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blindingdutchy · 3 years

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share | t.holland

{pornstar!tom x pornstar!reader}

summary: you don't like to share, but Tom's going to show you what happens to stingy girls on the playground.

word count: 10,663

warnings: i consider this a part two to switch. smut, little bit of angst, fluffy ending. language. explicit warnings under divide.

18+!!! minors stay away!

warnings: mean dom!tom, slight dom!fem oc, voyeurism, mff threesome, degradation, oral (m+f receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it up folks), orgasm denial, touch denial, slight bondage (hands tied only), jealous reader + arrogant tom, some daddy + sir kink

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There was a familiar ache in your core as you made your way into work that day. It was a sensation that shouldn't have embarrassed you anymore considering it was in your line of work to take a beating of the sexual sort, but your blood bubbled with fluttery shame anyways because you knew it was definitely not from any job you'd done. The handprints that lingered on your skin were Tom's, as was the throbbing between your legs.

Your coworkers had grown accustomed to the funny way you'd been walking; after all, it had been months of you turning up to the studio just like this. Aching all over, exhausted, and all flustered smiles as every little jolt of pain in your body reminded you of him. Tom really knew how to keep a woman coming back for more, to say the least.

Despite the tender way you were forced to move around, you were excited to get into work that day. You'd been working on a new project behind the scenes for almost a month already, and today you were finally meeting with your favorite director and photographer to start the ball rolling. This was what you'd been fantasizing about doing ever since you'd been brought into the agency--straying away from your dominatrix persona and onto a more personal, enjoyable path.

Priscilla was already waiting for you in the conference room, bursting with energy as she always was and chatting the ears off of Archie. The two of them were sliding a few of your scribbled mock-ups around, along with more than a few stills of your naked body, and nestled so deeply into a conversation that they didn't notice the click of the door as it shut behind you. Even clearing your throat couldn't break their concentration.

"Starting without me?" you questioned, loudly, and finally caught the glimmering eyes of Priscilla.

Priscilla was practically buzzing with excitement as she grinned at you, clapping her hands once before waving you over, "(Y/N), perfect timing! So, Archie and I were thinking about your ideas for doing a cam-girl style video--"

She chattered on and on, only pausing every so often to take a heaving breathe before continuing. The more she said, the more you realized just how much work the two of them had done without you--Priscilla was already pitching set designs and potential scenarios for each video, and Archie was doing his best to help you visualize the filmography he had in mind. It was pretty hard to keep up, but you had to admit seeing their passion for the project only spurred your own to burn a little brighter.

The project was something you'd been dreaming of for awhile. A solo series of videos in the iconic style of a cam-girl; just you, your camera, and whatever you felt like putting out there for the world to see. For so long you'd been afraid to even pitch the idea out of fear of being denied funding, and rightfully so.

You'd had to fight tooth and nail to gain the backing of the agency. It had been a month of pitching idea after idea, crunching numbers and screening all the statistics of solo work so that you could propose a target profit for the company. In the end, you'd gotten the green light--but there was a lot riding on this first video.

If you failed to meet the target you'd set for yourself, the agency would pull the plug on the project and you'd be right back to the leather outfits and whining men. The thought of it urged you to outperform all the standards you'd set for yourself. You were peddle to the metal, full throttle ahead, and Priscilla and Archie's sounding board of ideas were exactly the encouragement you needed.

Archie fiddled with some settings on his camera, instructing you on a few head shots until he was satisfied. "That's it!" he cheered, "You like it? Obviously we'll work on better lighting for the videos, and there'll be editing--but I think this suits you."

Peering over his shoulder, your heart soared at the work of your favorite camera man. "Oh, Archie! That's perfect... If you'd just shown me that I'd definitely think it was the real deal." you gasped, and he grinned at you cheerfully. "How about a lunch break before we get back to work?"

The two of them muttered some hushed agreements, nodding absentmindedly as Priscilla looked over the photos and they returned to the scatter of papers and film on the table. "Yeah, yeah, you go ahead, honey." Priscilla cooed, waving a hand over her shoulder carelessly before tilting her head and squinting her eyes at one of your drawings. "Oh, what do you think about--no, that won't do... but maybe?"

With a hushed chuckle, you shook your head at the two of them and backed out of the room quietly. It almost seemed as if they were more excited than you were, but your stomach was rumbling and you needed something to eat before you started chewing on paper like a goat. Only, along the way toward the exit you paused outside one of the studios at the sound of Tom's voice.

Peeking inside, you smiled at the sight of his mop of curls bobbing--the smile faded to a grimace as you realized he was in no position to talk at the moment. You trailed a little further into the room and shot a tentative smile to one of the crew members who nodded to you, no longer surprised by your presence. Many times before you'd sat in on Tom's filming days, as he had done yours, but never before had you seen him at work with his most frequent costar.

Her name was Melaina, a startlingly attractive woman with what you were fairly certain was the world's most perfect face, and she was the star of most of Tom's work. You had nothing against her, having run into her quite a few times at work and never being anything short of pleased with her sweet and charismatic aura, but man was it hard not to feel inferior as you watched the two of them in action. It was as if they knew what the other would do before they even moved, connected on some spiritual level that boosted their chemistry to an astronomical level.

Tom's body was glistening with sweat and oil, his eyes dark and hooded with lust as he towered over her. The muscles in his back, chest, and arms all rippled with every move he made and caught the light just right, and you found yourself shifting on your feet subconsciously as you watched. Your hands twitched with the desire to push that one stubborn curl out of his face as it slid across his forehead, heavy and sodden with sweat.

Melaina gave a breathy moan that had you swallowing down a lump in your throat, her hands raking down Tom's chest only for him to swat them away and pin them to the bed above her head, "No touching!" he snapped, voice booming through the cavernous room, and you nearly groaned in sync with his counterpart. Too many times he'd growled those words to you, just like that, and the heat between your legs throbbed at the memory.

"Please, daddy," Melaina wailed, "I wanna cum!"

For a moment you rolled the name around your tongue, pursing your lips as you pondered what it would feel like to call Tom such a thing. It didn't feel right though; a sour taste compared to the deliciously sweet way sir rolled from your lips. His low, devilish chuckle brought you back to the present as you focused on the scene before you.

With a long, drawn out roll of his hips, Tom leaned down to Melaina's ear and spoke, "Bad girls don't get to come, darling."

Oh, fuck.

Hearing that name, that one little word, spill forth from his lips in reference to someone other than yourself ignited a certain flame within you that you hadn't felt in quite some time. It was green; everything tinged green in your vision like the sickening tone of the clouds before a treacherous storm. Jealousy wasn't something you wore often, but hearing that was enough to sit the crown of envy heavily upon your head.

Almost as if he could sense it, sense your turmoil, Tom's head tilted back until he looked you heavily in the eye. Your jaw tensed as he continued to push his hips harder through Melaina's cries and pleas, fingers clenching into fists as you tried to get yourself under control. It didn't mean anything.

You and Tom were nothing but friends with benefits, heavy on the benefits and light on the friendship, and this was his job. Hell, it was your job too! It didn't mean a damn thing.

His eyes never strayed from yours as that familiar pinch formed between his brows, his entire body growing rigid. He was brutal with the force of his hips, his hands groping roughly at Melaina's perfect ass and his lips parting in a silent 'o' that grew wider and wider until--there it was. His eyes locked on yours, Tom thrust twice more as a gritted laugh burst from his chest and he stilled completely. She mewled beneath him like a vixen, arching off the bed and crying, "Yes, daddy! Cum for me!"

He knew. His haughty smirk, ticked jaw, and glinting eyes told you well enough that he knew exactly what you were feeling, all the bitter and envious thoughts swirling through your mind. He knew, and he was thoroughly enjoying the way you were rooted in place under the weight of all your jealousy, your eyes locked with his and unable to break free.

"Cut!"

The sound of the clapper snapping and the director's loud shout startled you out of the strange limbo of envy and hunger you'd been trapped in. Tom muttered something to Melaina with a flirtatious grin that made your gut twist, and she laughed loudly whilst slapping a hand across his chest playfully. Suddenly, you weren't so hungry anymore, nor were you entirely interested in speaking to Tom.

You were out of focus for the rest of your day at work, earning disgruntled and concerned stares from your two colleagues who were working tirelessly to perfect all of your plans before the test shoot the following day. All of your thoughts were consumed with Tom, though, and it left you feeling nauseous. Never before had you cared much at all that he was with other women, knowing it was just a day's work for him, but seeing him with Melaina had truly rubbed you raw in the worst way.

The ache between your legs didn't make your heart flutter for the moment. Instead, each time you moved wrong and felt that persistent twinge, it made bile creep up your throat and your face burn with a mixture of bitter emotions. It wasn't that you were suddenly craving more from Tom--because you weren't, and as much as you enjoyed his company you weren't interested in a relationship.

Inferiority was a hell of a bitter pill. That was the root of the green eyed monster that was steadily taking control of you; Melaina made you feel inferior, and you hated it more than anything. Clearly he found her to be a better costar than you, considering he'd not once requested you even after starring in your own special. That was the first strike.

But, was she a better lay than you? Did she feel better, make him feel better than you? Did she talk dirtier, obey faster, and mold herself into whatever he wanted better than you? What if you weren't the only one he invited into his own bed at night?

By the time you left work the sun was setting, hours had passed, and you were exhausted from your racing mind. Usually Tom would have come to find you after he finished filming, but he hadn't and that bothered you. You knew it was probably all a game to him, a way for him to get you all riled up and tease you for it, but you weren't playing. You didn't want to play his games today, and when he finally texted you that night you left all of his messages on read with an acrid taste in your mouth.

"Ready for the big day?"

A peculiar sense of deja vu washed over you as you opened your dressing room door to reveal Tom perched on the other vanity seat, a tiny smile twitching at his lips and a twinkle in his eye. You really should have expected him to be there considering he'd been eagerly talking about watching you film for days, but after ignoring him you were more than surprised to see him waiting patiently for you to arrive. The door shut with a dull click, and Tom watched you closely.

Whatever he was playing at, you weren't going to bite--today was a big day for you, and nothing was going to distract you from your work. "What are you doing here?" you asked, huffing as your voice cracked and robbed you of your attempt to play it cool.

He just chuckled, a hoarse and airy sound, and licked his lips, "You think I'd miss the chance to see my girl touch herself for hours?"

His girl?

The words swirled around your brain the entire time you got ready, Marlena eyeing you curiously as you twiddled your thumbs quietly and payed no mind to either of the two people in your presence. What the hell did he mean by that? Why did your heart go on the fritz at those two silly words?

"Are you mad at me, lovie?" Eyes flickering over to Tom, you grew hot under his speculative gaze. Head tilted to one side, brown eyes narrowed slightly, and lips puckered in a tiny pout that made you swoon, he asked, "Have I done something to upset you?"

In the mirror you could see Marlena fighting back a smile, looking between the two of you with quivering lips as she held herself back from interrupting the moment. "No," you muttered, dropping your eyes back to your fiddling fingers, "I'm just nervous."

You didn't have to look to know that Tom was smirking, the sound of his soft laughter cluing you into the fact well enough. There was that deja vu again, your mind traveling back to that first time he'd sat in your dressing room and asked if he made you nervous. Teasingly, he asked, "Am I making you nervous, darling?"

Rolling your eyes, you huffed, "No."

Tom's eyes were all over you the moment you stepped onto the set and dropped your robe into an assistant's waiting arms. Clad in a skimpy lace negligee with nothing underneath, it was understandable that he'd be quite enraptured--never before had you worn something so dainty for your work, nor had you ever worn anything quite like the transparent scrap during any of your visits to his apartment. Even you yourself were quite enthralled by the look of it, having admired your reflection in the mirror for ages before finally joining the crew to start working.

As you soaked up the warm, tingling sensation of his ravenous eyes trailing over every inch of your body, you slowly relaxed into his presence. All the thoughts of Melaina drifted away, and you were biting back pleased smiles each and every time you acknowledged his gaze. It felt nice; it felt like it had every time he'd watched you film before, only better because now you were finally fully enjoying your project.

He hung back beside Priscilla in front of the big screen which displayed all the different camera angles whilst you ambled your way around the set. It wasn't complete, but it was enough for you all to get an idea of what the final design should be. A queen sized bed with dark, silk sheets in the center of a warmly lit stage, piled high with pillows of all sizes--already you were imagining towering bed posts with chiffon curtains framing the beautiful space.

There was one camera posted at the foot of the bed which was to be the main view point for the video. Climbing aboard you shifted until your bottom was posted over the scribbled X and leaned back onto your elbows, your knees propped up and spread wide. "How's this look?" you called out, craning your neck to see Priscilla, Archie, and Tom.

"Slide up a bit," Archie bellowed back, "a bit more--that's it! Oh, fuck, that looks amazing."

Having slid up the mattress half a foot, your head fell onto the bed of pillows that were finally within reach. From your new vantage point you could admire Tom, and the sight of him was enough to already have your thighs dampening. It seemed as if he were unsure as to where to look, his eyes flickering back and forth from the blown up, pixelated version of you to the real deal hastily.

The angle was awkward, and no matter how hard you stared he never made eye contact. It was then that you realized he couldn't see your face, at least not the real one, and a certain thrill sparked within you. Trailing your fingers over your stomach slowly, you reached for the frilled edge of the fabric and bit back a giggle as he tensed all over.

Licking your lips in time with Tom, you shouted, "Should we get started, then?"

Within seconds the clapper was dropped, and Priscilla boomed, "Test one, rolling!"

It was strange having to force yourself to look into the camera, rather than avoiding it so as not to ruin the flow of a scene. But, after a few moments of running your hands over your body and trying to get into the right mindset, your mind drifted away from the crowded room and into your own personal bubble. In there, that secret place you escaped to, it was just yourself and Tom.

Your body heated as you pictured him in place of the camera. In your vision he was bare and glistening, just for you; sitting on his heels with his knees spread apart and his hands ghosting over his length languidly. So many nights you'd laid before him like this, aching and begging for his hands to take the place of your own.

"Show me what those fingers can do, darling." he cooed, voice silky and sweeter than honey. It was a stark contrast to the dark, all-consuming pull of his brown eyes that lusted for you greedily.

Breathing a little harder, you tugged the stretchy lace further down your chest until your breasts were exposed to the chilled air. Tom's eyes glimmered, his tongue swiping over his lower lip, and you desperately wished it were his lips wrapping around one of your pebbled buds instead of your clammy fingers. Your eyes fluttered shut for a second as you imagined it; reminiscing on the sensation of his hot, silky tongue swirling around your nipples and tugging them delightfully into his mouth.

It was incredibly hard not to cry out for him as you descended further into the scenario you'd created for yourself. Nevertheless, you swallowed down all the whimpers of his name that bubbled to your lips eagerly, instead whining soft noises that even turned yourself on. "Love those pretty sounds, (Y/N)." he always hummed down your ear, scorching breathe fanning all across your neck.

The facade didn't fade as you opened your eyes again with heavy lids that begged to fall shut again. You tugged hard at one of your rosebuds in sync with Tom's harsh pull over his cock, and your back arched as you gave a loud cry. He moved his hand faster and clenched his eyes shut for a second as he groaned, "Enough teasing, lovie, show me that perfect pussy. Wanna see you cum all over your fingers f'me."

You couldn't have agreed more. Your heat was hot and dripping, your thighs slipping across the sheets a little more easily as you pooled your juices onto the mattress longingly. Tracing your fingers over the swell of your chest and down your stomach, you peeled your flimsy gown back until it was all bunched up beneath your breasts.

Tom watched with baited breathe, held perfectly in sync with your own burning chest, as you teased your fingers all around where you ached to be touched the most. Just as you finally dipped the tip of your middle finger into the slick, a shuffle and quiet laugh shattered the vision of Tom. You huffed in frustration the buzzing in your veins dulled and your hand fell limp over your bare middle.

"Cut!" Priscilla shouted, and even she sounded frustrated as you sat up and ripped your negligee back down, "That was really good, (Y/N)! Wanna have a look?"

You did, but you could barely hear the words coming from Priscilla's mouth as you took in the scene before you. There was Tom, hands cupped over his crotch like they always were when he watched you film, but this time he wasn't watching you. Instead, he was entirely focused on Melaina who stood beside him with one dainty hand stroking his arm, the other twirling the skirt of her sundress lazily.

Your blood boiled to life once more, but no longer was it out of desire for Tom. Pursing your lips, you called back to Priscilla, "No, let's just keep going." He was still engrossed in his hushed conversation with her, and you added pettily, "Might I remind some of you to be quiet on set!"

Melaina's stifled giggle turned the green hue in your eyes red, but you took a deep breathe and resisted the urge to roll your eyes. It didn't mean anything, it didn't mean anything, it didn't mean anything. The mantra echoed through your head as you did your best to keep your ridiculous envy at bay; Tom wasn't yours, nor were you his, and you had nothing to be jealous of.

You did, however, roll your eyes at the sight of Tom's devious smirk. It only widened at the action, and in spite of your wish to pretend he didn't affect you, your thigh clenched subconsciously. "Sorry, darling, we'll be quiet." he hummed, greedily soaking up the distasteful purse of your lips with his eyes.

It was harder to get back into the groove once the cameras started rolling again. Tom's image wavered in place of the camera, your mind clouded with all the conflicting emotions you were feeling, and no matter how hard you tried you just couldn't get back into that bubble. You pushed through, though, and picked up where you'd left off.

"Look at you," Tom simpered as your fingers dipped into your slick once again, your jaw slackening as you toyed one finger through your entrance, "absolutely dripping for me. Does it get you off to see me with another woman?"

What the hell was that? His words were like a record scratch in your mind, your fingers recoiling from your throbbing core in shock. Trying again, you changed your direction and drifted your fingers to your clit with a soft sigh. Closing your eyes to shut out his smirking face again, you rolled the soft pads over your bud and felt your lips part in a hushed moan.

How easy it would have been to keep them closed and push yourself over that edge with nothing but the sensation to edge you forward, but you knew that wouldn't make for a satisfying watch. So, begrudgingly, you opened your eyes again to the scene you'd created for yourself. Tom was sitting on the bed now, his legs spread wide before him to leave space for you between, and his length was laid against his thigh lazily. The tip was weeping and blazing red, a thick drop of pearly precum making your lips tingle with desire.

His hands wrapped around the footboard of the bed, gripping the solid wood so tightly his knuckles turned white and his arms rippled with unbridled strength. All that muscle, the sinewy, languid curl of hard muscle beneath soft flesh pulled taught in restraint; it was enough to have you drooling. Your fingers slipped easily from your swollen clit to your slit, and you dipped the tip of your middle finger inside with a choked cry.

Tom moaned back at you, his cock twitching as he flexed his stomach, eyes glued to the tight clench of your cunt around your fingers. "Fuck, lovie, do your fingers feel as good as mine?" he asked, "Does that pussy feel as good as hers?"

What the fuck?

Melaina's giggle echoed through the set, piercing the thickened air and startling you nearly as much as the wild turn your imagination had taken. Growling angrily, you slapped your hands onto the mattress beside you and pouted, "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Sorry, I'm so sorry!" Melaina squeaked, sounding so genuinely apologetic it only irritated you further, "Stop it, Tom, you made me laugh."

Sitting up once more, propped up on your hands, you scowled fiercely at the sight of Tom's arm draped over her shoulders and his head dipped low to whisper in her ear. His eyes were trained on you, though, and you knew damn well that coy smirk that teased at his lips was meant for you alone. Melaina gripped the hand over her shoulder tightly as she stifled another laugh, eyes twinkling to match the beaming smile on her face.

Backing his lips away from Melaina's hair, Tom faced you dead on as his head cocked to the side playfully. Narrowing your eyes, you scoffed as he winked at you. That bastard! You flopped back onto the bed with a growl, wanting nothing more than to kick him off the set, but you refrained. You knew it would only cement what he'd already figured out within his head; it would prove that you were without a doubt, one hundred and ten percent jealous.

"How about we take five, everyone!"

You practically threw yourself off of the bed, snatching your robe from the timid assistant with a huff before stomping off the set entirely. What was he playing at? It was one thing for Tom to toy with you, but to purposefully throw you off when you were working? That was low.

Alone in the small room, you dropped your head onto your vanity with a loud groan of annoyance. So many new emotions were swirling around you, plaguing your mind and twisting your gut up into knots so tight you actually felt ill. You couldn't even begin to unravel the twisted mess to pick apart all the different things you were feeling.

There was a quiet knock on the door, and you didn't have to look to know who it was. "G'way!" you grumbled, hissing angrily when the door opened anyways, "I said--"

Tom crashed his lips to yours, choking your words and the muffled squeal of surprise that escaped you. Pushing his weight onto you and pinning you to the chair, he bit down on your lower lip until you whined pitifully, pulling away to look you heavily in the eye, "You ignored me last night."

"So? I wasn't feeling it." you retorted, the almost lie making your stomach flutter. "Is that why you're trying to ruin my test shoot? Another bullshit punishment?"

He gaped at you for a moment, his lips parting in surprise as he blinked down at you wordlessly. But, just as you were settling into the triumph of finally rendering him speechless, he sputtered a sinister chuckle and smirked. Clicking his tongue reproachfully, he tutted, "Are you jealous, darling? Is that what this little tantrum is about? Are you jealous of Melaina?"

The words of your imaginary Tom echoed in your ears, the thin flesh and cartilage heating up in embarrassment as you scoffed, "No, why the hell would you think that?"

Smirk widening, he leaned close to nuzzle his face into your ear as he hummed, "Mm, I think you're lying, lovie. I think you were jealous watching me fuck her yesterday, and today you're so bothered you can't even perform. Envy is a hell of a thing, wouldn't you say?"

His lips sucked on the tender skin of your earlobe, drawing the faintest of whimpers from your lips, and he released it with a dramatic suckle of a wet, sloppy kiss. He whispered tauntingly, "Did it make you jealous to see me cum for somebody else? To see me fuck Melaina instead of you?"

"N-no-- oh, fuck."

Tom's fingers dragged heavily through your folds, a gush of your juices immediately flooding into his open palm in response. His thumb rolled over your clit faintly, teasing the rapidly swelling bundle as he chuckled right into your ear, "Don't lie to me, darling."

That stupid name that he'd called her made you steel your resolve, stubbornly repeating, "'M not jealous, Tom. You can fuck whoever you want."

His fingers plunged into you to the knuckle, earning a loud gasp as your hands flew to his arms and clutched him tightly. "Yeah? 'S that so?" he asked, nipping the hot skin of your neck until you whined desperately, "Think I'd like a taste then, love."

This was certainly turning out far better than you'd expected. With a racing heart and a quivering breathe, you gasped, "Please, Tom." Tom's eyes narrowed at you, his expression hardening as he pinched your hip in warning. "Please, I want you to have a taste, sir."

He grinned, patting your cheek in a playful slap as he cooed, "There's my good girl. Spread your legs, darling."

Obediently, you eagerly spread your legs until your thighs were digging into the sides of your chair and shaking as you fought to keep them splayed so wide. The lace of your negligee was pulled taught and curled up over your hips at the movement, exposing all of you to Tom's greedy eyes. He licked his lips as he gazed down at his fingers still buried inside you as deep as they would go, flexing the two digits and closing his eyes as you cursed and clenched around them.

You crooned as he pulled them out and thrust them back in slowly, curling until the tips dragged over your spot lazily. "Please, sir, want your tongue, too." you pleaded, digging your thighs further into the seat as you rutted down onto his once again motionless fingers.

His eyes snapped open and he quirked his one ruffled brow playfully, "Yeah? You want my fingers and my tongue?" Tom dug the pad of his thumb into your clit deeply, pressing your button down and making your entire body spasm from the harsh stimulation, "I don't know if you deserve both, lovie. You're lucky you're even getting my fingers."

Whining, you threw your head back childishly and ground your hips into his fingers indignantly. He kept them steady, only slightly brushing your g-spot through your forced motion, and his free hand clamped down on your thigh in a bruising grip. "Please!" you begged, "Please, sir, I'll be so good!"

Your pleas molded into a shout as his lips closed suddenly around your clit, his thumb sliding aside to spread your folds open for him as he sucked at your sensitive nub harshly. Tom's fingers pulled out slowly before slamming back into you, his fist effectively punching your core and making you ache, but you moaned and begged for more. Each forceful blow pushed his fingers right into your spot, the tips curling to drag against your upper wall with every motion.

In mere moments you were seeing stars. Your stomach was tightening beyond measure, that coil winding so tight you feared you might break when it finally snapped, but you met each thrust of his hand with a jerk of your hips eagerly. His tongue flicked against your clit in rapid kitten licks, sparking your body to spasm violently each time. "I'm so close, sir!" you gasped, digging your nails into the armrest of your seat as your back arched in pleasure, "I'm gonna--"

With one last long, hard suck on your bundle, Tom pulled away from you completely. His fingers ripped away from your dripping slit and slid in between his glistening lips, that tongue swirling dramatically around the digits as he sat back on his heels much like he had in your imagination. Gaping, you huffed, "What the hell, Tom?"

He grinned devilishly, "Admit you were jealous, and I'll let you cum."

Sputtering, you spat out, "I told you I wasn't jealous."

"Mm, but I know you're lying, darling," he teased, eyes glinting playfully, "and I want to hear you admit it. You wanna cum all over my fingers and my tongue?"

You nodded hesitantly, swallowing the lump in your throat as you whispered, "Yes, sir."

He leaned in close, his nose brushing against yours and his lips ghosting over your own as he whispered, "Admit you were jealous."

Closing your eyes, you took a deep breathe. You felt hot all over with embarrassment, your skin burning and your blood boiling beneath, but fuck, you really wanted that sweet release that only he could give you. So, with trembling lips, you whispered, "I was jealous."

Eyes still closed, you jumped as his fingers brushed over your clit in a feather light touch. He pressed a slow, soft kiss to your lips that had you chasing him for more when he backed away and asked, "Are you still jealous?" One finger toyed with your slit, drawing a harsh line up and down your entrance as you resisted the urge to push further into his hand.

"Y-yes."

He chuckled, and your eyes snapped open as he backed away from you, his hand disappearing from your core. His eyes were dark in a ruthless stare as he stated, "You need to learn to share, love. Stingy girls don't get to cum." And, just like that, he retreated from the room leaving you staring after him in utter shock.

You weren't sure what you were expecting when you rocked up to Tom's apartment that night following his typical, "You up?" text. What you most certainly had not expected, though, was to find Melaina sprawled out on his sofa in nothing but a sheer negligee--nothing at all underneath. In a strange sense, you figured you should have seen it coming; what better way for Tom to torment you than to make you face the root of your jealousy?

"Mm, on second thought," you hummed, pursing your lips as you took in the woman's sensual form upon his couch, "I think I'll be going."

Turning to leave, you crashed nose first into Tom's hard chest with a muffled grunt of surprise. His hands crept around your waist in a lazy fashion, dragging the fabric of your shirt up until his warm palms found the icy chill of your bare skin. It sent a shiver down your spine, much to your own chagrin.

He pouted, jutting his lower lip out at you tauntingly as he leaned close to brush his nose along the high point of your cheek. "You've only just got here, darling," he mused, "I missed you last night. You left me all alone."

It was really pathetic how easily he broke through your walls. Despite your tireless efforts to re-stack each brick he knocked down, the feeling of his soft lips ghosting along the supple skin of your cheeks had those same cinderblocks crumbling to dust. A gentle kiss on the apple of your cheek, a fleeting peck at the slope of your forehead, one slow trail along the angle of your jaw--you were putty in his hands when his lips finally found your own.

Even as his tongue traced the outline of your lips, you desperately tried to fight his hold on you. Grumbling into his mouth, "I'm sure you could have found company elsewhere--"

Tom bit down on your lower lip, hard, and pulled until it snapped back with a loud pop that made you whimper. Yet, his eyes were tender in a way you'd never seen before as he gazed down at you longingly, whispering, "I wanted you, though."

Yeah, you were fucked.

Breathing a little heavier, you gave into your more animalistic desires in spite of the jealousy and irritation that still boiled deep within your veins. A childish, prideful part of you boasted over his words; he'd wanted you! Not Melaina, not anyone else, just you. It was utterly ridiculous.

Tom's brown eyes were warm, inviting, and curious as he waited for you to make the next move. You could see the questions bouncing around behind them; would you leave? Would you stay? But, there was a familiar glimmer of mischief buried behind the thick honey gaze that had you waiting for the other foot to fall.

Taking your lack of movement as an answer, a desire to stay, Tom pressed another kiss to your lips. Long, slow, and mind-boggling--it felt like your soul left your body with the way he curled his plush lips into yours. Already you were heating up, your body buzzing and growing hotter with desire in each second that passed.

You clawed your fingers into the hem of his shirt, scratching your nails along the flesh of his lower abdomen in a futile attempt to ground yourself. It was a frantic plea to him to hold you there, to keep you from floating away as his kiss took you to higher places. He gave a gentle hiss into your mouth at the sting, but pushed harder into your face as his hands inched higher up your back to toy with the band of your bra.

Fingers gently swept the collar of your shirt down, exposing your neck as fuller, softer lips ghosted along the line of the fabric. Wait--lips? Jumping, you reeled back from Tom's face with widened eyes to find Melaina blinking back at you, eyes blown wide with lust.

"What are you--"

Tom popped the clasp of your bra with ease, looking down at you with darkened irises. "Is this okay?" he asked, glancing at Melaina who was waiting beside your twisted, intertwined bodies for approval.

Her fingers swirled slow, tingling circles on your hip, lip caught between pearly, white teeth as she watched you with enraptured intensity. Two minutes ago, the word no would have spilled from your lips without a moment of hesitation--but now? Now, as your eyes lingered on the swollen, bitten lower lip that called for you to taste it; as you trailed them lower to admire the perfectly soft curve on every inch of her body, it wasn't so clear.

There was a supple rise of her chest with every breathe, hardened nipples poking through the transparent fabric of her dress. Rounded breasts upon a gentle, sloping waist, wide hips that certainly gave way to a perfect handful of ass and thigh, all leading the eye down the length of her sculpted legs. Melaina was like a work of art, and every inch of her that you admired sent tingles through your body.

