's patched him up. She feels hot under all her armor and layers, nervous as she stares down at the stranger's bare chest. Christ, he's build like a tank. It's intimidating, actually, once she chokes down the insidious feeling of attraction that prickles her skin and bubbles in her abdomen. Anyway— upon closer inspection, the wound on his side is largely superficial. The extensive bruising along his ribs, however, indicates some unknown level of internal damage. It may only be deep-tissue bruising, or his ribs could be broken. She can't be too sure either way, and makes sure to properly bandage up his torso regardless, though only after disinfecting and stitching up the gash.

His nose is broken, that much is obvious. However, it looks as though it's already been set, so all she has to do is clean the blood, disinfect the small cut on the bridge, and properly bandage it. He has a nice face, apart from the bandaged nose. She can't really describe his features. Harsh, but soft at the same time. She huffs against the interior of the helmet at the thought, crossing her arms and leaning back.

She has stationed herself at the table across from the bunk, cautiously watching over the stranger through the deactivated visor of her mask. Hot and stuffy and heavy as the armor may be, she won't risk taking it off just yet. She doesn't quite have a plan yet as to how this is going to unfold. She'd chosen to spare his life, yes, but that isn't to say she won't protect herself to the nth degree if the need arises going forward. She doesn't want him out of her sight—especially considering her unprofessional lack of manacles—which means she can't program a route into the ship right now. The task would've been made simple if he hadn't gone and broken the screen display mechanism in her helmet. She can't even scan him in this state, to gather his identity or vitals status. She hadn't realized how dependent she'd grown on the visor display until now, having worn the damn thing for weeks straight at this point.

It takes a couple of hours by her count for the stranger to rouse again. He's disoriented at first, but soon grows aware of her shielded gaze burning into him from the other side of the narrow living area. He shifts in the cot, turning onto his wounded side to better assess the situation. He doesn't seem threatened—or particularly threatening—at the moment.

"Rise and shine," Hatchet speaks into the voice modulator.

She kicks a boot up onto the edge of the cot from where she sits barely three feet away. She tells herself it's a show of dominance, to plant her boot right beside the stranger's head, but in reality she probably just looks stupid. The man just looks at her with those silvery eyes, squinting under the bright overhead light. She doesn't shut it off.

"Now here's the deal—"

"How many people you got on this ship?" He cuts her off, tone both aloof and detached despite the situation. He breaks into an odd little grin, then twists his head to scent the pillow. "You hiding a lady somewhere? Fella like you sure wouldn't smell this sweet."

Hatchet's face crumples under the cover of secrecy. She has to school her perturbed reaction for the sake of her anonymity. What the hell kind of guy is she dealing with here, exactly? Not only must she refrain from showing any physical reaction, she shouldn't verbally address it, either.

"Now here's the deal," she repeats. "I spared you once— even did you the favor of patching you up. But, it's not gonna happen again if you try something funny."

The man tucks his chin to his chest to look down at the bandaged wounds, holding a curious hand to his side. She can't quite interpret his expression perfectly, but she thinks he seems vaguely impressed by her medical treatment of him.

"I'm going to take you to the nearest inhabited planet and dump your freeloading ass off at the first dock I come across. You aren't going to resist or complain. I'm doing you this favor— clearly you were on the run from someone dangerous, and I got you out of dodge. I don't expect payment, but I'd be mighty grateful if you didn't do anything violent or stupid." Hatchet kicks the bunk when his eyes slip shut again. "Hey! Are you listening to me?"

He does appear to fall unconscious again, but she can't be totally sure he isn't just fucking with her. Irritated, she sucks her teeth and curses him out, kicking off the bunk to stomp off into the cockpit. Forget keeping him in sight, he can suffocate for all she cares. There's a shotgun under the control console, anyway.

She seals the cockpit door shut behind her. Only then does she feel safe to remove her helmet. Once again she's greeted by her reflection in the windshield, though this time it's her own face that stares back. It's a tired and sweaty face, with hair matted flat to the scalp from the tight interior of the helmet. She needs a nice long shower—that much is obvious—but now isn't the time. Finally breathing fresh, unfiltered air again, she gulps it down greedily and deposits herself in the pilot's seat. The autopilot had taken itself out of hyperdrive some time ago, and now the Hatchetknife careens at a steady pace through open space. The stars are magnificent, as always. The endless, unfathomable sight almost makes her forget her burdensome stowaway.

Hatchet pulls coordinates for the nearest inhabited planet. She expands the view on the holoscreen projected across the console. The information, illuminated in a fluorescent blue, scrawls across the screen just fast enough for her to barely be able to read it in time. Her eagerness to be rid of the stowaway slowly melts into a nauseating apprehension. Apparently, according to the data, the nearest planet for several lightyears just happens to be crawling with Necromongers. Fucking Necromongers. If there's anything Hatchet hates, it's violent religious cults that double as armies. She avoids well-paying jobs on the off-chance that those psychos might catch a whiff of her— she's sure as hell not landing her ship in a hive of those wasps.

"Fucking shit!" She kicks the console.

There goes the plan to drop this motherfucker off. It'll take days at the very least to make it to the next viable planet. She tosses her head back and groans loud, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes until they come away leaving splotches in her vision. Venting her frustration, she kicks her heel against the console twice more.

———————————————————————

If Hatchet learns anything during her time in close proximity with the man, it's that, 1. he's a shockingly fast healer; 2. he doesn't like bright lights; and 3. he's quite sharp-witted despite the meathead look about him. In the few days that follow the unexpected detour, she avoids him as best she can in such cramped quarters. They only interact on the occasions when she checks up on his wounds or gives him MRE meals throughout the day— always outfitted in her armor, of course. He only takes power-naps, never a full sleep, and reacts tensely to loud and sudden noises. He's smug and facetious when he speaks, and brooding when he doesn't. He's like a storm in every aspect of the description: thunderous voice, eyes like lightning, and a stormy personality to match. Despite Hatchet's aloofness, the man has found a way to wheedle himself under her skin. Once he was stable enough to stand on his own, nothing could stop him from getting up and wandering around the ship, hiding in the shadowed areas like a predator stalking its prey, much to Hatchet's chagrin. He makes little quips and witty comments in that deep voice when she's least prepared for them, and he stares at her with those glimmering eyes like he can see right through her disguise. Sometimes, she worries he does. He's like a fucking ghost the way he soundlessly moves around the small ship. That's more unnerving than his appearance, she thinks.

It's all getting rather frustrating. At first she'd been pissed that a man had the audacity to impose himself upon her time, energy, and ship. Now, she can't help but feel a strange tug of loneliness when they aren't in the same room. It's upsetting how the mind perceives human connection. She doesn't even know his name, yet the thought of being on her own again seems... well, lonely.

It does help that he's easy on the eyes, too. She finds herself locked away in the cockpit more and more frequently, brooding long and hard over the increasingly frequent thoughts of how fucking fine the man is. That soft yet masculine face, those thick arms and sturdy torso. The deep, intense tenor of his voice alone is enough to make her weak in the knees. And those eerie, glowing eyes, which watch her every movement like a hawk. Oh, for fucksake...

Hell, in all honesty she might as well be swimming in her armor with the way she sweats when he stands close and talks real smooth. She's afraid she's making it a little too obvious, actually. That carefully crafted persona is slipping through her fingers and all because she's a little hot under the collar about this stowaway she'd sworn to dump like a box of rocks come first chance. It came to a point approximately three simulated days into their time together when she couldn't stand the sight of him shirtless anymore; she ended up handing over one of her spare XL tanks, which still managed to look small on his burly frame. There's a sort of undeniable animal magnetism about him which is almost a little distressing in its intensity. What a fickle thing her trust in others is— and how tragically simple it was for her to get comfortable with the situation.

She doesn't insist on taking her bunk back from the healing man. While he rests his battered body on the cot, she kicks back at the well-worn table every night cycle, sprawled across the bench seat with a flimsy pillow beneath her helmeted head. This way she can keep the stowaway within her line of sight. Once his intimidating nature is overlooked, he is surprisingly amicable and seems rather appreciative of all her efforts. He hasn't tried to attack her, or otherwise threaten her person, which she takes as a sign he'd heard and accepted her deal before passing out on that very first day. In fact, he only ever deliberately menaces her when standing over her shoulder, or appearing out of nowhere. Or when he belligerently thumps his fist over wall panels to deactivate overhead lights he finds irksome.

