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thekeeperof-thefandoms · 14 days

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Would they help with your period?

Written by someone with severe endometriosis!

(Technically I don't think sinners have them anymore since they can't reproduce but who knows. Maybe having a period for eternity is part of being punished.)

Lucifer

Absolutely. If we go off of Biblical Lore, it's kinda his fault anyway, and he feels so guilty.

He probably radiates heat so he would absolutely rub your back, your stomach, your thighs, resting a hand between your legs (me personally having endometriosis my groin itself tends to hurt from cramping so I put the heat pad between my legs).

Don't bother getting out of bed if you're hurting. He'll bring hou whatever you want and does his best to stock up on your favorites for this time of the month. If you're someone who can't eat cuz your period hurts so bad, he'll try his best to find soft, easy on the tummy foods. Makes you broth if nothing else.

If you sleep a lot because you're weak from blood loss, he makes sure you're not disturbed and checks on you often. Isn't offended if you don't want cuddles or if you demand them. Whatever makes you feel better.

If sex helps he'll do it but is gonna be so fucking worried he's hurting you more. Probably doesn't want to actually fuck you cuz he thinks it's too rough. Will finger you or offer oral.

Alastor

Has a soft spot for women cuz of his mama. If you're someone who has regular cycles he doesn't do much beyond making sure you're eating well and staying hydrated. May bring you medicine if you're especially sore. Makes sure you always have supplies.

If you're someone with severely debilitating periods, he has nothing but respect for you. Especially knowing you'd still work through the pain and have before. Though the gentelman in him is disgusted by how your pain is brushed aside.

Once he gets an idea of how bad they are, you're not leaving his room. He cooks a lot of iron rich food (thankfully Rosie gets him high quality meat, just don't ask where it came from). If your cramps are so bad you throw up, he cleans you up, makes bone broth, and rubs your stomach.

Blood literally doesn't even make him blink so if tanpons or a cup are too uncomfortable while you're cramping and pads chafe you and you don't wanna get period underwear or ruin an old pair of underwear just...don't bother? He can get new sheets. And he doesn't sleep anyway.

I personally think while Alastor is asexual he doesn't mind his partner being sexual, he understands. So if you masturbating helps with cramps, go ahead. He may or may not be willing to help you out (he will lick your blood off his fingers, though).

Sits with you while you rest. Speaks French to you. Sometimes indulges you by using his Cajun accent. If it helps keep your mind off your pain.

Overall he's supportive and admires you but isn't as over the top as Lucifer.

Vox

Vox is pretty good about not letting the time period he came from affect his views much. He's a modern man, after all. Be gay, do crime, live laugh, arson, all that jazz. So while he doesn't necessarily downplay your period it is kind of a knowledge gap for him.

It takes him a while to catch on to how much pain you're in. Actually it takes you doubling over, falling to your knees, white as a sheet, and dizzy for him to go "oh shit".

He feels bad for not realizing how serious it was but man would rather lose a fight to Alastor than admit he was wrong, so the best you're gonna get is "why didn't you tell me, doll?"

Takes you to bed immediately and straight up asks what you need. You get headaches, boom blackout curtains. You can't eat, ok he's ordering soup, crackers, granola bars, jello, anything soft and easy to digest. All the water and juice you could want to put in a mini fridge by your bed so you stay hydrated and get calories.

Heating pads, extra blankets, pads, tampons, period underwear, a new cup, whatever the hell you want. (Absolutely you have to send him a picture of the exact kind of pad or tampon otherwise he's going to be confused cuz there's literally dozens of them and he doesn't know what any of it means. Is a hey babe what size pussy you wear guy).

He checks on you throughout the day with his cameras.

Appreciates that you still try and work from your laptop or phone. Won't tell you not to even if you're miserable. He expects you to know your limits (even though you nearly fainted earlier).

He runs warm and is kinda heavy since he's robotic so if the only thing that makes your ovaries stop throbbing is pressure and heat and he's not busy he'll lay across you to do his work.

Also not icked out by blood so he'll fuck you, finger you, or eat out when you're on your period. But he's a little more hesitant to wat you out cuz he doesn't want the mess on his screen.

Valentino

Honestly his first response is to ask if sex will help. Just wants to get this over with.

If he likes you or you're his favorite, he'll bring you your favorite treats.

Already has pads, tampons, sponges, and underwear on set.

If you didn't know, adult actors have special sponges that go up there for the time of the month for filming, and they can get stuck. So he would help you get it out. At least there's that.

If you actually do pass out even if he's in a really bad mood, he'd feel a little bad. He kinda thought you were being a little dramatic. He gets they hurt and make you tired or bitchy, didn't realize it could actually get that bad. He lets you take the week off after that and checks in on you a bit more.

Don't expect too much coddling though.

Angel Dust

A gay bestie. Makes jokes about how he's glad he doesn't have one and won't ever be near one, but really, he's worried af.

Does his best to make sure you get plenty of rest and food. Keeps you hydrated. Buys you whatever you need.

Has Chetri stay with you when he can't.

Lots of cuddles from him and fat nuggets. And back rubs.

You need to cum to help the cramps, he can get you any kind of vibrator or pump you want discreetly.

(Or you know, he can call Cherri).

Husk

Man doesn't even question it when you say it's bad. He knows you aren't the type to exaggerate.

I head canon he was in the military (drafted) so he's pretty methodical about getting suppplies. Has a fucking checklist. Keeps some on him at all times too just in case.

Another who will lay on top of you for warmth and weight. Added benefit is he purrs. The cat tendencies also means he makes biscuits, so he's good for a massage.

Doesn't really like blood on his fur. He fights yeah, but tries to avoid getting bloody (may have some ptsd about it. Especially if it's all over his hands). But if it helps then yeah he'll fuck you. No oral and no fingering though.

Because of his military background he knows not eating isn't good for you, especially if you're bleeding, so he'd be forcing liquids and the BRAT diet into you. (Banana, rice, applesauce, toast).

Adam

Good luck, honey. Man never bothered to learn biology. Dick goes in hole, woman make baby. That's his knowledge. Eve used to bitch about it a lot but he was bitter about getting kicked out so kinda figured it's her own fault.

Eve also never literally passed out, spent three days sleeping, and threw up everything she ate.

Kinda worries you're somehow dying. Like damn babe, your pussy can't be that broken. When he sees how much blood you're losing is when he actually starts to panic.

You or Lute have to walk him through it but even then it's gonna boil down to him buying you chocolate, a heating pad, pain pills, and offering to snuggle.

DO NOT ASK HIM TO BUY YOU PADS OR TAMPONS.

He's kinda chubby and warm so good for snuggles but will bitch if you get blood on him.

Also, as much as he's horny and usually into everything once, he's kinda grossed out so he's not touching you while you're bleeding. Maybe eventually and with a couple layers of condom he'd fuck you? But uh...yeah, not happening anytime soon.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin hotel angel dust #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel valentino #vox x reader #alastor x reader #adam x reader #lucifer x reader

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anantaru · 21 days

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⊹ ‧₊˚ ᰔ synopsis. reminiscing about the start of your relationship // ꒰ᐢ⸝⸝⸝⸝ᐢ꒱ ♡ cw. mentions of guns, tw guns, fluff & established relationship, a/n. this is just a random idea that came to me, not proofread, gn! reader ♡

the unfolding of a relationship can truly be something magical.

with a warm contentment, you settle yourself against boothill's chest as you indulge the drifting thoughts in your mind, humming lightly into your chest as you felt a large palm cradle your hip.

you cannot lie to yourself, can you? but you're rather nostalgic about the early stages of your relationship with your boyfriend and how the two of you got to know each other.

at that, you realise it's a fun story, a great one even.

to boothill, you were the first person he's had a genuine interest in having a relationship with, and remembering how he thought he should tackle it— well, it was almost tragic, in a humorous way.

people who saw him as a dangerous individual weren't necessarily new to him. he'd be naive believing that he wouldn't be scary to look at.

the man understood that his risky occupation, aside from his outside demeanor could come across as unsafe and frightening to the outside spectator.

what boothill didn't realise, however, was that no matter how hard you try, you cannot hide yourself.

you see, boothill doesn't lie— although frankly, he did try to make himself seem a little less intense to you. especially on your first dates.

it all began with his job and how it doesn't fit with your usual cookie cutter profession. in order to appear a lot softer and less frightening to you, he wasn't the most honest about what he's been doing for a living, nor did he actually plan to reveal it to you right away.

reflecting back on it, his cheeks instantly burn of embarrassment— the sheer confidence he must've experienced when he believed, for a single second, that he could be able to claim and sell the lie of him having a bakery would actually fool you in the slightest bit.

quoting his exact type of wording; a renowned bakery owner with a strong liking towards lemon cake.

well, perhaps you bringing it up from time to time and teasing him with it was a consequence of his own actions now. yet, his sweet sense of humor made you fall in love with him the most.

it's adorable, he is, yet it ended up being slightly dangerous— with such words shrouded in your mind, you're thinking back at one specific moment where you accidentally found one of hid guns.

naturally, he's tried to downplay it immediately, hands turning sweaty as he couldn't keep eye contact with you while working himself through a story of claiming that, well, it's not a real one silly, see? but a fake one, okay? that he's been using for an upcoming, top secret, performance he's been planning for a while now.

for his bakery. you know.

little did he realize you accidentally pulled the trigger right when you were about to hand over the weapon and shot a bullet through the wall, right into the living room— you were fortunate enough that the knock back didn't hurt your shoulder too much, it stung a little, yes, but you were able to recover from the shock quickly.

yeah, it's safe to assume that this was a clear awakening to boothill, that he most likely needs to let you in on a couple of silly, little details about his life.

well now at least, after being in a loving relationship for a good couple of years already, you tilt your face and prop yourself up by your chin as your boyfriend shakes his head the moment you mention it to him again, "don't remind me of that," he begins to panic, a big and embarrassing smile plastering across his mouth as his heart drops to the pit of his stomach, "hey! we promised not to talk about this again,"

he's shrouded with a sudden feeling of helplessness, scratching the back of his neck before you slant yourself closer with an airy laugh brushing against his lips, "but it's our origin story," you smile and hoist your body up so you could be on his eye level.

you continue to affirm, knowing it makes your boyfriend weak in the knees, "and you're so sweet when you're embarrassed," before applying a sultry kiss on his cheek, breath holding, mind numbing, as boothill quirks up the sides of his mouth softly at your plush lips touching him.

truly, how beautiful it was that no matter what, he knows that you are one and if anything, a story such as yours only brought one closer.

#hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #boothill x reader #hsr x you #honkai star rail x you #boothill x you #hsr fluff #honkai star rail fluff #boothill fluff #tw gun mention #tw guns

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serene-destruction · 2 months

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(Platonic) Reactions To Finding Out You're In Hell For Killing Your Abuser [Angel, Lucifer, Alastor, Vox]

TW: Mentions of childhood sexual abuse | Cannon typical violence | Mentions of suicide

A/n: this one is really dark so reader discretion is greatly advised. Read at your own risk.

Word Count: 4.5k

Angel Dust

You and Angel Dust likely met at the hotel. You were a newer resident of hell that just so happened to be spotted by Charlie and taken in after wondering the streets.

He didn't take to you right away, considering he had his own issues to deal with. Not to mention that you were such a goody two shoes that it kinda made him feel even worse about himself. Despite his name he knew he was far from any angel and your presence only exemplified that.

By all accounts you seemed to save your shit together. A drug free, pure and kind person, through and through. You never faltered. So it takes a while for him to even stand being in your presence, longer to actually try and talk with you. He hates that he doesn't find something to hate about you. Just so damn perfect.

He should have known better, truthfully. No one gets sent to hell off a whim, there were reasons. He was just so blinded by your purity at first that he doesn't see it. He isn't the only one, either. Charlie would be the first to use you as an example of purity.

But all the same the two of you do end up getting close to each other. You may be a bit straight-laced for his taste, but he can't help but grow attached. You're a good kid, you really don't deserve to be here.

It only takes one night for his perceptions of you to shatter

It started with one of Charlie's trust games. You were all meant to share what sins brought you down here. In a place like hell that wasn't usually a very taboo subject. Murder, drugs, sex, Angel's heard it all. But despite that assurance you wanted absolutely nothing to do with the exercise. You had locked yourself in your room, refusing to participate. So while the others went on ahead Angel decided he'd talk to you.

“Kid! C’mon, it can't be that bad!”

“I don't want to!” You were adamant. He should have known it right then

“Kid…look, can ya at least let me in? I'm tired of yelling through the door!” He pleaded and, to his surprise, you did. Your eyes avoided him completely as you allowed him to step in the room. Even when the two of you sat down on your bed you didn't budge. You looked almost as terrified as the first day you came here.

“Look, I get that admittin’ what you done can be a bit…embarrassin’ sometimes,” he's tries to calm you.

“But none of us are perfect and you ain't any different. Hell, it might even be good for you” his attempt at comfort didn't seem to be working. In fact he might have made it worse, given how you turned further away from him.

“It’s not just because it's embarrassing! I- I just don't want to tell everyone!” you answer through a tightening voice. There's a pause as Angel considers your words before he speaks again.

“Then you don't gotta tell everyone. You can just tell me” He was surprised when the offer had you turning back to him, though your discomfort was still evident. You didn't say anything at first but eventually you found the words.

“...Promise you won't tell anybody?” he fought the urge to roll his eyes. He was sure you were being overdramatic. You probably told a little lie that got out of control or accidentally kicked a puppy or-

“Promise” he answered anyway.

And so you told him

“I…I was tired of him touching me” Angel’s stomach immediately drops at just those few words. All of his previous downplaying caused an explosion of guilt within him.

“He was always touching. Every day since I was little. Every time he was over, every time I was alone. I couldn't- I…I just wanted it to be over”

He knew where this was going.

“I-I snapped. I just couldn't take it anymore. Eighteen fucking years” your voice is a mix of rage and pain, a sound he didn't think you capable of until now.

“I'd never been so angry. I didn't- I didn't know what I was doing until it was over. There was blood everywhere- I killed him and…and I couldn't live with myself. I'd never done something like that before! I'd never hurt anyone! I couldn't live with that- I couldn't-”

Before you can spiral any further you feel Angels hand land on yours. With slow, purposeful movements he pulled you into his arms. You freeze for a moment, caught entirely off guard by the sudden comfort. He was careful not to hold you too tight and keep his breaths steady. Keep himself predictable.

“S’okay kid…You didn't do a damn thing wrong” his whispered words break through your shock, melting you into a pile of sobs in his arms, gripping onto him like your very soul depended on it.

After that night the two of you quickly become known for your fierce protectiveness over each other. Angel swears that if he ever sees the bastard he'll rip him a new asshole before shoving a spike in it.

Lucifer Morningstar

You were one of many assistants to Lucifer, helping him with the many tasks he doesn't ever keep up with as the king of hell. You are most likely ignored and/or forgotten about for a while. He is far too, uh…busy for remembering much of anything, let alone names and job titles.

However you do manage to catch his eyes when he finally notices your apparent lack of any sort of social life in hell. Unlike the others he has working for him who seem all too happy to indulge in hells many depraved luxuries, you aren't one of them.

It triggers his curiosity, so he starts to remember your name and even manages to strike up conversations with you that don't sound like he's desperately trying to remember who he's even talking to.

You begin to be the first person he goes to when he needs something done and in turn you go to him when you need something as well. It's never anything too much, he notices. Always just small tasks that take him almost no effort at all. But you seem to beam at even the smallest kindness.

But then there is that ill-fated night…

It was late and you were still hard at work in your office.

Or at least you would have been, if you didn't feel like the weight of everything was weighing down on you as you stared down the two items Lucifer had left for you. A small note and a tiny rubber duck. You kept re-reading the note over and over again.

‘You're a good kid, Y/n. Keep it up’

The small gesture had formed a sickening guilt in you. You were the farthest thing from good. What you had done rightfully landed you in the shithole you belonged in. You didn't deserve his kindness, let alone his care. You felt so guilty for ever allowing him to think that you-

A knock at your door has you quickly wiping away your tears. Before you can say anything he opens it, his wide smile falling immediately.

“Oh no, what-” he pauses when he sees the death grip you have on the rubber duck he'd gifted, your eyes unable to even glance at him. He gives a nervous laugh at that. It sounds more worried than anything.

“You uh- don't like the gift, I take it?” At that your head whips to look at him, an attempt to calm your nerves written all over your face.

“No! No that's not-…no” your frantic words die down quickly as you quickly turn away again, unable to look the man in the eyes. There is a long silence that feels almost like an eternity passing. Then, to your complete surprise, he slowly pulls up a chair next to you, his eyes not turning from you for even a moment.

“Do you…maybe wanna talk about what it is then?” His voice is disarming, a mix of poorly feigned calm and genuine concern. It frightens you how quickly he makes you want to spill your guts.

