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imrllytootiredforthis · 7 months

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Just Friends

pairing: beomgyu x reader

summary: Just friends, just friends. That's all there is, all there's ever been but have you really ever been just friends?

warnings: gn reader, dom reader, sub beomgyu, thigh riding, handjob, lots of groping, car sex, mentions of masturbation, possibly more that i forgot

word count: 2.2k

a/n: writer's block is so real, i literal pulled this out of a sleep-deprived haze at 4 in the morning so feedback would be appreciated<3

Just friends. He tells himself over and over again.

Just friends. You tell yourself over and over again.

But friends don't do things like this on rainy nights in the back of your car. With your windows fogging up and the only light coming from a lone streetlight from the corner of the parking lot.

Friends don't clutch his hips, grinding him down against your thigh. Friends don't pant heavily at the feeling of his fingernails digging deep into the skin of your shoulders almost hard enough to draw blood.

At least they shouldn't.

But maybe you and Beomgyu have never really been 'just friends'.

"God," but it's never gone this far before. "Don't stop, please, don't stop!"

Sure there's been teasing touches and lingering looks, meaningful conversations that maybe meant more than either of you had wanted to admit.

But you hadn't expected it to go this far.

To have him clinging to you. To have his lips all over your neck and your hands all in his hair.

To have his pants discarded somewhere in the back along with his boxers in your haste...

To have his dick rubbing against the rough material of your jeans. To have him sobbing into your ear to not stop, to never stop, that he'll die without your touch.

You suppose your best friend has always been a touch dramatic.

If you could even call him that anymore-your best friend.

"Don't worry baby," every nerve ending in his body feels like it's on fire. His ears feel like they're ringing, replaying your words over and over like a broken record. "I won't."

It feels so good, it hurts so bad.

Tears stream down his face from both-from everything. From you calling him baby like he's yours. With so much affection and adoration, like he's the most important thing in the world to you right now.

Like he isn't shaking against you, crying out like some kind of wounded animal (in heat), thinking or maybe even muttering how he can't get enough, how it'll never be enough, how he wants you so bad, how he'll die before he lets you go.

Your hand guides his lips to yours, soft and sweet and hungry. Devouring every one of his whines up and replying with your own want for more, kissing him like your life depends on it. You'd always thought that he'd sound pretty, but not this pretty, not this pathetic or needy.

"Fuck, Beomgyu."

Your mouth clashes against his over and over, saliva dripping down his chin as he tries and fails in trying not to drool. You're too preoccupied in nipping at his lips that you're faintly aware of his hands slipping under your shirt until they're on your chest, squeezing and exploring everything he's only fantasized of.

He hasn't felt this good before. Ever. Not from past partners or from his own hand. Toys feel like nothing compared to this, the unforgiving bite of denim somehow lightyears better than vibrators and dildos and whatever else he's used to replicate your touch.

The friction makes him feel like he's burning but his hips just rut faster. He wishes it was your skin, soft and comfortable and you-but he doesn't think he can be patient enough. Doesn't think he can find it in himself to let go of you long enough for you to take your pants off. He has his nose in your hair and the taste of you on his tongue, and he can't stop now.

He can't stop. Not when he's wanted this for so, so long.

Okay, so maybe you've never truly been 'just friends'.

Well, maybe before that first time you were out at a party together and a friend of a friend approached Beomgyu, trying to talk him up while you stood right next to him.

Before you'd watched, something ugly simmering in the pit of your stomach that you couldn't fully decipher-that you weren't sure you wanted to decipher.

It was only until Beomgyu shot you a pleading look that you were able to keep your cool and then you'd very kindly told that friend of a friend to back the fuck off and leave the two of you alone.

And maybe, just maybe Beomgyu had gone home that night and let his hand wander past his waistband to wrap around his aching cock.

Jesus christ.

With each stroke of his hand he conjured your image in his mind. It was you looking at him, watching him-touching him. Talking to him in that same cold, mean voice you had talked to that friend of a friend.

Hating him and loving him all in one, rough and cruel but soft and caring. He wanted all of it, all of you.

And then afterwards it was basking in an afterglow of remembering the way that your eyes softened once again when they landed on him and your hand touched his shoulder and you asked if he was okay.

Friends do this...right? He'd thought, not ready yet to admit that maybe it was something more.

Just friends that brought you to his apartment a few weeks later, slightly ashamed and very drunk and looking for some kind of comfort after you'd been out drinking for better part of the night.

Just friends that had your hands all over his body and your lips all over his throat, sloppy wet kisses making his head spin and his body heat up. That'd had you shoving him down onto the couch and climbing on top of him, pushing your knee between his legs as your cold hands slithered up his shirt in search of warm, smooth skin to lay claim on as yours.

Just friends with the way that you promptly passed out on top of him and conveniently remembered nothing of the night before. Of groping your best friend, of telling him how pretty he was, of whispering that he was a good boy.

'I want you.'

'You're so pretty.'

'Perfect.'

'My good boy.'

'Mine.'

Friends don't know the way his moans sound. Or the way his skin feels against yours.

Like tonight,

A movie. That was all it was supposed to be.

Platonic. Friends. Just going to see a movie together, get dinner after. Nothing more.

"Touch me! G-od, please touch me!" His hand flies up, fingers dig into your wrist as he pulls it down between his legs, his dick throbbing and needy.

It feels so much better-your hand-your skin, your fingers loosely wrapping around him, teasingly rubbing at the tip. "And why should I baby? Have you been good? Have you been a good boy?"

He doesn't know.

He doesn't knowHe doesn't knowHe doesn't know.

All he knows is you.

Just friends shouldn't let things get to this point.

...Oh well.

A movie. A quiet theatre. Darkness and eyes all too often glancing at the profile of the other.

A tension palpable in the air as fingers brushed against each other to grab popcorn. Hands aching, itching to hold each other. An agonizing one hundred and twenty minutes.

Nothing though.

Only getting into the car afterwards and driving off.

"What do you want to eat?" He only shrugs in reply and you roll your eyes. "Helpful."

"Well I dunno," he thinks, "the usual? I can place an order to your place and we should get back before it gets there."

You hum in reply. "It's late though, you planning to stay over for the night?"

"...Sure."

Hesitation. He can only think of the last time you stayed the night. So long ago now, he'd avoided either of you spending the night at the others ever since. From fear? From preservation? Or from hoping that your frustration would break the dam first.

'I want you.'

'Mine.'

Words that flash through his mind unbridled. Sounds and touches that flood his brain

'My good boy.'

He swallows, trying to keep his eyes on the screen of the phone. Trying to hope the darkness blankets how red his face has turned.

"Hey could you pull over here?"

"Sure?" You'd glanced over at him and the question on your face evident.

He didn't elaborate though and you didn't ask.

You'd pulled into a mostly empty parking lot. Only a few cars left in front of a grey, drab building. Parked beside a flickering streetlight that continued for a few minutes before doing out completely. Certainly the furthest thing from being romantic by any means.

Nothing specific broke the tension, the unspoken rules.

But the next thing the either of you know is he's on your lap clawing at you aimlessly, pure desire fuelling him to do such pathetic things. Like telling you how horny he is and how bad he needs you.

You don't seem to have any problem with his confession though.

Responding in turn rather appropriately you'd think. And then your lips are against his and you're tugging at his clothes and touching his body like he's your last lifeline.

And then you're in the backseat of the car, his pants and boxers discarded into the back, your lips curled into a smirk against his skin.

And then you're here.

Doing things that friends certainly should not be doing.

"M' a good boy, promise! Please, I'll be your good boy!"

You'd imagined how his face would look all fucked out all but a million times in the dead of night, thinking about things you certainly should not have been thinking about.

But you'd never know that your imagination would do absolutely no justice to the real thing.

To his lips slick with your spit and his skin glowing with a sheen of sweat. Eyes fluttering like he's fighting to merely keep them open with every sensation he's feeling.

"Pretty~" you mutter.

Bite marks and hickeys all over his neck and collarbone-good thing it's nearly scarf season. Or bad thing, you're not sure you want him to hide these or if you want him to parade them around, show off your claim to him to everyone.

"So fucking pretty it's not fair-" a high, needy whine climbs up his throat and he lets it, because you don't even have to say it, he knows how much you love hearing how good you make him feel.

His eyebrows tug together as if in concentration. Concentration to stay sane while you let him fuck into your hand.

You trail a finger over his cheekbone, collecting a tear while everything within him tries not to let this end, because it can't be over yet, he doesn't want it to be over yet and he's not sure he can go again until later-if there is a later.

You lick the tear off your finger and his eyes nearly roll into the back of his head. "Not fucking fair to make me wait this long. Such a tease, such a whore."

Fingers press against his lips and he opens with zero hesitation. This is what you want, this is what he wants-more than anything.

You pull them out all too soon and replace your fingers with your tongue, letting him suck it into his mouth with a moan.

Your grip tightens, your hand moves faster and faster and his toes curl. Too much, too much-he can't...it can't, he doesn't want this to be over-

"No!"

His head falls into your neck with a strangled scream as he cums into your hand, staining your jeans and his shirt. You stroke him still to prolong the pleasure, milking him dry of everything he has before he lets out the first whine of protest and you stop.

"Please,"

His breath comes out in rushed pants, his head a jumbled mess of "more, please more-" followed by incoherent babbles and then, finally, "I can go again, wanna...wanna go again. Just...use me, use me however you want." as his hips work still, even if it only works against what he really wants, releasing pained whimpers all the while from the self-inflicted overstimulation.

You smile and he can practically hear it before he's flipped into his back, spread out and pinned against the slightly uncomfortable seats of your car as you press apart his legs, eyes roving over him before beginning to undo your pants.

"Use you, huh baby?"

Yes.

However you want. Use him however you want. That's all he wants. All he's wanted for so long.

The pads of your fingers press against his thigh, too close and he squirms with oversensitivity.

"We'll still be friends after this though right?"

He lets out a noise between a cry and an affirmation, eyes sliding shut as your body presses against his.

"Friends!" He gasps.

Your fingers lace together. You smile.

"But not just friends now are we...?"

a/n: y'all please forgive me if this is absolute bullshit. i feel like i haven't written anything for real in forever and i feel like rusty now lol. but lmk what you think (to possibly give me inspo to write more lol😭)

my taglist is here if you wanna be added: @hobihearteu, @lemonhongjoong, @laylasbunbunny, @xcookiemonsteer, @hahagay, @maru-matt, @d7dream, @amidstnamjin-and-binchanlix,

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peachy-posy · 7 months

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Ride This Out - Vash x Reader (Chapter 3)

Rating: Explicit - 18+ MINORS DNI

A/N: Last chapter!!! It's literally pretty much all smut lmaoooo Thank you for reading along <3

Chapter Tags: Makeup Sex, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Penis in Vagina Sex, Finger Riding, Mild Breeding Kink, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Denial, Multiple Orgasms, Coming Inside

Word Count: 5.4k

AO3 Chapter 1 Chapter 2

When you wake up, the room is dark. Dim moonlight filters softly into the room, illuminating the small quarters.

You sink further into the warm mass you’re pressed against, trying to align your body to fit more snugly against his sleeping form.

Your lover has one arm snaking around your waist, hand splayed on your hip. Sensing your movements, he begins to stir softly, a quiet groan escaping his lips. His fingers twitch as he wakes, and he tightens his arm around you as he blinks open his turquoise eyes.

He smiles sleepily, free hand coming up to your face, brushing a loose strand of your bangs behind your ear. You smile back, leaning up to give him a sweet kiss. You feel him smile against your lips before drawing back.

“Sleep okay, love?” His voice is charmingly gravelly from just waking up.

A soft snort escapes you as you nod. He still sounds mostly asleep. “Not as good as you, I don’t think,” you joke.

A grin adorns his face as he nods in agreement, drawing you closer to his warm body.

You glance over to the window, a sigh escaping your lips. “We really overslept a bit, huh?”

Vash laughs, shrugging. “Ah, who cares. That was the best sleep I’ve had in a while.”

You lie together comfortably, his fingers running through your hair, scratching your scalp. Despite the peaceful atmosphere of the room, your mind is racing, your earlier conversation situated at the forefront of your thoughts.

“I meant what I said earlier,” you murmur against his chest.

“I know,” he replies quietly.

Biting the inside of your lip, you press forward. “I really am sorry… I never want you to be hurting alone.”

He says nothing for a moment, silence settling into the room like a thin layer of dust. Fear that you’ve somehow said the wrong thing begins forming in your chest, and you swallow thickly in an attempt to soothe it. Just as you’re about to start over explaining yourself, he speaks.

“I can’t believe how lucky I am,” he remarks, a wistful smile on his lips. “I… I don’t deserve someone to share my hurt with.” He pauses, eyes somewhat glazed as he gets lost in his thoughts. “I don’t deserve you.”

Your chest twists painfully, his words causing you to feel ill. You refuse to allow him to keep thinking of himself this way. Hastily pushing yourself into an upright position, you turn to face him. His eyes are wide as you level him with an intense stare.

“I don’t want to hear you say that ever again, Vash! You deserve the world . I’ll try to give that to you for as long as I live.” You pause briefly, trying to shift your tone into something more tender. “I’ve never met anyone as selfless, and kind, and brave, and sma-“ your words die out, interrupted by him surging forward, lips capturing yours in a desperate, passionate kiss.

Initially, the shock of the kiss has you stiff, but you find yourself quickly melting into him.

He pulls back, ending the kiss as quickly as it started. You stare at him, a feeling of breathlessness in your chest.

“I love you. God, I love you so much.” The words fall from his lips so beautifully, and you waste no time in stealing another intense kiss. He reciprocates it immediately, hands raising to cup your jaw.

“I,” you gasp, managing to pull away for a moment before his hands draw you in again roughly. The kiss is wet and rushed, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. You pull back again after a few seconds, lips close enough to still be grazing his, breathing out, “love you.” He surges forward, desperately seeking out your lips as if he needs them to survive.

Without interrupting your kiss, you swing your knee over his hips to straddle him. He leans back in a fluid motion, pulling you with him to the mattress. Using your knees and forearms to support you, you hover over his pelvis and lean over his chest, deepening the kiss. Your bodies rock together sensually as his tongue slips past your lips, drawing a soft moan from your chest.

His hands trail roughly down your body, possessive as he squeezes and claims you. They eventually come to rest on your hips, gripping them as his pelvis bucks slightly against you. The feeling is electrifying, and you grind your clothed sex down on him in response, drawing a groan from him. Heat rushes through your core as you feel his hardened member, aching with want.

Just as you’re about to see if he wants to go further, he draws back, letting his head rest on the mattress, cheeks flushed. The otherwise quiet, dusty bedroom is filled with the sounds of soft panting.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, his eyes hooded with lust. “I’m being selfish… I wasn’t even considering the fact that you got injured today. You’re probably still sore, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

You gaze at him for several long moments, his thoughtfulness making you feel both touched and impatient. “Vash, I’m fine. What I am is extremely pent up, though, so I would really appreciate it if we could take care of that.” He blushes slightly, and you can’t stop the smirk that pulls at your lips. “In fact, I’m hoping I’ll be sore if I play my cards right.”

A giggle falls from your lips as he gapes at you, eyebrows raised in surprise. It’s not long before he too eventually snorts, giving into laughing along with you.

“Unbelievable!” He chides, giving you a playful poke to your side. “I was worried about you, and here you are, only one thing on your mind!”

You blush, grinning down at him. “Well, I’m not alone in thinking about it.” A purposeful shift of your body on his pelvis effectively proves your point, putting pressure on his hardened length. The sensation draws a pleasured groan from him, and your grin widens.

He swallows thickly. “I guess it has been a little while.”

That could be the biggest understatement of the year. Traveling in a group doesn’t exactly allow many opportunities for intimacy. Many nights have been spent under the stars in the desert, unable to do more than share chaste kisses and a sleeping bag.

“All right,” he sighs. “But you’re gonna have to keep it down for once, because these walls are pretty thin,” he warns teasingly.

You regard him with a playfully scandalized expression, mouth open, a smile threatening to betray your rouse. “ For once? You’re so full of it!”

He grins at you, snickering softly and murmuring a not-so-apologetic sounding apology. Cupping the base of your head, he pulls you down for a kiss. You smile against his lips, your fingers hastily working to remove his shirt.

Once it’s been slipped over his head and tossed aside, you sit back up, eyes shamelessly roving over his figure. He is a vision of beauty, his defined muscles lightly flexing as you graze your fingernails across his skin. The soft touch has him gasping, his own hands sliding up and down your sides.

When you two first got together, he was incredibly self conscious about his body. All intimacy involved his shirt remaining on, which was perfectly fine with you. You wanted him to be comfortable and to be able to fully enjoy himself, and were happy to build up his confidence slowly.

He finally showed you his shirtless form after months of gentle reassurances and confidence building, and you traced your fingers delicately over his scars with tears streaming down your cheeks, babbling that you couldn’t understand how so many could hurt him this way.

You’d felt terrible afterwards. He had to comfort you when he was in a very vulnerable state. You apologized profusely, vowing to him that you would take every bad and painful touch his body had ever been scarred with and replace it tenfold with a gentle and loving one.

And you spent as much time as you could fulfilling that promise.

You begin peppering kisses all over him, wanting to claim every inch of his skin with them. Keeping your touch featherlight, you graze every ridge and valley on his abdomen, absolutely relishing the pleasured sounds you’re able to pull from him. Your mouth works its way down his body, taking time to give every scar you can see attention with your lips and mouth. His breath catches when you give a few quick sucks to his nipples, teeth just barely scraping against them.

Your body is situated right atop his still covered cock, the pressure on it constantly fluctuating as you shift and move. The way he sounds as he’s panting and moaning lights a fire in you, smoldering and building with every passing moment. You find yourself struggling to not grind against him to soothe the tingling heat in your core.

You kiss and nip slowly down his stomach, your own body scooting down in between his legs, your head finally reaching his pants. Your eyes flick up at him through your lashes, and the look on his face goes directly to your cunt. He’s already wrecked and you’ve barely touched him—his chest is rising and falling in quick, uneven pants; beads of sweat are accumulating at his hairline, rolling slowly down his face; his cheeks are flushed with arousal.

His cock is painfully hard: you don’t need to remove anything to tell that much. You’re glad he’s wearing a pair of loose, gray sweatpants, because they’re much easier to remove than his normal clothes.

With nimble fingers, you slide his pants and underwear off, tossing them aside haphazardly, eyes trained on his thick length.

You glance at him through your lashes again. “So hard already, baby,” you murmur, lightly gripping his cock and giving it a slow stroke.

He moans deliciously, his head tilting back into the pillows. “You’re gonna kill me, Mayfly,” he mumbles, the back of his hand covering his eyes.

You grin, giving him a firmer stroke. The moan he lets out makes you squeeze your thighs together, seeking any relief for your aching, wet sex.

You go down on him eagerly, taking the tip of his thick cock into your mouth, moaning as you suck and lick the head and slit. A shaky, breathy moan escapes his lips as his hands grasp at the sheets, and you start pumping his shaft with your hands while focusing on the bulbous tip with your mouth and tongue.

You sneak an occasional glance at your lover while you suck him off, unable to keep your eyes off him for long. He has his eyes closed, his brow furrowed, his mouth open as quiet, lewd whimpers and groans spill from his lips. His hips twitch involuntarily as he loses himself in the wet heat of your mouth.

He begins to thrust up into you as his pants and moans become more noticeable, but you hold him down by the hips, removing your hands from his cock, rubbing placating circles against his hip bone. Just as he’s beginning to make noises of protest, you take him completely into your mouth, his tip touching the back of your throat. The strangled cry that leaves his throat spurs you on as you begin bobbing up and down in earnest, sucking and hollowing your cheeks.

He cries out your name, one of his hands covering his mouth to try and stifle his moans. His other hand is gripping the sheets, holding them so tightly his knuckles are white.

“Oh, f-fuck, yes, just like that baby,” he babbles, his words muffled around his hand. He starts jerking his hips into your mouth again, and you let him this time, swallowing around his cock as he fucks your mouth.

You begin to notice his body tense up periodically, and based on the noises of desperation falling from his covered mouth, you know he’s getting close.

Deciding to try and push him over the edge, you take him deeper into your throat, but he cries out once more, gasping, “Baby, baby, wait-wait!” As you register his words, you begin easing up, but he grabs your head urgently and pulls you off his throbbing cock, his hips jerking forward reflexively.

You look up, furrowing your brow, eyes watering and wet lips parted and swollen. He’s sitting up, hunched over, panting and trembling. A bead of sweat rolls down his neck and along his collarbone, and the sight of him this way makes you want to step back in and finish the job.

You scold yourself mentally for being distracted and horny, trying to reign it in to make sure he’s all right.

“Everything okay?” Your voice is slightly hoarse as you rub a hand soothingly along his thigh. You move to sit up on your knees, resting in between his parted legs.

He looks out of it, and it takes a moment for your question to register. With a reassuring nod, he runs a hand through his sweat slicked locks, putting his free hand over yours with a breathless chuckle.

“Yeah, yeah, more than okay—I just don’t wanna cum yet, s’too soon,” he mumbles, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.

A delighted grin forms on your lips as you lunge forward and pepper kisses on his nose and cheekbones.

“Aw! Such a thoughtful partner I have!” You praise happily, somewhat teasing.

When he looks at you, his eyes darken, prompting you to swallow thickly as arousal tingles in your core.

A soft huff of laughter escapes him, and he murmurs, “Actually…” Leaning forward, his voice lowers as he speaks into your ear. “I only wanna cum inside you. It’d be such a waste going down your throat.”

You choke on air, anticipation swirling in your gut. You have no idea where that suddenly came from, but it would be a lie if you said it didn’t turn you on. You know your face is bright red, because when he leans back to look at you, he can’t hold back his laughter at your expression. Your face feels even hotter as you look away from him.

“Sorry, sorry… too much?” He finally manages, his hand coming up to brush a lock of hair behind your ear.

“Um… actually…” you bite your lip, eyes trained on anything other than him in the moonlit room, feeling uncharacteristically shy.

He absolutely glows with excitement.

“Mayfly!” He gasps, his tone playfully scandalized. “Did we just find a new kink?”

You hide your flaming cheeks with your hands, fingers spread across your eyes. In your embarrassment, all you can manage is a high pitched, “Mhm!”

He coos playfully, reaching for your wrists. “C’mon, don’t hide. It’s okay! It’s hot!”

Tugging your wrists away from your face, he plants little kisses on your cheekbones, ceasing only when you meet his eyes again.

A pleased grin is plastered on his face as he releases your wrists, drawing a huff of laughter from you. As he reaches forward to pull you in by the base of your neck for a soft kiss, you feel the tension melt from your body.

Feeling reassured that you’ve recovered from your slight embarrassment, his hands drift, grazing down to the hem of your shirt, fingers slipping under the fabric to feel your heated, sweat-slicked skin. Reaching down after him, you lift your shirt off easily, tossing it aside. His hands slide up your body sensually, snaking around your back, seeking out the clasp of your bra. With practiced fingers, the clasp is freed, and you let the garment slide down your arms, flinging it haphazardly.

A moan spills from your lips as his calloused hands cup your breasts, fingers gently pinching your hardened nipples. You feel heady with lust and anticipation, your pussy throbbing.

You rest your forehead against his own, sharing his breaths, relaxing into him as you feel one of his hands ghost down your belly. Your eyelids flutter shut as his hand trails further down, slipping into your pants and underwear, prompting you to part your knees.

Vash’s lips latch onto your neck, sucking and nipping the sensitive flesh as his fingertips reach your soaking folds. A pleased groan rumbles from his chest as he feels your wetness, dipping into your cunt to spread the fluids towards your throbbing clit. A shaky, wanton moan tumbles from your lips, his touch electric on your aching sex.

“You’re so wet,” he murmurs against your neck breathlessly, finger dipping back into your hole.

“Vash, please,” you whine, shifting to get his finger closer to your swollen clit.

“Okay, okay,” he soothes, his finger finally sliding to where you want it. Your body jolts as he starts rubbing small circles into you, his movements somewhat restricted by your pants, but still effective in sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. He curses under his breath as lewd whimpers escape you, pitched and desperate.

Hastily pulling your remaining clothes off, you shudder as he increases the pressure on your clit once he has more room. You’re so wound up you know you won’t last long like this, and he seems to know this too.

The sparking pleasure from his finger eases up gradually, leaving you breathlessly reeling. You feel his finger slide down your folds, dipping slowly into your cunt. You whine as he sinks it into you, resisting the impulse to squeeze your thighs together. The small intrusion of his finger feels like sweet relief, and you find yourself quaking when he’s knuckles deep.

You feel his long finger curl, pressing onto the plush walls of your pussy with a teasingly slow pace. Pleasure jolts in your core and you groan lasciviously, feeling his pulsing finger quicken its pace.

It’s not long before he is relentlessly fingering your g-spot, slipping another finger into your wet hole. You grind your clit into his palm, desperately seeking out friction.

Your body feels like a live wire, core thrumming with pleasure. Your breaths are coming in short pants, and your forehead has dropped down to rest in the crook of your lover’s shoulder, where he’s babbling praises into your ear.

‘So good for me, you’re taking me so well, so tight.’

Your hips start rolling, and you moan Vash’s name with tears in your eyes when his fingers hit just right.

“Right there?” He asks breathlessly.

You nod vigorously, gripping onto his bicep to ground yourself. He watches you with wide eyes, completely transfixed, and makes no move to stop you from taking your pleasure.

You let yourself get lost in the heat that’s buzzing deep inside you, head thrown back and eyes closed, riding your lover’s fingers with pitched moans. With every roll of your hips, Vash’s palm rubs into you, the friction sending jolts of ecstasy through your body.

Vash’s other hand creeps down his own body, and he starts to fuck his fist slowly as he watches you. He stares, entranced as your eyebrows furrow, and can feel your walls begin to tense sporadically on his fingers. He slips a third finger into your heat and you gasp in response, hips stuttering momentarily as you adjust.

The pleasure that has been steadily building is beginning to reach its breaking point. Every brush of his fingers against your g-spot sends you hurdling closer to your climax. As much as you’d like to have that release, you don’t mind to edge yourself a bit, wanting to reciprocate the thoughtfulness your partner showed you.

“Mmm, baby, ‘m close,” you mumble, huffing for breath as sweat rolls down every part of your body, hips steadily rolling to a stop. You lift yourself gingerly, beginning to scoot back to let Vash’s fingers slide out of your throbbing cunt, but cry out in surprise when you feel his hand grasp your hip, pushing you back down on his digits harshly. His fingers push hard against your g-spot, sending delicious sparks of ecstasy through you, teetering dangerously close to the edge once again. You squeeze your thighs together in an attempt to gain some control, trying to breathe through the orgasm that is threatening to overtake you.