Hatchet, though she herself is nameless to an extent, finds his lack of proffered identity a little frazzling. Though she's come to accept his presence as a whole, it would make her a lot more comfortable if she had a name and background to put to the face. Which brings her to the locked cockpit, wherein she works tediously to repair the screen and scanning mechanism in her helmet. With her tongue poked out from between her lips and one boot up on the console, she takes the helm apart and repairs it with a notable proficiency, then puts it all back together again. The screen automatically powers on when she activates the airlock seal, illuminating her field of view with digital notifications and vital statuses.

She catches him unaware, aiming her visor at him for long enough to scan his facial features and biometrics. Identification data scrawls across the screen before her eyes, her blood pressure spikes. Under the guise of piloting the ship, she locks herself in the cockpit again and feverishly scrolls through mugshots and bounty reward data.

Holy shit. She's been harboring the infamous convict Richard B. Riddick.

Her jaw clenches, muscle twitching against the interior padding of the helmet as she absorbs the newfound information. She should've known. She should have known. Those eyes— she'd heard the merc legends about those eyes.

But fuck... for a guy who'd spent half his life in the slam, he's certainly been affable within these restrictive quarters, mingling with a complete stranger, no less. It's hard to reconcile what she reads on the screen with the man she's been interacting with for the past few artificial cycles. She yanks the helmet from over her head, roughly scrubbing her palms over her face.

When she returns from the cockpit, nerves gathered to the extent they can be, she finds the man halfway through shaving his tan scalp. She stands at the mouth of the living area, the girth of her armor nearly taking up the entire doorframe. Richard B. Riddick, her reserved and shockingly mannered stowaway, sits at the metal table with a compact mirror and razor— a feeble weapon which she now knows could be used against her in all sorts of ways if she were to get on his bad side. Does he even have a good side to be on? She hopes he does, and hopes she's on it. Largely without thinking, one of her hands flutters up to her touch throat as images of it being brutally slit flicker through her mind.

She sits down across from him, folding her hands on the tabletop. He doesn't pause his grooming, doesn't even glance up. His eyeshine remains trained on the little mirror as he meticulously scrapes the stubble from his head with help from what looks like motor gel, no doubt nicked from the cargo bay below. Hatchet purses her mouth into a nervous line beneath the safety of her helm. She can't help but silently observe the flex of his muscles as he moves, every innocuous gesture striking a flustered chord within her. She swallows against the tightness constricting her throat.

"How are you feeling?" She hopes the modulator eliminates the shakiness she feels in her voice.

Logically, she has nothing to be afraid of. Unless this guy is prone to switching demeanor on a dime—which she has no reason to believe he does, based on what she's seen so far—why wouldn't this passive companionship continue? If anything, Hatchet is more afraid of how he will react to knowing she knows his identity now. Either he's been assuming she has known this entire time and just doesn't care, or knows she's been blissfully ignorant and has taken advantage of the anonymity.

He finally spares a glance at her across the table. His jaw visibly twitches, then one corner of his mouth quirks upward. He returns to shaving his head.

"Better. Thanks." He sniffs, sounding indifferent.

"You... uh. Want anything to eat?"

"Naw."

Hatchet exhales, both relieved and oddly disappointed. The storage compartment for the MREs is right beside him, meaning she would've had to stand right over him to retrieve anything.

"You got any goggles laying around?" His deep voice brings her out of her mind. "Been looking but..." he sucks his teeth.

Her brows raise confoundedly. "Goggles?"

"Yeah, you know. Goggles."

Fuck, he must think she's an idiot. She fumbles for words. "Uh. I'm not sure, probably not. I usually just wear the helmet when I need to shield my eyes. Why do you need them?"

He snaps the compact mirror shut and sets down the razor, using the bloody tank he's arrived in to wipe the remaining gel from his scalp. It looks like he'd shaved his beard recently, too, if the dark shadow on his jaw has anything to say about it. Setting the tank down, no more than a scrap rag at this point, he inhales deeply and briefly sinks his teeth into his plump lower lip. Hatchet bites her cheek hard enough for it to hurt, deliberately keeping her gaze from his mouth.

"I wouldn't need them if you didn't keep turning on all the lights," he replies. A hint of dry amusement hides within his flat tone.

"I wouldn't have to turn on the lights if you didn't hide in the shadows all the time," she retaliates. Riddick chuckles like deep, rolling thunder. Hatchet's pulse jumps; fear, arousal. "I'll keep it in mind not to turn them all on. I know your eyes are sensitive to light," she continues.

He suddenly pins her with a suspicious, scrupulous glare. She realizes her mistake and backtracks, sweating bullets beneath her armor.

"I mean, you squint a lot. And you make your way around in the dark better than in the light. I shouldn't have assumed." She's babbling. She can't keep a lid on it.

If he suspects what she knows, he doesn't let on. He cocks his head to the side, eyes glimmering as they trace the contours of her hefty armor. His gaze stops on her visor, right where her eyes should be. Somehow, she feels like they're making direct eye contact.

A questioning smile graces his handsome face. "Do you ever take that damn helmet off? Or do you live in the thing."

Hatchet's face falls beneath the shield of the visor. Her pulse thumps in her throat; a part of her thinks he can sense it. Her demeanor becomes prickly, unchecked. "Why do you care? You're a stowaway on my ship— what is it your business how I eat, sleep, shit—"

"Fuck?" He raises a thin brow, tickled by his own addendum. Meanwhile, Hatchet flushes a fiery shade of red beneath the helm in question. Then, he huffs a short little laugh— more a harsh exhale than anything. "I have to say, your little getup had me convinced at first. But, I know you ain't a man."

Hatchet's heart skips a beat. She disguises her anxiety with derision. "Disappointed?"

"Not in the slightest, sweetheart." A white canine glints when he flashes that oddly charming smile.

That combination—a quaint pet name and that devastating smile—has her feeling lightheaded and confined within her suit. Her hands slip from the tabletop to clench into fists in her lap. He appears upsettingly smug about his little revelation.

"How'd you figure it out?"

His nostrils flare; he takes a deep breath. "Thought I smelled a woman my first night in the bunk. My nose was all fucked up, but... eventually I figured out that sweet smell was coming from you and not some phantom scent hanging around. I give you credit, you had me going for a little while."

Her brow twinges. What a strange man.

She's faced with an internal conflict. She could deny the accusation, but something tells her that won't work in the slightest. She could keep the helmet and armor on until they part ways, but really what's the point, seeing as he already knows she's a woman; he looks strong enough to pry the armor right off her body anyway. The most logical choice she can make is to take the discovery in stride and go back to living comfortably, with the addition of a slightly threatening guest who does one-armed push-ups in the hallway and lurks around dark corners. The jig is up. He's just that good. Her choice is practically made up for her.

Hatchet's hands raise, slow and tentative, and she maintains what feels a lot like eye contact with Riddick. Her gloved thumbs hook up under the seal, disabling the airlock and visor screen. Air hisses out from the seam at her throat, loosening the helmet's grip on her head. Somewhat dubiously, she lifts the burdensome metal and glass dome from over her head. It comes to rest in her lap as she shakes out her sweat-dampened hair and takes a deep breath of fresh air.

They look at each other's faces for the first time, unencumbered. The visor distorts perception a tiny bit, so it's almost like seeing him for the first time. A permeable scent of sweat and metal lingers between the both of them, despite both having showered recently in the ship's minuscule wash room. She can also smell the motor gel he'd used to shave his head (so strange— must be a leftover trick from the slam, she thinks). The woman is overcome with a bout of anxiety and shyness upon revealing her true face, and flushes under his heavy gaze. She resists the submissive urge to tuck her chin to her chest and avert real eye contact.

"Well... I guess you know who I am, now." She clears her throat; she hasn't heard her unfiltered voice in ages. Her jig may be up— but she still has something of a trump card on him, too. Sure, he might kill her for it, but this entire conversation is toeing the line of life-threatening risk to begin with. She musters courage to utter her next words; "Just like... how I know who you are now, Richard B. Riddick. Thought I wouldn't do a facial recognition scan?"

Hatchet squares her shoulders and raises her chin by a fraction, feigning confidence. He can probably smell her fear. The man inclines his head, brows raised as a chuckle rolls in like a storm. He almost looks impressed with her mediocre detective work.

He smiles that wolfish smile, showing teeth and smile lines. "So, you think you know who I am now, huh? You afraid of the big bad monster now?"

One corner of Hatchet's mouth quirks downward. "Should I be?"

"If you're smart you would be." He levels her stare with that inhuman eyeshine.

"I only fear true monsters. Men who kill for pleasure and nothing more. I read the files on you. You don't kill unarmed women— children. You don't rape them."

