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seonghwaddict · 1 month

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super duper pretty — kim hongjoong

in which you haven’t heard from him in years but a single drunk phone call ends up with you tangled up in your bed.

musician!kim hongjoong x fem!reader. genre. angst, suggestive, friends to lovers. warnings. drinking, tension, kissing, suggestive content. wc. 4k. rating. pg-13.

lilo’s notes. AGHDHSJDJJAJDJSJDHSJS GRRRR WOOF WOOF AWOOOO GR AHHHDHDHDHHDS

listening to. right here, chase atlantic.

masterlist.

you weren’t someone hongjoong could bring himself to think about much these days. despite having known each other since childhood and been best friends, he hadn’t spoken to you in three years, too caught up in his thriving music career.

album, tours, interviews, collaborations. it all kept him busy and away from you. his chase for stardom had him isolating and distancing himself from friends and family. and, sure, it was shitty, but he didn’t have time to dwell on the people he was told would hold him back. he didn’t have time to regret it. regretting leads to stagnating and stagnating would lead to the end of his career.

that’s not to say he didn’t miss you. of course, he did. but on the last day he spoke to you, it ended in an argument he didn’t have the energy to resolve. so, he left. he left you.

him not having time to regret it was more an ideal rather than a truth.

in reality, he regretted leaving you more than anything else.

but three years later he still hadn’t talked to you, afraid it would ruin his pride if he came running back to you. yet he couldn’t deny how he felt like he was on top of the world, the best producer and rapper in the scene. his career was thriving and his newest album topped charts across alll platforms. when all the interviews and promotions were finally over, he decided to treat himself ot a little celebration, renting a club in town and inviting every major celebrity he had connections too.

the night was spent dancing and throwing back shot after shot until he could barely stand. he enjoyed it at first, but slowly the effects of the colourful drinks made him feel much too hot and cramped in the sea of dancing bodies. making sure no one noticed, he escaped through a back door into the cold, fresh air. he felt the sudden urge to leave, but in his drunken state it would be difficult to navigate his way home.

without thinking, he slumped against the red brick wall and pulled out his phone, dialing a number he’s always know by heart. it rang three times before the person picked up.

“hello?”

hongjoong didn’t realise how much he missed your voice until you uttered that word so softly. he could picture you somewhere in your appartment, maybe in the kitchen to get a snack, tilting your head in confusion at the unfamiliar number.

“hey,” he really didn’t know what else to say, staring intently at a leaf on the ground.

you went completely silent on the other end and for a moment he thought you’d hung up. but, eventually, you spoke again, only this time a certain firmness to your voice.

“what do you want?”

“come pick me up,” his words slurred and molded together and you had a hard time unnderstanding him, sat stifly on your couch, “please, i need you to pick me up. just… just this once?”

you didn’t know what to say. you wanted to scream and yell at him and demand a proper explanation as to why he just walked out of your life like it was nothing, but at the same time, you wanted to sob and confess how much you missed him.

still, you couldn’t help but ask, “what the hell happened, hongjoong?”

"i- i'm drunk," he slurred, sounding even worse than before as he shuffles his feet on the floor pebbled floor. "like, really, really drunk," he insisted with a quiet groan, but you already came to that conclusion. "come pick me up… please?"

you stood up from your couch, pacing around you living room as you listened to him speak before stopping by your window and looking out into the night sky. he was the last person you thought would call you at this house, not having heard from him in three years. but here he was, drunk and begging you to pick him up from god knows where.

“fine.” you said simply, swallowing down the lump in your throat as you grabbed your coat from the entrance of your apartment and slipped on some shoes, not bothering to change out of your nightwear. “where are you?”

“um,” he looked around. the back door led into an alley, but if he walked off to the right he’d be right by the entrance. with his free hand supporting him on the wall, he did his best to get there. “outside the, uh, club,” he explained, though it was really helpful, “by the-” he cut himself off with a sigh, resting his forehead against the wall and squeezing his eyes shut in frustation of his lack of clarity, “the red one.”

your eyebrows furrowed at his vague description as you got to your car, getting into the drivers seat and just sitting there until he could give you a proper answer. “the… red… one?”

“it’s got, um,” he looked around the surrounding area, spotting a familiar place just across the street, “in front of that café we used to go to?”

“oh.” you recognised that, hesitating for a moment before starting the car, unwanted memories of the countless hours you spent with him there clouding your thoughts. all the talking and studying and laughing. “find somewhere to sit.”

“okay,” he nodded to himself, taking some steps to a wooden bench and pointing at it as if you could see, “i’m gonna sit on this thingy.” his drunken stupor had him laughing at himself as he takes the final steps to sit down. he swayed a little but not enough to make him lose balance and fall. once sat, he nodded and grinned at nothing in particular, just proud he was able to manage the simple task you gave him. “i’m sitting.”

“good, great,” you hummed approvingly, holding back a smile at his antics, “now… just hang tight, i’ll be right there, okay?”

“okay.”

it felt good to sit here, he realised with a sigh as he leaned back and tipped his head to look up at the stars. the gentle caress of the night air and the dimmed sounds of the city around him a soothing backdrop to the chaos in his head.

a silence followed his words, tense but not uncomfortable. the red exterior of the cheap club came into view soon enough and you slowed to a stop to park in a free space. you got out of the car and looked around until you found a familiar figure sitting on a bench tucked below a little tree. you hesitated again for a moment before walking to him as slowly as possible, your heart pounding in your chest. he hadn’t noticed you yet, having shut his eyes at some point.

it took you some long moments but you finally pulled yourself together and cleared your throat, making him startle as you muttered a tentative, “hey.”

he glanced toward the sound of your voice, blinking away the drunken haze as he attempted to focus on the world around him. his vision unclear and unfocused as looked up at you, struggling to recognise you for a moment. the bright streetlights made his head ache a little; the world a blur and all he could do was struggle to focus until he could see you properly, the familiar feature snapping him back to reality.

you shifted back and forth on your heels awkwardly, waiting for him to say something as he just stared at you, face flushed and intoxicated. your hair was messy and you wore shorts and a loose light grey sweater. you wondered if he even recognised you, or were you just a stranger to him?

“you came,” he breathed after a while, eyes taking in every detail on you. he focused on you; the way the moonlight caught on your skin, the soft furrow of your brows and subtle downturn of your lips. your eyes, his favourite eyes in the world, looking back at him. “you actually came.”

“you called,” you answered, almost breathless as you also took him in. his style looked a little edgier than when you’d last seen him, though still as chic as ever. short bleached hair, the corners of his sharp eyes smoked out.

“i did,” he nodded, attempting to stand up before slumping back again, “but you actually came.” the alcohol made his words feel heavy, pushing them out in soft sighs as his eyes locked with yours again. he grinned stupidly, “you’re like, pretty.”

you almost laughed at his words, shaking your head lightly, “and you’re like, drunk,” you scoffed jokingly, “come on, it’s late, let me get you home.”

“no, i mean,” he whined, pouting dramatically and now you weren’t sure if the pink tint of his face was from the alcohol or something else, “you’re like super duper pretty.”

unsure of how to respond to his compliment, you only chuckled nervously and offered him a hand to help him get up. “come on.”

he stared at your hand for a few long moments before grasping it and standing up with your assistance. he stumbled a little but caught himself as you led him to the car. your nudged him to get into the passenger seat as you walked around to get into the driver’s.

it was dark in your car, your face dimly illuminated by the screen that displayed a map of the area. you look even prettier in this light, he thought, the sharp shadows making your features stand out that much more. your cheeks soft and round and your eyes sparkling with reflections in a way that made his wander all over you.

neither of you said anything for a while as you sat there. seemingly lost in his drunken daze, he realised how familiar this felt, being there with you, just you and him. everything felt right. he let out a soft hum before leaning back, tilting his head back against the seat and closing his eyes.

“my place is closer than yours,” now that he wasn’t looking at you, you felt comfortable enough to break the silence. finally buckling your seatbelt, you tried to ignore the way butterflies swarmed in your stomach at the thought of his eyes on your body, “you can stay for the night, if you want.”

“do i get the couch?” he turned his head to peer over at you as you start the car, “or…” he giggled, “or… we can share the bed.”

you raised an eyebrow at him, surprised at how flirtatious he was being. “we’ve shared before so, i guess… if the bed is more comfortable for your then i’m fine with sharing it.”

memories of your late night excursions with him rushed back to you and you briefly wondered if he would touch you the same as you laid together. would the feeling of his hand in yours bring you the same comfort? or the protective grip on your back or thigh? you don’t mention any of it.

“let’s just share,” he whispered back. he sounded tired, though if asked he could probably go on a ten page rant of how much he missed being close to you.

he, too, thought of all the night you spent together. the laughs and the touches that felt so real. he remembered how comfortably you would fit in the same bed, laying side-by-side and watching random movies until dawn broke. how easily you’d fall asleep as you shared blankets, face mere inches away from each other but never quite touching.

he wondered if it was possible to relive those times, gazing over at you for a moment before shaking his head and look out the window. those were nothing but drunk fantasies.