You open your eyes to ask Vash what he’s doing, but the words die on your tongue when you see him. He’s watching you, completely captivated, panting and sweating, cock strained and hard. He has an intense look on his face.

“Who said you should stop?” His voice is low, and you swallow thickly. His fingers twitch in you, and you squirm slightly, swallowing a whimper. “I want to feel you come on my fingers.”

Before you have a chance to mumble out a reply, he curls his digits inside you, and you cry out in bliss. He fingers you roughly, sparks of hot pleasure shooting into your belly. You’re worked back to the edge swiftly, gasping desperately, walls tensing on his long fingers. He leans forward slightly, face close to your ear.

“C’mon Mayfly,” he breathes, giving you a wet kiss right under your jaw. You feel him suck and nip at your sensitive skin, shuddering from all of the sensations assaulting you. He shifts up, lips right on your ear. Fingers relentless inside of you, you feel tears prick at your eyes. He brings his palm closer to your heat, grinding it against your clit. “Come for me, you’re so close.”

That’s all you can take: you throw your arms around his neck, holding on for dear life as you are thrown over the edge with a strangled cry. Your orgasm is one of the most intense you’ve ever had, the unshed tears from earlier spilling over your lashes as your body goes rigid. He continues to fuck you through it, praising you as he feels your walls clamp down, fluttering sporadically, fluids gushing around his fingers. Your body is wracked by aftershocks of pleasure, and you gasp against him each time. Eventually, the waves begin to fizzle, and you slump against him as stray tears roll down your cheeks.

“Good girl,” he whispers, kissing the side of your head.

You whimper as he withdraws his slicked fingers, arms still wrapped around his neck to anchor yourself from the intense pleasure you’re still coming down from.

Despite the mind blowing orgasm he just gave you, that tingling, hot sensation of unadulterated want can still be felt in your core, and you know you could do another round.

His hand strokes up and down your spine, his touch brimming with love and care. A few moments pass before either of you speak again, allowing you to collect yourself.

“Can you keep going?” He asks softly, kissing that same spot on your head. Even though he hasn’t cum, there’s no pressure in his question. There never has been and there never will be. He only wants to continue if you do.

You smile weakly, lifting your head to meet his eyes. “‘Course I can. What do you take me for?”

He chuckles softly, gently wiping the remnants of a tear off your cheek. “You’re insatiable.”

You blush, but laugh along with him, giving him a small, affectionate kiss on the nose. “Hey, I tried to stop. I think you’re just into it.”

He grins, and your heart skips a beat. “Guilty as charged.”

After giving you another few moments to recover, Vash guides you gently back onto his hips, laying down with his back on the mattress. You straddle him, and he places his large hands on your hips. You smile warmly, taking in his visage laying under you.

“You’re stunning,” you whisper, lovingly stroking his forearms at your sides.

He blushes, and your smile brightens. “I could say the same thing. I’ve got a pretty good view from here,” he replies, his thumbs stroking the plush flesh around your hips.

Lifting yourself onto your knees, Vash reaches down to guide himself into your sensitive heat.

It’s been a while for you both, so the stretch to accommodate his member straddles pleasure and pain. You balance yourself using his chest, slowly lowering yourself onto him. You’re half tempted to just throw caution to the wind and bottom out now, despite being oversensitive.

“Don’t - ah - don’t rush, Mayfly,” he chides, sensing your impatience.

“‘s taking too long,” you mumble back, closing your eyes as you concentrate. His grip tightens on your hips to control your descent, his breathing quick.

When you finally bottom out, you both let out a deep exhale, taking a moment to get adjusted. You feel so full, the burn from stretching not quite gone, but dissipating steadily.

After remaining seated for a few moments, you try an experimental roll of your hips, deciding both the sensitivity and stretch is bearable. Vash sucks in a sharp breath, and you take it as a cue to keep going.

You start at a steady, but slow pace, mostly grinding at this point. It’s not long, though, before you raise yourself up and sink back down, a breathy moan of Vash’s name on your tongue. Setting a languid pace, you bite your lip as he moans wantonly. His thick cock twitches inside you as you ride him, your walls clenching on him sporadically.

“Oh, god you’re tight. Fuck.”

Soon, the slow pace isn’t enough, and you begin bouncing on his hips, his cock spearing deep into you, sparks of pleasure shooting into your core. His hands grip your inner thighs, thumbs resting in the divet connecting your pelvis to your thighs, head tilting back into the pillows, eyes closed. His swollen lips part as soft groans and pants of your name spill from them.

“Like that, god yes,” he mutters, his hips starting to thrust in tune with your movements.

You throw your head back as his thrusts become more forceful, less controlled. You feel so deliciously full, the burn from the stretch completely gone. His grip on your thighs tightens, and he starts pulling you down harder, driving a pleasured cry from your mouth. Your eyes flit down to where you’re joined, watching as he snaps his hips upwards, his muscles flexing as he moves.

You are taken by surprise when Vash’s grip on your thighs moves abruptly to your waist, and he rolls you over, switching positions. Now looming over top of you, he thrusts his cock into you at a punishing pace. You gasp, the pleasure building in your core dizzying. He lifts your legs over his shoulders, your body folding as he fucks into you. The new angle has you seeing stars, each thrust hammering your g-spot and causing a wet squelching noise.

In an unfortunately timed moment of self-awareness breaking through your haze of lust, you realize just how loud you two have been this whole time: the lewd slapping of your sweat soaked bodies, the old bed creaking and scraping the floor, the wooden headboard hitting the wall repeatedly, the breathy ’ ah’ that spills from your lips with every thrust, the heavy panting and groaning from your lover. Your face turns beet red, but you can’t stop the keening noise you make at a particularly deep thrust.

“Oh my god,” you groan, mortified that half the inn probably knows what you’re doing.

“What’s wrong?” Vash manages, unrelenting in his pace.

“We, ah, I just realized, mm…” your words fail you for a moment, toes curling as he bends you further, trying to get closer to hear you better. “We’ve been so, ngh, loud,” you finally get out, face turning impossibly redder.

The smug look that overtakes his features makes you wish you’d kept your mouth shut.

“I warned you earlier,” he pants, but seems all too pleased about the noise. Biting your hand, you attempt to stifle the noises you’re making, though you know it’s far too late to care. He gets a mischievous kind of look in his eye, and before you know it, his hand snakes down between your rocking bodies, fingers deftly brushing against your oversensitive clit.

All hopes in preserving your dignity are out the window.

A cry of his name pours from your lips, lost in the intense sensations overtaking your body. Your walls clench down on him, causing him to groan loudly, hips stuttering for a moment.

“C-close, close, mmm! ” you babble desperately, gasping, feeling the pleasure in your core winding up tighter with every toe curling slap of his hips.

“M-me too, Mayfly,” he pants, his pistoning hips becoming more erratic. He increases the pressure on your clit, tightening the coil in your core.

His ministrations bring you to your climax, a strangled moan tearing from your throat, your whole body going taut as you peak. The aftershocks of pleasure follow, hitting you in waves, your tightening, fluttering walls sending Vash closer to the edge. You feel his thrusts stutter.

“In, cum inside, please,” you beg, voice pitched and desperate as you toss your head to the side.

He curses under his breath at your erotic display, sweat dripping down his body. He manages one final thrust, pushing his cock in as deep as he can with a stuttered groan as his seed spills into you. The warm feeling of it filling you up extends your orgasm slightly, your cunt milking his throbbing member as much as possible. Vash grinds his hips into you, chasing the last waves of his pleasure as the remainder of his seed spills into you.

The blonde collapses onto the mattress after letting your legs fall from his shoulders, trying to land mostly to your side.

You’re a mess of heaving, tangled limbs on a bed. Both of you pant heavily, sweat drenching your bodies, his softening cock still inside you as your combined fluids start trickling from your puffy, sensitive hole.

After several moments spent catching your breath, you curl into him, wrapping a leg around his own. You hear him huff a bit of laughter, pulling you closely against him. He presses a kiss into your hair, and you gently trace patterns with your fingernails on his back.

You break the comfortable silence.

“I think… that may have been the best sex we’ve ever had.”

He snorts, his hand coming up to scratch your scalp softly. “I think you’re right. Not sure why though.”

“We were extremely pent up,” you point out. He hums in agreement. “And I’ve heard makeup sex is better than regular sex.”

Your statement takes him by surprise, a snicker finally escaping him following a beat of silence. You grin against his chest, pressing a kiss to the sweat-covered skin in front of you.

“Are you saying we should argue more and have sex less?” He asks, teasing.

“Hey, if it works, it works.”

He chuckles, pulling you in for a sweet kiss. You sigh into it, feeling your body melt.

“I love you,” you murmur softly against his lips.

“I love you too, Mayfly,” he replies, giving you another soft kiss for good measure.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The following morning, you and Vash walk alongside Wolfwood to a nearby restaurant, seeking out some breakfast before getting on the road.

You had been worried sick that everyone would shoot dirty looks at you and your partner following your late-night activities; Wolfwood especially, since you’ll be stuck with him and his teasing long-term. It seems as if you’re in the clear, though, because you haven’t heard a word all morning.

After sitting at a small table at the restaurant, Vash takes your hand, holding it softly. You shoot him a quick, tender gaze before Wolfwood clears his throat.

“Y’know guys, I’m just so glad you were able to make up. You had me worried.”

“Oh yeah, I meant to thank you!” Vash exclaims suddenly, glad to have remembered. “Thank you for being there for her yesterday. We really owe you,” he finishes, his voice earnest. You smile pleasantly, taking a sip of water.

Wolfwood waves him off. “Think nothing of it, friend. Always glad to help.”

A beat of silence follows, and he adds nonchalantly, “Y’know, I should be thanking you.”

You and Vash exchanged puzzled glances, before he asks, “What for?”

Wolfwood shrugs, plucking a crumpled cigarette from his pocket, lighting it swiftly. “It was just so thoughtful to loudly make sure everyone at the inn knew you guys made up. You two are just constantly thinking of others.”

#trigun #vash #vash the stampede x reader #vash the stampede #vash x reader #trigun 98 #trigun stampede #vash x you #peachy writes!#fanfic #goodnight posting this makes me sooo nervous #first smut jitters? is that a thing? lmfao

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johnwickb1tsch · 5 months

Text

you're the worst thing (i'm addicted to) Part 3

a john wick x Helen'sSister!Reader fic You are Helen's baby sister. When you meet John Wick at Helen's graveside, he invites you to dinner to celebrate her birthday. Set a few years after the first movie, 2-4 never happened. Use of y/n. Warnings: canon typical violence. Future reference to threat of noncon, (not John! because he's our assassin sweetiepie). Mourning. Smut. Grey areas. Questionable decisions. Sweetheart!John, BAMF!John Depressed!John - If you can handle the movie you should be fine here... PART 1 PART 2 PART 4

PART 3

The rest of dinner is pleasant, but not terribly emotionally eventful, comparatively. You survive by telling stories about Helen from when you were children, which John listens to with a wistful look in his eye. Maybe it's the wine, and the excellent food, but that sharp edge in his obsidian eyes softens, somehow. It is endearing, and your heart aches more than it should.

You are so full you try to decline dessert, but the special is a chocolate mousse and John insists you should split one, even if you only have a bite. You are not sure if the waiter brings one spoon on purpose, but you watch with fascination as John takes the utensil between his long fingers and scoops up a delectable little nibble.

When he offers it to you from across the table you think you might die. You have had far too much wine to not do exactly what you want to now, which is to accept the sweet morsel between your lips while meeting his eyes, wishing it was something else.

Your panties are drenched by the time the meal is through. You know that you are the worst, living vicariously through your older, better, sister, but just in that beautiful moment, its hard to care.

You can always hate yourself properly tomorrow.

John's hand finds a home at the small of your back as you are leaving. You know there are Feminist! reasons to hate when a man does that, but secretly it’s your kryptonite at the end of a long evening when there’s a crowd to navigate and you're tired and not really sure which way to go.

“Can I drive you home?” he asks, looking down that straight patrician nose at you. You could draw him from memory, you've studied his features so much tonight. You probably will, later, when you’re alone in your apartment with just the reminiscence of him.

“I live in Brooklyn,” you warn him.

He seems amused by this.

“I know.”

You pause for a moment at this. But then, it’s not so strange he knows. Helen could have mentioned it a hundred times.

“Okay.”

When the valet rumbles up in a sinister black American sports car, you lift an eyebrow.

“This is yours?”

“Did you think I would drive a Mercedes like some kind of asshole?”

The next car in the valet line is a Mercedes, and the stodgy old dude behind you who just exudes Old Money looks like he's received an extra stick inserted in his ass. You huff, your lips twisting as you are fighting a grin.

“Usually I would make a crack about a midlife crisis, but it really does suit you.” You'd heard tell of The Car, but had never actually gotten to see it.

“Kind of you to say.” It’s so deadpan it takes a moment for you to realize he’s teasing you.

He holds the door for you, and you can tell by the way he’s looking at you that he has not taken anything you've said seriously, or personally.

“Thanks.”

“My pleasure.”

The car is kind of bare bones inside, but it is undeniably cool. The sound of the motor is a tactile experience—you feel it in your bones as you pull away and take off down the street. You feel it other places too, as you look over at John seamlessly working the gears. Perhaps you look at him longer than what is polite, thinking about how once Helen used to sit in this seat, and they would undoubtedly go on adventures upstate, her cameras in tow.

You close your eyes, because you are tired, and you are thinking, and for the umpteenth time you are fighting tears. As you go across the Brooklyn bridge you roll down the window. The cool air helps clear your head.

The lights of the city at night from up high are a treat. Usually you're taking the subway.

Only once you arrive at your building and John parks on the street do you realize you never really gave him any directions. But once again, you shrug it off.

There is a long moment of silence after he turns off the engine. The intimacy of an enclosed car at night, the weak light of the street barely intruding. “Do...you want to come up for a drink?” you ask, before you can really stop yourself.

Another long moment passes, as he looks at you in the shadows of the car, undoubtedly weighing the merits of this suggestion. His dark eyes glitter in the night, and your heart is in your throat, hoping he'll say yes.

“Sure.”

He is watchful as a hawk of the street as you make your way to the security door of your walkup. He frowns when you simply pull the door open, no working lock.

“How long has that been like that?”

“At least a year. Shall we say the landlord moves at his own pace?”

“Give me his number.”

You laugh. “Ok.”

“I’m serious.”

You pause to look at him, his face half in shadow. A chill runs down your spine, the hair lifting on your arms; he is so beautiful, but there is something dangerous about this man. Something only your deepest instincts left over from the days of life in caves picks up on. It is…intoxicating, because somehow you know you are not the one who needs fear him.

Your landlord, on the other hand…you might be getting that new lock sooner than later.

You start to climb the stairs. When your heel catches the edge of the old wooden runner he is there, steadying you with a hand on your waist. You lean into him without a thought. He's taken charge of you, for the evening at least, and you are more than happy with the arrangement.

For the evening, at least.

Your key sticks in the vintage lock, the way it always does. The more modern deadbolt goes quicker. And then you are inside your humble sanctuary, and you can tell John is a little shocked by the cacophony before him. Helen liked the ordered balance of modern design, but you are a maximalist at heart. The walls are covered in art, your own, and friends’, and collected pieces as well. There are little shelves filled with curios from your travels and thrift stores around the city. What isn't filled with art is taken up by plants, on the floor, and side tables you have rescued from the curb over the years, and hanging from the ceiling too.

“Come on,” you say, taking his arm to guide him through. It's not actually messy. Everything has its place, and is fairly clean. The space is just full. “Have a seat. What do you drink?”

He lowers himself onto your cerulean blue couch, still looking around. It’s almost as though he forces himself to look back up at you.

“Bourbon, if you've got it.”

“Sure.”

You slide off your coat, hanging it on a vintage brass coat rack from an old hotel long defunct.

“Ice?”

“A little.”

You make his drink, and a vodka tonic for yourself. You cross the room to join him. “Thanks,” he says as you hand him his glass.

“Sure.”

He is still surveying the room, and you are content to sit in companionable silence while he takes it all in, used to this reaction from newcomers.

“Did you make these?” he asks, looking to a cluster of small but highly detailed portrait paintings on the wall closest to you.

“Yes.”

They had taken months with a tiny 20/0 brush. You can be…obsessive, when a project grips you.

“Impressive.”

“Thanks.”

“May I...” He pauses, taking a deep draught, nearly finishing his drink in one go. “I overheard, this morning. About the piece, with Helen's photographs. I know Helen said you don't like people in your studio, but I was wondering...if I could see it.”

It dawns on you that this is the reason he agreed to come up. Possibly the reason he took you to dinner too. You are relieved, in a way, even if your heart aches a little for it.

Even though it’s true that you usually hate letting anyone into your studio, the place where you think and dream and create, the resting place for the unborn and half-finished creations of your imagination, you do not hesitate in your answer.

“Yes. Of course you can see it.”

You stand from the couch and hold out your hand to him without thinking, and he takes it. It’s as though you both know you're going to need a little extra emotional bolstering for the task ahead. You take him to the second bedroom that is your art studio. The smell of linseed oil and paint is heavy on first entry, though you are used to it.

Helen’s piece is still on your easel, the most recent thing you’ve finished. Usually you like to work small, but this canvas was five feet on both sides. It took you months to go through the boxes of photos she’d left you, then to lay it all out, deciding which photo went where according to value and structure. You could have done it easier with photoshop, but the personal quality of this project demanded completion by hand, from start to finish.

To complicate things more, you used a transfer technique to affix them to the canvas, giving the images a hazy dream-like quality. In between it all you had painted with miniscule strokes, miniature scenes and tiny embellishments, adding color, pumping up contrast and value. There were words she had said to you, short one sentence stories from your childhoods, and miniature daisies sprouting through the cracks. It was a galaxy of image and memory, each square foot containing a multitude. Yet when you stood back and unfocused your eyes, it was unmistakably her face looking back at you, larger than life, beautiful and filled with warmth.

The subject of the photos ranged from her arty pieces of architecture and landscapes from trips she’d taken, to more candid shots of family and friends. There were also several images of John, and it occurred to you that maybe you should have okayed that with him. You’d been working in the pitch of such a fever dream with the materials Helen had left you, it hadn’t even occurred to you at the time to reach out to ask. You’d made this piece in a damn near fugue state, swinging between working rapaciously and crying in a ball on the floor. There had been some catharsis in finally finishing it, but the process had damn near killed you.

“I hope it’s okay…that you’re in it,” you say as he stands before the canvas, his exacting gaze taking in every detail of every inch.

He has not let go of your hand; in fact, his grip has tightened almost painfully upon your fingers. You don’t think he realizes he’s even doing it, and you let him hurt you, the way you’re pretty sure you’re hurting him with this visceral reminder of the life of the woman he’d loved.

“I’m honored,” he says, his voice hoarse with emotion, his jaw clenched. “Such a full life she lived.”

“Only the good die young,” you answer, barely able to raise your volume above a whisper against the constriction in your throat. “It’s not fucking fair. All the horrible people in the world…and the fates took her.” Your voice cracks. Your eyes are burning, and you know you are on the brink of losing your shit again. He pulls you in against him, and there are no arguments this time about preserving his suit or your dignity. It’s too easy, to settle into the solid warmth of his chest. This man feels like he could be a bastion against all that is bad in the world; it is hard not to wish to just stay there beneath his chin forever.

“I would have traded, if given a choice,” you whisper into his collarbone. “In a heartbeat.”

“Me too,” he answers. “But she never would have allowed it. She loved you beyond measure.”

You give a tinny, sad little laugh—or maybe it’s a sob—for the tragedy of it all. You know that no one—no one—will ever love you the way Helen did. Will ever protect you, the way Helen did. You will wander the Earth for the rest of your days with a Helen-shaped hole in your heart that will never heal.

“I know she felt the same about you.” Minutely you lift your head to look up at him. “It’s easy to understand why.” You touch his face lightly, wiping away the tear that is hovering on the blade of his cheekbone with the side of your thumb. When you realize how casually you have invaded this man’s personal space, this man who has been so kind and tolerant of you, you try to draw away. But his hand covers yours on his cheek, the scruff of his beard surprisingly soft beneath your palm.

Your eyes meet, and you can see that John is drowning in the loneliness of so much loss. You reckon you look about the same; this day has left you feeling like you fed your heart through a meat grinder. Pushed to the brink, perhaps there is little wonder that when his face descends, you do nothing at all to fight it.

Yet he does not kiss you.

His lips hover above yours, and you think you might expire of longing, caught in the limbo of waiting. He brushes the tip of your nose with his. It is almost unbearably sweet. You feel like it’s a gesture between two people who have been in love for ages. A remembered gesture, a sweet habit left from a different relationship, a different woman you resemble, but can never really be.

You should stop this. You should back away before you both get hurt. But then his lips touch yours, and any small amount of resolve you might have worked up to do the right thing shatters.

At first it is the simplest press of lips; light, and sweet. He is shaking; or maybe it’s you who is? He rests his forehead against yours, savoring the moment, or trying to talk himself out of whatever it is he is about to do.

It’s his choice, you know.

You no longer possess the willpower to stop him either way, and your wicked heart rejoices when he leans in to kiss you again. Still, he is gentle with you, as though you are a thing in his grasp that might break.

He isn’t wrong about that, and yet as the kisses go on, you feel it in him when something snaps—the change is sudden, and visceral, and you cannot withstand the onslaught as he slants his mouth over yours. It is like being caught in a hurricane, grabbed up by his inexorable strength and the fury of his desire. You’re not really a small woman, but he maneuvers you like you weigh nothing at all, backing you into the wall.

You know it’s wrong, somewhere in the back of your head, but it feels so good. Or maybe, it could be right? Maybe it could be ok, to take comfort in this certain someone who also loved the person you lost. Doesn’t that balance, somehow?

You are full of shit, but you also don’t care.

All you know is that he’s hiked your leg over his hip as he’s kissing you, and you can feel the hard length of him pressing into your center, and you might collapse with the heady pleasure of it all.

You reach for his belt, but he catches your hands, panting as he presses his forehead against yours again. “Let me touch you?” His words are laced with such a mix of fragility and need that you know no matter what he asks you for tonight, you won’t say no.

A trembling sigh escapes you as you nod, and he kisses you again, hard and hungry and you’ve never surrendered so willingly to anyone before in your life. He’s running a hand up your thigh to the molten core of you, pushing your underwear aside to slide a single long finger inside your desire-slicked body, and you are lost.

Utterly wrecked, and irrevocably lost.

He toys with your swollen little clit with his thumb while he finger fucks you, his mouth on your neck and you are so close, before he picks you up all together like you weigh fucking nothing, and walks you to the couch in the other room. A vague thought enters the cloud of your sex-addled brain, a small sense of relief that he has removed you from Helen’s watchful gaze on the easel.

Any guilt you might feel vanishes with the thrill of him dropping you on the soft cushions, which is only topped by him dropping to his knees before you in that beautiful suit, (that beautiful suit!), and hooking his fingers in your panties, practically tearing them down your thighs.

There is a moment of eye contact, that burning dark stare that bores a hole straight to your soul, before he falls on you like he means to devour you whole and lick the bones clean. You’ve never felt anything like his furious mouth on you, the hard licks and soft kisses, the circling of his tongue around your clit, the relentless pleasure he mercilessly bestows until your back is arching and you cannot stop and you cannot wait, you are cumming in his mouth.

It’s the most magnificent thing you’ve ever felt, this fierce and fiery pleasure that is like fireworks inside your cunt and across your skin, and he keeps licking you slowly through the tremors and the aftershocks until you beg for mercy.

There is a moment of reverent quiet, while he rests his cheek on your thigh, your hands stroking his long dark hair. But when you try to reach for him, “Come up here,”—you are suddenly in his arms again, and he is carrying you to your bedroom, laying you down. You expect him to climb in with you, but with a flourish he covers you with the sheet, effectively trapping you, pressing a hard but reverent kiss to your forehead. “Get some rest, y/n.”

“Wait!” you plead as he is walking to the door, dizzy from the whiplash of this change of direction. You hate the desperation in your voice but at the moment you’re unable to care. “Where are you going?” Even you can hear how pathetic you sound.

He stops in the doorway, looking back over his shoulder. His profile is half in shadow. He looks like a masterpiece by Carravagio, beautiful and terrible to behold. You want to paint him in this moment, almost as badly as you want to fuck him.

“I’m going home.” You cannot tell if that is regret in his voice, or pure exhaustion?

“Why?” You know you sound wretched, like the lost little girl you are inside.

“Good night, y/n.”

Then he is gone like a shadow, like he’d never been there at all. You barely even hear the front door snick shut. If it was not for the glorious soreness between your legs, maybe you would have thought it was all just a magnificent dark dream your twisted little imagination thought up.

You weren’t usually prone to such dramatic thoughts, but it was possible that John Wick had just ruined you for all other men, and you didn’t even get to see him naked.

PART 4>>

Part 1 Part 2

#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves #keanu reeves x reader #i'm so sorry i'm sorry for everything #john wick fic #john wick x you fic

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4am-enha · 11 months

Text

Return home.

description/tags: y/n moved away a few years go, but now she’s back temporarily and she’s ready give this school one last chance after her traumatic past. at least, she thought she was.

lengthy one shot, enhypen niki, high school bully, tsundere, timid reader stops giving a f, tiny angst/heaviness, confession, fluff, she/her pronouns used, protective, self insert (y/n), fast paced, enemies to..??

pairing: student bully tsundere? niki x victim student reader (fem)

warnings: strong language, bullying, teasing, a little angsty at some point?, a LOT of dialogue toward the end like A LOT, v fast paced because i wanted to keep it as a one shot not a full fic, cliffhanger!

wc ≈ 5k

note: sorry if this is kinda lame cheesy or cringe, i didn’t want to over step while writing about niki. also if you get confused- honestly me too. just ignore any mistakes 🙏🏻. i hope it’s okay~!!

Preview begins here!

You were quite aware of the possibility that you may draw a bit of attention today from people that might actually remember you, because in all actuality you had shown up out of nowhere completely unannounced after your sudden disappearance a while ago. But that’s if anyone really cared to take any note of your existence; it’s not like they ever had done before.

As long as that damned Nishimura kid wasn’t around- you’d be okay.

Preview ends here! Read more below

The overpowering smell of wet dirt where you can’t really figure out if you kind of like it or absolutely hate it. The uncomfortable feeling of your school uniform being all tight and stuck to you, itching here and there because of the humidity after a long week of constant heavy rain. The puddles that make sure to get your shoes soaked and grimy, seeping a little dampness into your socks somehow for the rest of the day and not forgetting to leave muddy, watery footprints and squeaky noises everywhere you go in the building. The urge to just go home, shower, and change into comfy clothes. Yeah, you were back alright.

It had been a few years since you were not only last seen in this country and this all too familiar area, but also this lame ass school. To your surprise, the school had unfortunately not crumbled to the ground yet. Although you really wish it had- especially at this very moment. You thought maybe if you manifest it and walk slow enough, it might just collapse. But of course, it didn’t.