It isn't phrased as a question, but he replies regardless; "Naw."

It's actually kind of relieving that he looks a bit offended by the idea. "Then you aren't a true monster. You do what you have to to survive. We all do out here. I can't fault you for killing people trying to kill you. I won't fault you for anything you had to do in the slam."

There's more she would like to say—to tell him he'd been dealt a really shitty hand—but that feels too intrusive for the context of their relationship. She doesn't want to risk angering him by coming off as pitying.

Riddick narrows his naturally suspicious gaze at the woman. He doesn't touch her previous soapbox comment. "So... that mean you're gonna try to turn me in for a payday?"

"Fucking— Jesus, dude," she guffaws incredulously. "Why the fuck would I turn you in after I did so much to save your ass? You're worth more dead than alive, you know. If I wanted to, I could've."

The big man shrugs. "Who knows. Every other merc would."

"Well I'm not every other merc, am I?" She leans back, crossing her arms over her chestplate.

"Naw, definitely not."

If she'd been any less observant, she may have missed the glimmer of flirtation in his tone and demeanor— in his eyeshine. Stifling heat rises like a kettle boiling, tinting her face a noticeable hue. She can only hope she looks disheveled and sweaty enough for it to pass as an exacerbated flush. Abruptly, she stands from the table, wringing her hands in an uncontrollable combination of nerves and bashfulness. The helmet is dumped onto the tabletop, rolling towards the seated man.

"I'll uh—" Her voice cracks; she clears her throat. "I'll look for those goggles for you."

"Good talk," he calls after her as she hastily turns on her heel.

She pauses her stride, mind running a mile a minute to find a way to gain some sort of traction and authority amidst this interaction. She shifts halfway to turn back and face him.

"Hm. Yes, good talk... Richard."

His uproarious laughter follows her down into the cargo bay where she quickly disappears.

———————————————————————

Riddick is both a complicated human and a very simple man. On one hand, a selfish part of him wants nothing more than to take control of this cramped little vessel and fly it fuck-knows where. It's clear to him that this ship and its pilot are a package deal, which brings him to a sort of moral crossroads. On the other hand, this woman—this merc—has been undeservingly kind to him, more so than anyone he can remember. She has a point, too. He'd been dangerously incapacitated for a short while, in which time she could have easily gone and ghosted him or handed him over to some other scummy mercs. But she hadn't. This lone woman, mistrustful enough of others to go so far as to masquerade as a man, had saved his hide and given him shelter and transport, all out of the kindness of her heart. She isn't threatening or outwardly malicious; he doesn't know how the hell she's survived this long out here. Perhaps her assumed persona has gotten her this far after all, amongst the masses less perceptive than himself.

Fuck. Merc or not, he can't just ghost her now.

And besides— he's a man, and she's a woman. Simple as that.

Even suited up to the jaw in armor and reeking of sweat, her newly revealed face stirs something all-too familiar within him. Hell, her scent alone is enough to get him off. Riddick doesn't even have to know what the rest of her looks like to know he wants to fuck her. And she doesn't seem all too averse to the idea of him, either, based on the subtle changes observable in her posture and scent. His senses are too keen to miss the physical and vocal cues she tries so hard to hide with that modulator and beneath the suit of armor. He knows hot and bothered when he sees it; and it's a fucking ego-boost.

After their little conversation, she'd grown more comfortable— if that's the appropriate word for the scenario. He'd revealed her identity and she responded by completely forgoing the suit of armor. Not that he's curious or anything, but he finds himself asking more about her. She shares that she is called "Hatchet," which he thinks is a little entertaining given her rather docile nature. He also learns that she's been in the mercenary business since her early teenage years, which almost always spells trouble for young women— hence why she'd taken up the persona of a more masculine, faceless merc, rather than be perceived as lesser-than by her professional peers. She's funny too, he pleasantly discovers, when not restrained by that helmet.

He's surprised when she comes up to him a few cycles following their conversation. She's dressed in a tank like his (which he realizes is hers) and a mechanic's jumpsuit, the top of which rests tied around her supple hips. He eyes up her body with a brashness that usually intimidates even the most battle hardened of men. She doesn't even flinch— she grows shy, instead. He stands by his previous statement in which he'd wanted to fuck her without knowing what her body looked like, but he's certainly not complaining now in getting to see her without the bully armor to conceal her curves and soft shape. Even the light musculature of her arms and width of her shoulders is hot.

She holds something as she approaches from the cargo bay ladder, and he quickly deduces it is non-threatening. She sidles up to the table where he has been parking himself at more frequently lately. She wears a sweet expression halfway between anticipatory and nervous— not much different than usual.

"Hey, dollface," Riddick greets.

He cocks his head to the side as he looks up at her, observing her through the purplish hue of his shine-job eyes. He quickly discovered that playfully teasing the young woman almost always earns a flurry of entertaining responses; namely flustered yammering and a red flush which trails all the way down to her full breasts. The pet names come easily, oddly enough. She blushes as expected and leans a hip against the table edge. While toying with the object in her hands, she glances between it and him.

"I uh. I found a pair of goggles, since you'd been asking."

She holds her flat palm out towards him, displaying a set of simple black welding goggles. They're essentially like the pairs he usually sports: midsized circular lenses, held in place by a thick plastic compound. Riddick takes the proffered eyewear and tests the weight in his own palm. The strap is a fabric material rather than a continuation of the flexible plastic, but still appears sturdy. He pulls them over his head, lowering the lenses over his eyes. They block out the Iight sufficiently, subduing the vibrant hue of his altered vision.

He scans the woman through the shades, smiling appreciatively. "Thanks, sweetheart. You're a real peach."

Hatchet releases a breathy chuckle. "Yeah, sure. No problem... Richard."

She doesn't use fluffy little names on him like he's begun doing for her. When she does refer to him, she only calls him by his first name. Which, given the fact virtually no one else does, feels like a more powerful naming. It's humanization in its rawest form. She shifts to sit down across from him. Neither of them can ignore the way their ankles tangle together beneath the table, hefty boots knocking into one another. Riddick watches her throat bob as she swallows. He raises the goggles and leaves them perched on his knit brow.

"Okay, so, I've been thinking," she begins, somewhat hesitantly. "Here's the deal— I'll take you wherever you want to go, so long as you don't, you know, kill me in my sleep and steal my ride or something. I think that's only fair since I didn't do the same to you when you were incapacitated. Also, I guess it goes without saying that I'm not gonna tell anyone about this encounter or your whereabouts. If you don't trust my good will, just think how negatively it would affect my life if it got out among the wrong crowd that I've been in cahoots with an escaped convict."

Riddick barks out an abrupt laugh. "In cahoots, huh?"

Hatchet blanches, her jaw opening and shutting several times before she gathers her words. "W-Well, I'm willingly harboring a fugitive, aren't I? I haven't booted you out the airlock yet— so yes, we're in cahoots."

The man's laughter tapers into a light chuckle. He perches his chin on his fist in a way that makes Hatchet tense with bashfulness. A muscle in his thick forearm flexes, drawing her curious eye. Lately, she's been daydreaming about those strapping arms. She's been catching herself daydreaming about the rest of him, as well.

Her eyes dart back to his silvery ones, clearing her throat. "Well, what do you think of my deal?"

Riddick tilts his head, unable to resist smiling. "Sounds good."

The woman blinks at him, big doe eyes wide as she picks apart his reaction. "Ah... uh. Okay, cool." She drums the tabletop with both hands, fidgeting under his heavy stare.

She pushes to her feet suddenly, and Riddick launches up after her. Instantly he crowds her in the tight space, his large frame taking up a majority of her vision. She startles, automatically pressing her hands flat to his built chest. This draws a rumbling chuckle from him as he gazes down at the flustered woman.

Hatchet's heart rate quickens, the muscle thumping wildly in her chest. That pulse begins its mortifying throb between her thighs, too— a desperate, hot desire which boils up without her expressed permission. It's not an entirely unwelcome feeling, but it's certainly indicative of her poor self-control given the situation. She has no clue if this dangerous convict is about to crush her head like a clump of dirt, or if he's going to make a move on her. Those are the only two explanations for his startling proximity to her.

Nervously, her eyes raise to meet his. She finds his head bowed towards her.

"Uh."

"Why don't you ever sleep in your bunk?" he asks, derailing her frazzled train of thought. "Don't you need your beauty rest, sweetheart?"

"O-Oh? Where are you supposed to go if I take back my bunk?"

He hums and sways his shaven head. "We can share."