Glancing back at Tom, you nearly moaned out loud. Her eyes burned the side of your face, but it was nothing compared to the heat of Tom's stare into your very soul. It sucked the breathe out of you and left you feeling dizzy, your vision darkening until all you could see were the artful angles of his face.

You spoke hoarsely, swallowing down the lump that formed in your throat, "Yes."

Tom's mouth parted against yours in an instant, his hot tongue slipping inside and making your eyes roll back as Melaina pressed her body against your side and latched onto your neck. Sucking, biting, rolling the soft muscle of her tongue all along each sharp nibble to soothe the tender flesh--it was an overload of sensation all at once. You didn't know where to put your hands as they both crept theirs all over your body.

It was impossible to decipher where one ended and the other began. Whose hand was that gripping your ass? Whose were peeling your bra straps down our arms under your sleeves? Who was slipping their thumbs along the waistband of your pants, tickling your hot, sensitive skin?

Moaning, you gasped, "Please!"

You weren't even sure what you were asking for, but Melaina quickly stepped aside to let Tom pull your shirt over your head as your bra fell to the floor at your feet. He admired your chest for a long moment, palms cupping the swell of your breasts as his thumbs rolled over the stiffened peaks of your nipples, earning a muffled groan from you. Licking his lips, he stepped back and waved the eagerly waiting woman forward.

As Melaina devoured your chest, you followed him with your gaze through heavy lidded eyes. He watched on with an indecipherable glint in his eyes, lips glistening with a mixture of your saliva and his own. Those long lashes fluttered as he dragged his tongue slowly over the plump of his lower lip, nostrils flaring in a sharp inhale as if he were tasting you all over again.

Her lips were wrapped tightly around your left nipple when he finally disappeared behind you, a shiver wracking your body when his fingers caressed the arch of your spine in a fluttering touch. Chest pressed warmly to your bare back, he dipped low to mix his own marks with the ones she had left behind. You dropped your head back onto his shoulder, lulling to the side to expose the entirety of your throat to him in submission.

When had he removed his shirt? The bare skin of his torso was scorching on your back, matching the heat of his tongue dipping in your collarbone in time with a twirl of hers around your other nipple. Fingers, hands, lips, tongues everywhere; your body was reaching its boiling point.

"Come to bed with us?" Tom's husky whisper directly into the shell of your ear had you whining, arching your back until your behind rolled harshly into his crotch. His length ground into you roughly, a quiet groan escaping his lips at the stimulation, "Fuck, darling, you like this?"

Weakly, barely able to focus through all the pleasurable touches to your body, you whispered, "Yes, yes, sir. Please."

You should have known it wouldn't last. You should have anticipated the shift in Tom's attitude, revealing his true intentions to you as he lead you by the wrist into his bedroom to find a dining chair at the side of his bed. But, you blinked up at him dumbfounded as he held up a silk tie before your face with a devilish grin.

Melaina stretched out on the bed with a hand between her legs, knees propped open wide as she touched herself lazily and watched you closely. Glancing at the tie, then the chair, and then Tom's arrogant smirk, you mumbled, "What is that?"

He just chuckled throatily, grinning as he hummed, "Sit in the chair, darling." You blinked again, frozen in place, "Sit, now, or I promise you'll not like the outcome."

Instinctively, your knees crumbled until you fell into the chair with a frown. He snatched your wrists roughly, twisting them behind the back of the chair until the backs of your hands touched and you whined in protest, "That hurts, Tom."

He pulled further, a sharp ache burning through the muscles of your arms as they dug harshly into the back of the chair. "Watch it, (Y/N)." he growled.

"Sorry, sir." you muttered pitifully, eyes downcast to avoid the amused smile on Melaina's face, "What's going on?"

Tom didn't answer you for a long while, taking his time to tie your wrists with the tie until he was certain you couldn't break free. Testing the restraints, you pouted as the fabric didn't yield in any way to your tugs. He hummed under his breathe in appreciation, though, stroking a finger up the length of your arm as he rounded to face you again.

Melaina sat up and leaned into the arm he reached out toward her, your gut twisting bitterly at the sight of her purring under his touch like a cat. "I told you, darling, that stingy girls don't get to cum." he restated his words from earlier, and your body burned with embarrassment, "So, I'm going to teach you to share. You're gonna sit there and watch me, and you're going to deal with it like a big girl. Understood?"

"But I--"

"Do you understand?" Tom hissed, eyes narrowing in a fierce glare that dared you to challenge him further. You couldn't miss the way his fingers twitched, the familiar sting of his palm on your behind ghosting over the skin in anticipation of impact. He remained rooted in place, though, leaning into Melaina's body that was steadily wrapping further around him.

Her lips were on his chest, leaving a flurry of angry purple marks that made you want to scream like a child. "I understand, sir." you grumbled, slumping into the seat.

He smiled, "Good."

It was as if you disappeared from the room entirely in that instant. He turned to Melaina, completely absorbed in her presence as his hands slid around her waist to grab fistfuls of her ass. Groaning, he squeezed the flesh tighter until she whimpered. Your own body ignited in shame and jealousy, fingers clenching into fists that tugged uselessly against their bonds.

The sound of their lips smacking as they kissed, wet and sloppy sounds that echoed in your ears, made you want to whine. How had it come to this, when only moments ago they were kissing you like that? Was this the only reason you were here?

You watched on with an aching core, racing heart, and sweaty palms as the heat intensified between them. There was that chemistry you'd witnessed on set--their movements so in sync it seemed as if they were connected spiritually, a perfect flow of seamless give and take. It was almost painful to watch.

The jealousy that tore you to shreds was not from a desire to be the only woman in Tom's life, though a selfish part of you did secretly relish in the thought. It was an aching, grotesque and petty desire to know that you were the best. You were jealous of the way he found pleasure in someone else, when all you wanted was to know that you were unmatched. You were jealous to feel his touch on your body, and some part of you was growing desirous of hers as well.

It was a purely physical sort of envy; no feelings attached. Or, at least that's what you told yourself. In some sense there had to be a sort of emotional drive behind it, but it was easier to tell yourself it was stupid pride instead of murky, confusing feelings.

Your eyes clenched shut as you bit back a huff of frustration. Melaina's moans grew louder, until she shrieked, "Please, daddy, wanna feel you!"

There was a smack and a rustle, and when you opened your eyes Tom had shoved Melaina flat onto her stomach. The skin of her still rippling ass was reddened in a blazing hand print, his hand rubbing over the mark soothingly. "You wanna feel daddy's cock, princess?" he growled, "Think (Y/N) deserves to watch?"

"Yes, daddy," Melaina murmured, "want her to watch. Want her to see how good I make you feel."

The green eyed monster in your head was stomping circles through your brain, screeching over the cruelty of the situation. Yet, you kept your lips pursed shut as you glared back at Tom with just as much ferocity. He wasn't going to see you break; you'd come out of this on top, you were sure of it. You weren't going to let him see that she'd hit the root of your jealousy right on it's ugly, rearing head with her words.

You scoffed, and he glared at you with a sort of intensity that made your legs quiver, but you faced his scowl head on with a ferocity of your own to match. You wouldn't let him see that she'd hit the root of your jealousy right on its ugly, rearing head with those words; if he wanted to play, then you were going to play just as hard.

Or, maybe you were just emboldened by the fact that he hadn't called her darling again. Either way, you stared him in the eye until he looked away from you with a clenched jaw and twitching hand. Your first, and only, victory of the night.

It was torture. He moaned as he pushed into her, eyes clenching shut and hands squeezing at her flesh desperately when he bottomed out with his hips buried into her bottom. Yet, you couldn't decide which method of suffering was worse; to keep your eyes opened or closed.

Open, you had to watch his face contort with pleasure and the way he interacted with her eager, willing body. Closed, you had to listen to the sounds they made and feel the way your body reacted in accordance. You were dripping onto the seat, angry tears pooling in your eyes, and your arms were going numb from their restrained position.

"Eyes open, darling." Tom ordered, and you bit back the curse that bubbled to your lips. He watched you with hooded eyes until you met his gaze, immediately blocking you out again to focus on the messy, fucked out woman on his bed. She was wailing, and you were trying your best not to join in the chorus.

He was going an an unrelenting pace, each brutish thrust of his hips eliciting a strangled cry from Melaina. She was clawing at the sheets, incrementally crawling away from him until he pulled her back with a forceful tug of her hips. "Daddy, 'm gonna cum!" she moaned, breathless.

You squirmed in your seat, bottom sliding slickly over the wooden surface from how much you'd pooled into it. "Come on, princess. Cum f'me." he urged, voice strained as he rocked his hips faster into her. The sound of skin against skin mixed with the damp sounds from his force into her slick echoed loudly through the room, but it was unparalleled to the unrestrained scream the tore from her throat.

Watching with wide eyes and strained, clenched thighs, you gasped as Melaina arched into the bed wildly. Her actions were so over the top you'd have assumed they were theatrics, if it weren't for the way you could see her physically quivering with full body shivers. Fuck, why couldn't that have been you?

Tom pulled out of her roughly, turning on you and clambering off of his bed to lean over you. His hands wrapped around the arms of the chair tightly, the muscle of his arms rippling as he gripped it so tight the wood creaked. "Learned your lesson yet, darling?" he demanded, nose to nose with you.

Nodding desperately, you gasped, "Yes, sir."

He disappeared from view, Melaina still crumpled into the bed and spent as she breathed heavily. When his fingers brushed your wrists, untying them slowly, you nearly wept with relief. Finally, he was going to touch you.

Pulling you up from the chair, Tom gripped your chin firmly as his thumb tugged at your bottom lip. "Want me to touch you, darling?" You nodded, begging him with your eyes and whining when he chuckled, "You have to earn it."

He sat back on the bed, scooting until his back was propped against the headboard with his legs spread wide. Patting the space between them, he beckoned you forward until you were perched between his knees on your own. You yelped as Melaina crept up behind you, hands sneaking up the skin of your back until they rested lightly on your shoulders, but you relaxed into her touch as she pressed a feather light kiss to your neck.

As she nipped at the skin, blossoming a new mark amidst all the ones she'd left before, Tom grinned deviously. "Let's make a deal, darling," he breathed, "if you can stop yourself from cumming all over her tongue, I'll let you come on my cock."

You squeaked as her fingers dipped down the front of your body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake as she drew nearer to where you were aching for any sort of touch. Deep down you knew how hard it would be not to finish at any sort of stimulation due to how worked up and ravenously needy you were, but if there was a chance to get Tom where you wanted him then you were going to take it. So, you nodded, "Please."

Melaina pushed you forward until you were bent over, propped up on your knees and elbows. Tom's length was straining against his thigh, and he flexed as your slightly frantic breathing blew across the sensitive skin. He reached out a hand to caress your cheek before winding it to the back of your head, pulling you closer until you wrapped your lips around the tip.

You groaned in sync with him as you felt her blow a cool breeze on your clit, your legs nearly buckling as she forced them apart with her hands. Stars were bursting behind your eyes the very moment she drew a line through your folds with her tongue, but Tom's shove against your head kept you grounded. Focusing, you pushed forward until your nose was buried in his pelvis and he moaned loudly.

Her taste was still all over him. Pulling back until you only held his tip in your mouth again, you swirled your tongue around the head and parted your lips to let your spit soak down his length entirely. You looked up and blinked at him coyly, flattening your tongue under his tip and sucking hard until he clenched his eyes shut and raked his nails into your scalp roughly.

Going down again, you gagged around him and tears sprung to your eyes when he held you there. He was choking you, but you weren't thinking about air--all you could think about was how hard it was not to reflexively clamp down each time Melaina tweaked your clit just right, sending spasms through your entire body.

You were fighting hard to keep from going overboard, your stomach twisted up in knots so tight you felt compressed. Explosive, even. He was moaning above you, dragging your head up and down his length slowly, and there were shockwaves of vibrations in your core as Melaina hummed along with him.

Finally, as you took all of him again and squeezed his thigh with your nails digging in, Tom hissed and pulled you off of him. "On your back, now." he commanded, and Melaina jumped back just in time for you to hastily slide into position. "Fuck, need you so bad, darling."

His hands were hot as they slid up your thighs, spreading your legs apart until he could slip between them and crawl over your body. "Needed you last night, lovie, but you decided to ignore me like a brat." he growled, and you flinched as he dropped to his elbows over you suddenly, "Don't even deserve to feel me, you know that?"

"Please," you whined, "I'm sorry I ignored you, I'll never do it again."

Tom dragged his tip roughly through your folds, scowling at you when you bucked your hips into him, "Do that again and you'll go back in the chair."

You froze, and he hummed in approval before continuing his teasing. Up and down, up and down, up and down, he dragged himself over your entrance and clit until you were shaking with need. Each slow rock of his length through your folds was adding fuel to the fire raging within you, your eyes threatening to roll back from the surface level stimulation alone.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally eased into you slowly. You moaned breathlessly, clenching around him and fisting the sheets in a plea for him to just fuck you already. "Fucking love your cunt, darling," he groaned, eyes falling shut in bliss, "perfect little pussy, all for me. This all mine, lovie?"

"Yes, sir." you groaned, arching off the bed as he pushed deeper against you, "All yours."

He pulled back, dragging slowly against your walls until he slipped out of you entirely and left you feeling empty. But then he forced his way back in roughly, jolting you backward on the bed under the force of his thrust. Your lips opened in a silent yell, hands flying up to claw at his back desperately.

Tom's face dropped into your shoulder, mouthing open kisses into the skin that burned like fire. He picked up his pace with a steady, deep roll of his hips against yours that made you shiver all over. Your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, trapping him against you as you gripped his shoulders heavily.

Your eyes were clenched shut in pleasure as you felt him continue to push roughly against that spot deep inside, sending sparks through out your entire body. The coil in your belly had already been strung so tightly you'd feared you'd burst at the first moment of contact, but you were doing your best to fight it off. You wanted this moment, this feeling of him filling you to the brim, to last forever.

But, Tom shuddered above you and moaned into your ear, "Shit, 'm not gonna last, darling."

He pushed deeper into you with his next thrust, grinding your hips into the mattress as he put his weight behind it. You yelped and your hands left his back to find his face, pulling his lips down to yours in a feverish kiss. It was sloppy, all tongue and clashing teeth, but it matched the desperate, animalistic rhythm of his hips perfectly.

That coil inside you was sparking now, fizzling with pent up energy just begging to burst. "Please, please, please, let me cum, Tom." you begged, and he groaned as you said his name, "Please, Tommy!"

With a sharp snap of his hips, Tom pushed off the bed on one elbow and reached his hand down to the apex of your thighs. His fingers met your clit harshly, swirling rapid circles around your swollen bundle as he stared down at you like a starved man. "Say my name again, darling."

"Tom!"

His fingers moved faster, harder, deeper in time with his thrusts that pushed you to heights you'd never felt from him. His eyes were clenched shut and his lips pulled back in a grimace, jaw clenching as his curls slid all over his forehead in a sweaty mess. He looked beautiful like that--all messy and fucked out, desperate to reach that high that you were pushing him toward.

Your legs were shaking wildly, and your stomach was burning as your muscles began to contract. It was the buildup to the explosive release, and you cried out, "Gonna cum, Tommy, yes! You feel so--oh, fuck!"

Wailing, you clamped your legs around his waist and squeezed your eyes shut so tightly it hurt. The coil snapped and you shrieked, his tip ramming into your g-spot over and over as he fucked you through your high. It felt like you couldn't even breathe, couldn't think, couldn't anything anymore. All you could do was feel him inside you, pushing through your pulsing walls as his fingers continued to rub your clit like a madman.

"Fucking--fuck!" he gritted, hips faltering, "Love it when you say my name, (Y/N). Sounds so perfect coming from your pretty lips."

You were desperate to get him there, feeling the way he was shuddering with each thrust as his body protested the exertion. "Tom, please," you begged, feeling the coil in your belly tightening up again, "cum for me. Wanna feel you fill me up, Tommy."

He slammed into you harder than he had all night, making your pelvis ache but you saw white. The world faded away as you burst into the crescendo again, your throat burning as you cried out loudly. Just when you were about to tap out and push him away because it was all too much, he rolled into you deeply and collapsed onto your chest.

So high in your own climax, you barely felt his cock pulsing against your walls as you milked him of every last drop. It was the warmth, though, that brought you back down to earth. The deep, warmth that filled you up had you sighing and sucking in air desperately, blinking up at the ceiling as Tom breathed heavily into your neck.

The two of you laid there like that for awhile, fighting to catch your breathe as your hearts raced against each other's chests. It wasn't until your vision finally cleared and you could breathe a little more freely, though, that a thought popped into your head, "Where did Melaina go?"

Tom laughed, his chest rumbling against yours as he nuzzled his face into your shoulder with a tender kiss to the sweaty skin. "Mm, don't know. She probably left."

"Oh," you muttered, "I didn't notice."

You hoped he didn't notice how you smiled as he hummed back, "Neither did I, darling."

Curled up in Tom's bed, you shivered as his fingers traced lazy shapes into the bare skin of your thigh that was draped over his own. On his night stand sat two abandoned cups of tea, growing colder by the minute, but neither one of you was in any hurry to reach for them. You were content to just lay there in his embrace, soaking up his warmth.

This was what you'd grown to love the most over the past few months of hooking up with Tom. The sex was great, the orgasms mind blowing, but the time spent just enjoying each other's company afterwards was your favorite part. It felt nice to just be close to him, to feel connected to him in a more domestic sense.

"You know there's nothing to be jealous of, yeah?" he asked, suddenly, and you craned your neck back to look at him curiously. His cheeks were reddened slightly as he peered down at you with tender, timid eyes.

Sheepishly, you shrugged, "It's ridiculous, I know."

He frowned slightly, but the crease between his brows melted as you blinked up at him with wide eyes. "Nothing you feel is ridiculous, (Y/N)," he stated, "and it's okay to be jealous. You think I never felt shitty seeing you with any of the other guys you filmed with?"

The flush on his face deepened at his confession, but you grinned. He felt it too? "Really?" you asked, trying your best to keep from giving him total puppy dog eyes.

"Really." he repeated you, snorting when you grinned wider, "And, you don't need to be jealous of anyone. You're the only one who ends up right here in my bed, like this. Only one I want to be here, darling."

You buried your face into his chest with a flustered giggle, and he chuckled as his arms wrapped around you a little tighter. In a desperate need to keep things from getting too serious, still raw over everything you'd felt the past couple of days, you teased, "Mm, I'm only here for the tea--Tom!"

He dug his fingers into your ribs, fighting through your squeals and slaps as you tried to escape him. Easily, though, he got the upper hand and rolled until you were pinned beneath him. With twinkling eyes, a mixture of emotions you couldn't read, he taunted, "Admit it, (Y/N), you're in love with me."

In love with Tom? Your mind went blank as you stared up at him, but he just grinned down at you. There was a little flutter in your belly, and his eyes sparkled a brighter at your shiver. He knew. He knew the truth.

"Nah, it's definitely the tea--"

"Why, I oughta!"

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saiqherrr · 3 years

Text

.eight strokes (t. fushiguro)

.content warning/tags breeding kink, knife play, slight bdsm, oral sex, fingering

.pairing toji x femreader

.synopsis you're tired of being cheated on by toji like always, he comforts you with sex.

.a/n i wrote this awhile ago and i just added some stuff to it. yeah whatever enjoy.

"YOU’RE A LIAR," you spat out.

you moved across the room, your sheer robe trailing behind your feet. toji sat on the edge of the bed and watched you walk by intently. he liked it when you were all amped up and angry. the way you walked with such hostility was amusing to him—it was a turn-on that he would never admit. an egotistical smile spread across his strong face as he pondered on how he could use your anger to his advantage. he loved driving you insane. he liked watching you try to figure him out. you stood in front of the vanity mirror, fifteen light bulbs in front of you illuminating your skin. you were about to get ready for a bath. toji's smirk stayed on his face as he leaned back on his arms and let out a heavy breath, not even responding to what you had said. you could see his irritating reflection in the mirror, watching as he confidently decided not to respond to you. you whipped your head around, glaring at him with your nostrils flaring just a bit. "you're not even going to deny it?"

a low chuckle rumbled in his chest as he sat up again. his black, fitted t-shirt tightened itself around his built body, showing off his masculine pecks. "i'm just letting you believe what you want. you can call me a liar, it's not like i can change your mind."

you scoffed and raised your eyebrows in amazement of how heartless he could be. you wonder how you put up with this. he cheated on you countless times and you forgave him every time. he knew that you were always aware, but getting you riled up was just some game to him. your face relaxed, but your eyebrow twitched with annoyance as you turned away, looking down at the cosmetics that were sprawled on the table. for a few moments, it was silent until you spoke once more. "you could've tried," you mumble.

toji’s head shot up with curiosity. he looked at your disconsolate face that reflected in the mirror. he raised an eyebrow. "what was that?"

hearing his voice response with such a cocky tone pissed you off. "i said you've could've tried!” you met his condescending gaze in the mirror’s reflection. toji was born with beady, green eyes, however, they were cold and dark. sometimes you felt like you were staring at nothing when you looked at those menacing orbs of his. you felt your eyes burning and you blinked profusely, trying to stop the irritation. you unintentionally let a tear fall and you swallowed whatever hysterical meltdown was inching its way up your throat back down. you turned away, feeling embarrassed and weak for crying in front of toji. "this is so stupid.."

toji got up from the bed and he crossed his arms around his body, grabbing both sides of his shirt, pulling it up and off. he let the piece of fabric fall to the floor, making you glance over at it for a second. he took a step closer to you and put his rough, defined hands on your shoulders, rubbing them a bit. you still kept your head down, trying not to react in anyway to what he was doing. he pushed your hair aside tenderly and planted his scarred, yet soft, lips onto the back of your ear. these soft kisses traveled to the side of your neck, and then to the back and stopped on your upper back. with each kiss you could hear his lips ever-so-lightly smacking together when they returned from their puckered position. when he stopped kissing, all you could feel was his hot breath hitting the back of your neck, which slightly comforted you. he took his thumb and index finger and pinched the thin bath robe that covered you and took it from off your shoulders. it slowly melted off of your body and fell to the floor, covering your feet. from there, toji admired the wine-colored bra and underwear that you had on.

when toji stopped moving, you looked up into the mirror and his eyes quickly met yours. he narrowed his eyes and leaned forward a bit, right beside your head.

"if this is so stupid, why won't you stop me?" he whispered into your ear. his voice was gruff and his tone was painfully cocksure.

that was a question even you couldn’t answer. you finally gave in, seeing no point in fighting this and put your head back to give him more access. "i don't know..." you answered truthfully.

"do you want me to stop?" he paused for a moment and waited for your answer.

you rolled your eyes and let out a shaky breath. "no."

"that's good, y/n," he muses. he lets his hand fall right into place on your lower back and turns you around so you were facing him. he chuckles at how submissive you had become in only a few seconds. the chuckle vibrated against your lips when he kissed you, his left hand resting on your chin. his other hand traveled to the table behind you and it instinctively searched for the pocket knife that he had left there this morning. he kept you focused on him, moving his tongue a different way to keep you searching for it. the kissing was sloppy, as you didn’t have his full, undivided attention. once toji felt the semi-heavy weapon, he gripped it tightly and then opened it up in one smooth motion. his lips left yours, leaving them cold, and his lips were flushed red and puffy. that left hand moved from your chin to grabbing the entirety of your face, squeezing your cheeks aggressively before letting go and sliding his hand down to your neck.

he put the dull side of the blade on your cheek and slid it down slowly. the coldness of the knife made you cringe. toji stared into your soul. "bed."

you quickly complied as if you were a dog following commands you walked over to the bed and, by default, got into toji’s favorite position. your hands sunk into the mattress of the bed as you were on your knees, your plump butt in the air. he harshly smacked her ass once and you yelp from excitement. you giggled as you brought yourself down and rolled onto your back, looking up at him with pleading eyes. toji took the pocket knife and started cutting away at your underwear, tearing it so he could lay his green orbs on your pretty pussy. he ran his long tongue along his bottom lip, feeling the heat of his erection against his thigh. you open your legs a little more so he could see the sticky mess that was waiting for him, your little cunt tightening with anticipation. he smiled, feeling proud to have trained you to be so giving.

he put the knife down beside your body leaned down, burying his face in between your legs, licking you up once. you jolted, for the movement was so sudden and so quick. his black locks of hair lightly tickled your skin. “you have such a pretty pussy, sweetheart.” he takes his tongue and lets it explore your needy cunt, your walls pulsating around it. he pressed a small kiss to your glistening folds and took two fingers and began to pump them inside of you.

your small whimpers and quick breaths gradually became full, loud moans ecstasy was written all over your face.

"no moaning." toji commands casually. it wasn’t an easy task. you gave him a desperate look as you swallowed down a persistent moan. toji adored it when you were inaudible and all that can be heard is the reckless breathing from you trying to refrain yourself. he loved those straining faces you make when you’re felt up like this. "moan and i carve my name into your stomach. that's eight strokes. be a good girl, for me, will ya’?" you nodded weakly and left your mouth open. he let the blade dance along your stomach, poking it, but not going all the way. he stopped pumping his fingers in your cunt momentarily to pull his cock from out of his boxers. he fisted himself a few times as he eyed your drooling cunt. you watched him beat his dick impatiently. his tip was a darker shade than the rest of his length, which was flushed red from his erection. it was leaking small droplets of pre-cum, making your stomach twist. he bit his lip and groaned deeply.

finally, he grabbed your hips, digging crescent-shaped dents into your skin and he pushed his throbbing cock into your tight pussy. you didn't have time to prepare and hold yourself back from a moan. it slipped through your lips regrettably and toji smirked, feeling amused. he hissed as he felt you tighten around him, clenching so hard as he got deeper. he picked up the knife again and let the sharp side press into the skin on your lower stomach, near your hip. you could feel the slight pinch of pain but it was so hard to even care as he continued to slowly pound himself into you. he slid it across in a horizontal line and watched her skin become irritated and redden from the tiny slit. he dropped it when he was finished.

you closed your eyes tightly and panted like a worn out dog. you could feel moans trying to force themselves out but forcing them back down required you to physically move. you squirmed and toji watched with annoyance. he got closer to you again and kept you restrained, pinning your arms down with both of his rough hands. his big cock continued to ram into your rigid walls. you fluttered around his dick as you felt yourself getting close to a climax. “i’m getting close- fuck!” his face was inches away from yours, noses bumping a couple of times. the bed rocked ferociously, hitting the wall over and over as he gradually got more aggressive. toji knew you too damn well. he could see it in your face that you were going to moan. he took one hand and picked up the knife again. his pace slowed down until it came to a stop, leaving you visibly upset.

you tried to shut yourself up but toji wanted to toy with you some more. "you'll do whatever i say, right?" toji asked as he casually finished the "t" in her stomach. he didn't put the knife down.

"yeah," you whisper, panting heavily, trying to catch your breath.

toji smirked at your compliant response. "then make some noise for me, baby." without any hint or warning, he inserted himself back inside of you again, fucking you like a feral beast. he fucked you like it was the last time he would get to. clapping noises echoed throughout the room as his skin made constant contact with yours and you still kept trying to reject your moans. "don't fight it." that was all you needed to hear to loose yourself.

you let out an ecstatic sigh. you lustily moaned out your "oohs" and "ahhs". it was music to toji's ears, and all the while, he was finishing off the "i" in your stomach. you didn't even notice he was finishing his name. blood was seeping through your skin and toji smudged it on your stomach. “such a good girl...”

toji felt himself reaching his climax. “i’m gonna cum, where do you want it?”

when you didn’t respond fast enough, he grabbed your throat. “where do you want it?” he asked again through gritted teeth.

“inside... o-of me, please...” you babbled. it was so hard to speak.

“you want me to cum inside you? you dirty fucking cunt...”

“yes, please...”

your body was overcome by a familiar feeling. electricity ran through your body as your nerves began to move at lightening speed. your pussy was fluttering around his fat cock and at last, he started to cum on his dick. “fuck a baby into me, please.”

“you want me to fuck. a. baby. in. you?” his words matched the slow pace of his strokes as pushed himself further inside of you while he started to ejaculate. you let out a dragged ‘yes’ as he climaxed. he filled you up and when he pulled out, he watched it overflow in her sore hole. he pushed himself inside of you once more to keep all of his cum inside of your gaping cunt. he rubbed your clit & fingered you vigorously to help you cum for a second time. once unrestrained, your passion was urgent, desperate, and critical, but toji forced you to yield to his slow pace, his unhurried touch, bringing her, again and again, to the edge of rapture and then denying her, until she wanted to beg for more.

finally, he felt you leaking onto his fingers. it was warm and sticky, yet considerably runny, and his lips parted. he licked his own fingers and watched you struggle to keep your eyes open. he leaned over you and gazed at your exhausted face for a while. you gaze back at him lazily and brought your head up a little bit slightly to kiss him, only grazing his lips. it was a simple kiss and it surprisingly felt more intimate than other kisses you guys had ever had.

when your lips parted from his, you were suddenly reminded that you weren’t the only one he kissed like that. "this isn't special to you, is it?" you say to him. your voice is raspy.

toji softened for a moment, his pupils getting larger, happy to be looking at you. "i don't like kissing." for once, he was telling the truth. for a moment, you were confused but soon realized what he meant. he only kisses me. "and no other person has my name carved into them." you ran his fingers through his hair and toji buried his head in crook of your neck.

#jujutsu kaisen toji #toji imagine #toji x y/n #toji smut #toji zenin #toji x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk fanfic

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maddieinwonder · 3 years

Text

A Lesson In Romance #7: False Start

Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Just a lot of awkward vibes hahaha

Word Count: 1.7k

Plot: Reader keeps getting caught in rom-com situations with Spencer Reid. This time, they try to confess their feelings.

A/N: I didn’t actually manage to include the definition of a False Start in the chapter itself, so I’ll add it at the end. No spoilers for now!

Masterlist | All chapters here!