All you could hear right now were chants, yells, and whining coming from every direction. Near and far, students were causing usual havoc while waiting for the bell to command them to class. Years ago it would have made you sick to the stomach with anxiety, but right now you were just so fed up about having to be here again you couldn’t care less about anyone around you. Who knew it was this easy to ignore when you’re caught up in your own head. And in all honesty, it was no shocker to probably absolutely anybody, but especially not to you, to see that the students of this school were still something like hell spawn. How nice it is to see the students still terrorising the teachers to the point they cry and leave even after all this time.

Home sweet home.

Fortunately, you were a little older now, used to this whole high school shit, and you could actually tolerate the majority of kids here. You had become skilled at just ignoring things until they went away. Besides, it’s not like you’d be here for that long.

Just as long as that damned Nishimura kid wasn’t around- you’d be okay.

Hold on, let’s rewind a little.

A few years ago, you were told for the first time in your life that you’d not only be moving house, but moving to an entirely different country away from the one you had spent your whole childhood in growing up. You were only about a year into your high school life when the news dropped.

You knew your fathers job required your family to move around often- but you had gotten lucky and had ended up never actually having to move around until now. But you weren’t sad for long. In fact, you were delighted to get away from this place. Why? Because recently, it was making you so miserable.

As soon as high school began, your whole life changed. You had faced some major teasing from time to time- always being kind of a loner, but for most of your first year of high school, you were bullied hard. You were teased and treated like some stupid baby, your things got taken and thrown, sometimes you’d be “ding-dong-ditched”, and for months the insults and comments never ended. It got to the point you had begged and pleaded for your parents to transfer you to a different school. Though now they didn’t need to, because you were moving across the globe.

You soon started your new life in a new school, new country, with new people- and it was going amazing. Suddenly, you had a ton of friends, and people actually wanted to be around you. It was such a change from what you had faced in your home country, and it felt like luxury. But you couldn’t make too many friends or really get too close to anyone, because ever since you moved the first time, it seemed like suddenly your family just had to keep moving every year or so.

You looked at the bright side though, you travelled often, got cool life experiences, and you had the rare opportunity to constantly start fresh again at each new school you started. As long as you weren’t going to that fucking school back home it was fine. You’d most likely never have to go there again, right?

But that didn’t work out so well.

Because just a few weeks ago, you were told you were temporarily moving back home, and that while you were there you’d have to attend that cursed old school again. For a while, you were so angry about it, and to be honest- you still are today. But you were relieved because you had been recently informed that the usual group of kids that used to bully you were all gone now. All except two. One of them being Nishimura Niki, famous for making your life hell since middle school.

Niki wasn’t the worst of the batch, but he was definitely the most irritating. He was always the one that would tease you like a little kid, always taking your stuff and calling you names just to get a reaction out of you. You never understood what you had ever done to him- or anybody for that matter, but you never tried to find out either. You had just let it happen. The others had always just been mean because they bullied everyone ‘below’ them, but Niki only seemed to just pick on you. God knows why he chose to target you, but it was damn tiring.

So now here you are.

Standing outside the school you thought you’d never have to see again.

Waiting to begin your, as you would call it, “jail sentence”.

The bell finally echoed throughout the rusty buildings and everyone swarmed toward the doors. Some heading straight to class, and others finding a great hiding spot to skip classes for the day. You kept your head down, not risking drawing any attention until you got into the classroom.

The teacher greeted you warmly. It was a new teacher, one that must have begun working here during the time you were living your best life elsewhere. You took a seat close to the window and finally had the guts to lift your head and look around.

You let out a heavy sigh of relief as you scanned around with your eyes and realised nobody in here knew who you were. You sat up and dropped your shoulders from their incredibly tense position and smiled to yourself. Maybe things really had changed and you could pretend like you’d never been here before. You were good at starting fresh, since you’d been doing it for the past couple years now.

The class shortly began and you feel yourself slowly relaxing as you realise you’ve already read the book they’re discussing today, so you already know all the answers to any possible questions that would be asked of you. Thankfully, the classroom is peaceful and light. The other students aren’t causing much trouble since it’s the first class of the day and everyone’s half asleep still. That’s until abruptly, the classroom door swings open and someone tumbles in loudly. A young boy, who kind of looks famili-

“Mr. Nishimura. You’re late, as always.”

Your heart drops to your ass at the sound of his name and you swiftly duck down, pretending like you’re taking something out of the bag beside your chair. Peeking slightly at him, but not enough for him to be able to see your face.

“Got stuck in traffic” he shrugs.

“You’re not old enough to drive,” the teacher's tone was clearly plastered in annoyance, not believing any words that could possibly come from his sarcastic mouth.

“My parents drove me, duh.”

“Everyone knows you live just across the road from the school, Niki,” the teacher sighs and the class giggles quietly amongst themselves, “I will let it slide that you’re late again as it's not quite been five minutes yet, but don’t you lie to me again young man.”

Niki just shrugged it off like before and began to walk toward his assigned seat near the front of the classroom, thankfully way out of the vision field of where you were currently sitting. Hesitantly, you eventually made your way back up to sitting normally again, but you could definitely say goodbye to your little relaxation sesh. This ‘stress free’ class suddenly just became the hardest one of your entire day and a close cause of fatal cardiac arrest.

Why the actual hell was HE here? It was as if it was a sick joke. It just had to be the class you were in. Even though it was technically his class before yours, the coincidence was uncanny. You needed to switch out fast. A visit to the school counsellors office certainly wasn’t on your agenda today, but now it was crucial. There was no way you could spend another day in this classroom; barely another minute.

You spent the rest of the entire class dodging whenever Niki would turn slightly or talk to someone behind him. Somehow, you had made it to the end of the class without him noticing you there. Everyone got up as the bell chimed and rushed toward the classroom exit, but you hovered behind just a few seconds to make sure you were way behind Niki. And you nearly made it, but just before you could leave you heard your teacher call out to you.

“Y/n! You almost forgot these papers.”

You felt like slamming your head into a wall. So much for avoiding any attention. You made your way back toward the teacher and took the papers, looking behind you a few times to see if Niki had heard it, but he was already out of sight. You’d gotten away with it on a call way too close for comfort.

“Make sure they get signed by the end of the week~!” the teacher reminded you cheerfully.

“Will do, thanks,” you nodded and headed out.

You took a few steps forward away from the classroom when Nishimura Niki swung himself in front of you. He must have heard your name, and even worse, he had waited for you.

“Is that really you? y/n?”

For a moment you panicked, feeling your ears heat up and eyes widen with fear. But then you collected yourself. There was no way you would let this little bastard get in your way again. You decided just to brush him off by going around him and keep on walking. Though he really wasn’t so little anymore. In fact, he was really really fucking tall and he looked more intimidating than he had ever been.

“It is, isn't it? I can’t believe it y/n. It was a bit rude that I didn’t even get a jump scare warning, but wow, you really still exist?” his words trailed behind you, following you.

“No, obviously I don’t,” you muttered, words dripping with sarcasm. You weren’t supposed to be responding, but you honestly couldn’t resist it.

“You still think you’re smart huh? I’d say that’s pretty dumb of you y/n” he scoffed.

“Sounds like you’re projecting,” you replied back.

Niki was quiet for just a second. You had completely changed since the last time he had remembered you. You still looked the same in his eyes, but your personality had taken a full turn. Usually, you’d be yelling at him to go away by now, or hiding from him. He still remembered the time he had snatched your cute little wrist watch from you for just a few minutes and the way your lips trembled as you tried to hold back your tears pleading that he give it back. He had felt bad for a minute back then, but only then. And you’d never know about it. But where did this new confidence come from? And why was it kind of attractive? Niki shook his head, racing in front of you again to face you.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

You sighed and involuntarily rolled your eyes slightly, not surprised he was doing something like this. It was very Niki coded to stand in front of someone’s way annoying them when he wasn’t being paid enough attention. One thing you now realised was how stupid it was that you used to react so much to him and his lame shots at you. Because right now, this was pathetic and more than just a little cringe.

“You know American high school movies aren't great tutorials on how to be a bully right? Unless of course you’re intentionally trying to be a walking ick, otherwise you’re doing a great job.”

“What does that even mean?”

You giggled at your own joke and shrugged at him, taking a sharp turn closer towards your next class. As expected, he continued to get in your way.

“Stop with that annoying fucking giggle. And I’m not finished talking to you yet,” he snapped.

“It’s a good thing I wasn’t listening anyway then. Move Nishimura.”

“You still remember my name?” Niki’s eyes widened, stuttering for a split second and his stance softening up a little.

“Nope.”

“But you just said it-”

You shrugged again and entered your classroom, taking a deep breath of relief as the door shut behind you- leaving Niki out in the hallway confused as ever. Maybe it wasn’t going to be that bad after all, but you knew he wouldn’t stop there.

“You wanna play this again, then we can play Nishimura,” you thought to yourself.

—-

Niki couldn’t stop thinking about what had just happened, and how you had even ended up back here years later out of nowhere. Why didn’t he know? It was bad enough that you had up and left without a goodbye (not that he deserved one), but to show up again? And to just keep brushing him off like he wasn’t even there? It majorly pissed him off.

‘Move Nishimura.’

Besides his teachers, you had been (and supposedly still were) the only one to ever call him that. He had never understood why you barely ever just called him by his first name. You always called him Nishimura when he had pissed you off, and it only made him want to annoy you more just to hear it again. It sounded so different from you and it made you stand out from everyone else he knew; he hated it. God he hated it so much.

Niki replayed the image in his head of you ducking and hiding from him earlier when he had first got to class. It took everything in him not to act like he’d just seen a ghost when he recognized your presence. Yes, he had seen it all. You in fact had not gotten away with it after all. Seriously you were so stupid for thinking that was going to work, anybody would have noticed a whole new ass student in the classroom. He had just played along with it because it was funny to watch you desperately try to avoid his gaze and almost get whiplash pretending you were looking elsewhere. Did he really have that sort of effect on you? Perhaps you weren’t as composed as you tried to act in front of him anyway, it made him chuckle lightly thinking about it.

“Whatcha thinkin ‘bout?” The girl beside Niki interrupted his thoughts. It was one of his ‘friends’, who secretly Niki didn’t like at all but stuck around her to stay on her good side. She was another one of y/n’s notorious bullies. The other one out of the two still attending this school, and possibly the worst one. She scared everyone, including Niki sometimes. She basically ruled the whole school somehow.

“Your mother,” Niki grumbled at her, earning a hard shove.

“Whatever man, stop dozing off. I need someone to talk to. I'm bored as hell,” the infamous companion complained.

—-

You were right about Niki not stopping there, but fucking hell he was giving it his everything.

It was sort of admirable that he was dedicating that much effort and time to you, if it wasn’t for the fact he just wanted to annoy the shit out of you and attempt to ruin your day.

After the boy had found out you were back, he didn’t waste a second teasing you. He had stolen your phone a few times, turned your backpack inside out when you left it unattended, mocked your hair a few times for it being in bunches, copied your homework, and constantly hovered around and nagged you as if nobody else was allowed around you. Oh and god forbid that you ignored him, because then he’d do anything he could to get you to look at him or speak up, even if he actually ended up making a fool of himself instead of you in the end.

Really, nothing had changed about him. Well at least not his personality. He was definitely way taller now and his face had matured a lot, which was ironic for how immature he still was. Admittedly, he had glowed up, but one little haircut and he’d have nothing for sure. You couldn’t inflate his ego now, because then he truly would be insufferable.

A week went by and you were actually completely drained and on your last little bit of dying tolerance. Thank god you only had one class together each day, because you got to escape the torment while class was on going for the rest of the day disregarding the morning and the walking periods in between each one.

Niki must have gotten held behind somewhere or something this afternoon, because he had not appeared for the past couple of passing periods like he had been consistently. Somehow it actually felt kind of odd, but you savoured this moment while you still could. Unless he had truly given up on you, finally.

But you should have known that was too much of a good thing for you here.

As you were making your way out of your last class of the day and finally ready to head home, you heard a voice you wish you’d never even recognized. It made you freeze in your spot.

“Well look who it is! Y/n, isn’t it a pleasure to see your face again?”

“Lila.”

The one girl who had the entire school practically wrapped around her little finger. The one who had traumatised you the most. Sure you could act nonchalant in front of Niki, but Lila was violent, and in this situation it would have been such a relief to be picked on by Niki instead. When you were told that only two of “the usual” remained at this school, you had never even thought that Lila may have still been here. You assumed you would’ve been informed if she was. How had you gone a whole week without knowing she was here?

“Why didn’t you come and say hello? Didn’t you miss me?” She snarked, getting in your face. People began to glance over. You tried to ignore it and walk away, but Lila yanked a part of your hair and pulled you closer so she could threaten you in a whisper.

“What gave you the stupid stupid fucking nerve to come back?”

“Get off of me you obsessed bitch” you spat.

Niki came running up, out of breath and stopping a distance behind Lila watching with wide eyes at what was happening. He had been running across half the school campus to catch up with you before you went home, but not like this.

Lila let go of your hair but stomped hard on your foot and kept her foot there with a significant amount of pressure, causing a small whine of pain to escape you. She looked behind her, noticing Niki and lifted her foot from you but held onto your sleeve.

“Did you know she was here?” Lila questioned him.

Niki said nothing. You shouldn’t have expected him to, but a small part of you wished he would have done at least something, anything at all.

“Ahh, you must be surprised as well, right? She showed up without a word, can you believe that? How unfair,” Lila dragged on with a sigh.

You looked at Niki for a moment. He just stared at you with an uncomfortable expression. Clearly not wanting to be a part of what was happening right now.

Honestly, he felt hopeless. Even he didn’t agree with this. He had tried to avoid the possibility of Lila coming across you soon, always leading Lila away from your usual route this week, but obviously he was way too late today. He felt paralyzed in horror of it unravelling right in front of his eyes and seeing tears well up in your own eyes that you kept trying to hold back. It hurt him.

“At least now we can all hang out again like we used to, right Niki?” Lila flashed a painfully obvious fake smile. By “hang out” she meant physically terrorising you everyday for showing your face or even breathing in the same place as her, and everyone knew it. This school had a sick case of bystander effect though, so you couldn’t expect any help from anyone except yourself.

You shook her off of you aggressively and walked away with a fast angry pace, too many pairs of eyes watching you closely. You tried incredibly hard to stay collected but this whole moment had brought up a bit too much of the past for you and it hurt, badly. You were so embarrassed, and now your one shot of giving this shitty cursed school one more fucking chance was over.

Lila raised her eyebrows with a smug grin, acting as if she was surprised you had stormed off like that. Suddenly, Niki was beside her, grabbing her shoulder real tight, almost digging his fingernails into her.

“Jesus, what’s with the damn grip asshole?” She complained.

“You’re crossing a line that isn’t yours.”

“What? Don’t act like you don’t do the same shit,” Lila turned to Niki in which she was met with a heavy glare.

“Nobody picks on her unless it’s me,” he looked Lila up and down, “you nasty whore,” Niki added before rushing after you, calling out to you.

“Y/N hold up!” He yelled breathlessly. He did not expect to be doing this much running today. Why was the school this big by the way?

As he got closer, you dropped your bag to the ground rather dramatically and turned to face him with the meanest look you had ever produced in your life. It made him take a few steps back.

You let out an angry yell, taking it all out on him, “you know what Nishimura, let’s just fucking fight.”

Niki bit down hard on his bottom lip to stop himself from smiling a little. He really could not help it. The way you looked right now with your fragile soft fists up at him, the stupid sound of his last name coming from your mouth. It was like a test from the universe to not crack in front of you.

“Y/n…” he began softly.

People started crowding around you two now, drawing a lot of attention. They suddenly began to chant “fight” over and over, encouraging it. Niki looked around. So quickly, so many people were gathered waiting for it. He looked back at you with darting eyes and let out a sigh.

Then he approached you closely, in which you flinched and closed your eyes- anticipating it. Hell, you didn’t know how to fight physically. You had just acted impulsively and started something you definitely could not finish.

But Niki just grabbed your wrist softly. You were confused and started struggling as you realised he was grabbing you instead of fighting, “what the fuck?” you exclaimed as you looked at him, not understanding.

He ignored you and tightened his grip carefully and dragged you out of that ring of people who soon became disappointed at the absence of a real fight until eventually you two were isolated away from all the chaos.

It was awkward as you both sat engulfed in suffocating silence. Niki was simply waiting for you to calm down, whereas you were trying to figure out and just process what had just happened.

“Hey,” Niki broke the silence, finally.

You didn’t respond, but looked at him to show that you were listening. This was so out of character for him. You never knew you were capable of feeling this much confusion before now. This school really was cursed.

“You know I’d never really hurt you right?”

Your eyes scanned him with confusion, and your ears became hot with embarrassment. Why did you suddenly feel so shy now?

Niki didn’t wait for a response. He had already started, so he decided to just spill whatever was on his mind before he started regretting it. If it wasn’t now, it’d probably be never. He sighed and got closer to you, kneeling in front of you and looking up at you ever so softly.

You’d never seen this side of him, this was completely new and you weren’t sure how to feel about it yet alone how to react to it.

“I know this is really sudden, but the truth is y/n I’ve never hated you. I just hated the way you would make me feel. I hated the way I admired you so much. I hate how perfect you are. Yet, all I wanted to do is be around you. I know there were better ways to act, and I’ve probably done a lot of damage to you, but I was so lost and confused on how to deal with everything. I was so scared of my own feelings I ended up avoiding them by pushing you away while wanting to stay close to you the only way I knew how to. I can only hope for your forgiveness,”

“Niki,” you began, but he cut you off. If he stopped to think about it or let what he was saying sink in, he would probably run away.

“When you suddenly stopped turning up to school a few years ago, I found out that you had moved away and left; My heart shattered. I think that was when I realised how much I really just wanted your attention on me rather than anybody else. Things went too far back then, and I was sure you’d never come back. I tried to forget it, move on like I never cared anyway, but I really missed just seeing your face everyday y/n,” tears began to fall from his eyes and his voice became desperate.

Unintentionally, butterflies erupted in your stomach, suddenly making you extremely nauseous. His words were really genuine and so unexpected. You never thought you’d hear a confession like this from anyone, let alone Nishimura Niki. The kid you thought wanted you to just vanish. You started to feel bad that you had never even known about this hurt you caused him. It wasn’t your fault, but somehow you felt responsible and sorry.

“I never got over it. Every fucking day I felt nothing but guilt. It’s only been a week since you came back, and I think that’s why I’m doing this now. At first I tried to pretend that my old feelings weren’t coming back up, but if I’m being honest with you, I never stopped liking you. Nobody does it like you. I know it sounds pathetic but I really can’t lose you again like that. Fuck, I'm terrified that you'll be around one day and then gone the next just like before. Completely out of my life. I’m done playing my childish games, because this is how I feel. I can’t explain to you the way I felt when I saw you again. I panicked and resorted to what I was just used to since we were in middle school, but god I got so scared when you started to brush me off.”

You felt a dark pink blush flush over your cheeks in which you couldn’t even try hiding as you realised that Nishimura Niki had just admitted that he not only did, but still likes you. And since middle school? The more you saw this vulnerable side of him, the more your eyes opened to just how unique he truly was. But you also felt like hitting him for never opening up to you until now.

“Back there, seeing the hurt you tried to keep back in your eyes, I felt this urging wave of protection splash over me. I froze because the feeling was overwhelming and sudden. I wanted to hold you, to stop the pain I took part in causing, but I knew that was so much easier said than done. I’m afraid of not being able to be someone you need around, but now I want to do my best to prove myself and be that type of person for you.”

Niki cried harder and harder, reaching out to hold your hand as he pleaded. You gently began to run your palm over his head in a way of consoling him. He hunched over your lap, crying out everything. You let him, and you both stayed like that, very still for a while. As he calmed down to a level where you could actually understand what he was saying without choking on his words, he looked up at you again and finally said,

“It feels like the universe has just thrown me another chance. A chance to make it up to you and show you that I can be serious. Please y/n, let me show you a side of me that nobody has seen. It’s all for you, beautiful, only you.”

END.

please note: this is simply a fan written fiction for entertainment purposes only and is not associated with the real enhypen members at all nor should it ever be related to the real version of them. this story is not intended to hate or make anyone look bad. thank you.

an: hey guys! thanks for reading if you made it this far~ i love you all :) this was something new, so excuse the bad dialogue and rushed scenes with niki picking on yn. idk how to be a bully 😭. what are you guys doing? how have you been? omfg did u guys see the tour announcement? i’m on my knees begging and praying i get to go to the seoul date. oh to perceive enha in person RAHHH

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witherednotes · 2 years

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Kinktober Day 3

Daddy Kink — Bangchan

pairing; bangchan x f!reader

genre; smut

word count; 767

warnings; soft dom!bangchan, sub!reader, daddy kink, oral (f receiving), spanking (one time), praising, orgasm denial

a/n; wrote this in a hurry to catch the time before chan’s birthday ended (in the place i live, at least) so i’m sorry if there’s too many errors in the story. hope you enjoy it, though.

kinktober masterlist

“Are you really okay with this?” Chan asked, pulling back after he left trails of kisses on your neck.

“Anything for my daddy.” You smirked, knowing damn well what kind of spell that one word holds.

Chan scoffed before hooking his finger to your last piece of clothing, “You’ll be the end of me, baby.”

All of these times, Chan has been so soft to you. No matter how much you’ve told him that you can handle more, he just loves to treat you like the most fragile human being that has ever existed. And with that, you’re in a quest to find the button that would make him go feral. After trying so many things in bed and even outside, you haven’t found anything that could spark the wild side of Chan. He’s still so caring, putting you first before him, being the gentleman he is.

Until one day he figured that you’re up to something and is starting to give up. So you asked. You asked him what you could do to make him not be his sweet, soft self in the bedroom with you. And seeing how desperate you are to find the way for him to reach his peak of pleasure, he ended up telling you.

“You know I love to be in charge of you.”

“But you already are and you’re still holding back.” You pouted at his answer.

“You can call me something that would make me feel like it, I don’t know.” Chan’s fingers glide over your skin.

“So, like ‘Daddy’?”

Chan’s eyes went wide from your words, cheeks starting to burn. “I-I mean, yea— But there’s so many other one t-that—“

“So you don’t like ‘Daddy’?”

“That’s not what I mean—“

“So you love to be called ‘Daddy’?” That time you have a winning smirk painted on your face.

The slight panic on Chan’s face fades, “Okay, now you’re just teasing me, baby. You shouldn’t do that.”

And that’s what brought you to this state.

Your lips were red from all the making out. Your skin has become his canvas, leaving his marks all over them. Now fully exposed under him while he still has his sweatpants on.

Under the dim light, you could see him smirking as his gaze burned into your core. You moved your hips slightly when all he did was caressing your inner thigh, barely touching your most needy part.

“Chan, please—“ Your words were cut by a yelp.

Chan slaps your thigh, close to your heat giving a shock through your body. “Call me properly or I won’t even touch you.” You whined as he gripped your thigh tighter, “You’re the one who suggested all of this, after all.”

“I’m sorry, daddy. Please, touch me.”

“That’s my good girl” He leaned down, kissing the red spot from his hand before his lips went closer and closer to your core.

Your back instantly arched as his warm mouth made contact with your heat. Hips moving up, craving for more stimulation from the man between your legs. Your hands were about to rest on his strands, to pull him closer to you even more. But he’s faster than you are. He gripped your wrist and pinned them back on your side.

“Keep your hands to yourself, baby. Let daddy take his time.” His breath fanned on your entrance before he dived back in.

It somehow backlash at you. The way he called himself the title you blurred out made your walls tighten. How Chan’s lips sucked your clit while his tongue pushed in and out of you. How his fingers laced with yours, holding you back from pulling on his hair. Every little thing made you even higher. Head filled with fuzz, getting dizzy even more after he let go of your hand to draw circles on your bundle of nerves as his tongue did all the work on your entrance.

“D-daddy, I’m close— Daddy!” Your moan has turned to scream at this point.

Chan didn’t respond. Instead, he went faster with his movement. He played with your clit harder as he kept going with his mouth. Your sight started getting blurry. The knot in your stomach tightened, ready to be released.

But he stopped. He pulled back suddenly, making your high faded in a blink.

“No, no! Daddy, no. I was— I’m close, daddy— Please, I—“

“Shh, baby.” Chan leaned closer to you. His hand softly patted your head, such a contrast from his brutal edging. “Daddy’s not done with you. Be a good girl and take what I give you, yeah?”

#witherednotes kinktober #kinktober 2022 #stray kids smut #stray kids scenarios #bang chan smut #bangchan scenarios #bangchan smut

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ak-vintage · 15 days

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Quarry - Chapter 13

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x f!reader

Summary: Din Djarin is on what he expects to be his last bounty hunt for Greef Karga. After all, Nevarro is swiftly moving away from its previous reputation as a Guild member’s paradise, and Din has more important concerns now, like finding a Jedi to train his mysterious foundling. However, after capturing a wanted starship engineer who would rather go anywhere other than “home,” the Mandalorian is forced to reassess his priorities.

Your taste of freedom had been brief but glorious. Now you are a prisoner of the most infamous bounty hunter in the Outer Rim – it’s only a matter of time before he turns you in. There isn’t much you would not do to keep from being sent home, but as you find yourself growing closer to your captor and his strange little companion, you start to wonder whether escape is really what you want.

Set after Chapter 13: The Jedi but before Chapter 14: The Tragedy.

Chapter Tags & Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Reader is Mando's live-in starship engineer, second-person POV, Din Djarin POV, no use of Y/N, minimal descriptors of reader character, canon-typical violence, peril, angst, descriptions of blood and gore, Din speaks Mando'a, SMUT, vaginal fingering, dirty talk, Din does NOT remove the helmet, SoftDom!Din, touch-starved Din

Series Masterlist | Read on AO3

For a while, you simply stood there, staring motionless out into the rain.

The burning remains of the quarry’s vessel cast an ominous orange glow over the jagged coastline, illuminating just enough for you to be able to see where the beach ended and the island’s dense forests began. Mando had dissolved into that tree line as though he had never existed, swallowed whole by the brush and the vines, and although you could hear Grogu’s distressed whines calling to you, begging you to come and release him, you couldn’t seem to tear your gaze away from the spot where the bounty hunter had disappeared. Dread sank in your stomach as minutes passed with no sign of movement, no sign of blaster fire or flames from his vambrace, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t seem to shake the sickening feeling that only one of the men who had stumbled into that forest would be coming back out again.

You had never felt more helpless.

It wasn’t until the whining devolved into high-pitched shrieks that you were able to wrench yourself away from the open door. The sound was ear-piercing and tinged with a kind of fury that felt so out of place, so alien coming from the sweet boy you knew, and somehow the wrongness of it was enough to snap you back to yourself.