Brain unable to catch up with what he's offering, she defaults to thinking in a blunt, literal sense. "W-We can't both fit. It's too narrow."

He steps forward and she steps back, only to realize he's effectively backed her against a wall. One of his beefy arms rises, forearm and fist resting on the wall beside her head. He leans further into her space, smiling as he takes a deep breath of her scent. Fuzzy butterflies explode in her abdomen; she goes weak in the knees.

"Oh really? 'Cuz I got a few positions in mind that we can fit into," he purrs. Hatchet lets out a surprised little noise and he ducks closer. "Aw, don't get all shy on me now, babygirl."

"I'm— I—" she stammers.

Her eyes flick between his own and his lips. That now-familiar eyeshine glimmers with heated desire as he carefully observes her. He leans in real slow— torturously slow. The tip of his nose brushes against hers and she shudders. Riddick's breath is hot as is fans across her face. She finds herself panting heavy through parted lips, her chest rising and falling rapidly against his steady one. Her chin ducks low, shyly averting his advance to where he has to chase her lips.

His full lips are shockingly soft when they do finally graze hers— his mouth gentle and curious at first while he tentatively pecks her. The few kisses he lavishes upon her lips are short and teasing, serving only to rile her up further. The heartbeat at her core prompts her thighs to clench; the action doesn't go unnoticed. One of his broad hands clamps over her upper arm, effectively pinning her in place against the wall. The shared kiss grows more frenetic with each passing second. His other hand slides rather possessively up the length of her back, coming to tangle in the hair at the base of her skull. He uses it as leverage to tilt her head back— a move which earns a quiet gasp and unintentional whimper through her parted lips. With a small self-satisfied grin, Riddick takes the invitation to claim her open mouth, exploring teeth and tongue with his own.

Hatchet can barely catch her breath— especially not when Riddick slips his tongue past her lips. The pulse between her thighs grows increasingly unbearable and she squirms desperately in his tight hold. That hand holding her arm in a vise grip shifts instead to press against her shoulder blade, pinning her to his broad chest. Her own hands find the courage to come up, fingers taking liberty to slip beneath the hem of his borrowed shirt. His tanned skin is warm and pulled taut over an ample amount of muscle. Her hands are cold—they always are while in space—which results in a string of tangible shivers as she drags her fingers up his sides. The thin fabric of the grey tank bunches up around her wrists as her hands continue their exploration upward. Her right hand is careful to avoid irritating the stitched wound over his left-side ribs. Instead it glides to his smooth chest, squeezing a generous handful of his pec.

He chuckles into her mouth and she swallows the deep noise with fervor. Without warning, he crouches and drops his large hands to her ass, hoisting her up with ease. Her legs clamp around his waist on instinct, canting her hips to shamelessly grind her throbbing core against his hard stomach. Her hands continue to grope his muscled chest and arms, appreciative of his powerful physique. All the while, mouths slot together in feverish kisses.

Riddick pivots on his heel and effortlessly pitches forward at the waist, dropping the woman clinging to him down onto the cot. There's little give to the canvas fabric bunk, but it's certainly more comfortable than a metal tabletop. Not that Riddick particularly cares; he's already swimming in visions of bending her over the table, anyway. Only when he deposits her on the bunk and crouches over her does Hatchet release him from her clinging grasp. Her hands barely leave his chest long enough to yank the tank up over his head, relying on his aptitude to fully rid himself of the thing while she continues her impromptu anatomy lesson. While she latches her mouth onto the pulse point of his throat, he plucks the goggles from his brow and flings them aside. They clatter down somewhere unimportant.

Wordlessly, there lingers between them a mutual agreement that this is consensual. This is needed. This has been building up for a while now.

Riddick's broad hands engulf Hatchet's soft waist, squeezing her affectionately. His fingers push upward, skirting along the hem of her own shirt. She parts her mouth from his neck only long enough to allow him to tug the garment up over her head, hastily followed by the discarding of her sports bra, too. His palms are rough with calluses against her sensitive flesh, and unrelenting when they come up to squeeze her bared breasts. The topless woman licks up the column of his throat to just below his right ear, tasting sweat and skin as she suckles the sweet spot. Her fingers dig into his biceps, keeping him in place as she straddles him. She smiles against his hot skin when he groans. His weathered hands explore her torso, sliding from her chest to her back, then down to grasp her waist tightly.

"Fuck, come on," Riddick grunts into her hair. His hands slip lower to her ass, yanking impatiently at the fabric of her jumpsuit bottoms. "Pants."

It takes no effort for him to lift and flip her onto her back again, taking pride in the surprised expression she wears. Her limbs and eyelids feel heavy as she undoes the tied sleeves around her hips, helping him shuffle off her slate grey jumpsuit. She doesn't even realize he's also slipped off her underwear until she feels the cool air of the ship against her bare core. Fuck, all her constant worrying over her appearance, and in the moment she isn't even concerned. She just needs to feel good with him.

Despite this minor revelation, Hatchet briefly feels a tad in over her head as the burly man holds her down by the hips and leans over her. He eclipses the dim overhead light, his eyes shining magnificently. Those nocturnal eyes are growing on her at a frightening rate.

"Richard," she whispers. One hand reaches up to touch his face, petting his cheek before skating over the stubbly crown of his head. "Fuck, Rich."

He drops his head and growls against her hot, bare skin. The sound rumbles beneath her palm where it presses over his heart. That's a new one— Rich. He's never been called that before. He doesn’t dislike it, mainly because it comes from her.

Riddick leaves a trail of hot, wet kisses down her neck and across her chest. His fingers press into her supple flesh of her hips hard enough for it to dimple under the force. He continues downward, laving his hot tongue over her pebbled nipples, teasing his teeth against her delicate skin. With her head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut, she remains ignorant to the garland of lovebites he leaves across her skin, decorating her chest with the constellations of the open universe. His lips follow the line of fine hair down the middle of her stomach, until finally stopping just above the curly thatch at her mons. He shifts his attention, choosing to nip at the skin of her inner thighs. He kneels on the floor and roughly yanks her to the end of the cot for better leverage, earning a surprised yelp from the woman. In the same moment, he tucks his thumbs around the underside of her knees and hoists her legs over his broad shoulders. Her ankles automatically lock overtop his shoulder blades.

Hatchet shudders with delicious anticipation. Her big eyes shoot open and head cranes, meeting his silver gaze from where he has positioned himself between her thick thighs. Without much civility or warning, the man stuffs his shaven head into the tight crevice of her thighs. She is suddenly relieved that he'd taken the bandage off his nose almost immediately after gathering his bearings all those days ago, because now he puts the prominent feature to good use against her swollen clit.

A wanton moan claws out from Hatchet's throat as she throws her head back against the rigid cot. Riddick's breath is hot against her cunt, tongue skilled as he works it into her most sensitive area. Two fingers pry her labia apart to get at a more effective angle. Her hands dart to clamp down on either side of his head, her nails digging crescents into his nude scalp. Panting and squirming, she uses her iron grip on his head to grind up against his big nose. He groans low against her core, the vibrations on his tongue adding to her pleasure. Her thighs squeeze against his flushed ears, and for a moment the thought she may suffocate him flashes through her mind. That worry is ejected out into space when his tanned hands come around to grip her where her thighs meet her hips, dragging her even more securely against him.

Her eyes roll back, body wracked with uncontrollable spasms as Riddick brings her increasingly closer to her peak. His nose is replaced by a skillful thumb, rubbing firm circles around her clit. He continues lapping at her cunt, groaning and taking intermittent gasps for air. Just as she feels that hot coil tightening in her lower abdomen, sees white light flickering beneath her lids, he does the unthinkable. He pulls away. Hatchet whines at the sudden neglect and desperately claws at his head in an attempt for him to continue, leaving red stripes on his stubbly scalp.

"I'm sorry, did I interrupt something?" he asks lowly, smugness dripping from his tongue. That isn't the only thing dripping from his tongue; his nose, mouth, and chin are coated in her arousal.

Hatchet laughs breathlessly. "Fuck off."

She welcomes him with open arms when he crawls up over her again, accepting his lips as he presses down to kiss her. She can taste her own wetness on his mouth, but is largely distracted by his hips slotting between hers and grinding down.

He pulls back for a moment, leveling her with an entertained but mildly miffed eyebrow raise. "You got protection?"

Hatchet has to take a moment to catch her breath in order to answer. "Don't worry, I got that fancy implant. Unless you're riddled with some horrible penitentiary disease?" She smiles brightly, the corners of her eyes crinkling with playfulness.