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It took you 24 hours to decide that you were going to do something about your feelings for the good doctor. Pretty quick, considering you were a living, breathing rom-com cynic. But as ancient Greek philosopher, Heraclitus, once said: "The only constant in life is change".

Specifically, change happened after you woke up in your cute co-worker and dear friend's arms and you wanted nothing more than to get back into them as fast as possible.

But by the universal laws of working in the BAU, catching a break seemed to be the hardest when you actually wanted one.

Firstly, it was like every serial killer in the country decided to cancel their vacations simultaneously, swamping the team with urgent case after case. At this point, you were more familiar with the couch on the jet than your bed at home, and everyone was feeling the strain.

Secondly, if you weren't sleeping, you were usually out in the field chasing unsubs with Derek or Rossi. You had stopped holding out hope for being paired with Spencer — on account of your areas of specialty overlapping too much, and Hotch not being the type of leader to waste his resources — and as a result:

Thirdly, getting even ten minutes alone with the genius became an impossible task, and not for lack of trying either. At the start of the month, the two of you had tried to adapt your breakfast ritual to the road, but it always got interrupted mid-coffee order or even at the ding of the lift. Not that you and Spencer stopped trying, no, but your patience was wearing thin.

So you did something you hadn't done since you submitted your application to join the BAU — you prayed for a chance.

Because every day that you didn't admit your feelings to the doctor was another day fighting the compulsion to tell somebody else about them, and god only knows what a room full of profilers (and one nosy tech analyst) would do with that kind of information.

Then, out of the blue, the door of opportunity opened.

After two weeks of straight travel, the team had earned a well-deserved one night’s rest in your own beds before dealing with a local case, bright and early tomorrow morning. And since your flight landed at 2am and all the trains had stopped by then, this gave you the perfect shot to execute your plan.

Unfortunately, you forgot to take into account the most important factor — your nerves.

It didn't help that Derek had wolf-whistled in the carpark as the two of you walked off in the same direction, nor that Spencer immediately put your favourite album into the CD player out of instinct; an overly domestic action that made your heart beat even faster.

But it was when you arrived in front of his apartment building that you felt the worst of it. As you tried to summon the right words to your lips, your heart hammered in your chest and your thoughts jumbled themselves into nonsense.

"Are you ok?" Spencer asked, snapping you out of your anxious spiral instantly. "You don't look so well."

"I-I'm fine." Your fingers twitched nervously.

"Doesn't seem like it." He looked down at your hands, and you cursed your subconscious brain for giving you away. Then, he placed a hand over yours and your heart stopped.

"You're not alright, that's for sure, but it seems like it's just sleep deprivation." He assessed, bending slightly to look at your face. "You can't drive in this state. Do you want to come in?”

Your head snapped up to meet his gaze, ready to protest, but Spencer beat you to it. "Let’s go. You wanted to talk about something, right?" He called out, already one foot out of the car.

Before you could realise what was happening, you found yourself sitting on Spencer's couch holding a warm cup of tea.

This was the first time you were in his apartment. Yet, it was exactly what you thought it'd be like. Every wall was lined with bookshelves, filled to max capacity with books of every topic imaginable from neuroscience to philosophy. Those that didn't make it to the shelves were found in random stacks around his apartment, standing out against his forest green walls.

"Did you know that chamomile tea is a natural remedy for insomnia? In fact, it is commonly regarded as a mild tranquilizer. It's calming effects may be attributed to the antioxidant apigenin, which binds to specific receptors in your brain that initiate sleep and reduce anxiety." He explained, walking over with his own mug.

"I actually did know that." You smiled. The tea seemed to work its magic because you did feel relaxed, and you must have looked it too, because the worried frown disappeared off Spencer's face.

"Didn't know you were a tea person." You commented lightly, blowing the steam from your mug.

"There's a lot of things you don't know about me." He replied mysteriously, and you raised your eyebrows.

Spencer's apartment was too quiet, no rumbling fridge or quiet radio playing in the background to make your awkward silence any less pronounced. It was then that you noticed he didn't have a TV. Somehow this fact didn't surprise you very much.

"You... you wanted to talk to me about something?" He broke the silence, looking down at the hot tea swirling in his mug.

Right. You were here to talk about your feelings. Your face flushed as you tried to summon your willpower, again.

"I wanted to tell you something—" You began shakily. "But before that, I just want to preface, we can ignore this entire thing if you don't agree. I mean, I really enjoy our friendship as it is, and I wouldn't want to do anything to affect tha—"

"Wait." Spencer interrupted urgently, before catching himself. "Sorry, um, before that, can I say something?"

"Um, ok, shoot." You replied meekly, trying to hide your relief behind a long sip of tea. There was a pause as he gathered his thoughts, and you might have been seeing things, but he looked almost... nervous?

"The day we met, I calculated the probability of meeting somebody that shared my exact coffee order and the result was almost one in a million.” He finally spoke, lifting his head to meet your gaze. “That probability decreased when I factored in working together, sharing the same interests, and... and how I enjoyed spending time with you more than with anybody else."

Spencer cleared his throat, a blush coming onto his cheeks.

"Ever since then... my life just started making sense. I know I’m a scientist, not a poet, and I could tell you all the statistics about relationships in the world, but when it comes to you...”

His cheeks were crimson now, as he ran his fingers through his hair. You had a feeling yours looked the same.

"I guess, what I'm trying to say, is that I think you're beautiful and smart, and I have no idea what you see in me, but I'd really—"

Suddenly, both your phones buzzed violently against his coffee table, jolting you out of the moment. You leaned over in a trained motion, only to see exactly what you expected:

Garcia: No rest for the wicked, crime fighters. Conference room in 30.

Penny: No rest for the wicked, crime fighters. Conference room in 30.

You let out a sigh you didn't realise you were holding, and Spencer looked over at you, doe-eyed and nervous.

“The case?" He asked quietly.

There was a silence filled with words unsaid. "We should go." He said finally. "If we leave now, we can still make it on time."

You only nodded in response, more out of duty than desire, and gulped down the rest of your tea. The thought of what he was about to say burned down your throat.

Driving away from Spencer’s apartment was torturous. The doctor hadn’t said anything to you since he entered the car, only fiddling with his bag as he looked out the window. It was too dark to read his expression, but you wondered if he could still hear the way he called you “beautiful”, or whether the moment had already dissolved into the space between you.

Luckily, you didn’t need to wait long for an answer, as Spencer tugged on your sleeve before you exited the carpark, his face scrunched in worry.

"I really didn't mean for that to be so... weird. Can we talk about this again after the case?" He asked softly, and despite every semblance of logic left in your brain, you couldn’t stop the hope from blooming in your chest and you smiled.

That was when Spencer did something completely uncharacteristic. (You didn't know this at the time, but it was something that you would tease him about for a long time after.)

In one fluid movement, the doctor pulled you into a tight hug that elicited a squeak from you, but it only took a second for the initial shock to wear off before you relaxed completely into his warm touch. He took that as a sign to continue, burying his head into your shoulder and letting out a content sigh.

Unlike waking up to your bodies intertwined, nothing about this was a mistake. Not the way his fingers stroked your back peacefully, nor the way his curly hair tickled your cheek. You felt the stress of the past two weeks melt away in his embrace, and so did any coherent thought, except one: normal friends didn't hug each other like this.

Later when the two of you finally entered the conference room, miraculously still on time, nobody commented on the smiles plastered on your faces but everybody could tell. They were profilers after all.

But for the first time in awhile, you were just too happy to care.

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Tag List:

@blue-space-porgs @nobutalsoyes @lady-loves-a-lot @queen-flower @oops-all-ajs @spottedzebrasinpartyhats @agentcarterisgay @totalmess191 @sapphic-prentiss @mellowalieneggsknight || @averyhotchner @amesandpineapples @willowrose99

Definition of a False Start here

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kookiesjoonies · 4 years

Text

come home | myg.

another collab w/ my platonic soulmate, @ppersonna, abt bad hookups and how members of bts fix it n make you feel good. it took me awhile to get my part up, so i want to thank lindy for the millionth time for being so patient. i hope u all enjoy. read her part of this collab w/ jin here!

main pairing: min yoongi x reader (exes to lovers)

fic type: one shot

word count: 3.2k

genre: smut

warnings: language, mentions of smoking/nicotine, mentions of penetrative sex, dry humping, light dirty talk, fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), multiple orgasms, angst if you squint?, tiny amount of fluff (if i forgot any warnings, i apologize! i have been working on this over the course of a week or longer. if i missed anything major, let me know pls! xo)

summary: you just want to feel good. and seeing as how no one has been successful in making that happen for you, you go to the one person who never fails to get you off. who just so happens to be your ex boyfriend.

The last person in the world that Yoongi expected to be knocking on his door at eight o’ clock at night was you. You’d been broken up for over a year now, and sure, the two of you were on good terms. Hell, you even considered yourselves friends, but rarely ever did the two of you hang out or speak more than a few times a week through text messages.

So naturally, his first thought was that something was wrong. He was standing in the doorway, staring straight ahead at you, trying to read your face for any indication as to why you’d shown up at his house unannounced. Your expression was stoic, though, almost bored. Your hair was shorter though, he’d noticed. Had you gained weight? He couldn’t have been sure, but your thighs definitely appeared to be thicker, and your bra fuller than he remembered.

You caught him eyeing your cleavage and you rolled your eyes. Same old Yoongi, same old habits.

“Are you going to invite me inside?” You asked, arms crossed over your chest and effectively pushing your breasts up.

Yoongi was sure he would be drooling any moment now, and he hadn’t even heard a word you’d said. Fuck, he’d missed staring at you like this.

“Yoongi,” you reached a hand forward, pressing a freshly manicured finger underneath his chin and pointing it up toward your face, “my eyes are up here.”

Now it was his turn to roll his eyes, “And?”

You tilted your head to the side, eyebrows pushing together in annoyance, “Would you just move so I can come inside?”

He obliged, stepping away from the door frame and gesturing you, albeit dramatically, inside.

His house hadn’t changed much, but it definitely wasn’t as well kept as it was when you lived with him. The coffee table was cluttered with assorted take out boxes and half empty water bottles, and you never understood why he didn’t drink the entire bottle of water. It annoyed the piss out of you, and you were still convinced that was the only reason he did it.

Blankets and coats littered the sofa, throw pillows pushed off of the couch and onto the floor. You always hated when he did that. He claimed the pillows made the couch uncomfortable and hard to sit on, and you’d called him insane, telling him that the entire purpose of the pillows were to make it comfortable.

You were curious to see what his bedroom looked like. Well, you were mostly curious, and a tad bit frightened at the thought. Yoongi wasn’t a messy person, but he didn’t mind clutter. You, on the other hand, despised it.

Yoongi took note of the way your eyes danced around the room, taking everything surrounding you in.

“Yeah, it’s messy, I know.” His tone of voice shifted to one of nervousness. He was suddenly very aware that you we’re here, in the house the two of you used to share, for the first time in what felt like forever.

You sensed his awkwardness and turned your attention from the living room and into him, placing a hand gently around his bicep. He instantly relaxed under your touch. You always did know exactly what he needed and when he needed it. He still didn’t know how the fuck you managed to do that.

“I don’t care if it’s messy, Yoongi. I don’t live here anymore.”

“No, you don’t. Which brings me to ask, why are you here?”

“Actually,” you began, leaning against the back of his sofa as you slowly raked your eyes up and down his small frame, “I was wondering if you wanted to fuck.”

Your question clearly caught him off guard, his face immediately contorting into one of utter confusion. Eyes slightly widened, mouth agape.

“Hold on,” he shook his head, a poor attempt at collecting his thoughts as he tried to make sense of what you’d just proposed, “are you high?”

Was he serious? You rolled your eyes at him yet again, convinced they were going to get stuck in the back of your head.

“No, Yoongi. I am not high. I’m just horny, and want to fuck. Simple as that.”

He carded his long fingers through his hair, eyes focusing on yours and fully taking in your serious expression.

“You couldn’t find someone on tinder? I mean, not that I’m not flattered that you came all the way here, but. I’m just a bit confused.”

“I could’ve, yeah,” you nodded, “and I have, in the past. But I’m sick of bad hookups, I have to fake it half the time anyway. Nobody knows my body like you do. I just want to feel good, but if you don’t want to, or if it’s too weird then I can leave. No hard feelings.”

Yoongi took a minute to weigh out the pros and cons in his head. On one hand, he’d kill to be inside of you again. He’d had hookups of his own, sure, but none of them even came close to what you felt like. But on the other hand, you’d broken up for a reason. And this could complicate things.

Who was he to deny you, though? He never could, not when you were together, and he wasn’t about to start now. If all you wanted was to feel good, then goddammit, he was going to make sure that you did.

“Yeah, okay. Let’s do it.”

Your eyes grew wider than quarters, and you stared at him in disbelief, “Really?”

“Were you expecting me to say no?”

“I don’t..” you paused, “I don’t know what I was expecting, but I was hoping you’d say yes.”

“Well,” he took a single step forward, hands easily falling down and onto your hips, “I did.”

All it took was the feeling of his hands on you to make your breath catch in your throat. It’d been over a year since he’d last touched you, his hands felt like they were burning your skin through your shirt. You stared up at him, eyes fixated on his as his mouth slowly crept down and onto yours.

It felt like sparks of electricity were coursing through your veins. Your body instantly reacted, legs jumping up and off of the ground to wrap around his waist. He was quick to catch you, hands cupping your ass to hold you up and pressed against him. His lips moved against yours easily, his tongue gliding into your mouth and wrapping around yours perfectly. Kissing you was muscle memory, he knew every crevice of your mouth, which moves of his tongue would have you wrecked.

He took advantage of that, lapping and twirling his tongue against yours in a way that had you moaning into the kiss. The vibrations going straight from his lips and down to his dick, and you could feel him hardening against your thigh. Your hands found their way into the dark hair at the nape of his neck and you twirled it around your fingers, all the while giving a quick swivel of your hips that had Yoongi groaning into your mouth.

He carried you away from the couch and down the hallway into his master bedroom, kicking the door closed with his foot once inside. He had your back pressed up against it instantaneously, grinding his hips up and into yours at a steady pace. You were holding onto his neck for dear life, letting out a whine as he hit your clit perfectly.

“Y-yoongi! Right there, oh my God, do that again.” You pleaded, and he happily obliged by thrusting his hips in the exact same way, causing you to cry out and bite down on your lower lip. If he kept this shit up, you’d be cumming in your pants.

His lips were attached to your neck now, attacking the skin there with sloppy kisses and occasional suction. You knew there would be bruises, but you couldn’t be bothered to give a single fuck. Your body was elated, you felt like you were floating. And all of it was from a fucking make out session and dry humping. You couldn’t even begin to imagine how you were going to feel once he was finally inside of you. The thought of it alone had you soaking wet, and you could feel how damp your panties had gotten, sure that your jeans were soon to follow suit.

His hips never slowed, in fact, they only sped up. You were bouncing against him now, attempting to gather even more friction than what he was giving you. His fingers curled and squeezed your ass, holding you still as he ruthlessly humped against your core.

“Gonna cum for me, huh? Right here? With your clothes still on?” He was nipping at your jawline now, and the sounds you were making sounded like you were trying to speak, but nothing you were saying was coherent.

“What was that?” he rolled his hips hard against your aching cunt, and you immediately saw black, “Words, baby. Or I’ll stop right now.”

You panicked, trying to muster up any sort of response that you could manage, even if you did sound completely fucking pitiful.

“Yes! Oh my god, yes.” You mewled, and one final jolt of his hips had you coming undone.

Your thighs contracted around him, shaking and attempting to pull him closer and keep him trapped between your legs. Your hands were tugging on his hair, burning his scalp and causing him to groan at the sensation. Cries of his name and a slew of fucked out curses made their way past your lips as you came, head knocking back against the wooden door.

Yoongi had pulled away from your neck so that he could watch you, his eyes darkening with want as he witnessed you lose yourself from just grinding alone. He thought you’d never looked sexier than you did right now. And all he could think about was how badly he wanted to clean up the mess he’d just made in between your legs.

“Let me eat you out.” His voice was rough, raspy, and hot. How could you say no to that?

You hadn’t even completely come down from your high yet, stars still circling above your head as you blinked rapidly in an attempt to get them to go away. But still, you nodded.

He was quick to drop to his knees after setting your feet and shaky legs back down onto the ground. Your fingers threaded through his hair, hips pushing forward and toward his mouth. You’d never wanted— no, needed his tongue against you so badly before. But you couldn’t help the breathy laugh that pushed out of your throat.

“What’s so funny?” Yoongi prompted, mumbling against the skin of your lower abdomen as he pressed wet kisses there.

You lightly twirled his hair around your index finger, a small sigh making its way through your lips as you felt him begin to undo the button a zipper on your pants.

The whole situation was fucking hilarious to you. You ever imagined you’d be here again, with Yoongi in general, let alone with his head between your legs. But that was too heavy of a conversation to have at the moment. You knew that if you said such things, he’d want to have a deep, touchy feely talk and all you were interested right now was him making you cum for the second time today.

So, you decided to play your laughter off, sounding as nonchalant as possible.

“Just find it funny that our bed is two feet away from us, yet you’re still going to eat me out while you’re on the floor.”

Yoongi had taken to ridding you of those god forsaken jeans, kissing from your knee up to the tops of your thigh. His actions coming to a still in the middle of your sentence.

“Our? bed?” He cocked an eyebrow, deep irises flickering up to look straight at you.

“Just habit, I guess.” you shrugged it off, but internally, you were kicking your own ass for making such a slip up, “Are you going to go down on me, or not?”

Yoongi couldn’t stop the roll of his eyes. This was so fucking like you, brushing off your true emotions and covering them up with something sexual. Had you forgotten he knew you better than anyone else in the world?

Still, you’d come to him for a reason. You wanted to feel good. He was determined to follow through with your wishes, but made a mental note to get you to tell him how you were feeling afterwards.

“You’re so fucking bossy.” He spat out the words, though they weren’t laced with any real venom. It was too playful, too Yoongi.

You were going to offer him a smart ass remark, a witty comeback on the very tip of your lips. However, the feel of his tongue dragging through your folds had you moaning instead.

His arms linked around the backs of your thighs to hold you in place, keeping your cunt pressed firmly against his face as he nudged your clit with his tongue. A small, barely there flick that had you whining in a high pitched fashion. Your eyes had screwed shut, hand tangled in his hair and pulling it from the root.

One of his hands moved from your legs so that he could hover his index finger over your entrance, circling around it and gathering up your wetness. He groaned at the feeling, at how absolutely fucking soaked you were for him. It was something he never, ever got tired of. And it was definitely something he’d grown to miss.

All at once, he was pulling your clit into his mouth. Teeth lightly grazing it before he took his time suckling on the bud, quick, exasperated whimpers coming out of your lips as he did so.

You offered him fucked out praises, telling him how good it felt, how badly you wanted more. His finger pushed into you, and your walls immediately squeezed around it. Once you’d loosened back up, he added his middle finger and slowly began to fuck into you.

Your mouth was left agape at the feeling, his tongue now swirling at a steady pace against your bundle of nerves. Your nails dug into his scalp, and you’d begun to shamelessly ride his face. He was loving every minute of it, every wanton noise that came out of your mouth.

“I—I need—,” you stuttered, unsure of exactly what it was that you needed from him, “God, Yoongi, please—”

Even when you didn’t know, he always seemed to. His long fingers curled inside of you, arching and pressing against that glorious spot that had you screaming out a line of curses.

He quickened the pace of his tongue up, the speed of it ruthless against your clit now. Your eyes were beginning to well up, and you were sure you’d never felt pleasure like this before. Not even from him. There was something about this time that made it feel like you were floating on cloud nine. And you never, ever wanted to come down. You wanted his head buried between your thighs for an eternity.

One more push of his fingers and lick of his tongue had you bucking your hips against his face, and you weren’t sure how he was managing to breathe. Your lower stomach was knotting, heat spreading from your core throughout your entire body as your orgasm washed over you. Both of your hands were in his hair now, gripping onto the soft strands of it with all of your might. You were squirming, trying to get closer to him, and away from him all at the same time.

Black dots were all that you could see, your head spinning and making you feel like you were floating off of the ground. Your chest was rising and falling rapidly as you attempted to catch your breath and regain your composure.

You groaned at the empty feeling as you felt Yoongi pull his fingers out of you, glancing down at him just in time to watch him insert the digits into his mouth and swallow your release. Your eyes rolled back at the sight, a huff leaving your lips.

“You’re going to be the death of me.” You joked, and he rewarded you with a chuckle as he stood up and pressed his lips to yours, pushing his tongue into your mouth with ease.

You could taste yourself on him, and that alone had you aroused again and ready for orgasm number three. And hopefully four and five. You could feel yourself growing wet again, and took the opportunity to grab one of his hands and bring it down and onto your soaked pussy.

He groaned into the kiss, tongue moving with more fervor, more hunger.

You were pulling back, and he was chasing your lips with his. You giggled at his actions, your fingers toying with the fine strands of his hair.

Without giving it a second thought, he was lifting you off of the ground again and taking quick strides toward the bed.

It seemed like the two of you had spent the better part of the night fucking. But by your fifth orgasm, you were too fucked out, and way too sensitive to do it again. You could barely walk, your legs the equivalent of Jell-O. Yoongi insisted over and over that you just spent the night with him, offering to take the couch if that would make you more comfortable.

“I just spent the last two hours with your dick buried inside of me,” you pointed out, “I think we can share a bed.”

He laughed as he laid beside of you, still completely naked and on full display for you.

“Touché.”

“I need a cigarette, but I can’t even walk to get them out of my jeans.” You groaned as you stared at your pants lying in front of the door, and you could hear Yoongi sighing beside of you.

“What?” You cocked an eyebrow, rolling onto your side so that you could face him.

“You know how I feel about you smoking. I wish you’d quit that shit.”

“Well,” you started, “at least you don’t have to smell it on a daily basis anymore. You know, since I don’t live here.”

“Eh,” he shrugged, turning over on his side to match your position, “kind of miss it.”

Your eyes slightly widened, and you were left speechless. Because what were you supposed to say to that?

Yoongi sighed, giving you a quick roll of his eyes.

“Come on, Y/n. What are we doing?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” You lied.

“You mean to tell me you don’t feel comfortable right now? Like we never stopped this in the first place? Never stopped.. us?” He studied your face as he waited for your answer, fingers instinctively reaching out to trail along the curve of your bare hip.

“Yoongi..” You sighed, unsure of what else to say. Because he was right. This felt normal. It felt right.

“Just come home.” His voice was sincere, his eyes soft and pleading as he looked at you.

Usually, this was the kind of big decision you’d have to think about, outweigh all of the pros and cons. But this time, you didn’t hesitate to respond. Because this was Yoongi, and he was home.

“Yeah,” you nodded, gently rubbing your thumb along the top of his cheek as you offered him a gentle smile, “okay.”

#yoongi #min yoongi #yoongi imagine #yoongi smut #bts #bts smut #bangtan #yoongi x you #yoongi x reader #yoongi x y/n #yoongi angst #yoongi fluff #bts scenarios #bts reactions #bts suga #suga imagine #min yoongi imagine

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lihikainanea · 3 years

Text

The Accident - Part 2

Oh, hi there. Do you like...need something? Are you waiting on me for something? Whatever could it be?

:-P

This is one of my longest pieces for them, Parts 1 and 2 clocking in at somewhere around 17,000 words.

Tiger has a car accident and has some pretty lasting damage.

Trigger warnings: there’s mention of a car accident, a few broken bones, and of course, the after effects of the accident. I didn’t go into detail on any of it but as always, if you think I missed a trigger or if you’re not sure and have questions before you read, just shoot me a line :-)

This one was a long time coming so I hope you enjoy. Thank you all, from the bottom of my heart, for being so loud about it when I needed the support and encouragement to finish it.

Part One is here.

Thank you guys, for loving these two idiots as much as I do. Enjoy, and be loud if you love it xoxo

****

You swore that you had never seen any of these people before in your life. You knew that Bill had spoken to them beforehand, warned them that you looked a little banged up and that you wouldn’t recognize anybody, and while part of you was annoyed the other part was pretty thankful. He hadn’t mentioned it to you, but he had also warned them that you got frustrated and overwhelmed pretty easily, and that you still couldn’t handle loud noises or bright lights. No music, no loud conversations, no coming at you from all angles. They promised him that they would keep it small at the beginning—just the close group of friends—and they would set up quietly in the living room for at least an hour, just chatting and answering any questions you may have before other people arrived.

“There’s going to be eight people when we get there,” he had told you in the car, “The rest will come after.”

“I’m nervous,” you admitted softly, fidgeting with your coat, “I want so bad to remember people.”

“You won’t kid,” he said. He had meant it kindly, but you bristled. He sighed.

“Tiger listen to me,” he put the car in park and turned to you, “If at any point you want out—for whatever reason—you say so, okay?”

You nodded, but it wasn’t enough for him.

“I mean it,” he brushed a lock of hair behind your ear, “Just look at me and like…tug your ear or something. Say pineapple. Anything. Just give me a sign and I’ll get you out, deal?”

He held out his pinky.

“Deal,” you mumbled, hooking your finger around his.

“Seal it,” he commanded. He held his thumb out to tap yours, but instinctively you leaned forward and pressed your lips softly to his. When you pulled away, you were both wide-eyed.

“I’m sorry,” you stammered, “I don’t know why I just did that.”

“No no, it’s okay,” he grinned wide and happy, “That’s uh, how we used to seal it. Good job, kid.”

“Right, of course we used to kiss to seal it,” you sighed, but there was some humour behind it, “Look bud, maybe there’s still a lot I need to learn about us, but it sounds like we got some shit we need to figure out.”

His wry smile ended the conversation, as you unbuckled your seat belt and took a deep breath.

Your friends were incredible about the entire thing. The music was on very low when you walked in, nobody rushing to greet you but instead saying a polite hello and giving you space. Bill took your jacket from you, hanging it up in the hallway closet before leading you to the living room. Your friends were gathered there—sitting on the floor, on the sofas, on chairs placed across the room. You wondered how to break into conversation, but Bill eased you into a chair and put a hand on your shoulder.

“So we figured it would be helpful,” he started, “If everyone just re-introduced themselves to you. These are our closest friends, tiger.”

You surveyed the group, kind faces and easy smiles staring back at you.

“That would be great,” you gave a sheepish shrug, “I’m sorry, I don’t remember any of you.”

Your comment wasn’t met with judgment, and thankfully you noted that it wasn’t met with pity either; just understanding nods and reassuring smiles. Bill took a seat next to you and you shot him a grateful look, but there was a clambering as someone—a guy, not as tall as Bill but still somewhat handsome—dove for the seat on your other side. He smiled at you but it instantly made you uncomfortable—something in the way he leered, the way he kept his gaze fixated on you, struck a bad chord. You shrugged it off, focusing on the person speaking as they went around one by one to introduce themselves. They told you a bit about who they were, how you had met, what they did in life. You snickered at some of the memories of you they shared, looking to Bill who would nod in confirmation that it did indeed happen.

But sure enough, when it came around to the man on your right, as he introduced himself he placed a hand high on your thigh and squeezed. You stiffened immediately, a jolt of discomfort shooting through you for a reason you couldn’t name, and you grabbed onto his wrist and lifted it from your leg.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you said curtly, placing his hand back by his side.

Not wanting to overwhelm you or make you feel like you were the centre of attention, after initial introductions were made, the small crowd dispersed to mingle amongst themselves. You chatted with a few of them and your heart swelled at how kind they seemed to be—you felt safe. Nobody was judging you, nobody looked worried or anxious around you, nobody regarded you strangely when you would ask them for details about your own life. Bill always stayed in your line of vision but didn’t hover, even allowing himself to relax a little when he heard your laughter ring crisp through the air.

It was only when you took a small break from chatting; when your stomach rumbled so you headed to the snack table, grabbing a chip and scooping it through the dip—that you heard him call out.

“Tiger wait!” Bill said rushing to you. You paused, your mouth open in preparation for a bite, your hand stilled in mid-air.

“What did I do?” You asked cautiously.

“You hate green onions kid,” Bill said. You looked at the chip, drenched in the dip and absolutely smothered in green onions.

“Maybe—” another male voice rang out behind you, and before you could even turn around there was an arm around your shoulder, “Maybe we let her decide what she likes, for once.”

It was the same guy as before, the one who just seemed a little too close or a little too forward. It was the first time you had ever seen Bill actually look mean—his shoulders squared, he stood just a little taller, his jaw clenched and the glare in his eyes was terrifying. You didn’t remember who this guy was, you honestly couldn’t say how you had felt about him before—but in that moment, you hated him. You hated him just for the sheer reaction that he seemed to incite in Bill.

“Try them,” the guy coaxed, knocking your hand gently, “You’re a whole new girl now. Maybe there are things you’ll start to like, some things you’ll stop liking too.”

Bill’s jaw ticked. You watched his reaction carefully, how alert he seemed, how angry he seemed—and you trusted it. You didn’t know why, but you did.

“Okay, first of all,” you grabbed the guy’s arm, lifting it from your shoulders, “First of all, I trust Bill. I hate green onions. Second of all, stop touching me.”

“I’m sorry,” he replied, “We used to do this all the time.”

You didn’t look to Bill for confirmation—you didn’t need to. If you had, you may have seen the way his fists clenched, the fire that flashed in his eyes. But it wasn’t even necessary.

“I doubt that,” you snapped, glaring at the guy. He huffed a little, gave a cocky smirk, before turning and getting lost in the small crowd.

“Thank you,” you said to Bill, and his shoulders relaxed as he let out a breath. Still holding the chip in your hand, you grabbed his arm and dragged him to an empty room, closing the door behind you.

“Tiger is everything—“

“I still want to try this,” you held up the chip, “I just didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.”

Bill smiled, a big one that relaxed his whole face, and shook his head wistfully.

“Go on then. But for the record, when you get your memory back, you cannot blame me for it,” he chuckled.

“I hate green onions?” You asked, for confirmation.

“Tiger, hate is too gentle of a word.”