Stay on the ship. Keep the child safe. That was your job, and step one of that job was to go and get the poor thing before he burst a blood vessel screaming.

Leaving the rear ramp extended and the doors open, you took the ladder up to the second level two rungs at a time. The glare that Grogu fixed on you when you entered the cockpit would have been withering if it hadn’t been accompanied by two fat tears leaking from his overly large eyes, making him look like the most pitiful baby creature you had ever seen. Something between a laugh and a sob choked the apology in your throat, so instead you simply released him from his seatbelt harness as quickly as you could manage. Gathering his little body close to your chest, tucking his downy head under your chin, you allowed yourself a moment just to hold him.

Under your hands, his breathing slowed, and his cries eased to little hiccupping whimpers. You could feel his three-clawed hands digging into the fabric of your sleep shirt with surprising strength, as though drawing on the calm of your body to settle himself.

“I know, sweetie, I know. I’m right here,” you murmured gently. “And Mando will be okay. He’ll come right back, you’ll see. He always comes back.”

Of course, you did not stop to examine whether your words were meant to reassure Grogu, or if perhaps it was you that needed the reassurance.

Keeping the boy close to you with one arm, you used the other to crawl back down the ladder. Your next step was to get out of your thin pajamas and into some real clothes. You propped Grogu up on one of the cargo bins as you quickly stripped down to your underclothes and redressed. You pulled a fresh pair of socks up over your ice-cold feet, tucked one of your new black undershirts into your cargo pants, and threw on the matching jacket to protect against the damp, salty chill blowing in from the open door. Weaving the fastest braid of your life, you topped it off by tying your scarf – Mando’s scarf – around your head and grabbing your preferred blaster from the still-open weapons cabinet.

You knew Mando probably had not intended to leave the firearm accessible, but you didn’t feel any guilt for taking it. If the man that emerged from that forest wasn’t your Mandalorian, you reasoned, at least you would have a fighting chance.

Scooping Grogu up into your arms, you tucked him neatly into the front of your jacket to keep him warm and took up your post once more, hovering just inside the cargo hold, staring into the night.

___

You weren’t certain how long you stood there, one hand on your charge, the other wrapped around the grip of your blaster peaking up out of your pants pocket. All you knew for certain was that by the time the flashes started, Grogu had begun to nod off against your breast, and your fingers had grown so cold that they were starting to lose feeling.

It started with a burst of blue – pale, there and gone in an instant, lighting up the trees from deep inside the forest. Had it been daylight, you doubted you would have noticed it, but as you watched, more blue flares erupted from the darkness, silhouetting the tree line in flashes of neon.

Then there was red. Bright, sparking red flares joined the blue, shining like party lights in the night, making the rain-slicked greenery glow, and that was when you felt a heavy, sinking feeling take up residence in the pit of your stomach.

You would recognize that shade of red anywhere. That was blaster fire – Mando’s blaster fire. He had found the quarry.

Against your chest, Grogu stirred, twisting around in your grip to watch the spectacle alongside you. Ice-blue and fire-red traded volley after volley, and as the flames from the crashed Sleuth began to snuff out in the rain, the streaks of color became even brighter, even more unmistakable in the darkness. Minutes passed, and as the boy in your arms watched, his wide, dark eyes reflected the bursts of light like mirrors.

When he let out a soft whine of concern, you shushed him, bouncing him in a way that you hoped was comforting. “It’s okay,” you assured him. “He always come back.”

You couldn’t hear anything over the sound of the downpour drumming against the hull of the ship. It was almost eerie, watching this conflict happen from afar in complete silence – no shouting voices, no sharp, characteristic zinging of blaster bolts rocketing past. Nothing but the echo of the rain and the faraway sound of the rushing waves against the beach.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the flashes stopped.

Left with only the meager light from inside of the Razor Crest, the island fell into almost complete darkness. The sinking feeling in your stomach grew heavier with each passing moment without the evidence of Mando’s presence, and still the silence persisted.

You stood there another minute, then two, your grip on your blaster getting tighter to the point that the joints in your hand began to ache. Something was deeply, painfully wrong. Where was the Mandalorian? Where was his quarry?

It seemed as though Grogu’s thoughts had taken the same turn as yours. The longer the two of you stood there, and the longer you went without seeing any more evidence of blaster fire, the more agitated he became. Squirming in your grip, the boy whined and grunted in discontent, working his arms out of your jacket, flailing them toward the ramp as though begging you to go, to find them.

You wanted to listen. You wanted to go after him.

No more blaster fire could mean…so many things. It could mean that Mando had taken the quarry down; maybe he was dragging him back to the Crest that very minute. It could mean that one or both of them had been disarmed, that they were fighting with their fists instead of their weapons. It could mean that Mando had lost sight of the Weequay yet again and was back to tracking him.

Or.

Or it could mean that Mando was down. That the quarry had emerged from this protracted conflict victorious.

Grogu squealed sharply then, startling you out of your internal debate, and although he couldn’t speak to you in the typical way, you had never been more certain that you understood exactly what he was saying.

An unfamiliar sense of calm settled over you as you made your decision. You thought perhaps you ought to feel guilty for what you were about to do, but you didn’t. Mando would risk anything to ensure your safety; you knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt. What kind of person would you be if you were not willing to do the same for him?

With a renewed sense of determination, you ate up the distance between the exit and the bunk in a handful of long strides, and with steady hands, you extracted Grogu from your jacket and settled him on the edge of the mattress.

“I know you want to come, but if I’m going to be any help, I can’t be worried about your safety, too,” you explained, running your palm gently over his little round head. “I’m going to ask you to stay here. I’ll close up the ship, you keep this door shut – ” You tapped the edge of the sliding bunk door, currently propped open above his head. “ – and stay put until I come back, okay?”

Grogu dipped his head once, a gesture reminiscent of a nod, and you offered him a small smile.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” you assured him, and with a quick kiss to his wrinkled forehead, you thumbed the bunk door’s control panel and watched it slide shut, blocking the boy inside with a thunk of finality that reawakened the anxiety in your stomach.

You refused to acknowledge that squirming sensation. You refused to allow your heart to race, your hands to shake. Instead, you gritted your teeth, drew your blaster from your pocket, and jogged down the ramp and into the rain.

___

You ran as fast as you dared across the beach, more grateful than you had ever been for the thick rubber tread of your boots as you made your way across slick, black rock and the kind of fine gravel that you knew would bury itself in your skin if you were to fall. The rain was quieter outside of the Razor Crest than it had been inside, but the ocean was much louder; the roar of the choppy waves breaking against the shore joined the sound of your own heavy breathing in your ears, and that combined with the impenetrable darkness of the Maramerian night left you feeling a bit unmoored, a bit directionless as you hurtled toward the tree line. Still, you drove yourself forward, doing your best to keep your eyes locked on the spot where you had seen Mando enter the forest earlier.

You had no concept of what you might find inside, but you realized then how foolish it had been to think that you would be able to stop yourself from finding out. Too much had changed over the last weeks. You didn’t have it in you to sit on the sidelines anymore, not where the Mandalorian was concerned. You were his, and he was yours, whether he knew it or not. If he was in danger, he could not keep you from his side.

The forest’s edge was dense and foreboding, thick with vines and underbrush that filled the gaps between the trees almost completely. It took more effort than you would like to admit to break through to the other side, and you made a mental note to ask Mando to add wilderness survival training to the list of skills he needed to teach you. By the time you emerged, you were completely out of breath, and you sported more than one scratch across your bare face and hands from the briars. You took a brief moment to collect yourself, wiping rainwater and thin traces of blood out of your eyes with the back of your sleeve, and then you directed your focus back to the task at hand.

Inside the forest, the sounds of the ocean faded away almost completely, leaving you surrounded with an uneasy stillness and just barely enough dappled moonlight to make out the edges of the trees, the texture of the roots jutting up from the black soil, the thick blanket of leaves that covered the ground. There didn’t appear to be any signs of life here, and without the aid of the blaster fire to guide you, you had no idea which direction to search in. Steeling yourself, you picked a path through the trees that you thought looked the most clear of underbrush, praying that something, anything might give you a clue along the way.

Thankfully, you had only traveled perhaps 30 meters into the depths of the forest before you started noticing signs. Every few feet were scorched, black gouges, all at about eye-level, etched into the bark of the trees. Some dipped shallowly into their gnarled surface, as though the bark had caught only a glancing blow, while others seemed to have taken out massive chunks of wood, leaving jagged splinters on the wet ground at the base of the tree to prove it. Approaching one such mark, you ran your fingers over the edge, and you found yourself overwhelmed with the acrid scent of ozone. The bark was warm under your fingers, the edges of the blemish itself smoking slightly, almost undetectable in the rain, and you swore softly under your breath.

Blaster marks. At least part of the battle you had witnessed had taken place here.

Your steps picked up speed then, breaking into a jog as you followed the trail of scarred trees deeper into the woods. Another 30 meters, then 30 more, and before you knew it, you were well over 100 meters from the demarcation between the forest and the beach, and the blaster marks had all but disappeared. You slowed, casting your gaze around you, desperate for a clue as to where they might have gone next, but it was as though all trace of their presence had evaporated. It was too dark and the forest floor was too matted with rotting leaves for you to see footprints, and the briars and underbrush had thinned significantly this deep in to the woods, leaving nothing for you to track movement through.

Your chest tightened at the thought that this might be all the further you would make it until the sun rose or, at the very least, the rain stopped and the clouds faded. You couldn’t bear the idea of stopping now, not when every moment that passed was another moment that Mando could be in danger. If he had been victorious, if he had taken down the quarry, you were certain that you would have run into him by now. You would have seen or heard him dragging the Weequay’s body out of brush, back toward the Razor Crest.

But you hadn’t. Which meant he was still out here, injured or…worse.

Before you could allow that fear to take hold, however, a muffled curse in a gravely, masculine voice you didn’t recognize echoed through the forest. You startled, spinning immediately in the direction of the sound, and a split second later, you heard the dull thud of flesh hitting flesh followed by the snapping of twigs, the rustle of clothing, and the gasp of a struggling, wounded party.

Maker, you thought, your stomach turning, they’re fighting by hand.

As stealthily as you could manage, you took off in the direction of the noise – ducking through the trees, skirting the underbrush, paying no heed to the way the cuts on the backs of your hands and across your face smarted in the rain. You had begun to shake, you noticed, but whether from adrenaline or cold, you couldn’t tell. All you knew was that Mando was nearby – he was right there – and he was still fighting, which meant he was still alive.

A few moments later, you found yourself on the edge of a small clearing. The trees there were streaming tendrils of smoke as though they had been burning at one point, and you immediately thought of the Mandalorian’s vambrace flame thrower. It looked as though he had made this clearing himself during the fight, the pouring rain since extinguishing the blaze, but it hardly mattered now, for right in the middle of the clearing, locked in combat, were Mando and the quarry.

Time seemed to slow down as you took in the scene before you. Both men were streaked in blood, the latter’s leathery skin mottled with burns and scrapes. The Mandalorian lay prone on the forest floor, face down, one hand wrenched behind his back, the other extended out before him to reach desperately for his blaster, which you could see glinting in the moonlight a few feet away. The quarry crouched on top of him, driving his knee into the other man’s wrist, pining it in place at an odd angle. You could see his profile from where you hid, his hard face twisted in a wicked, bloody grin as he brought his blaster down on the back of Mando’s neck. You thought he might have said something then, some sort of cruel taunt, because Mando began to buck beneath him, trying to throw him off, but the smuggler would not be deterred. And then –

And then you watched in horror as the quarry brought his other hand around the front of the Mandalorian’s neck, hooked his fingers into the bottom of his helmet, and started to yank upward.

He was going to take it off. He was going to take off Mando’s helmet, and then he was going to kill him.

Rage swelled in your chest, more powerful and more violent than anything you had ever known. You didn’t pause to think. Bracing your arms against the nearest tree to steady yourself, you brought your blaster up into position and sank into the stance Mando had drilled into your muscle memory in the middle of the desert on Trevi IV. With nearly numb fingers, you flipped off the safety and lined up your sights with the quarry’s head.

Earlier, as you had helped Mando gun the smuggler out of the sky and questioned your own morality, you honestly could have said that you didn’t wish death on him. You felt guilt for your enjoyment of his destruction, shame for the sense of victory you experienced over his impending crash. But now?

Now you wanted this man’s blood.

Mando’s words echoed in your ears, the ones he had murmured so patiently as you sweated and struggled under the Trevi sun. “Breathe in slowly, exhale, then fire.”

So you did. You inhaled a single, calming breath, exhaled, and at the base of that exhale, you pulled the trigger.

A single bolt exploded from the barrel of your blaster, lighting its path across the clearing in a violent streak of red, and you watched, breathless…as it missed your target.

Instead, your shot tore its way through the yellow-tinted glasses perched on the smuggler’s nose, just in front of his face, millimeters off your mark. The glasses instantly snapped and shattered, the lenses bursting into a thousand razor-sharp shards, and when the quarry’s howls of pain ripped through the silence of the night, you realized that several of those shards had buried themselves in one of his eyes.

The Weequay dropped his grip on Mando’s helmet then, bringing his hand to his face to cradle his ruined eye, which was now pouring blood and viscera down his cheek. It was just enough. Taking advantage of the moment of distraction, Mando threw his weight back against the smuggler’s kneeling form, sending him stumbling back. A wave of relief so powerful it nearly buckled your knees washed over you as the bounty hunter staggered to his feet. He was alive, and his helmet hadn’t moved an inch.

If time had slowed down the moment you entered the clearing, now it seemed to speed back up again as chaos erupted.

So many things happened in quick succession, you knew you would never be able to recall the exact sequence if asked about it later. Mando glancing around wildly for the source of the blaster fire, scanning the edge of the tree line. Feeling the moment his eyes locked with yours, your heart stuttering in your chest as he lurched toward you, something frantic about the way he reached for you, so many feet away. The quarry swiping the blood from his cheek with the back of his hand, streaking it across his face, the grotesque remnants of his eye raw and wet in the moonlight. The way he didn’t even try to look at where he was aiming before he raised his blaster, the roar of primal rage that shook the forest as he fired off three shots, three streaks of ice blue throwing the clearing into stark relief.

The shout of your name, panicked and hoarse, a vocoder crackling and warping as it attempted to compensate for the volume.

Bark exploded from the tree closest to you.

Dirt and leaves flew up into the air from the ground at your feet.

You staggered back, your body sensing the impact before you did, and a scream rent its way out of your throat, unbidden.

The quarry’s third round had found its mark.

White-hot agony seared through your right shoulder, the one exposed as you peaked out from behind the tree. It dug deep under your collarbone, it tunneled through your muscles and ligaments, and with a sickening, shattering sensation, it ripped through the other side of your body, bursting through your shoulder blade with terrifying speed.

Your knees gave out then, and the sodden forest floor rushed up to meet you as you crumpled where you stood. Your limbs felt cold and useless, almost numb, and your vision began to gray at the edges as the fire scorching through your veins made it difficult to think, difficult to keep your eyes open, difficult to breathe. But still you had enough awareness left in you to watch as the Mandalorian flew into a rage.

In an instant, he had a vibroblade unsheathed from his boot, flipping it expertly in his grip as he launched himself at the quarry. With a fury-soaked roar, he knocked the smuggler’s blaster from his grip, sending it spinning away to land wetly in a pile of leaves, and began raining blows. The quarry staggered under the onslaught, losing his footing, and Mando sprung at the moment of weakness, bringing his blade down on his opponent in an almost elegant arc.

The blade sliced through the thick, leathery skin of the quarry’s arm, raised at the last moment to block the assault, and blood sprayed as Mando swung again, this time nicking his horned chin. Another swing, and the fabric of the Weequay’s shirt and vest split, leaving behind a gash several inches long spanning the width of his chest.

With heavy-lidded half-consciousness, your breath coming short in your chest, you watched as your Mandalorian systematically broke his opponent down.

Blow after blow, cut after cut, the quarry grew weaker, his defenses came slower, and Mando let it happen. There was something relentless yet…measured in the way he drew it out, never letting up his attacks and yet never dealing the final, fatal blow that would bring the battle to an end. It was like he wanted the smuggler to suffer, to feel as much pain as he could manage before he finally granted him death. It was terrifying, almost sickening to watch, and yet, something hot and undeniable stirred low in your abdomen at the sight.

Mando was going to kill this man, and he was going to do it for you.

Before long, the quarry collapsed to the ground, sunk to his knees with his back to the bounty hunter, dripping blood from so many wounds it would be nearly impossible to count them all. Wrapping one gloved hand around his thorny jaw, Mando yanked the other man’s head back sharply, forcing him to look him in the eye as he brought the vibroblade up to his neck.

Keeping the knife close, mere inches from the Weequay’s jugular, the Mandalorian leveled him with a stare that you swore you could feel the weight of even from where you lay. His voice low and steeped with venom, he growled, “Ni Ru'lis ganar ru'duumir gar at oyacyir. Ni Ru'lis ganar hibiir gar oyayc. A jii?” He allowed the knife to graze the quarry’s vulnerable neck then, and the man let out a groan of pain as blood bloomed beneath its edge.

“Jii, gar Kelir ash'amur de ner gaan, ge’hutuun. Vaabir gar ganar mayen at sirbur? Nayc?” It sounded like a taunt, Mando’s tone twisting darkly through is helmet modulator, and you felt a bit dizzy. “Jate.”

And without another word, Mando drew his blade across the quarry’s throat.

Nausea rolled over you like a wave, drowning out your arousal, and you tore your gaze away as the smuggler’s body went limp and slumped onto the forest floor. It was over. Thank the Maker. It was over.

___

Before Kevok Teklolq’s corpse even hit the ground, Din had already sheathed his bloody blade and darted to the edge of the clearing where you lay. “Cyare,” he whispered, crouching at your side, taking your cold, pallid face in his hands. His heart stuttered in his chest when you offered him a weak, glossy-eyed smile in return, bringing a shaking hand up to grip his wrist, to hold him back.

He took in the thin scratches across your exposed skin, the way the rain had turned the scarf around your head transparent, the way it had matted your long, braided hair to your neck. The blaster wound in your shoulder had torn through your jacket, leaving a bloody hole that started just under your collarbone and passed clean through your shoulder. Fear and rage threatened to choke him at the sight of your blood spilling onto the slick leaves beneath you. It was one of his greatest fears realized, laid out in front of him, and he felt sick at the thought of what might have happened had the quarry’s shot been even a handful of inches closer to its target.

“I told you to stay on the ship!” he hissed. Tearing the scarf from your head, he brought it down to your wound and pressed down hard with the heel of his palm in an attempt to slow the bleeding.

You groaned, your eyes fluttering shut, gritting your teeth against the pain. “Saw the – the blaster fire stop. I thought that – ”

“I don’t care what you thought!” Running the tip of his thumb across a particularly nasty scratch on your cheekbone, Din tightened his grip on your face. Not too hard, stars, he would never hurt you, but hard enough for your eyes to shoot open, for that bit of fogginess to lift as you met his gaze. “I had it handled – ”

You let out a breathless, mirthless laugh, cutting him off. “Really? You sure?” you snapped, and the Mandalorian felt something rise in him at the way your eyes sparked in the darkness, the way you were ready to go toe-to-toe with him even now, even as you bled onto the forest floor.

The wave of self-righteousness only lasted for a moment, however. All of the energy leaking from you, you sagged against his grip and sighed, “He was going to take off your helmet. I couldn’t – couldn’t let him do that to you.”

Din clenched his jaw, feeling his anger cool at your words. “I told you to keep yourself safe.” His voice was thick with emotion even through his vocoder, though all of the venom had dissolved, leaving only pain in its place.

You shook your head, one corner your plush lips tilting up in a wry smile. “This is the Way. Right, Mando?”

The bounty hunter swore he felt his chest split open at that. His heart had crawled out of his ribcage and laid itself upon your breast, a raw, pathetic, vulnerable thing, wholly yours, begging you to take pity upon it. “Sweet girl…” Lowering himself over your prone form, he rested his helmet against your forehead as he had back in the Crest, not trusting himself to speak further.

But there was only so long you could spend in the pouring rain, bleeding in the dark. After allowing himself that moment of respite, Din pulled back and offered you a hand. “Come on, we need to get a bacta patch on that wound before you lose any more blood. Can you stand?”

You shifted beneath him, as though trying to assess the strength of your limbs, whether you would be able to push through the pain. After a beat, you nodded and gripped his hand. “Yeah, think so.”

Din pulled you to your feet, and you swayed dangerously, your breath hitching in your chest as your hand flew up to clutch your now-bloodied scarf to your blaster wound. He immediately snaked his arm around your upper back, bracing your body against his and tucking his hand under your arm to support your weight. His own injuries protested, but he had fought through far worse pain. The ache of his joints, the overextended muscles of his shoulder, the minor scrapes were nothing. Tightening his grip on your ribcage, he urged you back the way you had come – back toward the Razor Crest.

“Wait, what about the quarry? Don’t we have to – ” you protested, gesturing vaguely in the direction of Teklolq’s body.

The bounty hunter shook his head once. “I’ll come back for the body in the morning. He’ll keep ‘til then.”

You glanced up at him, your eyebrows quirked in uncertainty. “You’re sure? I don’t want to – ”A shiver wracked your body, and you pressed yourself closer to him, molding yourself to his side. “ – to keep you from finishing your hunt.”

“The hunt is over, cyare. It was over the second that shabuir pointed a weapon at you.” He nudged you forward again, shouldering as much of your weight as you would allow him. “Now come, let’s get you warmed up. I can feel you trembling.”

“I’m not c-cold,” you retorted. Another shiver coursed through you, and Din almost chuckled at the frown that bloomed across your face.

Instead, he muttered “stubborn thing” under his breath and spread his fingers across your ribs, noting the way your muscles jumped then relaxed under his touch. You were going to be the death of him. He was certain of it.

___

Grogu met the two of you at the door.

When Mando punched in the access code on his vambrace to let down the rear ramp, the little boy could be seen hovering just on the other side, his tiny body silhouetted by the warm, dim light of the Razor Crest’s cargo hold. You wished he would have listened to your request to stay inside the bunk, but you supposed you should consider yourself lucky that he had used the Force only to open the bunk rather than the whole ship.

His little cries of distress reached you even from the base of the ramp, and by the time you and Mando stumbled into the ship, he had worked himself up into a frenzy. He reached his little arms as far up as they would go, his hands grasping at you, begging to be let up, to be allowed to see you. Even through the fog of pain, your heart ached at the sight, and you started to bend down to pick him up. However, before you could so much as extend an arm to him, Mando brought you up short.

Without any sign of strain or struggle, the bounty hunter shifted you out from under his arm, wrapped both of his hands around your waist, and swiftly boosted you into the air. You yelped in surprise, your free hand flying out to steady yourself on one of his pauldrons, but there was no need. You were perfectly secure in his hands, and you were only airborne for a moment. The next thing you knew, he had gently plunked you down onto one of the gray cargo bins, sitting you so far back that your feet dangled a few inches above the deck.

“Mando, wha – ?” You simply sat there for a moment, dumbfounded and completely disoriented. He had plucked you up and thrown you onto this perch like a ragdoll, like you weighed nothing, and you felt a drop behind your navel at the thought. The man in question, however, seemed to have no interest in explaining himself. He had already walked away, leaving you to gape at the back of his helmet.

Your confusion (and your excitement) was almost enough to distract you from the shooting pains emanating from your blaster wound. Almost enough to drown out the increased pitch of Grogu’s whining.

“It’s okay, buddy,” you managed to say after a beat, pressing your ruined scarf into your shoulder with shaking fingers. “I’ll be fine, Mando’s going to get me all patched up. Right, Mando?”

It was then you realized that the Mandalorian was already digging through the medical supply bin, sorting through it with single-minded focus. You felt a small smile soften your expression.

Patting the cold, plastic surface of the storage bin next to you, you beckoned, “Come on up, Grogu – you can come sit with me while we wait, huh?”

That seemed to be all the invitation the boy needed. Jumping with unnatural force, he launched himself up and into your lap with a squeal. You were quick to wrap your free arm around his back to steady him, but he hardly seemed to notice. Almost immediately, he began to scrabble at the hand that covered your wound, digging his claws into your jacket sleeve and yanking your body toward him with surprising force.

“Oh, you want to see?” You pulled your hand away from where you still bled, sitting your scarf aside, allowing his wide, dark eyes to flicker over the site of the blaster impact. “I know it looks bad, but – ”

Your words got caught in your throat as Grogu laid his tiny palm over the hole, a look of intense concentration on his face. However, as you stared at him, mouth agape, he seemed to hesitate, and you watched as he drew back slightly and looked over at Mando, cooing questioningly in his direction.

“What’s up, kiddo?” you asked, glancing back and forth between the boy and the bounty hunter.

Mando gestured toward Grogu’s hand on your blaster wound, affection coloring his voice as he replied, “He wants to heal you. He’s asking if that’s all right.”

You felt your eyebrows raise. “Heal me?” you echoed. “He – he can do that?”

The Mandalorian nodded. “Yes. I’ve seen it. He doesn’t normally ask, though. He just…does it.”

Oh. A rush of fondness swelled in you, tears stinging your eyes, and you looked back down to the boy in your lap. “Are you sure?” you asked him. “I don’t want to tire you out too much. I can just use a bacta patch, it would be okay.”

Grogu clearly shook his head no, letting loose a stream of babbles and coos that lilted up at the end, as though he was pleading with you, and you felt a part of you melt at the earnestness of his expression. He wanted to do this for you. How could you refuse him when he looked at you like that?

“Okay, okay,” you agreed. “Go ahead.”

Offering you a tiny, toothy smile, that look of concentration settled back over the boy’s face once more, and he pressed his palm firmly into the wet, weeping wound under your collarbone. A sharp pain lanced through you at the contact, stealing the breath from your lungs, but thankfully, it didn’t last long. Before you could so much as utter a whimper, a soft, warm glow seemed to suffuse your body, rolling through you in waves that originated from that palm on your shoulder.

That glow chased away the pain first, replacing it with a comforting wash of heat that soothed your raw nerves and eased your aching joints. Then, it began to mend you. You could feel the fibers of the muscles and ligaments in your shoulder stretching toward each other, fusing, knitting themselves back together from the inside out. You felt bone hardening along your back, locking into place, filling the hole left in your shoulder blade by the blaster bolt. You felt new, fresh skin grow across both the entry and exit wounds, pulling taut then relaxing as it settled into place, and finally, in a move that had you reaching out to steady yourself against the nearest bulkhead, this glowing Force seemed to instantaneously replenish the blood you had lost, making you immediately dizzy with a headrush the likes of which you had never experienced, even when pulling negative G’s behind the helm of a starship.