Her hands cup his face when he returns a dazzling smile. "Me? Who do you take me for? A convict?"

She curls against him when he ducks his face to the crook of her neck, warm and blushing as they both laugh. Unabashed, laughing together. It feels bizarrely intimate, and so completely foreign to the both of them. When the brief chuckles taper off and the weight of the scenario sinks back in, Hatchet wriggles her hips against his, attempting to stimulate some friction. The rough fabric of his cargo pants sparks a little something, but nothing spectacular. Catching on to her renewed desperation, Riddick presses weight against her hips, teasing her with his clothed erection. She mewls softly, grinding up against him.

A calloused hand slides up the length of her body to her neck, first two fingers and thumb pressing lightly against either pulse-point. He squeezes just hard enough for her to squirm with an intoxicating faintness, but light enough for it not to harm her. She swallows hard, feeling the pressure of his palm against her larynx. It would be child's play for him to fully wrap his hand around her throat and squeeze the life out of her. This flirtation with death is not only exhilarating, but it's something she'd never considered as enjoyable before now.

She's too busy with panting against the hand around her throat to realize he'd slipped his other one down towards the apex of her thighs. That is, not until there comes a delicious and unexpected pressure against her swollen clit. She jolts from the sudden stimulation. The moan that slips unbidden from her lips is loud and breathy, and she arches up into his devilish touch. His thumb rubs concentrated circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves, the middle finger sliding lower to tease her slit. Meanwhile, he drops his head to press against her temple, lips leaving sloppy kisses on her cheek.

Riddick groans, rutting against her soft thigh. He drags his lips against her cheek, bottom teeth scraping her skin. A tingly shudder ripples through her body.

"You want it, babygirl?" he growls in her ear. "Tell me you want it."

Hatchet whines when his thick finger breaches her entrance, sliding in easily with the wetness of her arousal. Her toes curl and back arches when that searching finger strokes that hidden sweet spot, her entire body overcome with a delicious shudder.

"Fuck," she pants, "Please. I want it."

The hand at her throat inches upward to clasp her jaw, angling her head for him to effectively whisper in her ear. "Want what, sweetheart? Use your words."

Another finger is stuffed into her pussy; she pants and squeezes around them. An embarrassed flush heats her chest and face at being made to speak her desire aloud. In some little act of defiance, she merely continues huffing and rutting against his hand. Punishment for her disobedience comes swift however, arriving in the form of the ceased stimulation. Riddick sucks his teeth and shakes his head in mock disappointment.

"So stubborn," he tsks.

Fuck— that rich, buttery voice sends a desperate throb straight to her neglected clit. She sobs out a pathetic whine, making a futile attempt to force his hand to continue its work.

"Please. Okay, okay. Please, please. I want you, I need you. Fuck me, please, Richard," she begs, voice coming out ragged.

He brings his lips to the corner of her mouth and smiles into the kiss he places there. "Good girl," he purrs.

Hatchet squirms under him, clit pulsing with an immediate flush of blood at the praise. "Say that again," she pants, sliding her hand over the back of his thick neck. "Please, please, Rich. Say that again. I'm— Hah."

She can feel the fond chuckle under her palm as it rumbles in his chest. He wrestles with the button and zipper of his cargo pants while keeping himself aloft with one arm. "My girl. Good girl."

Each kiss steals her breath away, dizzying her with butterflies and anticipation. It takes a hurried moment of effort, but Riddick manages to shuck his trousers and boxers, leaving them in a pile on the floor with the rest of their discarded clothes. Perched on his knees between the woman's spread thighs, he greedily admires the sight of her laid out before him. There's something particularly special about this woman. She's managed to weasel her way into his frigid heart, and he can't find it in himself to complain. She's sweet, and kind, and sure fucking hot. She too watches him greedily as muscles flex in his arms. He plants his hands on her bent knees, dragging them down the length of her soft thighs. Fingers sink into the fat of her hips, dragging her closer.

One glance at his proud erection is enough to draw a flustered whimper from Hatchet's lips; his dick is thick, befitting of the rest of him. She thrusts an arm up over her face, if only to hide the embarrassed blush which splotches her skin. The big man lowers himself over her once more and gently pushes her arm away, murmuring about her shyness. The weight of his cock resting on her belly makes her squirm, which he seems to enjoy greatly, much to her impatient desperation. He slots his plush lips with hers while his left hand slips around her right thigh, encouraging it up. Her knee brushes the bruised wound over his ribs, but he doesn't seem to care all that much as he pins the long limb tightly against him.

In the space between them, he fists his dick and pumps once, twice. He holds Hatchet's lidded gaze with those intense eyes of his, drinking in the dazed sight of her. He drags the cockhead through the wetness of her arousal, teasing her swollen clit before aligning himself properly. His throaty groan mingles with her gasped noises as he slowly presses into her, sheathing himself within her hot cunt. It's a snug fit, lax as she may be. He bottoms out painfully slow, taking his sweet time in stuffing her full of himself. That hand returns to her throat and gently squeezes while he holds himself aloft with the other arm.

Hatchet sucks her teeth against the slight sting of his size. The discomfort quickly fades into a satisfyingly tense pressure once Riddick gets a steady rhythm going. With her leg hiked up over his side, he continually pulls out almost all the way before plunging back into her, driving her down into the stiff cot with each powerful thrust. She shudders with each drag of his thick cock against her inner walls— with every gentle squeeze of his broad hand around her throat.

"Fuck, babygirl. You feel good," he grunts out. "Such a good girl for me. Real pretty." Riddick groans through clenched teeth when her cunt spasms particularly hard around him. His words are like a match to her gasoline.

The hand at her throat shifts away in an attempt to touch as much of her skin as possible— caressing her breast, tangling in her hair, touching her lips, squeezing her waist and hip. It's almost like a compulsion to feel every part of her warm body, to get lost in her skin and pretty noises. Hatchet's hands perform their own exploration; she can't get enough of wrapping her fingers around his biceps and broad shoulders, her breath panting hard against his collarbones as she clings to him. The middle two fingers of his wandering hand come down on her clit again, sparking electric spasms throughout her writhing body. Those fingers rub circles against her sensitive bud, and every so often slip lower to stroke around the spot where they join together.

An especially rough drag and thrust has the tip of cock kissing that sweet spot within her. She cries out and he repeats the motion with an exact precision. He continues hammering into her at that perfect angle, grunting and shuddering with each of her clenches and moans. Light blooms beneath Hatchet's eyelids, that hot pressure coiling up in her belly once more. The combination of internal and external stimulation is enough for her to see stars and arch into the man like her life depends on it.

Nearly animalistic in his frenzy, Riddick can't control himself when his teeth sink into the woman's shoulder. It feels right.

Hatchet cries out at the sharp feeling of his bite, shock mixing with odd delight. He doesn't use enough force to break the skin, but his teeth leave a sting nonetheless. In retaliation, her nails sink into his muscular back and drag downward to his sides, leaving crisscrossing stripes across his tan skin. Somewhere in the back of her mind she recognizes that she may have torn one of his stitches, but he doesn't make any indication of it bothering him. That delicious tension deep in her belly increases almost unbearably; she bucks up into his fingers on her clit, grinding against the hilt of his cock stuffed in her. His mouth latches onto the slope of her neck and bites again, licking the minimal damage each time he retracts his pearly teeth.

Her orgasm comes suddenly, like fireworks. She spasms around him as she comes, back arching up against his hard front as she cries out. Riddick continues pounding into her— continues rubbing her clit through her shuddering orgasm. The sounds of their sex seem awfully loud in the quiet confines of her small ship.

"There we go. Good girl," he murmurs into her throat.

He pushes up on his supporting arm, putting a bit of space between himself and the spent woman. She twitches and pants beneath him, cunt contracting around his continued thrusts. Her nails haven't yet retracted from his sides, clinging as though grasping for purchase. Riddick sits upright with her legs slung around his hips. One hand wipes over his head to clear away beads of sweat, before both come down to clutch her hips.

"Fuck... Where do you want it, sweetheart?" He punctuates with a harsh snap of his hips, plunging deep into her.

Hatchet's wrists demurely cross above her head. Her breaths come in short, exhausted puffs as she wriggles against him. Overstimulation is beginning to fray at her edges, but the feeling of being so full of him overrides the discomfort. She can barely think straight enough to give him a proper response— fucked thoroughly out of her mind.

"Richard—" She groans low in her throat. He's practically rearranging her guts. Tears prick at her eyes. "Fuck. Inside. Please, just— ugh, inside."