“I trust you. But I’m still curious, so…” you trailed off, popping the chip in your mouth. Bill pursed his lips to stop the snicker, crossing his arms as you chewed thoughtfully.

“I mean, I don’t hate them right now,” you said after awhile, “I don’t love them, but I don’t hate them. I’m…indifferent.”

“Noted,” he smirked, “I feel like I should have caught that moment on video.”

And you couldn’t resist—that boyish smile on his lips, the protective streak you had seen in action. You quickly tugged on his shirt, dragging him down for a deep kiss. His hands came to rest on your hips, squeezing softly, but all too soon—you heard him inhale sharply, a soft moan to it, and he pulled away.

“We should get back,” he mumbled. You nodded, a little disappointed.

And maybe it was that you were finally getting to see Bill in a situation surrounded by other people—the way he still always looked out for you, the way you caught him glancing around the room every once in awhile looking for you. You saw how everybody genuinely seemed to like him, how much he stood out from the rest of your friends. Maybe it was the way that you recognized how safe you felt in his presence—especially around other people. You caught yourself actively looking for him too, seeking him out just for that reassuring smile of his or that small boost of confidence you got from it. Maybe it was the way that he checked in with you so often that night, making sure you were okay, that you felt alright and you weren’t getting too overwhelmed. It might have been the way that this was the first time you had seen him in nicer clothes; jeans that hugged his long legs so perfectly, a fitted long sleeved shirt that was rolled to his elbows. He was cleanly shaven, his sharp jaw line making his profile unmistakable. A loose curl flopped casually on his forehead and you found yourself trying to hold back from giving it a playful tug. He smelled fantastic, he looked even better, and the way he calmly fussed or looked out for you the entire evening had caused a knot to start forming in the pit of your stomach.

Maybe it was also the recollection of a real good dream a few nights before, one involving him that seemed more like a memory than a dream—the way he knew your body, the way he knew what you liked. Maybe it was the comfort and the warmth that you remembered from a few nights ago, when you had crawled into his bed—how safe you felt, how comforted you were. Maybe it was the soft press of his lips against yours both that night and this night in the car before you entered the party, how warm and timid and plush his lips were. Maybe it was the kiss that ended far too soon, earlier in the night.

Either way, whatever it was, by the end of the night—your body was screaming for it.

You had tugged on his sleeve when you had enough at the get-together—more people were arriving, the noise was getting louder, and your stress levels were starting to rise.

“Time to go?” He said immediately when you appeared at his side. You nodded—and within an instant he had your coats, calling out a general goodbye to the crowd, and then you were safe in the car and on your way home.

But he was just so close—you could still smell the faint scent of his cologne, and you tried to listen as he murmured soft praises to you. That he was proud of you, that you had done so well, that this was a big step. You drank all of it in—his velvet voice with the soft lilt to it, the beauty of his profile, his big hand on the stick shift as he confidently switched gears. After awhile, it got to be too much—so you reached out, resting a hand gently on top of his.

“Thank you,” you said, “For tonight. And for uh, everything.”

And there it was again, the small dimple in his cheek, his boyish lopsided grin. By the time he had parked in front of your place, by the time he had put a hand on your back to lead you gently up the stairs—you couldn’t take it anymore. You were ready to explode.

“Bill, um…” you stammered. His brows furrowed in concern but when he tucked a knuckle under your chin, raising it to meet his eyes—you lost control. Fisting a hand in his shirt, you pulled him down and crushed your lips to his. He squeaked in surprise but you didn’t let up, stepping into his chest as you pulled him closer. You moved your lips firmly against his, his hands coming up to rest on your hips before looping around your back, crushing you to him as you moaned into it. Your feet lifted off the ground as he pressed you more into him and you returned his fervour, raking your hand through his hair.

“Tiger wait,” he broke away suddenly and you wobbled, “We can’t.”

“Yes we can,” you said breathlessly, launching at him again. He stumbled back as he caught you, your mouth slamming onto his in another heated kiss. You tugged at his jacket, pulling it from his shoulders before you grabbed the hem of his shirt and started to pull it up.

“Tiger,” he stopped, actually pushing you away from him to put distance between the both of you. He dragged his hands over his face, letting out a shaky breath that sounded more like a wheeze. “No.”

“Yes,” you insisted, stepping towards him but he took a step back, “Bill, I want to.”

He held up his hands when you reached for him again.

“Tiger, no. We’re not doing this. I’m not having sex with you. You don’t even remember how you feel about me.”

“You’re right, I don’t,” you agreed, “I’m sure I was attracted to you before. But regardless, I can tell you one thing, I’m sure as fuck attracted to you now.”

“Tiger—”

“No. Listen to me, Bill,” you interrupted, holding your hand up authoritatively. “You are hot as hell. You really are. And you’re very kind. And frankly—I need to get my bell rung real good. Real good. There’s a lot of…needy feelings happening in me right now that I need to get out. The fact that I don’t remember having sex with you does not at all take away from the fact that I want to have sex with you right now.”

“I don’t want to take advantage of you,” he mumbled lowly.

“How is this taking advantage of me?” You asked, “People have one night stands all the time. I don’t need to know you to have sex with you. The fact that we do have a history is just an added bonus.”

“Tiger—“

“Bill, look. It really is this simple. I do not remember ever having sex with you. But you are very attractive, and I am very attracted to you, and I would like to have sex with you right now. I’m horny. I need to get laid. And it can either be you, or it can be that guy at the party who seemed pretty enthusiastic about touching me. I’m offering it up to you first. Who’s it gonna be?” You challenged.

Bill’s eyes narrowed.

“Oh it’s gonna be me kid,” he seethed, “It’s gonna only be me.”

It was all that you needed, before you launched yourself at him and yanked his shirt over his head.

“Promise me that you want this kid,” he urged between heated kisses.

“I want this,” you murmured against his lips.

“Promise me that you’re genuinely attracted to me,” he whispered, nipping at your top lip.

“Bill, I want to fuck your brains out. Me. Right now. With zero memories. This girl, right here, wants to be all over that.”

He groaned, grabbing your face in his hands as he pressed his mouth to yours. God, he could kiss. His lips soft but insistent, his tongue flicking across your bottom lip to gain entrance. You moaned into it as he squeezed at your hips, lifting you and carrying you to bed as he pressed his weight down into you.

“Tiger,” he pulled away breathlessly, “Are you sure this is—“

“Show me what I used to like,” you nipped at his chin, grabbed his hand and brought it under your shirt. His eyes stayed closed, his chest heaving with the air he was trying to get in. You nipped at his lips, pulled him down into another forceful kiss as you raised your hips to grind into his, He groaned into your mouth, his hand trailing up your rib cage.

“You used to like it when I did….this” he broke from you, bringing his lips down and sucking gently at your neck as you drew in a sharp breath.

“And you have a real sweet spot right…here,” a flick of his tongue had you gasping, and he bit down on the sensitive area while you grinded against him. He sucked a deep mark into your neck and you moaned, but you needed his mouth on you again. You tilted your face and he captured your lips in a searing kiss.

“You’re also really sensitive when I do this,” his palm cupped your breast through your bra, and you moaned softly. He squeezed, kneading you through the material as his lips caught yours again. His hand was so big, so warm and gentle, and you squeezed your knees together as you started to feel a knot low in your belly.

“Off,” you pleaded against his lips, “Get it off.”

He raised back on his haunches and you saw the effect you were having on him—his eyes crazed, the bulge tenting the front of his jeans. It had been so long for him, so long since he had felt you, that he wasn’t sure he would make it all the way through. Pulling his shirt off, he reached for yours and got it over your head. You fumbled with your bra but he moved your hands away, popping it open and you quickly threw the material off as he worked to get your pants unbuttoned and off. You reached for him again, grabbing his hands as you pushed your breasts into his palms and pulled him back down on top of you.

“God tiger,” he moaned into your mouth, “I’ve missed you.”

His hands felt so good on your chest, kneading softly and rolling your nipples between his thumbs. You gasped when he pinched softly, moving his lips down to suck on the hollow of your collarbone. He waited until you relaxed before he pinched again, a little harder this time, rolling your nipples through his fingers.

“I really used to like…” he placed suckling kisses down your sternum, nuzzling the underside of your breast with his nose before brushing his lips over it, “Doing this.”

He dragged his tongue over your nipple before enclosing his mouth around it. You groaned and shot forward but he pushed you back, his other hand continuing to pinch and knead while he sucked on your pebbled bud. He nipped at it softly, flicking his tongue over it before blowing on it and moving to the next one. You grinded your hips against whatever you could reach, tangling your hands in his hair as his warm mouth surrounded your other nipple. You whimpered, reaching your own hand down between your legs to try and ease some of the tension but he quickly grabbed it with his, intertwining your fingers.

“All in good time sweet girl,” he purred, “I want you nice and wet for me.”

You whined, trying to get some friction and he rolled his hips against yours as he trailed his mouth down. He nipped gently at your lower belly, dipping his tongue into your navel.

“This is one of my favourites,” he murmured into your skin, “You’re always so soft here.”

He kissed along your lower stomach, one warm hand running over your body while the other one stayed tangled with yours. He licked at the waistband of your panties, nuzzled your mound, and it snapped you to attention. Before you could stop him, he buried his nose in the seam of your panties and inhaled deeply—you jerked in surprise but the groan he let out was feral. Out of instinct you moved to shut your legs but one hand grabbed onto your thigh, keeping them open.

“Um,” you looked down at him shyly, squirmy just a little, “You don’t have to…uh…”

He smiled, genuine and lopsided, and nipped playfully at your inner thigh.

“You said the exact same thing the first time we ever slept together,” another suckling kiss to your thigh, the brush of his lips across your panties, “And I’ll tell you the exact same thing that I said then: this is my favourite thing to do for you. To you.”

Your cheeks flushed, you should feel his warm breath on you through the soaked material. Before you could say anything else, he licked a broad stripe up your slit and groaned, resting his nose on your mound.

“God, the way you taste. The way you smell. I need it, kid. Please, can I have it?” He pleaded, looking up at you for confirmation. You bit your lip—you were a little shy, but god he looked like a man on fire. You nodded slowly.

“Use your words tiger,” he prompted.

“Yes,” you mumbled, “Okay.”

He didn’t wait another second. Grabbing the waistband of your panties, he ripped them from you in one yank and then dove forward. It felt like he was everywhere, his tongue wet and warm and firm, licking over you in broad swipes. You gasped and he moaned into you, the vibrations humming through your whole body. You watched him devour you, his eyes closed in pleasure, one hand still gripping your thigh to make sure you stayed nice and open for him. He licked at your entrance, pushing his tongue inside while his nose pressed into you before dragging his tongue up slowly through your folds, sucking his way up.

“Oh god,” you groaned softly, “This is fantastic.”

You squeezed tighter at his hand, relaxing more into the blankets and pushing your legs wider apart. He groaned in response, pressing his face into you more as his lips closed around your clit. He suckled at it, flicking his tongue over it as you twitched. The knot in your stomach was clenching, the groans coming out guttural as you tensed.

“Bill,” you squeaked, “Don’t stop.”

Your leg cramped up and shot out, but his lips stayed gentle and firm around your bud. He suckled with the same pressure, nipping softly at it.

“Please don’t stop,” you begged, and you were rewarded with another deep groan that sent a hum of vibrations through you. Reaching up, he glided his hand over your body and gently pushed two fingers into your mouth. The noise you made was inhuman, shoving your hips up and keeping a death grip on his hand. He gave a few broad licks up your slit, glided his tongue firmly through your folds before moving his attention back to your bud. He flicked over it before sucking it into his mouth harshly, and it was your undoing. With a loud cry you grabbed onto his hair, every muscle in your body tense and your eyes clenched so tightly shut that tears leaked from the corners. You nearly yelled through it, letting it crash into you like a freight train as you gasped. You collapsed onto the bed after it washed over you, your chest heaving and slicked with sweat, your face lax with pleasure.

You felt a soft kiss on your chin, another one on your lips, a gentle hand brushing the hair from your face.

“You okay?” He asked lowly—and you laughed. You let out an incredulous, pleasure-drunk laugh.

“So good,” you groaned, “So, so good.”

You felt him smile into the kiss, and felt another weight on you as he pressed into your body.

“Good,” he said, but he sounded strained, “Tiger, I need you. I really need you. Think you can handle a bit more, sweet girl?”

You opened your eyes lazily.

“Sweet girl,” you murmured, “I like that.”

He smiled again, but his face looked pained. Tense. You nipped at his lip, pulling his hips into yours and he moaned.

“I want more,” you said, “God you’re good at this.”

You helped him drag his jeans and boxers down as he kissed you again forcefully. You reached down and grabbing hold of him to line him up, you stopped abruptly and your eyes widened.

“What is it?” He asked, worried.

“Holy shit, you’re huge,” you blurted out. He laughed boisterously, burying his face in your neck as his chest rumbled.

“And you take it like a champ,” he smiled at you, “We’ll go slow.”

He captured your lips in a deep kiss, one hand keeping a loose hold of your chin while the other hand balanced his weight. He faltered as he pushed into you, his hips stuttering and he broke the kiss with a whimper as he pinched his eyes shut.

“Oh god tiger,” he moaned, “My tiger.”

You shushed him softly, scratching lightly at his back as you tried to relax your muscles to accommodate him. You didn’t remember but your body seemed to, taking him with ease until he bottomed out and rested his chest on yours.

“Bullseye,” he moaned. You wrapped your legs around his waist, relishing in the feel of him inside you—so heavy and deep, pressing against your inner walls in a way that made you want to clench around him. You could feel the beginnings of another release, you could feel that knot deep in your belly again, feel yourself getting wetter with him so deep inside you.

“Move bud,” you begged, “You’ve gotta move.”

Gripping the bed sheets tightly in his fists, he kept his weight on you as he rolled his hips forward. His thrusts weren’t hurried, but god they were heavy and deep. He kept it slow, barely pulling back before he was pushing back into you, and you raked your nails down his back. His moans were gravelly and rough, his jaw slack as he tried to prolong his release just a little bit.

“My tiger,” he moaned again, and you pulled him into a heated kiss.

“Deeper Bill,” you begged, and he rolled his hips into yours with more force, slamming into you and you clenched around him. He moaned, the headboard knocking against the wall with every deep thrust.

“You feel so good kid,” he grunted, using his grip on the sheets for leverage as he plunged into you, “So good.”

Your muscles were squeezing him, the filthy sound of how wet you were and the deep drag of your insides were driving him crazy. He wasn’t going to last much longer, but neither were you. The stretch was intense but full of pleasure, the weight of him inside you and the way your body seemed to respond to him. You could barely breathe, couldn’t focus on anything other than the despair you felt when he pulled away and the the insane pleasure you felt when he filled you back up again.

“Give it to me tiger,” he panted, rolling his hips to rub onto your clit, “All over me, come on.”

You were there, your body clenching around him as you tried to drag in a deep breath.

“Now tiger,” he demanded, and you cried out as your nails dug into his back, dragging them down as you spasmed. He cursed, yelling out as he slammed into you and tensed. His chest nearly crushed you, his hips driving in deep and staying there as his fists clenched in the sheets. He gave a feral cry as you felt him fill you up, his voice giving way to rough, raspy groans as he let it slam into him. His chest heaved as he shook, and he eventually collapsed against you with his face in your neck, whimpering softly as the aftershocks shuddered through him.

You let the silence hang, kept your arms around him as he twitched and tried to catch his breath, your fingers dancing soft patterns over his skin. He eventually started to do the same, his lips leaving soft kisses in your neck, across your cheek, before landing softly on your nose. His eyes were bright, his hair sticking to his forehead, his lips tilted up in the laziest of grins.

“You know,” you started, “I’d be pretty down to do that again. Like, regularly.”

He laughed, and you craned up to kiss him.

“Was it always this good?” You asked him honestly. He went to roll off you but you stayed his movements, pulling him down onto you again. He kissed the corner of your mouth, tracing his finger over some of your features as he rested his weight on you.

“Yes,” he smiled boyishly, “I mean, speaking selfishly of course. It was always that good for me. But you also seemed to always enjoy it the way that you just did.”

“And we….only do this with each other?”

“Mmhmm,” he nuzzled the side of your nose with his.

“I can see why,” you reached for another kiss, “If it’s always this good, of course I’d want to be selfish about it.”

His laugh was breathy and soft, and you scratched lightly at his scalp. He rested his cheek on your chest, smushing his face in as his eyes closed slowly.

“I should get off of you,” he slurred. You just hummed, continuing to run your fingers through his hair.

“Why? This is nice,” you murmured, “I have therapy tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” his speech was slack jawed and warbled, “Afternoon. Then dinner with my family.”

You nodded, kissing his head.

“Thank you for tonight, bud. I really enjoyed it,” you mumbled, “All of it.”

But the only thing you heard was his soft snore, his mouth hanging open as his breaths evened out.

It was the first time you had slept through the night, the first time that your dreams left you alone, and the first time that a blinding headache wasn’t the first thing you felt when you woke up. Instead there was just a warmth, a weighted comfort that just seemed to envelop you completely. You shifted, sighing a little as the warm weight on your stomach started to rub back and forth.

“Go slow,” a deep voice murmured. You couldn’t help it, you curled up into the warmth more—seeking it out and tucking into it, nuzzling your nose into soft skin, as a hand stroked at your back and a soft pair of lips dotted whispery kisses across your face.

“We slept in a bit sweet girl,” the gravelly voice said and you almost purred, “We have to go to your therapy session soon.”

“Five more minutes,” you grumbled, and the rumble in his chest vibrated against your cheek.

“I wish we could kid,” he tapped your bottom lightly, “But we’ll be late, come on.”

It was a struggle. A struggle to open your eyes and not pout about it. A struggle to drag your tired body out of the warm blankets, away from the other warm body, and to get dressed. When the cool air nipped at your face on your way into the clinic, you huddled further into your jacket and grumbled.

“Go on,” he said, “I’ll be waiting out here when you’re done.”

Without hesitation, you kissed him briefly and then greeted your doctor as she ushered you into the room.

“Things seem to be going well?” She started, and you shrugged your coat off.

“Yes and no,” you sighed, “Yes, because he really is just…amazing. But no, because I still can’t remember shit.”

“What have you tried so far, to trigger your memory?”

“I ask him about me, like you said,” you told her as she scribbled notes, “He tells me a lot about who I was, what I used to like. We tried eating all the meals I used to love, and he tells me about why I love them or when I first tried them. We tried photo albums, but nothing got triggered there. I met my group of friends last night—good people—they shared some stories too, but nothing kickstarted my brain.”

“I see,” she said calmly, “What else?”

“We tried watching movies I used to love,” you chewed your lip in thought as you tried to remember, “He took me to a few places around town I used to enjoy. We got into old habits and routine, doing what we used to do on weekends together and whatnot. But nothing is working.”

“Routine is good,” she said, “It can be any number of things, that will prove to be your trigger. Sometimes the portion of our brains responsible for our memories can be given a much-needed kickstart by routine. By repeatedly doing the exact things that we used to repeatedly do. Sometimes, patients suddenly wake up one day and they just…remember. Sometimes it’s triggered by trauma. Any number of things can be responsible, so don’t lose hope and keep trying.”

“Trauma?” You asked cautiously.

“Unfortunately,” she continued, “The memories we have are only held in one place in our brain. A reaction to a past trauma is an incredibly intense thing to go through, and sometimes it reactivates every single part of our brain, including sections that were malfunctioning. A past trauma, a memory of a past trauma, or something that reminds you of a past trauma—whether or not you remember the incident—can trigger your memory to come back.”

“That sounds awful,” you mumbled, “God I hope it just comes back by like, eating spaghetti or something. If it ever comes back.”

“Have hope,” she smiled reassuringly, “You’re doing all the right things.”

True to his word, when you emerged from the room an hour and a half later and significantly more tired, he was there waiting and wrapped you up in a comforting hug.

“That one was hard,” you mumbled into his chest, and he squeezed you tighter.

“Tiger, if you just want to relax tonight—”

“No,” you interrupted, “I have to keep trying. And I want to meet them, so let’s not overthink this. Let’s just go.”

He nodded, tucking you under his arm as he led you to the car. You reached for his hand as he drove, pulling it into your lap and enclosing it in both of yours. It earned you a side glance, that soft smile that you loved.

“Are you nervous?” He asked.

“No,” you said truthfully, “I was more nervous to meet our friends. I’m…excited to meet your family. Again.”

You chuckled softly at the last part, squeezing his hand tighter.

“There’s 8 of them, you said?” You ran your thumb over his knuckles—his hand was huge, but it was always so warm.

“Yes, we’re 7 brothers and one girl. They won’t all be there today, though.”

“And you said some of them were actors too?” You asked.

“Four of us,” he nodded, “And dad. They’re all here today. One brother is a doctor, you’ll meet him too. The other two are very young. My sister works as a restaurant manager, but she’s back in Stockholm.”

“And are they all uh, tall like you?” You snickered.

“Oh god no,” Bill laughed and you sighed in relief, “….they’re taller.”

“How is that even possible? Family of giants.”

“Yeah something like that,” he pulled his hand loosely from yours, shifting the car into park and undoing his seatbelt.

“You ready kid?” He asked, brushing his thumb across your cheek.

“Yeah, let’s meet this circus.”

“Tiger, if at any point—“

“I know bud,” you interrupted, “I’ll give you a sign if I need to get out of there.”

He nodded, hesitating a moment before leaning forward in his seat. You met him halfway, gently pressing your lips to his and giving a tug to the curl on his forehead. Unbuckling your seatbelt, you laced your fingers with his as he led you up the long walkway. With one last look to you, and with your reassuring nod back, he opened up the door.

It was calmer than what you expected a household with that many inhabitants to be, but when Bill opened the door you were met with something akin to peace. It smelled delicious, wafts from the kitchen infiltrating the hallway and entrance area. In the living room you could hear someone plinking on a guitar, a soundtrack of soft jazz playing behind them. The house was bright but calm, natural sunlight filtering in, the entranceway painted a warm neutral tone and dotted with wooden accents. Bill rested his hands on your shoulders and you shrugged off your coat, handing it to him to hang up as he took your hand. To your relief, nobody had run up to greet you just yet—you had no doubts that he had warned them too, had told them beforehand that you needed to take it slow.

“They’re in the living room,” he answered your unasked question, “Come on.”

Taking your hand, he led you across a soft carpet and into a white open space—it was beautiful. Thick cable knit blankets adorned plush couches, minimalist accents, linear art on the walls—and three very, very big men strewn across sofas that looked miniature sized under their long bodies.

“Everyone,” Bill called softly, “Look who’s here.”

Three pairs of eyes turned to you, and you had to shake your head softly to make sure you were seeing clearly. They all looked like varying shades of the exact same person, each with distinct features but still all so identical. The blond one had Bill’s eyes, had his exact nose that you had come to love. The one with whispers of a beard on his chin had an immediate warmth about him, a kindness and peaceful presence that so resembled Bill’s. The older looking blond one had the same smirk, the same twinkle of mischief and mirth in his face that you would sometimes see on Bill.

“Oh my,” you said softly. Instinctively you reached a hand up, feeling for Bill behind you and he stepped into your space. You rested your hand on his chest, making sure he was still there. “You are all very large.”

You clapped your hand over your mouth in embarrassment at the comment that slipped out but you were met with soft chuckles as they all stood and made their way slowly to you.

“In order of age,” Bill said, “This is Alex, my oldest brother.”

Alex stepped forward, opening his arms widely and it seemed so natural and comfortable that you didn’t hesitate to step into them.

“Gentle,” Bill warned his brother, “She’s still all banged up.”

And the giant was gentle. He hugged you with caution, bending at the knees to be able to, and he kissed your cheek softly as he pulled away.

“Good to see you again,” he said.

“I don’t remember you,” you mumbled, “I’m sorry. But it’s nice to meet you, Bill version beta.”

Alex chuckled, gave Bill a knowing glance and stepped aside.

“This is Gustaf,” Bill introduced the next brother, and you liked this one. They all seemed nice, but this one had…something about him. You saw every bit of Bill’s gentle spirit, his softness, his caring in this one. Just like his brother before, Gustaf leaned down and wrapped his arms gently around you.

“Glad to have you back,” he murmured when he pulled away, “We have much to catch up on.”

"I don’t remember you either, Bill version beta 2.0,” you mumbled embarassed, but he squeezed your shoulders.

“Then how lucky am I, to be able to re-introduce myself to you,” he said kindly. Oh, you liked this one indeed. You also liked the warm, caring smile he shot Bill—the way he reached out and hugged his little brother too, ruffled his hair. The smile on Bill’s face told you everything you needed to know about their relationship.

“And this one,” Bill said as the blonde one came in front of you, “Is Valter.”

“Walter?” You asked innocently.

“With a V, genius,” the blond one snapped. You were a little taken aback, but he had spunk—you appreciated that. Bill muttered something in Swedish behind you—something that sounded angry—but Valter just cocked an eyebrow.

“I don’t remember you,” you smirked, “And I think I’m pretty glad about that.”

It earned you some good natured chuckles from the band of brothers, and Valter still bent at the knees and hugged you.

“Whatever you say Dory,” he shot back, “You won’t remember me in another 30 seconds anyway.”

Another angry remark in Swedish from Bill, but you genuinely laughed. You appreciated Bill’s devoted care, but it was also nice to be treated a little more…normally. To be treated as if you weren’t made of glass.

“I thought you said there were four bud?” You asked as you pulled away, “Where’s the other one?”

“Probably cooking,” he took a few strides away, peering down the hallway. “Sam! Tiger’s here.”

You heard the footsteps, but your back was turned as you made some small talk with the brothers.

“Tiger,” Bill said, “This is my brother, Sam.”

You turned, and the moment you saw his face, a bright, white-hot flash of pain shot through your head. That face—that man—you knew that man. Your mind raced, your heart sped up, and suddenly—flash after flash of bright lights, searing pain. Memories, conversations, laughter—all of it poured into your head at the speed of light. You were dizzy, you could hear the voices of conversations past, your brain filling with memories and spiralling a thousand miles a minute. You gasped for breath, stumbling back.

“Tiger?” Bill said in alarm, “What’s wrong?”

Your feet kept peddling backwards as thoughts, more thoughts, more memories clouded every single function in your brain. You groaned as the searing, blinding pain clouded your vision.

“Bill,” you choked, “Bill get him away.”

“Tiger it’s just my brother—“

“He’s going to stab me with a needle again!” You cried suddenly, “Just like he did a few years ago!”

The entire room stilled, all of the eyes on you, as the silence became deafening.

“What did you just say?” Bill whispered.

Your head felt like it was going to explode.

“No,” you sobbed, “No no no no no no….”

“Tiger hey. Hey,” Bill stepped into your line of vision, grabbing your face in his hands, “It’s just me and you kid, just me and you.”

“Bill,” you continued to sob, clutching at his shirt as your mind spun. Everything—all of it—it was all coming back, and it was all coming back at the same time. Your knees buckled.

“Tiger, what did you just say?” He asked again.

“Him,” you sniffled, “He had a big needle a few years ago when we were visiting your family’s country place and I wasn’t feeling well. And he tried to stab me with it and I passed out and then he stabbed me anyway and I needed surgery.”

“Tiger—” Bill said urgently, his eyes wide, “How do you know that?”

“Because I remember Bill,” you shoved at him, “I hate needles.”

Bill hadn’t blinked. He still had your face in his hands, squishing your cheeks, as his eyes got impossibly wider.

“Tiger, when’s my birthday?”

“Does he have a needle?” You asked feebly. Bill glanced back—Sam was just carefully watching you both, and he raised his hands slowly.

“No needle,” he promised, “I won’t hurt you.”

“My birthday tiger,” Bill focused back on you, “When is it?”

“August 9th,” you said immediately. Bill let out a small incredulous noise.

“What was the name of the stray cat you took care of for a year?” He asked.

“Tofu,” you said without missing a beat.

“What happened to the coffee maker I bought you?”

“It broke,” you mumbled.

“What happened to the coffee maker tiger,” he deadpanned.

“I stabbed it,” you mumbled embarassed, “I thought it was haunted.”

“Which cousin do you hate?”

“Leila,” you sneered, “God, she’s a cunt.”

“And what did we do for your birthday last year?”

“We had sex in the Magic Kingdom at Disney World,” you mumbled, but the way Bill’s face contorted from shock to sheer embarrassment and the hand that he clapped over your mouth gave you a clue that perhaps you had said something wrong.

“They don’t know we do that,” he whispered urgently to you. You bit your lip sheepishly.

“They do now,” Valter chimed in, and you barely registered a rapid exchange of money amongst the brothers, some disgruntled grumbles. A quick glare from Bill, and then the piercing green orbs were back on you.

“Tiger, you remember,” he murmured. Tears flooded down your cheeks, as you nodded. He couldn’t help it—pulling you forward, he crushed his lips to yours as you held onto him.

“It came back,” you said as you pulled away, “I don’t know how. But I just kept getting flashes, my heart is still racing. Everything just flooded back.”

“For what it’s worth, if anyone cares about my medical opinion,” Sam chimed in from the background, “Amnesia from blunt force trauma is often reversed when the patient is re-exposed to a prior trauma.”

“The memories,” you mumbled in surprise, “Bill, my therapist said that. Even if I don’t remember a past trauma, my brain still has a knee-jerk reaction to it and that can provoke a kick start for my brain to access all of my memories. Just by being re-exposed to a traumatic one.”

“Exactly,” Sam said, but your eyes narrowed and you glared at him.

“So you stabbed me with a needle and you traumatized me?” You said accusingly. Bill chuckled, squeezing your shoulder softly in warning.

“No,” he said with a furrowed brow, “I traumatized you by stabbing you with a needle. It’s quite simple, really. And you saw me, and your brain remembered that trauma, and now you remember everything.”

“You son of a—“

“Okay that’s enough of that,” Bill held you back by pulling you back into him, “Tiger, you remember.”

“I remember,” you said softly, and when you raised on your tip toes he met you halfway, kissing you softly.

“So are we all just not going to acknowledge that this” Valter gestured to the two of you, “Is officially a thing, even when we all knew it was a thing?”