“okay,” you whispered back, trying not to look at him, trying not to shiver at the softness of his voice. a little slurred, but still soft.

he was always like that with you. soft.

people would mistake the two of you for lovers more often than not when they first met you, but it was always denied with flushed cheeks and awkward giggles. and it was true. no matter what was said or done, you always remained just that. best friends. it was for the better, made things much less complicated. especially when he took off and you never saw him again.

at least, until now.

the silence in the car was palpable, broken only by quiet breaths and the low hum of the car. it was a calm silence, mildly comfortable despite how heavy it felt, weighted down by all the things unsaid.

eventually, you slowed to a stop and pulled into your parking space in front of the apartment building you lived in. turning off the car, you got out and beelined for the entrance. he knew where to go anyway, not looking back at him as you led the way to your apartment.

the door opened to your living room and kitchen area, just a little messy since you weren’t expecting anyone to come over anytime soon. you made quick work of shucking off your jacket and placing your shoes aside, telling him to wait for a moment before you disappeared through a hallway he knew led to your bedroom.

you returned quickly, a pile of folded clothes in your arms that you held out to him, explaining he had left them a while ago. his body itself didn’t change much, so you figured they should still fit. you didn’t want his sweaty dishevelled suit on your bedsheets.

as he changed, you paced back and forth in your bedroom nervously, thinking about all the possible things that could happen. but you stopped quickly when you heard the bathroom door unlock, practically jumping to lay in bed. you tucked yourself into one side of the large bed, covers pulled up to your chin as you face away from him.

you heard him pause for a moment before you felt the bed dipping behind you and the covers shifting as he blanketed himself too. despite there being a considerable amount of space between you, you still felt him body heat brushing against yours in the thick silence. even though you can’t see him, you knew for a fact he’s probably laying on his back to look at the little glow-in-the-dark stars you stuck to my ceiling years ago and never took down.

you sighed and whispered, “hongjoong?”

“uh-huh?” he hummed, eyes closed for a moment before he turning his head to glance at your back.

you squeezed your eyes shut, taking a deep breath before finally asked the thing you’d been dying to know. “did you ever miss me?”

“more than anything,” he breathed and you felt him shift to lay on his side, facing you. he wanted nothing more than to reach out and hold you like he used to. his voice held a hint of melancholy but he didn’t elaborate more.

you turned too after a moment, not taking a second to notice just how close he was, the thick white covers shifting slightly from the movement. your voice quivered slightly as you spoke, eyes stinging with welling tears. “i missed you too, you know… i missed you every day since you left and every day i hoped you’d come back. but you never did.”

his heart clenched at you admission, the voice he loved so much threatening to turn into sobs. the truth was, he wanted to, countless nights sat alone, wishing he turned back to knock on your door.

“i-i wanted to,” he stammered, whispering ashamedly.

“it’s fine, i got over it,” you forced yourself to focus on the pillow under his head instead of his handsome face.

his brows furrowed as you averted your gaze, eyes following yours even if you refused to look at him. he knew you well enough to know when you lied. he knew you well enough to know you didn’t get over it. didn’t get over him. he mumbled, “did you really?”

your lip trembled at his question but you kept your gaze locked on the white fabric, pressing them together to get them to stop as a few tears spill over the corners of your eyes.

you shook your head, your little voice breaking with overwhelming emotions, “n-no, i didn’t.”

you shifted your look to his hesitantly, your skin tingling from his warmth. your eyelids fluttered as you tried to hold back the tears.

"don’t," he whispered, thumb slipping down to caress your jaw. his eyes searched yours, your eyes wide with sadness and something he couldn’t quite understand. "don’t hide it. you don’t always have to be so strong. not in front of me.”

those words snapped something in your mind, no longer able to swallow down the lump in your throat as you threw yourself into his inviting arms, yours wrapping around his neck as you sobbed into the slope of his shoulder.

“why- why did you leave, w-why didn’t you come back... p-please, i need to know.”

he didn’t expect the sudden break down, but still held you close. one hand at the back of your head, the other holding you by your waist, your bodies pressed against each other and he let his lips press against the top of your head, making you shiver.

he rubbed your back, letting your tears fall wherever they man, muttering reassurances iagainst your hair. his faint scent of whiskey and mint mingled with your vanilla shampoo, his eyes shutting at the oddly comforting mix of smells. you felt him press repeated kisses to your messed up hair.

sobs racked your body for a few more minutes before the tears stopped falling and your breaths evened. you nodded against him, pulling your head away from him to look up at his face, at his eyes. the hand at the back of your head slipped forward to cup your cheek again, brushing his finger along your skin. he traces your cheek bone and along your harline down to your jaw, his eyes shifting between yours in disbelief that his skin was on yours once again.

“i was afraid,” he admitted, barely a whisper, “i was afraid that if i came back, i’d fall for you more… and then i wouldn’t have been able to spend a day without you, wouldn’t be able to chase after my dream. but… at the time, i didn’t recognise you were part of it, you know, my dream.”

your breath hitched as the words registered, “you- what?”

you cut him off with something you'd been wanting to do for a while; you kissed him, hands holding either side of his face. his eyes are widened in surprise, though he didn’t hesitate to lean into the kiss, returning it as quickly as you did it. his hands tightened around you, pulling you as close as he could.

your lips fit against eachother so perfectly, like the lego sets you’d force him to build with you when you were younger, every curve and edge of your bodies slotting together naturally. he got lost in the sensation of finally getting what he dreamed of, a hand slipping below the hem of your shirt to hold onto your bare waist, just wanting to feel closer to you.

his mouth tasted of exactly what he smelled like, mint and traces of whiskey, whimpering against his lips as you welcomed the taste and the touch. your whimper unlocked something, the kiss growing more urgent, restlessly pushed against each other without air left between. you could barely breathe, but you didn’t care as long as his lips stayed locked on yours for as long as possible.

but eventually, he bit down on your bottom lip ever so slightly before pulling away, catching his breath as you caught yours. your chest heaving as you refilled your lungs with air, face flushed from the realisation of what you just did and from the thought of what else you might do.

he glanced down at your swelling parted lips, jimmy coated by your mixed saliva, his pupils blown wide with desire.

“i wanna…” he mumbled, breath unsteady, “i want to…”

he wasn’t sure what he was trying to say, at least not until he noticed the way you peered up at him expectantly with that curious gaze. “what is it, joong?”

that nickname. he hadn’t heard it in a while. three years, actually, because you were the only one that called him that. his eyes searched yours.

“i want to do that again,” he admitted, cheeks warming, “and again and again and again… and so much more than just that.”

your breath hitched, intestines tied into knots as you struggled to figure out what you should say. the truth was that you wanted that too, wanted to feel his lips and hands all over your body. but, as his breath fanned over your face and you caught the traces of alcohol folded into the smell of mint gum, you were reminded that there was a thin possibility he didn’t mean any of it.

“you’re drunk, joong… it’s better if we don’t.”

he frowned, his grip on you loosening. “but you want to, don’t you?” he countered, “you know you want this too, so why not?”

“i just-“ you paused to sigh, continuing with an even tone, “i just don’t want you to regret anything.”

“i meant every goddamn thing i said,” his brows furrowed for a moment and he squinted, trying to emphasise his point, “so, i can’t regret this. i can’t regret you.“

you bit your lip, thinking carefully before sighing, the tension leaving your body as you played with the string of his hoodie.

“how about this…” you suggested, speaking slowly, “if you can wake up and tell me you remembered all this, then we can see where this goes.”

“and if i don’t, you’ll never mention in again?”

you nodded, slightly anxious as you wait for him to agree. it didn’t take too long, seemingly an acceptable compromise for him as he nodded.

“okay,” he agreed, his hand on your waist beneath your shirt tightening once again, “let me just kiss you one more time though, i won’t be able to sleep if you don’t.”

you laughed at his silly excuse, forehead dropping against his shoulder for a moment before lifting to look at him again with a grin that made you feel so stupid and in love. “fine, just one more time.”

networks. @cromernet @wonderlandnet @cultofdionysusnet @pirateeznet @atzhouse

permanent taglist. @ad0rechuu @sankatchu @mlink64 @yeosangsbb @seonghwasbbgirl @likexaxdaydream @dreamingofyeo @yalyallic @yunhoswrldddd @coffee-addict-kitten @thunderous-wolf @chngbnwf

#cromernet #wonderlandnet #atzhouse #cultofdionysusnet #pirateeznet #ateez x reader #ateez #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong imagine #hongjoong imagines #hongjoong fluff #hongjoong angst #ateez angst #ateez fluff #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez fanfic #ateez smut

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rookieloveskashi · 8 months

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Don't Mind Me

Relationship: Hatake Kakashi x fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit - Minors DNI

Warnings: smut, established relationship, masturbation (male), teasing, cockwarming, riding, voice kink, praise kink, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, POV reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Summary: You're settling in for bed, but Kakashi isn't quite ready to sleep.

AO3 Link

Anyone who knew Kakashi Hatake knew that there were only a few things he was likely to be doing at any given time. Training was high on the list, as well as going out on missions or indulging Gai in yet another competition; all activities designed to keep his body fit and his skills sharp. But when he allowed himself some true restful downtime, he had one favorite pastime: reading Icha Icha.

Kakashi was infamously known to kick back with his book in any number of locations. He could be spotted in even the most public of places—surrounded by superiors or students alike—with one of his ever-present paperbacks tipped in such a way that no nosy onlookers could peer over his shoulder.

As if the entire village couldn't tell the content of those pages from the book's cover, the author's reputation, or the Copy Ninja's giggles.

And as often as he could be seen reading in public, Kakashi spent just as much time reading in the comfort of his own home. Reading before bed was an old habit of his, since he'd first turned to books as a potential distraction from the nightmare fodder constantly rattling around in his head. Over time, Kakashi found the near-perfect antidote to his nightmares in the romantic exploits of the Icha lcha series, buying copy after copy to ensure he would never go without.

More recently, he'd stumbled upon the good fortune to find you, and the romance that blossomed between the two of you was something that Icha Icha just couldn't match.

He still liked to flip through the book before falling asleep, but you suspected it was more out of routine than necessity. These days, the best way Kakashi knew to fall asleep was to get tangled up in bed with you, and it was a sentiment you wholeheartedly shared.

As he read, you nuzzled yourself into the perfect position against him. You loved the feeling of his arm around your waist, his solid form under your fingertips, his cheek resting on the top of your head. He would breathe so gently, you barely felt his chest rise and fall. Every minute or two, you would hear Kakashi turn a page; the sweetest domestic white noise lulling you to sleep.

Just as you had nearly drifted off, something disturbed you just enough to snap you back to consciousness. Maybe it was some tiny twitch of Kakashi's muscle, or a slight change in temperature in the room, or maybe one of your synapses just tripped over its own feet. But whatever the cause, your eyes fluttered open and adjusted to the low light of Kakashi's reading lamp.