You wobbled on your perch, your grip on Grogu’s robes slipping, and for a moment, you thought you might pass out. Or drop him. Or both. But thankfully, before either of those things could happen, Mando was back at your side, scooping the suddenly sagging Grogu into the crook of one arm while steadying you with the other.

“Easy, you two,” he soothed, cradling the nape of your neck in his palm, bringing your forehead to rest against his breastplate as you came back to yourself. “You all right?”

“Yeah,” you sighed. The scent of him was overwhelming up close – rich soil and rainwater and blaster fire from the forest, all underscored by that warm spice you would forever associate with his skin. “Dizzy there for a second. ‘M better now.”

You heard him sigh faintly through the vocoder. “Good. Your shoulder?”

Easing yourself upright, you rolled your shoulders back and extended your neck to its full length. You rotated the injured shoulder cautiously, then lifted your arm, testing your range of motion. When that was successful, you braced your hands on your knees and arched your back forward, feeling the muscles between your shoulder blades compress, then curved it back, feeling them lengthen.

It all felt…tender. Well-used. As though you had been lifting heavy machinery all day and had only barely managed not to injure yourself. But that sharp, fiery pain was gone, and you felt more whole than you had since the moment you stepped foot in that forest.

“Shoulder’s good as new,” you reported, relief washing over you at the truth of that statement. You were okay, thanks to the little boy currently fighting sleep in the crook of the Mandalorian’s elbow. Offering him a soft smile, you scooted yourself to the edge of the cargo bin, extending your hands out in front of you as though to take him. “He’s about to pass out. I’ll go put him down for the night – ”

“Don’t you move,” Mando replied, pulling Grogu out of your reach.

You frowned at that and looked up into his ink-black visor with confusion. “It’s fine, I don’t mind. I’m the one that dragged him out of bed earlier.”

Something low and grumbly rumbled in the bounty hunter’s chest, and you drew back, startled. “Sit. Down. You rest,” he commanded, his voice gruff and almost…angry? “I’ll take care of the kid.”

“Fine. Knock yourself out,” you said almost petulantly. To your annoyance, he did not rise to the bait. Instead, he tucked Grogu’s drowsy body against his chest and grabbed onto the ladder, as though to take him up to the second level.

“Wait – hang on, his hammock…” you started, now completely baffled.

But Mando simply said, “Not tonight.” And in the next instant, he disappeared up the ladder with the boy in tow.

You sat in silence for the handful of seconds it took him to drop Grogu off in the cockpit. You thought perhaps you heard him murmur something to the kid in that warm, lilting tone that told you he was speaking Mando’a, but before you could come to any sort of conclusion as to his strange behavior, the bounty hunter was back, dropping into the cargo hold with a metallic thunk, leaving the rungs of the ladder untouched.

His feet had barely hit the floor before you started speaking.

“Why can’t Grogu sleep in his hammock?” you demanded, confusion and annoyance coloring your tone as you crossed your arms over your chest. “You know how much better he sleeps there than in the cockpit.”

“We need to talk.” Mando closed the space between you in two long strides, his gaze intense and direct even through his helmet. It made you uneasy, and it set your heart beating heavily against your ribcage.

“O-okay.”

Coming to stand directly in front of you, his thigh armor pressing against the edge of the cargo bin between your legs, he rasped, “Take off your jacket.” His tone left no room for argument, and you felt blood rush to your face.

“What?” You sounded breathless even to your own ears.

“Your jacket. Take it off,” he repeated. He kept his hands close to his body, his fingers gripped snuggly around his utility belt as though he was holding himself back, stopping himself from reaching out and removing the offending garment for you. “I want to see your wound.”

You swallowed thickly at that, hesitating for only a moment before obeying.

Keeping your eyes locked on his T-shaped visor, you shrugged the wet, blood-stained thing off your shoulders and allowed it to crumple on the cargo bin behind you. Goosebumps rose on your newly exposed skin, breaking out across your chest, down your arms. Your undershirt was thin and plastered to your form with rainwater, leaving little to the imagination, and out of the corner of your eye, you could see the shine of smooth, new flesh catching the light where the blaster’s entry wound had once been.

Mando released a heavy, audible breath at the sight, the sound crackling through his helmet, and you swore you could see the moment he lost the battle with himself about whether or not to touch you. Something in his posture seemed to break, and then his hands were on you, cupping the ball of your shoulder with one, running the very tips of his gloved fingers over your new scar with the other.

A shiver wracked your body at the touch, so delicate and tentative, and the Mandalorian hissed, “Cyar’ika… He shot you.” He sounded like he was in pain, like the words were being dragged from his chest at great agony to him. “You got shot…for me. To protect my Creed.”

Your lower lip wobbled at that, everything within you softening at the anguish in his voice. “Yes,” you replied, your voice just as soft, just as weak. “And you killed him for it.”

Mando’s grip on your shoulder tightened, forcing your back to arch, pulling your chest closer to his. “For you,” he growled. His pain had morphed into something fierce, something vicious, and you felt your body respond instantly, your heartrate spiking, your core clenching around nothing.

With a nod and a forceful swallow, you echoed, “For me.”

The pad of his thumb swiped over that round patch of thin, silky skin once more, this time with a bit more force, and the sensation dragged another shiver out of you. Stars, it was so sensitive, like the nerve endings hadn’t yet remembered how to function properly after being reconstructed.

“You can’t do that again. You have to…” Unmistakable desperation colored the Mandalorian’s tone, his chin tucked down toward his chest, shaking his head as he appeared to wrestle with himself. “You have to listen to what I tell you. I… I can’t – ”

“Mando…”

“Din.” He looked up into your eyes once again, his beskar-covered face so close to yours, you could see condensation from your breath forming on his helmet’s surface. “Din Djarin.”

The words, brand new to your ears, hung in the charged air between you for a moment as you processed what you had just heard. Din Djarin. It couldn’t be…

“…your name?” you whispered, overwhelmed with awe, with the gravity of what he had just revealed.

“Yes.” The brushed a damp strand of hair out of your face with a tenderness that nearly brought tears to your eyes. “I’d like to hear you say it.”

You drew your lower lip between your teeth, and although it was subtle, you didn’t miss the way his head tilted as though following the motion.

“Din.”

The bounty hunter let out a weighted breath, and you wondered whether his eyes had drifted shut behind his visor, whether his cheeks had darkened with a flush.

“Din, you know I can’t promise you that,” you continued, and in an instant, all of the softness that had come over him in the last few moments vanished completely, leaving something rigid and indignant in its place.

“The deal – ”

“I know what the deal was,” you were quick to retort. You didn’t allow him to back away from you, bringing your hands up to dig your fingers into the edge of his breastplate, keep him close. “You catch the bounties. I protect the kid. I fix the ship. I stay. Behind. Every time you leave, every time you put your life at risk, I stay. And I wait.”

You clenched your jaw, feeling emotion start to rise in your throat in a way that threatened to choke you. “I get it, okay? I’m not like you. I’m not a warrior. I know that. But you…” Tears stung the backs of your eyes, and you felt your chin begin to tremble. “You have to know, don’t you?” Slowly, cautiously, you allowed one of your hands to slip from his chest up to his helmet, cupping his cheek through the beskar, cool against your palm. “You have to know. For you, I would be.”

The Mandalorian shuddered against you, and you watched as he leaned his cheek heavily into your touch like a Loth-cat seeking affection. His hands traveled from your shoulder to your neck, cupping the bowl of your skull in his long, thick fingers, running his thumb along your fluttering pulse point like a man possessed.

His voice vibrated through you, resonating through his helmet and against your palm as he said, “If anyone ever hurts you again… I would tear the galaxy apart, cyare.”

“Then protect me,” you sighed, frustrated and aroused in equal measure. “But you have to let me protect you sometimes, too.”

“You shouldn’t have to protect me.”

His quick response startled an irreverent laugh out of you. “Well, tough bantha shit.”

With a tentative smile, you pulled one of his gloved hands from your neck and cradled it in both of your own. You could feel him shake under your touch as you ran your fingers over the seams of the leather, caressed the hollow of his palm, and your smile grew.

“I know you like to pretend like you’re untouchable under all this armor, but you’re forgetting – I’ve seen the flesh and blood underneath it. And I don’t need to see your face to know that you’re just a person like the rest of us. We have to take care of each other.” Your lips curling into something impish, something provocative, you brought his hand to your mouth, dropping a soft kiss on the ridge of his knuckles. “Din Djarin.”

Din released an agonized groan, guttural and raw, as though the touch of your lips through the leather had hurt him, and your smirk dissolved.

“Would you…” he began, pausing to clear his throat. “Would you let me show you?”

You trembled at that, and as though in a trance, you kissed his hand again, this time allowing your lips to linger, ghosting your breath across the well-worn leather surface. “Show me what?”

“How I would take care of you.” The cool beskar of his helmet met your forehead. His free hand cupped your jaw. The pad of his thumb caught on your full lower lip, holding it for a moment, dragging it down, releasing it, watching it bounce back. “I would take such good care of you, cyare. Will you let me?”

Heat bloomed in your face, burned in your belly. Your core throbbed, your racing heartbeat making itself known in both your chest and your cunt, and you felt a whimper escape your throat. “Yes,” you panted. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. No one had ever spoken to you like that. “Please.”

Din growled low in his chest, the sound warped and menacing coming from the modulator, but you swore it only made you wetter. “Thank you,” he groaned. “Now open your pretty mouth.”

With heavy-lidded eyes, you obeyed, lips dropping open, tongue poking out only slightly, and you heard the bounty hunter curse at the sight before he released his grip on your jaw and quickly shucked his gloves. You couldn’t hold back your gasp at the image of his bare hands – broad, tanned, and masculine, exposed to you now for the first time. Did he have a tattoo on one of them? Fuck, he did – a tiny, black bullseye on the thick stretch of skin between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand. What other surprises did he have hidden under that armor?

You wanted to examine the little mark further, but then Din slid two fingers into your open mouth with a hiss, and you forgot all about it.

You might have preferred to kiss him, you thought, but kriff, if this wasn’t a good alternative. Releasing an involuntary moan, you sealed your lips around the intrusion, sucking on his fingers, drawing them deeper as saliva swelled on your tongue. His skin was warm and calloused, tasting of salt and blaster residue and man. And it was him – finally him, the first bit of his person you had seen in months, since the day you cauterized his wounds and tried desperately not to stare. That knowledge alone was enough to have you squirming in your seat, clenching your thighs together in search of friction.

“Shab, that’s it, sweet girl,” Din grunted. His chest heaved, his breath loud through his helmet, and you felt your eyes flutter at the sound. “Get my fingers nice and wet, and then you can tell me where you want me to touch you.”

A whine worked its way out of your throat, and you felt the Mandalorian’s other hand cup the side of your face in response.

Threading his fingers into the hair behind your ear, he tugged firmly, sending a jolt of sensation straight to your clit as your head tilted back under his hold. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, cyar’ika? You like it when I touch you. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” He withdrew his digits from your mouth, dragging saliva over your lower lip, making you shiver. “Now where do you want me?”

“Maker, please – ” You were so dizzy you could hardly string two words together, let alone answer him. You squirmed in his grip, wiggling your hips, inching them closer to the edge of the cargo bin where you sat. He had to know what you wanted, what you needed. Making you say it was –

“Be specific, mesh’la. I can’t give you what you want if you won’t tell me.” You swore you could hear laughter in his voice – breathless and strained, but amused, entertained by your struggle.

“Kriffing hells,” you groaned, mortification and longing warring in your breast. You couldn’t say it. You couldn’t. You’d sooner melt away and disappear through the deck plating. But you also couldn’t be held responsible for what you did if this man didn’t fucking touch you in the next four seconds.

So you said nothing and instead brought your hands to the waistband of your pants.

It took you about two seconds to tear open the button and yank down the zipper. Another second to wrap your fingers around his wrist and drag his hand down your body. One more to direct his wet fingertips through the opening in your pants and under the band of your underwear, and then –

All of the air left your lungs in one dramatic rush, and a sob ripped its way out of your chest. “Fuck, Din.”

The Mandalorian choked on a moan as his fingers skirted over your damp curls, feeling the wetness that had already blossomed there. With an eager push, he slipped them between your folds, skimming over your swollen, aching clit, seeking your entrance. Your hips arched involuntarily against his touch, and you felt the fingers in your hair flex with urgency.

“Hmmm,” he growled, pleased, like a nexu luxuriating in a sunbeam. His helmet pressed more firmly into your forehead, almost to the point of pain. “You’re so wet for me already.”

You nodded frantically, thrusting your hips into his fingers, needing that touch on your clit, inside you, gods, anywhere. Everywhere.

“I know, mesh’la, I know,” Din crooned, something a little mean, a little provoking creeping into his voice in a way that made your ears burn. “Pretty pussy just needs a little attention, hm? S’okay. I’m gonna give her what she needs.”

The tip of his middle finger circled the swollen nub of your clit gently, so gently, and you sagged back against the hand in your hair, leaning your full weight into his grip, completely boneless at the sensation. It was perfect, he was perfect, his calloused touch tender yet insistent, unrelenting, and you could feel your wetness leaking into your panties, soaking the fabric.

He sped up then, and you cried out, your own hands flying up to grip onto his shoulders, to tangle in the fabric of his cape. Gods, he really was all covered up still. And so were you, for that matter, and yet even now, even fully clothed, this already far surpassed any other experience you had ever had with another person. There was no coming back from this. He was going to ruin you for anyone else, you could already tell.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asked, bringing his helmet to your shoulder, tucking it against your neck, seemingly desperate to be as close to you as he could manage. “Does this feel good?”

You nodded with a whine and buried your face in his shoulder. “Yes – fuck, yes, it’s so good. B-But…” A shudder wracking your frame, you trailed off, leaving your words hanging in the damp air between you.

“But?” Din echoed, coaxing, rasping through the modulator. “You need more? You need my fingers inside you?”

“Mm hm, yesyesyes, inside me, please, Din.” You canted your hips upward, directing his touch down to the place that clenched and fluttered for him, that had been begging for something to bear down on since the moment he first put his hands on you.

Immediately he obliged, sinking his middle finger into your grasping entrance, and you clenched your jaw against the moan that formed in your throat at way your walls seized around him.

“Shab, you’re so kriffing tight.” The bounty hunter seemed to take a stabilizing breath, his shoulders rising and falling as he tried frantically to calm himself. “I need you to relax. Just relax for me, cyar’ika, let me stretch you open.”

You breathed deep from your diaphragm, like you had during target practice, like you had in the forest, and you felt that clenching give way on the exhale. Your deepest muscles pulsed and quivered at his command, easing the way for him to draw his finger back out of you, to thrust back in. You sobbed into his neck, and Din cursed into yours.

You were dripping now, slick, sticky wetness gathering in his palm, slipping down his fingers.

“Can you handle another, cyar’ika?” he asked after giving you a moment to get used to the intrusion. You nodded wordlessly, shoving your face harder into the cushion of his shoulder, and he let out a breathless chuckle. “That’s what I thought. I know you can.”

On his next thrust, his ring finger joined the middle, and you keened at the stretch – hot, tight, and so fucking good. His fingers were so much thicker than yours, so much longer. It drove all other thoughts, all other sensations from your mind, and your stomach quaked at the thought of what his cock might do to you if this was how you reacted to only his fingers.

You desperately wanted to find out, but for now, his fingers were more than enough. His thrusts had picked up speed – in and out, in and out, hypnotic, relentless, fucking you with singular focus – and your thighs had started to shake. He was going to make you come with or without his cock, and it was going to be overwhelming.

The pleasure built and built, spreading under your skin, skating down your nerves, and just when you thought it might be plateauing, just when you started to whine and circle your hips, begging for more, Din changed the angle, crooking his fingers ever so slightly inside you, hitting something devastating and deep, something only one other lover had ever found, something you couldn’t quite reach yourself. You yelped, loud and almost startled, and then he hit it again, and you felt tears gathering under your clenched eyelids.

When the base of his palm came to grind against your clit, those tears spilled down your cheeks, and you started to babble nonsense.

“Hmm, there she is,” Din groaned. “That’s what this pussy needed. Just relax and take it for me, cyar’ika.”

Fuck, the way he talked was enough to bring you right to the brink. That was entirely new for you, and you never would have guessed it of him, this warrior clad in beskar and stoicism, this man of so few words. He must have needed this as badly as you did, you realized, like once he opened his mouth, he couldn’t reign himself back in. How long had it been since he had let himself go like this? How long had he been suppressing this side of himself?

It was maddening. And still, he kept fucking you.

“Din,” you panted, crying, drooling into the fabric of his cape. “Din, I can’t – ”

“You’re almost there, aren’t you?” He sounded like he wanted to be smug about it, but instead he just sounded desperate, like he was hanging there with you, about to fall over the edge.

“Yes,” you whimpered.

Something raw and animalistic rumbled in his chest. You could feel it vibrate under your cheek. “I want to feel it. I want to feel you squeeze my fingers when you come. Can you do that for me?”

You nodded, more tears leaking from behind your eyelids, and you startled as he wrapped his free hand around your braid and pulled you away from his shoulder, fixed you with his burning gaze through is visor.

He wanted to see you, you realized. He wanted to watch your face when he brought you to your peak.

“Then do it,” he growled. “Show me how good it feels. Show me how you come.”

So you did.

It crashed over you all at once, overwhelming and unstoppable like a tidal wave, ravaging your body and pulling you under. You felt yourself gush into his palm, soaking his skin, and fire seared through your rigid muscles. You were thoughtless, mindless – simply a passenger as the walls of your reality blew apart and flung you into the darkness.

Din’s voice sounded so far away as you shook and whimpered, your eyes fluttering shut, rolling back in your head. “Jate…jate. Good girl. That’s it – kriff, you feel so good. So good for me,” he murmured, talking you through it, prolonging the delicious torment. “I know you have more, don’t stop – ”

Your thighs shook uncontrollably as you started to come down. Had you been more in control of your own faculties, you might have found that embarrassing, but as it was, you barely had the capacity to ease the death-grip you had taken on Din’s shoulders. You felt boneless, like your body had turned to gelatin, and you swayed against his hold on your head like a ragdoll, ready to slump back against the cargo bin and drift off.

“Easy, easy,” the Mandalorian coaxed. His voice was hoarse, as though he had been the one crying out helplessly, straining his vocal chords. With gentle hands, he gathered your limp body against his chest, dragging your own wetness over your bare arms as he did so. The sensation made you blush, which in turn made you feel a bit ridiculous. As if he hadn’t just had those fingers so deep inside you that you had forgotten your own name.

“All right, gotabor’ika?” he asked after a beat, you let out a weak chuckle.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m all right,” you replied. You shut your eyes and snuggled up to his breastplate. The cool metal had gone body-warm under your touch, and it was almost comforting. “You?”

A laugh rasped through his vocoder. “I will be,” he said, shifting his weight, and for the first time, you noticed that the impossible hardness pressing against the inside of your thigh was not, in fact, one of his armor pieces.

Fuck. You had been right to be worried earlier. The man felt…big.

Suddenly, you weren’t so tired anymore

“Remember what I said?” you said, tilting your head back to meet his gaze. “That we’d take care of each other?”

You felt a shiver pass through him as you shifted on the cargo bin, dragging the softness of your inner thigh against the press of his cock. “…yes, cyare.”

“Well, then.” Mustering your energy, you slipped down from your perch and onto your feet, the whole length of your body now pressed against his, and with a mischievous smile, you gathered his hands in yours and began backing away toward the ‘fresher. “Come on. It’s my turn.”

___

Mando'a Translations:

Ni Ru'lis ganar ru'duumir gar at oyacyir. Ni Ru'lis ganar hibiir gar oyayc. A jii? Jii, gar Kelir ash'amur de ner gaan, ge’hutuun. Vaabir gar ganar mayen at sirbur? Nayc? Jate. - I could have allowed you to live. I could have taken you in alive. But now? Now, you will die by my hand, coward. Do you have anything to say? No? Good. cyare - beloved shabuir - motherfucker cyar'ika - darling, sweetheart shab - fuck mesh'la - beautiful jate - good

#din djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal characters fanfiction

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undertheknightwing · 6 months

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WIP GAME

Rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigued them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Tagged by @not-so-mundane-after-all and if you don’t mind I'm gonna steal your idea since I don't have any active wips either, just ideas:

• First, obviously I'm always working on chapters. We're gonna ignore the fact that it took me two years to get to the chapter where the boys finally go on a date 🙃 but I'll give myself a pass since this is chapter 22 and I can't believe I got that far.

• Titanstober Week 4 idea that focuses on some of the horrible things done to Gar by the Chief, all seen by Rachel who somehow found herself able to wander in Gar's memories even though she hasn't been able to before and towards the end gets her answer when meeting someone very magical and powerful.

• Now to jump to another ship, I'm a sucker for re-writing episodes/scenes and I've been itching to re-write the kryptonite poisoning scenes in the s&l episode "Loyal Subjekts" to give my Jonny-Boy some hurt + comfort because it's just.. ughh.. that he didn't get sick too. He's got Kryptonian dna which means he should be affected by kryptonite. Simple as that. He's getting poisoned by kryptonite and Clark is gonna be a good dad who actually takes care of Jon for once dammit!

• Okay back to Titans, I thought about writing some kind of Christmas party fic that takes place like four years after season 4. It'd be wholesome but also bittersweet because everyone's grown up with their own lives. DickKory are living a life as normal as they can with Mar'i, Rachel is about to graduate college, and Gar's living in Metropolis with a roommate (who's also technically his co-worker) but is still the Red's champion so he's barely had time to see the Titans throughout the years. It'd be a shock to everyone that Gar actually has the time to attend the party. (that, or release the director's cut of "a very merry crossover christmas")

Now for ideas that probably won't be written but they've been stuck in my head for a while

• Since Gar is connected to life and death through the Red, I assume he can contact the afterlife and thought how emotionally damaging it'd be for Gar to visit his parents. Like I have this image of his parents afterlife being living peacefully in a cute little house where they can just enjoy each other's company, away from all the science stuff that took up their attention forever, and someday Gar shows up to finally talk to them again after so long. Heartbreaking family reunion stuff, ya know?

• In the same train as family stuff because I love it, it makes me very happy, I'm so soft for the idea of dad!Gar. It's been in my brain for years. He'd be so silly but so sweet,, I'm just in love with it 🥺💖 Anyway the idea would be Dick meeting Gar's son and being a mix of anxiety, pride, and "Oh my god I'm a grandpa and I'm not even 40". Mar'i would be super excited to have a nephew too.

• Krypto in s&l, that's all. He's Jon's dog because Jon deserves a dog.

• Jon in Wonderland au. I was obsessed with this idea, like it's all I could think about for a bit. (I have a couple drawings from the idea that I'd glady show you bestie if you ever wanna see 💙)

#tag game #wip game

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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 1 year

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part three of the Vast!Jon AU that is taking over my life

Have some Martin.

Danny Stoker is part of this, now?

Yes, EVERYBODY HAS TO CRY. Shut up.

---------------------

Martin’s frilly, pink apron is almost too saturated on camera, but he knows that’s how the viewers love it. He’s even added a pop of lip gloss today, a shade between the apron and the hearts it bears.

“Now, you’ll know it’s done in two ways,” he says, donning his thick oven mitts - wildly orange, but the hearts on them match his apron exactly. “First, the smell. You’ll recognize it after you’ve baked this recipe about six times. There’s nothing quite as good as these orange-cranberry muffins when they reach this stage, and if you’re in a place where you can smell it, it’s incredible. Fortunately, there’s a more reliable, less woo-woo way, too.” He waggles his eyebrows and gives a brilliant smile.

It’s his on-camera smile.

And his applying-for-jobs smile.

And his meeting-new-people smile.

It is sweet, and hopeful, and his eyes aren’t quite closed, and his chin is raised, and it comes across as open and kind and not quite vulnerable enough to invite hurt.

Sure, some people try, but they're trolls, and he just blocks them.

“Behold: your secret weapon!” And he brandishes a toothpick.

Tim laughs off-camera.

Danny mutters something like, “Yeah, they’ve never seen that before.”

“Yeah, well, maybe they haven’t,” says Martin, turning to them for the briefest moment before smiling back at his livestream. “The toothpick is your greatest weapon - well. After learning how to fold instead of stir, anyway. Look, this little guy can tell you if it’s ready, better than a thermometer, or knocking on it, or whatever else you've been told. Let me show you. Now, I know from the smell that the muffins aren’t ready, so I get to show you what it looks like when they’re not.”

He does.

The muffins need a few more minutes, and that is perfect, because he shows the camera how batter clings to the toothpick.

“Time for an awkward cut,” he says, and then there is an awkward cut.

Because there’s nothing to do until the damn muffins are done.

Fortunately, everybody loves the wait for it animation: a tiny version of him with anime eyes, huge, red curly hair, a chef’s hat, and his ubiquitous apron, prancing back and forth from the counter to the stove in an unending loop.

“You’re nearly there,” says Tim, who gets it, who understands why Martin is fucking distracted today.

No one who didn’t personally know Martin would know.

Anyone who does know him could clearly see he is a mess.

“I,” says Martin, and doesn’t finish his sentence.

Jon’s plane went down. That is all anyone knows. That is all anybody can tell him.

Neither tears nor manipulation will bring more info, and so Martin must wait.

He is not okay.

“Ready?” says Danny, keeping them - as always - on schedule. “Three, two….”

“Look at this!” says Martin a moment later, drawing a clean toothpick from the middle muffin. “Now, we’re talking. Oh… everyone, I wish you could smell this.”

And he does one of his little moans.

Those moans are what made his channel.

Someone tried to make #BlackwoodMoan work for a while (like that movie with Samuel L. Jackson), but the fan base rose up and declared Martin too good, too pure to be associated in such a way.

#MartinMoan is the hashtag.

There are gifs.

It’s a high sound, sweet, freakily innocent, and it somehow brushes against every illicit desire any human has ever had for anything. He’s seen compilations of it, clipped together in a tapestry of embarrassment.

He doesn’t mind, exactly?

He did make the sound on purpose. He knew it was effective because it actually got Jon flushed and stammering, and damn near nothing else did.

Martin had merely underestimated just how effective it would be out in the great, wide world.

“They’re perfect,” he says, and takes the time to show the camera the light golden muffins, speckled with red - a perfect batch of orange cranberry baked good from scratch.

The stream ends with him opening one up, peeling the cap off with indescribable satisfaction, adding a tiny pat of butter, and indulging.

The eye-roll is a thing too, like a hungry shark, but that one doesn’t have a hashtag.

“Recipe in the description,” he mumbles, sounding like he’s been fucked within an inch of his life. “My team will answer any questions. You have got to make this. We’ve also included dairy and gluten free options. Bake well, my lovelies, and enjoy your life.”

Bake well, my lovelies, and enjoy your life. He’s ended every single video with that since day one.

Since before Tim and Danny joined him.

Since before he had the courage to tell anyone he was doing this, even Jon.

As always, he means every word.