“It's- I’m not-” You pause, trying to collect your words. You know then that you can't bear to tell him anything but the truth.

“I don't deserve this” you gesture to the toy and his letter. He doesn't seem to understand.

“You? Y/n, you're practically the only reason I get any work done around here! The least I can do is this, truly. Why wouldn't you deserve it?” His tone is full of disbelief, almost entirely sure that you must be avoiding telling him the entire truth.

“Because it isn't true” the bluntness of your words catches him off guard.

“I killed him and…and it felt good when I did it. It felt good to hurt him like he hurt me, it felt good being in control. It didn't feel bad when I put that knife through his throat, It didn't feel bad when I finally got him to stop touching me. It didn't…until it was over” the tears that had brimmed at your eyes fell like rivers, your attempts to wipe them away fruitless. You didn't dare look him in the eye, even as you continued.

“There was so much blood. I…I didn't know what to do. I- I didn't mean- no, no I did. But I just couldn't live with it. I couldn't live knowing that I killed him and that all I could think about was that he'd never touch me again! I couldn't-!” your words are cut off by the feeling of arms wrapping around you. For a moment you freeze, confused and horrified by the action, that is until the comfort of it seeps into you, knowing that the hands that held you now meant no harm. After that you sobbed into him.

Only once you'd calmed your sobs to hiccups and your grip loosened did he finally pull away. But he didn't go far and his eyes looked at you with nothing but pure concern.

“You listen to me, okay? I would never hold that against you. I couldn't if I tried. You did what you had to and I trust that you did it for the right reasons” his words of forgiveness strike through you, hitting you directly in your wounded heart. Never before had you believed anyone could look so kindly upon you knowing what you'd done.

After that day Lucifer had become quite father-like to you, treating you just like he would his own kid. You practically become an honorary Morningstar.

Alastor

You and Alastor have an…interesting relationship. the two of you very likely met at the hotel, considering he wouldn't have given you a second glance otherwise. You were, after all, just one of the many other souls, and not an impressive one at that. Meek, young and weak.

It takes a long while for Alastor to warm up to you, most likely because you avoid him at all cost. You learn quickly that Alastor doesn't like being avoided like that when he begins to follow you around.

It's through conversation that he grows interested in you. When you aren't blinded by your fear he's actually a great conversationalist, especially when he's alone with you. It seems almost like he drops a bit of his guard as well, something you explain away as you being of zero threat to him. The two of you often talk of your plans for the day and whatever latest idea Charlie has conjured. Small talk, for the most part. Never anything personal

Which is why you are so caught off guard when he asks the truthfully inevitable question.

It was a usual calm morning in the hotel kitchen. A bit of smooth jazz played from an old radio, the coffee machine churned, the constant static from Alastor flowed through the room and the sound of idle chit-chat passed between the two of you. Besides the fact that no one else joined the two of you, it all seemed relatively normal.

“I must say, for someone in Hell you have quite the kind heart, my dear. One might even ask how you managed to get yourself down here” Alastors words cause your heart to sink almost immediately. Your body tenses, your breathing catching for just a moment. You make sure to keep your eyes on the coffee pot and manage to give him a halfhearted laugh. But you know the moment he goes quiet for just that second too long that he noticed.

“How did you end up down here, if you don't mind telling me?” You feel your tongue go dry, your jaw clench, your entire being beg to leave this conversation. But you knew there wasn't a chance in all of Hell that you'd get out of this. If he didn't get an answer now he'd be sure to get one later.

“I uh…” you start, nausea threatening to crawl in.

“I don't know” you try to answer, hoping beyond hope that it would satisfy him.

It did not.

“Now now, one mustn't feel the need to lie to friends. I assure you I've seen worse than whatever it is you managed to do!” You pause at his words, finally turning over your shoulder to look at him.

“We’re…friends?” You ask, surprised to see him look almost just as confused by your words.

“Why of course! The both of us have quite nice talks with one another, why wouldn't we be?” He seems so confident as he speaks. Despite how skeptical you've been ever since meeting him, you can't help but feel that he might genuinely be growing on you. Fuck, you might even trust the guy. Not with your soul, mind you, but you were sure at least your words would be safe with him.

“Out with it then, what got you sent down to this lovely pit of fire and brimstone?” his tone is jovial and light, not taking this nearly as seriously as you felt he should be. You were weirded out when it actually helped you calm down a little.

“Well…” should you tell him? Would he even care? Would he blink an eye at your suffering? Would he laugh at you? All the possibilities ran through your head at once.

When you finally turned to face him he gave you an expectant look, fully anticipating an answer from you. So you took a deep breath and turned your head to gaze at a nearby wall before beginning.

“My uncle, he um…well he didn't really know how to keep his hands to himself. Ever since I first met the man he wouldn't keep his damn hands off me. Then mom died and I had to live with him and…” you pause a moment, trying to keep yourself together. With a deep breath you continued.

“He never stopped touching me. No one believed me, no one did anything. Not when I was eight, or ten, or fifteen. Not after either. I was just alone with him. Every day of every month of every year…until I couldn't take it anymore” your voice was quiet now, just above a whisper to keep it from shaking.

“I was cooking dinner when he came behind me and-…I snapped and…well I'm not really sure. I just remember being covered in blood and knowing that no one would believe me. So I did what I thought was the only thing I could do. Next thing I knew I found out I had been damned for all eternity” you hugged yourself in an attempt at comfort that wasn't working. You managed, by the smallest effort, to keep your tears in and your breath steady, but you knew you'd break at any moment. When you turned to him, his smile still plastered and staring blankly at you, you thought you just might have done so then. So you quickly turned back around to save yourself the embarrassment.

“But yeah. Pretty sure that's why I'm here-”

“That was quite brave of you” his words shock you still enough that you might have even felt your heart stop. Your head snaps back to him in an instant, unsure if you'd heard him right. He's standing now, smile just a little less wide and leaning on his cane. If you didn't know any better you might have mistaken it for a look of uncanny care.

“What?” You whisper the word. He stands a little taller at that.

“When the world stops caring then one must simply make it. Very few do so, and so I applaud your effort in taking fate into your own hands” he is serious, almost deathly so. His words aren’t what you expected, but they are actually some of the most comforting you'd ever heard. Not only because he believed you, but because he truly believed you'd done the right thing.

“...Thank you” his smile widens again and you catch how ever so slightly bigger his antlers have gotten and the small flicks of green that seem to only show in your peripheral. You choose not to say anything about it.

“Of course! Now I simply must be on my way! There is much to do and so little time. Have a pleasant rest of your morning!” he was out the door before you even realized he was leaving. You would have said goodbye yourself if you didn't know he was already gone. And without his coffee too!

After this little incident Alastor seems almost tied at your hip. You are warned time and time again not to get too close to him but after the way he took the news of your sin you honestly don't think you could push him away. He was the first person you'd ever told in Hell, the first person to ever believe you. And given how keen he is on keeping you safe both in and out of the hotel you are quite happy to call him a friend.

Vox

The only way you'd be able to get even a second glance from Vox is if you worked for him and, let's be real, he couldn't have given less of a shit about you when he first met you. You were one out of thousands that worked on his many, many projects. You were lucky if he ever even read your name, let alone remembered it.

It takes quite the circumstance for him to notice you and it's likely only because of very selfish reasons. Maybe he picks you out of the crowd as a gag at first. The big CEO talking to this meek little low life, giving them a glance at something they'll never achieve.

But Vox has a way of getting attached to the strangest things sometimes and you end up being among them. Maybe it's the way you go along with whatever he's saying, playing to his ego. Maybe it's the way he knows you don't mean a single word and he feels he has to prove himself. Or maybe he just liked having a bit of a babyface around to impress. Either way, he ends up kind of taking you in.

You become a sort of protege to Vox as he teaches you all about his company and how to run it; mostly so he can hand you the tasks of the day that he doesn't feel like handling. You're a secretary of sorts. He does, however, try to keep a distance between you and the other V’s. Mostly because he knows they can be a bit much and he doesn't want to scare you off just yet.

But it's inevitable that you would meet them someday. And, as he expected, the first meeting didn't go very well.

You and Vox were on your way down the hall in the middle of idle conversation that was mostly work related. You liked having these conversations with him, mostly because he always seemed so pleased when you'd give him an idea he liked or a change he'd consider. You felt useful in a way you hadn't really ever felt before-

“My my, if it isn't Vox and his new little pet” the voice speaks behind you and both you and Vox turn to see who it is. You are set on edge when Vox gets suddenly nervous.

“Val! I thought you had work down in the studio today?” Vox’s voice booms in the way you know he only does when he's trying to keep his cool. You make sure to stand a little closer to him when Val walks up to the two of you.

“You've been hiding from me, love. So I figured I'd pay a visit. Good thing too” the moth man leans down to you so close you feel your entire being beg to disappear.

“I wouldn’t have met the darling that's been keeping Voxy so occupied. Cosita bonita” he looks down at you, his smile alone sending a cold shiver up your spine. He grabs your hand and instead of doing anything normal like shaking or kissing it, he instead begins to lick up your arm.

“Rumor has it your little fall from grace betrays how sweet as you look” Horrified and feeling very familiar fear consume your being, you freeze up. Luckily, and rather surprisingly, Vox very quickly pulls him away from you.

“Alright, alright that's enough of that!” his tone is that of a light reprimand, though the swirls in his eyes betray him. He effortlessly spins the moth man around in something similar to a dance, ending with the two of them facing away from you. Whispered words are exchanged, Val glancing back at you for only a moment afterwards before walking off with no complaint.

Vox straightens his suit, his performative smile falling for a moment before turning back to you.

“Let's get back on our way” he beckons you as he continues to walk. You follow along, compliant as ever. He leads you to an elevator where the two of you get in and he clicks whatever floor he'd decided he had work on. You think everything is relatively normal until, with a wave of his hand, the elevator stops.

“What did he mean?” The question confuses you.

“...about what?” You ask, unsure what he was getting at. He turns to you.

“About your ‘fall from grace', what was he getting at?” the realization dawns on you the same way acid would drip into an old wound. There was really only one thing that could mean and the fact that a man you'd never met knew enough to mention it made you sick to your stomach.

“Kid?” He calls to you and it's only then you notice tears build in your eyes. You quickly blink them away before making sure to avoid looking in his general direction.

“I…don't know” you tried, very unconvincingly, to feign ignorance. Unfortunately that didn't go over well with him.

“I don't think I've met a worse liar in the entirety of Hell than you” he states plainly and you can't help but agree. You hadn't really ever had practice in the field. Yet even with his call on your bullshit you chose to stay silent.

“Look, If Val knows then chances are I'm finding out anyway. He's not exactly great at keeping his mouth shut” he tries to convince an answer out of you but his words only make it worse. You didn't want that creep to know in the first place! But, being ever so horrible at keeping such a cold front up, you break under his gaze.

“It’s why I'm in Hell” you start off vague and you notice how he leans in just a bit closer.

“Seriously? That's what's got you upset? What, was it embarrassing? Because believe me, I'm sure I've heard worse” he was really trying to sell you that notion, what with the wide smile and undivided attention, but you couldn't help the nagging voice that told you he wouldn't believe you.

But still, you assumed it better he heard it from you than Val. After all, you and Vox were pretty close at this point. If there was anyone that you'd tell, it would be him.

“No it's- well it is embarrassing, but-” you stammer a moment, trying to find the right way to say it. Soon enough you fix your eyes on the metal doors and just spill.

“I had an uncle. I lived with him for a while, most of my human life really. And he uh…I was just a kid at the time and he- he couldn't keep his hands to himself. Just kept…touching me. For years” the way the information pours out of you is forced. Like you have to pry it from your own mind and shove it out your throat. But there was no point stopping now.

“And then I just couldn't take it anymore. I don't even really know what happened. One second I was cooking dinner and the next he came behind me and…and then everything was bloody and…” you trail for a moment, your mind brought back to that horrific memory. Without a thought you finally turn to Vox.

He looks completely deflated, stripped of that egocentric smile of his and leaving nothing but a shocked still expression in its place. His mouth hangs slightly open as if to say something, but no words come. You feel your tears sting your eyes at the sight.

“No one believed me when I told them what he was doing, no one believed me when I told them for how long. So I knew when I killed him it would just be the same. That they'd make him a martyr and I'd be the villain and- and I couldn't deal with that! I- I didn't want to live through that again!” your voice raises at the end, voice pleading to be listened to, to be believed. Fuck, even just heard.

You get what you ask for with his stunned silence and tense posture. After a moment though you can't help but feel like you want to take your words back, his silence disturbing you greatly.

Just as you're about to ask him to forget what he'd heard, to pretend like you hadn't ever said anything and move on like normal, his hands reach slowly for you. The movement confuses you so greatly that you don't even think to stop him when he silently pulls you into him. You stand rigid for a long moment before, bit by bit, melting into sobs. He holds you tighter in the silence of the elevator and you can't help but grip onto him like your afterlife depended on it.

It's after this that Vox becomes fiercely protective of you. It's incredibly strange for everyone, including yourself. He is adamant that it's just because you know so much about his company, that it's all purely business. But when you think back to that day in the elevator you can't help but believe that he might just actually care about you.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel angel dust #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel & reader #alastor & reader #lucifer morningstar #lucifer morningstar & reader #vox & reader #angel dust & reader #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin hotel vox & reader #hazbin hotel angel dust & reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #platonic hazbin hotel #Hazbin hotel & you #gn reader

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cherrychilli · 2 months

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18+

Eddie Munson x AFAB reader, established relationship, lingerie, allusions to oral sex(F), PIV sex

a/n: I'm no seamstress by any means but I can do a decent enough job with a needle and thread and I love making my own lingerie from time to time so it got me thinking about dear sweet horny Eddie and what it might be like when you let him in on your little hobby.

You'd first told him about it a few months into your relationship, on a day when a press of his lips to the corner of your mouth had turned into open mouthed kisses, his tongue wrapped around yours. Eddie had pulled you closer to feel more of you then, settling you in his lap, pushing your skirt up to find the black, hand sewn lacy garters circling the thickness of your thighs, made dainty and pretty with ruching and bows.

He doesn't even know what they're called – all he knows is that he likes them, a lot and he tells you so between kisses, tracing the soft fabric with his fingers, pinching the delicate lace with a low whistle. He slips in a corny but sweet line about how it makes your thighs look like they've been giftwrapped just for him and that gets a giggle out of you, telling him you made them yourself.

"You serious?", he looks up at you, amazement shining bright in his deep mahogany eyes even when you try to downplay it, telling him it's not that hard. But your modesty does nothing to stop him from thinking you're the most talented person he's ever met and he reminds you of that mixed in with more praise when you change positions and he's down on his knees, slipping his fingers under each garter while he fits his head between your legs.

"Turning up in a pretty little outfit like this? that's begging to have my tongue on you, baby. You shoulda known that", he tuts against your clothed mound, licking a broad stripe up your panties, tasting the wetness that had gathered there on the black cotton.

He only pulled out the stitching on one garter that day – unintentional of course but unavoidable too given how tightly he had to hold you down in place as you writhed. It didn't trouble you though because it was nothing you couldn't mend with your needle and some thread back at home.

From then on, whenever you feel inspired to tackle a new design he's all sorts of encouraging, driving you and accompanying you to get all the things you need – all of the sewing supplies; fabric, thread, lace, ribbon, elastic and more. He helps you decide on which colors to get and he makes the gesture of paying for it all too, wanting to spoil you. Not to mention it's kind of like he's buying himself a present too, knowing you'll model the undergarments for him when you're done.

The most you let him help with after that is taking your measurements, letting him wrap the measuring tape around your hips and bust while you guide him on how to do it correctly but what that leads to is a lot of wandering touches and a few sneaky pinches on your ass, having to playfully swat his hands away if you hope to get anything done.

Eddie backs down with a little whine but all the faux pouting's just for show. He finds space on your bed while you look up DIY tutorials online at your desk before you get down to sewing, all of your supplies laid out neatly by your side, ready to be used.

While you're busy he spends his time strumming away on his guitar, pencil tucked behind his ear as he brainstorms lyrics for a new song. Both of you liked working on your own projects this way, in the same room because you appreciate having each other's company and presence to surround yourself with while you create.

Though Eddie had promised not to look too much he struggles to uphold that promise as he sneaks peaks at you cutting out patterns for a matching lace bra and panty set. He adores the cute way your brows scrunch together in concentration when you thread your needle and how you sometimes mirror him with your tongue pinched between your lips while you meticulously stitch all the individual cut outs together.

Somewhere between the time it takes you to get the panties finished and the bra started he approaches you, one hand clamped over his eyes so he can't see your progress – he knows how much you want to surprise him with the final result. Held out in the other is a mug of that tea you like, having made a quick trip to your kitchen and back, a bag of potato chips cradled in the crook of his elbow for you too.