As your vision focused, you first spotted the gently illuminated pages of the book Kakashi held in his left hand, his wrist still propped on your hip. The writing on the pages was distorted in your blurry vision. You couldn't discern what was happening on the page, but the number printed neatly at the bottom let you know he'd gotten through about thirty pages since you'd snuggled in with a kiss on his cheek and a whispered 'goodnight.’

Then your focus shifted as movement a little further back caught your eye.

Looking past the book, you were treated to the sight of Kakashi's free hand working over his exposed cock, his fingers wrapped around the shaft and stroking over the length at a languid pace. He was in a state just shy of fully erect, the skin gliding up to roll over the ridge of his cockhead with every upward motion. The tip was slightly darkened, with a generous drop of opaline precum welling at the slit.

It didn't take even one second for your entire body to react; your eyes widening, your cheeks flushing, your mouth watering. And that's to say nothing of the reaction between your legs.

Your body was excitedly awake, but your brain seemed to be lagging behind.

"What’a’ya doin’?" you heard yourself ask, the words blending together in a poor attempt at shaking off the dregs of sleep.

It was a stupid question—there really wasn't any way to misinterpret what you were seeing—but still, the words tumbled off your traitorous tongue without any command.

"Hm?" He turned his head just enough to fix his charcoal eye on you. A rosy blush colored his cheeks, but you weren't sure if it was there before or after you'd caught him.

"I'm sorry," he continued, crinkling his eye into a smile. "I thought you were asleep."

You couldn't think of any way to respond. The entire situation was nothing short of ridiculous. In the scant time since you'd closed your eyes to go to sleep, Kakashi had gotten so worked up by the content of the book that he'd felt compelled to reach down, push his sleep pants and his briefs down far enough to expose his dick, and start masturbating, all without disturbing you in the slightest.

And only Kakashi knew how long he'd been at it before finally letting his composure slip just enough to wake you.

That's some use of jōnin skills.

You couldn't help it; the bark of laughter burst from your throat before you realized it was happening.

And the more Kakashi just stared at you in response—scarred eye closed; pink deepening the color of his face; hand frozen, just holding his dick—the funnier it got. Snickers and giggles built in your chest faster than you could breathe them out, more and more until your eyes were watering and your stomach burned from laughter.

It could have been anywhere between ten seconds to ten minutes before he finally broke his silence. "Y/N," he calmly spoke, your name almost lost among your continued hilarity, "if you keep laughing like that, I might start taking it personally."

Your body shuddered as you tried to get your breathing under control in an effort to spare both his pride and your abdomen. "I'm-I'm…sorry—" you gasped, squeezing your eyes tight to force the building tears to fall. "It's just…silly."

A strange look sparkled in Kakashi's eye. "I've been accused of being a lot of things, Y/N, but never silly."

"Well right now?" you grinned, "that’s exactly what you are."

“And just what exactly is so silly to you?"

Even thinking the explanation caused more giggles to sputter from your lips as you spoke. "You're secretly touching yourself to that pervy book while I'm practically on top of you. It’s just…funny that it affects you that much.”

Kakashi silently watched as you stifled the new outburst of laughter. His eyebrow raised a fraction of an inch, but it quickly settled as you relaxed.

"Ahhhh, I see." He closed the book, holding his page with his thumb as he snuggled you a little closer. "Don't worry, Y/N. There's no need to be jealous.”

"Wha…jealous?" you echoed. "Of a book?"

"I only wanted to give you the chance to get some rest," he continued. "I know you've been busy lately, and naturally I don't expect you to answer my every beck and call. So…" Kakashi trailed off with a shrug, then leaned down to kiss your forehead. “Don't mind me.”

With a smile, he returned his attention to his book. You stayed frozen in position as Kakashi went right back to reading as though nothing had happened, his eyes on the filthy words and his hand resuming its lazy strokes over his swollen cock.

Wait... what?

Had you just been...dismissed?

You were awake and uncomfortably aroused—two facts that you were sure he was equally aware of—and he chose to just...go back to the book?

Now you were the one taking something personally.

You nudged his arm to give yourself space to shift your hips, intentionally rubbing the front of your body against his side while you slid off your panties and successfully recaptured your boyfriend’s interest. Kakashi watched with curiosity as you propped yourself up on one elbow and gently shooed his hand away from his penis.

When the obstacle was out of your way, you sat up on your knees and tossed your leg over your hips to straddle him.

"What's all this?"

His voice was measured and controlled, but his attention was fully on you. You suppressed a haughty grin as you reached down to take his erection in your hand, gently running your thumb over his slit to collect the precum and bring it to your mouth.

You moaned as you licked the bitter fluid from your digit, swirling your tongue and holding eye contact all the while. After a few seconds you removed your thumb, glistening with saliva, then wrapped your hand around his dick once more to guide him to your entrance.

You bit your lower lip and slowly sank down on him, sighing as the tip of his cock spread you open. The stretch stung a little—your body working with less preparation than he typically gave you—but it was still the feeling that you were craving: him. His right hand settled on your thigh and followed as you went lower and lower, descending so slowly that you were feeling the burn in your thighs.

But it would be worth it.

Maybe now you were the one being silly, but you were determined to prove to him that no book could compare to you.

It wasn't until your ass met his thighs and you saw the smirk spread across his face that you realized you'd fallen into one of the Copy Ninja's perfectly laid traps.

He...I can't believe he sweet-talked me into sitting on his dick!

You had to school your face to keep your jaw from dropping in dumbfounded embarrassment. It was all too clear now. This had been his game all along.

Here you were, thinking you were taking some kind of control, when in reality, you were exactly where he wanted you. On top of him, hands on his chest for leverage, his cock so deep inside of you that you swore you could feel him bulging against your stomach. Wetness drooling from your cunt, making his lap slippery and shiny.

You wriggled your hips to get comfortable, noticing the way he triumphantly grinned at your movement. His cock filled you to the point that you could hardly adjust. And he just laid flat and watched you, waiting for you to start riding him, a look in his eye that proved he knew exactly how badly you wanted to do just that.

Hmmmmm, maybe he'll be waiting longer than he expected.

The perv truly loved it when you fucked yourself on his dick. Nothing turned Kakashi on like watching you raise yourself up just to crash back down on him, greedily wringing his every inch for your pleasure.

Not this time.

In a fit of theatrics, you stretched your arms to the side and yawned, giving him one last good look at your body and the cute bulge under your navel where his cock was securely snuggled. You leaned forward—trying to ignore the tight squeeze of his fat dick inside you and how perfectly it stretched you as you moved—and carefully laid down on his chest, wrapping your arms around him and nuzzling back into his neck.

“Mmmm sleep tight, Kakashi,” you murmured.

Stunned silence was your only answer, and you had to hold yourself back from cheering in the name of victory. You were way too wired to actually fall asleep now, but the next move was all Kakashi’s.

Finally, finally you'd gotten the upper hand. True, you would probably benefit more from riding him until you were fucked too stupid to even remember where you were, but the victory of surprising him was almost as sweet. Besides, with his sex drive, you could easily get another chance to take your pleasure from him. Beating him at his own game, though? You might never experience this again.

Just as you were starting to worry that the silence would stretch on forever, Kakashi addressed you in a whisper.

“Sweetheart?”

And let the groveling begin.

“Mhmm?”

He kept his voice low and soft, his gentle question tickling your ear. “If you're going back to sleep, you don't mind if I read just a little bit longer, do you?”

You furrowed your brow, wondering if you should truly be insulted that he was still thinking of the book. “You want…to keep reading?”

“I’m almost to the end of this chapter, and I hate to leave things unfinished.”

There was a brief pause of silence where you tried to figure out his plan. “Okay,” you finally answered. “But don't move; I’m so comfy.”

“Don't worry Y/N,” he cooed, holding his book up in position. “I'm comfortable too. Right where I am.”

Suspicious as you were, you allowed your eyes to close as you breathed in the familiar scent of Kakashi's skin. Despite the demanding feeling of fullness between your legs, everything was serene. Kakashi stayed still, exactly as you asked. You couldn't even notice when he moved to turn a page.

You were reluctantly coming to terms with the fact that you might have to settle for a draw when you heard Kakashi’s low, rumbling voice in your ear.

“He licked his lips, his love's delicious juices making his entire jaw shine.”

You sharply sat up enough to look at him, cursing the pathetic little moan that slipped past your lips as you felt his cock brush along your walls. "W-what are you doing?"

His eye flicked to yours, the usual stormy grey now completely black and as devious as the smirk on his face. “I’m reading, Y/N.”

“But…out loud??”

“What’s wrong?” Kakashi grinned. “Is it affecting you?”

You started sputtering a nonsense response, but before you could manage to form a single word, he simply looked back at the book and continued reading. “‘You taste better than I ever imagined, gorgeous,’ he growled. ‘I can't wait to feel you.’”

The words sounded so beautifully lewd in Kakashi’s thunderous baritone, you couldn't fight the shiver climbing along your spine. Against your conscious will, the muscles inside your cunt tightened around him and forced a needy moan from your lips. He just felt so good, you decided right then and there that you were done with whatever game you'd been playing. Screw it.

He could gloat all he wanted, but if you didn't get some friction, you were going to lose your mind.

You lifted only a centimeter off of him before he stopped you with the strong grip of his one free hand on your hip. “Kakashi….” The whine that left your lips was absolutely pitiful. “Why are you—”

“Because, if it's so silly that I like these books so much, you should have no problem holding still."

What?!

He had to be joking. He wouldn't seriously torture you—and himself—like this…would he?

With a subtle shift of your hips, you dared to test the waters. Only the barest hint of satisfaction swept over you before his grip tightened.

“I said…hold still.”