This time, however, when the camera light blinks off, he bursts into tears.

“He’s got to be okay,” says Tim, who knows Jon, thinks he’s funny, and appreciates how much Martin loves him. “We haven’t gotten a list of deaths, or anything, and they have to release that, as far as I know.”

“They do have to,” says Danny, who barely knows Jon, and doesn’t really like him, but certainly wants Martin to be happy.

“Only to next of kin,” Martin points out, and sniffles.

Tim and Danny both pause.

“He doesn’t have you listed?” says Tim.

“I’m his friend. We’re not anything. Of course he doesn’t,” Martin snaps, and feels bad for it immediately after.

Tim and Danny give one another that look.

“Right,” says Tim. “Not anything.”

Martin rubs his face.

Danny gives Martin a side-hug - too strong, like a mountain man, but well meant. “He’s going to be okay. Have faith.”

“The plane went down.” Martin’s voice is… cold. Almost mechanical. A tone he’d never use with anyone who didn’t know him well. “It hit a gods-damned mountain. What am I supposed to have faith in?”

“Love?” says Tim.

“Actually, yeah. Love,” says Danny.

Martin gives them a look.

They look back. Two brothers, good friends, who’ve been part of his show and part of his life and helped him navigate the mess with his mother and helped him work out his feelings for his childhood friend and now want to help him work through potential grief.

Or his potential… faith, maybe?

Martin can’t seem to fall either way - acceptance of Jon’s death, or hope for his survival. He’s left at a lurching, ugly crossroad with no name, the sign worn beyond legibility.

He sniffles.

“Gonna be late,” says Tim.

“Yeah,” Martin sighs, because somehow after everything, he still has to go to work.

Patreon helps. The baking show definitely makes things easier. But it’s not enough to support his mother. Full-time care facilities aren’t cheap.

Martin tries to smile. “Good thing I’m in the kitchen, right? Don’t think I’d do so well facing customers today.”

“You would, though,” says Tim, and pats him on the shoulder. “Never seen anybody fake it as well as you.”

“Gee, thanks?” Martin says, dry.

Tim ruffles his hair. “Come on. Let’s get the lead out, or… I dunno, something punny.”

Danny never tries to pun. He also has no sense of timing. “I’ve been thinking of taking another job,” he says out of nowhere.

“What, now?” says Tim with fond exasperation.

Martin latches onto the subject change like a leech as he hangs up his apron. “What? I thought you were getting promoted.”

“Yeah, but kayaks just aren’t doing it for me anymore,” Danny says, and ignores when Martin rolls his eyes, reaches into his wallet, and hands Tim a fiver. “I’ve been thinking a lot about supernatural stuff lately, you know? All the things we can’t explain, but every culture and every society has them, all the way through history. And you know, the chances of that are pretty slim, because it’s not like there were fax machines in the stone age, and - ”

“So what’s her name?” says Tim.

Danny looks constipated. “What do you mean, what’s her name?”

“It’s always some date who gets you into a new interest. Come on, Danny, it’s been like that since secondary.”

Danny shrugs. “Caught me. How about I let her explain? We can do dinner tonight.”

“I don’t…” Martin starts.

They both look at him.

“You are not backing out,” says Tim.

“I’m supposed to see my mum,” Martin mutters.

“And it’ll be done in about fifteen minutes when she can’t stand you anymore and throws you out,” says Danny, who really has never had Tim’s charm.

Tim smacks him.

“Hey!”

“No, he’s right,” says Martin. “I’ll come.”

“Good. You’d better, or I’m taking some of this one’s leftover mountaineering gear and hogtying you to the back of my bike,” says Tim.

That image actually gets Martin laughing, which he didn’t think he could do today.

The brothers leave first.

Martin’s flat is tiny. Uncomfortable. Distinctly not sound-proofed. He has one window, room for his lovely kitchen setup, and three folding chairs or a Murphy bed, but not at the same time.

Somehow, when the Stokers are there, it never feels crowded.

It doesn’t with Jon, either, but that’s different.

All kinds of different.

Martin locks up, sighs heavily. Somehow, he has to get his brain in gear to handle four-star sous-chef work tonight, and he’s really not sure he can do it. Antoine can be such an ass, even on the best of days, and he always seems to know -

“Excuse me,” comes a voice.

Martin yips and drips his satchel.

“Sorry about that,” says the man, sounding not remotely sorry. Sounding, in fact, deeply amused. “You are Martin Blackwood, aren’t you? Little different without all the getup,” he says, absolutely cheerfully.

He’s some sort of sea captain?

Outside his flat, which is scary as fuck. “Hi?” says Martin, attempting to pick up his bag without taking his eyes off the guy. “Um. Can I help you?”

“Actually, I can help you,” says the man.

Maybe a fan?

Maybe a sicko.

Martin is very still. “Right,” he says, noncommittal.

The man laughs.

It’s… it’s a really good laugh. The voice is good all around, honestly; so is the expression, and body language. This man isn’t aggressive; taller than Martin (which is unusual), he keeps his hands in his pockets, leaning slightly away, as though determined not to violate his space. “I can tell I’ve spooked you, which isn’t what I was trying to do.”

Martin can see no reason to be unnerved by this man.

Martin cannot escape the feeling that he should be, though. “Then why’d you track down where I live?” he says.

“I didn’t. I saw you by accident.” The man points. “Heading over there, to the Tube. But it works out, because I actually do want to talk to you.”

“Right,” says Martin.

The sea captain smiles. “Nice and cautious. Good! Let’s not drag this out, eh? You won’t have heard of me because I like it that way, but what I do is help out independent talent. People like you, in other words. Here.” He holds out a business card.

There’s a QR code on it.

Martin takes it, carefully avoiding contact. “Right,” he says.

“That’ll tell you all about it,” says the man. “I won’t scare you any longer - really am sorry about that.” He’s absolutely not sorry, and it shows.

Martin is damned good at reading people. It’s how he’s survived. The fact that he can’t get a bead on this guy is scaring him even more than the sudden appearance. “Sure.”

“Have a good day, Martin,” says the man. “I look forward to your email.” And off he walks.

Martin looks at the card. It says, Lukas Entertainment. That’s all.

It’s thick cardstock. Raised lettering. Definitely expensive.

Martin looks back up, but the man is gone.

Martin’s gut says there is no way he made it to the Tube that quickly.

Martin’s head says he’s being absurd, and just misjudged how long he stared at the card.So that was freaky, he thinks to himself, and is already texting Tim about it before he gets to work.

#tma #tma fic #fic in proress #martin blackwood #lonely!martin #vast!jon #wip #amwriting #tma au

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what-if-nct · 1 year

Note

Hi, it's Ten dream anon again and I had another "dream date".

So this time it was us two alone in the wayv dorm and Ten had somehow managed to get Kun to round and get the others away for the night. So it was just Ten and I watching movies we had seen before while sat next to each other but not to close as he was flanked by Louis and Leon. Ten also wasn't exactly watching the movies so much as using them and my commentary as a muse for his drawings. And it was such a blissful domestic moment that I could literally (figuratively) see the amount of sheer affection I had for him that I could almost cry when I think back on it. *sigh*

Honestly it makes me wonder if the whole "if you dream of someone, they're thinking/dreaming of you too" thing is real... If only.

Hope your day is pleasant and all goes this week.

Oh my gosh that's the sweetest dream ever. It just sounds so warm and cozy and like loving. Like being Ten's muse sounds like the most amazing place to be. Such a sweet dream. I am rooting for you dream relationship with Ten. And Im super into dreams and the paranormal and there's so many things I believe. And I think it is possible that maybe when we dream about them they're dreaming about us also. Okay just hear me out. Maybe were not playing as big of a role but were just kind of in the back ground, like a stranger they've never seen pass by, or a extra at a party. I also believe there is some kind of truth to dreams either an internal thing you're working out or external thing that is someone having a wondering thought about you. I know I've had dreams where I've seen people I have never seen in my life but they played a big part in my dreams.

. So I'm sure we might pop up in their dreams cause I dream about the most random ass people I have never seen in my life. Or interesting idea cause we have multiple dreams in one night but forget most of them. Like I had a dream a few nights ago about chenle and Jisung but I only remembered flashes of it and I dont think want to remember the whole thing from the flashes, Like it seemed wild. So maybe they do experience their end of our dreams but it gets lost in the hundreds of dreams of theres. I swear every time I'm like Johnny's losing, like Hyunjin and Bangchan are taking over. Thats when his ass wants to pop up in my dreams after months of not seeing him in my dreams. My Pisces Moon is really showing right now. I research and think about dreams a lot. ✨Escapism✨

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tsuki-chibi · 2 years

Text

MayBee Queen 2022 Day 10: Pollen

Read on AO3 instead

–

“Miraculous Ladybug!”

Queen Bee sighed in relief as Ladybug’s Lucky Charm soared into the air and then burst apart into a swath of red light. The moment the red light surrounded her, all of her aches and pains from the battle immediately disappeared. She was finally able to push herself up and stand fully, which was a relief after spending the better part of two hours limping around.

“How’s your ankle?” Chat asked, having seen this.

“All better,” Queen Bee said with a smile, wiggling said ankle for emphasis. “Thanks.”

He gave her a quick smile before hurrying away, no doubt trying to get back to Ladybug’s side before her timer ran out. Queen Bee didn’t even bother meeting up with them, conscious of the fact that her own timer was quickly ticking down. She made her way to a nearby alley and crouched behind a dumpster just in time.

“Well done, my queen!” Pollen materialized in a flash of yellow light, landing lightly on Chloé’s outstretched palm.

“Thanks Pollen,” Chloé said, rummaging around in her purse. She pulled out a couple of honey cookies and passed them to her kwami.

“Are you okay?” Pollen asked, peering up at her worriedly. “That was a long battle.”

“I’m fine. Just tired,” Chloé admitted. She leaned against the wall while Pollen ate, thinking about her team. None of them knew each other’s identities – aside from Ladybug, of course, though even she didn’t know Chat’s identity – but that didn’t stop Chat from fussing over Ladybug or Rena Rouge and Carapace from looking after each other.

She would never admit it out loud, not even to Pollen, but it was a bit… lonely sometimes being the fifth wheel.

Just thinking that made her feel a bit guilty, because she truly was grateful to have her miraculous back. Ladybug didn’t have to take another chance on Chloé, and no one would have blamed her if she’d decided not to, but somehow she had. Every single day, no matter how annoying Hawkmoth was or how hard the battles were, Chloé was thankful to wake up and have Pollen and the Bee miraculous back at her side.

And it wasn’t like her teammates were rude. Chat in particular was always very kind. Rena Rouge and Carapace treated her the same way they did Chat – much the same way that any of their rotating teammates did whenever they were called upon.

Of them all, Ladybug probably treated her the worst. She wasn’t rude, of course, but was a little stiff and cold and standoffish. Not that Chloé could blame her. A cordial relationship with Ladybug was more than Chloé could’ve hoped for. She had quietly let go of her dream of being super close to her hero, knowing that her past behavior had ruined that possibility.

So it wasn’t like being Queen Bee sucked or anything. Queen Bee was a valued part of the team, or so Chloé liked to think, and she was happy.

But still.

It was lonely.

“My queen? I’m finished,” Pollen said, drawing Chloé’s attention back to her, and Chloé smiled at her.

“Was that enough? Or would you like to split a milkshake with me?” Chloé said. “I feel like I need something really sweet after that battle.”

Pollen’s eyes lit up. “That sounds wonderful! Could we try the mango-pineapple one this time?”

“Of course.” Chloé opened the inside pocket on her jacket and let Pollen fly in. When she zipped her jacket up again, she could feel the soft vibration of Pollen’s jacket even through her shirt. It warmed her heart and she lightly laid a hand over that pocket.

At least at the end of the day, she had Pollen. That was more than enough.

#miraculous ladybug #chloe bourgeois #pollen #maybeequeen2022

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casspurrjoybell-17 · 2 years

Text

HEART'S DESIRE - CHAPTER 21

*Warning: Adult Content*

As Montreal Hunter listens to Kit Montaine speak, he struggles to keep his emotions in check.

Sorrow, indignation, pity, horror and outrage all combine to make his chest feel too small for the ache in his heart.

He wants to hold on tight and never let go, to kiss away Kit’s tears and to promise him only good things from now on.

Instead, he stays quiet and keeps his hold on him light.

The fact that Kit lets Monty touch him at all, after what he's been through, that he trusts him and takes comfort in being close, is a miracle.

It's a triumph of nature over nurture, Monty guesses, that Kit could have gone through all that he has and still come out so gentle and sweet.

When he reaches the end of his awful tale, he looks up at Monty, the corners of his mouth trembling and draws a shaky breath.

"So do you hate me now, Monty?" he whispers.

"For what I've done?"

Monty strokes Kit’s wild curls, soft as a child's and keeps his voice even and quiet.

"I could never hate you, Kit. You've done nothing wrong. Some bad things happened to you, some really bad things and none of it was your fault. You get that, right? None of it was your fault. Your family lied. You're good and beautiful and brave and... well, you're wonderful, Kit. And I promise you I'm gonna do my best to make sure no more bad things happen to you, ever again."

"But I brought the danger," Kit sniffs.

"No, you didn't. The danger was already here, by the looks of it. And if more follows you, that's not your fault, either. You were running for your life and you didn't mean any harm by it, did you?

Kit shakes his head.

"See? Not your fault."

Kit whimpers and reaches for Monty, pulling him down into a kiss but the older man gently sets his hand on his chest and holds him back.

"Kit... I need you to understand something else, okay?"

He nods.

"I'm gonna do my best to protect you and keep you safe but only because I want to. You don't owe me anything. And I don't want you to do anything that you don't want to, either, not ever. Okay?"

Kit stares at Monty and for a moment he’s not sure he gets it.

Then he nods again, slowly and swallows.

"He never kissed me," he whispers, his eyes lowered behind long golden lashes.

"No one ever kissed me before and I never wanted to kiss anyone, Monty, until I met you. Only you."

Somehow, Monty knows Kit's telling the truth and when the young man reaches for him again, he doesn't resist and he tastes the sweet salt of his tears on his lips.

~ ☾ ~

Later that night, while everyone else is watching a movie, Monty take his brother Alpha Dane Hunter outside and ‘with Kit's permission’ he tells him what Kit had told him.

"That's some fucked-up shit," Dane says.

"Unfortunately, it doesn't surprise me. We knew the Mortaines were into that 'purebred' bullshit but I'm sure mom and dad never suspected anything like this.”

Despite his words, Monty senses a hint of uncertainty in his tone.

Their parents and Kit's uncle, Obadiah Mortaine, had arranged a match between their alpha-born children, after all.

If Dane had been more interested in growing the Pack and his power and less in solving crime and following his heart, Monty might be surrounded by a very different group of people right now.

Or not.

Monty doubts Wolves like himself or Freya, would be welcome in a Pack like that.

And who knows what would have happened to Kit.

"Yeah. And it sounds like this 'Ferrault' guy is even worse," Monty says, sipping the hard cider Sasha Hunter had poured for him.

"Got some weird Nazi name for his Pack, too, the 'White Dawn.' Thinks he's destined to be some kind of Alpha god or something and rule all Wolves.”

"Fuck," Dane swears, swiping a hand across his face.

"And Kit thinks this guy might track him here?"

Monty shakes his head.

"I don't know. I don't think Kit knows, really. But we'd best be prepared for the worst."

"The worst?" Dane echoes, sardonically.

"What could be worse than what we're facing now? Our parents might be dead, Monty. At the very least they're missing, and someone here, within their own territory, maybe within their own Pack, might be responsible. I don't know how much worse it could get."

Monty knows what he means.

That one of their own would betray them is unthinkable but all the evidence, or the lack of evidence, at least points that way.

And yet, after hearing Kit's account, Monty can imagine worse.

"Anyway." Monty brushes his hand over his hair.

"Long and short of it is, the Mortaines are more messed-up than we thought and if they come here after Kit... Well, I want you to know that I plan to defend him."

"I'm with you, brother," Dane says, laying a hand on his brother’s shoulder.

"I know I didn't exactly welcome him with open arms, but as long as he's under your care, the Pack will fight for him, tooth and claw. We've got your back and his."

"Thank you." Monty nods, recognizing the formal pledge in his tone.

"I hope it won't come to that."

"Me too." Dane nods, turning towards the window, arms crossed over his broad chest.

"Me too."

~ ☾ ~

The next few days pass in a tense approximation of normality, everyone taking comfort in the most mundane of tasks.

Monty bake sweets and Sasha Hunter spends hours in her shop, the sounds of her various tools a constant hum and whine in the background.

Monty can tell the noise gets on Julian Hart's nerves and he seeks the peace and solitude of the woods, though Dane won't let him go alone.

Martin Hunter comes and goes, bringing over covered dishes ‘all vegetarian, Monty notices’ for breakfasts and lunches, to help Sasha feed us all.

Jake Nash drops by in the evenings for dinner and to exchange any new information with Dane.

So far, there hasn't been much.

Dane has withdrawn into himself, keeping his Alpha power low as a banked fire, watching everything with the calculating gaze of a removed observer.

He's in full detective mode, though Monty doesn't see what good it's doing here.

Sasha and Martin would never hurt our mom and dad and their mates have alibis, Elena was on a 12-hour shift at the hospital and Jake was with Sasha all night.

As for Kit, he spends most of his time either sticking close to me or playing with the twins.

The way he's always so gentle with them, so unfailingly patient, caring and kind, always looking after the needs of others before his own, is both touching and a source of frustration.

Monty wants Kit to think about himself, too.

To learn how to ask for what he needs, so Monty can trust him to speak up and tell him what he wants and not just endure in silence, as he's been trained to do his whole life.

His whole life, Monty reminds myself.

He's never known anything else.

As Monty watches Kit, a strange feeling constricts his heart.

In the absence of fear, the young man smiles and laughs and no one would guess at what he's endured.

But that fear is never far off, a raised voice, a loud noise, a sharp glance, the smallest thing will summon it back and leave him trembling.

Undoubtedly, there are other, less visible signs of Kit’s traumas and maybe his attachment to Monty is one of them.

Maybe, once Kit's healed a little, he won't need Monty anymore.

Unfortunately, the more time they spend together and the more they get to know each other, the more Monty’s heart keeps telling him that he needs him.

Rather than happiness, though, it fills the older man with a sort of anxious dread.

Feeling too much has always been his greatest weakness but it was believing those feelings might be returned that led to his greatest mistake.

Monty doesn't want to make another.

~ ☾ ~

The sound of an argument interrupts Monty’s dour thoughts as he stirs yet another batch of cookie batter.

Dusting flour from his hands, he sets the bowl aside and go to the window.

Outside, Sasha stands over Freya where she's changing the oil on her bike, her face bright with anger.

Freya frowns up at her, a red bandana tied over her long black curls and a tool in one hand.

More tools are laid out neatly on a small cloth and this, it seems, is the source of the argument.

Curious what the fuss is over, Monty goes outside and approach.

"I swear, Sasha, everything I've borrowed I've put back right where I found it. I don't know what you're talking about."

"Well, somebody took my things and you're the only one who's been in there."

"Are you sure about that? What about Jake?”

Sasha crosses her arms, toned muscles showing beneath her light brown skin, and scowls.

"Jake knows my system. He's been using my shop for months and nothing's been out of place before. Not until you showed up."

"Maybe you just didn't notice before," Freya mumbles, turning back to her bike.

"The way the man comes and goes, who knows what you've been missing?"

"How dare you," Sasha hisses, her face flushing with shocked offense.

"I trust Jake with my life and he's been around a hell of a lot more than you have, the last few years, off fighting monsters, or whatever it is you do with that vampire boyfriend of yours. Would you even be here now, if you hadn't broken up with that creep?"

Freya's got a temper and Monty braces himself, expecting an explosion but to his surprise, she doesn't rise to the bait.

Instead, a look of uncharacteristic hurt clouds her face.

She sets down the tool she's holding with care, lining it up with the others on the cloth, then gets to her feet and dusts off the knees of her jeans.

"I'll put these tools away in a bit, Sasha. Sorry if I misplaced your things. I'll be more careful from now on. If you'll excuse me, I need to stretch my legs."

She turns and walks away towards the trees and Sasha stares after her, a conflicted expression of mingled frustration and regret on her soft-featured face.

"What was that about?" Monty asks, coming to stand at her side.

"I went to get some things I needed for finishing a piece, some varnishes and thinners and I couldn't find 'em. Then I started noticing some other stuff missing, too my acetylene torch, a roll of heavy-duty tape random things like that. I don't know why Freya would have borrowed them but she's the only one who's been in there."

"When was the last time you looked for that stuff? I mean..."

Monty rubs the back of my head awkwardly.

He doesn't want to doubt Sasha's word but he knows how mindful Freya is of other people's things.

Like Monty, she's always been careful not to make herself a burden.

"Maybe you used up your supply and don't remember."

Sasha casts Monty a look.

"Even if I had, then what about the torch? Welding equipment doesn't just disappear after you use it, Monty."

The rumble of an engine draws my attention and Monty turns to see Jake Nash's ranger truck approaching up the drive.

“Well, seeing as he's here, you might wanna check with Jake, too," Monty says. "Sometimes when people get comfortable in a place, they forget the lines between what's theirs and what's not. Maybe Jake used some things and forgot to tell you."

"Yeah," Sasha agrees, deflating from anger to unhappiness.

Then she sighs.

"What about Freya? I didn't mean to hurt her just now. I didn't realize it was... a sore subject."

"I'll talk to her. I think I need a walk, too," Monty says, glancing back towards the house.

Before he had started baking cookies, he'd looked in on Kit and the twins.

They were sleeping and Kit had looked so adorable curled up with Luna and Luca resting in his arms, he'd had a hard time resisting the urge to scoop them all up and snuggle them to death ‘figuratively, of course’.

Then Monty had remembered how soft Kit's lips felt when he kissed him and how good and warm he felt in his arms when they shared the bed at night and then he started thinking about other things and then he decided he needed to bake something.

As Sasha wanders over to where Jake is dismounting from his vehicle, long legs swinging to the ground and blond hair gleaming in the sun, Monty follows Freya in the direction of the woods.

She hasn't gone far and he catches up with her leaning against the trunk of an old tree, looking at something on her phone.

She glances up as Monty approaches and wipes hastily at her eyes.

"You heard all that?" she asks.

"Kinda hard not to. You okay?"

She shrugs, still looking at her phone.

"Who knows?"

Monty stands awkwardly for a moment.

Freya's not one to push but something's clearly been bothering her and he doesn't like to pretend he don't care.

"You wanna talk?"

"Not really."

Monty waits a moment longer but she continues to ignore him.

"Alright. As long as you're okay."

He starts to walk away but he hasn't taken many steps when she speaks again.

"He's an idiot."

"Who?"

Monty looks back at her.

"Darius, obviously."

Monty returns to where she stands and leans against another tree, copying her pose.

"What he do?"

She answers without looking up.

"Said he loves me."

Monty blinks.

"He what? But how's that a bad thing? I thought... Well, I kinda thought you liked him, too."

She sighs, rolls her eyes and finally pockets her phone.

"I do."

Freya waves a hand at Monty.

"I like working with him. We're compatible teammates. We've gotten to know each other so well, we barely have to speak out loud to communicate on a mission anymore. He's handsome and daring and funny and kind and a bit of a bad boy, too. He's perfect. As a friend."

"But, he wants more and you don't?" Monty ventures.

"He didn't try pushing something on you, did he?"

Freya shakes her head, her dark curls catching the dappled light through the leaves.

"It's not that. It's just... I don't wanna mess up what we have. And... I mean, he's a vampire, Monty. How's that supposed to work?"

Monty chews his lip.

Wolf and vamp' doesn't seem more unlikely than 'Wolf and Fae' honestly but what does Monty know?

"So... what happened?"

She sighs again.

"He... confessed, I guess. Said he loves me and wants to make me his forever. And I..." She looks up and blinks, her voice going high and tight. "And I didn't believe him."

"What? Why not?"

She takes a breath and her words leave her in a rush.

"Because Darius likes beautiful women and he said... he said that I'm the most beautiful woman he's ever known."

Monty blinks at his sister.

"But... you are beautiful, Freya. You know that."

She shakes her head.

"I thought I was over it, all the insecurity. But... when he said that it all came back and my gut reaction was that it just couldn't be true. That he must be lying and that if I gave in to my feelings, it would ruin our relationship. I guess... it's dumb, but I guess I pushed him away because I don't want to lose him. Does that make sense?"

Monty shakes his head, a rueful smile twisting his lips.

"Nah. But love seldom does, I guess. Not that I'm one to talk."

Sniffing, she wipes her eyes with the pads of her fingers, careful not to smudge her makeup.

"Anyway, then this mess happened and I told him I needed some space and some time to think. He didn't object, so..."

She shrugs.

"That's that, I guess."

"Hey."

Monty go to her and pulls her into a hug.

"If he lets you go that easy, then maybe his feelings aren't that strong. But I'd bet you anything he didn't lie when he said those things. A man like that doesn't waste time with a woman he's only after for a bit of fun. He's been with you for years. My guess is, he meant it all, at least at the time he said it. And if it's real... well, you'll work it out, one way or another."

"I hope so," she laughs, and sniffs, wiping her nose.

"It's only been a few days and I already miss that freak."

~ ☾ ~

That night, Martin comes over and barbecues for everyone, vegetarian hotdogs and bean-burgers, as well as the meat variety.

He brings his kids along because Elena had to work but thankfully the incident at his house seems to be forgotten.

Soon Nico, Rio, Flora and Miguel are playing a spirited game of tag with Kit and Julian.

Kit is quick and light on his feet.

Monty knows because he can't keep his eyes off him.

And Julian cheats now and then by going 'unseen' to the delight of the four young Wolves.

They sit outside at a long picnic table on Sasha's brick patio, which she laid herself and everyone keeps the talk light as we enjoy the tasty food.

Dane alone remains as reserved as ever, his eyes only lighting with warmth when he feeds Luna and Luca spoonfuls of food, or looks up and sees Julian's luminescent beauty growing more noticeable as the edge between night and day goes soft.

His Fae qualities always become more visible at liminal times like this.

Jake Nash is there, too and he sticks close to Sasha, holding her hand and kissing her when he thinks no one notices.

They certainly look like a pair of newly-mates in love, even if they haven't 'finalized' things yet.

It feels almost normal, a summer picnic beneath an evening sky, crickets chirping in the grass and the first bats swooping low overhead.

The only thing missing is... Well, the only thing missing is their mom and dad.

Dad's cooking and mom's laughter as she makes some last-minute repair to something that broke 'waste not, want not,' was always her motto.

As Monty’s thoughts go quiet, he hardly notice that everyone around him have gone quiet as well until Freya touches his shoulder.

Everyone's looking towards the road and as Monty turns, he sees why.

A sheriff's patrol car, lights flashing blue and red, approaches up the drive.