“I don’t know about that Valtermelon. It may not be a thing for long,” you muttered, and Bill looked to you curiously. You smacked his chest, taking a big step away from him as you glared.

“You fucking let me eat green onions?” You snapped at him, “Green onions?! Bill, you’re fucking fired.”

#bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard drabble #BFF!Bill #bill skarsgard fanfiction #bill skarsgard fanfic #angst #family drama #soft bill

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scarlet-star-witch · 3 years

Text

Fade Into You - Part 18 (Mandalorian/OC)

Summary: Din has spent a year grieving the love of his life. While he thinks he has lost her forever, she lingers in the darkness, her mind twisted and manipulated, with no memory of him or the love they shared. What will it take for Din to help her remember?

Warnings: Violence and a whole lotta angst (why do I do this to my favourite couple - readers I’m so sorry)

First Part Previous Part Next Part

Din was breathing heavily, his entire body tense as stone as he put all his might behind his body as he battered it against the locked door. His fear was reaching new heights to the point that it was almost blinding. He could feel every fibre of his being vibrating with anger.

The end felt close and the result, happy or devastating, was choking him.

He knew if he lost her, for real this time, it would be the end of him.

Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, pain that even his armour couldn’t deflect, he continued to slam his body against the door, desperate to break it open, to have his wife by his side again and kill Voros with his bare hands.

He knew Iella was facing her biggest fear and to know she was doing it alone was the most terrifying and intimidating moment he’d ever faced in his entire bounty hunting career.

Nothing compared to this moment.

“Fuck,” He muttered through gritted teeth, ignoring the wince of pain that flashed through him as his shoulder hit the door again. “El! Open the damn door you cowards!” He screamed.

He knew they could hear his desperation, he knew they could pinpoint his weakness easily, but he didn’t care. After everything he’d been through, after losing Iella and finding her again, he couldn’t pretend this wasn’t devastating.

“What’s going on?” Cara yelled, appearing at his side as she shot at the occasional passerby.

“She’s in there.”

Cara’s face fell and she stared at the door with fear. “And…”

“He’s in there with her.” Din answered her unasked question, the one they feared the most.

Cara took a long second, her mind racing before she followed Din’s lead and threw herself against the door, desperate to get it open. Din looked at her, his gratitude overflowing from him, and he continued, using every ounce of his strength to try to open the door that separated him from the love of his life.

Iella’s body was frozen where she stood, rigid and tense, ready for bloodshed at any second. Her eyes never left her old master as he stood from his chair and made his way down the few steps that separated them.

She took a small step backwards, wanting to keep the distance that separated them.

“It’s been awhile, my darling. You look wonderful.” He crooned charmingly, only making her stomach turn all the more.

Din’s pounding on the door behind them continued, making her wince and squeeze her eyes shut, trying her hardest to not let any tears fall.

His attempts to get to her and his desperate, fearful voice that called out to her only made Voros laugh, as if he found the situation the funniest thing he had ever heard.

“Well, he’s quite persistent, isn’t he?”

Iella ignored his words, keeping her harsh gaze locked on him. The guards at the door who kept their weapons pointed at her meant nothing, they didn’t register as threats in the slightest. The only thing on her mind was Voros.

“Why are you here, darling?”

“You know why.” She ground out through gritted teeth.

Voros snickered and shook his head. “To kill me, is that right?” He guessed correctly.

Iella tightened her grip on her knife, her expression not faltering.

“Let me guess, you realized what I had done to you, reunited with your bucket head of a husband, and you now hate my guts.” Voros drawled, taking slow steps towards her. “But, there’s something not adding up.”

Iella swallowed thickly, trying hard not to flinch under his scrutinizing gaze. She always felt like he could read her mind, like he knew everything she was feeling just with one harsh glance.

“If you were really happy you would’ve stayed by your husband’s side. You would’ve lived happily ever after, escaping me at every turn.” He eyed her carefully, taking a long pause. “But you’re here, confronting me… because you’re not happy, are you, darling?”

Iella swallowed thickly, schooling her expression so he wouldn’t find out the truth, but, as always with Voros, it was a losing game.

“I knew my machine worked.” He smiled deviously. “You don’t remember who you are. You don’t remember that husband of yours, you don’t remember your family, you don’t remember anything about yourself. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

Iella stayed quiet, but her expression gave everything away. Voros just laughed loudly, clapping his hands together as if the situation delighted him, like it was the best news he could have ever received.

“There’s this hole inside you, this darkness that you can’t grasp, no matter how hard you try. That’s why you’re here, putting your husband in danger. You think killing me will restore that darkness inside you. You think if I don’t exist, neither will that killer inside of you.” Voros monologued smugly.

Iella clenched her jaw, hating that everything he was saying was the truth.

Stay calm. He wants you to be angry and reckless. Don’t let him get under your skin.

“You’re smarter than that, Darling. You know killing me won’t change anything. Putting a knife in my heart won’t magically get your memories back, it won’t change your past or the bodies you’ve left in your wake… and it certainly won’t make you love the Mandalorian.”

Iella took in a ragged breath, feeling her anger beginning to overwhelm her.

She thought she had it under control, she thought she could be the bigger person, but as Voros goaded her about her biggest insecurities, as she heard Din’s voice crying out for her on the other side of the door, she cracked.

In the blink of an eye, she twirled on her heel, tossing her knife forward and watching in satisfaction as one of the guards fell to the ground, blood spewing out of the wound on his neck, and the other guards startled, briefly frozen in place in shock at her abrupt actions.

She rushed forward, leaning down to take her knife out of the man’s throat and quickly jumped to the side, using the momentum of her running to launch herself upwards, wrapping her legs around the other guard’s waist and closing her arms around his neck, beginning to choke the life out of him.

Voros laughed at the display, casually moving back to his throne and, without any real fear towards the threat against him, pressed the panic button at the side, alerting the rest of the troopers in the building to make their way to his room.

The crack of the guard’s neck was loud and Iella jumped off his back, letting him fall to the ground.

Two things happened at once in the blink of an eye.

The door behind Voros burst open and hoards of troopers came pouring into the room, their weapons raised at her in the same moment as the door behind her slammed open and Din and Cara stormed in with a deadly tension surrounding them.

Iella watched in awe as Din began to fight. It was so obvious his valiant protectiveness of her as he fought, as he kept his body in front of hers as he shot soldier after soldier. It took her a few seconds to shake off the intense feelings it caused her before she finally jumped back into the fight.

Together, they worked on taking down the entire troop that threatened them.

They were like a well oiled machine as they ended their enemies. Iella threw knife after knife, keeping one at her side as she swept through the crowd like a shadow, swiping the knife in her hand with a deadly accuracy, knowing exactly where to aim for the weak points in their armour, thanks to Voros and his training.

Din and Cara were deadly as they shot and kicked and punched at every trooper that came their way.

Their vision was blurred in red, in bloodshed, as they fought.

The only thing that mattered was ending this fight. The repercussions didn’t matter. Iella knew more numbers on her body count would hurt, would haunt her, but it was worth it to get them out alive.

It was all she cared about.

She was sweating and breathing heavily as she fought for her life. She couldn’t remember a time she had fought so hard for so much.

Voros, who was sitting in his chair at the front of the room, was biting his lip nervously as he watched the fight ensue. He was beginning to regret training his asset as he did. He never expected his own skills to bite him in the ass the way Iella was.

But he still had one more card to play.

“Kill the Mandalorian.” He ordered the few guards at his side, forcing them to move from his protection.

Iella was fighting valiantly, holding her own, until she heard the unmistakable sound of Din crying out, the sound of his pain cutting her deep.

She slashed the trooper in front of her, not even noticing as he fell to the ground. She watched, wide eyed, as her husband fell to the ground, a group of stormtroopers hovered over him, kicking and punching him, keeping him incapacitated, unable to fight back.

They shot him, the force of the blasts against his armour causing him to jolt and wince in pain with every bone shaking shot.

Iella fought back as best she could, slashing and kicking where she could. She effectively took out the group in front of her, ready to take out the group that threatened her husband, but Voros noticed, soon realizing he was losing this battle.

He got to his feet and raced down the steps, ready to intervene.

Iella was ready to fight tooth and nail to get rid of the group that threatened Din. But she paused, horrified to the point that it stopped her in her tracks, when she noticed Din on his knees, the troopers at his sides beginning to tear his armour off, eager to get rid of what was keeping them from killing him.

Her throat closed painfully tight, realizing this was the unbelievable worst case scenario. She knew she needed to do whatever it took to keep the inevitable from happening.

She raced forward, ready to take out the ones that threatened her husband’s life, his entire being, when a harsh grip on her hair stopped her, pulling her back.

She yelped, the force of their grip causing her to lose her footing.

“No, no, darling. I’m not letting you get away that easily.” Voros crooned in her ear, his grip on her tightening, making her expression twist with anger.

She grit her teeth, forcing herself to get to her feet, which wasn’t easy with the deathly tight grip he kept on her.

“You’re Mandalorian will die painfully and there’s nothing you can do-”

Voros’ words cut off with a grunt of pain as Iella slammed her head backwards, hitting his nose. He cursed loudly, holding onto his throbbing wound as it began to gush with blood.

Iella soon made her biggest mistake.

Her attention was solely on Din, on the man she had come to love, the man she soon realized had become her biggest distraction.

Din was trying his best to fight off the troopers that dared to take off his armour, that dared to tear him away from his wife. He raised his head, his eyes meeting hers, and his entire world crumbled.

Voros held her tightly, keeping her against him and took the knife from the belt at his side. In the blink of an eye, he held it above his head, his jaw clenched with effort, and he brought the weapon down with precision.

Iella’s mouth dropped open, a stifled, choked sound of pain escaping her throat.

She looked down in shock, her eyes widening at the sight of the knife embedded in her stomach.

Voros laughed behind her, a delighted sound that enraged her.

“I told you I would win.” He whispered in her ear.

Across the room, Din watched, as if in slow motion, as Iella looked to him, a helpless expression on her face, before she fell to the floor, her muscles giving out as she felt her power drain from her quickly.

His chest heaved, pure, unadulterated fury coursing through him so blindingly, he didn’t even truly understand what was happening.

He punched blindly, quickly taking out the troopers at his side, knocking them out instantly. But he didn’t notice. The only thing he saw, the only thing he noticed, was her.

His Iella.

His wife lay on the floor, blood pouring out of her. His worst nightmare had become a reality.

He could feel himself slipping. His hands began to shake, a pathetic, whimpering sound escaping his mouth at the sight of her as he leaned on the floor, using the only strength he had left to keep him propped upwards.

“El.” He croaked, his throat constricting as he watched her gasp for air, her face twisted in pain.

The knife sticking out of her stomach was like a glowing, neon sign. It called all of his attention. It was the only thing he could see.

It was horrifying.

Voros chuckled darkly, stepping over Iella’s gasping and tortured form, his eyes focused on the Mandalorian that was trembling with rage.

“Oh, this is a tragedy, isn’t it?” He taunted. “Watching the love of your life suffer, watching the life drain from her…”

Din grit his teeth, tears steadily falling down his cheeks as he watched her writhe in pain.

“If only you’d left well enough alone. If only her damaged self thought you were good enough for her.”

The sight of Iella, stabbed and in pain, and the harshness of his words, was the last straw. Din let out a mighty roar of anger and got to his feet, swinging his fist out, catching Voros in the jaw.

Voros fought back, pulling the staff off his back and striking the Mandalorian wherever he could, looking for any weakness he could find. Though he knew the biggest weakness he had was laying on the floor bleeding out. He’d already played his biggest card.

And it made the Mandalorian sloppy.

His punches didn’t hit their target due to the tears that blurred his vision. He didn’t move with his usual agility due to the trembling of his limbs.

From the ground, Iella watched through the black spots that danced across her eyes. She whimpered softly, her eyes squeezing shut as pain radiated through her so excruciatingly. But she needed to see, she needed to make sure Din won.

Cara was across the room, still holding her own against the few troopers that remained.

That left just Voros and Din, the two of them one on one, fighting to the death.

Iella winced, her eyes widening as she watched Voros unleash his psychoticism on Din, who could barely fight back with the accuracy he usually possessed.

Din was exhausted, physically and mentally, and it wasn’t long before Voros got the best of him, launching a mighty strike against the space where his helmet ended, the spot where his armour didn’t cover, where he was vulnerable.

Din could barely gasp for breath before another blow was hitting his legs, making him grit out a grunt of pain and lose his balance.

Voros kicked him in the chest, causing him to fall to the ground. The master stood above him menacingly, his face darkened with a twisted satisfaction that made Din’s stomach clench uncomfortably.

“I’ll enjoy killing you. Just as I enjoyed killing her.” He taunted as he kneeled down next to Din. “But there’s something I’m dying to do first.”

Iella watched, her heart racing, her hands shaking over her bloodied stomach. The tears that were slowly falling down her cheeks increased, turning into steady sobs as she watched Voros place his hands on Din’s helmet.

Din struggled, trying to pry his hands off, but Voros elbowed him, making his vision blur, dizziness overwhelming him at the harsh blow.

Voros wound his hands around Din’s neck, beginning to squeeze tightly. His helmet lifted slightly, exposing the bottom inch of his jaw. He gripped onto Voros’ wrists, but he couldn’t tear the man’s grip away.

The choked sound that left him made Iella begin to panic. She didn’t know what to do, she didn’t know if she could do anything. But she knew she needed to at least try, to protect Din’s creed and his life.

She knew she was a lost cause, but she would be damned if she let Din go down with her. In a way, she always knew this would be the outcome. She always knew a sacrifice would be how this fight ended.

And, in some twisted way, she was ok with that.

Gingerly reaching down to the hilt of the knife that stuck out of her stomach, her fingers wrapped around it gently. Her eyes shifted to Voros, making sure he wasn’t looking and making sure he still didn’t have the helmet off.

She began to pull the knife, the white hot pain she felt burning even hotter and more unbearable than before.

Slapping a hand over her mouth to stifle the scream of pain she wanted to let out, she continued to pull the knife out. Her body convulsed, her vision swirling as she felt the worst pain she ever had in her entire existence.

As soon as the knife was free, she fought the urge to pass out, using the only and quickly fading ounce of strength she had left to move herself forward.

She let out a loud cry of pain as she moved and slashed blindly.

Voros yelled in pain, anger flashing in his eyes as he stared down at the knife in his shin. Seeing the only opportunity he had and using Voros’ sudden shock to his advantage, Din quickly ripped the knife out of his shin and plunged it into his chest.

Barely conscious, Iella eyed her old master, a small smile forming on her face, full of relief, as she watched Voros stare at the both of them in shock, his eyes wide with the terrifying realization that he had lost.

For so long, Iella had dreamed of seeing that look on his face, of seeing him scared, of seeing the life drain from him.

Despite the pain she felt, she couldn’t ignore the weight that seemed to lift off her, allowing her to feel like she could finally breathe, as she watched her old master fall to the floor, blood pouring out of his mouth.

Din’s chest was heaving, eyeing the man who he held such pure hatred for as he finally succumbed to what he deserved.

As Voros took his last breath, Iella felt her body collapse. She laid her head on the floor, her chest heaving with pained, whimpering pants of pain. Her eyes fell closed with a heaviness that made it difficult to keep them open.

It became harder to keep herself tethered to consciousness with each passing second.

Hands gently cradling her cheeks made her flinch and her eyes drearily opened slowly. She saw Din above her, his hands shaking so hard they could barely keep their grip on her.

“-ease! Keep...eyes open... -ust look at me.” His frantic voice filtered in and out like crashing waves.

He sobbed as he watched her blink slowly, her skin a sickly pale colour he had never seen before. He couldn’t think straight. The only thing in his mind was no, no, no, no, no, the word screaming at him like a siren.

His hand slowly moved down towards her stomach, hovering over the bleeding wound. He let out a shaking, gasping breath when he saw how much blood there was, how much was still pouring out of her.

Acting quickly, he tore the cape off his shoulders and, as gently as he possibly could, wrapped it around her stomach. He winced, whispering apologies at her moan of pain as he lifted her slightly to move the fabric beneath her.

He tied the cape tightly, making sure it was enough pressure to press against her wound to stunt the bleeding. He knew it was tight enough when Iella cried out, her hands frantically grasping his, desperate to get the agonizing pressure off her.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He spoke through his sobs. “You’re gonna be ok. Just stay with me. Keep those eyes open for me, ok?” He pleaded to her and she nodded slowly, trying her best not to close her eyes that demanded sleep.

“We should go, get back to the ship.” Cara spoke up from across the room. She had watched Iella get stabbed with horror. When she was done fighting off the remaining troopers in the room, she moved out to the hallway, making sure there were no more coming their way.

When she was certain they were in the clear and she stepped back inside the room, she was shocked to see the master dead and the blood around Iella pooling even faster.

She could practically feel the waves of despair coming from the Mandalorian and it made her sick to her stomach.

Din didn’t budge or even acknowledge her presence when she spoke.

She stepped closer and kneeled down next to them, sparing a pained look at Iella and she quickly brushed her hand over the woman’s hair, allowing herself the briefest of caring moments to share with her.

“Din,” Cara said softly, making him flinch. It was the first time she’d ever used his name. “We have to go now if we have any chance of getting her help.”

Her words took a lagged second to register in his grief stricken brain, but he eventually nodded stiffly in understanding.

Any chance of getting her help

Those words struck an even deeper fear into him. The possibility that they wouldn’t get help in time, or that there was nothing anyone could do to help her… it was too much to fathom. His heart stuttered within his chest and he let out a ragged breath.

“Ok… ok.” He whispered, his mind working to psyche himself up for what was to come. He needed to be strong for her.

He leaned towards Iella who looked back at him worriedly. She knew what happened next would be excruciating.

“I’m so sorry.” He told her genuinely before carefully taking her limp body in his arms, which immediately stiffened as pain coursed through her at the slight movement.

Din’s eyes squeezed shut, his expression twisted in agony at the sound of his wife’s scream of pain as he lifted her in his arms. He whispered a plethora of apologies, his heart feeling heavy as he heard her pain.

It was as if a knife had been embedded in his own stomach. Just hearing it was enough to hurt him.

“It hurts.” She sobbed, her face twisted with a pain he had never seen her experience before. A pain he wished he had never seen her experience.

Fresh tears fell down his face as he heard the vulnerability in her voice. It absolutely broke him.

“I know, I know. I’m so sorry. You’re gonna be ok, but we have to hurry. You have to hold on just a little bit longer.”

Iella nodded, Din’s soft cadence stirring something inside her, despite the trauma she was experiencing.

“I’ve cleared the building but I don’t know what’s waiting for us outside. We gotta be careful.” Cara told him, expertly avoiding Iella’s gaze.

It was bad enough to look at the Mandalorian. Even with the helmet that covered his face, she could tell how devastated he was. And seeing her dear friend in pain was just about too much for her.

Din didn’t respond, his gaze was locked onto the woman in his arms that was almost unconscious from the agonizing pain she was experiencing.

“Let’s go.” Cara ordered and began to make her way out the room, only hoping that Din would be cognizant enough to follow her. She winced, the sound of Iella’s whimper of pain was the only indication she had that they were following, and it made her stomach twist uncomfortably.

“It’ll be a couple hours before we reach Nevarro. Is there a closer port where she can get help?” Cara asked as they walked rapidly through the empty corridors of the base that was now a ghost town.

Cara turned her head when she received no answer and she saw that his helmet was tilted downwards to look at Iella.

“Mando?” She prompted and his helmet raised abruptly.

“Uhh, I don’t… I’m not sure.” He answered staggeredly.

The pain she heard in his voice kept her from asking any more questions.

They moved stealthily as they made their way outside. Cara peeked around the corner, making sure there were no stragglers. Once she saw the coast was clear, she motioned them forward.

Din moved as carefully as their rapid pace allowed. He let Cara take the lead, not even flinching as she shot the occasional passerby that threatened them.

He barely even noticed.

The only thing on his mind was her.

He glanced down at her every few seconds, making sure she was still breathing, making sure her eyes were still open, causing him to nudge her gently and coax her awake when he noticed they weren’t.

It seemed like hours before they saw the stolen cargo ship on the horizon.

Cara ramped up her pace, wanting to get the engine started and ready to run by the time Din and Iella were on board. She knew time was crucial now, that they couldn’t waste even a second.

“How are you doing?” Din asked as he slowed his pace to carefully ascend the ramp of the stolen ship. He tried to keep the worry out of his tone, but it was a failed effort.

“‘M tired.” Iella mumbled softly.

Din’s stomach dropped at her words and the lazy and dull tone of her voice as she spoke them.

He was losing her and he knew there was nothing he could do about it.

He carefully lowered her to the floor, immediately pressing his hands against the tied cape around her wound, breathing out another apology as she whined in pain.

“Stop apologizing.” Iella breathed out.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“He would’ve killed you.”

“Look at what he did to you!” Din yelled frantically. He didn’t even register the low hum of the ship starting. He only held onto Iella tighter, keeping her steady as the ship lurched side to side as it began to take off.

Iella shook her head, a look of resolution overtaking her, one that chilled Din to his core.

“This was always what was going to happen. Voros was always going to get his revenge.” Iella said softly.

“You… El, c’mon. Don’t talk like-”

“You know what’s going to happen.” She interrupted. She could feel herself slipping away slowly, she could feel her energy draining more and more with each passing second.

“No!” He screamed in despair. “I’m not letting- you can’t… fuck, El, I can’t go through this again. I can’t lose you. I’ve lived without you before and I can’t do it again. I won’t survive.”

“You will, cause it’s not just you anymore. You have to look after the child.”

Din let out a harsh breath. He spared a look back, making sure Cara was still situated in the cockpit before turning back towards his wife. He let go of her, just for a second, and lifted his helmet off his head.

He refused to admit that this was it, that this was the last time he gazed upon his wife. But the cynical part of his brain told him to remove his helmet so he could look on her with his own eyes… just in case.

Iella sighed, a soft smiling coming to her pained face as she looked at him.

She reached out, her hand resting against his scruffed jaw. Din’s breath hitched and his eyes fell closed at the feeling he had learned to never take for granted. Her touch was heavenly.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered. “I didn’t want to hurt you.. but, I always figured this was how it would end. I never wanted you to get involved. I never wanted him to hurt you.”

“I never wanted him to hurt you. I’m sorry I couldn’t stop it, I’m sorry I couldn’t-”

“Stop. Don’t you dare put that on yourself.” She told him, as sternly as her weak state would allow. A somber expression overtook her and tears gathered in her eyes. “You have to promise me you won’t lose yourself. Promise me you’ll look after the kid and… promise me you’ll love again.”

Din’s eyes widened, a look of resentment growing and he shook his head.

“Iella, you can’t ask me-”

“Promise me you’ll love again, Din.” Iella repeated. “You deserve it, more than anyone I’ve ever known. You can’t lose it just because I’m gone.”

Din let out a shuddering breath, tears steadily falling from his eyes.

“No, I’m not…” He took a long breath in an effort to compose himself. “Iella, you are the only woman I have ever loved. You are my life, you are my sun, you are everything good in my life. Without you…” He trailed off, unable to come face to face with the inevitable unfolding before him.

Iella’s tears fell freely as she watched her husband crumble.

“There is no one like you. There will never be anyone for me but you.” Din told her earnestly.

“Din, please-”

“No. You’re going to be fine. We’ll patch you up and you’ll be ok.”

“Din, we both know you’re a smart man. You have to stop lying to yourself.” Iella said softly and he shook his head, more tears falling from his eyes as he placed his hand over hers that lay against his cheek.

He couldn’t ignore the inevitable much longer.

“I love you so much.” He sobbed, leaning down to press his forehead against hers.

Iella reached up, her fingers weaving their way through his mess of curly tresses.

“I love you.”

Din’s eyes widened, his stomach flipping pleasantly. He raised his head, his frantic gaze looking down at her in shock.

She smiled lazily, her fingers continuing their trek through his mass of curls. She didn’t know how, but she knew he always loved it. He leaned down, crashing his lips to her desperately. Iella let her eyes fall closed, allowing herself one last moment of bliss.

He pulled away after a few seconds, already missing her lips, wishing he could continue forever.

“Thank you for everything you did for me, for being so patient and understanding.”

“Stop, please.” He pleaded, his face a mask of agony. He couldn’t listen to her say goodbye. He couldn’t accept that he would have to say goodbye to her.

He refused to accept her quickly unravelling fate.

The door of the cockpit hissed open and Din quickly ducked his head out of reflex, hiding his face from whoever had opened the door. He scrambled for his helmet, placing it over his head in a second.

He looked over his shoulder and his shoulders slumped when he saw the child waddling out of the cockpit.

His large ears turned downwards when he saw the state Iella, his mother, was in and he quickly scampered towards her, a crying whine escaping him.

Din suddenly had a realization, his body perking up once again. He looked from the child to Iella and back to the child again.

“El… he can help. He can heal you!” He cried out excitedly.

Iella frowned and looked at the child who was eyeing her with the saddest expression she’d ever seen on his innocent face. It broke her heart, but she knew she couldn’t inflict that on the tiny thing.

“Din, you saw what it did to him on Nevarro. I don’t want to cause him any pain, I can’t make him go through that.”

“He was fine! You have to let him try, he can fix everything, he can-”

“Din, stop!” Iella yelled and winced immediately, gingerly placing her hand over her wound with a stifled whimper. “This is how it’s supposed to be.”

“No, that’s bullshit. I’m not letting you die for this.”

“I’ve already made my peace with it.” She said softly, calmer this time. Her tone made Din feel sick to his stomach. It was as if she had already accepted her death.

“W-what?”

“I’m tortured, Din. I’m not myself and you know it. I can never be the woman you want me to be and it kills me everytime I hurt you with some stupid fact I can’t remember.” She explained softly. “I can’t live with this version of myself and neither can you.”

Din shook his head, refusing to accept what he was hearing.

“You have to let me go-”

“No!” Din yelled angrily, his voice cracking with a sob.

“Din… I’m already gone. I’ve been gone for a long time.”

Her words made him break. He finally cracked, his sobs now flowing freely. He laid himself down next to her, his hand reaching out to cradle her cheek, turning her head to face him so he could lay his forehead against hers in the last keldabe kiss they would ever share.

“I can’t- El, I don’t think I can do this.” He cried helplessly.

“You can. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known. I know you can.”

Din cried openly, the harsh reality finally descending on him like a punch to the gut.

“I love you. I’ve always loved you.” Iella told him, only making his tears fall steadier.

“I love you. I love you so much, Cyare.”

His words were barely uttered before a harsh cry of pain fell from her lips. Din flinched and instinctively pulled away, worried that he had done something to hurt her.

When her cries of pain continued, he searched frantically, his eyes finally laying on the child who held his three fingered claw to Iella’s stomach, his eyes closed in concentration as he attempted to heal her deadly wound.

Inside, he was elated. He knew her reservations about the child’s powers, but he couldn’t deny the absolute relief that flowed through him as he watched the child work his magic.

He reached out, grabbing Iella’s hand in his, which she grabbed onto like a lifeline, squeezing until he grimaced in pain.

His heart hurt, seeing her in such agony. It seemed that the child was making it worse.

Iella swallowed thickly, forcing herself to breathe through the pain inflicted from the child’s power. She felt an uncomfortable sensation in her stomach, as if she were pulling that knife out once again. It was a heat that spread over her body, until it reached her head, and then it became agonizing, like her brain was being pulled apart.

“Kid…” Din warned wearily, not understanding what exactly was happening. It wasn’t until a piercing, shrill scream sounded from his wife and he saw Iella’s back arch, her body shivering and writhing away from the child’s touch, that he knew he needed to intervene.

“Hey, Kid, stop, stop! You’re hurting her!” He yelled.

The child only continued, focusing hard on his powers. Din launched himself forward, moving to pull him away, when the child stumbled to the ground, his big eyes slowly blinking until they fell closed. Wide eyed and shocked, Din looked down at Iella who was still panting in pain.

But the colour had returned to her cheeks.

His heart beat rapidly and, before he could get his hopes up, he moved to check her wound, pulling the cape away from her stomach with shaking hands, praying in his mind frantically that it had worked.

He let out a ragged breath, relief overwhelming him when he saw her tanned skin, unmarred.

“El?” He called out quietly.

Iella’s chest was heaving, her face still screwed tightly in pain. Her hands moved to cover her face, her hands trembling slightly. She was worrying him.

He hovered over her, gently taking her hands in his. “Are you ok? What’s happening?” He asked desperately, her reaction confusing him. He thought she’d be relieved to be healed, but she was beginning to scare him.

“I remember.” She choked out, her voice weak and frail sounding, it was barely distinguishable.

But Din heard.

His heart jumped, skipping what he figured was too many beats to be healthy. His hands shook as he leaned over her, brushing the hair out of her eyes, needing to see those eyes of hers to ground himself, to make himself believe that this was real.

“W-what?”

Iella looked at him with reverence, like she was seeing him clearly for the first time.

“I remember everything.”

Welp... hope you enjoyed xx

Tags: @cosmo-bear @lavenderl3mons @starfirette @the-feckless-wonder @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @lil-baby27 @promiscuoussatan @assassinsasha23 @killtherandomness @dartheldur @remmyswritings @boomtownboy@saramelcky @frietiemeloen @thefact0rygirl @fantasyfan4ever @thirstyb-ches @lilliannaansalla @starlite41 @wantingtobekorra @moobaggg @altarsw

#the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin x reader #pedro pascal x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian imagine

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malaks-perch · 3 years

Text

wine tasting

consul valerius x reader

everyone loves a pain in the ass...

warnings: maybe some innuendoes? floof. spice and everything nice. soft angst, but i dont think so. sofff valerius? spicy valerius👌👌 swearing. i think there's swearing

a/n: sorry this took so long @taeguccibracelet and i think its kinda short. lil fast paced too. my ask is open.

now when nadia asked you to spend a day with valerius, you did not anticipate the forever drinking man to be so.. so.. so sassy.

i mean who could refuse nadia? portia came scrambling in as you finished speaking with nadia when the redhead announced the early arrival of some foreign ambassador the countess appraised your company and asked that you entertain her's for a while.

now honestly, you'd rather let them scream at each other until they lost their voices. neither of them got along, asra once dismissed himself, but the nadia's hopeful eyes were hard to ignore.

portia was silently thanking you a thousand times over as she trailed behind the countess.

when the courtiers got wind of this?

you? entertain them?

all of them scrambled for an excuse to be elsewhere. everyone except valerius.