Your walls gripped down on him, clear arousal drooling from your cunt. All you wanted was to move, or feel him moving inside you. But his fingers stayed latched to your hip, his pelvis stayed flat on the bed, and his voice stayed cool and even as he breathed life into the story on the pages.

“‘I want to make love to you until the sunrise,’ he proclaimed while stripping away his trousers. ‘I’ll spend these next five hours showing you the greatest pleasure you've ever known.’”

It wasn't even the smutty nature of the book that had you all hot and bothered. Kakashi could have been reading his own shopping list and you would still be weak just from listening to his voice. Those filthy words only dumped kerosene on the fire.

“‘Open yourself for me, my love. Let me inside.’”

Everything you wanted was so close. So close, but you couldn't have it. Not with the way Kakashi was restricting you. His wide palm was an anchor you had no chance of escaping. All you could do was ignore every impulse and desire in your body and continue to stay still while Kakashi narrated all the things you’d rather be doing.

“He ran his fingers along her pink folds, touching the silky skin he would soon feel around his cock. He smiled as he watched his beautiful partner writhe under his touch. Her mouth formed the most perfect shapes as she whispered his name, begging her lover to give her what she needed.”

You bit down on your lip to distract yourself from the sound of his voice, his smooth tone easily casting a spell over you. He wouldn't let you move, but you had to do something before you lost your mind.

Gently, you pressed your lips to his throat, testing soft kisses along his neck. Kakashi paused his narration, chuckling a laugh that vibrated against your mouth.

“Are you enjoying the story, sweetheart?”

“Kakashi…please…” you whispered. “I need you.”

You could hear the smirk in his voice. “Oh yeah?”

“Please,” you begged, tipping your head up to kiss the sensitive spot behind his ear. “Please, baby.”

A soft sigh slipped past his lips. “Hmmm, alright.” He shifted his weight letting you lean back enough to see his face. “I’m going to let go, but you're going to be good and stay put for me, won't you?”

Eagerly, you nodded. “Mhmm.”

Kakashi smiled at you. “Very good.”

With his one hand still holding the book, Kakashi moved his right hand off your hip. Goosebumps chased his touch, calluses tracing their way down your plush thigh. His long fingers splayed over your soft skin, fingers reaching back toward your ass while the pad of his thumb landed right over your needy clit.

You gasped at his touch, shoulders tossing themselves back without your permission as your spine curved in ecstasy.

“There we go,” he smiled at you. “Now, where were we?”

Kakashi slowly started circling your clit with his thumb. Another feeble whimper escaped you and your grip on his shoulders tightened, your fingernails digging tiny crescents into his skin as he continued to read.

“Her body opened for him, unfolding like the most beautiful flower. She was still flushed and sensitive from all his tongue had already done to her. Strings of arousal glistened between her folds, and he had never felt such a strong ache between his own legs. ‘Please kiss me,’ she sang. ‘Kiss me and make me yours.’”

You panted little breaths in time with the pattern he was drawing over your engorged bundle of nerves. It wasn't enough. It wasn't even close to enough. The action in the story was progressing much more quickly than he was. His thumb moved maddeningly slow, making your muscles twitch and your body want to scream. You wanted to grind into that lazy thumb and fuck yourself on his perfect cock. All you dared to do was whimper into his neck and dig your fingernails a little deeper.

That is, until Kakashi overplayed his hand.

“He plunged into her warmth. Pressure surrounded him; her h-hot, t-tight, wet insides fitting him just right.” His throat bobbed with a heavy gulp. “She was m-made for him, her m—”

Kakashi’s cock throbbed inside of you, causing both you and him to moan. Your internal muscles fluttered at the long-awaited stimulation, exploiting his moment of weakness and baiting him into giving you more. He clutched at your body to regain control, but you could tell his resolve was finally crumbling.

You seductively brushed your parted lips over his earlobe, relishing the heavy sigh he awarded you. “Don't stop,” you whispered, letting your voice drip with desperation. “Tell me what else he does to her.”

Kakashi tossed his head back with a groan, and his hips thrust just an inch off the mattress. You could have cried at how good the friction felt. “Kashi!”

“He—haa—sunk d-deeper inside…” Kakashi continued to read in a choppy voice as he worked his cock in and out just that last inch. “She felt…like heaven…so good…”

Carefully, you let your hips start to roll against him. Most of the pressure and stimulation was still directly on your clit, and now that you had a little control, you were already trembling. It was so much closer, but it still wasn't enough.

You wrapped your arms around him tighter, grounding yourself as you started fucking him the way you’d wanted to since you’d caught him fucking his hand instead of you. His broken narration started to get lost among his moans and your whimpers. You let his name slide from your lips in a plea, and that was the last straw.

The book clattered to the floor with a sound so worrisome, you wondered if you needed to stop. But Kakashi's free hand was immediately on the back of your head, holding you in place against him while he started to thrust up into you in earnest. His hand on your hip squeezed tight, letting go only for a second to land an encouraging smack across your ass that had you clenching in on him. Then he found his grip on your hip again, pulling you down to meet his thrusts with resounding wet slaps.

“Up baby,” he ordered, releasing his hold on your head. “Ride me like you mean it.”

With an intoxicated laugh, you planted a loud, sloppy kiss on his cheek. Then you moved your hands to his chest and pushed yourself up into a seated position. His eyes seared into you as you immediately got to work; rolling your hips and extending your thighs to rise up over him, tits swaying in a way that made him lick his lips.

On your first full descent down his long, thick cock, you practically screamed out for how good it felt dragging along your needy insides. Kakashi bent his knees and planted his feet so that you could fuck yourself on him exactly how you needed to.

“Fuck, that’s it baby.”

Kakashi looked at the place where your bodies met; yours taking him in again and again and again, bouncing up and down with an urgency that left a creamy white ring around the base of his cock. After all of his teasing, that sight alone was enough to have him ready to blow.

“Not…gonna last.”

Your fingernails burrowed into his skin, digging out little crescent shapes that stood out even among all of his scars. “Not yet,” you begged. “Please, not yet…need more.”

A deep, resounding groan rippled up his throat. “Take what you need. Fuck yourself on my cock.”

Your mouth hung open, eyes rolling back in your head as you worked your body over Kakashi’s perfect dick. He was exactly what you needed in every way. The breath was knocked from your lungs every time you brought yourself back down. Your body moved in perfect harmony, every muscle and nerve playing its part so you could selfishly enjoy him. You could feel beads of sweat running from your neck down your chest.

Kakashi watched you with both eyes open. His hips kept rocking to meet you, but the rest of his body simply reacted to your movements. He smiled as your body stuttered in pleasure, so close to your peak but barely missing it.

“Kashi…” you whined. “S’close…please…”

“Need my help, sweetheart?” Apparently, Kakashi couldn’t help but taunt you one last time. But your only goal now was to cum, and you vigorously nodded, giving him the control that he never failed to use to your benefit. “C’mere.”

With one arm wrapped around your hips and the other high on your back, Kakashi pulled you back down to his sticky chest. You held onto him as he pressed his wide palm into your lower back, grinding your clit into the coarse silver hair trailing up toward his navel.

“Kakashi!” Pleasure immediately washed along your entire body, already better than anything you’d been able to accomplish on your own.

“That’s it, Y/N,” he panted. “Now cum on me.”

You bit down on his neck and whimpered from how good he made you feel. The light sheen of sweat on his skin tasted of salt and only made your mouth water for more. You gave up on the last dregs of your dignity, grinding into him with the single-minded focus of getting off on your gorgeous, beloved menace of a boyfriend.

“Y/N…fuck, please…”

His voice was deep and reverent even as he was pleading for you to cum, and the beautiful sound finally caused the building tension in your lower belly to snap. You responded with a gasp as your inner walls squeezed down and suffocated his cock. Not a second later, Kakashi let out an indulgent, satisfied sigh and you felt his cock pulse inside of you, filling you with warmth.

“Mmmm, baby…” His body relaxed beneath you, his arms encircling you to cradle you to his chest. “Fuck, that was good.”

You planted a kiss on his neck, smiling at the faint mark left there by your teeth. “Better than the book?”

Kakashi ran his hand up the back of your neck, spreading goosebumps along your skin. His long fingers tangled into your roots, gently coaxing you back a little so you could look at his face. His other rough palm cupped your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheek as his eyes narrowed to complement his adoring yet devilish grin.

“What book?”

tagging @deviant-donna 💕

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#kakashi smut #kakashi x reader smut #kakashi x reader #kakashi x you #kakashi fanfiction #kakashi imagine #reader insert #reader insert smut #rookie wrote

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proxima-writes · 9 months

Text

the right wrong number

pairing: pre/no outbreak!joel miller x soccer coach!female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 6k

summary:

When Joel receives a dirty text from an unknown number, he gives into his curiosity and messages back.

He doesn’t expect the number to belong to his daughter’s summer camp soccer coach.

dear reader:

this work is a request and a birthday gift for my sweet baby @mydailyhyperfixations , who’s been one of my biggest supporters since i started posting my work on tumblr. ily, and i hope you love the fic! special thanks to @cutesyscreenname for helping me with some lil details to finish this surprise. support and mdni banners by @saradika

content warnings:

explicit sexual content (18+ MDNI), age difference (undefined, but references are made), pre/no outbreak!joel miller, identity porn, wrong number au, sexting, dom/sub dynamics, use of ‘sir’, pet names, praise, thigh riding, semi-public sexual activity, spanking, safe word discussion, dirty talk, p in v. let me know if i’ve missed any!

Unknown Number: I had a really good time at dinner tonight!

Joel stares at his phone in confusion. It’s past midnight and he’s been sitting on the couch nursing a beer and watching Indiana Jones. He’s been in the same spot since Sarah went to bed a couple hours ago. His phone beeps again.

Unknown Number: It’s too bad we didn’t have time to visit Noir.

Joel raises his eyebrows. Noir is a bar in downtown Austin known for its calendar of speciality kink events. He’s seen it come up in his Google searches of local bars and had considered going to an event or two but never worked up the courage. His kinks remain between him and his porn search history.