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mythicaldemigoddess-of-deltarune · 10 days

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Hellphone Map-Update: Melancholy Ring Has Been Added...(2024)

----------------

[Note: I plan to use this as a Cover for a Chapter for one of my stories over at Quotev...which it might not be right away, but I will get to it when I'm able to...there is also another drawing I want to post on here sometime soon, but because it also will give away a title of a story idea that I have yet to work on and post yet, I'm holding off until I write the story idea with the title I have in mind, and once that is done, I will post the drawing on here and then use it as a cover for the story...but yeah, as for this one drawing that has the "Melancholy Ring", I might have it as a cover for a future chapter for either one of the Crossover AU type stories over there...also if some aren't able to see the drawing very well, it might be best to click on it to make it bigger...at least I hope it will become bigger so some can view it better. but yeah, once again. when I'm able to, I will use this at Quotev.

PS: also even though the drawing itself isn't "mature" I had to add the whole "mature audience only" and "not for kids" tags for this as well, because of some stuff that is talked about...]

Credit for Hazbin Hotel & Helluva Boss goes to Vivienne "Vivziepop" Medrano

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yeah, even if it isn't likely the 8th Sin isn't likely to be in the Canon Timeline, and that's okay.

which is why we have Fanon Timelines, so it's okay that the 8th Sin that is known as Melancholy, ends up being in the Fanon.

the color of the Melancholy Ring, is suppose to be Ice-Blue...

and the ruler of the ring is Astaroth, who I guess in the Fanon Timeline of Hazbin Hotel/Helluva Boss AU...

they could be the youngest while the other seven are the oldest.

for all we know, Bel and Bee could be the only ones who became aware of Astaroth, and could visit them at times so they don't get too lonely or too sad...

if the two Queens of the Gluttony and Sloth Rings, did somehow talk the Monarch of the Melancholy Ring to leave their ring, and come to visit their rings, or even go to a big meeting/party like get together with the others at the Pride Ring...

I think if they manage that, Astaroth would likely hide behind one or both of them...and seeing the other embodiment beings as strangers.

I don't know if the Hazbin Hotel/Helluva Boss AU version of Astaroth, should be a guy or gal...I kind of want them to be one of the nonbinary types, like either being someone who is Nonbinary who only goes by They/Them and doesn't really go by "Queen" or "King" and just goes by "Monarch"...

or they could be a Nonbinary-Man that goes by He/Him & They/Them or they could be a Nonbinary-Woman that goes by She/Her & They/Them...

I mean, if they were a Nonbinary-Man or Nonbinary-Woman, they wouldn't really be misgendered...because they would go by both either He/Him or She/Her and the They/Them pronouns.

but if Astaroth was the Nonbinary type that only uses They/Them pronouns, and if they were called either "he" or "she", maybe Bee could be the first to get after those who misgender the Monarch Of The Melancholy Ring.

like Astaroth could have a Androgynous appearance, and they could either be any of the type of Nonbinary...just need to figure out which one to pick...

if they end up being a Nonbinary-Woman, they could go by both Queen & Monarch, the same can be said for the whole if it is decided if they are a Nonbinary-Man, where they will go by both King & Monarch.

Astaroth could end up being very sensitive and maybe they don't leave their palace very much or often. (which is why Bee and Bel, will have to talk them into leaving the palace every once in a while and go visit the other rings...)

it be funny as well as sweet and adorable, their subjects are very protective of them, and they even make sure to get certain gems for them to make sure they feel less melancholy on some days.

I think maybe this version of Astaroth, the small idea I have of them that can be from a Fanon Timeline of Hazbin Hotel/Helluva Boss...

they could turn out to be very small, like being a bit shorter than Charlie's Dad Lucifer...like picture Lucifer from Hazbin Hotel, acting like how one of the Famethyst acted in one of the episodes of Steven Universe...you know, then Amethyst was picked up...so like this could be a reference and parody of that.

Astaroth: um....where's Lucifer...?

Mammon: Celebrating. *smirking while leaning on Ozzie, who in turn slaps him over the head as a sign that is telling him to "get off and respect my space...*

*all the sudden, Charlie's Dad The King of the Pride Ring, known as Lucifer...comes out of nowhere and picks up Astaroth up in the air, causing a squeak of surprise from the 8th embodiment sin*

Lucifer: I'm NOT the shortest ANYMORE!*is celebrating by running around the hotel while still holding a very confused and scared Astaroth up in the air...*

Bee: Luci! stop that! your scaring them! you put Rothie down this minute! don't make me tell your daughter! cause I will get her right now, and tell her your scaring poor sweet Rothie!

yeah might not be 100% like that episode from Steven Universe, but come on...

you know Lucifer from Hazbin Hotel could end up acting in that way, if he is normally much shorter than the other sins and him finding out there is another one, who is the 8th, being much shorter than him...

it would just make his day...though, I wouldn't be surprised that if that version of him was real, I think I would be possibly shorter than him...

I mean I did once thought I was 5'6" but it turns out I'm not, I'm suppose to be around 5'5" but for all I know, it could turn out I might be slightly shorter than that...I guess when you have your shoes off, and you look at your shadow on the wall or on a door inside the house, you notice how short you are...and you only get a bit more height when you put on shoes...

also is it weird not caring if I'm much shorter than Lucifer, and that I still want to give the one from our universe, the cold hands to face punishment...well I can think of some punishment for Abel as well...

I mean yeah, even if some think it is 100% the innocent victim, but I'm still gonna view that both he and Cain are at fault and can be seen as both as victims...

but if Abel ever tried that messed up sugar honey ice tea with my fluffy-baby (which is my second cat, who by the way, I'm still glad they were taken to the vet on time...and yeah as weird as it is, if anything bad happen to them, like they weren't taken on time or if those that work at the vet didn't help them correctly and anything went wrong...the thoughts of wanting to do a "Omnigeddon" came to mind...even if it isn't possible, but still...I'm glad my fluffy-baby is okay now....it was some months ago when it happen. it might of started around the last month of 2023 I think, I can't 100% remember so I need to ask one of my family...) I will have to subdue him...

and yeah, my weird thoughts of how to subdue and stop him from hurting a animal, is to sit on him...like him being on his stomach, and my sitting on his back, and refusing to get off of him until he promises not to harm a animal...

I mean I guess if we lived in a type of universe where Helluva Boss/Hazbin Hotel were real, and not just a universe in a fictional universe.

I would drag Abel to the Hazbin Hotel (the building itself)

and then say to Charlie, Vaggie and Alastor these words...

"Fix Him!" all while pointing at Abel.

I mean I get that some animals can be used as part of the whole food thing, and some for clothes, and there can be some your form a emotional bond with that I guess in a way, the animal you do form a bond with can understand your feelings when you feel not so great and ya might have one of your days when you feel a bit or really down out of the blue, and if they are in the same room as you, they will try their best to comfort you if they end up telling that you really need it.

and yeah, I guess part of the thing that inspired this drawing, is that well, I had been feeling one of those certain days.

I'm okay at the moment and feel perfectly fine.

and as weird as it sounds, I think I started to view those moments where at times I get influenced a bit by the 8th Sin...but not in some ways where it is really bad, it's just that whole sad feeling, plus I think it is a bit okay and manageable.

I'm not sure if I'm 100% right about the theory about the whole the second depression I had, being the reason...of course, then there is the whole bull that has been going on, that is possibly because of the Toxic-Masculine energies influence...

I don't really trust the Toxic-Feminine energy either, but at least I know the Toxic-Masculine energy is a even bigger problem and way more dangerous cause it could be possible that it had been left alone or not probably fixed, healed and detoxified for perhaps centuries.

and it might be no wonder it took the good side of the Feminine energy to get a bit more better...

plus it's not like everyone will accept or fully acknowledge that there is is something seriously messed up and wrong...

if some are going to, they will need to choose to and by their own free will.

I mean it was my free will to believe in both God/Heavenly-Father & Goddess/Earthly-Mother...even if some Toxic-Religious jerk seem to have problem with me believing in a Goddess now, and it could be possible it may also had to do with during that time I was still figuring out what type of nonbinary I am...it might of been that time when I thought I was Gyno-Agender....but I don't think it is that anymore...

I'm one of the types of Nonbinary that goes by both She/Her & They/Them...

but yeah, like I had explained maybe many times before, but I will keep this explaining short....that person, that Toxic-Religious jerk, had crossed a line...a line that hurt my feelings really badly to the point of crying, and because they kept saying certain things, I had no other choice but to block them over at the place it had happen.

I think that, I fell into that second depression a bit too soon, I mean that first depression that I had for maybe a few months and lost a lot of weight and I didn't eat much, that one happen around 2015...

and it could be possible that second depression, may have started up around 2016...and may have lasted a bit longer, like I know that there was still stuff that normally made me happy, that could still bring me a bit of joy and made me feel a little happy.

but I still had that not so great feeling, it was like a bad negative type of feeling, and it took time to fully heal...

I mean, ya can still have people that make you feel a little happy even when your not feeling 100% okay on the inside...

and once again, I'm doing okay, and it may have been around a few days ago I think, when I did feel not so great all of a sudden.

plus I can try my best to do stuff that can put me in a better mood, like one of them being just sleeping it off, and another is reading, watching a movie or show or if I feel up to it, play a video game.

I mean I guess it depends on the will of the mood one is in.

like a part of you really wants to play a video game, but you just feel not fully up to it at the moment, and you have to wait until you are fully up to it, and not just half up to it.

some things take a bit more time, and ya can't expect for someone not to end up falling under a bit of the 8th sin that is Melancholy.

like some could only end up under the influence of it in a small amounts, which in theory a small amount might be a bit more safer and manageable.

maybe the gems I have do help a lot more than just the other stuff I use them for, like protecting me while I sleep, and acting as sealing charms and limiters.

still doesn't help I had three close calls, and once again, that third close call happen, while I still had that obviously bad energy dream-catcher still hanging in my room, and while the one outside my bedroom door was suppose to keep that bad thing out...

and the only way it could of gotten through during that time, despite that other dream-catcher is on the outside of my bedroom door.

may have to do with that bad energy dream-catcher letting it through, by opening the barrier.

which is why I had to take that bad energy dream-catcher down, and place it in a bag and throw some salt in there with it.

and had to get a new dream-catcher, that wouldn't cause that thing to happen again...so the new one I have now, seems to be working perfectly with the one outside my door...so I can sleep safely, without having to worry about both human and incubus.

and yeah, if I remember right, the reason I had started to wear gem bracelets to sleep in the first place, even if I may have started with one at first...may have to do with the whole being scared awake by a incubus...I still think it may have been a incubus, they freaking scared me awake...it might of happen either for a split second or minute...

of course even though I should of been safe after that happen, but then the whole first close call happen, which this time came from a human who needs to get better control of their toxic-lust energy, cause that energy may take their form and cause a trance.

and yeah because that happen, I had to use a dream-catcher...and yeah I did take it down at some point, and well things seem okay for maybe some months and even to the next year or so...

but then the second close call happen, and then at some point I got the idea to have that dream-catcher I took down in my room, and have it be placed on my bedroom door...and then get one for in my room...of course ended up choosing the wrong one for that job...

it was okay at first, but then that third close call happen, and yeah, like I said. I had to put that one in a bag and put some salt in with it and keep it as far away from my room as possible...I placed it somewhere else, it is still around, but it is far away from me for my own safety, if it did have a hand in taking part in that third close call, I have to keep it away from the bedroom...

even if some might think having three close calls might just be a coincidences, but even if I find my dreaming about some weird and random stuff to be normal...but I should of NOT of had a scary bad dream like that third close call while that one dream-catcher (that I now have in a bag and far away from my room...) was still hanging up and was suppose to protect me...

and well after this post, there is another post I want to make that will talk about some empath stuff, which might be some stuff that some might not fully accept, even if it might be some stuff that medical science can't fully understand.

but yeah, this drawing is suppose to have all eight rings, even if the eighth ring isn't fully canon and is non-canon, and is fanon only.

and the idea is that it is suppose to be like a update for a Hellphone's Map, where the Melancholy Ring is added.

I would be surprised and maybe a bit happy if it turned out the Melancholy Ring became canon in the Helluva Boss and Hazbin Hotel Universe, but I know it might not really happen and I'm just okay with the whole it being in the Fanon Timelines.

and yeah, as weird as it is, if it were possible, I would still want to keep Abel from doing anything bad, even if the stuff he was doing may have been seen as "good" and Cain being the only one out of the two of them that did something really bad...

plus I know not everyone will agree with me about it, and how I view both of them were in the wrong, and yeah if I was able to and if it were possible...I might also give Abel the cold hands to face punishment...and if I was allowed to, I would do the same to Cain.

but also maybe have Cain have a bowl of ice cream, and watch some movies that might help his mood...

not everyone will agree, but it could be possible that he wouldn't of went past a breaking point, if he was given the proper help, like emotional support and well, there is the whole thing that has to do with the possibility he may have been going through a very bad depression that was both spiritual and emotional, and any wrong word to him or any misinterpretation that might cross a very dangerous line, would end up causing him to go past the breaking point in a very dangerous way...

Cain was obviously hurt, like really badly hurt in a way that may have been both spiritually and emotionally, but some might of refuse to acknowledge it, and only seeing Abel as the only victim.

I might be a Defective Earth Angel, and there is the whole still being glad I'm a descendant of King Solomon, which by the way to me is still a blessing and not a curse and it means I don't have to take that throne...and yeah there is that whole "Earth Angel Princess" title that pop into my head...but anyway, what I'm getting at, is that even though I and some others, are descendants of both Cain and Seth, it doesn't mean we will turn out like them...

plus I'm still gonna nickname those two as Grunkle-Paws.

and maybe back then, no one could see or tell how bad Cain was, and I don't mean the evil type, I mean that he was hurting, and he wasn't given the proper help...and for all we know, he could of ended up in a far worse melancholy influence.

even if I do say that we all need to acknowledge that both Cain and Abel are at fault, but some might be stuck in the old ways of only seeing Cain as the monster and Abel as the innocent victim.

which once again, if Abel EVER tried that stuff with my fluffy-baby, I don't care if he is taller than me and I might end up being smaller than him...I will find a way to have him lay on his stomach, and I will sit on his back, and keep him there until he behaves...

well either doing that, or giving him the cold hands to face punishment...and yeah, both thoughts and ideas I have on how to deal with him is weird...and I still want to give the cold hands to face punishment to Lucifer...

well my being weird is better than some not so great feelings that happen to pop up at times now...well, at least I'm doing okay so far.

anyway, besides my being super weird...

I hope some like this idea, that has to do with a type of Crossover AU, that I guess might not just be Hazbin Hotel/Helluva Boss AU, but could also have added universes and worlds in to it...

it is highly unlikely the Melancholy Ring will become canon, and it's fine if it doesn't become canon in Helluva Boss & Hazbin Hotel's shared universe, that is why we have Fanon.

also anyone can have a bit of a feeling down day, but I'm going to try to do stuff that might help cheer me up some when I get like that.

and well one of them being just sleeping it off, and well anyway if when I'm able to, I might do another post that has to do with the whole Melancholy Ring idea that is in a Helluva Boss/Hazbin Hotel AU in a Fanon Timeline...but right now, it will have to wait.

also, even though I am going to use this drawing for both here and to be used in the future over at Quotev...

please remember to respect the tag that says "do not reblog without permission"....because of some stuff that so far had happen by accident, I had to make sure that tag is at the top where it can be visible for those to see it right away, just in case they might miss it.

and yeah, I had to edit the very top of this, to add the "PS" to talk about the whole adding the mature audiences only and not for kids tags just to be safe...

anyway, I will check out some art on here first, before I get to work on the next post....

#do not reblog without permission #mature audiences only #not for kids #hazbin hotel fanart #helluva boss fanart #hazbin hotel au #helluva boss au #crossover au #fanon #pride ring #wrath ring #gluttony ring #greed ring #lust ring #envy ring #sloth ring #melancholy ring #april 2024

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quirrrky · 3 years

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FIRST KISS w/ YOUR HAIKYUU S/O

PICK A PILE SERIES: THE FIRSTS #4 〔MASTERLIST • PREV - NEXT: FIRST TIME—SEND ASK TO GET TAGGED〕

1. Close your eyes and think of your HAIKYUU s/o and focus on the pictures above. 2. Select which draws you in the most. 3. Go under the cut to find your scenario/reading! Have fun!

N!SFW part of this series will be posted on my MDNI blog (must be 18+). Send this emoji 💗 in my ask box/reply section to be tagged! And please, I'd love to know which pile you picked and who is your hq s/o!

♡ This shall not be reproduced, reposted, modified, translated in any form or by any means.

PILE #ONE

mindblowing, intimate, candle

Your first kiss is a make-up kiss. You'll have a misunderstanding with him before this happens but you both will end up deciding to work on it together.

There's something so old soul about your first kiss together. He'll be like, "Are we okay now?" and you nod in agreement. He goes close to you to kiss your forehead first. Both of you are kind of anxious at first, because you just had a fight. However, when his lips touch yours, it will be uncontrollable. Your first kiss will be so passionate, taking out all the tension you've had after your squabble. You'll be over the moon for each other, completely losing yourselves in the kiss.

There'll be so much of his emotions in the kiss. There's both passion while trying to take things slow. There's this romantic aura in his kisses, making sure he, uhm, not to be nsfw: tastes all of you. Damn, he'll kiss really good too. He really knows what he's doing. He might have an arm firm around you. Here he'll realize that you're the one he'll like to be kissing in every celebration of his life. He kisses you like you're in the 60s, very vintage romantic type of kiss.

You, on the other hand, will feel so warm. His kisses make you feel so adored and loved. Still, you're trying to temper out his overwhelming passion, because I can see that you're both in public during this kiss. You guys might be avoiding to escalate this into a make-out session, because you're in a middle of romantic candle light dinner date. You might be seated somewhere really private, you know those cozy booths in the very corner, but there are still a few people who can see you from time to time. Somehow though, it really feels as though it's just the two of you. Put your head in my shoulder played while I'm writing this, in speaking of old soul. There might be a very sweet and quaint song playing in the background as you kiss too. (I'm melting...)

I don't really see anything scandalous about this. I see him still remain grounded while kissing you. He may cuddle a little afterwards.

vibe bank: desserts, holidays with you, "I want to marry you one day." fancy restaurants, things I love about you, childhood activities, "I see something that reminds me of you everywhere I go."

𖧵𖧵𖧵

hammer, 4 of wands, ace of wands, ten of swords, him: hierophant, 8 of wands*king of cups, you: the sun*queen of pentacles*temperance

PILE #TWO

SUGGESTIVE! first of all, I'm warning you now. this one's suggestive, so if you're sensitive, please just choose another pile or leave.

rollercoaster, heartfelt, magnetic

So this is also my pile lmao xD Starting off, if you feel drawn to another pile, I suggest you also take a look at it after this. If there's none, it's okay it just simply means that your first kiss with your haikyuu s/o isn't here or isn't really that momentous. It might be just a little peck in a convenience store lmao. What I have for us, is the first real kiss with him.

This will happen during your wedding night. There's a mixture of both stress and excitement. He's the one being very excited while you're stressed out and anxious. You could possibly think that you're not "body beautiful" for him. You might have insecurities with how you look that's why you're very anxious about this moment.

But I see here that he'll be very chill about it. You might be standing in front of a mirror and he'll come beside you, "Babe, I don't know what you're talking about, but to me, you're perfect." Then he'll cup your cheek and starts to kiss you in front of the mirror, so you could see how much he adores you.

There'll be so much of physicality in this, mainly because this is your wedding night. There's just so much fiery passion and desire. There's this thirst.

There's so much excitement with the way he'll kiss you. He'll also be very dominating and intense. Very masculine. A little bit rough too. Like a little child's first time to get a lollipop lol. It's like he's not kissing you, he's devouring you. He's down to show you that you're his, very powerful that will make you melt in his arms.

I don't see you melting though, I see you fighting back with equal passion and intensity. He kinda' likes that tbh and it's making him more excited about this. Kissing him felt like a release for you. Release of that timid part of you and letting loose of that romantic side you might be too anxious to show before.

Something about creation comes out here. Whatever you guys will be creating.

There's a lot more message here but let's keep this sfw.

One really knee-buckling thing that I really see here which makes me really go uwu 100%+++. He'll be watching you while you're asleep, eyes full of admiration like he's worshipping you, lovingly and gently running a hand on your frame with a sweet smile on his face. Get you by Daniel Caesar played while I'm on this.

vibe bank: lazy days, attraction, "You are my angel." something sweet, I love you, reminiscing, "I get lost in your eyes."

𖧵𖧵𖧵

seduction, justice, hierophant, page of wands, 9 of swords, the hanged man, him: emperor, ace of wands*page of pentacles, you: strength, 4 of swords*queen of cups

PILE #THREE

romantic, wild/adventurous, magical

This pile! Is the easier one and very lighthearted! Unlike the others, this one has a solid story. You're attending some sort of party with him, but you'll both be in your own company most likely gossiping about the attendees there or just talking inside your own bubble. Suddenly, he'll just get lost in the middle of your conversation and shuts you up with a kiss, sneakily and out of the blue, you'll totally be surprised! Into you by Ariana Grande played while I write this.

This might be a confession kiss or your relationship is fairly new and not yet that deep.

It's a messy and a little bit rough kiss. He feels totally agitated during. He might be a little competitive about this kiss. Someone might have gotten him really jealous before this. Also, it seems as if he can't get enough, completely addicted.

Nevertheless, this kiss makes you feel whole. It's like the missing piece to level up your relationship. Somehow, you'll be very conscious of this kiss, making it to be the perfect one for the both of you, detail by detail taking in how he tastes and how to move your lips.

I see here that a third person is jealous while you kiss. You might be all dressed-up in that party and there's someone there who's eyeing or flirting with you that doesn't seem to sit well with your s/o and that's why he kisses you sneakily to show that person that you're already taken. Your s/o is low-key proud of what he did tbh. After the kiss, I can see him with you in his arms as he approaches this third person. Your s/o's face will have this smug smile lmao.

vibe bank: wine tasting, taking care of you, "I can't stop thinking about you." matching outfits, proposal, lust, "I can't find the right words to say."

𖧵𖧵𖧵

stabbed in the back, the strength, page of swords, queen of cups, 3 of cups, him: high priestess, 5 of wands*the devil, you: hermit, the world*page of pentacles

PILE #FOUR

passionate, over the moon, heart racing

Your first kiss will happen during a date. To some of you, this will be during your first date or you'll revisit the place where you've had your first date. I can see The Cloisters vibe, wherein there's a courtyard with flowers and medieval like interiors. This can be in a museum, castle, parliament, or a park.

Your haikyuu s/o will be definitely smitten with you. He can't stop looking at you. He's that starstruck and him being your major simp shows strongly here. He might be keeping the urge to kiss you for so long that's why when the opportunity arises, he finally initiates the first kiss. However, he won't do it right away. He might start with flirting or playfully teasing you through words first.

I see him taking you to somewhere more peaceful or where you could be alone/away from others' eyes just like Romeo and Juliet sneaking out.

Somehow, he'll start with your neck first then onto your lips. He's a kabedon man and will have you pinned against the wall.

He may or may not believe in soulmates but he'll definitely feel like you're fated to be with each other in this kiss. He'll be very passionate, fingers in your hairs, eyes closed firmly as he kisses you. His kisses will be hot and quite aggressive. More fast than slow, and won't take too long.

You'll get so lost in this kiss. It makes you feel like you're the only one that matters in the world. I see you just surrendering in his pace, totally enjoying the moment.

I'm listening to Beautiful by Bazzi ft. Camila Cabello here.

vibe bank: passion, unplug, fantasies, "I still remember the day we first met." exploring the town, goodnight texts, "I can't hide my smile even when we're apart."

𖧵𖧵𖧵

camera, the hanged man, 8 of pentacles, 4 of wands, strength, him: lovers, king of wands*knight of wands you: the world, 9 of pentacles* the moon

🧁 @hanmasbunny @discountkiyoko @azazelles @toshiswifey @icecappa @cuddlysoftbear @close222u @duhsies @your-girl-mj @taurus852 @itsmeaudrieee @triskoof @avaisdelusional @aquenchedsoul @kenmaslov3r @discountkiyoko @toshiswifey @icecappa @tobibam @hello0i @jahnvi-d @nao-cchi @chewiverse @encrypta @kirakirasaku @tobuo @@ebiharachan @devilsukuna @savantsoulfinder @shrimpy109 @toshibaby @chewiverse @tessabrown101 @cashbanse28 @0ray0 @musicshylover

REBLOGS ARE DEEPLY APPRECIATED ♡ Please help me reach other viewers. Thank you so so much!

COLLECTIONS: Haikyuu ✧ DAYDREAM MUSEUM

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whiteqnn · 3 years

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PURE [4] - Corpse Husband x Fem! Reader

A/N: I’m back. Shout-out to my sister @mojajasnoscmrokirozproszy , who encouraged me into finishing this part.

part 1

part 2

part 3

part 5

PURE [4]

Corpse was confused, to say the least. He stared at the screen with his brows furrowed, not exactly understanding what just happened, or what caused Y/N to leave so suddenly. He thought they were all having fun, or at least that’s the impression Y/N gave while interacting with other players.

Was she just pretending she’d had fun when in reality, she didn’t want to spend time with them?

He knew it was none of his business. They didn’t even know each other, outside of these two short games they’ve both been part of. But Corpse was quick to get attached to new people, and Y/N’s sweet voice, her innocent demeanor, and pure personality made him instantly like her...

Perhaps it wasn’t exactly a good thing that he felt so worried when she left, given the fact that two of them have spoken maybe for a few minutes since they met each other. But Corpse couldn’t help it, and certainly couldn’t stop this weird feeling that something was wrong and that he needed to make sure that Y/N was okay. After all, he was the only one who knew that she left. Except for his audience, of course.

So the moment her white little astronaut suddenly disappeared, Corpse went on a killing spree. He didn’t even care about that whole finish my lyrics thing he decided to terrorize his friends with, he just wanted to finish this game and check on Y/N. It was obvious that she wasn’t telling the truth. Even though it looked like she was trying really hard to contain her emotions, he could still hear her quavering voice. It was too hard to hide, and he knew it firsthand. That’s why he made it his point to at least check on her.

“Jesus Corpse, you just went full berserk on us...” Felix murmured when the last person was killed, and Corpse could see a sign victory on his screen. It didn’t make him smile though, not how it usually would.

“It was great though! Let’s do it again, but maybe on the other map?” Sykkuno suggested, clearly very excited about this hide and seek game they’ve come up with.

“Sure, let’s get the first one maybe?”

“Actually, would you guys mind if we had a little break?” Corpse asked before they could start another game. “We’ve been playing for a little while now...”