You thank him and gladly take the offerings, cheeks growing warm when he plants a quick kiss on the top of your head. "Don't overwork yourself", he coos into your hair, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze before he heads back to your bed and picks up his guitar again.

The tune Eddie's playing carries you through the rest of your stitching and close to an hour later you swivel your desk chair around in his direction. "I'm done", you announce with a sunny smile and he grins back at you, fingers abandoning his guitar. "You gonna get changed right now?" he asks hopefully, eyes twinkling.

"Yup", you answer him, popping the 'P' with a little wink. You gather the set in your arms, stepping into the bathroom. "Wait here, I wanna do a reveal", you tell him before closing the door, all giddy with girlish excitement, proud of how the it all came out.

The wait isn't long but every second that passes has Eddie feeling like his head's full of fireworks, finding it impossible to remain still, fingers drumming on his knees, legs hung over the side of your bed, socked feet tapping away on your carpeted floor.

You don't announce yourself once you've changed, unlocking the bathroom door and letting it swing open as you lean against the doorframe, letting your boyfriend take in your newest creation.

You know you've succeeded when his lips part, jaw going slack and his eyes going wide to rake over every inch of you, stunned.

He makes grabby hands at you and its somehow made cuter given his age so you step forward to let him get a closer look, occupying the space between his spread legs, letting him place his warm hands on the bare skin of your waist.

It's always a rare moment when Eddie goes silent, words escaping him as he quietly admires the way the material wraps around your proportions perfectly and the the cheeky cut of your panties as you do a little spin for him, the front a soft lilac satin, the back a matching shade of lace to reveal your ass through the floral embroidery.

The bra is simple – nothing too elaborate like some of the designs you'd scrolled through but it compliments the underwear well. The straps are thin and rest comfortably on your shoulders, the rest sewn in a longline style. It's sheer with the same floral lace as your panties so your nipples show through, your breasts supported well even without padding or underwire for extra softness, all with a tiny, pretty ribbon bow stitched right in the middle to match the one on the front of your panties too.

"You're so fucking beautiful", me utters, pulling you closer to kiss you right above your belly button, making your chest flutter with a thousand beating wings, a hurricane of butterflies taking flight just beneath your skin.

You let him lay you down on the bed and he's far more gentle than he needs to be when he slips your panties to the side, not wanting to stretch or snag the lace and ruin all your hard work. Your belly feels warm like sunlight spilling through your window in the morning because he's so careful with the pretty underwear while he runs a finger through your wet folds, making you feel like something as delicate as porcelain, something to touched with care and worshiped. It makes you hunger for more, pulling him closer by his shoulders.

"Wanna feel you inside", you place your lips on his, hands helping him to unbuckle his belt as he leans over you. You pull not so gently at his clothing, a big contrast to how he's handling you, tossing each article to the side impatiently while you remain in your cute little ensemble. You wouldn't be ridding yourself of your underwear tonight and he wouldn't have it any other way.

"Can't believe I've got the prettiest doll in town all to myself", Eddie huffs a breath against the column of your neck at the same moment you suck one in, pressing his cock inside you, so thick and hard it makes the stretch that much better.

"And she's all dressed up just for me"

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson #stranger things smut #stranger things #eddie munson x reader

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wheeboo · 3 months

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run to you | lee chan

SYNOPSIS. in which your best friend picks you up in the middle of the night. PAIRING. biker!best friend!lee chan x gn!reader GENRE. fluff, hurt/comfort, lil angst, best friends to lovers WARNINGS. cursing, implied that reader lives in a troubled household, lil description of a twisted ankle, kissing WORD COUNT. 2.7k

notes: finally have something written for dino!! i haven't written anything for him in a HOT min that this almost feels out of character for some reason 😭 anyways enjoy <3

Chan doesn't understand why simply the sight of your name lighting up his phone has his heart quickening, head spinning, and adrenaline rushing all in a single moment. But he doesn't give it much thought, his hand instinctively pressing the answer button as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do.

He brings his phone up to his ear, calling out your name, "Y/N?"

"Hey, um..." Your voice is shaky on the other line, barely above a whisper, laced with something that sounds suspiciously like pain, and it sends a snake of worry up his back. "...can you do me a favour real quick?"

Chan glances at the time on his phone for a brief second, brows furrowing at the late time displayed on the screen. He sits up in bed, already somehow feeling more awake than just a few seconds ago. "Yeah, uh, what's up?"

Silence hangs heavy in the air, heavier than the late-night quiet pressing against Chan's window. He can almost hear your nervous inhale and picture the hesitant frown on your face.

"I left my... well, actually my entire skateboard bag... at your place," You admit quietly, sheepishly. "Could you possibly... drop it off at my door? It's really late, I know, but𑁋"

"Where are you?" Chan asks frantically and seriously that it cuts you off. He hears the way your breath hitches in your throat at the tone of his voice, and it only makes him more apprehensive and his heart hammering against his ribs anxiously. "Are you at the skate park?"

Crap, he knows. He always knows. "Look, I just... needed to clear my head and took a little fall. I'm fine, can you just𑁋"

"Stay put," he commands, leaving no room for argument. "I'm coming to get you."

"What? No, Chan, it's fine𑁋"

He cuts you off, refusing to hear your protests. "Don't move. I'll be there in ten."

He hangs up before you can utter another word, quickly tossing a shirt on and grabbing his keys, helmet (and a second one), and of course, your skateboard bag. As Chan throws the bag over his shoulder, a sharp pang of worry hits him. He knows you're downplaying the fall and everything else going on, but the tremor in your voice paints a different picture in his mind, and he seems to be listening to his heart more than he ever thought he would.

All he could think about is you.

Chan knows not to pry, but it isn't the first time this has happened𑁋where you 'clear your head' in the middle of the night and run away from home for a few hours. But the thought of you alone and hurt gnaws at him more than he cares to admit.

Pushing aside the questions and worries for later, Chan rushes out the door, the roar of his motorcycle echoing through the hushed night. His phone buzzes in his pocket, but he ignores it. As he speeds towards the familiar silhouette of the skate park, a million scenarios play in his mind, each one twisting his gut tighter. He forces them down, focusing only on one𑁋getting to you and making sure you're okay.

The wind whips past Chan's helmet, carrying with it the sting of the cool night air and the echo of your shaky voice. He rounds the last corner, the skate park coming into view, bathed in the dim glow of a streetlamp. He catches a single glance of your figure leaning against wall with your skateboard abandoned not that far away, and his heart jumps into his throat.

He throws the bike into a skid that leaves a dark streak on the pavement, the gravel crunching beneath his tires and the engine sputtering to a halt just beside you. You flinch at the sudden noise, looking up with wide, surprised eyes. Before you can speak, he's already hopping off and jogging towards you.

Something jumps in your stomach when he takes off his helmet, the streetlamp above illuminating the worry etched on his features and windswept, messy hair. Chan kneels before you, the gravel biting into his knees as his gaze takes note of the way you're gingerly clutching down at your ankle.

The concern in his eyes makes your defenses crumble. You open your mouth to explain, but he silences you with a gentle hand on your knee.

"Don't talk," he murmurs, voice surprisingly soft. "Let me see."

He gently pushes your hand away, his touch sending a spark through your already jittery nerves, calloused fingers lightly brushing against away the dirt clinging to your slightly swollen ankle. You wince at the contact, breath hitching at the unexpected touch. It's not painful, but it's strangely electrifying.

"It looks swollen," he states, carefully brushing his thumbs over the affected area. "Can you put any weight on it?"

You hesitantly try to wiggle your toes, wincing when a sharp pain shoots up your leg.

"Fuck, ow," You whisper, biting your lip. You feel the shame and embarrassment burn at your cheeks, making you want to sink into the cool concrete beneath you.

He's always right; you weren't fine. You hadn't been fine for a long time, but admitting it to yourself felt like opening a dam of emotions you weren't sure you could contain the longer you stay here, and you aren't sure if Chan being in front of you was helping with that or not.

"Does it hurt a lot?" Chan asks, voice a low rumble that vibrates through the gravel where he kneels. You can't help but meet his gaze, searching for judgment, but finding only concern and a hint of something deeper you couldn't decipher, or didn't want to acknowledge.

You shrug, hating how weak the gesture feels, pulling back your leg away from him slightly. "It's okay, just a twist."

Chan's jaw clenches, the concern on his face morphing into something else, something you couldn't quite place. "Just a twist? Y/N, it's the middle of the night, you're alone at the skate park, and you can barely stand. It's not okay."

You feel your chest tighten. "I told you I just needed to get some air. You didn't have to come if you didn't want to. I'm fine."

His eyes narrow, and you catch a glimpse of something raw and intense flickering in them.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" he asks, coming out a bit harsher than intended. "What if you... what if something bad happened and you couldn't call for help? Do you think I wouldn't want to be the one to find you?"

His words hit you like a physical blow. You flinch, the vulnerability you'd so carefully guarded threatening to spill out. God, you hate that he could see through you, hate that he cares so much, hate that you couldn't hate it no matter how much you tried.

"No," You mumble, swallowing back the heat threatening in your eyes. "I don't think you're stupid. It's just..." Your voice trails off.

"It's just what?" Chan demands, voice tight. "Just another night where you disappear and leave me wondering if you're okay? I would never forgive myself if something were to happen to you."

His words suspend heavy in the air, the only sounds coming from the occasional crickets and the rhythmic thump of your heart echoing loudly in your ears. You could only stare at Chan, his intense gaze boring into you, and feel a dam within yourself start to slowly crack.

Chan lets his eyes roam over you, and a twinge of guilt seems to twitch at his lips, his eyes softening noticeably, but barely. He lets out a sigh.

"Come on," he says firmly. "I can't let you stay here alone, not tonight. Let me take you back to my place, okay?" His eyes hold yours for a beat longer than necessary, a silent plea struggling beneath the surface.

He rises from the ground and offers you his hand. The heat radiating from his skin sends a familiar jolt through you. Hesitantly, you place your hand in his, his fingers warm and calloused as they intertwine together clumsily, like you're testing some type of waters. Then he lifts you with surprising ease, the sudden movement sending a fresh wave of pain shooting through your ankle, making you tighten your grip on his hand.

"Sorry," he murmurs, concern flickering in his eyes. "Let me know if it's too much."

You shake your head, unable to find your voice. You're a tangled mess of emotions𑁋relief, embarrassment, and a fluttering nervousness that you can't quite explain. He helps you onto the back of his motorcycle and secures the extra helmet around your head, before stepping away to collect your skateboard from the ground. Then you feel his hand cup over yours, bringing it to secure around his waist, the warmth of his body pressed against yours sending shivers down your spine.

"Hold on tight," he instructs. As the engine rolls to life, you feel the vibration through your body, and you scoot yourself impossibly closer to him, tightening your hold around his abdomen even more.

The ride to his apartment is a blur of streetlights and rushing wind. You cling to him even more, not entirely sure if it's for balance or something more, but it's awfully comforting and... intimate.

You lean your head on his back and breathe in the familiar scent of leather and warmth that seems to calm you more than it should. Shifting your eyes up, you steal a glance at Chan, the moonlight casting long shadows across his determined jaw and windblown hair. You can feel his muscles tense and relax with every shift of the bike, and a strange sense of safety washes over you. You feel a slight tug at your lips at the thought.

As the motorcycle comes to a stop outside Chan's apartment, you linger for a moment, the gentle rumble of the engine fading into the quiet night as he puts it into park. The warmth of his body still lingers onto yours as he takes off his helmet and hops off the bike, before turning around to help with yours.

The brush of your hands against each other sends a jolt through the two of you. Chan quickly pulls away, his hand hovering awkwardly by your helmet, but the heaviness in the air lingers. You look up at him, his gaze flickering between your face, before he fully slips the helmet off your head, hand lingering in the strands of your hair for a moment.

He clears his throat, looking away briefly before meeting your eyes again.

"I, uh... should get you inside," he finally says.

You only give a nod. But as you attempt to step off the bike, the pain in your ankle shoots up your leg, bringing a wince to your face.

"Here," Chan says quickly, kneeling before you again. "Let me help."

He carefully scoops you up in his arms, the familiar scent of leather and warmth enveloping you once more. This time, you don't try to pull away, your heart pounding against his chest as he carries you inside.

He takes you to his kitchen, helping you sit on top of the counter, and you can't help but let out a quiet, soft sigh of relief. As he draws away from you to rummage through the drawers, you glance around his kitchen, noting the small stack of dishes in the sink, the motorcycle magazines scattered across his little eating area, and an empty bowl of cereal𑁋a glimpse into his life you hadn't seen before.

It's silent when it all happens, almost too silent it's suffocating. But as Chan comes back to you with an ice pack and a bottle of pills, you could only watch him. The soft light from the hanging lamp above bathes his face in a warm glow, and you catch the way his gaze lingers on your face a moment too long.

He reaches out, gently placing the ice pack on your swollen ankle. His touch is light, almost tentative, yet the cold feeling makes you flinch, but Chan's hand rests gently on the skin above your ankle, the other cupping at your knee. There's a part of you that wants to pull away from him, from everything happening right now, but you don't. You don't want to. You can't. He's worried, frustrated, and maybe even a little hurt, and you understand why. You've pushed him away again, and he's tired of it.

"I..." You start, a tremor betraying your words. "I didn't mean to worry you."

Chan glances up at you. "But you did," he replies lowly. "You always do. And it scares the hell out of me."

The tension hangs thick in the air as Chan's words sink in.

"I-I'm sorry, I really am," You mutter, swallowing down the lump in your throat. "It's just... things are hard at home, and I don't know how to deal with it. Being away just seems to... clear it all up a little bit, you know?"

"Then why run away when you can run to me?" He's standing right in front of you at this point, one hand still on your knee.

"Why do care you so much?" You counter almost defensively, feeling yourself tense right under his gaze.

"Because the more this happens, the more I realise I don't want to be your friend anymore," he answers simply, then lowers his voice. "I can't be... just your friend anymore when I want to be the person you run to."

The world freezes. Everything freezes, and you could only stare at him with widened eyes and a pure look of shock. Nothing but silence stretches between the two of you, and the hammering in your chest only grows stronger by each passing second.

Chan lowers his gaze to the floor, taking his hand off your knee and running it through his hair. "Fuck, I shouldn't have..." He catches a glimpse of the bottle of pain medication right next to you. "Let me get you some water𑁋"

"No, wait." You grab at his hand, causing him to halt, and he looks back at you. "Don't... go yet, please?"

Chan hesitates, before giving in, finding himself standing right back in front of you, the two of you almost eye-level. Except you shoot a quick look at his lips, then up to his eyes, before letting the hand wrapped around his wrist pull him even closer to you, to the point where he's almost standing between your legs.

His breath hitches from the sudden closeness, but he shouldn't be like this right now. Not when you're hurt and vulnerable. He can't tell you that he wanted you the moment you met two years ago when you rolled past him one day on the way to the same skate park, can't tell you that he would choose you over everything else in a heartbeat.

But all those thoughts are pushed away the moment he feels your lips on his, and his hands come naturally to your waist, as if afraid you might slip away. His lips seemingly mold perfectly with yours, and you can feel the longing in the way his fingers seem to tighten its hold on your shirt.

Your lips part for a brief moment, and there's a long moment that passes before Chan leans in again, capturing your mouth a bit more fervently, a bit more passionately than before, yet nonetheless still sweet and tender. The world outside disappears, and for a moment, it's just the two of you, the soft hum of the refrigerator, the ticking of the clock on the wall, and the gentle glow of the kitchen light above.

When you both pull away, there's a breathless pause.

"Are you... are you okay?" he asks cautiously. "I'm sorry, it just..."

"No, I'm... I should say sorry for... everything," You cut him off. "I shouldn't have made you worried or... pushed you away. I'm sorry."

"All I ever want is to make sure you're okay, Y/N." His hand is back at your knee again, finger tracing reassuring shapes, easing the tension out of your body.

You let out a nervous, light-hearted chuckle. "We're not even together yet and I'm already causing you so much trouble."

Chan's expression softens, and he cups your cheek gently, his thumb brushing against your skin.

"Who said I wasn't yours yet?" He leans back in, teasing his lips back against yours. "I can be, if you want me to be."

another note: ending is a lil rushed im sorry oops i wrote this rlly late 😭

taglist (open) ʚɞ @enhazen @haowrld @icyminghao @slytherinshua @jeonride @lockburn-castle @vrnism @weird-bookworm @mhlsymlysn @ryuwonieebae @yeonjuns-redhair @wonwooz1 @woohaeyo @mark-geolli @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @aaniag @wootify @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @phenomenalgirl9 @roziees @mirxzii @bookyeom

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lazyjellyfish300 · 2 months

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The Woman He Didn't Choose part 2🥀

AU Bachelor!Miguel O'Hara x Fem contestant Reader

Synopsis: the aftermath of the show as you and Miguel move on(sort of). The first part is mostly from his POV then transitions into your experience on the spinoff show- Singles in Paradise where you have a second shot at finding love. Word count: 6k

A/N: Sorry to any Xina fans, I made her OOC and quite mean in this one. I haven't read the comics but from what I've heard of her and seen so far she's one of the canon love interests I like the most. (Even tho I shamelessly self ship with Miguel lolol bc as far as I know ATSV Miguel is separate from comic Miguel Soo until we hear otherwise I'm gonna be delulu.)