Unknown Number: Wanna see what you missed out on?

[Photo 01.jpg]

Curiosity gets the better of him and he clicks on the image attachment. He nearly drops his phone when a photo of a woman fills his screen, sweet curves hugged by black lace on white sheets. He should absolutely tell her that she has the wrong number. His fingers type across the screen.

Damn, seems a shame something that gorgeous is going to waste.

Unknown Number: Who says it has to go to waste?

Joel swallows nervously. He’s already hard in his jeans, cock pressing urgently against his pants. He palms himself, trying to collect his thoughts.

Unknown Number: I’m feeling a little needy over here.

[Photo 02.jpg]

Against his better judgment, Joel opens the second photo and has to bite back a groan at the image of the woman’s hand slipped beneath the waistband of the panties, fingers hidden from sight behind lace and silk.

You want me to tell you how to play with that pretty pussy?

Joel squeezes his eyes shut as he presses send. This is a colossally stupid idea. This is a stranger, and he’s not the intended recipient of these messages.

Unknown Number: I’d really like that, sir.

Fuck it, Joel thinks. In for a penny, in for a pound.

Start by circling those fingers over your clit. Nice and slow.

And when you feel like you could cum, I want you to go even slower.

Unknown Number: It’s too slow. I want more.

Be patient, baby. And aren’t you forgetting something?

Unknown Number: Sorry. I want more, SIR.

Joel presses a hand to the bulge in his jeans, the pressure offering little relief.

Now don’t start being a brat, sweetheart. You won’t like the result.

Unknown Number: Oh yeah? What would you even do?

I’d love nothing more than to bend you over the edge of the bed, ass ready to be spanked red.

Unknown Number: Fuck, that would feel so good. Bet your hands would feel amazing marking me up.

You still being a good girl and following my instructions?

Unknown Number: I think I forgot. Could you remind me, sir?

You’ll have to ask more nicely than that.

Unknown Number: Could you *please* remind me, sir?

Joel runs a hand over his beard before reaching for the forgotten beer on the coffee table and taking a swig.

You’re supposed to be teasing yourself for me. Nice and slow.

I want you to pinch your nipples until they’re nice and tight, too.

Unknown Number: Like this?

[Photo 03.jpg]

Joel bites his lip as he opens the third photo. You’ve got your bra pulled down to expose your nipples, hard and perfect and begging for his mouth. He unbuttons his jeans, tossing his phone on the couch only long enough to shimmy the denim down his thighs and free his leaking cock.

Just like that, baby. Such a good girl for me.

Unknown Number: Are you touching yourself, too, sir?

Of course I am, baby.

Unknown Number: Can I see, sir? Please?

Joel’s hand falters as alarm bells blare in his head. He should absolutely not open his camera. And he should definitely not find the perfect angle that doesn’t show his face. And he certainly should not grip his cock around the base, holding it steady as the shutter sounds and a new photo is saved to his camera roll.

No. He shouldn’t do any of that.

[Photo 04.jpg]

Unknown Number: God, your cock would feel so good in me right now.

Joel’s right hand moves at a steady pace up and down his length, left hand fumbling to type a reply.

Why don’t you fuck your little fingers and pretend it’s me, then?

Unknown Number: Won’t fill me up nearly as much, sir.

Be a good girl and follow my directions, baby.

Unknown Number: [Photo 05.jpg]

He opens the photo and his cock pulses in his fist. She has her underwear shoved to the side, two fingers plunged into her glistening pussy. His mind reels with an image of this faceless woman writhing on the bed reading his words, thinking about his cock stretching her open and he has to bite his lip to just keep the responding moan trapped in his throat.

Unknown Number: Can I cum, sir? Please?

Since you asked so nicely, yes. Make yourself cum for me, sweetheart.

Joel sets the phone aside on the couch, closing his eyes as he pumps himself with a tight fist while he imagines your desperate pussy clenching around your fingers. He cups his palm over the head of his cock as his release hits him like a freight train, hips flexing from the couch to chase the lingering sensations of ecstasy from his hand.

He stands, pulling his pants up without bothering to fasten them so that he can wash his hands in the kitchen sink. Guilt settles on his shoulders as he dries his hands with the dish towel while he stares at the couch where his phone is lit up with another message from a stranger he had no business seeing that much of.

He approaches the couch and sits with a sigh, running a hand over his face before picking his phone up to read her message:

Unknown Number: Easily my best orgasm. Hope it was for you, too. Don’t be a stranger xx

Feeling like an asshole, Joel deletes the thread and the wrong number for good, but it’s fine.

It’s not like he’ll ever meet her, anyways.

——————

You’re on the phone with your best friend, telling her about how the last guy you went out with about a week ago, a guy named Jeremy you met on a dating app, still hasn’t reached out to you again despite what you’d thought was a successful date.

“So he just never reached out to you after you sexted him all night?” She asks. “Men are so weird.”

You cradle the phone between your ear and shoulder as you zip up your duffel bag of equipment. It’s the beginning of June and the summer soccer intensive camp for junior league starts today. You’ve got a full registration for the girl’s 13-15 division and you’re excited to get back on the field and help these girls do their best in a sport you love.

“Nope. Maybe I came on too strong? I don’t know,” you reply.

“You did come strongly. At least, that’s what you told me,” she says with a laugh. “Well, that’s too bad. Maybe you’ll meet a hot dad coaching this year.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m not fucking someone’s dad.”

“Never say never, babe.”

“I gotta go find my damn cleats. I’ll talk to you later,” you tell her.

“Fine, I expect a full run down of every DILF you meet today.”

You hang up as she laughs, tossing your phone into your personal bag that you keep separate from the gear before you go in search of your cleats from your room.

——————

Joel and an over-excited Sarah sit in the parking lot of the soccer field that her summer camp is being conducted at, ridiculously early at Sarah’s insistence because she didn’t want to be late on the first day. They’re the only car in the parking lot so far, having apparently beat even the coach, and Joel sips at his travel mug of coffee in the hopes that it grants him energy.

Another car pulls up and parks beside his truck, loud music blaring from the open window. Sarah waves excitedly.

“That’s the coach,” she explains.

Joel watches you get out of your car and pop the trunk. You start pulling out bags of soccer balls and stacks of orange cones, bags of agility equipment and strength training aids. He opens the door to his truck and jogs over.

“Hey, you need any help with that?” He asks. You look over at him in surprise, eyes wide.

“Oh, uh, sure. That would be great,” you reply.

“I’m Joel Miller, and this is my daughter, Sarah,” he says, gesturing to the young girl. She gives a little wave and he extends a hand out to you.

You give him your name, shaking his outstretched hand. “Y’all are a little early,” you reply, hefting a bag over your shoulder.

“My dad’s always late but I didn’t want to be late for camp,” Sarah says. Joel narrows his eyes at her.

“Not a problem. You can help me set up the cones,” you tell her. His daughter gives you a bright smile and he almost forgives her for throwing him under the bus. “I’ll grab these two bags, you grab the cones, and Mr. Miller, could you grab the balls, please?”

Joel fights back his childish laughter at your request, grabbing the bags as instructed. “Just Joel, please.”

You smile at him and he feels a bit blindsided by how it makes his heart beat faster, his palms a little sweatier. You’re very pretty, fresh faced and ready for a day of work, wearing one of those quick dry workout shirts that clings to your curves and a pair of shorts that show off your strong legs. Some traitorous part of his brain wonders what it would feel like to have those legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer.

“Alright then, Just Joel. Let’s go.”

——————

“Thank you for the help,” you tell Sarah’s dad. You’re trying very hard not to let your eyes linger on the bulge of his biceps or the broad expanse of his back as he sets down the two bags of soccer balls and places his hands on his hips.

He’s a handsome man, older than you by at least a few years, with tan skin and dark hair and kind brown eyes that crinkle at the corners when he smiles at something Sarah says. His daughter has the same brown eyes and olive skin, her dark curly hair pulled into a bun.

Of course the first parent you meet this summer is a hot dad. It’s like you’ve spoken it into the universe.

“Not a problem. Glad I can be useful if I’m goin’ to be here this early,” he replies with a narrowed glance at Sarah, who is suddenly very interested in the stack of cones she carried to the field. “Anythin’ else you need me for?”

“Let me get you the game schedule and contact sheet.” You open your bag and pull out your folder of materials you like to give to parents, assembling a stack of papers for him. “On top you’ve got the emergency contacts sheet. Fill that out with your contact information and an alternate’s information, too, just in case I can’t reach you or someone else needs to pick Sarah up. You’ll want to have Sarah bring that back tomorrow.”

You flip the page. “The second page is just a welcome letter. It’s got my phone number on it, feel free to text or call if you have any questions or if Sarah can’t make it one day.”

“And then last we’ve got the camp schedule. The girls will have two tournament days where they’ll play against some nearby summer camp leagues. You can sign up to bring a snack by filling out the piece at the bottom. Do you have any questions?”

“I don’t suppose I do. You’re very organized,” he says, taking the packet from you. You can feel your cheeks heating.

“Thanks,” you murmur. “Well, I gotta finish setting up.”

“I won’t get in your way.” He calls out to Sarah and the young girl runs up to give him a hug goodbye. “Be good. I’ll see you later.”

——————

Joel Miller is the first at the field in the mornings helping you set up for the day and last parent to leave at pick-up, after he’s loaded your trunk up with the equipment, wiping the sweat from his brow as he grins at you.

His daughter is a great player, quick on her feet and smart as a whip, picking up the footwork skills you teach like they’re second nature. You’re telling Joel as much Friday afternoon in the second week of camp when Sarah bounds up and asks if you want to get ice cream with them.

“That’s a great idea, baby girl,” Joel says before you can decline. You blink at him and he gives you that lopsided grin that’s been giving you butterflies since the first day on the field. “But if you order mint chocolate chip, you’re buyin’ it yourself.”