He makes a noise halfway between a grunt and a chuckle. "Sounds good to me, baby." She doesn't have to open her eyes to know the smug, cocky, sexy bastard is grinning. "Nngh, fuck."

Riddick's head tilts back, shuddering violently. He groans loud and holds her steady with his fingers dug into her hips. She feels his hot release spill into her, coating her insides as he ceases his relentless pounding. She's overly sensitive from the intensity of her own orgasm, so his sudden stillness comes as a relief for her tender parts. His chest heaves, fingers twitching.

After an extended moment of basking in the bliss of his finish, Riddick slumps forward. While he's careful not to crush the woman, he does rest a bit of his weight atop her. Sweat-slicked skin meets sweat-slicked skin as they recover together, lounging in the afterglow. He remains partially sheathed within her, allowing a minimal amount of his seed to trickle out around his length.

Amidst tenderly petting Riddick's back, Hatchet nearly gets lost to the grips of sleep. That is, at least until his rumbling voice stirs her again.

"I think you needed that." He noses her throat, inhaling deeply. She cants her hips without thinking, then grunts softly at the feeling of him still buried within her.

"Oh?" she chuckles quietly, "Is that right?"

She smoothes her palm over the back of his head, then traces her fingertips up and down his neck and shoulders. He hums against her clammy, flushed skin. Sentimentally isn't even remotely his forte, but this intimacy feels surprisingly good. Odd and unfamiliar, but pleasant. He feels safe to relax in her hold, resting a little bit more of his weight against her capable form.

"Yep. You're a little uptight."

Briefly pressing his lips to the bite-shaped bruises on her shoulder, he lifts his head. She cracks an eye open to peer at him, then sighs wistfully. He really does have a beautiful face. She caresses his cheek.

"And hey, would you look at that. We fit." He grins wide and smug and raises a brow, referring back to the conversation which started this whole affair.

Hatchet drops her head to the cot and closes her eyes again, laughing heartily. "Fuck you, Richard."

#second time ever writing smut and I think it melted my brain #this is way too long to read on tumblr just go to ao3 lmao #pitch black 2000 #chronicles of riddick #richard b riddick #richard b riddick x oc #richard b riddick x reader #goldfinch writes

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synthleeius · 4 months

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omg omg omg um um scaramouche. sc. I. I love scaramocuhe. I think that someone should tickle him so much. like sooooo much just like a whole lot. he needs it

since ei gave him such strong emotions there's no reason why he wouldn't be super ticklish as well. he'd just never know cause no one could be bothered or dared to try. that is, until... the traveler comes along

I am obsessed with the idea that the traveler is the first to ever tickle him. like they give him a friendly jab in the ribs or something and he just has the most insane reaction, like, "whAT THE FUCK WAS THAT???? WHAT DID YOU JUST DO TO ME??????"

the traveler would be like holy shit aintnoway you just reacted that much?? but they're really nice to him about it you know? cause he'd probably be real freaked out at first, but then once they slowly warm him up to it, he would love it. he would absolutely love it. like I bet he would just get obsessed with it—he would never get enough

he would NEVER admit to it though. like, he must be so incredibly touch starved, the poor boy, but to ask tO BE TICKLED??? oh, oh no. absolutely not

OH MY GOOOODDD????,,,,,,, im screaming rn ty for this

the first time he got tickled he was so confused he deadass thought he was cursed because nothings funny why does he wanna laugh?? stop it now??

your so right its like. every time he catches himself thinking about it hes like NO STOP WHY?? EW??

#answered #kusuguricafe #spelt that wrong about 8 times😭

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dearaliya · 5 months

Text

Iron Flame: Was it prophecy or predictable?

Dear Aliya,

Immediately into spoiler territory, but may I first begin with a screenshot from my Iron Wing prelude followed by one of our during reading conversations?

Turns out that nap was SIGNIFICANTLY LESS PERMANENT than I'd initially thought. Shall we discuss?

So Jack is back! Or he never left? As much as I enjoyed the book I must admit, either I've gotten worse at reading and understanding or some of the passages in this book are just not well written. My rough understanding is that Jack's power was shields, he got buried but actually didn't and channelled venin style to save himself. This was all tightly followed by going crazy because that's what comes with ultimate power. He was nice enough when he came back, to a point where I thought he deadass might be added to the roster of men hovering around Violet, but then he just up and disappears for most of the book.

I mean, welcome back for all 36 pages you were actually a part of, a bulk of that being the finale, I guess??

I won't mince words. Why is he back? Was there no other option to destroying the wardstone? I mean he is the catalyst for the bond numbing serum so that's handy, but I have trouble believing that he was such a stellar student that three non-stop months were dedicated to his recovery when other students are typically just left to die. Perhaps they were also just using him as an experiment to see if venin-ness could be cured, but in failing they still just released him back into everyday life and hoped nothing bad would happen. Because he's always been a shimmering pillar of good behaviour and not someone who murders his classmates to prove that he can.

Speaking of! The fliers were a wonderful breath of fresh air because they voiced the very same opinions I held since the beginning of book one. Why is Basgiath so willing to kill off their cadets in the name of strength?

When told that challenges occur between cadets and can result in death, they're all understandably mortified that the war college allows this. Not to mention that in comparison to threshing, where yet again the cadets are highly expected to die, the flier cadets either make the cut or fail and have to pick a different faction to train in. They cannot understand why death is just expected when they're fighting a war and need all the numbers they can get and frankly, I couldn't agree more. But while I did enjoy the addition of the fliers as characters and them calling the dragon riders on their shit, there was one character I have to simply sigh at.

Catriona.

Of course, it wouldn't be a romance book without a love rival. There was enough going on between Xaden and Violet that she really wasn't needed to stir the pot. I enjoy her character towards the end, but when she's written as nothing more than a plot device to make Violet and Xaden fight I really couldn't be less interested. Aside from the betrothal to unify nations and Catriona being more attached to the power behind Xaden's name than him (which was a lovely bit of politics I wanted to see MORE OF) none of this is necessary.

Now, about Xaden and Violet.

I just... I need them both to open their eyes to the situation they find themselves in. Violet is mad that Xaden is keeping secrets, in a WAR where if even one gets out it could mean DEATH. Xaden's argument is that if she asks, he'll tell her which sounds like a fair trade in theory but consider, if you will, this same thought I held all the way back in school.

Teacher: If there's anything you don't know, ask! Me, tender age of nine: If I don't know what I don't know, hOw Do I aSK?

And that's the problem, or at least part of it. Violet doesn't want to ask some of the hard questions, fine. It's a contradiction of her character since she constantly needs knowledge and facts no matter the cost but fine. But even not asking the questions she does know to ask, how is she supposed to ask about things she doesn't know exist? And this is where I start to feel my patience thin with Xaden. He's chastising her for getting angry that she doesn't know anything because she's not asking but she didn't know about Catriona, Tecarus, his second signet and so on and so forth.

Is this the communication you promised? IS IT?

600 pages of the SAME ARGUMENT!??

And if they're not arguing, they're banging. I know the audience we're targeting, but with the amount of smut there was in absolutely inopportune moments just felt forced. We are two pages off a battle that might kill everyone they know and love, which might be a harrowing thought to process if the characters could get OFF one another long enough.

Now, although I just ragged on this book for 1... 2... 797 words, I will not have people believe I didn't enjoy it. So there are a few things here and there I have gripes with, I'm a picky kinda gal! The good outweighs the bad, mooooooostly.

I do think that this book was likely pushed out a bit too rapidly so the hype wouldn't be lost from the first book. Had there been time to go in and clean up this book, it would have really benefitted. Clunky dialogue, words that don't seem to fit the context, plot threads that go nowhere and random little thoughts with no conclusion are all scattered throughout this book. Just a whisper of tweaking could have ironed most of this out.

Curse capitalism.

But, unless I missed something in the marketing, this book isn't meant to be some otherwordly prodigy of a book, it's a romantasy with a high focus on the romance appealing to its designated audience after going nuclear on booktok. It knows what it is, Yarros knows what is it, and what it is is FUN.

Some of the lines from the characters, modern though they are, are fun and cheeky and youthful. The dragons, yet again, carry this book on their backs because all of their interactions are so enjoyable. There are little twists and turns that do catch you off guard, refreshing from the gentle handholding of the first book.

If people read it and like it, fantastic! If they read it and don't, understandable! But I do think everyone, especially those who want to get back into reading again as a hobby, give this series a crack because they're very easy to step into and get lost in.

Nothing more comes to mind, so I appreciate you listening to my thoughts. I’ll see you next time, stay well!