Also, I am sorry if any of the couple pairings in this part bother you, it's purely for the purpose of the plot since we're supposed to be on another dating show and I am too lazy to create a bunch of OCs. If you're unfamiliar with the show Bachelor in Paradise, here's a clip to give you an idea. Basically, it's another dating show usually in a tropical location where single people couple up, and new arrivals come in every so often and ask people on dates to shake things up, leading to drama and chaos, and couples can choose to stay together or break up in the end and there's typically an engagement. DISCLAIMER: I HAVE NO RIGHTS TO THE SHOWS THE BACHELOR OR BACHELOR IN PARADISE, ALL RIGHTS TO THE OWNERS. I CHANGED THE NAME OF THE SHOW IN THE STORY.

TW: MINORS DNI, ANGST, RACIAL MICROAGGRESSIONS ABOUT ESL AND FAMILY STRUCTURE(IF THAT'S SENSITIVE FOR YOU PLEASE SKIP ❤️) EMOTIONAL ABUSE, TOXIC RELATIONSHIP, ALCOHOL ,DOWNPLAYING MENTAL HEALTH STRUGGLES, LITTLE BIT OF EMOTIONAL CHEATING ON MIGUEL'S PART, STRUGGLES WITH RELIGION AND FAITH, MENTION BULLYING AND FAMILY STRUGGLES, BREAK-UP, FANTASIZING, JEALOUSY, INSECURITY, CLASSISM, MODERATE SMUT(P IN V BUT IT'S ONLY MENTIONED NOT FULLY DETAILED, THESE ONES ARE DETAILED: DRY HUMPING, HEAVY MAKING OUT, AND FINGERING. ALSO, VOYEURISM-ISH)

(couple pairings are Ben Reilly and Felicia Hardy, Jessica Drew and Noir, George Stacey and MJ, Xina Kwan and Miguel O'Hara, not saying anything else bc spoilers)

Part 1 , Part 3

@miguelhugger2099, @kodo1221,@mimiemie, @laysmt, @cheerrioeoz , @spicydonut25 , @thisistotesnotspam-heart , @thekidscallmebosss , @librababe99 , @ce3stvu @irishbl0ss0mz @nommingonfood , @mauvecherie-writes , @royale-skeleton-key , @famouscattale

I'm so sorry if I forgot you in the tags , just lmk

------

"Miguel!"

Miguel looks up abruptly from a spot on the floor he was zoning out on to look at Xina's slightly annoyed expression. "Hydrangeas or peonies for the guest tables, babe?" she repeats, standing next to the sample table where the wedding planner and florist awaited with anxious eyes.

Miguel blinks rapidly. "It doesn't matter to me, baby...um...." he points to the peony arrangement. "That one."

Xina huffs and turns to look at the planner and florist. "We'll do the hydrangeas."

Miguel smirks and puts his hands in his pockets. "Now, why would you ask me my opinion if you're going to just pick the one you wanted?"

Xina's annoyed look softens subtly but she shakes her head. "It's mostly the bride's day, you know. You're just supposed to show up."

Miguel smiles. "Well, I guess you don't need me to come to the wedding planning dinner tonight? Since you seem to have it all handled?"

Xina groans. "Miguel! You said you'd be there! Have you even read through Exodus like I asked you to?"

Miguel feels his cheeks burn. "Shit...um, no..."

Xina shoots a glare at the wedding planner and the florist and makes a shooing motion with her hand. They both put their heads down and quickly leave the room, giving them privacy. Miguel adjusts his tie, a little bit thrown off by her dismissive actions towards the staff.

Xina sits down at the table and pours herself a glass of ice water. She takes a long sip and sighs, looking at Miguel. "Babe...," she says in a low voice. "You know that getting married in the church is a top priority for me. You know what it means to me..."

Miguel's eyebrows knit together with worry. "I know it is..." he rapidly crosses the room to join her and kneels in front of her, hands on her thighs. She squirms away from him a little and purses her lips, looking down.

"Promise me you'll catch up on your Bible reading by next week and set up an appointment with the missionaries?"

Miguel hesitates for just a fraction of a second in his mind but he answers her, almost a little too quickly, "Of course I will."

Xina manages to give him a little smile, fiddling with the top button on his shirt. "Love you..."

"Love you too."

---

Later that evening, Xina and Miguel are sitting next to each other at a large, circular, oak table across from her parents, eating dinner in their mansion of a home.

Xina's mother makes a face when she takes a bite of the salmon.

"Something wrong with it, hun?" Xina's father asks, dishing himself some potatoes.

Xina's mother spits the bite into a napkin. "Rex!" She barks. An older, balding man with a kind face and chef's uniform enters the dining room. "Yes, ma'am?"

"Salmon's not up to par, I'm afraid." She pushes the dish towards the puzzled chef.

"M' sorry ma'am. Can I make you anything else you'd like instea-"

She cuts him off. "No, my appetite's ruined. That's all, Rex."

The chef looks down in shame at the dish he worked hard on, picking it up with shaky hands and shuffling quickly out of the dining room.

Miguel tightens his grip on his fork and shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. He had not seen this side of Xina's parents. But, it was only their third time meeting, so he did his best to concentrate on who he was really there for, Xina. He took another bite of his roast beef.

Once the old man was out of earshot, Xina's mother tuts her teeth. "Sorry, he's insufferable... I don't know what we'll do with him.... is your roast beef even edible, dear?" She asks Miguel.

Miguel inhales slowly, trying to stifle his outrage on the chef's behalf but Xina's father cuts in.

"So, Miguel," Xina's father says, breaking the silence. "Your folks are planning on driving down on the... 25th, right? For the rehearsal dinner?"

Miguel nods, blotting his lips with a cloth napkin. "Yes, sir."

"Remind me who's coming?" He asks, pouring a generous helping of gravy on his potatoes.

Miguel clears his throat. "My younger brother, Gabe, and my mother-"

"Right, your father's not in your life." Xina's father says, waving his fork.

Miguel's lips fall open and he blinks in disbelief at the abruptness of his statement. I mean, he wasn't lying, per se. Miguel took a sip of his wine, trying to chalk it up to just him not choosing his words carefully, that's all.

"Right, he's not..." Miguel says, straightening in his chair.

Xina's mother pipes up, "You know, that's really such an inspiration on your part. Most people like you with your background end up on the streets, or worse."

Miguel abruptly stops cutting his meat, first looking at Xina's mother, who sat with a smile on her face looking at him, to her husband, who was too occupied with his potatoes to even care, to Xina who was just looking at her lap, clearly a little embarrassed at her comment, but stayed silent.

It got worse. She continues, "... wouldn't even guess that English isn't your first language. You're so well spoken for someone like you."

At that point, Miguel is so uncomfortable that he stands up abruptly, removing his napkin from his lap and setting it next to his wine glass.

"...if you'll excuse me..." he briskly walks out, making sure to close the front door a little extra loudly than he normally would.

Miguel paces in the driveway, taking deep breaths. He exhales a little bit when he sees Xina, but he's met with a different reaction than he was expecting.

"What the hell are you doing?" she hisses, wrapping her cardigan tighter around her stomach.

Miguel's face contorts in confusion, "Babe..that comment your mom made-"

"It's just how she is, Miguel!" Xina says, her annoyance starting to make itself apparent as her face comes into view.

Miguel is now even more confused.

"Just come back inside, please?" Xina looks around, hoping none of the neighbors were witnessing their spat.

Miguel takes a step back, his face hurt. "Xi...what's got into you...?"

"Look, I'm sorry that she said it, okay? But that's just how she is. She doesn't have a filter. Old people are just like that. Now she's upset because you stormed out."

Miguel becomes angry now. "Babe. I understand your parents are from a different generation and your mom has a certain way of... communicating." He sighs. "But what she said was kind of racist. I felt extremely uncomfortable."

Xina looks up at the sky in utter aggravation, "Okay! Fine! You're right! It was totally racist, okay? Happy? I'll talk to her about it later, but I really don't wanna fight anymore about this. We're supposed to walk down the aisle in three and a half weeks. They're just stressed because they're not only hosting my family, they're hosting yours too. I'm stressed, you're stressed. We all are..."

Miguel takes a deep breath. Now he's second guessing himself and his feelings. Did he overreact? The last thing he wanted was for them to dislike him. They were his future in-laws after all. Even though Miguel is hurt she won't defend him and is downplaying his feelings, he decides to shove them aside for her sake. Miguel looks down at her, taking her waist in his hands. She flinches a little and tries to pull back at first, but remains where she's standing when he holds her a little tighter.

"I'm sorry...okay? I'm sorry for being an ass..." Miguel can't help but feel a little odd that he's the one apologizing, but he continues. "Let's go back inside, yeah? Maybe we can go on a date this Friday, just to get away from all this wedding planning stuff."

Xina gives him a half smile and takes his hand in hers. "Deal..."

----

Later that night as Miguel showered in his shared apartment with Xina, he kept replaying their fight over and over again. He didn't know what it was, but lately, Xina was showing a very different side of herself. One that was completely the opposite of the soft spoken sweetheart he fell in love with when the cameras were rolling

He knew that she was religious when he proposed, but had the impression she was more of an Easter and Christmas-only attendee. Her devoutness amped up shortly after their engagement. Her pressure for him accept Jesus and get baptized so they could be married in her church started making him realize he bit off a little more than he could chew.

He felt a phony when she'd ask him to pray over meals and when he'd be called on to read a passage in Sunday School, like he wasn't supposed to be there. His scientific-inclined brain clashed with the idea of a magical being in the sky who would send him to Hell if he touched himself.

Furthermore, Xina demonstrated that she could be quite insensitive to his feelings, and he couldn't unsee the way his future in-laws poorly treated their chef in front of him, and the casual microaggressions they were throwing out about him and his family.

His whole childhood, he was bullied for his accent and for being one of the kids who would get pulled out of class for extra tutoring because he was so far behind everyone else. He was used to being doubted and constantly faced taunts from his classmates and teachers. Conchata was generally the better parent compared to George, but unfortunately that wasn't saying much.

She put immense pressure on Miguel to do well and excel in everything, constantly shifting the goalposts for the near impossible standards she expected him to reach.

But, he worked his ass off and eventually started reading two grade levels above his current grade and took home placing trophies in Math and Science olympiads. It wasn't long before Ivy League schools set their sights on him, and he went on to be the successful geneticist he was today, even buying Conchata a new house despite their volatile relationship.

Throughout it all, he never felt ashamed of where he came from, or his heritage. Nevertheless, it was something he was still was VERY sensitive about and he told Xina about it many times which is why it stung when she couldn't defend him. He even told you about it.

Oh God....you. This was the first time in a while that he finally allowed his mind to dwell on you for longer than a minute. He remembered how receptive you were when he told you. For once, he didn't hear a, "well at least you have it better than most", or a "cheer up, it's not so bad," when he explained his life story. Instead, you listened carefully with a soft look in your eyes and one of your hands resting on top of his, letting him know that the way he felt was completely valid. Something he didn't realize could be so healing when he heard you say that in that moment.

On top of that, your family was so...kind. Your mom even went out of her way to whip up an extra loaf of banana bread just for him when she caught wind that it was his favorite. Your siblings treated him like he was just another member of the family and it was a little unreal how seamlessly he got along with all of them. And, he distinctly remembered how gracious every single one of them were to the restaurant staff when you all went to lunch, with no awkward, demeaning energy like Xina's parents unfortunately demonstrated at dinner tonight. The cameras must have kept them on their best behavior until their true selves could come out once they turned off.

He's about to do something he knows he shouldn't, but he can't resist. He unblocks you on Instagram. (He has only one post on his own account and it's from when he was announced as The Eligible Suitor, the show forced him to create one for publicity's sake, he actually loathes social media in all forms).

And there you were, smiling with your friends at brunch. Another one of you showing off your new dog you rescued from the shelter named Hamilton, and your gorgeous headshot of you in a swimming suit for your debut on Singles in Paradise, where you and other rejected candidates from the show were all going to go at it in a fancy beach resort in Mexico.

Man, you looked good, curves on full display. The smile that he fell in love with was spread across your lovely face. The same one he was responsible for erasing when he broke your heart with less than 10 words on a tranquil beach in Thailand months earlier.

Now, you seemed happier. Trying to carry on with life as though he was never there. Like he didn't haunt your dreams and the sound of his name didn't cause the sting of a thousand burns to scorch through your body. Like you were never the first girl he ever spilled his cum into during that sexy night in the Fairytale Suites, remnants of him imprinted somewhere deep inside you.

Xina climbs into bed next to him and he closes out of Instagram immediately, ashamed that he let his mind wander. Her hand wanders down to his cock and it's not long until he's pounding into her. His mind struggles desperately to fight off the memory of the way your lips parted in ecstasy the whole time she's underneath him.

-----

A few days later

"What the fuck, Miguel?!" Xina screams at him over the phone. Miguel holds the phone away from his ear for a moment, the sound too harsh against his eardrum. She was upset at him this time for his interview on a morning talk show, promoting their upcoming wedding which was supposed to be aired live as the show's long awaited special before Singles in Paradise made its debut.

The host smiled and leaned on her elbow.

"Now, Miguel. Eligible Suitor's number one fan blog is releasing rumors that you only chose Xina because she was the safer option compared to y/n, the season's edgier "bad girl". Is there some truth to that statement, or can you elaborate on that?

Miguel nods slowly, a little bit of panic settling in on the inside, wondering how the hell the fan pages were eerily accurate, despite him not giving away any hints about his internal struggles regarding his engagement to the press that he was aware of.

"Well, as the man chosen to be the Eligible Suitor, there are certain expectations for me and who I ultimately end up with...Xina fit in well with my family. She had all the qualities of the ideal partner. Overall, it just seemed to be a better match..."

"But you're making it sound like if say, y/n for example had all of that, would you have picked her instead?"

Miguel hesitates, turning a little red. He wasn't good at lying. "Well, I mean..."

Awkward silence that lasts a little too long.

He quickly tries to recover but he ends up making it worse, "I mean, what's done is done. There's not really a point in wondering about that, you know....? We-we're very excited for the wedding..."

It wasn't longer than a minute after the show cut to commercial that his phone was ringing off the hook.

"Tell me right now that you love me, and not her, or I swear to God, Miguel I will call off this whole thing!" She says through tears.

Miguel sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. Now he really felt like a jerk.

"I do love you baby..."

Xina is still distraught and doesn't seem to want to listen. "After everything we've been through. I've supported you. I got along with your mom, I got an apartment with you. I even supported you through all that mental health bullshit of yours and you still can't even defend me on live television and say you love me more than that broke piece of trash!"

Miguel freezes. "Hold on, mental health bullshit....?" Miguel really hopes that he didn't just hear what he thought he heard. He does his best to keep his anger at bay but he can feel it rising anyway. "So, all of the internal struggles I trusted you enough to tell you about....my depression which is something that will ALWAYS be a part of me, Xina...you think it's bullshit?"

Xina sputters, "Miguel, no, I didn't mean it like that. It's just...ugh you are just so hard to deal with sometimes, you know? I totally understand and respect the fact that you're going through a lot right now, but so am I. And I can't sit here and coddle you through everything if you don't get help."

Miguel's world comes shattering down. His worst fear that started to creep into the back of his mind ever since about 2 weeks after he proposed to Xina had just been confirmed to be true: she was not at all the woman he thought she was. It was merely an act for the show, and, with the help of the producers and audience, they pushed him towards her simply because she was the woman they wanted to see him with, when his heart truly lied with you the whole time.

And now, you were on a beach in Mexico probably getting courted by all sorts of men who could give you way more than Miguel ever could, while he was left to contend with a broken heart and a cancelled wedding.

He says in a shaky voice. "I was getting help...I told you I started therapy. I trusted you with THE most sensitive parts of me, Xina. And you threw it in my face. By the way, why do you say y/n is broke trash, as you put it, huh?"

"Miguel, stop putting words in my mouth..."

"Nononono...you LITERALLY said it, Xi. Don't start with your gaslighting bullshit on me!" Miguel is raising his voice now. "You called her broke trash. Let me guess: you shoo away our wedding planners, your parents treat your chef like complete shit. She has less money and prospects than you, therefore she's just trash, right? Well, I came from hardly anything, too. Does that make me trash? Huh?"

There's only silence on the other line, then she says, "Miguel, you're different..."

"No. No, Xina. You're different. You're not who I thought you were, and I think we shouldn't be marrying each other." Hot tears spill down Miguel's face and he hangs up his phone. He presses his back against the wall, sliding down until he hides his face in his hands, sobbing on the floor.