"well? you heard the countess." he raised a brow, motioning to the door making the wine in the same hand violently jolt in it's glass. "entertain me."

you had to grit your teeth. bite your cheek. curl your fists. anything to keep from snapping on this arrogant son of a—

"are you going to stand there?" valerius shook his head unimpressed that his needs were not met. "if standing around is all you're good for, now that you've gone and defeated—"

"listen here, you pompous piece of palace trash." there went your restraint. words were flying fast and not a thought in your head would stop you from giving this man a piece of your mind. "the only reason you're here, valerius, is because nadia took pity on your drunk ass. you're lucky that asra stopped lucio from dragging you down with him because if it were me? i would have dropped you like a bag of dirt. entertain. yourself."

the audience in your head was applauding you for a flawless rebuttal to valerius. you were storming towards the door and already planning how you would unwind after dealing with him. honestly, the nerve of that guy—

a hand shut the door you had begun to open. fear spiked at your nerves. for a moment you forgot who you were and the identity of the person behind you. striking up an ounce of bravery, you followed the hand over your shoulder to valerius.

now.. you would expect a furious courtier. the smell of nectar and a sweet floral scent filled your nose that would have put anyone to ease, but the bitter trails of alcohol were a sharp reminder of who you had pissed off.

but upon seeing valerius at ease, you didn't know what to expect. he raised a brow, a tiny smirk on his face upon meeting your wide eyes.

"if i had been lucio moments ago that little outburst of yours would have you banished from the palace walls in a second."

you wanted to tell him that you'd purposely give him food poisoning, but the clarity of his silvern irises rendered you speechless. especially when he leaned in until he was a breath away.

"but it's a good thing i'm not him." he whispered, staring into your glimmering eyes.

there was a moment of stillness. valerius staring into your eyes and you trying to figure out why you didn't want to rip him apart for invading your personal space. but then it was gone.

he was gone. turning his back to you and skillfully picking up a few bottles of wine and an old glass in another. one moment you could taste the sweet aroma on his breath and another he was back to you.

"come along, magician." valerius raised a brow to you, peering over his shoulder with a smirk. "why don't we disappear for awhile? it'd be a shame for you to have an episode in front of the countess."

disappear?

your eyes widened. no way. he couldn't have— could he? you chased after valerius, running through the door after him, "was that a pun?!"

valerius rolled his eyes as you both walked down a hallway and off the veranda into the garden. it was then you realized that the path valerius was taking through the garden was one you were unfamiliar with.

you reached for valerius, clinging to his arm as you glanced around at the different part of the garden where valerius was taking you. he only smirked, never sparing a glance as stopped in front of rusted iron gates that towered over the both of you.

"valerius, if you even think of assassinating me—"

valerius let out something of a laugh before glancing over at you, "obviously the palace magician isn't aware of the previous count's cellar."

"lucio couldn't have—"

"as much as lucio would like to claim this masterpiece, this is far too classy for his tastes."

you fought a laugh, watching as he pulled out a gilded wooden key and unlocked the giant doors.

valerius ushered you inside and closed the door, unaware of how you'd suddenly looked doe-eyed when you'd begun to take in your surroundings.

plush pillows and blankets were set over every inch of the floor. shades of maroon and magenta set out in the floor while floating candles lit themselves up upon valerius muttering an incantation.

"it's amusing that you consider yourself important enough to be assassinated." valerius called, plopping down on a large black pillow much too big to be for just one person.

"and i suppose you are?" you scoffed, raising a brow as you took one of the bottles from valerius and sitting next to him on the blankets.

he set a hand on his chest as he set down wine bottles, "vesuvia would weep for me."

"i would weep for vesuvia if historians thought you were important enough to be assassinated." you snorted, opening the wine bottle so the cork flew past his head.

in turn, valerius mirrored you except his cork hit you square in the forehead. he chuckled at the horrified look you gave him.

in favor of preserving your honor, you chucked one of the pillows behind you and it landed square in valerius's face. he sat up in time to see you on your back, laughing at the way his face contorted with disgust, but upon seeing you smiling he couldn't help but smirk a little.

he handed you a bottle and you took it wondering what on earth made his lips turn up in the slightest.

"i didn't know you could smile, valerius."

"I didn't know the palace magician could have fun." he shot you smile, gilded eyes watching you from over the rim of his glass.

"you never asked." you teased, wrapping your lips around the bottle's rim and dipped your head back to let the sweet liquid sliver down your throat.

if you'd been looking you would have seen valerius nearly drop his wine glass while he stared.

his eyes focused on the length of your neck before trailing up to the wine that trickled from the side of your mouth. valerius tore his eyes away from you so he could gather his thoughts as he stared into his own glass.

"if you keep drinking, you're going to end up drunk." he rolled his eyes, relaxing into the pillows behind him.

he wasn't expecting a weight to come crashing down on the pillows to his right. his eyes snapped open and his head snapped over to find you with your legs propped on his and raising a brow at him.

"are you—"

"why don't you like me?" he nearly choked on his spit.

he met your brillaintly dilated eyes and nearly swore aloud for it. every time he found himself staring at them he would nearly forget what he was thinking.

you crossed your arms, waiting for an answer. with your hair messed up and how you laid back with that bottle of wine...

he found his thoughts dipping into the gutter.

"p-pardon?" he asked, opting for switching his glass for the bottle to take a nice long drink.

"why don't you like me?" you repeated without missing a beat.

valerius set his bottle down while he gathered his thoughts and waited for you to continue.

"you're always nitsticking me—"

"nitpicking."

"see?!" you pointed your bottle at him and his lips puckered when he realized that he'd proved your point. "then you're always looking down your nose at me. so tell me, consul~"

he watched you climb up so you sat up beside him. valerius tried so desperately to maintain eye contact, but with the alcohol in his system and the delicious warmth radiating off you- it was becoming a challenge.

"why don't you like me?"

he scoffed, taking your bottle and nearing your face with the slightst smirk. "i'm like that with everyone, darling."

you snatched the bottle from his lips and before he could ground something out, you were straddling his lap and pushing him back by his chest as you took a swing.

he swallowed when you never broke eye contact with him. one of his hands curling around yours that pressed to his chest before yanking.

you went falling forward and valerius' lips caught yours, drinking down the wine from your lips before pulling back to look at your flustered expression.

wine trickled down the side of his mouth and he grinned, flipping you on your back before standing up. "despite how very alluring you are, i propose we reconvene after we're both sober, yes?"

valerius helped you to your feet and promptly guided you out of the cellar upon hearing the guards calling for you.

you couldn't help, but watch as valerius locked up the cellar with the same pointed look as always except there was a tiny pull upward at the corner of his lips.

"i'm surprised you didn't we didn't wine, dine, and—"

you were cut off by his chuckle and his hand caressing your cheek, leaning into you. "obviously, you've had too much to drink."

"so you're into me then, consul valerius?"

a mischevious smile on his face before he waved his hand and let out the most dramatic sigh. "i suppose it's the pretty face that got me."

he turned meeting your eyes, the sharp gaze making your breath hitch. especially when he extended a hand towards you.

"but you can't say that's what drew you to me." his fingers looped with yours and tugged you to walk beside him.

"i think~" you sang, spinning in his arms as the sunset flitted over the gardens. "it was the wine."

valerius rolled his eyes and pressed a kiss to your knuckles before you parted to join the guards waiting for you at the veranda.

"until next time, valerius."

you were halfway up the stairs when he called you back.

underneath the moonlight, arms crossed over his chest as he gave a teasing smile. even in the wine stained robes, he seemed most radiant as he stared upon you.

"next time, we dine first."

a giddy feeling bubbled in your chest and you couldn't stop yourself from smiling then. maybe valerius was the cranky, ill-tempered consul.

but he could be.. pleasant when he wanted to.

#the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana valerius #valerius the arcana #valerius x mc #valerius x you #valerius x reader #the arcana x apprentice #valerius x apprentice #the arcana x mc #the arcana x you #the arcana x reader #valerius #consul valerius #consul valerius x mc

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kai-keda · 3 years

Text

Who Did This To You? | Spicynoodle (MK/Red Son) One Shot

Here's a link to the story on Ao3 and it is also under the cut.

While cuddling, MK breaks his and Red Son's silent agreement and asks him where the scar on his face came from.

Red Son hesitates but decides to answer the question.

This is only 1075 words but I just really wanted to write this conversation. (Does this count as a drabble? I forget the terms for fic-writing cause it's been awhile)

Warning:

Corporal punishment is referenced but no details are shared and it isn't shown. Only mentioned.

MK couldn’t help but enjoy the cuddling. Sometimes Red Son would get a bit overbearing with it, he was clearly touch-starved despite his insistence to the contrary, but at the end of the day, he listened to whatever MK asked.

If the younger of the two ever complained about Red Son holding too tight or for too long, keeping him from doing literally anything else that he may need to do, the demon would let him go without question. His hair would light up for a second in his embarrassment, as would his face, and he would yell something along the lines of ‘I was only holding you for that long because I thought you wanted me to!’ which was always adorable. So MK didn’t mind too much.

One day, though, MK was so relaxed and comfortable as he leaned his back against Red Son’s chest that he had forgotten something important about their relationship.

Him and Red Son had always had an understanding. A sort of quiet agreement never to be spoken out loud.

They left each other’s past in the past.

Red Son never asked MK where his parents were and why he didn’t live with them, and MK never asked anything in return.

Until that day when MK lazily turned and reached out to gently touch his lover's left cheek. He traced the scar and could feel Red Son twitch with uncertainty. He didn’t register what that uncertainty could be for, though.

So he asked one of those forbidden questions.

“Who did this to you?”

Red Son gave a glare out of the corner of his eyes and while MK would normally have raised his hands and apologized for asking, this time, his curiosity was too large.

Or was it anger?

Red Son was a demon, and as he had told MK many times before, that meant he healed quickly from any sort of physical damage and that included scars being very rare for him as well as his kind in general.

So seeing this singular scar on his cheek ever since being informed of that set MK on edge. He knew Red Son and Monkey King had fought in the past and the thought of the one scar, the one permanent mark left on his boyfriend from battle, came from his own hero… it scared him.

When MK didn’t back down in the face of that glare, Red Son let out an angry sigh and brought a hand to his own head. He was clearly upset by the question and yet he was trying to find the words to answer it.

Worried that his fears would be realized, MK glanced away. After a long moment of silence, MK opened his mouth to say ‘You don’t have to answer’ but the second before he could manage any sound, Red Son beat him to it.

“It was Father.”

MK's eyes widened, he jolted in place, sitting up straighter and staring as Red Son looked to the ground, his hand rubbing the back of his neck in a sign of awkwardness.

MK could not find the words.

“He was frustrated with me when I was younger over my speaking out of turn. Any other time he would spoil me, give me anything I wanted and would tell me how proud he was at how I had managed to master the power of Samadhi Fire I was blessed with. At least, that was before…”

The younger mortal leaned forward, watching Red Son carefully with an unmoving gaze.

When Red had glanced over to meet his eyes, he flinched and his face and hair showed his embarrassment once again. Much more intense than the last time.

“Don’t stare at me like that, Noodle Boy! This isn’t one of your Monkey King story-times from that aggravating scholar of yours!”

MK’s expression turned into a glare and he shoved his boyfriend, almost pushing him off the couch.

“I know that!” he shouted. “I’m just trying to make sure I catch every detail and don’t forget anything so I don’t ever have to ask you about it again!”

The demon looked surprised at that. Eyes wide. As though the idea of MK doing such a thing for his benefit had come as a complete shock.

Red leaned forward with the intent of giving his lover an appreciative kiss but a hand on his mouth and a light push stopped him.

“Finish telling me what happened between you and your dad, first.”

Red huffed but sat back, he rested his elbow on the arm of the couch, crossed one leg over the other and shut his eyes. He would do what the noodle boy wanted but he certainly wouldn’t let him forget this exchange.

“Back then, father had a bit of a harem, you might say. He had several Huli Jing brides who all knew of each other and were perfectly fine with it. Mother, however, was not so keen on the idea. I could sense her frustration and so I confronted Father about it. He said it wasn’t my place and in my foolishness, I continued to argue with him.”

Red Son’s eyes opened just enough to show how he was still hurt by the exchange that had to have happened centuries ago. He looked as though he was not seeing what was in front of him, but rather, viewing the incident of the past from an outsider's perspective.

“I do not believe I have ever fully atoned for that.”

Hearing that last part suddenly made so much click into place for MK. He was upset at Demon Bull King, certainly, but right now, that’s not what Red Son needed.

So, although he was tired of the cuddling and he knew he had things to do and was running out of time to do them, MK leaned into Red’s side and smiled, shutting his eyes and letting himself relax.

“You’re pretty warm.”

He could feel whatever tension Red had been holding leave him as he wrapped his arm around his shoulder, shifted his position around to be more comfortable, and clung tightly to the mortal.

There was silence between them for the rest of their time together that day and MK was alright with that.

He would have to tell Red Son of his own troubled past in exchange someday soon, but for now, he was content knowing all his lover ever wanted was to be close to him.

#spicynoodleshipping #spicy noodles #lmk mk #lmk red son #fanfiction #one shot #drabble #lego monkie kid #kairi yajuu fanfiction #THESE TWO ARE SO SOFT #they were so fun to write because of just how cute they are #like holy shit they're adorable

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jinmukangwrites · 4 years

Text

Whumptober 2020 Day 8

Abandoned | Isolation

Ao3

Warnings: Depression, Panic Attacks, Claustrophobia, blink and you'll miss it Suicidal Thoughts.

Dedicated to @ckbookish! Hope you don't mind me tagging you 👉👈

-o-o-o-o-

"That's great, Dami! I'm happy for you."

Dick held the phone between his ear and shoulder, listening to Damian ramble on about an advanced theater class he got into because the teacher felt the current intermediate class he was in was wasting his potential. He carefully scrubbed the sides of the bowl he had just finished eating about five servings of pudding out of and set it off to the side. He wiped his hands then leaned against the counter, smiling.

"Thank you, Richard," Damian said. His voice was just as stiff and careful as it always was, but Dick could hear the excitement and gratitude sprinkled in there. The kid was opening up. Expressing himself more and more every day in ways the place he came from had never allowed him to. Dick couldn't remember the last time Damian genuinely threatened anyone with violence, let alone threatened Tim. In fact, last he heard, Tim and Damian were going to go to the Gotham Zoo together next weekend. There was no real reason for them to. It was just to attempt at hanging out and Dick couldn't be more proud.

"When will you be switching to the new class?" Dick asked. While he did, he began to migrate from the kitchen counter towards his bedroom door, careful to not trip on anything that was laying on the floor. Not for the first time this day, week, month, or year, Dick made a mental note to finally deep clean the place. "Like, is this a tomorrow thing or…?"

"At the end of the term, actually," Damian answered, his voice dropping ever so slightly. Dick hummed in sympathy. He sounded very excited about it, it must be agonizing for him to find out he needed to wait another few months for the first term to come to a close.

"Well, I'm sure you'll have fun being the best in your current class until then," Dick joked, finally reaching the door to his bedroom and placing his hand on the door handle. Damian scoffed over the phone.

"I am not the best, unfortunately." Damian didn't sound that torn up about it, which was good. Admitting someone was better than you was good character growth. It proved that Damian was letting himself start from the bottom of something instead of immediately being at the top. "There is another girl, her name is Abigail. She has been taking classes since she was a toddler because her mother runs a local theater group."

"So she's as good at theater and you are with a sword," Dick confirmed and Damian hummed.

Dick opened his door, mentally planning out the least tedious way to get undressed, in bed, and asleep as quickly as possible. First he needed to end the phone call, as much as he didn't want to. He started a new job tomorrow, so he needed to be rested. There was a swimming pool downtown that was looking for an assistant coach for the children's gymnastics classes they held there. Dick took up the job the moment he saw it. Or well, the moment he was no longer swinging past it as Nightwing and was back in civilian clothes. There was a good chance that he could work his way up to being a head instructor with his own classes, considering the woman who hired him didn't really seem the type to enjoy children very much. Dick gave it two months tops before she began to just not show up, making it so he was promoted.

"I suppose so," Damian said, "she won't be moving up with me however. She has… friends in the lower class that she doesn't want to-"

Dick missed out on the rest, because the moment he stepped into his bedroom and closed the door behind him, his feet were knocked out from under him and his phone flung from his hand. Decades of experience made it so he was immediately able to go from zero to a hundred, allowing him to scramble up from the floor and throw a punch at the closest shadow like clockwork.

His fists met air. With wide eyes, he spun around his room, heart in his throat as he tried to figure out what had shoved him to the floor.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. All he could see was his messy room, his unmade bed, his open closet, and his closed window.

Suddenly, Dick heard a noise sound across his room from where he threw his phone. Dick rushed across his room and searched for his phone like he had been jolted by a bolt of electricity. He hated how confused and worried Damian's muffled demands sounded.

"Richard! What happened?!"

There! Dick bent down and reached out his hand to grab the phone-

And then his hand went through the phone.

Dick stared down at his empty hand and the phone that sat unmoving on the ground, everything going deathly still as he tried to… process what happened. If it was actually real.

Okay. His nerves were just shot. He tried again, this time a little more slower and careful. He watched with disbelieving eyes as his hand once again just… went through the phone. It just laid there, undisturbed, like Dick wasn't… even there.

Damian's voice rose in volume and Dick kneeled down, noting now how he was fully grounded on the floor; his shirts and other various objects around him phased through him like holograms. Okay, okay so something was definitely wrong. "Damian?" Dick asked, but Damian didn't say anything, just continued to shout for Dick to answer.

"Damian!" Dick yelled louder, but Damian didn't say anything that counted as a reply.

"Richard, if you don't answer me, I will fetch father!"

"Bruce might be a good idea there, Dami," Dick breathed, falling back onto his rear end and watching how he simply went through everything. He brought his hand back to his phone and purposely stuck it through, his fingernail soundlessly tapped the hidden floor beneath.

Curious, Dick knocked on the wood, and when no noise reached his ears he hit it harder.

Nothing. He can't touch anything and apparently he couldn't be heard.

And suddenly, Dick was filled with the crippling realization that he had… no idea what to do now. He just sat there, listening to Damian panic until he eventually hung up to fetch Bruce. Dick sat there, running his fingers through everything he couldn't touch around him until he knew the entire space around him by heart. Dick sat there, and it took him… awhile to work up the energy to stand up and figure this out. But when he did, he forced himself to not let the confusion, horror, and fear stop him. He walked around the room first, looking for something that must have made him like this. There were no sigils that he could see, and if one was hidden under the things he had left on the floor, he wouldn't know because no matter how hard he focused or how many times he tried, he couldn't get anything to move. He went to sit down on his bed to think this through, but then his hand went straight through the mattress and he barely caught himself in time to avoid landing on his rear.

Thoroughly freaked out now, he ran through his dresser, heart pounding to the upbeat rhythm of his phone as Bruce began to call him. Dick didn't pick up the phone, he knew he wouldn't be able to.

He couldn't touch anything. He couldn't. Touch. Anything. His feet would hit the ground and have no volume. His hands would slap against the wall but nothing would sound. He tried not to panic, but when he went to go out his door, it didn't move. He tugged on the door handle. It didn’t budge. Not a single millimeter.

And okay. Okay he was beginning to panic now. He sprinted to the window and slammed his elbows against it, but it was like the glass was replaced with a transparent sheet of solid steel.

Was this some sort of hallucination? Had whatever knocked him down drugged him somehow? Did he hit his head?

He was hyperventilating—this he knew for sure but suddenly he didn't know how to stop it—and without thinking he ran back to his door, banging his silent fists against the wood and tugging on the frozen in place handle.

Oh gods. This was really happening wasn't it? Somehow, he had found himself unable to move anything. Unable to go anywhere. Unable to- to-

His knees gave out, causing him to slide down against the door and press his forehead against the unmovable force before him. He couldn't- he couldn't breathe. Somewhere, at the back of his head, a voice told him that he could breathe. He could take breaths right now and calm down. He could count five things he could see, four things he could touch, three things he could hear, two things he could smell, and one thing he could taste. He could calm down and think rationally and explore his situation a bit more calmly. But the moment he opened his eyes after not realizing he had them closed in the first place and saw his leg phasing through his empty trash can he knew he couldn't go anywhere from there without having a full blown mental breakdown.

So he closed his eyes, tried making noise on the door once again, and tried to keep his breakdown to a minimum.

Just hyperventilating. Just fading.

"Help!" He shouted before he could really consider what good that would do. He was at the top floor of his building and the neighbors across from him weren't home until early in the morning thanks to the graveyard shift. No one will hear him… even if he could be heard.

His phone began to ring again and Dick stuck his fist into his mouth and bit down on his knuckles to keep from screaming.

He sat there—trying and failing to breathe, trying and failing to not cry—and continued to sit there until eventually, he found himself leaning against the door with half lidded and tearful eyes, staring at how his body continued to not touch a single thing.

He let his eyes fall shut one final time and let the stress and anxiety and confusion whisk him away into a very troubled slumber.

-o-o-o-o-

When he woke up he was immediately made aware that his current situation was, in fact, not a nightmare.

And so much worse than what he could even predict.

He awoke to him falling backwards, a crick in his neck and spine suddenly becoming undone as the door he was leaning against suddenly opened, hitting his head with a disquietingly silent bonk on the floor of his living room. For a hopeful, blissful moment he thought whatever happened before he passed the fuck out was all fake and he had just imagined the entire thing, but then he opened his eyes and lifted his head…

Just to see a pair of legs sticking out from the middle of his intangible chest.

His breath hitched, his eyes flicking up to see a worried Bruce literally standing inside of him. The threat of hyperventilating once again became a very real thing as Bruce stepped past him, into the room, and started calling his name.

"Bruce!" Dick shouted, scrambling up from the floor and running back into the room that had previously been his impenetrable prison. He instinctively tried to grab his shoulder, but ended up flinching back violently when his hand simply went through Bruce. He couldn't feel Bruce at all. None of the course fibers of his winter coat brushed against his touch receptors. "Bruce! I'm here!" He tried again, but surprise surprise, it didn't work.

"Is he there?" A new voice said, and Dick just managed to turn around in time to watch Damian walk into the room with wrinkles between his brow and bags under his eyes, shining black against his olive skin. Dick jumped away from Damian's path as he approached their father and watched with a frown as Bruce bent down and picked up his discarded phone.

Then, Dick's phone suddenly began to ring, causing Bruce to scowl. Frightened, confused, and curious, Dick slowly approached to read his phone's screen.

It was close to 6am. Bruce must have driven here as quickly as he could after Damian probably took a few hours to panic to himself and work up the courage to tell Bruce that he thought something was wrong. Though, Dick didn't ponder over why they were here so early for very long. The number calling belonged to his new boss.

He was supposed to be at work thirty minutes ago.

"Shit," Dick breathed, stepping back as Bruce clicked the answer button on the phone and held it to his ear.

Immediately, there was the sound of the lead coach’s nasally voice. Coach Shah. Short, lean, toned, full of freckles, and rocking curly red hair. The woman who was definitely a phenomenal gymnast, but probably shouldn't be allowed to work closely with kids with her grumpy attitude. She didn't sound entirely upset from the muffled tones on the other side of the speaker. Maybe she was saving the angry for later, letting the passive aggressiveness of her annoyance at him for being late to his first day of work steadily drip into her tone.

Bruce finally opened his mouth. "I'm sorry, but I'm not Mr Grayson."

Dick winced at the sound of her confused squawk. Bruce proceeded to explain that he was Dick's father, and that he couldn't find Dick anywhere. Bruce's frown slowly began to deepen as Coach Shah began to probably explain that Dick was her newest assistant and that she hadn't seen him. Shockingly, the phone call didn't end with Dick being immediately fired. Just with Bruce clicking the screen off and looking down at Damian with barely contained worry.

"You said he just shouted then stopped responding?" Bruce clarified.

Damian nodded, looking at the phone still in Bruce's hand like it had threatened him.

"Okay," Bruce sighed, brushing his free hand over his jaw. "Okay. Let's look for signs of struggle."

And this was how you could immediately tell that the Wayne family was nowhere close to normal. Normal families would call the police.

The batfamily searched on their own, then only called the police later to keep up the civilian facade.

Dick stepped slowly back, then flinched forward when his shoulders met the walls solidly. The feeling of any walls touching him while his feet stood through the things on the floor almost made him want to bend over and vomit. But thinking about vomiting also made him stress about what would happen then and what the sick would touch or if it would make any noise at all. It was repulsive and horrible to think about, so he found a tiny place of clear flooring that wasn't near any walls and folded his arms across his chest.

He watched Bruce and Damian comb through his room, looking for any signs that his disappearance wasn't on his own power. Dick hoped they found something. A reason for why he was a ghost in his own room.

A solid thirty minutes passed before Bruce deemed Dick's bedroom clean. Evidence wise. Not literally. Dick was pretty sure his room was in an even bigger mess than what it had been before. He jerked out of the way of Bruce as he walked ignorantly past Dick towards the living room. Damian followed along, dragging his feet.

It was then Dick noticed Damian's hand wrap around the door’s handle. Pure terror shot through Dick's veins, which gave him just enough courage to quickly dart forward and purposely run through Damian into his living room before he was locked back in there again. He didn't know he was gasping and choking back horrified sobs until he felt the first tear tickle down his cheek and off his chin.

And this all felt so real suddenly. Like not being able to touch Damian—one of the most important people in Dick's entire life—was what gave it the official stamp of reality.

Dick was a living, breathing, walking ghost.

He couldn't touch anything. He couldn't be heard. He couldn't open doors or pick up phones or touch the shoulder of the man he had considered his father for longer than he had known his birth father.

It was all he could do to stand and force himself to breath—but did he even need to keep doing that?—and let his tears silently fall. He watched Bruce and Damian sift through the rest of his apartment and finish empty handed. It was hours later when Bruce suggested going back to the cave and checking Dick's phone for any possible clues. So, after Bruce hid a few sensors around to warn them if Dick "came back", they went to the front door while Dick made sure to stick as close as he could without going through them. He wiped under his eyes as they approached Bruce's car, his heart stuttering when he realized he didn't even know if he could even sit in the car with them without phasing through the seats. He might have to walk back to Gotham.

That would take… hours.

And oh God, would he starve? Would he be slowly forced to thirst to death because he couldn't touch any of the substances he needed to live?

Bruce opened the drivers door and Damian opened the passenger. Instead of thinking about the very real possibility that Dick probably had less than a few days left to live—if he was alive at all—Dick once again forced himself to go through Damian.

Somehow, against all odds, Dick was able to touch the car. Except, when his knees went through Damian's lap to touch the cushioned chair and his hands shot through Bruce's shoulder to support himself jumping into the back of the car, the normally well padded leather was stony and unrecognizable to his touch. It didn't give under the pressure of his weight or grip. It didn't sink around his touch. It remained like cement.

It felt like cement.

Dick curled up in the back seat, his heart jumping madly when both the drivers and passenger doors closed. He suddenly felt like a trapped animal. He had no will here. He didn't even bother to try the door handle of the back seat, because he knew it wouldn't go anywhere. The doors wouldn't open for him. The walls wouldn't bend. He brought his knees up to his chest as Bruce drove onto the road and as Damian turned on the radio.

And he… simply watched out the window and tried not to make too much noise that no one would hear anyway.

-o-o-o-o-

Getting out of the car door was more adrenaline inducing than standing toe to toe with Killer Croc. It was a good thing Dick was so flexible and had decades of experience with flipping his way through life. Thanks to that, he managed to jump out of the car just in the nick of time.

Seeing the manor like this hit differently. He was barely aware of Bruce and Damian walking past him towards the front doors until he saw Alfred open those aforementioned doors. Dick had to sprint to get inside, and he tried his best to not flinch as the door shut behind him. He didn't succeed.

Not that anybody saw.

"Master Dick?" Alfred asked, and more a heart stopping moment Dick almost thought Alfred was talking to him.

But then Bruce shook his head and began to shed his jacket.

"No sign of him. His apartment was locked and there was no sign of forced entry."

Alfred frowned and Damian shoved past them all, his body moving with less confidence than it normally did. Dick watched him go, desperately wanting nothing more than to race after him and gather him into the world's bestest hug, but Bruce was heading to the cave with Alfred trailing along. Dick had to help in whatever way he could to push Bruce into finding out what happened. Damian… could wait. He'll have to wait. It wasn't like Dick could do anything for him if he decided to follow after the clearly upset teen anyway.

"It's almost like he just vanished, Alfred," Bruce continued, his voice oddly wet. Dick's heart tied itself in a knot. "Into thin air."

"No one simply disappears into thin air," Alfred sniffed. "You will find him."

"Yeah," Bruce agreed, sounding unsure but determined at the same time. They walked into the study and Dick carefully followed them both into the cave through the narrow passage of grandfather clock.

Bruce quickly got to work and Dick stood back, careful to not touch anything. Bruce started the search as he always did, by sifting through traffic cams around the scene of the crime. And since it was Dick's apartment, he also had access to the normal security measures Dick had installed.

Hours passed and Dick soon found himself sinking to sit on the floor of the cave, watching as Bruce found nothing after nothing after nothing.

Dick could relate. He certainly felt like nothing.

-o-o-o-o-

Dick couldn't thirst or starve. He found that out on day three of this entire mess, slinking around from open door to open door, doing nothing but breathing and existing. Well, existing to no one but himself. He hadn't even realized he wasn't starving or dehydrated until Tim, Cass, Jason, and Duke showed up three nights later for a quick family dinner. Dick was touched that Bruce called them, and even more touched that they all came. But, as much as he was touched, he was also jealous of the meal Alfred provided. Frustrated that he didn't exist enough to join.