“Good news, I’m a plain ol’ chocolate kinda gal,” you tell him with a laugh.

“Me, too!” Sarah says.

“I’ll follow you guys,” you suggest. Joel gives you a quick nod, herding Sarah into his truck and taking off toward town.

You follow them to a little ice cream parlor, the kind that sells old fashioned sundaes and thick milkshakes with red and white striped straws. You park beside them, watching as Sarah hops from the truck with a wide grin on her face and her dad comes around, slinging a strong arm over her shoulder and pulling her close. Your heart feels warm looking at them.

Once inside, Joel and Sarah end up ordering a sundae to split while you get a small cone of chocolate ice cream. You try to tell Joel not to pay for you, but he hits you with a look that has your mouth going dry, any argument disappearing as all your blood rushes south and makes you ache between your legs.

“I’ll go get us a table outside,” you offer, licking at your treat. You don’t miss the way Joel’s eyes track the path of your tongue.

You watch the busy foot traffic while you wait for the Millers to join you, the warm Texas air wrapped around you while you enjoy the slight breeze and your cold dessert.

A deep voice calls your name and you look around, finding a familiar face on the crowded sidewalk.

“Jeremy, hey. How are you?” You ask as the man approaches. It feels like forever ago that you went to dinner together and looking at him now you think he’s handsome but he doesn’t hold a candle to Joel.

“I’m good. Been busy. I gotta say, I was a little bummed I didn’t hear from you after our date. Thought we had a good time,” he says, running a hand through his hair.

“Didn’t…hear from me?” You ask nervously.

He tilts his head. “Yeah. Thought you said you would text me when you got home.”

“Uh…yeah. Sorry. I guess I just forgot.”

The bell dings above the door to the ice cream parlor, Joel and Sarah emerging with a sundae piled with whipped cream. Jeremy looks toward them, then back at you.

“I’m guessing another date is off the table?” He asks, slipping his hands into his pants pockets.

Joel looks between the two of you, brow furrowed as he sets the sundae on the metal table and Sarah takes a seat, digging in immediately.

“Jeremy, this is Joel and his daughter, Sarah. She’s in my soccer camp this summer. Joel, this is my friend Jeremy,” you introduce. Jeremy holds a hand out to Joel, who shakes it briefly, brows still pinched.

“I better get going. Nice seeing you, let me know if you want to get together again,” Jeremy says before turning to leave. When you glance at Joel, his shoulders are drawn up and jaw clenched tight as he stabs his spoon into his ice cream.

“What do you guys have planned this weekend?” You ask to break the silence. Sarah perks up and begins to tell you about how her Uncle Tommy, Joel’s brother, is taking her to a local carnival. You listen and nod along despite the fact that your thoughts are stuck on Jeremy’s words.

If it wasn’t Jeremy on the other end of your conversation that night…who was it?

——————

As the three of you walk back to your vehicles, Joel’s still thinking about that man who’d been talking to you at the ice cream shop and how it made his blood burn hot to hear him mention going on a date with you. His pulse pounded in his ears as he shook the guy’s hand, any information about the guy going right over his head. He didn’t even taste the ice cream or hear the conversation you and Sarah had about the weekend, lost in his thoughts about how between early mornings helping you prep for camp and late afternoons at pick up have all somehow allowed you to burrow into his heart.

A hand wraps around his bicep, halting him in his steps. He glances at your concerned face and suddenly all that tension leaves him in a rush. Sarah says her goodbye, hugging you around your waist before hopping into the truck, leaving the two of you alone.

“You okay?” You ask, taking a step closer.

“I’m great, sweetheart. Get home safe,” he says, eyes dipping briefly to your mouth. Your tongue pokes out, tracing your lower lip. He takes a step back before he’s tempted to lean in and chase the taste of chocolate and you.

“I’ll see you Monday?”

“Bright and early.”

——————

Sarah spikes a fever Sunday night and spends the night curled around the toilet while Joel coaxes some water into her and keeps her hair out of harm's way. When it seems that the worst of her nausea has passed, Joel leaves her to rest in her bed while he goes downstairs and grabs the contact list you’d given him at the beginning of camp.

He starts a text, letting you know that Sarah’s sick and won’t make it to camp, at least for today. When it’s sent, he heads back upstairs, armed with a sleeve of crackers to deliver to his daughter.

Maybe he can squeeze in a little bit of sleep for himself.

——————

Hey, it’s Joel. Sarah’s sick and won’t make it to camp today.

You stare at the text, mind reeling. Not because a parent is texting you, that’s pretty common and you hope Sarah is doing okay, but because you already have a thread with Joel.

One where you’d called him sir and told him his cock would feel so good inside of you because you’d thought you’d been texting Jeremy. Your cheeks feel so hot you worry spontaneous human combustion could actually be a thing.

What are you even supposed to do in this situation? Do you tell him about it?

Hey, Joel. No worries. Thanks for letting me know, hope she feels better soon. Oh, also, you’ve sent me a picture of your dick.

You delete the last line immediately, hitting your phone against your forehead like doing so might make your thoughts make sense.

Hey, Joel. No worries. Thanks for letting me know, hope she feels better soon. Any chance you can make good on that promise and bend me over the bed?

You delete the last line again with a groan.

Hey, Joel. No worries. Thanks for letting me know, hope she feels better soon. There’s something I want to talk to you about. Would you be able to meet with me after practice this week? Or sometime this weekend?

You hit send before you can back out, tossing your phone in your bag as you get ready to head out the door.

——————

Joel wakes later in the morning and reads your text message. His mind races with what you could want to talk to him about. Maybe you noticed how he reacted to your friend and wanted to tell him you’re uncomfortable? Or maybe something to do with Sarah?

Fuck, he thinks, scrubbing a hand over his face. He reads the message a few more times but it doesn’t reveal any additional clues. He types out a message, pressing send before he can overthink the contents.

She seems to be doing better. Should be back to camp tomorrow. I can meet you somewhere for dinner on Friday after camp? My treat.

——————

Joel’s text plays on a loop in your brain for the rest of the week. Unlike the previous weeks of camp, he and Sarah don’t show up early. In fact, he’s been dropping her off almost at the last minute and picking her up promptly when camp ends, always managing to show up when you’re already pulled into conversation with another parent and driving off before you have a chance to talk with him.

On Friday, Joel is at the field early, leaning against his truck as he talks to Sarah. You park beside them, and he helps you unload your car and set up for the day, just as he had the weeks prior, making small talk like he hadn’t just spent the week dodging you after suggesting dinner. When everything is unpacked and Sarah is kicking a ball around, you follow Joel to his truck under the guise of needing one more thing from your car.

“Hey, are we still on for dinner?” You ask him. He runs a hand through his hair and you try not to let yourself zero in on the way his bicep flexes with the motion.

“‘Course. How ‘bout I meet you at that diner downtown? The one with the—“

“All day breakfast?” You finish. Joel grins.

“Yeah, that’s the one. Is six good?”

“Six is great.” You smile back at him, lost in the way his eyes crinkle in the corners and his mouth lifts slightly higher on the right.

“Coach!” Sarah yells, making you jump.

“Guess I better get out there,” you say, shifting nervously.

“Yeah, I’ll uh…I’ll see you later?” He asks.

“Looking forward to it.”

——————

To your surprise, it’s not Joel that picks up Sarah that afternoon, but another man with familiar brown eyes and dark curly hair. You grab your folder from your bag as Sarah greets the man, flipping through the pages until you’ve found her emergency contact form.

“Hey there,” the man says, a grin lighting up his face. “I’m Sarah’s Uncle Tommy.”

You shake the hand he’s held out towards you and introduce yourself. “Nice to meet you. Mind if I check your ID for alternate pick up?”

“Go right ahead,” he replies, pulling a worn brown leather wallet from his jeans and handing you his ID from its contents. “Don’t judge the photo, alright? It’s old.”

A younger version of the man in front of you is pictured on the card, his curly dark hair buzzed short and a grim expression on his face. You note the name THOMAS MILLER beside the picture and check it against Sarah’s emergency contact form.

“Thanks, Tommy,” you tell him, handing back the ID. There’s a brief silence where Tommy seems to be assessing you.

“So…,” he says, rocking on his heels, “you’re the girl that’s got Joel all tangled up, huh?”

You blink. “Uh—“

“Uncle Tommy! Let’s go!” Sarah shouts from the parking lot.

“Hold your horses!” Tommy yells. He gives you one last knowing smirk. “Have fun with Joel tonight!”

You watch him jog over to the truck and get behind the wheel, Sarah waving at you as he pulls out of the parking spot. You wave back, but your mind is stuck on Tommy’s words, the implication of them having your stomach doing backflips.

——————

Joel’s fingers fidget with the straw wrapper, ripping it into small pieces that build in a pile on the laminate table while he waits for you to arrive for dinner. He’s still not sure what this is all about and that uncertainty has had him stuck in his head to the point where Tommy was giving him a hard time at work about it.

“Let me know if you need me to stay with Sarah overnight,” Tommy had said as Joel checked himself in the hall mirror one last time before leaving the house.

“It ain’t like that,” he grumbled back, but there was no changing his brother’s mind.

“Sure, you keep tellin’ yourself that.”

The bell above the diner door rings with a new customer, pulling Joel from his thoughts. You’ve just walked in wearing a dress, a far cry from the soccer shorts and t-shirt he’s seen you in every day this summer. His gaze is pulled to the tantalizing glimpse of your chest he gets from the deep neckline and the way the fabric swishes against your thighs as you approach.

“Hi,” you say, sliding into the booth across from him. “Thanks for meeting me.”

“Sure,” Joel says, giving you what he hopes is a confident smile but he’s almost certain it’s more of a grimace.

A silence settles over the table as you both look at the laminated menus like they hold the secret to the universe. The waitress swings by and takes your orders - chocolate chip waffles for you and a medium rare burger for Joel.

“How’s Sarah doing with the camp?” Joel asks.