--------

A few weeks later at a beach bungalow resort in Mexico

"Welcome back to another season of: Singles in Paradise, I'm your host, Jason Donner and boy is it good to be back!" Jason beams, flashing his pearly whites at the camera.

You hear your cue and you walk out, clad in a white bikini with a pretty purple coverup wrapped around your midriff with the knot resting on your hip, emphasizing the curve, a certain post-break up glow about you that immediately made you hard to resist, a confident twinkle in your eye. You greet Jason with a hug and he holds your hands in his.

"Great to see you. Feelin' nervous?"

You flash a lovely smile at him, playing it up for the cameras. "Just a little bit. But I'm more so excited than nervous."

Jason's lips curve into a smirk. "Anyone down there on that beach you're hoping to run into?"

Miguel.

No, you hadn't really thought about it. Noir was pretty cute. You throw his name out there. "I hope Noir is down there..."

Jason nods, giving your shoulder a good luck squeeze. "Well, go on down there and see for yourself. Good luck! And welcome to paradise once again."

"Thanks, Jas!" You play it up, giving him a little flirty wink as you walk down the stone path and disappear into some trees, making your way to the beach. Necks turn slowly and you feel your heart pound as several pairs of eyes land on you.

Felicia Hardy is standing at the beach side resort bar waiting on her piña colada with a bad case of RBF. But, her snowy eyes melt into an enthusiastic expression when she sees you.

"Noooo way!!! Oh my GOD, you're even hotter in person! Girl! What!!"

You beam, flattered as she pulls you into a hug. Her long, platinum blonde hair hangs loose from a claw clip with the ponytail flowing in waves that brush against her back, a few stray wisps framing her face. She's wearing a dark blue tube top dress which is doing her figure all types of favors, accentuating her goddess-like pear shape. And, she smells totally divine of coconut body spray, evidence of sunbathing apparent in her sunkissed cheeks and tan lines.

"Holy shit, where'd you get your outfit?" She asks, giving her piña colada a sip, shamelessly eyeing you up from head to toe.

You smile, giving her a little twirl. "Girl, $20 at Marshall's for the whole thing. I swear to God."

"No way! Oh my God, I love that place!" Felicia smiles. "I gotta say I'm a huge fan of you. Dude, that pissed me off so fucking bad when Miguel fucked you over like that."

You smile back at her, flattered. You can tell that you definitely want to have Felicia be your beach bestie throughout this whole process. She had been the Eligible Suitorette about 2 seasons ago. Her tenure was one that went down in the show's history, the way she didn't take any shit, and had so many guys falling all over her. But, unfortunately her engagement to Flash Thompson went down in flames when his dumb ass eventually got caught cheating, making fans of the show rally around her even more.

"So, I guess I should give you the low down on who's coupled up with who so far?" She asks.

You nod, familiar with this part of the game. "Yes, please. Oh my God, tell me everything."

You two go sit down on a pair of beach chairs, turning them so your knees are touching each other, leaning in close together for your woman to woman huddle, the cameras zooming in on you both.

"Okay, so first of all, I'm with Ben." She gleams, biting her lip. You follow her gaze and see Ben shirtless, playing volleyball with some of the other men, his baby blues are locked right back on Felicia with his angelic, pretty boy face. He nods and gives you a polite wave hello.

"Girrrrrrllllll...." You smile, turning back to her. "Good for you, honestly, he is SO damn fine, respectfully of course."

Felicia throws her head back and waves you off with a laugh. "Girl, thank you. No worries at all. Yeah, he's uh, he's something else alright." She bites her lip again and looks down. "He treats me so good. It's going really well..."

You give her a warm look, the unmistakable signs of falling head over heels quite recognizable all over her demeanor and the way she's talking about him.

Felicia resumes her report. "Noir is here, but he's got a thing for Jess."

You feel slightly disappointed to hear that but nod, encouraging her to continue.

"Peter B. is here, but it's been kinda awkward. MJ is here too."

"No fucking way?" You sit up, interested. "They really invited both of them here?"

Peter B. and MJ were considered royalty as far as the show goes, with Peter being one of the most beloved suitors of the show's history. However, that quickly became tainted with scandal with the volatile on-and-off nature of his and MJ's relationship. They got engaged at the end of his season, then they were "taking some time apart", then they reunited, but he was seen in the Barbados with some mysterious brunette, but she was also out and about with no engagement ring. BUT, they were spotted in Chicago holding hands and all over each other in a night club just a month ago

"Yeah girl, I have no fucking clue. They're clearly off at the moment , but you can totally tell it's bugging Peter. She's all over George right now."

"Girl noooo. George Stacy?!"

"George, fucking-Stacy, girlll."

George had troubling political opinions and was known for being quite a douche. BUT he was also well over 6 feet tall with ocean eyes, big arms, and money. Well, for you, personally, no way in hell you'd tolerate that.

"MJ hates me though." Felicia warns.

"Wait, why??"

"She thinks I "stole her man" even though Peter was literally throwing himself at me when they were on break number 394 or some shit." Felicia chuckles, shaking her head, stirring her piña colada which is now becoming a watery slush. She pauses for a moment then looks at you. "So, girl, tell me, who did you have your eyes on coming here?"

"Well..." You sigh, the options so far were not promising. "I did think Noir was cute, but he's already with Jess."

"You could still invite him on a date, technically." Felicia points out. "But, I understand. He does reallyyy seem to be into her right now. It would be hard to try and pull him at this point." She drums her fingers. "Girl! Go for Peter. Oh my God you guys would be so cute!"

You blush internally. Peter? You hadn't given him much thought. You turn around, searching for him. He's standing in the ocean a few feet away up to his ankles. He turns to the side a little, and the wind blows open his unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt as he leans down to examine one of the seashells under his feet.

Oh God, he was handsome. 6'2, lean muscles peppered with dark hair that ran across his chest and belly button, and a shadow of stubble on his face gave him a rugged feel, but those chocolate puppy brown eyes made him look so innocent. One of his cheeks had a little dimple that would pop out when he made that signature little smirk of his.

"Fffuck...really, girl?" You murmur, your jaw practically still hanging open at the sight of him. "But I thought you two were a thing?"

Felicia smirks. "Hell no! I rejected him forever ago. You sooo like him! I can tell. Just do it!"

You take a shaky breath. "God...okay, fuck it. I'm gonna go talk to him."

"Good luck!" Felicia calls after you. "Come find me afterwards and tell me everything!!"

You nod and shoot her a smile as you walk away. You bite your lip, your stomach doing all sorts of flips and tricks as you approach Peter. He has sort of a hopeless look on his face as he watches George and MJ from afar cuddled up on their beach towels, George's rough hands rubbing sunscreen into her shoulders as he was practically eye-fucking her.

"Peter!" You call for him. Peter turns, confused at the sound of a woman's voice calling for him, but his pupils go wide when he locks eyes with you for the first time.

"H-Hey!" His lips part a little bit at the sight of your gorgeous hair and friendly smile. His eyes start to land on your figure but he quickly flicks them back upwards to look into yours, not wanting to look like a perv. God, he was so cute. He offers you one of his hands, his voice gentle. "I'm Peter B."

You introduce yourself and he repeats your name back to you. The way he says it is making you scream a little on the inside, his voice is soothing and low. And suddenly you want to know more, so much more about him. And with the way he's gazing down at you, he does too.

You two just stand there in the ocean, chatting as the wind rustles against you both. Soon, the sun is starting to dip further down in the sky and you feel a chill coming on. Peter notices the goosebumps on your arms and wraps his shirt around you, holding you under his arm as you both meander back to the beach.

You squeal when he swoops you into a bridal style carry, butterflies appear in his stomach when he feels your hair brush under his chin, and he's almost tempted to pull you in closer. No, he decides there's plenty of time for that later, if all of this continues to go as flawlessly as it is already. He sets you down on one of the poolside cabanas, spreading a blanket over your legs. You curl up under it, shooting him a smile of appreciation. He looks at you with adoring eyes at how cute you look curled up like that.

"Can I get you something to drink?" He asks gently, the tips of his fingers brushing against your thigh, sending a chill down your spine.

"Um, vodka cranberry, please." You say sweetly. Peter gives you his signature smirk, the little dimple in his cheek driving you wild. His fingers make full contact with your thigh this time, stealing the breath from your lungs.

"Coming right up..." he's off to get you your drink, leaving you internally screaming by the pool.

---

Jason is leaning against a palm tree, silently monitoring the scene of flirtatious couples below when a tall dark figure approaches him. The camera stays on Jason and captures the look of shock across his face.

"Well, well, WELL! Look who it is, great to see you man!"

The man's face isn't shown, and it appears his response is being muted off mic, Jason's voice is the only audible one, the camera focusing on his reactions with the mystery guest,

"Wow...I'm so sorry to hear that man...yeah, yeah she's here. And you're sure about this.....? Alright, well here's your date card, feel free to use it whenever you wish. Good luck down there man."

------

You and Peter are laughing together by the pool, the alcohol slowly starting to weave its way into your banter. The daybed you're sharing is just a smidge too small, forcing your thigh to touch his as you squish on it together, bodies laying side by side. When you ask him a question, you subtly push yours a little closer into his. Peter seems to notice your increasing touch, his train of thought stalling for just one minute, before he turns pink and apologizes. "Sorry, must be the alcohol," he mumbles cutely, looking sheepishly at you.

"Yeah, the alcohol..." you tease, your pointer finger traces his sternum. His breath hitches and he's looking at you with wet lips, his eyes come to rest on your breasts that are squished so deliciously together.

You're looking back at him too, letting your eyes rake over his body up and down, admiring how good he looks and how the faded blue lights from the pool are casting a sensual shadow over his form, wondering how it would look if it were in the darkness of your bedroom instead.

Peter clears his throat. The nervousness catching up to him, and he turns his head, gazing at the shimmering water. "Sorry..." he lets out a breathy chuckle, then turns back to you. "I haven't connected this quickly with someone ever since...well I mean, since my last relationship which ended badly..... As I'm sure you're well aware of thanks to the press."

You hum, your finger now tracing little circles on his shoulder, making him tremble slightly. "Yeah....I heard. I'm kind of in the same boat."

You take a deep sigh. God, just when you thought you were getting over him, Miguel pulls you right back in. Being with Peter right now feels foreign, strange. You can't put a finger on it. You notice that those decadent brown eyes are already fixed on you, and you stare back, your voice oozing a hint of desire as you softly tell him,

"But, I wouldn't mind if I...spent some more time getting to know you."

Peter exhales softly, you detect the sweetness of the liquor on his breath, the wetness that the rim of his glass left behind is shiny on his bottom lip, and all you want to do is taste.

Peter slowly smirks back, his fingers coming to pull under your chin, bringing your face closer to his.

"I wouldn't mind either..." lust codes his voice now. But, before he goes in to kiss you, his eyes soften a little bit as he drinks in your features. "You're very beautiful..."

You feel the heat rising in your body, you drape one of your legs around him, resting your knee on his hip. "Thank you..."

Peter lets out a soft groan, his hand immediately comes to grip your thigh, encouraging you to press your body against his, and he traps your lips in his with a fiery kiss.

The stubble from his face is a little scratchy, but you don't mind. His tongue is sweet from the wine he was drinking, and you can't get enough. His hands travel a little higher on your thighs and you gasp into his mouth as he pulls you on top of him so you're straddling him with one knee on either side of his waist.

"C'mere..." he purrs.

You lean in closer to him, pressing your forehead against his to try and make your moans more quiet as he grinds your pussy against the bulge in his swim trunks, the soft fabric of your bikini bottoms separating you. The friction is delicious and you reward him with a neverending chorus of his name.

"Peter...."

Peter gives a loud groan, his grip on your hips tightens, this time bucking his hips under your spread pussy, letting you ride the outline of his cock.

"Ffuck....Peter, baby...." you whine.

"Mmm yeah, baby?" Peter lands a sharp spank on your ass in response, making you curse under your breath again. "You like what I'm doing to you?"

"Yes baby, I love it." You bite your lip, closing your eyes. "What if someone sees us, baby?"

"Let em watch.." Peter moans.

"Oh God...don't stop, please." Your moans rise in pitch.

"Fffuck....." Peter breaths out, his hands coming up to grip your breasts while you ride him. "I won't baby...fuck..." The sensation causes him to close his eyes as well. "You feel too good to stop."

You lean over, your lips crashing greedily against his, both of your tongues dancing in each other's mouths, while you grind together. His hands can't get enough and he finally starts to curl two fingers inside your pussy which elicits a sharp cry of passion, Peter playfully shushing you as he kisses your nose.

-----

The rose Miguel is holding falls onto the sand below as he watches you and Peter heavily making out, now engaged in mild foreplay and you might as well start fucking at any moment now due to how hot and heavy the scene is.

It's almost a race with how quickly the jealousy, nausea, and rage rises in Miguel's body, filling him to the brim. He stands there, jaw and shoulders tense. His cock twitches a little at your whines but seethes at the sight of another man's hands all over you. He finally rips himself away, not able to withstand it any longer.

Noir and Jess look at him with raised eyebrows as he sits at the beachside bar after downing 3 shots of tequila back to back. He just sits there, eyes glazed over at the empty shot glasses in front of him for several moments until he leans forward, laying his head in his arms with his eyes closed.

----

To be continued...

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moonstruckme · 7 months

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Ok James but him and his slytherin girlfriend seem to come out of nowhere and the boys are supportive but are more mad at James for not telling them? Idk I loved your other fic SO MUCH

Thanks for requesting <3

part 1

cw: mention of injury, no details or anything though

James Potter x Slytherin!reader ♡ 1.5k words

You hesitate outside the doorway to the infirmary at the raised voices coming from inside.

You don’t need to be here, strictly speaking. James told you his injury wasn’t bad, and he has his friends to help him if he needs it, but…you can’t settle yourself down. You hadn’t liked the way he’d limped off the field, nor the tiny grimace on his face when Sirius had wrapped a bracing arm under his shoulders. It would be just like James to downplay how hurt he is to make you feel better, and the longer the game had gone on without him the more your guts twisted themselves into knots over the idea that he was in pain.

You’d seethed at yourself and your stupid soft heart all the way to the infirmary, where now you’re frozen just outside like a coward. Something inside you is coiled tight with tension at the idea of going to see James Potter, on purpose and in public, even though that’s dumb because now everyone at Hogwarts knows about the two of you anyway. Your sappy display on the quidditch pitch made sure of that. But now that you have official and widely-known claim to the girlfriend title, you have just as much right to see him as anyone else. You shove your anxiety back into your stomach where it belongs and open the door.

As soon as you’re inside, the voices become clearer. “—like this isn’t a big deal. The Prophet’s going to be all over the two of you by tomorrow, and we had to find out with every other fucking bloke at the school!”

“Pads, you don’t think I would have told you if I could?” James sounds exhausted, and something mutinous throbs in your heart. It’s followed quickly by the more familiar twinge of irritation at the use of those moronic nicknames they all have. “She made me promise not to tell anyone, including the both of you.”

They’re talking about you. Of course they’re talking about you. What else could possibly be more important after James has fallen a good twenty feet off his broom than his dating life? This is why you hadn’t wanted to tell people. Hogwarts wears away at private lives like dementors at souls, and the rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin is too strong for your relationship with James to have any hope of remaining untainted once the gossip mill got ahold of it.

Your instincts are screaming at you to turn around and leave before they catch sight of you, but you force yourself to keep walking. If you start letting what people think about you and James affect you now, you’ll never be able to get past it.

Remus is the first to spot you, going still as if you’ve come to hex him, but James’ face splits into a lopsided grin that has the knots in your gut loosening very slightly.

“Especially you,” you say to Sirius as you brush past him, perching by James' pillow and weaving your fingers into his curls. There’s a wrap around his middle. It’s very hard to appear calm and blasé when you feel like you’re going to rupture something if he doesn't promise you he’s okay right this instant. “You’d have had all of Gryffindor talking about us within an hour.”

Sirius bristles but visibly shoves his temper aside, his voice matching your coolness as he says, “If I’d told anyone, Y/L/N, it would have been to inquire about whether anyone’s noticed you gathering ingredients for amortentia recently. James doesn’t keep things from us. Artificial infatuation is the only explanation for why he’d tolerate you and your secrets.”

“Oi,” James says, but you pat his head placatingly. You can fight your own battles.

“That how you got this one?” you jut your chin towards Remus, who’s looking somewhat entertained as he watches the two of you spar. “If I’m ever in need of the recipe, Black, you’ll be the first person I come to, but I don’t need to resort to such measures myself.”

Sirius glowers at you, and James sets his hand on your shoulder just as Remus wraps a pacifying arm around his boyfriend. “Alright, I think that’s enough,” the taller boy says in his usual calm manner, and though Sirius is still tensed for a fight, he allows himself to be drawn into Remus’ side.