Bruce filled them all in on what little they knew on the situation and then they all spent the night patrolling Blüdhaven for clues. Dick didn't get into the Batmobile in time to follow along, so he spent the entire night trapped in the cave with Alfred's silent company.

He spent the nights wandering the hallways and avoiding everything he could walk through. He'd walk and walk and walk until he'd sit down in the middle of the dining room floor, where the carpet was short and didn't stab him like the shaggy carpet of bedrooms did. Where the animals were least likely to unknowingly fall asleep inside of him.

On the fifth day, he thought Alfred the Cat was watching him. He cried for hours later when he found the cat was just watching a fly.

Days ticked on. Dick was reported missing to the police. Damian talked less and less, smiled less and less. The others went back to their lives with "keep me updated" being mumbled before they went.

Dick continued to not exist.

When the second week passed by, Dick found himself sneaking outside when Alfred went to get the mail. He didn't know why. Maybe it was because it was raining and he was wondering if he'd be able to feel that.

He didn't. It just went through him and he ended up being trapped in the cold air outside, exploring the wet grounds and not making a single splash, until night came and Damian let Titus and Ace out for a quick potty break.

By the time the third week came around, things really started to change. It seemed Bruce was constantly talking to people. The police, the Justice League, Dick's friends, everyone who were trying to track him down… and it killed Dick to stand back and watch, clutching his stomach as nothing turned up and Bruce kept coming up with nothing. Dick wished he could leave some sort of message. A way to tell Bruce that he was right there. Just invisible and silenced. But there.

Dick would love to tell Bruce that he was right there. But at this point, Dick really began to wonder if he was really there at all.

What if he was dead? Living people didn't go for three weeks without eating or drinking and remain alive. Alive people don't walk through furniture or get trapped simply by closed doors.

But he couldn't tell Bruce. Which was why when the third week came up and Bruce once again ran into a dead end, he wasn't really all surprised to watch Bruce angrily hurtle his phone across the room and collapse into his chair with his hands in his hair, dangerously close to ripping the fine strands from his scalp.

The longer Bruce sat there, the more Dick was sure Bruce had finally given up. Batman couldn't find him. It was the waiting game now. Sit and wait and hope.

Dick left the room shortly after, his mind racing, loneliness running like a poison through his veins. He went to find Damian, but when he found the kid cuddled in a giant beanbag in the library, Alfred the Cat on his shoulder watching him draw carefully, he knew there wouldn't be anything here to reassure him that he'll be found. He walked around Damian anyway, bending down to look at what he was drawing.

His heart clenched. It was a portrait of Dick. Damian was carefully working on the details of his top lip, shading each little bump and pore with incredible accuracy.

Dick didn't look more at it. He left the library and roamed the halls, looking for an open door that he can sneak into and get some alone time. Just to calm down. Just to reassure himself that there was no way his family would leave him like this forever.

That they haven't truly given up on him. That the whispered words of maybe he's dead and he's not coming back, is he haven't actually been said.

He finally found a room with an open door and he immediately squeezed inside. The room was smaller, which made his anxiety climb ever so slightly, but it was also close to empty with a clear enough space for him to sit down and meditate without touching and going through anything. The door must have been opened by Damian. The kid had been searching out silent places to be alone quite often recently, sometimes forcing Bruce to search the halls, calling his name loudly until Damian finally revealed himself.

Dick sat down and breathed.

Of course, it couldn't be so easy. His brain immediately recalled back to Bruce looking defeated. To Damian painstakingly crafting every detail of Dick's face with a pencil like he was worried he'd someday forget what Dick looked like. To Jason not having been over in way too long; reports in Blüdhaven of Red Hood being spotted on multiple occasions. To Tim who accidentally referred to Dick in the past tense a couple days ago and looked sick with himself the moment he realized what he said. To Cass who would somehow stroll the same halls as him when she's over until they pass by his bedroom door and she would stop and frown and walk away. To Duke who looked at his portraits Bruce had on the walls and look like he desperately wanted to understand something that he'd never actually be able to now.

They've all given up. He knew it was only a matter of time before there was an empty casket funeral.

He wondered if he could make that a reality. Death. He didn't need to eat or drink. What if he just… stopped breathing? What if he clawed out his own throat with his nails? What if the next time Alfred opened a window to air out an old, unused room on the highest floor he just jumped out?

Or would the world be so cruel as to keep him like this for the rest of eternity? Forced to watch as he's given up on, buried, and forgotten? He didn't want to die. Not like this. Not in name before body.

And not for the first time since Dick inexplicably became a ghost, he felt his throat choke on the beginnings of a sob.

He curled up a bit, trying to staunch it because he had quickly become annoyed with the sound of his own voice. Why could he still hear it when no one else could? It was awful. Like his words and noises we're all just in his head and he was only hearing what he thought he should hear.

He gasped wetly, wiping under his eyes and trying to stop this all from happening again. He had already cried enough these last few weeks. He couldn't keep crying every time he felt alone.

He bent in on himself further, his arms curling around his stomach in such a way that if he imagined hard enough they belonged to someone else and he was in another's calming embrace. It didn't work though. He knew he was alone. He couldn't pretend.

He was so deep in this attack of utter turmoil and unhappiness that he didn't notice approaching footsteps until he heard the sound of creaking door hinges followed quickly by a click of a door latch.

Dick looked up with blurry, panicked eyes.

The door. The door was closed.

"No," Dick breathed. "No no-" he scrambled to his feet, all the blood rushed from his head and combined with the terrible spike of horror to make him perfectly lightheaded as he stumbled to the door and wrapped his hands around the knob. It didn't budge. "NO!"

He spun around, barely aware of his already panting breaths and frantically searched the room for a hopefully open window.

The window was closed. He didn't know why he even looked.

"Fuck," he gasped, grabbing his chest as it constricted tightly. More tightly than what he had felt in a long time. It felt so painful that it was all he could do to turn and bang a closed fist on the door. He wondered if this was what a heart attack felt like. "HELP!"

He didn't know why he was calling out. Hitting the door like he thought it might make noise.

No one would hear him.

"ALFRED!" Dick screamed. "BR-" he was forced to stop mid-word on that one thanks to a heaving gasp that curled dangerously in-between his ribcage. He swallowed. Or tried to. "BRUCE!"

He kicked the door. Covered one hand over his mouth and tried to calm down. Tried to not think about the solid walls and the solid door and how he was powerless to leave this room. Why did he come in here in the first place?!

He couldn't calm down. All he could think about was how screwed he was. How hopeless everything was. He kept his hand on his mouth as his legs eventually gave out. He brought his knees to his chin and laid on his side atop the carpeted floor, babbling cries and names and pleas until his throat was raw and everything woozy.

He didn't know how or when he finally passed out, only that he woke up to a still closed door and a still small room, and it took every ounce of his will power to not immediately cry again right then and there. He stayed curled up on the ground and closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around his stomach and tried to pretend that everything would work out. Eventually everything would be okay.

He was wrong.

It took two weeks for the door to open for Alfred's regular airing out of the rooms to reach the one he was trapped in.

By then, he didn't even know if he should bother to stand up and walk out.

Not when he was surely no longer alive. Not when he felt perfectly content just laying here being dead.

But the thought of that door closing again and him having no power over it eventually managed to force him stumbling to his wobbly feet and walking out.

He didn't know what to expect when he shuffled slowly deeper into the manor. More than a month has passed since his disappearance. Most people don't keep a whole lot of hope for a missing person to return after this long. By this time, people normally began to suggest funerals quietly between each other.

It didn't take long to find the family. What shocked him though was that everyone was together in the living room, even Alfred who must have finished opening certain doors and windows to refresh the stale air inside the rooms they belong to and walked back quicker than Dick. A movie was playing, some Pixar movie Dick hadn't seen before because of his busy lifestyle.

And for some reason, this hurt more than if he came in here to find them alone, mourning, depressed.

They're all watching a movie together. Bruce on the recliner, Damian squeezed between him and the arm of the recliner even though there was more room in other places. Jason sprawled over the three cushioned sofa, his legs resting over Duke, Cass, and Tim like a makeshift blanket. Alfred had his own recliner to himself, reading a book to himself but occasionally glancing up towards the screen. Steph was there too, but she had made herself comfortable on the floor with the entity of the living room's decorative pillows.

They're all watching a movie together.

Dick had been trying to get that to happen for months. And they're doing it now, when he's gone with no foreseeable way to get back.

Dick slowly sank to the floor and watched them poke each other and whisper quips to each other and laugh at the funny bits with each other.

Was this the life he was doomed to have for the rest of eternity? Chasing open doors and watching people move on from him? Do things simply in his memory?

If he had tears left to cry, he would have shed them.

Instead, he just sat there and watched.

-o-o-o-o-

Dick's funeral was four months later. The gossip channels and media said they have finally given up. Dick thought they held on for longer than most.

He didn't attend his own funeral. He didn't want it to feel final. He didn't want the undeniable proof that they've stopped searching. He didn't want to see them cry for him.

So he walked the manor grounds opposite of the family graveyard. He kicked his feet as he walked, pretending that his footsteps carried weight on the grass and that he was solid enough to disturb the smallest pebbles on the stone pathway.

Maybe he was dead. Maybe this was hell. He didn't remember where he went, if he went anywhere, when Lex Luthor killed him, but maybe this was it. He didn't know what killed him or what happened to his body, but he was starting to become convinced that he really was simply a ghost, cursed to walk the world and watch people move on and live on without him.

Half a year ago, that would have settled horribly into his gut. Now? He was numb.

He continued to walk, to let his mind drift. Pretend he was alive for a little while longer before he returned to the manor and the services and dinners and receptions were over. Decide what to do now that his life was now officially over.

He sighed and ignored the feeling that he's just as trapped out here in the manor grounds as he was in that room all those months ago. Ho continued to roam.

Though, the sound of a humming voice had him stopping in his tracks.

No one should be over here. They all should be back at the funeral. Dick immediately focused on the noise, not even bothering to step carefully or approach cautiously. It wasn't like Dick could be seen or heard anyway. He just wanted to see who had snuck into these parts of the grounds while his literal funeral was going on. It was strange and horrible to think about, but come on? A little respect please? He hoped it wasn't some paparazzi. It meant that they'd somehow gotten through Bruce's security… which also meant that Bruce was more depressed about this than what Dick initially thought. He'd seen Bruce get low these past few months, but never low enough to sacrifice the safety of the people he provided shelter to.

Dick walked towards the grove of trees that the humming was coming from and frowned when he eventually saw the back of a person strolling through the controlled nature. The man was taller than Dick—which wasn't a difficult achievement—and was wearing a simple brown-orange hoodie with dark blue jeans. His hair was dirty blonde and styled up like someone glued a giant ball of cotton to his scalp. Dick didn't recognize him, which instantly set off alarm bells inside his head. The open house reception should be over but the rest of the services were all reserved for close family and friends of Dick's. But this man… he couldn't be someone that was invited.

Not for the first time, Dick felt the crippling weight of helplessness wash over him. This man could be dangerous, but Dick couldn't do a thing. He couldn't warn anyone.

He could just watch it happen.

Or… ignore it.

He shook his head and sighed, stuffing his hands into the pockets of the same pair of sweats he'd been wearing since that fateful night half a year ago. He almost began to approach further, because even though he was helpless to change anything or warn anyone, he was still curious… but then the man turned around and Dick was stopped in his tracks.

He didn't... He didn't have a face.

Dick gaped and watched as the bumps in the man's face that must be cheekbones rose ever so slightly.

"Oh!" The man said, even though he had no mouth. Dick had absolutely no idea where the sound came from. "You are here!"

Dick turned around behind him, and saw nobody. Something fluttered in his chest. A hope he didn't dare grasp at even though… even though… the man could only be talking to him.

"We lost track of you after the convergence. Most people stick around where they disappear!"

"Are you…" Dick tried, his voice barely recognizable even to himself, "are you talking to me?"

The limited features of the man's blank face softened. "Yes I am, Dick Grayson. You've been lost a long time."

And Dick… didn't know what to do. This entire time he's had absolutely no contact with anything in the world. He couldn't move anything, couldn't touch anything, couldn't speak or make himself known. This scene before him, one where his voice was heard and he was answered… it was so foreign. Unreal. Dick almost reached down to pinch himself.

"But luckily," the man continued, "after a long time searching for you at your home city, we figured you must have found a way to your family. That or began to aimlessly wonder like others like you sometimes do."

"Like… me?"

"Yes," the man nodded then took a step closer. Dick stood his ground as his thoughts ran circles in his brain. What was going on? "You're trapped within the folds of reality, Dick Grayson. It's not something that commonly happens, but something that can be catastrophic if we cannot find you immediately." He paused. "You are Nightwing in this world, are you not? You must understand how the universes work in odd ways."

Dick wanted to nod. Laugh. Cry. Step forward and see if he could touch the man. But he didn't. He just stood there as the man continued.

"You see," the man said, bringing a hand up to his featureless chin, "what happened was that this universe brushed sides with another one. One that's almost exactly the same in every aspect to yours. Normally, when universes brush, they're so different that they reject each other and go on their merry way down the time stream. The problem was, that because these two universes were so similar, reality as we knew it, well, it got a little confused. It tried to sort out what belonged to what. It gets it wrong sometimes, which is why you're like this. In the universe you brushed with, Dick Grayson was dead. Everything else was exactly the same, but because you were dead and alive the universe decided to make you both. This is why you're stuck here. The universe can't remember if you should be living or dead."

Dick never pretended to understand the multiverse. It always seemed the rules were constantly changing. Shifting to accommodate spontaneous things. It seemed the only one who truly had a grasp on the entirety of the universe was Bart Allen, but the kid was shockingly tight lipped about most secrets of reality despite his superhero name of Impulse.

And really, Dick didn't care how he ended up like this. All he could really think was how this man could see him. Was looking for him. Something was finally going to change. Whether he was supposed to be fully dead or fully alive... He didn't really care.

He couldn't stand around, trapped in his own intangible body, and do nothing for much longer.

"So… what does this mean?" Dick asked. "What happens now?"

The man's face squished oddly, and Dick couldn't figure out what he was thinking at all. "What happens now is that we make things right. Return you to the universe you're supposed to be dead in, and keep you in the universe you're supposed to be alive. It will be painful, but don't worry, neither of you will remember a thing."

"Neither-?"

Dick's question didn't get much further, because in an impossible blink of an eye, the man was right in front of Dick, hand pressing against the side of his head with his thumb pressed above the bridge of Dick's nose. Lightning shot through him, and his vision whited out. Everything became too much and so little at the same time. Hot and cold. Loud and silent. He might have screamed or he might have sighed.

Either way, the sensation didn't last for long.

Soon he wasn't feeling anything at all.

-o-o-o-o-

Damian hated this. He knew death and sorrow unlike most others. He had seen men and women fall in so many ways it was impossible to list them all. He had seen the way a corpse would slowly rot, and stink, and collapse. He had seen bodies feasted upon by wolves and flies alike.

He knew death. Yet, for a number of reasons, he just couldn't comprehend this one.

Because Richard couldn't be dead. He couldn't be. He was simply missing. Nowhere to be found.

He wasn't dead.

Damian didn't understand why everyone else insisted on believing otherwise. Father had said that he's searched, and for some reason that meant if Batman couldn't find him then he must not be able to be found. No one besides Damian argued with him. Even Timothy didn't believe him.

He at least had the decency to look ashamed when Damian called him out on it.

However, it seemed Damian's thoughts and feelings on the matter didn't, well, matter. Even though he was the last one to speak to Richard. Even though he knew for sure that Richard was somewhere alive out there, doing everything he could to get home. Damian swore he would continue to believe in that. No matter what. Even if these months turned into years. Even if Damian no longer remembered every detail of his face by thought alone.

Father wouldn't let him skip out on the fake funeral though.

Which was horrible for a massive amount of reasons. All of Richard's friends were here, sobbing and blabbering like children. The empty casket sat above a deep hole with flowers piled on top, and one by one someone would approach, say something emotional out loud or under their breath, then leave the flower in the mockery of Richard's life.

Damian was glad that his immediate family went first. That way he could slink to the back of the crowd and hold Titus by the leash. Watch from afar. Plan for the millionth time on how he was going to fix this.

That speedster… Wally West was in the middle of breaking down on top of the casket with large tears cascading down his cheeks when Damian felt a tug on the leash. Damian frowned and looked down at his normally perfectly behaved dog to see the animal trying to tug Damian towards the unoccupied grounds of the manor. Damian tugged Titus gently back, tutting at him under his breath.

Except, Titus didn't stay at Damian's side for long. The animal took one wide eyed look at Damian before turning tail and sprinting. The leash was yanked out from Damian's hand, and it was all Damian could do to not shout in surprise or outrage.

He nervously shot a look at the casket, where Donna Troy was now saying her goodbyes while West leaned onto her for support, making sure no one was watching him, then turned to chase after his disrespectful dog.

It might be a fake funeral, but it was a funeral nonetheless.

Damian ran after Titus, jumping over shrubbery and flowers like they were the gaps between rooftops, diving for the trailing leash whenever he got close enough.

He never got close enough.

Out of breath and covered in grass stains and twigs, Damian watched with glaring eyes as Titus took refuge in a carefully planned grove of trees. Thankfully, Damian saw the dog halt on the other side of a bush, bending his neck down to sniff at something. Probably a wild animal. Even though Damian could have sworn he trained Titus better than to chase rabbits or squirrels.

Damian stuffed his hands in his suit pockets and began to stomp his way over.

"Titus! Quit this misbehaving!"

Titus looked up from what he was sniffing, whined, then bent back down. Completely ignoring Damian.

What was going on with that dog?

Damian walked around the clump of bushes and between the trees, extremely curious as to what was so important that Titus would disregard orders for it.

When Damian saw what Titus was bent over, Damian felt every single molecule of air leave his body like he had been sucker-punched in the stomach.

"Richard?" Damian breathed. Double took. "Richard!"

He sprinted forward and Titus quickly jumped out of the way. Horrified and terrified and shaking, Damian grabbed Richard's shoulders and turned him around, for he was laying face down on the ground.

Richard groaned, but didn't open his eyes. Blood trickled down the corners of his lips and nose. His clothes were filthy. He looked like death.

But he was alive.

Damian turned to his good, good dog. "Go! Get father! Hurry!"

Titus didn't have to be told twice. He barked then sprinted back to the forest.

Damian turned back to Richard, running his hands across his body, taking in the loss of weight, the eye bags, the stains of mud all over his clothes. He shook his shoulders, trying to wake him up, but Richard remained asleep to the world.

It took a second to realize he was crying.

Thankfully, he was able to wipe them away when a confused and worried Bruce Wayne busted into the grove of trees along with the rest of the family and even a few of Richard's friends. Gasps and shouts filled the air, and Damian soon found himself pushed back as Dick was rushed to by the adults.

The ambulance was called not long after.

The drive to the hospital seemed like a dream.

The wait felt like it took years, but Richard only took about three hours to wake up, severely starved and dehydrated and not a single memory of the past five months.

And somehow, everything went back to normal. Richard was released from the hospital a few days later with a strict meal plan and physical therapy schedule. His memories didn't return, but sometimes Damian noticed things had changed in Richard since then.

Like his new and strange fear of small spaces and closed doors.

It didn't matter though. Damian was just… overjoyed that he was right and that Richard was still living a breathing, even if it seemed he had simply vanished and reappeared from thin air, with no trace of anything in-between.

All that mattered was that the family was whole again. Richard was on the road of a full recovery.

No one could ask for more.

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rainbowwritesthings · 4 years

Text

I Just Died In Your Arms Tonight

Hughie reached up and felt the edge of the knife that was lodged in his ribs and could almost feel where the tip of the knife exited from his back. Butcher grabbed the hand that was fumbling with the knife handle and brought Hughie’s knuckles to his lips, “don’t worry bought that now.”

Hughie dies for awhile. Butcher freaks out. AO3

Soldier Boy stared Hughie down, somehow managing to exude disinterest while still maintaining an energy that spoke of impending bloodshed.

Hughie forced himself not to look around for Butcher, who had slipped away to try and track down the very Supe measuring the young man up.

“Where are your friends?”

The sudden baritone had Hughie jolting slightly and his usual instinct regarding a very powerful Supe asking questions rang true.

“Who?”

Butcher had made fun of Hughie countless times because of his ‘play dumb’ strategy, and the gruff man would always end the jab by saying it only made people more suspicious.

MM and Frenchie had made similar, less pointed comments about his lies under pressure, even Kimiko had once given him a look when Hughie dumbly asked, “who’s Hughie Campbell?” When someone was trying to intimidate him.

The heavy sound of boots walking towards him had Hughie’s heart beat harder, and he wished he could at least pretend to be brave while facing the first superhero.

This was Soldier Boy’s first meeting with any of the group and Hughie could understand why this was so disappointing for the man.

Soldier Boy stood in front of him and raised his eyebrows, “you’re really a member of The Boys? The group that kills Superheroes.”

Hughie blinked and opened his mouth, only to be interrupted when the man continued on.

“Your leader is former SAS and CIA. His right-hand man was a combat medic, left hand man was a gun-runner and chemist expert. Oh, and the other member is a trained Super terrorist.”

Hughie noticed the lack of mention for Starlight and hoped it meant that her spot on the Seven meant she was safe.

The Supe got even closer until they were just inches apart, “you used to upsell bullshit equipment for a Radio Shack. Why the fuck are you here?”

God Hughie wished he had a good answer to that, or at least the spine to say something cool like he knew Butcher would have.

“It’s a long story.”

This answer gained him a grunt and Soldier Boy stepped back, with no warning his fist shot out and Hughie fell to the ground. The Supe lowered down to straddle the man and Hughie tried desperately to get out from under him.

When two hands linked around his throat, Hughie froze and stared up.

“I could snap your neck and there’d be nothing you could do to stop me.”

Hughie was already well aware of this fact, and somehow being in such a powerless position eased the panic welling inside of him. As Soldier Boy’s grip around his throat tightened, Hughie grabbed his knife.

The first knife that Butcher had gifted him in the guise of safety, the one Hughie kept with him at all times since receiving it. He used it to stab the Supe in the arm, and Soldier Boy didn’t so much as flinch as he shifted to hold Hughie down with one hand.

The other hand reached up to yank out the knife, he examined the knife and looked down at Hughie.

“Maybe you aren’t as balless as I thought.”

Hughie sucked in air and heard heavy footfalls closing into to him. Butcher finally arrived with stomping feet and a shout, “Oi, cunt!” As Butcher shot at the Supe, Soldier Boy only looked up at him as a courtesy.

“Finally, a true member of the team.”

With a cold smile the Supe maintained eye contact with Butcher and rammed the knife through Hughie’s chest. Hughie couldn’t help but scream when the knife ripped through his lung, cartilage, and bones, and after it was in he weakly grasped at his chest.

When Hughie grasped about the area he could only feel the tip of the handle sticking out, the rest of the blade and handle was buried firmly in his lung and ribcage.

Butcher let out a roar and the rest of clip was unloaded into the Supe, Soldier Boy merely stood up casually over Hughie and wipe his bloody hand on his pants uniform.

Burcher was still holding an empty gun to the Supers face, seething with unbridled rage.

“I’ll kill every fuckin’ one of ya’!” For once an emotion other than boredom crossed Soldier Boy’s face, but Hughie’s vision was too blurry to make out what expression it was exactly, but it looked almost like surprise.

Black filled the whole of his vision and peace was momentarily granted, until strong hands were firmly shaking his shoulders and a voice was ringing in his ears.

Butcher came into a blurry world view that slowly cleared until all Hughie could see was Billy, cradling him in his arms with a desperate expression.

“Hold on now Hughie. Others are on their way, gonna get you all patched up.”

That was the most blatant lie Butcher had ever told him, even if MM rolled in right now with a squad of trained medics it wouldn’t matter.

Hughie could almost feel where the tip of the knife exited from his back and reached up to the area once again.

Butcher grabbed the hand that was fumbling around the knife handle and brought Hughie’s knuckles to his lips, “don’t worry bought’ that now.”

Hughie tried to focus on the man, truly he did, but he was also trying to gather air into his lungs. He was drowning in himself, there was no other way to describe it.

Butcher seemed to pick up on his gasping for air and with a gentle warning, lifted Hughie so he was braced on his lap.

Slightly more upright Hughie coughed up a spray of blood, coating both Butcher and Hughie. It was still hard to breathe, he could feel the blood pulling in his chest and congealing in his throat.

“Breathe darlin’, just breathe.”

At the command Hughie drew in a wet breath and immediately coughed harder, “Butch-“

“Shh, save your breath luv.”

A calloused hand ran through his hair before cupping his cheek, “you’ll be fine, made of strong stuff you are. This ain’t nothin’ compared to what you been through.”

Hughie’s vision cleared enough to see Butcher, more distraught than he had ever seen him before which lead to a new resolve.

“Listen-please listen to me.”

It was odd how exhausting that simple sentence was and the dawning comprehension that he was dying finally beginning to hit him. This understanding must have shown on his face because Butcher placed more pressure on the wound with a feral look in his eyes.

“You’re gonna be fine, ain’t nothin’ gonna happen to ya.”

Holy shit, Billy Butcher was in complete denial about what was happening.

“Billy. I love you. Please don’t-“

More burning pain had Hughie wheezing past the blood, clutching Butcher’s hand in a vice grip. When the burn ebbed, he blinked past the black spots.

“Don’t give up.”

While the man knew he was in no way comparable to Becca, his death wouldn’t leave a gaping wound in Butchers heart like hers had, he also admitted that he was important to Butcher in a different way.

Hopefully someone else would fill his place as both a member, as well as someone to stand beside Butcher. Someone who could shine a light in the dark but was still resilient enough to stand against the Supes without fear.

He must have blacked out again because when he was blinking through the tunnel around his eyes he could hear Butcher whispering, it almost sounded like a prayer.

“You can’t give me a light in the fuckin’ cave just to take it away, not like this. Not him, please, anyone other than him.”

Hughie could hear a harsh wheezing and it took a moment to realize it was coming from him, distantly he could feel the pressure Butcher was keeping on the wound and the feel of Butchers face buried in Hughie’s hair.

He tried to swallow the thick metallic in his throat but ended up painfully coughing instead of forcing it down. Somehow coughing around the thick paste painting his insides hurt so much worse that the actual stab wound did.

Though now that he thought about it, he could still feel the knife stuck between his ribs, moving around and tearing something else up every time he tried to breathe to deeply.

God, there was so much more Hughie wanted to say to Butcher. He wanted to comfort the man who had already been through so much and let him know that whatever he found so special in Hughie could be found in someone else at least ten fold.

Hughie could hear the rest of the Boys arrive, not able to determine who was who when they filtered in but with sudden resolve he forced himself to focus.

“I-I can’t do anything about this man.”

He could hear MM distantly, as if his ears were packed full of wool, but despite how far away the voice was he could hear the pain laced in every word. Hughie felt cold in a way he hadn’t felt before, this wasn’t like a sudden cold snap that struck before you before the space heater was ready, instead it went deeper and curved around his bones, his very soul even.

He was also thirsty, despite how thick the blood coated his throat he still wanted something, anything, to quench his thirst. He could hear another voice, muffled as it was, and was able to determine it was Frenchie.

The only thing keeping him from floating away growled and Hughie forcibly peeled back the weights holding his eyelids closed. Everything was tilted on it’s side and he could barely see past the tunnel around his vision.

Billy’s face slowly came into focus and when he saw Hughie looking up at him, he gave a terrible smile. Not the one that promised impending bloodshed or illegal activities, but a new one entirely.

It took a while but Hughie was able to focus on MM next, the man looked as if he had been the one stabbed and gave the younger man a reassuring smile that contrasted with every other body signal he was giving Hughie.

Frenchie was rubbing the back of his head and pacing, but when he saw Hughie’s eyes on him he stopped and stooped down.

“Petit Hughie.”

He gave the dying man a shaky smile, and Hughie gave him a weak smile back. At this Frenchie looked around and sniffled slightly before getting up to pace around more.

Hughie looked at Kimiko and was shocked to see tears gathered around her eyes, her gaze was locked into his chest and the barest hint of the hilt that was visible sticking out of his chest. She was breathing deeply and Hughie knew she was visualizing taking the knife that killed him and slitting Soldier Boys throat with it.

Which led to Hughie imagining what the group would do next.

Butcher would go on a complete warpath, maybe even worse than it had been before. Homelander would always be the first mark, but now Soldier Boy would be directly under that name.

God Hughie hoped that Frenchie and mainly MM could keep Butcher, and maybe Kimiko, from trying to fight Soldier Boy without a plan.

There was no reason for all of them to crumble under one Supes hand over him, though honestly Hughie reasoned that none of them were that foolhardy to try and rush towards revenge before he had started to decompose.

Well if anything else, Annie could always get them to at least consider reason if their vision became clouded. He could hear Butcher above him and forced himself to focus.

“Please luv, you can't leave me. I love you Hughie, fuckin’ hell I love you.”

Hughie wanted to say that he loved him just as much, that Butcher was never what he expected from a partner but he didn’t regret the decision to join him even if this was the result.

“B-billy, thank you.”

For everything, all the terrible gory bits and the sweet moments that made life feel worth living. An ironic sentiment considering how close death was breathing down his neck right now.

Hughie hoped that when they broke the news to his father, they would lie and say it was instant. That there was no pain, no Hughie wheezing around his own blood.

Fuck he was really going to die, wasn’t he?

Hughie vomited up more burning blood as Butcher tried to sooth him and try as he might the numbness filled him completely. Swallowing Hughie whole in a dark embrace, free of pain and worry.

Hughie felt the world come into view in pieces. First there was a searing burn surrounding his very existence, threatening to burn him alive. Then the burn centered on his chest, and the only instinct Hughie had was to try and expel it.

He felt hands shifting him around, pulling him in different ways so that he could vomit the substance easier. Every time Hughie felt like he could take a breath a new wave of fire would hit.

Several objects that were suspiciously hard found their way trapped in his throat; he wasn’t sure who dug around his mouth to fish them out but Hughie owed his life to whoever did so.