“Ah, yeah! Bathroom break!” came Rae’s response, followed by a few hums of approval. Corpse sighed in relief. He was afraid his worried voice would draw the attention of other players, but they didn’t seem to notice it.

“All right, is ten minutes good?” asked Sean, and when everyone agreed, Corpse excused himself from his audience and muted his mic. He grabbed his phone and unlocked it, only to be hit by a sudden realization.

He didn’t even have Y/N’s number.

“Fuck...” he cursed quietly under his breath, running a hand through his hair. How the fuck was he supposed to check on her? He couldn’t use discord, he was still streaming after all... Maybe Twitter would work? Nah, she probably wouldn’t even notice his messages. What was left then?

Of course.

Sean.

Corpse didn’t even think about any explanation as he quickly typed in a message to the said man, asking if he had Y/N’s number. The response came almost immediately.

“Yeah, I have. Why?”

Okay, now what? He couldn’t just tell him what happened. Corpse knew that Sean and Y/N were close, but he felt like it wouldn’t be fair towards the girl if he told Sean what happened. Maybe she didn’t want anyone to know... Maybe she didn’t want to speak to anyone.

Him included.

But Corpse felt as if he had to do it because that was something he wished someone would do for him if the roles were reversed. To at least show that he cared, that she wasn’t alone with whatever it was that bothered her...

Was he being intrusive, for wanting to make sure that everything was okay? And what if she was totally fine and he’d just end up making a complete fool out of himself?

“Not that I haven’t already made a fool out of myself...” he mumbled under his breath, his fingers quickly typing the response to Sean. However, before he could finish it, the said man’s name appeared on his screen with an upcoming call.

It was so unexpected that Corpse almost dropped the phone.

“Um, hey man” he said after picking up, his hands trembling as he tried to come up with some good explanation as to why exactly he needed Y/N’s number. “Look I-”

“Does this have something to do with her disappearance?” Sean cut him off, leaving Corpse with his mouth hung open, utterly shocked.

“I um- no. I just wanted to call her and... cause I don’t have her number...”

“Corpse, I heard what she had told you...” Sean sighed into the phone “I was flying around you after you murdered me.”

“I...” Corpse tried once again and again found himself at the loss of words. His brows furrowed suddenly as he realized something “Wait- are you still streaming?”

“I left for a moment to grab something to drink and call Y/N. Don’t worry, I wouldn’t say anything on the stream.”

Corpse sighed in relief. If Sean managed to somehow play it off, then his fans maybe haven’t figured out what was going on. He didn’t want them to attack Y/N’s social media with tons of questions she obviously wouldn’t answer.

“Do you know what happened?” Corpse asked quietly, hoping that maybe Sean knew something more that would ease his nerves. He hoped that it wasn’t anything serious, that maybe Y/N just had a bad day. “She left so suddenly and I got a little worried...”

For a moment there was silence between the two of them, Corpse impatiently awaiting an answer and Sean thinking about the right words... or wondering whether he should tell him the reason for Y/N’s disappearance in the first place.

“It’s- ugh.” Sean groaned, before letting out a heavy sigh “It stays between us, all right? I don’t want others to start texting her out of nowhere, asking if she’s okay. She would probably kill me.”

“Yeah, absolutely” Corpse nodded his head rapidly, even though Sean couldn’t see him.

“Okay... So I don’t know the exact reason of her disappearance...” he began, and Corpse felt his heart sink in disappointment. “But I have some suspicion.”

“Can you be a little more specific, Sean? We don’t have much time before the next game...” Corpse didn’t want to sound rude but he was slowly growing impatient, and even more nervous when he still wasn’t able to check on Y/N and make sure that she’s okay.

“She received lots of hate after our last stream.” Sean finally explained, although his voice sounded quite reluctant. “And when I say lots, I mean lots, Corpse.”

“What?” Corpse grunted, his brows knitted together in confusion “What do you mean?”

“Oh you know, man... Comments on Twitter, on her Instagram, even under her latest video...” Sean let out an exasperated sigh “Apparently, some people are not happy that she’s playing with us.”

“Why?” Corpse managed to utter, completely shocked at the news. For some reason, it was the last thing he expected Sean to say. It didn’t even cross his mind that someone as sweet and polite as Y/N might have to deal with this kind of issue.

She was always so kind, why would anyone hate on her?

“You know how some people act online...” Sean murmured, his voice clearly gloomy, as opposed to his usual cheerful tone. “They think she shouldn’t be playing with us cause she’s not popular enough. Some consider her annoying, not funny enough, and so on...”

“What does popularity have to do with who we’re playing with?” Corpse almost growled these words, feeling anger slowly bubbling up in his stomach. He couldn’t comprehend why anyone would act this way towards Y/N, towards this little angel as Sean put it last time they played, towards this sweet, innocent girl, his partner in crime...

“That’s what I told her before the stream” Sean explained with a sigh “And that she shouldn’t worry about what strangers think of her... but it’s easier said than done.”

“You think she received another text or something?”

“I don’t know man” Sean sighed “I tried calling her like ten times already and she didn’t answer. It’s not like her to leave so suddenly, without saying goodbye. I’m worried something happened...”

Corpse clenched his jaw, closing his eyes for a second. If Y/N didn’t answer Sean’s calls, why would she answer his? They barely knew each other, while Sean was her best friend.

“Maybe... I’ll try calling her?” Corpse suggested anyway, his voice low and almost shy. He figured it was worth at least a try.

Sean was quiet for a moment as if contemplating what to do. They were already running out of time, and Corpse didn’t know what to do. On one hand, he didn’t want to end the stream and leave his fans, he felt bad at the thought alone of disappearing so soon and disappointing them... But on the other, he couldn’t just leave Y/N like that. Especially, since as Sean explained, it wasn’t like her to act this way. It only proved that whatever happened was rather serious.

“Y’know what?” Sean suddenly said “I’ll give you her number, maybe she’ll pick up from you.”

“Thank you, Sean” Corpse said quietly, ready to end the call, only to be stopped by Sean’s words.

“Look... I know I shouldn’t be asking you to do it, but... could you maybe try talking some sense into her?” he asked, clearly uncomfortable with this request “I feel like you’d be able to calm her down...”

“I...” Corpse stuttered, running a hand through his hair “I’ll try, okay? I’m not sure if she’ll want to talk about it though, I’m basically a stranger, so...”

“Corpse, she agreed to join us only after reading your last tweet.”

Oh.

His heart fluttered with something that didn’t seem like growing panic. And even though his face was expressing his worry, his lip corners formed a small, bashful smile. And whether he liked it or not, his cheeks turned completely red.

“I’ll... I’ll see what I can do” he managed to reply, before ending the call.

Corpse ran a hand through his locks and down his face, releasing a heavy breath he didn’t know he was holding. He considered getting Y/N’s number a difficult task which, however, turned out to be the easiest one. Now came the real challenge. Calling her.

For a moment, he just stared at the screen of his phone, scanning the new message from Sean, which consisted of Y/N’s phone number. It looked as if he was memorizing the number when in reality, he just felt panic overtaking his body and complete chaos in his mind.

Let’s say she picks up the phone, and then what? Should he just say hi? Introduce himself?

“Hi it’s me, the guy you basically don’t know and who became paranoid after you disappeared from the game”

Yeah, sure. Perfect introduction for the pep talk he was supposed to deliver.

Why was it always that he acted almost as if on instinct one second, only to start having second thoughts a moment later. He couldn’t back out now when he had already got her number. Not when there was also another person counting on him. Not when he still didn’t know what the fuck happened, and for some reason was determined to find out.

And then was the problem of his voice, which suddenly seemed stuck in his throat. It was a very weird feeling, typical for one to get while being on the verge of a panic attack. As if there was a need to talk, but the body refused to. As if his vocal cords were paralyzed and not eager to cooperate.

As if it was him who just experienced something strongly upsetting, not Y/N.

Corpse fidgeted with his phone for a moment, before deciding against the idea of calling the girl. He figured he wouldn’t be able to utter a single word if she picked up the phone from the unknown number in the first place. If she did though, she’d probably consider it some misdialed call or some prank. Which was the last thing he wanted her to think.

Instead, he opted on sending her a text.

He sat still for a moment, thinking about a message that wouldn’t right away reveal the cause of his concern, but which would say enough to figure out who sent it. His thoughts drifted back to the game they were both playing, remembering his stupid comments and her gentle voice. His fingers typed out the message almost automatically.

“Wanna jump into the lava with me?”

He hesitated just for a second, before sending the text, his heart doing a backflip in his chest the moment he pressed the send button. Corpse gripped the phone tightly in his hands, his eyes staring at the screen and waiting impatiently for those three little dots indicating that the other person is typing a response to appear. He waited and waited, and a lump slowly formed in his throat when Y/N didn’t respond immediately.

Was he really getting paranoid?

Maybe he was just tired. Or she had a bad day. Or she just found this game boring.

Or she didn’t want to play with them. Or she thought his comments were annoying.

“I’m an idiot” Corpse muttered to himself and slapped a hand on his forehead, pushing those thoughts away. Deep down he knew that wasn’t the case, but the longer Y/N didn’t respond, the louder was the voice at the back of his head, telling him that her problems were none of his business and he shouldn’t be asking for her number in the first place.

But it was the right thing to do. He knew it, Sean knew it, and Corpse also hoped that Y/N did not perceive his text as some pathetic joke. He waited for a couple of minutes, before typing another message:

“I’m here, partner, if you need to talk.”

He felt the need to assure her that despite the ongoing stream and the other players probably already waiting for him to return, he was there for her. That’s what he considered the best option, not to force her into talking, but to let her know that she wasn’t alone. And that it would take just one word from her to make Corpse drop everything and listen to her.

After what seemed like an eternity of staring at his phone and analyzing his own messages, Corpse put his phone away, realizing that Y/N wasn’t going to reply anytime soon. He couldn’t help but feel disappointed in himself, and guilty as well. Perhaps it would be a better idea to call her, but at that moment he wasn’t able to trust his own voice. He thought about sending her another message but decided against it. Another new text was probably the last thing she needed, with her phone being drowned by hundreds of notifications from angered, and worried fans.

All Corpse could do was hope that she saw his texts and that she knew she wasn’t all alone. He sure as hell wasn’t going to make her feel as if she was obliged to confide in him. After all, he was a stranger.

Then again... sometimes to understand a problem and look at it from a different, new perspective, what one needed was, indeed, a complete stranger.

The next two hours felt almost like an eternity. And a complete hell to Corpse. He tried his best to focus on the game and interacting with his fans, but no matter what, his eyes would drift towards his phone every now and then. Hoping to see Y/N’s name pop up on his screen, with a message saying that everything was fine.

But then again... would it be enough to calm his nerves? Maybe she’d write something like that just so he wouldn’t worry. Just so he would leave her alone.

She might as well just tell him to fuck off...

The fact that he received so many notifications all the time, especially now, during a stream, didn’t really help. Each time his phone lit up with a new notification, he would crane his neck with the hope of seeing Y/N’s response, only to be disappointed when it turned out to be just some new comment or someone tagging him in an instastory. Something that usually made him really happy now was the reason for his irritation.

He couldn’t focus on the game itself either, finding it difficult to do his tasks and form some logical arguments during discussions. He didn’t really care, to be honest, when people threw him away almost at the start of the game. Winning or being the best Impostor was currently the last thing on his mind.

So when he said his goodbyes after the last round of Among Us and ended the stream, after thanking his fans, Corpse didn’t know what to do with himself. The game, even though he didn’t really pay much attention to it, provided at least some distraction from his phone, which was still silent when it came to Y/N’s texts. She either didn’t see them or didn’t want to see them. Corpse could only guess what was her reaction if there was any.

He’d exchanged a few messages with Sean though, the man asking about Y/N during the stream and after it ended. Corpse couldn’t stop the guilt from growing even more when Sean expressed his concerns regarding Y/N and her absence. He knew the older streamer counted on him when it came to checking on the girl, but, obviously, he failed at getting a simple message from her.

What was he even hoping to achieve in the first place? That she will text back right away, telling him everything that bothered her, confessing all her problems? He would have to be a total idiot to expect this girl to react to his messages.

It was all so overwhelming and frustrating at the same time that he felt almost nauseous.

Leaving his phone in his room, Corpse walked to his small kitchen to grab a glass of water. The cold liquid brought much-needed relief to his burning throat, giving him a momentary sensation of comfort. He tested his voice, clearing his throat carefully and mumbling some nonsense under his breath. A sigh left his lips once he realized he could talk again and this weird feeling disappeared.

He splashed his face with cold water and returned to his room, plopping down on his chair and giving his phone a quick glance. Perhaps he didn’t expect Y/N to reply to his texts at all because at first, he didn’t even notice her name on the screen of his phone. He looked back to his computer, almost out of habit, glancing between the tabs he had opened on his screen before.

And it struck him suddenly, making him almost jump out of his skin when he realized that she did text him back.

Grabbing his phone quickly, he unlocked it and opened the messages, almost hitting the one with Y/N’s name on it.

“Hey, partner.” was all the message said. And yet it made Corpse’s heart almost jump out of his chest, both from relief and a sudden feeling of panic.

She texted him back. Now, what the fuck was he supposed to do?!

He stared at her text for a second as if trying to convince himself that it was real and he didn’t accidentally pass out on his desk, dreaming that Y/N takes his comments and texts seriously.

When he came to the conclusion that the text was, indeed, real, and Y/N probably expected him to write something back, he thought about the best way of asking her what happened. On one hand, he knew from Sean what could possibly be the reason for her disappearance. On the other, what obviously mattered was Y/N’s version. How to get it out of her though, without being too intrusive?

Corpse decided that the best option will be to make some dumb, small talk, which would ease her (and his) nerves.

“Y’know, I almost didn’t manage to finish the mission without you” he texted her, concluding that playing along this partner thing would maybe work. In his text, Corpse referred to the one time he was the Impostor after Y/N left, and which happened to be completely boring without her running around “Had Toast and others suspecting my every step all the time.”

This time, much to his relief, the three little dots appeared almost immediately.

“I’m glad you managed to kill’em all nevertheless.”

He imagined her saying it with that sweet voice of hers, which made him snicker, whether he liked it or not. While thinking of some right response, Corpse couldn’t help but wonder how did she know that he managed to kill every crewmate during that round... she wasn’t playing anymore then, so that could only mean she watched his stream.

“Not gonna lie though, everything would go way smoother hadn’t my partner in crime left me on the battlefield all alone :/” he texted her back. Corpse watched intently as the three dots danced next to Y/N’s name and suddenly disappeared, then appeared back again after a few moments, only to disappear again. And for a second he panicked, that maybe this text sounded passive aggressive, or that it made Y/N blame herself for leaving the game...

However, when her response finally came, he realized he was wrong.

“Can I call you, Corpse?”

For the first time in a really long time, Corpse was so eager to agree on a phone call.

He replied frantically, telling her that of course, she could call him, and then waiting impatiently for the call. And when she didn’t call immediately, like he expected her to, he found himself wondering if she suddenly changed her mind and decided against the idea of calling him.

But then his phone buzzed and her name appeared on the screen.

The device almost flew out of his hands, his heartbeat quickening and a lump forming in his throat once again.

Relax, man. It’s Y/N, your partner in crime. You’ve heard her voice before.

But this was different. The circumstances were different and the reason for a call was different too. And now it was just the two of them, as opposed to a lobby full of friends. And Corpse tried so hard to figure out how to convince her that all the hate she receives on social media didn’t mean anything, that for a moment he forgot she was still calling.

He pressed the green button carefully, as if he was defusing a bomb, and found himself unable to utter a single word, just like before. There was silence on the other line too, as if Y/N expected him to speak up first.

So Corpse build up the courage and took in a deep breath, before letting out a quiet, almost shy:

“Hi”

The word left his mouth almost as a whisper, and for a moment he thought that the girl didn’t even hear it, but then her voice told him otherwise.

“Hey... Corpse” she mumbled. She sounded so different, almost as if she was sick. Her calm and soft voice was so quiet that Corpse had some trouble hearing her at first. She sounded so tired, so hurt, so defeated, that he completely forgot every advice he had managed to stock in his mind before this call.

“It’s good to hear you, partner.” he said after a moment, realizing that asking what’s wrong wasn’t the best thing he could do at that moment. He felt that she’d probably hung up on him if he did... “I didn’t think I’d hear from you after you aborted the mission.”

He heard her sigh out a laugh at his words, his tone playfully accusatory. The girl cleared her throat and wondered for a second, before replying:

“It wasn’t exactly my mission... And if I remember correctly, you were the one who broke our partnership, chasing me around the ship.”

He could almost hear the smile behind her words, which made his lip corners curl up slightly. He was glad she still managed to joke with him. It meant that, perhaps, it wasn’t that bad.

“Did I kill you, though?”

“You would if you had a chance.”

“I had plenty of chances Y/N, and I never took one” he replied right away with a chuckle. “I may be the murderer, but I’m no traitor.”

“You say that after luring me to that lava pit and killing me and Sykkuno? It was a trap all along, wasn’t it?” she asked suspiciously, but he knew she was joking “I bet you were conspiring with MrBeast all this time...”

“How dare you” he scoffed, trying to hold back his chuckle “I took you there cause it’s a special place, it was no trap! It just happened to be the wrong place and the wrong time...”

“Sure, partner”

“I’m serious!” he laughed “Besides - I apologized, and if I remember correctly, I think we both agreed that I jumped into that lava pit for you after all...”

“After they voted you off! You didn’t have any other chance!”

“Maybe it was all planned?” he said, changing his voice to more mysterious “Maybe I conspired with MrBeast so I could jump into that lava pit... and the only way to do it is by being voted off. So, either way, I kept my word.”

“Fine... whatever.”

Their laughter died down and was replaced by surprisingly comfortable silence. Corpse was happy with how the conversation started - he believed it would be easier for Y/N to explain what happened now, if she wished to explain, of course.

“Y’know...” he began after a second, deciding to change the subject and finally address the issue. “Partners are supposed to help each other... and be there when the other person is in need...”

He was careful with his words, being full aware that Y/N might find it uncomfortable to share her problems with him. He wanted to encourage her, just slightly, if his previous texts weren’t enough.

She sighed quietly and he could sense her reluctance.

“But only if the other person wants partner’s help.” he added after a moment, keeping his voice as soft as he could. Y/N didn’t respond right away, but she didn’t hang up either, which Corpse took as a good sign. He gave her a couple of seconds to collect her thoughts, before asking another question:

“What made you so upset, Y/N/N?”

He could hear her inhale the air sharply as if she had trouble breathing steadily. The line went silent, not that Corpse was surprised. He waited patiently, giving the girl the time she needed to decide whether she wanted to answer that question and what words should she choose if she did.

And when she finally spoke up, Corpse felt as if his heart could break.

“They are just so mean...” she almost whispered, her voice cracking. He didn’t have to ask whom she meant, it was obvious. “And I don’t even know why... I didn’t do anything to those people, and yet they are so mean towards me.”

Corpse hummed in response, allowing her to keep talking. If there was one thing he knew that helped coping with stress, it was sharing it with someone else. And even though he himself had a lot on his plate, he felt the need to be that someone for Y/N.

“I... I don’t want you to think that I’m some crybaby, who takes everything super seriously and can’t take a joke, but...” she stuttered for a moment and Corpse fought the urge to cut her off and tell her that what he thinks of her is the complete opposite. “But those comments... those weren’t jokes, Corpse. I don’t think anyone would find them funny.”

His heart ached at the sound of her quiet, weak voice. And then it angered him, that some anonymous haters managed to upset this cheerful, innocent person. How could anyone do something like that to Y/N?

“I... I’m sorry for telling you this...” she suddenly trailed off, sounding rather awkward and uncomfortable. “I shouldn’t be bothering you with my silly problems...”

“They aren’t silly as long as they are problems to you, Y/N.”

“Yeah, but... I’m sure everyone from the group has received such comments at some point of their career... or maybe they still receive them...” she murmured almost embarrassed. “Maybe it’s no such a big deal after all...”

“Let me ask you something” Corpse said, feeling anger bubbling up in his stomach. Not directed at Y/N, of course, but at the people who made her think this way. “Imagine that someone, let’s say me, calls you because of the same reason. Would you consider telling me that online hate, or any hate for that matter, is not a big deal? That those are just my silly problems”

She was silent for a moment, thinking about his question, and probably not expecting it in the first place. However, after a few seconds of initial surprise, she replied firmly:

“Of course not.”

“Then why are you trying to convince yourself that they are?” he asked in what would sound like an accusatory tone, but in reality was just his voice laced with worry. “There’s no such thing as a silly problem Y/N, as long as it bothers you. If you consider it a problem, then it is a problem. And the fact that other people receive similar, or even worse comments, doesn’t mean anything. Maybe just that they are longer on Youtube and they’ve learned to deal with this kind of stuff... And your reaction? It doesn’t make you a crybaby and please Y/N, don’t ever think that way about yourself.”

He said it all so quickly and almost on one breath, letting all his frustration out and trying to form his babbling into some logical statement.

“I understand what you’re going through...” he confessed after a moment of silence between them. “I know what it’s like to go through the ocean of positive comments and find those few which say something completely different... something that is meant to hurt you and humiliate you... Something that ruins your day, or even a couple of next few days or weeks... Something that completely overshadows everything else you’ve read about yourself. Something that people write from the safety of their own computers or phones, without showing their faces and remaining completely anonymous.”

For a moment, Corpse allowed himself to speak about his own experience, thinking that maybe when Y/N realizes that he knew exactly what she was dealing with, it would make it easier for her. “And that is the key fact, Y/N, that they are anonymous. They do what they do because no one can see them because it is comfortable for them to leave a hate comment and not face any consequences. Because they don’t have to face the person their hate is directed towards.”

“Some of the accounts were not anonymous...” Y/N mumbled, and Corpse could clearly hear that she was speaking through the tears. “People were using their public accounts, with photos and everything...”

“But let me guess, those comments weren’t even about your videos, huh? They weren’t about any of your work?”

“Well...” she whispered, thinking about Corpse’s question. “Truth to be said, no. Most of them just looked like some kind of a personal attack on me...”

“Exactly. It’s not even criticism, it’s just plain bullshit cowards are sharing online. They probably aren’t even able to form some logical sentence, they just combine some random words which are supposed to hurt you.”

“It works...”

“Y/N...” Corpse sighed into the phone, hearing her defeated tone. “Let me ask you another question, okay?” she hummed in response, and Corpse cleared his throat. “Tell me, whose opinion matters to you the most?”

“My friends... and my fans’“she said.

“Okay.. and whom do you consider your fan?”

“Someone who finds the content I create interesting and entertaining and takes his time to watch my videos.” she replied right away.

“Okay. Do you think that people who left those comments took their time to even watch your videos?”

“Probably not...” she replied after a second. “Look, I know what you mean Corpse... That I shouldn’t worry about it because they are not my fans and therefore their opinion shouldn’t matter... but that’s not the case. It’s the fact alone that for some reason people spend their time hating me when I didn’t even do anything to them.”

“You didn’t do anything to them.” Corpse repeated her own words in his deep voice. “And they didn’t watch your videos. It seems like they don’t have any reason to leave those comments, right?” he asked. “I know that it’s hard Y/N, I really do, but the truth is, you can’t really have everyone leaving positive feedback under your content... There will always be someone who will consider it a good idea to send you a hateful message, just because they can, not because they have any specific reason to. Now I don’t say that’s okay... but it’s in a way like some disease. The one there’s no cure for. Even though you can’t cure it, you can make yourself immune.”

“How, Corpse? How do you make yourself immune to messages saying that you’re a fucking annoying bitch, that you don’t deserve what you have? That you don’t deserve your friends, and you are not good enough to play with them? To spend your time with them? How do you deal with comments suggesting that you should go and kill yourself, because you’re not famous enough, and you will never be?”

Her voice suddenly rose, and Corpse felt as his heartbeat quickened with each comment she described. He gripped his hand around the phone, his knuckles turning white and his brows furrowing in an expression of pure fury.

He considered her words for a moment, trying to come up with the best advice, but realized there wasn’t any that would satisfy her. He could imagine the state she was in, she probably wouldn’t take any of his advice seriously. And he wouldn’t blame her for that.

“I’m sorry for snapping on you...” she suddenly said, her voice back to its soft tone. “It’s just too much for me to handle...”

“It’s all good, Y/N, don’t apologize. You have the full right to be angry and to show it. I just want you to remember that...” Corpse gulped the lump in his throat, feeling his cheeks getting warmer. “Those comments are not what define you. As a matter of fact, they’re not even about you. You know why? Because people who write them don’t know you. They don’t even take a moment to acknowledge what an intelligent and talented person you are, not to mention how kind... but I do. A-and everyone else too.”

She was silent for a moment, and Corpse panicked, that maybe he said too much, or made things awkward again. But then she spoke up, her slightly less weak than before.

“I suppose... maybe you’re right, Corpse.” she said, still sounding a little bit unconvinced. He understood, it was clear his one pep talk wouldn’t suddenly make her forget about it. It would be like telling a person with depression to stop having depression and expecting them to suddenly feel better. “Thank you. For listening to my pathetic babbling... and for not telling me to just pull myself together.”

“First of all, your babbling is not pathetic...” he began “Second of all... I know we don’t really know each other, but... If you ever feel the need to talk to someone, I’m here.”

“And for that I’m grateful, Corpse” she said, clearly smiling. “Sorry, I mean, partner.”

“Partner.” he chuckled into the phone, smiling from ear to ear.

“It’s getting late...” she yawned into the phone. “Sorry. I think I’ll go to sleep, I’m really tired...”

“Of course” Corpse replied, hiding the disappointment in his voice. He really enjoyed talking to her, just to her alone, but he understood that the whole conversation and the event preceding it probably exhausted her.

“Hey...” she suddenly said, and Corpse could swear that her voice sounded as if she unexpectedly became shy. “Um... it was really great talking to you, you’re a really good listener, Corpse.”

“Glad to hear that” he smiled happily.

“Um... would you mind if I called you tomorrow too?” she asked so quietly that he almost didn’t catch it, his breath hitching in his throat. “If you have time that is... if you don’t, or if you have some super plans, then I understand, it’s fine-”

“I don’t have any super plans, Y/N” he couldn’t help but chuckle, finding her nervous banter adorable. “Call me whenever you want.”

“Okay...” she sighed, almost in relief, but Corpse didn’t want to point it out to embarrass her even more. “So... let’s say, around 2 pm?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Great.” she said, her voice trailing off a bit. “I’m falling asleep here, Corpse... Thank you once again, for everything.”

“Anytime, Y/N.”

“Good night, partner.”

“Goodnight, partner.”

Part 5 coming soon. It will probably be the last part of this series, I’m not sure yet though.

TAG LIST FOR PURE IS CLOSED.

TAG LIST FOR CORPSE REQUESTS/OTHER FICS IS OPEN (if you want to be tagged, please send me a text)

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