“She’s doing great. Easily one of the best players I’ve got this year,” you reply.

“Good that’s…good. You used to play for UT, right?”

“Yep, starting forward until I tore my ACL,” you tell him. “Now I coach because you can take the girl out of soccer but you can’t take the soccer from the girl.”

“That’s impressive,” Joel comments. “Is coaching your full time job?”

“No, I work in marketing for an instrument production company.”

“Really? You play anything?”

“Some guitar, a little piano. Nothing crazy. Do you?”

Joel laughs. “Been a while, but I got a guitar stashed away in a closet somewhere.”

The waitress returns with your food, setting the plates in front of you and asking if either of you need anything else before leaving the two of you to your meals.

Joel is a few bites into his burger when you set your fork down and say, “Look, I’m just gonna come right out and say it. You’ve sent me a picture of your dick.”

Joel nearly chokes, sputtering for air around his burger and grabbing his Coke, desperate for relief. He chugs the beverage, tears in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” You ask, wide eyes full of concern.

“No, I’m not okay, what do you mean I’ve sent you a picture of my dick?” He hisses, looking around the mostly empty diner.

“About a month ago I went on a date with that guy I ran into at the ice cream place, Jeremy? We met on a dating app so we were messaging through there and he gave me his number at the end of the night,” you say quickly. “And I texted the number with some…racy photos. And messages.”

Joel feels the rising panic in his chest. No, there’s absolutely no way that random number could have been you. There’s no way he sexted his daughter’s soccer coach.

“I didn’t find out it was you until you texted me about Sarah being sick. I still had the chat with your number,” you finish, reaching into your bag and pulling out your phone. Joel watches with building dread as you tap on the screen and set the phone on the table, sliding it toward him.

You’ve opened the chat with him, the innocuous messages at the bottom about Sarah missing camp giving way to photo attachments he doesn’t dare click on but remembers vividly. He looks up at you.

“I…I’m so sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have replied, the messages weren’t meant for me.”

“I’m not mad,” you assure him. “A little embarrassed, maybe. But also…can I be completely honest?”

“Of course.”

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about your messages.”

Joel’s mouth drops open in surprise. “You…really?”

“Yeah. And knowing it’s you…,” you say, voice trailing off. Your eyes are dark, a little smirk playing on your lips that has Joel’s cock twitching with interest. “Well, that makes it better.”

“It does?” Joel asks. You nod, picking up a bite of waffle with your fork, a moan of appreciation leaving your lips.

“It does,” you confirm.

Joel turns around in the booth and flags down the waitress.

“Check, please!”

——————

After paying for dinner, Joel walks you to the parking lot, his broad palm on your low back directing you to where his truck is parked.

He’s got you pressed against the passenger door, his chest grazing yours with each breath he takes. He lifts a hand to your cheek, his thumb rubbing across your bottom lip. His gaze grows dark as you dart your tongue out, flicking it against the digit.

“Such a fuckin’ tease,” he says. Gone is the man who was mortified to find out he’d been sexting you and in his place is the man behind the screen. “You wore this little dress because you knew exactly what you wanted, isn’t that right?”

“Maybe,” you murmur. “You don’t like it?”

“Mm,” he hums, “Ain’t a matter of not likin’ it, trust me.”

His hands grip your hips, the fabric bunching in his fists as he moves a thigh between your legs. The sudden friction of his jeans, even through the barrier of your underwear, has you gasping.

“Joel,” you whimper, grinding over the muscle of his thigh. He kisses along the length of your neck, lips right over your racing pulse. “Come on, take me home.”

“You can ask more nicely than that,” he says, hands guiding the movement of your hips, forward and back, across his thigh. You moan, louder than you intended, too loud for the parking lot of a busy diner at dinner rush.

“Please, sir,” you whisper. “Please, take me home.”

“Cum on my thigh and we can leave,” he replies. “Leave a nice little wet spot on my jeans and then I’ll take you home and make you scream my name as loud as you need to.”

Joel’s lips capture your own, swallowing the curse that was ready to spill from them at his demand. His kiss is rough, demanding, his stubble scratching your skin and his tongue tangling with yours as your hips continue to rock over his leg. You dig your fingers into his hair, holding tightly to him while the knot of need in your belly tightens.

“Come on, baby,” he says when he lifts his head, lips still pressed to your neck. “Make a mess, come on.”

You go still in his hands as your orgasm washes over you, your muscles stiff as your pussy pulses desperately over his thigh. Joel pulls you in for another kiss, this one slow and sweet to bring you back to reality.

When you’ve caught your breath, he steps back, adjusting the skirt of your dress back over your thighs. He looks down at his pants and then back at you, a smirk on his handsome face. You look down, face heating with embarrassment as you notice the dark patch of denim.

“Get in the truck, baby.”

——————

You give Joel directions to your apartment, his warm hand on your thigh the whole way there. Your nerves are buzzing beneath your skin again, the effect of your first orgasm wearing off and your desire building rapidly with each mile closer to your apartment.

He parks in the visitor parking and you move to open the door, but a tan arm reaches across and tugs it shut. Confused, you watch Joel jump from the truck and jog around to the passenger side to pull open your door and hold a hand out to you.

You’re laughing as he helps you from the truck and shuts the door behind you, your giggles persisting as you lead him upstairs and his arms circle your waist while you try to unlock your door. He hustles you across the threshold, kicking the door shut behind him and flipping the deadbolt.

“Bedroom?” He asks.

“End of the hall,” you reply.

Joel pulls you along behind him, a man on a mission. Once inside your room, you flip on your bedside lamp and Joel steps in close, framing your face in his hands and giving you another kiss that has the butterflies in your tummy going wild.

His fingers are curling into the hem of your dress, dragging it up your body and breaking the kiss long enough to pull it over your head and toss it to the floor. His lips are back on yours while his hands map your curves, calloused fingers catching on soft skin and making goosebumps erupt in their wake.

“Get on the bed,” he commands. You turn, crawling onto the mattress slowly, a wiggle in your hips. You look over your shoulder at the older man and find his gaze fixed on your ass. He grins. “You remember what I said last time you teased me?”

“No. I think I need a reminder,” you tell him. He huffs, shaking his head.

“Teasin’ me and gettin’ mouthy? Think that might earn you a punishment.”

Joel palms the cheeks of your ass, pulling them apart in a rough grip that has you gasping his name. His fingers dig into the flesh, the ache of them already making your head spin.

“Five ain’t enough, but it’s all I’ve got the patience for right now,” he says. His tone changes as he asks, “You got a safe word? If I need to stop?”

“Apricots,” you say easily. He tilts his head. “It’s from a TV show. New Girl?”

“Never heard of it,” he says. “Alright, apricots it is.”

He pulls your panties down, leaving them around your thighs. His thumbs spread you apart and the vulnerability of this position, your ass in the air and everything spread for him, by him, has you feeling like you’re on fire.

“Pretty little pussy,” he murmurs. “But I already knew that. Because you’re a dirty fuckin’ girl who sent me pictures just because I told you how to cum. Ain’t that right?”

“Mhm.”

An open palm lands on your right ass cheek, hear blossoming on the spot as you gasp, lurching forward. His hands pull you towards him and he presses down between your shoulder blades, your back arching.

“Don’t move,” he commands. “That was one. You count the next one.”

Another smack across your other cheek, more sharp pain that shifts into dull ache as you mumble, “Two.”

He doles out two more in quick succession, each other making your pussy clench with need. You’re drooling into sheets, a whimpering mess as he runs his fingers through your soaked folds and lets out a deep groan.

“Baby, you’re soaked,” he says. “Fuck, one more, okay? One more and then I’ll have you wrapped around my cock.”

You nod your head, bracing for the final blow across your sensitive skin. The sting of his palm as it lands makes your eyes roll back, the line between pleasure and pain so blurry you don’t know which side you stand on.

His hands leave your hips and without the support, you slide flat to your belly. Distantly, you register the opening of your nightstand drawer and the sound of Joel rummaging through the contents, followed by the muted thump of clothes being discarded to the floor.

Joel maneuvers you to your back in the center of the bed, pulling your panties off. “You did so good, sweetheart,” he praises. You smile at him.

“Do I get a reward now, sir?” You ask.

“‘Course, baby. Good girls get what they deserve.”

His hips press between yours, his cock sliding through your wetness and catching on your clit. He positions the thick head at your slick entrance, pressing in the slightest bit. You take in the sight of him, his broad chest held over you by strong arms, the muscles of his neck tense.

Joel slides in slowly, your body accepting him gratefully. The stretch borders on painful but the fullness has you digging your nails into his back, a moan falling from your lips. It feels like ages before his hips as flush to yours and all you can feel is Joel Joel Joel.

“Fuck,” he groans, forehead dropping to yours. “Christ, you feel so fuckin’ good.”

He pulls back slightly, thrusting forward with a sharp snap of his hips. As he starts to set a rhythm, he sits up on his knees, lifting one of your legs up with a hand on the back of your thigh and pressing it to the side. The position opens you up further, letting him get impossibly deeper, and all you can do is allow him to use your body to his liking.

It’s not long before you’re screaming his name, as promised, the knot of pleasure in your core pulling tight and getting ready to snap.

“You gonna cum again for me?” Joel asks, breathing labored as his pace doesn’t falter. “Come on, baby, cum on my cock. You’re such a good fuckin’ girl, I know you can do it.”

“Joel!” You shout, that last thread snapping as your orgasm rushing through you, stars bursting behind your eyelids as they snap shut with the force of it all. Your pussy clenches around him, his hips stuttering and growing sloppy until he’s pressing in deep with a groan of your name.

He collapses on top of you, a heavy weight but not an unwelcome one as you both try to catch your breath, sweat cooling between you. After a moment, his softening cock slips from your body and he rolls to the side, gathering you to his chest.

“Holy shit,” you whisper.

“Yeah,” Joel whispers back. He sits up, leaning over the edge of the bed and grabbing his jeans, pulling his phone free.