Hannah xx

#fourth wing #booktok #books and reading #violet sorrengail #dain aetos #xaden riorson #book review #jack barlowe #catriona #dragons #iron flame #rebecca yarros #the empyrean

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yourdeepestfathoms · 2 years

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I have such chaos choir brainrot because of your blog, dude.

That being said do you have any silly little headcanons about the choir kids? Much appreciated if you do :)

-✨

i do!!

here’s…

Ride the Cyclone Kids Playing A D&D Game Based On Silent Hill

(based on my own Silent Hill-based dnd game, which i DM!)

(there’s gonna be A Lot of references to the Silent Hill franchise/lore and to the Call of Cthulhu module, so try to keep up!)

BASICALLY, it’s a completely original storyline and everything, but it uses the Call of Cthulhu module for rolls and stats

Penny is the DM!

And

Good Lord

This girl is RUTHLESS

Her mind? Oh my god. Some of the shit she’s come up with is fucking INSANE.

But we’ll get more into Penny’s mercilessness soon

Characters!

All the others were given simple instructions

Spin a wheel with a bunch of themes on it. They get three themes, and then they must build a character around them

(My players got to pick theirs, but Penny’s doing is differently)

(As in, I’m spinning a wheel to determine the themes for the kids so I can make them random characters)

Ocean’s themes were: Corruption; Identity; and Murder!

Noel’s themes were: Justice, Injustice, and Revenge; Body Image/Body Shaming; and The Meaning Of Happiness and Sorrow

Mischa’s themes were: Murder; Trauma and Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder; and Bullying

Ricky’s themes were: Corruption; Rebirth; and Love and Hate

Constance’s themes were: Depression, Grief, and Mental Illness; The Human Condition; and Psychology

The characters were made!

They then did their stats and gave Penny their backstory and reason for being in Silent Hill

Penny, looking at Ricky’s 80 Luck: nice!

Penny, noticing his Sanity is 40: oh no

(Luck is used to negate damage and stuff like that. You can also do a Hail Mary aka Avoid Sudden Death if you have 30, which will allow you to survive an attack that would have killed you otherwise!)

(And then Sanity determines how a character will react to something traumatic or disturbing. You roll to see if your character will be able to tough it out, or if they’ll take Sanity damage. If they take a certain amount of Sanity damage in one session, they’ll suffer a Bout of Madness, which Penny has a WHOLE LIST of effects for. And if you lose ALL your Sanity, your character becomes an NPC and the DM can play them however they want.)

They play in Mischa’s basement, and Penny goes ALL OUT. She’s got props, costumes, the whole nine yards. She does character voices and everything! It’s INCREDIBLE

Finally, it was time to go into Silent Hill!

The plot is this: The party has woken up in a motel to find that the whole town of Silent Hill has become shrouded in fog. They can’t get out of the town, forcing them to traverse the place to find a way to escape. And to get out, they must enter five different Otherworlds designed after each of their character’s, which are made to torment them and put all their trauma and flaws on display. They even get their own customized bosses based on the PCs (player characters), which are HORRIFIC.

There’s also these creatures called the Dark Tormentors, which stalk the PCs and appear from time to time to psychologically torture them. They’re born from the darkest parts of the PCs, can speak, and cannot be killed.

Yeah, Penny went ALL OUT

But the game!!

First session is relatively chill for a horror game about everything that’s horrid in the world. The party starts in South Vale and ends up in Brookhaven Hospital after the Fog World starts to transition into the Otherworld.

Penny BLASTS foghorns for that part, it’s fuckin menacing

While in Brookhaven, the party must compete this puzzle. There’s a door made out of flesh that won’t open without four offerings: a finger, an eyeball, a tooth, and a tongue. These items can be found throughout the hospital, acting as rewards for their own puzzles (but Penny, being the menace she is, does attempt to get the characters to have their PCs maim themselves for the items)

In the kitchen of the hospital, there’s a cooked dog, and Penny deadass looks them in the eye and asks if they want a bite

(She has a whole prepared description of the taste if they say yes)

(None of them do)

(She’s a little bummed)

Penny, after the party enters a cramped room: Are any of you, by any chance, claustrophobic?

Ocean: Yes.

Penny: Interesting.

Noel: No.

Penny: Oh, you will be. You will be.

Noel, fearfully: Wh

Noel: What

Penny: :)

They end up fighting the Missionary from Silent Hill 3 and complete session one!

After that, the pure disturbing horror that Penny has prepared for them is ramped up to one hundred

I’m not gonna go into detail about each and every session they have because I would be here for awhile, and I’m already kinda worried this isn’t the most entertaining batch of headcanons, but I’ll give A TON of highlights!

At one point, the party goes to this market, which has a ton of supplies for them to find. However, there’s a Two-Back sleeping inside of the market, meaning that they have to roll Stealth every single time they want to go to a different stall

THIS is a Two-Back

What do you know, Ocean fails her VERY FIRST Stealth roll, and the whole party has to flee

Ricky, after the party comes to a locked gate: Can I roll Locksmith to try and open it?

Penny: Of course!

Ricky: *rolls Locksmith*

Ricky: *fails*

Penny: You’re a bit rusty on your lockpicking skills. So are your tools. They’re as weak as the branches of the trees all around you and snap with ease. You failed. But that isn’t a surprise, is it? All you do is fuck up. Maybe don’t volunteer unless you know for sure you won’t waste everyone’s time.

Ricky: 😥

Like I said, Penny as a DM is RUTHLESS

But her cruelty is mainly the narrator in the script she has for each session. She purposely wrote the narrator as bitchy and cruel toward the PCs whenever they fuck up.

She had to let everyone know that nothing of what she said was a personal attack, and she loves them all very much

Mischa: Can I try to bust this door down?

Penny: Sure!

Mischa: *rolls*

Mischa: *fails*

Penny: You try to bust the door open, but this is wrought iron you’re dealing with, and you’re basically the Christian version of one of those inflatable men outside car dealerships. You were never going to get it open. Maybe conceal your hubris next time before you embarrass yourself again.

Constance, who wanted to ask if she could pry the door open with a crowbar her character had found: *slowly puts her hand down*

There’s this part where the party encounters this hole in the floor, and Mischa has his character hop down. It ends up being this well, and he shouts up to the others to not come down. Penny asks the rest of the PCs to roll Listen to see if they can hear Mischa’s character tell them to not come down. They all fail. They all then jump down.

Penny, after the party can’t get through a gate around an area they want to explore and are beckoned to follow an unknown voice: Surprisingly, the force doesn’t seem very threatening, just eerie. Will you follow, or do you think you’ll be able to sprout wings and fly to the other side of the fence?

Noel: No.

Penny: Pussy.

Noel: >:O

Okay, so Penny came up with this REALLY COOL puzzle that damn near made Constance shit herself.

So one of the Otherworlds the party explores is in Toluca Prison. In the Interrogation Room, there’s an item that they need to progress sitting on a table. Noel’s character picks it up, which causes his arm to be ensnared by this bear trap-like contraption. To free him, someone must go into the actual interrogation space and lock themselves in these chains attached to the wall. Once they’re in the chains, they gotta make three successful Strength rolls, and doing so will release the trap on Noel’s character.

Here’s the rub: The door to the interrogation space will slam shut and lock the moment someone enters. The whole room is soundproof, and what they thought was a wall of glass is actually a one-way mirror. So the character inside can’t see out to their party, they can only see themselves.

So, Constance’s character is the one who steps into the interrogation space first, which forces her into the role of being Noel’s character’s savior.

She locks herself in the chains and starts the rolls.

First roll is a success! Yay! That’s good!

That’s when Penny pulls Constance out of the room to talk to her one-on-one.

And when she talks to her one-on-one, she describes something absolutely horrific that only Constance’s character can see.

Penny: You notice something in the mirror. There’s something against the wall directly behind you. At first, you think it’s just a trick of the light on the dirty white paint, but then you see it move. You realize that it’s a hand. And if there’s a hand, that must mean there’s a… A body. Something is pushing its way out of the wall. It has no face—instead, there is only a gaping hole. Its limbs are thin and disjointed, and it looks almost mutilated and disfigured. Even without eyes, you know it’s looking directly at you.

To make it even worse, she shows Constance a picture of exactly what she’s dealing with here

This is the creature! It’s called a Raw Shock!

Anyway, Constance’s character must now make three more Strength rolls, but this time with a penalty. And each time she rolls, the Raw Shock gets closer and closer and closer.

She fails.

Which leads her to getting THIS description.