James nods in agreement. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you guys, really. I thought I’d get a chance to before everyone found out, but…” He turns up his palms helplessly. “Things didn’t go as planned.”

“We’ll get over it,” Remus says, Sirius quietly fuming beside him. “Won’t we, love?”

Sirius looks up at Remus' face, which is clearly a mistake, because he softens like butter in the sun. “Yeah, yeah, just gimme a bit,” he grumbles halfheartedly. “Anything to keep our Prongsie happy, right?”

James beams, so clearly relieved at the settlement of the conflict that you feel a bit guilty for participating in it. He kisses you on the cheek, chuckling against your skin. “You stink.”

“Some of us stuck around to play the whole game,” you reply.

“Ouch,” James says, but he’s grinning. “Couldn’t really help that, could I?”

You give him a look to let him know you haven’t forgotten how his negligence had gotten him hurt. “Debatable.”

You hear Remus chuckle but don’t take your eyes off James’ face, inspecting it for signs of the pain you suspect he’s hiding. “How bad is it really?” you ask, softening your voice even though there’s no chance of his friends not hearing you.

James worries his lip, big brown eyes looking into yours guiltily. “Pomphrey says I broke three ribs and bruised my tailbone pretty badly. Minor concussion, too, but nothing serious.”

Sounds serious enough to you. You ghost a hand over the back of his head as if you’ll be able to find and fix his hurt. He leans into your palm though, so it’s not for nothing. “I’m sorry I walked away out there,” you all but whisper. “I should have stayed with you.”

James eyebrows pinch together. “Hey, sweetheart, it’s okay,” he promises just as softly. He knows what it costs you to talk like this in front of people, like you’re turning yourself inside out for them to judge and stab at as they please, but James has no such reservations. He dots a kiss, feather-light, at the top of your cheekbone, wrapping an arm around you protectively. “Thanks for coming, I mean it.”

You clear your throat. “Yeah, and in my fucking quidditch gear,” you say in your normal voice, attempting to banish the heavy mood. As if your heart isn’t still beating, hummingbird-fast and fragile, in your throat. “We both need to change and shower, and then you should rest. Did Pomphrey say you could leave?”

James nods, still looking at you like you’ve cracked open in his hands (he might be right; it feels like you have, and it wouldn’t even be the first time today). He rubs your upper arm affectionately, but his voice is easygoing when he says, “Yup, I’m good to go.”

Sirius steps forward, as though to remind the two of you that he is, in fact, also present. “Great. We’ll walk you back to the room.”

You turn to him, not quite ready for your time with James to be up and aching for the opportunity to dote on him in private. “That’s okay, I can take him.”

Sirius’ eyes narrow. “You can’t even get into our dorms.”

“Please, like Gryffindor’s riddles are so perplexing.”

“I don’t need an escort,” James interjects. He pushes himself up with a grimace.

You halt him with your hands on his shoulders and Remus says, “Don’t be stupid, Prongs, you can barely walk.”

“I’ve got him,” you say firmly. Sirius stares you down, but you don’t flinch from his stony gaze. You know he doesn’t trust you. You don’t think he’d willingly trust any Slytherin. Since you’ve been at Hogwarts, the talk in your house has always been that Sirius Black shuns his family because they’re all Slytherins. Although James assures you there’s more to the story than that, it’s still obvious to anyone that he considers his friends his true family. He won’t entrust just anyone with James’ safety. But maybe that’s one thing you can agree upon.

He must see something of this in your face, because after a minute Sirius relents, rolling his eyes. “Fine,” he says. “I wanted to stop by the kitchens anyway.”

James is looking between the two of you curiously, aware that something has transpired but not quite sure what.

You don’t give Sirius a chance to change his mind. “Alright,” you say, gripping James' forearms and helping him to stand. “Let’s go, pretty boy.”

James drapes his arm across your shoulders gamely, and the two of you start out the door. “I don’t think that’s the insult you think it is.”

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softshuji · 5 months

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You've gotten into what you might call a bad habit recently.

You find yourself calling Rindou whenever you have an issue. Big, small, inconsequential, it doesn't matter, you just think you want him to know somehow. And you wonder if it bothers him when it's late, days like today when you just want to hear his voice on the other end, the soft and deep lilt of it interspersed by the static of the shaky phone line. He doesn't feel so far away right then, with his breath in your ear, the shuffle of his suit as he gets into his car, and Ran in the background jostling him to say hi, Rindou tutting in that way he often does.

Just like today when you need to hear him, and you're hidden under the covers with your hands on your ears. The door shudders and you wrap the duvet closer around yourself, pull it tight with your nightgown, the phone pressed to your skin, knuckles white as it rings out. The thing about Rindou is, he always picks up. There's been times when you've heard him groan in pain on the other end, Ran rushing him to hospitals and doctors, and Rindou's voice slurred and broken as it dissolves in pain, constantly shushing you in some way still, reminding you that he's fine, downplaying it all because that's what he does.

It rings three times before he picks up and you let out a breath when the line sharpens and his voice spills into the receiver.

'Hey Princess,' he says this time, his voice a tinny and sniffly crackle on the other side, muffled by the scarf pulled to his chin and you lighten immediately. You wonder often whether it's bad to need him this much when you have no doubts about who and what he is, what he does. Neither of you have ever kept those kinds of secrets and even though he'd like to protect you from the debauchery of his world, maybe he's a little grateful that you've accepted it so willingly anyway.

'Hey Rin, you got a minute?' you say despite the heavy thump of something moving on the floor beneath you, a sound you're trying desperately to drown out, the door shivering with every slam and clatter.

'Yeah? Me and Ran are just heading somewhere. What's wrong?' And you hear Ran and the deep teasing drawl of his voice cut out a 'hey sweet girl' behind, a sound that makes you smile even now, because they do it so easily and you would hate them for it if it didn't feel so nice at the same time. They are miles away, cities away even, and yet at times like this, you wonder if you have them in the palm of your hand, just like they have you.

You deliberate now, your tongue still tied and meshed with the words, tripping over just how much you can say. 'Nothing, just wanted to hear your voice, y'know, just needed a distraction I think.' Yes this is good, this is safe.

But Rindou is perceptive, observant, clever, the both of them are, and he doesn't miss the sound of a raised voice behind, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion when you gasp quietly and spill out a breath into the receiver.

'Princess, you need me to come get you or something?' he says, because he can, because he would. You'd only have to say the word and he'd whisk you off like that and the only reason he hasn't is because you've expressly told him he can't, and he loves you far too much to ignore what's so important to you. But he does wish it often, that it was easier, that you needn't have to be rescued at all, and if you did, then you could stay by him where you belong, where it's safer, happier even if that can be said.

'No...! I mean, no, it's okay, don't pay attention to them, just tell me something else, anything else, something nice.'

A plate breaks and Rindou's heart drops. He wants you to ask, he wants to rescue you, he wants you to trust him to do it and he could get there for you if you needed him to.

'Are you sure Princess? I can come get you if you need me to, let me.'

There's a beat, you chewing over the words, your heart filling with a warm love that has your throat aching for him, at how soft and gentle he is at these moments, when you know your heart is safe in his calloused hands, cradled like some fragile thing. 'No, it's okay Rin, they need me, they're just...y'know having a moment.'

He hates that you circle back to this, that you give so much of yourself in this way, and he can't help but sigh into the receiver in defeat at it all, despite his chest swelling with a love for you that's unbearably painful. Sometimes he does wish you were more selfish, more like you hated things than loved them, despite this being the reason he loves you in the first place, so determined to see good in everything but yourself.

But he concedes, because it's what you want, because he loves you enough to understand you implicitly and explicitly, even if he can't agree. 'Okay,' he says and it hurts to go against who he is, what he is for you in this way, all the love he wishes was easier to talk about, all the worries for you that he hopes you understand still anyway.

'Hey sweet girl guess what?' Ran says and Rindou jostles him and growls a faint 'mind your business' to which you only giggle in response.

'Yeah?'

'You made my little brother blush today y'know that? He was giggling to himself when you were texting him earlier, isn't that cute?'

And Rindou groans, nudges Ran with his hand on his mouth, an exacerbated 'no I did not!' that you don't miss despite the line crackling and fizzing when his suit scratches against the mic.

You giggle, wiping your eyes on your sleeve, concentrating only on their voices that lull your heart into calm and only then do you bid them a goodnight, a kiss to Rindou that he hushes his voice for, a quiet 'I love you' that he whispers into the receiver for only you to hear, all the miles between you that you hope conveys your love better than either of you can.

reblogs appreciated

#tokyo revengers #tokyorev x reader #haitani rindou #rindou x reader #tokyo rev

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sl33paholics · 4 months

Text

Baki's Reaction To Your Ex Trying To Get You Back Headcanons! (and a mini story ig)

Uhm.....it's 6am as I write this and I'm giggling my ass off

To say that Baki would come up and beat the shit out of your ex on the spot right in front of you and others is an understatement.

Baki is more of a quiet observator. Rather than confrontational, Baki might choose to observe your ex from a distance, assessing the encounter with a calm demeanor, possibly seeing it as an opportunity to reaffirm your commitment.

Baki's not an idiot. He can choose to downplay the situation, opting not to give your ex's attempt much attention, focusing instead on maintaining the positive dynamics of your relationship.

Known for his actions more than words, Baki might subtly intensify his efforts to show affection and support, reinforcing Baki's commitment through deeds rather than direct confrontation.

Baki knows how much you love to post yourself on social media. The latest fits, shoes, or with your friends. He's aware that your ex still follows you, even though you unfollowed him many, many months ago. Expect Baki to always hype you up in the comments under your posts on Instagram by spamming hearts and down-bad shit as well, he's most likely getting pinned every time.

Hell, if you're not posting yourself, you're sharing photos of the two of you on dates and random shit. Such as the you two at the gym. Baki's arms always wrapped around your shoulders or his hands gripping your hips. Baki can tell your ex is salty, he stalks his story on an alt account, LOL!

Sometimes, Baki could sense how annoyed and bothered you are whenever you'd see accounts named "shien_giveaway_6997" viewing your story. It's so obvious! Baki values honesty, and he'd engage in an open conversation with you about the situation, discussing any concerns or insecurities. Baki doesn't want a pretty woman like you stressing out over a man who couldn't keep his dick in his pants.

If you don't want to speak to him about the whole situation, Baki could respond with affectionate gesture, like a surprise date or a thoughtful gift, to reaffirm his commitment and show that he values and appreciates you. He could even use humor and make jokes about your ex's attempts to diffuse the tension.

However, it could only be so long until the man could entertain your ex before he was going to be pushed off the edge.

Baki could opt for a straightforward conversation, expressing his feelings and concerns calmly while speaking to the man via text message or phone. While not confrontational, Baki gives off a subtle warning vibe, a non-verbal cue that communicates the depth of his commitment and suggests that attempting to disrupt the relationship won't be taken lightly.

This could go two ways. 1) Your ex could simply back off and respect your wishes that your current relationship holds. Or 2) your ex could simply be cocky, shouting at him over the phone, insulting him to insert dominance, and other things to Baki as he's just there sitting silently listening to him yap yap yap yap yap yap yap -

It just so happens that Baki and your ex stumbled across each other while in the city.

Guess you can see where this is going.

Seeing Baki's size, your ex laughed and berated him. How can a man his height cuff YOU up? He couldn't believe it. How low were your expectations? He was tall and built. Baki? Sure. He was ripped but SHORT.

"I don't have time for this," Baki simply said, making your ex raise a brow in confusion. "(Y/N) is waiting for me, I can't have my love waiting." Baki walked past the taller figure, his hands in his pockets. He stopped once your ex pulled on his shirt, tugging and pulling Baki back.

"A short boy like you can't do shit!" Your ex would spat. The smell of cigarettes reeked and made Baki want to cough in his face. "Suddenly coming 'round and stealin' MY girl away from me?! I should punch you in your shit-"

It's safe to say that Baki hit this man with a two-piece combo. A slap and a roundhouse kick sent that man straight to sleep on the sidewalk. Baki stared at the unconscious man before sighing. Continuing his journey towards your place.

Hours later, your phone begins to blow up from your friends of the picture of your ex on the sidewalk earlier that day. You confronted Baki only for him to pout and say, "He ruined my shirt :("

You couldn't be mad at him. At least your ex knew not to fuck with you and your boyfriend anymore.

#anime #black writers #female writers #poc writer #black reader #x black reader #fluff #baki #baki smut #baki son of ogre #baki hanma #baki the grappler #headcanon prompts #headcanon #jack hanma #yujiro hanma #kaoru hanayama #crack fic #baki headcanons

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rabbitsrants · 2 months

Text

SHINRAN AND THE FIVE LOVE LANGUAGES

gift giving

giving your partner tangible items that make them feel known, loved and cared for

chapter 48

shinichi giving ran mittens

we all know shinichi is a very observant and attentive guy, so naturally all of his gift are pretty well thought out... which is why i was confused as hell about the mittens, cause they seemed very random to me... until i paid closer attention and noticed something

THEY'RE NOT RANDOM AT ALL

HE GIVES HER MITTENS BECAUSE HE NOTICES THAT HER HANDS ARE FREEZING IN THE COLD

this ship is going to be the death of me.

chapter 237

ran knitting shinichi a sweater

IT TAKES HER A WHOLE MONTH YALL!

chapter 245

chapter 293-296

bonus: shinichi being appreciative!

chapter 307

even though she decides not to send him the cup, shinichi is still ecstatic about the gift. meanwhile in chapter 331-334:

both of them are hurting so much during this case. and here's my theory:

both shinichi and ran have a tendency to conceal or downplay their pain. ran says she didnt send the mug because it turned out bad, but i think that's just an excuse. i think not being able to give him the cup directly causes her a lot of anguish, which is why she ultimately decides not to send it.

but my girl is strong, so the first time she's confronted with a situation like that she's able to fool everyone. the reason why shinichi catches on to her during the valentine's case is because it's a romantically loaded day and this is the second time that she doesn't get to express her love through a gift.

she's tired of having so much love to give but the only person she wants to pour her heart out to is absent. she's understandably crushed. which ultimately breaks shinichi's heart as well. so he does this...

and i think that speaks volumes about shinran and the importance of gift giving in their relationship.

chapter 727

kogoro: mentions ran's cold at the beginning of the case

me: doesn't give it much thought

shinichi:

me:

chapter 884

chapter 743

not THAT much, huh?

visit the shinran library for more

#shinran #shinichi kudo #ran mouri #dcmk #case closed #detective conan #ship analysis

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hyperactively-me · 4 months

Text

tension

You've seen his face countless times, but every time the helmet comes off, it's as though you're seeing him for the first time over and over again. His expression is more than it's normal stoicism; it's vulnerable, raw. His big brown eyes come into contact with yours as you reach up, your fingers gently brushing through his messy curls. Din closes his eyes for a brief moment, savoring the contact. "Hi there, handsome," you murmur softly, allowing your fingers to linger on his strands of hair. "You clean up well, don't you?"

massaging din’s sore, aching muscles ... leads to ... yeah. I'M SORRY (not sorry at all) PUT ME IN HORNY JAIL FOR THIS IDC. it started off so innocent but then the horny monster came out and took over.

tags: smut, OILED UP DIN DJARIN, I REPEAT, OILED UP DIN DJARIN. established relationship

Din has no issue praising and worshipping you with nothing but love and adoration. In fact, it feels like second nature to him.

When he's the object of your praises, though, he doesn't know how to act. He's caught off guard by your doting attention, your quiet praises, your gentle touches.

The gruff exterior that comes so naturally to him becomes a bit more pronounced when faced with compliments and affection.

His usual response was to deflect and downplay, wanting to be the one in control, the one doing the praising rather than receiving it. It's not that he didn't appreciate your words; it's just that the vulnerability of accepting them was difficult for him.

In those moments, you read his body language like the back of your hand. You could see the conflict in his eyes, a mixture of gratitude and discomfort. He had been alone for most of his time in this cruel galaxy, had spent so long being self-reliant, not needing validation from others, that being on the receiving end of such genuine affection challenged his identity of being the stoic, impenetrable Mandalorian.

So, when he finally comes back to the Razor Crest after catching an elusive bounty, you know exactly what to do to put him at ease, to show him how much you love him, your riduur.

You catch his hand before he can take any of his armor off.

"Don't. Let me do it," you say gently, tugging his hand away.

He stares at you with that ever stoic expression you know he has on his face right now beneath the helmet. A few beats pass, and he relents, letting his wrist fall limp in your grip.

"Thank you," you whisper quietly, now running your hands up his shoulders.

You start with his baldric and belt, catching it in your grip as you unfasten the clasps. It's surprisingly heavy in your hands, and you're already a bit weary to take off the beskar.

Next, you slip his worn brown cape off his shoulders, the rough material scraping across your fingers. You can still feel traces of warmth around the part that was settled around his neck and shoulders.