Finally, when all the congealed blood and bits of bone had been expelled Hughie could take in full breaths instead of the chocked gasps he had been using before.

He vowed to never take his lungs and the beautiful feeling of filling them with air for granted. With uncoordinated blinks the world started to slide in place around him.

MM was smiling down at him and that answered the question of who was keeping him upright, “holy fuck man.”

Frenchie lunged forward to kiss both of his cheeks, speaking quickly in his own language. He got the sense that Frenchie was putting to words the pure relief that shone through his face.

Kimiko was practically beaming at him; she was signing to him and Hughie knew that he should recognize what she was saying but couldn’t focus long enough to create a translation. However he didn’t need to know exactly what she was saying, the meaning was clear when she was smiling so openly at him.

Past her Butcher was staring at him, completely still except for the way his chest was heaving. His expression was of blatant horror mixed with large dose of disgust, he wasn’t looking at Hughie’s face and if his jaw clenched any harder his teeth may be in danger.

That was what splashed Hughie in a new wave of panic.

“I died.”

Saying the words out loud sparked Hughie into moving, jerking around and clawing at his chest.

“I fucking died! What the fuck?!”

MM was trying to calm him down, gently holding his wrist when Hughie began to scratch at his throat.

“Oh god, oh my god. I was- I!”

His eyes darted around to the others, trying to get them to understand.

Kimiko had a look of understanding that he hadn’t seen from her before and Frenchie was leaving to grab something from the front of the van.

Throughout all of this Butcher hadn’t moved, though his face hardened as he watched Hughie thrash weakly in MM’s hold.

Butcher, who hated Supes of any kind, who still didn’t trust Kimiko or want anything to do with her despite her status as a firm member of the group. He tolerated her because she was useful, a good fighter as well as a good shot.

Hughie wasn’t either of those things, and as such wasn’t needed like she was.

“You’re going to kill me.”

Hughie’s voice shook with the statement, there was little doubt in his mind what Butcher was really thinking when he eyed to closed chest wound. Frenchie moved in front of him, brandishing a needle.

“Petit Hughie, this is going to help you to relax. Do not worry mon amie, it will be alright.”

Hughie thrashed about and the man knew he was babbling, begging the others for so many things but he couldn’t hear his own words.

Would he go in a cage until they decided what to do?

Small but strong hands held his legs down and Hughie felt the prick of the needle going in. His vision blurred almost immediately after, and finally he felt someone push his hair from his face.

#the boys #butchie #billy butcher x hughie campbell #billy butcher #hughie campbell #hughie is an important member of the boys #temporary character death #secretly a Supe Hughie #Soldier Boy is an ass #tw: blood #tw: violence #rainbowwritesstuff

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myhopelessromanticworld · 3 years

Text

nepal | n.l.

hey guys! i finally finished this neville drabble i’ve been sitting on for awhile so please enjoy!

WARNINGS: none really, fluff, i think i said hell once

NOTES: this is written with a female reader in mind (i’m practicing gn writing)

WORD COUNT: 586 a lil baby drabble

The Great Hall was an explosion of sound but it quickly faded into white noise as I leaned forward in my seat to hear the boy across from me better. Neville Longbottom had been talking excitedly about the new herbology book his Gran had sent him earlier in the week. It wasn’t often the round-faced boy spoke so freely about his passion, or at all. Which is why I was hanging onto his every word, trying to commit them to memory. When Neville got excited his eyes lit up and he spoke a mile a minute. Anytime he got into this rare mood, I made sure to memorize his glowing face and quick words, however, it seemed my enthusiasm was not shared by the boy sitting next to me. From the corner of my eye I caught Harry sneaking a peek at his wristwatch, then huffing; the time moving too slowly for his liking. Harry’s huffing and puffing hadn’t escaped my attention, and it certainly hadn’t escaped Neville’s either as he fumbled with his words after every single one of Harry’s loud sighs of annoyance. His sighs had gotten louder and more dramatic as time went on - drama queen - but I paid them no mind, for the most part.

“There’s a herbologist, in Nepal, growing gravity-resistant trees!” My eyes widened in shock at Neville’s words - gravity-resistant trees? How the hell did that work?! While my interest was piqued by this statement, it seems Harry’s plummeted because before I could attack Neville with a slew of questions, Harry broke in angrily, “No offense Neville but I really don’t care about plants.” It was like a balloon popped in a crowded room, we all went still. As Neville’s smile slipped off his face and was replaced with a look of hurt, I felt fire rise in my chest. Before I could swallow the words back down, an avalanche of annoyance filled my head and a flurry of anger-filled words shot out of my mouth, “Well, Harry, it’s a good thing the world doesn’t revolve around you because I, for one, am intrigued by the anti-gravity trees.”

Everyone in a five-foot radius fell silent and stared at me with wide eyes, shocked at what just came out of my mouth. I slowly turned to Harry and visibly cringed at the shocked expression he wore. “Uhhh… sorry, that sounded funnier in my head.” Harry chuckled, “It’s alright,” before turning his attention over to George Weasley who had been trying to get Harry to look over at him. I felt my body relax at Harry’s words, I’m glad I didn’t hurt his feelings, that was never my intention. With a sigh of relief I turned forward to finish my meal, but the sight that greeted me knocked the breath out of my chest. Neville stared at me from across the table with hopeful eyes and flushed cheeks - he had never looked at me like that. I could feel my heart pound and my cheeks warm but before anyone could notice, I changed the subject, “So, a gravity-resistant tree? What does that entail? Is the tree itself gravity-resistant? Or does the tree have gravity-resistant properties?” My rushed questions seemed to jolt Neville back to the Great Hall and the glazed-over look his eyes had taken on faded. After a deep breath, he began telling me all about the trees. I didn’t notice Neville’s stuttered words or fidgeting hands, all I could focus on was his soft hazel eyes and beautifully delicate smile.

#neville longbottom x reader #Neville Longbottom #neville #longbottom #Harry Potter #fanfic #drabble #fluff #cute

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xmalereader · 4 years

Text

The Mandalorian x Dark Fey! Male Reader

|| Masterlist ||

Summary: Din finds out that Reader has very sensitive wings and decides to put his idea to the test.

Warnings: Soft NSFW

—

It all started when they were staying in Sorgan, Din noticed how every time they went out, y/n would keep his wings tucked away and underneath his cloak, out of people’s sight. He only every showed his wings to both Din and the child since he trusted them, y/n’s wings were considered as a sacrad thing, kind of like Din’s creed to the mandalorians.

It was a pretty big deal for y/n but Din still didn’t understand as to why he kept them out of people’s reach, he didn’t want to question him about it since he had his reasons but he was just curious.

Until the day the child touched them.

Y/n was sitting on the grass, playing with the child as the two laugh and giggle. He was keeping the child entertained, while Din spoke to Omera, thanking her for allowing them to stay at the barn once again. He was so distracted in talking that he doesn’t hear y/n yelp out in pain.

He had suddenly stand up in surprise, causing his cloak to fall off and exposing his large black wings. Y/n panics in fright as he collects his cloak and throws it back on, he noticed a few eyes staring at him which causes him to blush in embarrassment and rush off towards their lodging, leaving the confused child behind.

Din could only watch y/n walk away in a hurry, frowning under his helmet he walks over to the child and picks him up. “What was that?” He asks as the child chirps, his ears lower as he held out his tiny hand to show him a black feather that he had plucked from y/n’s wing.

Dins eyes shot towards the long black feather and sighs deeply, plucking it away from the child. “Adi’ka, you can’t go around plucking his feathers.” He says out loud. The child whines, his ears becoming droopy as he gives his father the sad eyes that were slowly filling up with tears.

He sighs at him and pats his back. “It’s okay, you probably didn’t mean to hurt him but you should apologize.”

The child nods slowly and points towards the lodging that they were staying in. Following the child’s command he heads towards the lodging, stepping inside to see y/n shirtless. He was stroking the area that the feather was plucked from, biting his lip as he tries to smooth it out.

“Hey.”

He gasps in shock and turns around to see Din with the child in his arms. “I came to see how you were doing and the kid wants to apologize for what he did.” He says as he sets the kid down, who waddles Over to y/n.

His ears fall back as he stands in front of y/n, lowering his head down in apology he holds out the plucked feather towards him, hoping to accept his apology.

Y/n chuckles softly and bends down to pick up the kid. “It’s okay little one, you were only curious.” He whispers to him and gently takes the feather, smiling he lowers the kid down onto his lap and slips the feather into one of the kids buttons, making sure that it looked nice and was well adjusted. “Why don’t you keep it as good luck? We all know that we can’t out it back on.” He laughs out.

The child stares at the feather with wide eyes, letting out a cheery laugh. He jumps off y/n’s laugh and approached his buir showing off his prized possession.

Din kneels down time the kids height and strokes one of his ears. “It look great, why don’t you go show your friends?” This causes the child to nod in excitement and leaves the lodging, leaving the two adults behind.

The two are silent in the room, Din is first to speak up.

“Are you hurt?”

Y/n smiles tiredly. “No, the kid just took me by surprise it’s not like he cut them off—“ his breath hitches in realization.

“Why would he do that?”

Y/n avoids his stare and goes back to touching his own feathers. “I was just exaggerating.” He chuckled out nervously but of course Din doesn’t buy it.

“Y/n.” He says sternly this time, his hands on his hips as he glares softly from under his helmet.

The Dark fey looks down, his wings flinching slightly as he wraps them around hismelf. “I—the reason why I don’t show my wings is because I’m scared.” He whispers. “Years ago I used to have a bigger family, there were hundreds of us until we were all hunted. My parents died protecting me—I was alone.” He begins to explain.

Din slowly approaches him and pulls up a chair, sitting across from him.

“They used the Dark Fey’s wings for prized possions—to show them off.”

“You were hunted like animals.” Din cuts in.

Y/n slowly nods in response, his wings curling up against him. “There also very sensitive, my mother was the only one who touched them but thag was years ago so when the kid touched them I just panicked, I haven’t had anyone touch them since I was a child.” He adds with a small blush rising up against his cheeks.

Dins helmet tilts towards the wing that the child plucked the feather from. Reaching out he points towards the area, “is this were it hurts?” He questions. “A little.” He other replies shyly.

The Mandalorian lowers his hand, reaching out with the other he removes his glove and reached back up towards the large black wings. He didn’t need to ask for y/n’s permission since he already knew what he would say, the two trusted each other that they would never do something that they would feel uncomfortable with.

Once his hand touches the wing he feels y/n flinch under his hand, whimpering. “Did I hurt you?” He turns to look at him with a frown. Y/n quickly shakes his head. “No! Just—just getting adjusted.” He answers back and slowly lifts his wing higher, showing Din how large they really were up close.

Din smiles under his helmet and chuckles. “There beautiful.” He blurts out, catching the other blushing as his wings slowly lower. “Your always stuff like that.” Y/n mumbles out shyly as he plays with one of his feather, carful to not pluck it out in his own.

Din moves closer this time and gently touched his wings, y/n bites his lip and looks away as Din continues to stroke his feathers, his ran his fingers through the soft feathers. Now understanding as to why his kind was hunted, his feathers were the most softest things; many things could be used with these feathers but they were a precious thing to his people. Kind of like Dins creed, his helmet is his life. Hiding behind a mask and following the creed of the mandalorians. The two had their reasons to two very important things about themselves and he promised to never do anything to offend y/n’s own religion.

As he continued to stroke the feathers he hears y/n’s breath hitch, causing him to clamp a hand over his mouth from making any other noise.

Din takes in this observation and grins, removing his other glove he glides it over a different spot and gently curls his fingers around the feathers, giving it a soft squeeze as y/n moans out in surprise, his eyes closing in pleasure but quickly opens them.

In a quick reaction his wings flutter and smack Din across the head, he uses his wings to cover himself up, hiding behind them as he flushes in embarrassment.

Din moves back a little as he sighs. “Sorry I didn’t mean too—“

“It’s okay.” He hears y/n whisper out from under his little dome. “You Can keep going, I just don’t want you to see me.”

Din stands up from his seat, approaching y/n, getting closer than ever.

Without thinking he slowly moves a hand into the small caccoon that y/n had created. Once his hand feels soft warm skin he gently cups the Feys face, pulling him out of hiding as he pulls him close. His face only a few inches away from his beskar helmet.

“Don’t hide, I want to see your face.” He whispers out.

Y/n whines, his wings lowering down as he allows Din to continue on exploring.

Din holds y/n’s face with one hand and with the other he explores his wings. His rough hands moving up and down, every once an while he would grip a few parts, earning him a moan from the fey.

Y/n can’t handle the soft caressing, he was nuzzling his face into Dins warm hands as he tries he’s to fight back the nosies but he knows he can’t hold back.

Feeling a sudden squeeze at the end of his wing he lifts his head up to let out a loud surprised moan, groaning as he looks away, knowing that Din was watching him closely.

“How does that feel?” He asks in a hushed tone, he was very close to y/n’s face, giving him a perfect view of his expressions.

The other takes awhile to respond.

“Mm—good.”

Din smiles. “Want me to keep going or do you want me to stop?”

The fey shakes his head quickly. “No! No—please, please keep going.” He begs out, a whine slipping from his lips once he feels Din withdraw his hand away.

“Easy, just getting you into a more comfortable position.” Din takes y/n to his own bed, making sure that all the windows were covered along with the entrance, he sits in the edge of the bed and pulls y/n onto his lap.

Y/n licks his lips as he straddles Din and slowly wraps his arms around his shoulders. “Comfortable?” He nods slowly.

Din doesn’t waste time and digs his fingers back into the dark colored feathers.

Y/n’s grip around his shoulders tighten, letting his head drop against his beskar helmet. His forehead resting against his as he lets out a breathy moan.

“Ah—!” He jolts forward and pushes down against him, causing Din to groan.

“Y/n.”

The dark fey looks up to the visor, he’s not able to see his eyes but he feels like he’s staring into them, like he could see Din through the helmet.

“Sorry.” He breaths out, slowly removing hismelf from Dins lap but Din wasn’t having it. He grips his hip and forces him back down onto his lap, y/n gasps in surprise and places his hand on dins shoulders.

“Din—“

“Just move.”

“W-what?”

Din moves him forward. “Your hips, just move them.” He finally says as y/n slowly nods and does as he’s told. Grinding his hips down he could feels Dins Hard on through the thin martial.

Y/n closes his eyes in pleasure, gasping each time he feels Din touch a specific part in his wings.

“Din—!” He moves his lips a little faster as Din groans against his ear. “Tell me what you want.” He growls out in a possessive tone, catching the other by surprise as he squeaks. “Keep touching me their, please.”

Din does as he’s told and moves his naked fingers through that same area on his wings, it was located just underneath, closer to his back. Once he finds the spot again he gives it a hard squeeze.

Y/ns throws his head back as a loud moan escapes his lips, his hips moving downward as Din grips his side and moans in pleasure, feeling himself cum into his own pants.

His hands lower from his back as y/n lies his head against his shoulder, the two were panting softly. Y/n’s wings flutter behind him, a small giggle escaping his lips causes the Mandalorian to look down at him with a surprised look.

“Did you just cum in your pants?” He suddenly asks.

Din leans his head back against the wall. “Your seriously asking me that right now?”

“Sorry, I just...I could’ve given you a proper reason to—you know.” He shyly says in a soft voice.

“I think hearing you was enough to turn me on.” Din sits up properly and holds y/n by the waist, smiling under his helmet as y/n smiles back, somehow sensing his happy mood.

The two lean forward to touch foreheads. “This thing that happened is between us, it’s our little secret got it? Only I can do this with you, no one else.” He hears Din say.

Y/n chuckles. “No one can touch me like you do, you have my full permission to touch them again, but not in public.”

“Deal.”

#din djarin x male reader #din jarren #pedro pascal x male reader #male reader #star wars #dark fey #the mandalorain

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poison--ivory · 3 years

Text

Uninviting Cataclysm (Alastor x Reader) Chapter 5

Warning: A little smut, toxic relationship and child nearly drowning

Part 1: link

Part 2: link

Part 3: link

Part 4: link

Cool, refreshing night air hit your burning cheeks. Arms wrapped around yourself on instinct to protect unclothed hands from the night's chilled air. Perring off to the right you gazed at cyprus trees with spanish moss blowing in the breeze. The smell of the bayou lingering in the fast moving wind, which typically smelt like alligators and dirty water.

You weren't going to complain about it though, your papa used to take you shrimp fishing and you got used to that stench from day one. But,much to mama's indifference, she was terrified that you fall in and sink to the murky darkness below and like every other time she was exactly right. One clear, sunny day when you were eleven, you were sitting in papa's fishing boat while he was setting shrimp traps in the water. Well, one of the traps broke free and all you tried to do was put it back in place, but you ended up falling straight forward. You thrived to keep your balance fumbling with your grasp yearning for traction between your hand and the side of the boat, nonetheless you failed and plummeted into the murky abyss, dropping further with each second. You didn't realize, but your papa was on the shallow side while you thought everything was the standing up section. Holding your breath for as long as your little lungs could last, you tried to endeavor into swimming for the top. Not moving an inch no matter how determined you were, you stay put in one spot. In the next few seconds your lungs started to burn for oxygen and just like any human when near death you tried to claw and kick your way back to the surface. This sort of movement caused your energy to deplete, mouth opened without you realizing it, water rushed in and filled your lungs. You always thought drowning was a fast death. . . but no, you were very much awake and terrified that you couldn't breath or call for help. The more you struggle the more water comes rushing into both your mouth and nose.

Then, came the peacefulness. The bliss of darkness and the slow drift away from the burning of your water filled lungs. The brown murky water turned black and the last kick reflex bucked against the muddy ground below.

Bright light took over your vision and water bursted from your mouth and squirted from your nose. It took you awhile to see the dark figure hovering above you, before you made it out to be your papa. Who crushed you in a bone breaking hug, weeping and praying that I was fine. That memory always left you nervous, since it was one of the few very descriptive childhood memories you can think of.

You really wished you hadn't drank that much which wasn't a lot at all, just four small shot glasses of gin. You probably won't drink gin for awhile after this night.(Especially with the thoughts you're thinking). Your body felt like you drank two whole pots of coffee, your nerves spiked like you're being interrogated. Glancing over at Alastor, he had his eyes glued to the road showing no intention of looking anywhere else. I guess the alcohol was speaking for the body to touch him, your head was yelling at you to wait for interaction before moving in. Struggling to keep your body in check you started to think about what Al and Mimzy did that took approximately two hours to finish. Refraining yourself from questing him now and deciding it would be better said at a later time when you weren't intoxicated.

On the scale of drunkenness you were probably more in a state of excitement than anything. You had a pretty great time at the party and with a few drinks made the night even better. However, now you felt so nerve racked that your stomach was churning up everything you ate this evening and you really didn't want to regurgitate in front of Al. Sucking in a smooth breath and blowing it out trying your best to ease your clouded mind. Taking a mental check to drink ginger ale when you got home and laying awake for a while to read a nice book. Groaning, you leaned your head back and lightly closed your eyelids. This cool air did seem to cool your nerves for just a bit. Trying to fill the silence you mustered up a smile and peered over at Alastor.

"Lovely night, isn't it?" Tilting your head off to the side, looking back at the surrounding landscape, ",so peaceful."

Humming in agreement, he drew his hand on top of your cupped hands, giving the left hand a firm squeeze. Maybe a little too tight, but still a nice gesture.

"Very lovely." Even though he wore his signature smile on his lips, that gaze in his eyes was completely. . . off. His eyes were too blank to comprehend a single emotion.

Not understanding why his eyes look so indifferent you wanted to say something, anything to get him to vocalize his thoughts. A pang in the back of your head was telling you to speak, along with that heat in your chest.

Al's absolutely terrifying when he's silent, because usually he can talk anyone's ear off non stop and without failure of boring himself. But, right now his silence most certainly meant he was either mad or in deep thought and you didn't want to take any chance of him in a bad mood.

Before being courted he scared you to no end with that bleak, emotionless look and that stilled space we called a work environment. Trapping you in his arms, getting in your personal space and touching you randomly. What made it more creepy was he kept that permanent smile on, not falling even once. Needless to say you tried to keep his ego up on those days, no matter what your pride told you.

"I made beignets for the party. Were you there long enough to grab one." You're not going to lie, your mind is still foggy of when Alastor arrived at the party. You drank more than what you normally drank tonight. So, it would make sense if Al mingled with others before joining you. He did have a tendency of leaving you, so he could talk to his friends. "Did you say anything to Husk before leaving?" Full attention solely on him now, offering him a gentle smile to lighten up the mood. Alastor kept his gaze staring forward his mind in great thought. Not noticing you talking or you trying to pry his death grip off your small hands.

Accomplishing your quest and checking your hands for any signs of damage, you surveyed his features again. Becoming aware that now on close inspection, he had a small cut on the corner of his lip. It could just be your liquored mind playing with your eyes, but it looks so real in the moonlight.

A car passing by shook him out of his stupor and he seemed to just notice that you just asked him several questions. The color in his pupils came back, and so went away that heat that flooded your body.

"Why, yes I did have a small chat with, Husker." Answered Al, his speech came out fluidly, like he wasn't just spaced out. ",he was having such a splendid time that I didn't want to interfere with his night of fun." His voice brought you some sweet release, although the pain was still there, you felt comfort in his soothing voice. "Mimzy, did eat some of your confections, but at last I was too busy looking for you, my dear." His hand rubbed against your cheek, cupping it with such warmth and love. It took your mind right off the nagging feeling in your chest.

"Oh, yes! Mimzy and Husk were going to play tonight weren't they." A guilty pang rushed into you for not witnessing their performance, and were making arrangements in your head to fix them their favorite dishes later as an apology.

Alastor's hand cupped your chin and squeezed both cheeks. Causing your face to mush together, you in return playfully slapped his hand. "Don't you worry your pretty little head over that. Husker was way too out of it to perform tonight anyway." Giving your head a light tap before moving it back on the wheel. His gaze completely focused on the road now.

The pain resurfaced with a sharp sting and you were jolted upwards out your seat. Peering over at Al, he seemed to not notice your struggle at all. The fire only got worse with each passing moment only for a cold chill to wash over your form.

Time steadily passed and with that an eerie silence filled the car, the only sound being made was the bumps in the road, causing the metal of the car to grind together.

The silence formulated into that known fear that you had when you first met this man. Your mind was telling you to apologize for whatever reason you couldn't understand. It was like a small speck in the back of your mind nagging you to make amends with your lover.

You just really needed him to converse with you, because this was causing your chest to burn with that searing heat, again. The last time this happened was at that restaurant where you first met. Back then you tried to deduct that it was only acid from your stomach acting up. Now you realized that both pains did feel similar.

Yet, this time it was way different, because this feeling was more intense and vibrant. In the restaurant there was this escape from your body feeling, the same as a dream like state.

This was much worse.

________________

The rest of the drive you failed to gain your lover's attention and learned to bear with the ungodly pain that felt like four ovens going off at once.

Driving up toward your house, Al parked the car, getting out and opening the passenger side door waiting for you to exit the car. The tension was still there and you still don't see why he was irritated. You're probably reading into this and he just had a bad night and it's not your fault at all. But, you listened to that sweet voice in your mind giving you sweet nothings that if you talked to him again the pain would vanish.

He walked you up to the door and this was usually the time he bid his 'Adieu' and left back to his car. However, he stood his ground and grinned down at you. The small speck yelling at you now that this was your chance to make your suffering end.

Conjuring up a soft smile you asked Alastor, "Uh. . . Do you want to come inside, Al?" Nervously staring up his large stature.

Alastor rubbed a single finger underneath his chin, looking off to the side like the question was a difficult one to answer to.

Always so, dramatic.

"Why, yes! That would be splendid, my dear!" You nodded and spun around to quickly unlock the door. Once successfully unlocking the front door and giving it a great shove, you were met with two white, purebred poodles snapping their heads in both your directions. The metal tags on their collars harshly rapped against the buckle. Tails wagging when seeing your face appear from the door frame.

Beaming you patted your padded knees calling for those cute dogs to give you small hugs and kisses on the hand. Making way toward in your direction they stopped right in their tracks glaring at the man behind you. Alastor strides into the house, but back tracks when encountering the two pooches. Alastor took comfort standing close behind you.

Well, they never did get a chance to meet, Al. Papa lent them over to his work friend for hunting he planned to do in the fall.

Remi and Rosa both were whining at this point and pawing at the ground. Turning around with a swift twirl you glanced up at Al.

"Oh, yes!" Snapping your middle and thumb together to produce a loud sharp noise. "You didn't meet these two, yet. They were away with a family friend training for the hunting season." Gazing into Al's eyes you noticed the look of distastefulness while he stared daggers at the two poodles. "What's wrong, Al?"

Shaking his head he made eye contact with, the grin on his features strained with a slight twitch. Even so, he threw off my concern with a wave of his hand. "Let's head up to your room, love." Sensing that Alastor didn't wanna talk about right now.

Shrugging your shoulders you felt Al grip your hand while passing the pooches. Light growls emitted from their throats, as soon as we stepped forward. They never really growled at anyone before. You wanted to sum it up to the fact that Alastor hunts a lot and dabbles in taxidermy. They probably smell the fur of the dead deer on his clothes. Possibly, a big stretch though.

Guiding him up the stairs and down the hall to your room, you let him in and dropped his hand to situate yourself on the bed. Well, not before locking the door for precaution sake. Taking the time to straighten out your outfit, while Al looked around your cozy, acquainted room.

Staring over you ogled his handsome features. He took long strides around your mediums sized room,peering over objects he deemed interesting, which was everything apparently. Picking up a pouch of sand you collected when you last visited the beach. Which was about ten years ago, you went with your parents and brother for a nice day of fun.

A very eventful day, especially when Isaac got scared of a little seaweed that hit his shoulders. He screamed bloody murder that a crocodile was gonna get him. While he yelled in terror, papa tripped on wet sand running to "save" Issac from a patch of seaweed. Mama and I were watching the chaos proceed within itself and laughing when Isaac was explaining how seaweed could've been a crocodile in disguise.

So immersed in deep fond memories, Alastor walked over to your bedside and sat next to your small frame, wrapping an arm around your waist. Snapping you out of thought and nearly having a heart attack gazing at his face.

Alastor gave your forehead a quick kiss, then your cheek two quick smooches and finally, reaching the neck.

Heat radiated off your cheeks and quickly spread across your body. You should be used to him being this close by now, but nonetheless his closeness and his kisses always left you a heaping mess.

The most intimate moment you shared was a seering, long and passionate makeout session that turned nearly indecent. You had to wear makeup on your neck to hide the hickeys and bite marks, you still have a reputation to uphold.

Alastor shoved your back on the bed and climbed over your small frame. Continuing with his kisses and sucking at the flesh on your neck. A light, funny sensation radiated from your chest.

Al's hands traveled from your waist to your hips, rubbing his thumbs into your sides. His right hand slid back up cup your cheek, kneading the flesh of your plump cheek. Tilting your head just a bit for him to have easy access to the exposed skin. Amused by this gesture he decided one up you.

His other hand used little to no effort to pry open your thighs. Settling in between your thick thighs, grinding against your delicate parts in the process. Causing a moan to escape your lips.

"Asshole, that was certainly uncalled for, you know." Huffing and glaring off to the side, applying pressure up on his chest. "Get off! I wanna try something, too." Excitement clearly in your tone. Giving his shoulders a great push, hardly moving him an inch. "I wanna try something new, tonight."

Al was considering the idea of you taking control, which was uncommonly interesting, coming from you. You never took the first step in these activities. Well, besides hand holding and giving light pecks on the cheek before he goes on air. You honestly never took the first initiative to these intimate moments together.

"Hmmm. . . Alright darling, I'll humor you just this once." He rolled off your form, laying next to awaiting for your next move. "Come now love, I'm in desperate need of your sweet kisses." Al dramatically draped his arm over his forehead, shaking his head back and forth like so.

Sucking in a quick breath, you climbed over Al's lanky, built body. Hovering over his face for a good couple seconds, contemplating on whether or not to go through with your motive.

Not taking any other awful thought to mind, you went in for the kill. Kissing his lips with such outstanding passion, followed up more feverish kisses slowly trailing off to his jaw. Suckling the skin rather harshly, pulling the muscle with your teeth.

Kind of payback for all the marks he left visible on you.

Alastor's hands stroked your back and gave your hips a pleasant squeeze. Soft and silent grunt came from his throat.

"Is that all." He scoffed, rolling his eyes in the process. "I thought you wanted to try something new." He waved his hand off to his side, pulling his body upright along with your mass and sat you on the top of his thighs. "Now if you wanted something new, I can gladly assist in this troubling time for you." His smirk made butterflies act up in the pit of your stomach, your heart rate accelerated even faster than before.

"I was getting there, I was just working up to the big finalè." Arms shot outward and lazily hung from Al's shoulder blades. Analyzing what he just asked your cheeks went flush with embarrassment. "But, what if I d-do want what you're serving." Nearly stuttering over some of your wording. Afraid to stare at his eyes, so you settled for his chin.

Alastor laughed very loudly, then gently laid you down on the cushioned blankets. Then, situated himself next to your much smaller frame. Entangling his arms around your torso and waist.

If question marks could come up out of nowhere the whole room would be flooded in your confusion. "Wait, is that it?"

"Why of course my dear. This is something we hardly tried together, since your house is always full and my mother needs my attention. Why not now to test out a cuddle session with you."

Groaning you shoved his chest again to create a barrier between the both of you, but failed miserably. Laying in defeat you decide to stay sheltered under his arm prison.

"Hey, Al can I ask you a question?"

"Why you just did my, dear." Laughing at his own joke, "ask away, my dear."

This subject was always delicate when it came to Alastor. He talked about his mom in such high regards, but never wanted to go into full detail about the situation. So, asking this question was already making your chest heat up with such fierce force. Although, you managed to mutter out the next words very clearly.

"So, when can I actually meet your mother?"

". . . ."

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel au #human au #human alastor #human husker #human mimzy #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #alstor being a jerk #toxic relationship #1920's alastor #1920's #hazbin alastor #hazbin husker #hazbin mimzy

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