Penny: You feel something snag on the back of your head and pull you backwards by the hair. The creature has caught you, and its touch is icy cold. The longer it has its hands on you, the more warmth you can feel draining from your being, as though this thing is sucking out your body heat to take for its own. The creature, surprisingly strong for its skeletal frame, begins to pull you to the wall it had come from. It seems to want to take you back with it. It also seems to have friends, as you start to notice other hands pushing out from the wall, reaching for you, beckoning for you. The bodies soon follow, and they’re all abstract beings of nightmares: bodies with exaggerated female forms, organs and bones and nipples exposed; bodies that are terribly bloated, bubbles and fungi consuming the pale flesh; bodies like disks, bearing a sliced appearance, as though a knife had been taken to their skin and slashed them to pieces. Whispers fill your ears. Whispers that call your name, that tell you that you’re home, that say it’s safe now, and the voices sound so warm, so genuine. Maybe this is home…

Constance is fucking HORRIFIED

Her character is fine, though! The trap releases Noel’s character, and they all get out!

But Penny has successfully scarred both Constance and her PC

Which is what she wants >:)

*The party is at a door that won’t open (because they need certain puzzle pieces for it)*

Ocean: Maybe you have to…say a magic word?

Ocean: Abra kadabra!

Nothing happens.

Ocean: I don’t know why I thought that would work.

The party takes this LONG ride in an elevator, and while they wait, Penny starts going around, asking everyone who they would eat first if they had to resort to cannibalism to stay alive 😭

Ocean: Can I drink some water?

Penny: Absolutely! Can you just roll me Spot Hidden real fast?

Ocean: Yeah.

Ocean: *rolls*

Ocean: *gets a Regular Success*

Penny: Cool, thanks!

Five minutes later, Penny stops roleplay to tell Ocean that her character has started to violently vomit her blood everywhere

Penny: Hasn’t your mommy ever told you not to drink random water bottles you find in alternate dimensions? Fucking idiot. If you haven’t noticed already, that wasn’t water you drank. It was actually water mixed with hydrochloric acid! You’re going to continue regurgitating your blood for an hour. Also you take 1d8 damage every time it happens. Good going. Stupid bitch.

Ocean was so sad

They go to YET ANOTHER market, and this time there’s no Two-Back there to screw them over

But there ARE a BUNCH of weird as hell stalls for them to explore

One in particular is called Caricature Cabin

Penny, doing the voice of the faceless person who runs the stall: “Hiya! Would you like to have your caricature done?”

Noel: No.

Penny: Then what the fuck are you even doing here?

Constance: I will have my caricature done! Please.

Penny: “Wonderful! Here, sit down! It won’t take very long!”

Penny: You sit down. The artist examines you with eyes that aren’t there, then gets to work. They sketch and color and paint diligently. Once they’re done, they show you, radiating great pride.

Penny: It… it isn’t a caricature. It’s just you drawn as a turtle wearing a wig.

The whole party was HOWLING with laughter

Penny made her own painting of this just for the session

There’s also a stall called “I Sell Weird Lemons”

Penny: The stall consists of a singular lemon sitting on a table. It has googly eyes glued to it. It’s being bidded on.

Penny: The highest bid is $500,000.

Ricky’s character bids on it

He puts $500,001

(He wins the bid)

(The lemon appears to him two sessions later)

The party encounters a pack of Wormheads. Mischa’s character accidentally alerts them and gets attacked by one.

Penny: The Wormhead’s head whips up. The maggots and grub making up its whole face shift around restlessly, emanating a wet sound. Then, suddenly, it’s lunging directly at you.

Penny: Surely it can’t bite with it’s head full of worms, you think to yourself as its head full of worms splits open horizontally to reveal a gaping, oozing maw of insects.

Penny: Oh.

The whole party: 😟

Noel was GAGGING

OH THE NEEDLE PIT!!!!!

I just remembered this trap from my own game

This one is GOOD

The characters are all in this Otherworld for Ricky’s character, and one of the traps is in the Study Room

When they step into the Study Room, they’re all lashed up into those baby bungie harnesses and suspended above the floor

This talking parrot begins to tell them about a game called Truth or Dunk. The parrot will ask them the questions, and as long as the characters answer truthfully, they won’t be dunked into the FLOOR OF DOOM!!!

(It’s just the regular floor)

Ricky’s character is the first to lie, but the harness just lowers a little bit

Ocean’s character is the second to lie, and instead of just being lowered, she drops STRAIGHT through the floor

Because the “regular floor” was all a lie

It seemed to be an illusion of sorts

Underneath it is a giant pit full of needles

Which Ocean’s character is described to be plunged into in very graphic detail

Constance’s character is the third one to go into the pit because the character mentions God at one point, and she refers to him with “he/him” pronouns, when in Silent Hill lore, God uses “she/her”

So into the pit Constance’s character goes!

“YOU GOT DROPPED IN THE NEEDLES BECAUSE YOU MISGENDERED GOD???” -Ocean

One of the Dark Tormentors is named Ideal Daddy (the character it belongs to has daddy issues lol), and when the party meets it, it holds them hostage in a tea party (which Penny brings props and food for!)

But during it, Noel and Mischa’s characters get into this really heated argument over morality

And then others are just There

Ocean, while Noel and Mischa are verbally tearing out each other’s throats: I’m going to offer Daddy some more cake

The party wanted to enter a building Penny didn’t have any content for, so when Mischa’s character tried to kick the door down, she just made the entire building (minus the door) fall out of existence

There was this One Boss

A boss that fucked over EVERYONE

This boss belonged to Ocean’s character

It was called the Bloated Lamb, and it was this DISGUSTING fleshy sheep monster that had a very, how do I put this, phallic head

Everyone was groaning in disgust by just its DESCRIPTION

And then combat starts

First round

Two characters die INSTANTLY

Everyone had known about the possibility of death in the game, but they had managed to tough it out for several sessions. There was one close call where Ricky’s character got dropped all the way down to 4 HP (they all got to start with 100), but they used a healing item called an Ampoule on him (which Constance’s character kept in her cleavage lol), which would raise anyone all the back back to full HP

So yeah, they knew about the dangers of death in this game. But they didn’t think much of it because they had managed to get through so much!

They let their guard down.

Foolish mistake.

Penny had been waiting for this day, and it finally came true.

After surviving fights with a scorpion abomination with guns for pincers, a 300 foot long flesh mermaid, a horrifyingly uncanny sphinx monster, a walking skin sack with a giant drill for a hand, the embodiment of toxic masculinity itself, it took just one (1) attack from a big dick sheep to wipe nearly half the party out.

The blood that was spilled that day was delicious.

The victims were Noel and Mischa’s characters.

The Bloated Lamb reared up from the water the battlefield was set on (they were fighting on a ferry) and sprayed acid on them (you can probably get the euphemism here)

However, Mischa actually had enough Luck left to use his Hail Mary, which meant his character got to survive and be set back to full health

Noel’s character, however…

The party got an EXTREMELY detailed description of how their beloved party member looks as he is melted by the Bloated Lamb’s acid

Everyone is now terrified but also PISSED

They gotta get their heads in the game

…Perhaps that is taken a little too literally, though

Round two begins

Constance’s character is killed

The Bloated Lamb literally smashes her into an incredibly gory pulp with its head

And then Ricky’s character is fucking LAUNCHED across this underground lake they’re fighting in because the Bloated Lamb smacked him with its flesh hoof, and he DROWNS

By this point, Mischa and Ocean are STRESSING because they might get a TPK (total party kill)

The entire table is fucking RATTLED

Noel had to get up and walk around because he’s So Overcome, Constance has her head in her hands, Ricky is just in shock because oh my god did his character really DROWN, Ocean and Mischa are SWEATING

And then Penny looks absolutely sinister, feeding on their fear and stress

She Loves This

By some fucking miracle, Mischa and Ocean manage to kill the Bloated Lamb

Even still, the whole party is mourning the loss of their companions…

But then, they get revived! A monster they met before named Valtiel revives the three who died! (but if they die again, then they’re actually fully dead)

And so, the nightmare continues >:)

#ask #my players STILL recount the trauma they suffered fighting the bloated lamb #which is honestly one of the best things ever to hear as a dm imo #anyway all snippets shared in this are from the scripts and notes i made for my own game!#this is a little long whoops #ride the cyclone headcanons #rtc headcanons #rtc #ride the cyclone #penny lamb #jane doe #mischa bachinski #noel gruber #ocean o’connell rosenberg #ricky potts #constance blackwood #✨ anon

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