Din stands before you, now with his baldric, belt, and cape out of the way, the beskar armor still encases his form. You take a moment to appreciate the craftsmanship of the beskar, tracing the shiny metal with your fingertips. The material is cool to the touch, a stark contrast to the warmth of his body you can barely feel radiating off his form. Din still stands rigid, hands flexing at his side.

His gaze remains steady, a silent acknowledgment of your request. You take charge again, delicately unfastening the clasps of his shoulder pads and removing the plates, and you can feel just how tense even just his shoulders are.

You set them gently to the side and start to work on his chest plate, easing it away from his torso with careful precision. The beskar plates release with a loud clinking sound, revealing the fabric of his flight suit beneath. You can clearly see Din's chest rise and fall with a steadiness that betrays the controlled exterior he presents to the world. With a small grunt, you ease the heavy beskar chestplate to the side, shooting Din a look when he tries to take it from your grasp.

"You said you would let me do it," you whisper, a playful yet stern glint in your eyes.

He sighs through the voice transmitter, yet allows you to continue your process of taking his armor off.

His shoulders sag forward ever so slightly as the weight of the chest plate is removed from his body, grunting with relief as he rolls his shoulders back a few times.

Next, you move on to his vambraces, unlocking the beskar from his arms. As you work on removing the vambraces, the sleeves of his flight suit ride up and you notice the subtle scars and markings on Din's forearms. You're careful to not drop the one loaded with bullets and other small weaponry.

Your hands move with a practiced gentleness, and you can sense Din's quiet appreciation for the care you're taking.

As the small pieces of armor joins the growing collection of beskar beside you, the room is filled with a sense of intimacy, a shared vulnerability palpable between you two.

Din stands before you now, the upper half of his body free from the encasement of armor. The warmth of his skin is more perceptible, and you can see a slight relaxation in his demeanor.

You move lower now, unfastening the straps securing the beskar that adorns his thighs. Your hands brush against his skin, and that's when he starts to shift side to side. You smile to yourself as you set the pieces to the side, letting your hands drag from the back his knees down to his shins to remove the final pieces.

Beskar greaves protect his shins, and you get on your knees to remove them. You don't miss the way his breath catches in his throat at the sight of you on your knees before him, but he refuses to move a muscle.

Carefully, you unfasten the straps securing the beskar greaves, allowing them to slide down his shins. Your hands move with a deliberate gentleness as you catch them, setting them on top of the stack of armor. Now that all of his armor is removed, you can clearly tell Din is now more relaxed, not as rigid.

His head his angled directly at you, the black t-visor of his helmet piercing through you. You smile softly up at him, pushing yourself to standing but not without him grabbing your hand to help you up.

You know what he's thinking. You know what he wants. He'll just never say it.

You press up onto your toes, placing your hands on his shoulders. His hands finally move, coming to rest on your waist as you lean into where you think his ear would be.

"Later," you whisper seductively, and he firmly squeezes your waist in his grip.

You take a step back, now turning your focus back to his leather gloves. Taking his left hand in yours, you spread his fingers out so you're able to slip his glove off his easier. The leather glove comes off smoothly, revealing his calloused yet gentle hand beneath. You set the glove aside, repeating the action on his other hand.

Din watches you with that unyielding gaze, his helmeted face betraying no emotions, and the tension in the air does anything but subside.

As you remove the second glove, you can't help but admire his hands; how large they, how strong they are. They're the tools of a warrior: skilled and precise, calloused and graceful. With his hands now bare, you step closer to him, your fingers tracing the lineaments of his palm. The warmth of his skin contrasts with the coolness of the beskar that once covered him. His hands are strong, yet there's a gentleness in the way he allows you to explore them.

You finally look up to his helmet, clicking your tongue with disapproval. You couldn't really get his shirt off without stretching out the neck over his helmet, and we can't have that, can we? Poor shirt, all stretched out. Oh well! Looks like we have to see your beautiful riduur's face!

You run your hands on the underside of his helmet, tracing the hard edges with the pads of your fingers. Suddenly, you latch onto the edges and slowly start to pull it up and off his head. Din's breath catches as the helmet is lifted, his nose twitching ever so slightly.

The helmet comes clean off, revealing his face, his dark hair tousled from the snug fit. You're met with his intense gaze, and for a moment, your own breath catches in your throat.

You've seen his face countless times, but every time the helmet comes off, it's as though you're seeing him for the first time over and over again.

His expression is more than it's normal stoicism; it's vulnerable, raw. His big brown eyes come into contact with yours as you reach up, your fingers gently brushing through his messy curls. Din closes his eyes for a brief moment, savoring the contact.

"Hi there, handsome," you murmur softly, allowing your fingers to linger on his strands of hair. "You clean up well, don't you?"

His lips twitch in a hint of a smile, eyebrows quirking at your playful comment.

"Are you going to finish, cyar'ika? Or are you going to finish undressing me with just your eyes?"

You roll your eyes at his remark, fighting back a laugh at his nonchalant comment.

"I guess I do have some unfinished business," you reply, hands tugging at the hem of his shirt.

You guide his shirt up and over his head, pulling it off his form and letting it fall to the floor. You're met with his tanned, toned chest, marked with scars, the silent stories of the battles he's fought.

You run your fingers lightly over the contours of his chest, savoring the feeling of his tight muscles and soft stomach. He shivers under your touch at the way your nails drag across his skin, pressing into it ever so slightly. Din watches you closely, his gaze never leaving your hands. With a soft smile, you lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to his skin between his shoulder and upper chest.

Din's fingers find their way to your hair, but you pull back, now grabbing the waistband of his pants. You tug them down quickly, helping him step out of the pant legs, but leaving him in his loose boxers.

You reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his, and guide him to the bed. There's no rush, no urgency. For both of you, it's a moment to savor, to appreciate each other in a quiet, peaceful moment. Before he lies down, you pull him down for a chaste kiss, savoring the way his lips taste, the way his patchy mustache tickles your face. As he finally moves to lay down, you wordlessly motion for him to lie on his stomach, and he complies. He settles onto the bed, propping himself up with his forearms.

You retrieve a bottle of oil from a nearby table, and the gentle scent of lavender fills the air as you warm the liquid between your palms. You straddle his lower back, and immediately Din is biting his tongue to withhold any premature sounds.

The moment your hands come into contact with his broad shoulders, he's a goner. Your touch is firm yet tender, your fingers finding all of his knots and tension, coaxing them to release.

The room is quiet, save for the occasional satisfied hum or grunt from Din. As your hands move down his back, tracing the contours of his muscles, you slowly feel the tension in his body dissipating.

Your fingers trace the faint lines of his scars, and you can't help but marvel at the beauty of the man beneath you. He finds solace in your touch, a promise that in this moment, he can let go and just relax.

Din's body responds to your touch, his tension gradually melting away. Your hands move with a soothing rhythm, exploring every inch of his back and shoulders. The oil makes his skin glisten in the soft light of the room, and you revel in the way his body looks as though it was carved by the Maker himself.

As your hands work their way down his spine, you occasionally lean down to press soft kisses on his back. The combination of your mouth and hands on him causes Din to shudder, the sensations pulling him into a deep state of tranquility. The rise and fall of his breath shifts into something more rapid, yet you don't catch on quite yet. You lean down, pressing a soft kiss to the nape of his neck, and he responds with a soft hum of contentment

Shifting off his back, you move down to his thighs and calves, continuing to massage his muscles with the same deliberate care. His fingers twist into the thin sheets of his bed, groaning as you knead into his thighs. The tension in Din's muscles seems to subside even more as you move farther down his legs, the oil dripping from your hands creating a smooth glide as you knead his skin.

As your hands move down his legs towards his feet, you notice the subtle tremor in his muscles, a sign that your touch might be affecting him more than he's letting on. You can't see that he's biting the inside of his cheek, stifling every pathetic groan he wants to let out.

You reach the soles of his feet, and he reflexively curls his toes at the sensation. A small chuckle escapes your lips, and you gently press your thumbs into the arches of his feet, eliciting a low, appreciative groan from him.

With a soft smile, you decide to shift the massage to his upper back and shoulders again, allowing your hands to linger in the areas that are the most tense from his heavy beskar. As your fingers work their magic, you lean in close to whisper in his ear.

"Almost done," you murmur, your warm breath sending shivers down his spine. "Does it feel good?"

Din responds with a throaty, affirmative noise, and you can't help but smile at the effect you're having on your typically stoic Mandalorian.

Your hands trace patterns over his skin, kneading, massaging, and occasionally trailing higher than expected. His breathing becomes more uneven, and you can feel the heat radiating from his body.

The atmosphere in the room drastically changes from innocent and relaxed to something more sultry, the air thick with repressed tension. You can sense Din's arousal, the subtle shifts in his breathing, the way his muscles tense beneath your every little touch. A playful smile crosses your lips, realizing the effect you're having on the usually composed man.

The occasional brush of your fingers against more sensitive areas elicits involuntary reactions from Din, his groans growing more audible.

"Enjoying this, aren't you?" you tease, your voice a sultry whisper as you lean down to place soft kisses along his shoulder blades.

"Teasing me, aren't you?" he growls back, looking back at you with a heated expression.

"Maybe a little." You smile innocently. "But the best things are worth the wait, aren't they?"

Din responds with a low, husky chuckle, a sound that reverberates through the room.

"Yes," he states simply, his voice catching in his throat when you slide off his back.

You beckon him to turn over onto his back, and he complies. Once again, you straddle him, now sitting directly on his hips, over his crotch. Taking more lavender scented oil, you lather it onto your hands and start to knead into his chest. His hands reach up to grip your ass, squeezing your flesh.

You feel Din's chest rise and fall faster as your hands start to work over his toned muscles. The oil slicks up his chest, and your fingers glide smoothly over his skin. You can practically feel his desire for you that simmers beneath the surface, threatening to boil over. Din's gaze is intense, and you meet it with a playful yet innocent smile.

"Fuck, cyare," he groans as his hands trail up your sides, the touch possessive yet gentle.

As your hands continue their ministrations on his chest, you lean down to capture his lips in a searing kiss. The taste of his mouth is intoxicating, and Din responds with a hunger that surpasses your own. His hands tighten on your hips, pulling you to grind you down over his crotch, and you can feel the pressure of his cock against your core.

"Easy there, Din," you murmur as you pull away from his lips. "We've got plenty of time."

The sound of his name rolling off your lips never gets old to him, and he shudders at the sound.

You sit back, your hands now trailing down his abdomen as you move to sit in between his thighs. Grabbing his hands, you knead into his palms with your thumbs, maintaining an eye contact that you know drives him absolutely crazy. Din's eyes are dark with arousal, and he watches you with a hunger that sends shivers down your spine.

Eventually, you finish the massage after you feel the tension fully dissipate from Din's body. He lies there, relaxed and content, basking in the afterglow of your touch.

Without waiting any longer, you finally give the man what he wants. You bring his hand up to your mouth, and without hesitation, you stick two of his fingers in your mouth. Your tongue swirls around his thick digits as you maintain eye contact with him, eliciting a low growl to escape from the depths of Din's throat.

"You- you fuckin' tease, mesh'la," he growls as he starts to sit up. You take your free hand and push him back down, not letting him sit up.

You push his fingers deeper into your mouth, sucking them harder as your tongue runs over the pads of his fingers. Your other hand comes up to his thigh, resting dangerously close to his now fully erect yet still clothed cock.

After a moment, you release his fingers with a wet pop, a mischievous glint in your eyes. Din's breathing has become more ragged, his chest rising and falling rapidly with anticipation and arousal.

"Feeling better?" you ask innocently, sliding your hands up and down his thighs.

Din nods, swallowing thickly as he locks his eyes onto yours. Without breaking eye contact, you start to slide off your shirt, slowly revealing your skin beneath. Din's gaze intensifies as you slowly lift it up and off your form. Once your shirt is fully off, you let Din rove over your form, and you revel in the way he looks at you with a thirst that mirrors your own.

He tries to reach out for you again, but you stop him.

"I'm still not done. Be patient," you say gently, wiggling your eyebrows at him.

"Mesh'la, how can I be? I have to reward you; you've been so good to me, too good for me—"

You press a finger up to his lips, silencing him.

"Please, let me make you feel good. Please. You always take care of me. Let me take care of you. 'M gonna make you feel so good."

He takes a beat, studying your face with his mouth slightly agape.

Finally, he nods in agreement, his eyes on fire. You remove your finger from his lips, giving him a sickeningly sweet smile.

Your hands trail over his shiny, slick chest, down to the waistband of his boxers. Din's fingers twist in his bedsheets, a silent reaction for what he wants: more.

With deliberate intent, you dip your fingers beneath the waistband, teasingly close to his cock. His arousal is quite evident, straining against the fabric, and your fingers brush over his length; a feather light, teasing touch. He watches you with a hunger that's impossible to ignore, and you can't help but feel giddy at the way you make him feel so good, so appreciated, so loved.

Din inhales sharply, his knuckles going white at the grip he has on his sheets. You move your hands back up and delicately hook your fingers into the waistband, pulling it down slowly. The boxers slide down his legs, revealing his cock, and you discard the fabric on the floor.

You take a moment to appreciate your Mandalorian naked in front of you, vulnerable, and yet as powerful as ever in his raw masculinity. What a sight for sore eyes. Every square inch of his skin is coated in the lavender oil, his skin shining under the dim lighting of the Razor Crest. His body is sculpted perfectly, strong and lean, the power of his muscles evident from one look. The scars that span his skin, small and large, have their own story. You reach out, tracing the lines of a particularly prominent scar on the side of his abdomen with gentle fingertips.

Din studies you with a soft intensity, his eyes holding a warmth that he reserves for you, and only for you.

Your eyes trail up to his face, studying every lineament and pore, every little hair and freckle. He's so extremely handsome you could pass out.

How he chose you, you're not sure. All you know is that this man who has promised to be your protector, stay by your side, and be your partner loves you, and you love him.

"You're beautiful," you murmur, pure admiration coursing through your veins as your fingers now trace the curve of his jaw and the contour of his lips. "Absolutely perfect, in every single way. My big, strong, handsome riduur."

Din's mind goes blank, face and ears heating up as his mouth falls agape. He just studies your eyes, your lips, your nose, every little unique feature you have. Swallowing thickly, Din nods his head just a fraction of an inch, but you catch it; he's acknowledging your words, accepting them in his own way.

Your fingers finally find their way down the shaft of his cock, shifting your attention to his member. His breath hitches as your hand wraps around the base, and you begin to move in a slow, teasing rhythm. His eyes flicker to the sight of your hand wrapped around his cock, staring at the way you pump your fist up and down. Your thumb brushes over the sensitive tip, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from Din.

You lean in, pressing a tender kiss to the base of his neck, then to his chest. You start to kiss down further, from the top of his chest to his happy trail.

"Kriff..." he mutters, his hands loosely grabbing at your face.

You keep moving, now pressing kisses on the length of his member. His grip becomes sloppier as your lips trail down his cock towards the tip, pressing a feather light kiss on his leaking slit. He grunts as the sensation, sensitive and aching for your pretty lips to be wrapped around his cock. You give a swirl of your tongue around the tip, earning a sharp, deep moan from Din.

"Kriffing- perfect," he groans, his hips bucking a few times at your touch, begging you for more. His fingers weave through your hair, a silent encouragement.

With that, you finally lower your mouth over his cock, eliciting a long, drawn out moan from the man. You rest your hands on the base of his cock, pumping the bottom half of his length while your mouth takes the top half. Din absolutely revels in the way your mouth feels against his cock; hot, wet, and velvety soft. His head rolls back against his pillow as your hands squeeze tight around the base, stimulating every inch of his length. You take him in your mouth inch by inch, sucking his cock gently at first, but providing more pressure the farther down you go.

"Fuck— fuck- ing perfect, pretty girl," he groans breathlessly, making you hum in satisfaction. His hips involuntarily buck up as he feels the vibrations from your hum, causing the tip of his cock to poke the back of your throat. You choke on it, but you steady your breath enough to keep going down.

Din fights the urge to fuck your mouth, gripping onto his sheets tightly with one hand as his other hand tugs at your hair. You release a quiet moan of your own when he pulls your hair, encouraging you to take him deeper.

Din's eyes are half-lidded now, a primal need burning within them. He watches you with an intensity that makes your own desire flare. His sounds of pleasure, the way his hands feel on you has yourself throbbing with need, your core painfully clenching around nothing. Your panties are surely soaked through by now, your arousal having built up just by making him feel good. You press your thighs together, alleviating the throbbing pressure in your pussy.

You continue to move with purpose, lowering your hands to knead his oily thighs as you take his entire length in your mouth, the tip of cock hitting the back of your throat with each bob of your head. You suck your cheeks in, running your tongue along a prominent vein with each stroke.

His ragged breaths and the soft squelch of your saliva and mouth on his cock fill the room, and suddenly, Din is pawing at you. The need for more becomes undeniable, and Din, unable to restrain himself any longer, pulls you up with a sense of urgency.

"Wanna- come in you—" he gasps, pulling at your neck.

You press your thighs tighter together at his admission, moaning on his cock.

"Kriff, cyar'ika, j- just, please," he grunts, and you lift your head off his cock, saliva dripping down your chin.

When you finally look up at him, his eyes are blown wide with need, and he's fully sitting up now. You feel the sudden shift as he drags you onto his lap, his still erect cock pressing into your stomach. You push up onto your knees as Din's hand desperately claws at the hem of your pants, yanking both your pants and panties off at the same time as he mouths the tops of your still covered breasts. Once your bottoms are off, he unclasps your bra expertly, letting it fall to the side.

Once you're bare in front of him, he laps his tongue over your breast, sucking at your nipple as his other hand squeezes and massages your other. The sensation send an electric jolt through your body, and a soft moan escapes your lips. Din's touch is both possessive and tender, his free hand coming to knead the flesh of your ass.

In one solid motion, Din is lifting you up high by your hips, positioning you over his cock. Utterly desperate and aching for your cunt around his cock, he slams your hips down, splitting you open on his cock inside your dripping cunt. Your hands fly up to his shoulders, a warbled scream and moan slipping from the both of you as he plunges deep inside of you, filling you up perfectly. You give yourself a moment to breath, steadying your breath. When he rolls his hips once, you whimper.

"Maker, y- you feel so good," you moan, biting your bottom lip in pleasure.

You squeeze his cock tightly, back arching as you feel every ridge of his cock inside you. His hands squeeze your hips tightly as your hands run down to his chest, and you start placing open mouthed, messy kisses on his jawline and neck. He lets you adjust around him, giving you some time to feel his cock molded perfectly inside you.

"Take me so good...s- so kriffing p- perfect, my beautiful riduur," he growls, fondling your breasts as you sit on his cock. Your thighs press against his as you try to clench your thighs at his words, darting your tongue out to give his skin kitten licks.

Ever so slowly, you start to roll your hips against his, moaning at the sensation. Din hisses, forehead falling on your sternum, his hot breath fanning against your breasts.

"Riduur," he groans again, darting his tongue out over the tops of your breasts again. "Ride me."

Your hands find their way into his dark curls, tugging at them lightly as you start to lift yourself up his cock. The drag of your pussy against Din's cock makes him shudder in pure ecstasy, moving his head to rest in the crook of your neck.

"You- you're the best thing that's e- ever happened to me," you whisper in his ear, then you sink all the way back down on his cock.

He moans, sucking bruises onto the junction between your shoulder and neck. Din's face is flushed from your words and the way you feel on top of him. You lift yourself up a few inches and drop back down, relishing in the way he feels underneath you.

"Never thought I'd find s- someone like you, cyare," he admits in his gravelly voice, tightening his grip on you. "Someone I- I could c- come back to."

"You're m- my home, Din," you reply, your voice a breathy whisper.

You start to set a steady pace, rocking and grinding on his cock. Din grunts at the sudden change in pace, helping you up and off his cock as his broad hands help lift you up and down by your hips. With each bounce, his cock stretches you out deliciously, dragging along your slick walls with ease.

You move your hand down to your catch your clit, circling the bud slowly, building up the pressure bubbling in your core. Your back arches as you start to tease yourself, pussy clenching harder around his cock. Din's head is thrown back in pleasure, hands firmly on your hips as you keep bouncing, reveling in the way you squeeze slightly tighter around him.

Your walls start to flutter around him at the stimulation of your clit, picking up the pace as you chase your orgasm. You lock eyes with his, the rhythm of your hips against his causing him to paw at every square inch of your body.

With your free hand, you guide his strong jaw towards your face, capturing his lips in a searing, passionate kiss. You don't stop moving on top of his cock as you slip your tongue into his mouth, sucking and nibbling on his bottom lip with each kiss. His lips are warm and demanding against yours, responding with a fervor that has you leaning back.

The taste of Din is intoxicating, yet something you can never quite put your finger on. His low growls mix with your soft moans, your hands threading in his curls.

Din breaks the kiss, but rests his forehead on yours. His pants mingle with yours, warm breath tickling your nose.

"Can't believe I'm so lucky," Din grits, and without hesitation, he deftly maneuvers you until you're lying on your back.

You admire the way his chest heaves with a controlled intensity as he hovers over you, his cock still fully sheathed inside you to the hilt. Moving his hands, he presses your legs up against your chest, angling them in such a way to allow for a deeper penetration. The newfound angle sends waves of pleasure coursing through each of you, each movement building up the pressure in your lower muscles.

"Maker, Din," is all you can say as his cock reaches deeper inside you. You're utterly engrossed in everything about him; how perfectly he fucks you, how he protects you, how he always puts others before himself, how he never backs down from a challenge.

You watch as his mouth drops open when he starts to move again, pounding into you with a slow, measured pace. Every motion has your hot, soaking walls sucking him in greedily.

"Fuck me so perfectly, you're perfect," you murmur as Din pulls your legs up onto his hips, effectively spreading you wide open. His whole chest presses flush against yours, kissing your words away when he leans in.

Your hands fly down to grip his forearms that cage you under his body, nails pressing into his skin as he fucks you slowly. Each thrust is met with a soft whimper into Din's mouth as he takes his time, relishing the way your chest feels against his own. The measured pace of his movements builds a heavy tension in your core, drawing out the pleasure and anticipation with each deliberate stroke.

Din's hand finds your clit again, pressing his thick digits against your swollen bud. The added pressure sends electric pulses through your body, and your back arches involuntarily as the pleasure intensifies. Your pussy clenches around his cock, drawing a throaty groan from Din, who revels in the tight embrace of your walls.

"So strong, s- so good," you gasp, your words punctuated by your unrestrained sounds of pleasure.

"S' perfect, cyare," he murmurs against your lips breathlessly, pressing a kiss on your lips once again. He nips and bites at your bottom lip relentlessly. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling his face closer to you as you mewl into his mouth. Your fingers find their way back into his soft hair, scratching your fingernails on the base of his scalp.

With each enthusiastic response from you, he quickens his pace, the unforgiving rhythm pushing you both closer to the edge.

The feeling of his cock moving inside you faster and harder elicits a cascade of moans and whimpers from your lips, your clit being stimulated nearly to the point of your impending release. He's fucking you hard into the mattress, unrelenting in the way he wants to feel every part of you.

Din, ever the attentive man, knows you're about to cum just from the way your face contorts, from the way your body reacts to the slightest touch.

You can also feel him nearing the edge, the tension in his body reaching its peak with each stroke. His skin is warm and still slick with the lavender-scented oil, intoxicating your senses and making your mind go blank.

"Please, come in me," you beg, wrapping your legs around Din's waist to pull him closer to you. "Please, please, Din."

His skin glides against yours, your hands travel across the expanse of his back, feeling the flex of his muscles as he moves with unrestrained strength.

Din's eyebrows are pinched in pleasure, mouth parted open as he pants. His fingers find the sweet spot of your clit, causing you to nearly scream in pleasure.

"That's it," Din encourages, coaxing your orgasm out of you as he maintains the pressure around your sweet spot.

Before you know it, you're cumming around Din's cock. The first contraction of your cunt around his cock has Din shuddering from his own orgasm, the feelings of your muscles spasming around him pushing him over the edge. His breathing is erratic, hot against your skin.

You writhe underneath Din, whimpering his name as you ride out your orgasm. Din pulls you in for a messy kiss as he cums inside of you, cupping your jaw with one hand as he guides your lips to his in a searing kiss.

Settling down from his orgasm, Din falls on top of you, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

Your hands run up and down his back, soothing him with the light scratching of your nails against his skin.

The gentle scratching of your nails against Din's back seems to lull him into a state of relaxation, his body going lax on top of yours. His breath and mustache tickles the sensitive flesh of your neck.

Both of you are still panting, trying to catch your breaths from your shared climax. Din's weight atop of you feels grounding, a comforting, welcoming presence that reminds you once again that he is yours.

"Feel better?" you inquire softly, your hands coming to rest around his neck.

Din lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours with a tenderness he reserves only for you.

Din mumbles in agreement, his body completely pliant in your hands. His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, the remnants of his panting gradually subsiding.

"Thank you," he murmurs, eyes studying your face intently. "Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum."

Your fingers move from his neck to gently trace lines over Din's flushed cheeks, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"I love you."

Din's eyes soften even more. His hands, calloused and strong, come up to gently cradle your face. Thumbs brush over your cheeks in a tender caress, as if he's committing the feeling to memory.

He pulls you in for another kiss, a sweet, tender meeting of your lips in the aftermath of your care for him.

A thank you, if you will.

As Din's lips part from yours, he rests his forehead against yours, and you can feel the warmth of his breath mingling with yours.

You snuggle close to him, the scent of lavender surrounding you both. In the quiet aftermath, the only sound that remains is the beating of your hearts.

. . .

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) Masterlist

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lskisms · 9 months

Text

(not) strong, c. berzatto

syn. you think you traded all your luck on being able to wake up next to carmen every morning because it doesn't look like you have any left to spare. no matter; carm is here to patch you up.

gen. romance, angst.

warnings. crying, reader has a bad fucking day, carm is a sweetheart, mentions of food and eating.

word count. 1.8k.

you’re lucky that bad days tend to be few and far between; how could they not be when you have the privilege of waking up next to carmen berzatto every morning? he, of course, denies the effect he has on your life, says if anyone’s making a difference here, it’s you. but you really can’t downplay the warmth and light that sharing a bed with him, sharing a life with him brings to you. seeing him first thing in the morning is always the best part of your waking hours, a nice pick-me-up before you go to work; you have never taken that for granted.

but there are days where even seeing your boyfriend isn’t enough to wipe the slate clean, to erase that familiar sense of dread that makes its home in the pit of your stomach for you to carry around all day. having carmen with you, body or spirit (through text, of course), always momentarily eases the pain, but when he’s gone, when you have to stop texting, it comes back, agonizing and sharp like a blade twisting in your gut. all you can do is count down the hours, minutes, seconds until you get to go home and see him again.

today, it seems, is one of those days. regardless of the fact that you woke up feeling well, sharing a few soft kisses with carmy in bed before he made you breakfast and left you to your own devices so he could get to work, it seemed like the universe was working against you: you got to the train late, meaning you made it to work late, meaning you started the day off behind and if that wasn’t enough, you just couldn’t seem to get anything right. time has moved by at a snail’s pace, almost like the world is taunting you, wanting to drag this torture out for as long as fucking possible.

and it is. it is torture in all the worst ways, excruciating and harrowing. you didn’t have time to slip away and text carmy the whole day, barely had enough time for a lunch break, and even when you had taken your lunch break, typically a reset for you, things still were entirely awful. you’re astounded you even made it through the day without breaking into tears.

in public, at least, because the second you get home, it all comes rushing at you. the door closes behind you and the tears will not stop, no matter how hard you will them to just go away. you can’t even be bothered to hang your bag up on the coatrack, letting it drop to the floor instead on top of your different pairs of shoes left stranded at carmy’s front door. you trudge through the apartment into the bedroom, change into comfier clothes (a pair of shorts and one of carm’s sweaters), and lay down. it’s the only thing you can think to do after a rough day while you wait for your love to come home to you.

he does, eventually, though much later than you do; with his hours at the restaurant, it’s not often he comes home any time before eleven pm, and even that, that’s pushing it. it’s maybe closing in on half past eleven when you hear the door open and carmy’s voice, your name sounding as perfect as ever (nobody says it like he does, you maintain, your name has never sounded prettier than it does coming from him), and you become acutely aware that you have completely wasted the evening.

carm’s footsteps draw closer and then you hear him again at the door, a sweet lilt of “baby? you doin’ alright?”

and that, for some reason, just sends you over the edge. you’re not facing him, which is lucky, but you shake your head and close in on yourself, drawing your knees to your chest and making yourself smaller. you’re trying not to cry, not again, but it feels like the only way to react, the only way to get all of this out.

“sweetheart…” his voice is quiet and then he’s crawling up the mattress to lay beside you, shoving himself in the small space left between you and the wall his bed is pushed against. when he sets his gaze on you, all soft and clear blue sky, you fall apart, not sobbing but not holding back the tears anymore.

for a few moments, carm doesn’t know what to do. even though he’s seen you like this before, he still hesitates because you aren’t communicating what you need from him right now. still, the best bet, as always, seems to be wrapping you up and holding your pieces together.

so he does. he scoots in close, tucks your head under his chin, and wraps his arms around you. and he doesn’t say anything else, just lets you cry into his shirt, no doubt staining it with your tears, but if he cares, he doesn’t show it. you’re sure part of the lack of speaking is from him just being a little awkward about it, but still, you’re thankful that he isn’t pressing you on it.

when the tears finally do stop, he waits for you to pull back, waits for you to make the first move. he meets your gaze head on, the arm that isn’t pinned under your head moving so that he can wipe away stray tears caught in your eyelashes or on your skin.

“what’s all this about?” he asks softly, tipping his head so that your foreheads touch. “what’s got you all worked up?”

you shrug with one shoulder, casting your eyes down, letting them focus on the neckline of his shirt. “i don’t know. today was just… a really… really bad day, carm.”

he nods, brushes hair out of your eyes, lets his thumb stroke your cheekbone. “you can tell me about it. i’m listenin’.”

so you do. you recount the whole day to him, every gritty little detail, and he listens intently, like what you’re saying is the most important thing in the world to him. and maybe it is because he treats everything you do and say like that; he takes everything to heart and turns even the smallest things into something big and monumental.

you realize as you’re talking that all of the bad things that happened are so inconsequential and it makes you feel kind of stupid. carmen comes home and complains about much bigger issues all the time, and you listen, of course, offer advice when he needs it; but his issues are always so much bigger than yours, there are things, lives, that ride on his decisions going over well. not like yours, not like this. and it gets you worked up again, laughing when the tears burn at your waterline again.

“hey, hey, what’s all this?” he asks, ducking his head to look at you when you try to turn away. “why’re you cryin’ again?”

“i really don’t know, carm,” you answer tearfully, shaking your head like the movement will get rid of it all. “guess i feel kinda stupid. i’m not strong like you are.”

he mimics you, his turn to shake his head, curls falling into his eyes. “you don’t need to be, alright? you don’t have to be strong like i am. i can be strong enough for the both of us. that’s my job.”

“are you sure? i just-”

his hand, rough and warm, comes to rest on your cheek and you look up at him. his gaze is gentle in a way that he reserves just for you. “i’m positive. i can’t do much, but i can do this, so let me… ‘kay?”

you nod, closing your eyes and muttering back an “okay.” he leans to press a lingering kiss to your forehead before tilting back down, his nose brushing against yours. you lay like that for moments that stretch into forever, his breath hot against your mouth and his arms warm around you, your own personal weighted blanket.

“i’m not that strong, by the way,” he says quietly, breaking the silence. when you make a noise of confusion, he clarifies. “you said i’m strong, but i’m not. not really. i got a lot of fucked up shit goin’ on ‘n half the time, i’m spaced the fuck out… y’know, and i worry that you’re gonna figure that out one ‘a these days, but… i wanna be strong for you. i try really fuckin’ hard it almost scares me. so i mean it when i say i can be strong for us both because i want that to be the truth, y’know?”

you wrap an arm around him and nod, pressing your face into the soft material of his tshirt. the thank you you say into his shirt is wet and thick with tears, but he doesn’t seem to mind all that much, wrapping his arms tight around you and holding you against him; he doesn’t seem to mind a lot of the things you do, just takes them in stride and adjusts, which is sweet.

“you don’t need to thank me for anything,” he says into your hair, rubbing your back. “it’s my job to take care’a you, so that’s what i’m gonna do, alright? now… you eat dinner yet?”

the scoff he lets out when you tell him that no, you haven’t, might come off as mean to anyone else, but to you, it’s anything but. this is, for all intents and purposes, what he was made to do and this is proof of that.

“‘course ya haven’t. alright, what d’you want, hm? i’ll make whatever you’re cravin’, so just tell me what it is.”

you rattle off your order and when you pull away to look him in the face, he’s got a smile that belongs solely to you. he kisses you all soft and gentle, lips warm against yours, the one thing you’ve really wanted all day, and it dismantles that dread you’ve been feeling, takes its house apart piece by loving piece until it’s razed.

“you really gonna make me a grilled cheese right now? it’s almost midnight.”

carm lets loose a breathy chuckle, kisses you again, quick this time. “yes, chef. not letting my baby go to bed on an empty stomach. you know i don’t play around like that. what kind of cheese you want?”

you know he doesn’t play when it comes to making food for you, so you tell him to surprise you. you’ll eat anything he makes anyways because when he makes it for you, it’ll always taste good.

#carmy x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #the bear x reader #.thebear #.carmy #.fic

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