He taps on the screen and brings it to his ear, a distant ringing audible through the speaker.

“Tommy? Yeah, everythin’s fine,” Joel says when his call connects. He takes a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Could you stay with Sarah tonight? Shut up,” he grumbles. He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “I’ll be back in the mornin’. Thanks, brother.”

Joel hangs up and you raise your eyebrows at him.

“You’re staying?” You ask.

“Yeah, baby. I ain’t finished with you yet,” he replies, pressing a flurry of kisses to your face, neck, and shoulders, sending you into a fit of giggles.

——————

1 Year Later

“Alright, great job, girls! Let’s get your snacks,” you shout as your summer league girls jog towards you from the field following their third tournament game.

The girls crowd around the cooler that Joel’s prepared, grabbing small bottles of Gatorade or water and a bag of orange slices. They lounge around the sidelines and you step up beside Joel, bumping him with your hip.

“Thanks for the snacks,” you say. He grins at you.

“‘Course. Gotta take care of my girls,” he replies. He pulls one last bag of oranges from the cooler. “And one for coach.”

“How’d I get so lucky?” You ask, looping an arm around his waist.

“What can I say? You texted the right wrong number.”

Joel Miller Masterlist

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel tlou #no use of y/n #joel x reader #pre outbreak!joel #no outbreak!joel miller

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matrixbearer2024 · 3 months

Note

not a request but i just wanna get an idea that i absolutely MUST get out of my brain before it consumes my entire being. So, your “get off my screen series”. You know that trend where ppl put that one vox vid of his face on their tv and put like hus hat and/or body attached to the tv. Imagine vox somehow finds a way to do that and y/n just does this.

THATS IT LMAO ABSOLUTELY LOVE AND ADORE YOUR SERIES. ANYTIME I SEE IT’S UPDATED IT MAKES MY DAY<3

TikTok Trending, Posts and Memes

Vox x CollegeStudent!Reader

A/N: With how many ideas you guys have at this point I might just continue to write short scenarios for this AU with all the ideas you guys are giving me- it's absolutely amazing seeing what y'all come up with and I'm just living for it hahahaha! Thank you guys so much!

The week you had was... interesting to say the least.

Vox had challenged you to at least take up basic programming, claiming you were too impatient to learn.

So you, being the persistent and stubborn you-

Decided to prove him wrong.

Besides, it can't be that bad if he knows how to do it.

You wouldn't tell him because it'd probably make him butthurt-

But you were sure Vox was 1000% more impatient than you.

You took up computer science for extra credit, quickly learning the ins and outs of basic coding.

It was just a world of syntax and numbers but you definitely found it fun.

And useful too-

Especially when you wanted to explicitly screw with others.

Vox may or may not have slightly taught you how to hack.

But you weren't using it for anything bad!

Just to change the final grade of some asshole students so they'd have to repeat the class.

That's what they get for just randomly tripping you in the hall the other day.

Vox was slightly proud but also kind of concerned-

You'd definitely end up where he was at this rate.

Thankfully though, you decided not to do anything too crazy since.

Instead you've been messing around on your devices alongside the tech overlord.

From practicing how to send him encrypted messages-

To straight up just shitposting all over his monitors.

It's not so fun now is it Voxxy?

You would sometimes try to transfer him around to other devices that weren't your own to see if he could actually do anything.

Well, he could- but it only worked if he was directly connected to it.

Meaning he had to be plugged in.

How he was able to connect to all your devices wirelessly without limitation?

Neither of you had a clue.

You both first tested it on your best friend's phone, only for Vox to immediately go back to your computer and blow up your notifications.

"Nope nope nope nope, that's the last time I let you plug me into some random fucking phone-"

"What?? What happened??? And it's not random, it's (Friend Name)'s Phone."

"Dollface, you know Valentino right? The one I told you about?"

"The pornstar? What about?"

You didn't exactly like where this conversation was going.

You had an inkling where it would end and you were already cringing.

"Yeeaaaah, I've known him for quite some time so I would think I've seen nearly everything."

"Get to the point Vox-"

"And yet I am somehow utterly disgusted by your friend's search history."

"Yeah, uh... I'd rather you don't tell me."

"I figured. Though it makes me curious about what yours looks like."

That gave you pause, given how Vox had practically invaded your entire computer-

Hell, he even gave your files a new sorting system-

You were surprised he hadn't gone through your search history.

Of all the things you'd think that was what he'd ransack first.

"You haven't checked my search history yet?"

"Why would I? It's not like I'm trying to find your secret porn stash or something."

"Bruh, why would I even have that."

"Your friend had one, I just guessed."

"Touché."

You were a little touched that Vox cared about you enough not to really dig into your secrets.

Or well, the things you wanted to keep secret.

For a big bad overlord, he was kind of a sweetheart.

"Okay now I definitely wanna see what you've got hidden in there-"

"FUCK OFF YOU STUPID OLD PICTUREBOX-"

"YOU CAN'T STOP ME BITCH-"

You know what, you retracted your previous statement.

He's a fucking jerk.

Vox quickly dug through your search history while the tiny desktop companion in his likeness refused to give you control over the cursor.

You couldn't stop him even if you tried.

His phone blew up from notifications with you cursing at him or just calling him names.

He just laughed at your dismay and continued to dig through.

Okay- wow.

While he didn't initially expect it from you, Vox reckoned he probably should've.

Much like how people had celebrity crushes, he figured you would have your own.

It just so happened that it wasn't a celebrity and it was a fictional character instead.

He kind of felt like someone slapped him in the face actually, even if he didn't know why.

"Soooooo- (Favorite Character Name) huh?"

"Shaddup-"

"This? This is your type???"

"IT'S A FICTIONAL CRUSH GET OVER IT-"

While you were practically steaming from the ears in embarrassment, Vox was just laughing and dealing with his mixed feelings.

On one hand, he found your reactions absolutely entertaining and hilarious.

On the other hand, he didn't even know who or what this character was and he already disliked them.

Just a gut feeling.

He continued to tease you for it though, bringing up more cringe parts of your search history much to your chagrin.

It wasn't really anything bad that you couldn't take, it was just so embarrassing that you'd rather he didn't dig any of it up.

So in the heat of the moment, wanting to get Vox off your computer- you plugged it into the only other active device he wasn't connected.

Your TV.

It was nearly instant, he went from teasing and texting to you to a befuddled face on the larger screen.

But what was more surprising, was he could actually see you this time.

It wasn't filtered over with static like when he'd first met you.

The live feed even had audio, which was just entirely unexpected too.

Who knew, plug a TV demon into his specific medium and he could actually operate properly?

But that's how you guys ended up figuring out how to connect his digital presence to your TV.

By entire surprise and from just fucking around.

"Oh my god that worked-"

"(Y/N)? Holy hell! I can actually see you!"

"I did not think that would work-"

"Wow, are you really that short or is your TV just perched up that high?"

You just flipped him the bird and Vox laughed at you again.

Though, you couldn't help but smile because of it.

Well, at least now he could converse with you "properly" like he'd wanted to for a while.

Even if it did mean he'd need to take up your entire TV.

"Oh- OH WAIT- I've got an idea!"

Vox couldn't even question what you were doing before you ran out of the room and out of his sight.

So while waiting, he took a gander at the room you left him in.

It became abundantly clear that this was your living space too.

From the colors to the patterns, Vox smiled fondly as he recalled your old conversations where you would just tell him things about the things you liked.

Yeah, he could definitely see your touch in how the room was designed.

He raised an eyebrow when you giddily came back into the room with some colored paper, scissors and tape.

What-?

"Okay Doll, just what are you planning?"

"You'll see~!"

Your excitement kept him curious.

What were you drawing over there?

Weird timing for an arts and crafts project if you asked him.

It was only until you approached him and taped something to the screen did he actually grow confused.

He couldn't see what you did despite you doubling over in laughter.

What could've possibly been so funny that had you keeling from it?

By the time you could finally look at Vox without laughing your ass off, you used your phone to take a picture of how he looked.

Approaching the TV to show him just so he could see the photo as well.

Ah.

So that's what you found so funny.

You'd fashioned his outfit-

Poorly made but still recognizable-

Out of paper and taped it to the screen.

His hat on top and his suit dangling off the bottom.

Admittedly, it looked downright silly.

Especially with the proportions being so off thanks to the size of the TV screen.

"Haha, very funny (Y/N). Very funny."

"I'm making this shit my wallpaper, you look so goofy."

Vox just playfully rolled his eyes at you with a smile.

If that was seriously all it took to make you laugh?

He'd do it again no questions asked.

Taking a peek at his internal clock though, he held back his disappointment that he had to leave when you were on such an elated high.

"Sorry to cut this short doll, but I need to disconnect. I've got a meeting in a few minutes."

"Hm? Then go and do what you need to do, I can always just plug you back in later. Good luck!"

The overlord chuckled when you raised a hand to pat the screen, he couldn't feel it but he wished he did.

"I don't need luck, but... thanks. See you."

"See you."

And just like that the screen fizzled out and returned to the smart TV homepage.

You'd sent the picture to Vox through your chats and he replied with a TV emoticon.

You giggled, course he would do that.

At least he didn't take offense to what you did-

Despite your poor art skills-

Maybe he found it as entertaining as you did?

Whatever, you switched the wallpaper on your phone to the new photo you had of Vox and laughed.

His confused expression really sealed the deal with how silly the picture was.

But imagine your surprise come morning when you realized he didn't switch the wallpaper back to his trademark grin.

You sort of expected him to, especially given that he'd done so with all your past attempts to change your wallpaper.

The fact he left it alone made you smile.

And as the day began and Vox left you a morning greeting-

You just shot him one back and got up to prepare for the day.

You figured the day would be just fine.

Yeah, you guys would be just fine.

A/N: Ooough this was a long one but I had a lot of fun writing it! I'll post the masterlist afterwards when I grab all the links to the posts and I'll just be continuing the other interludes before I post the chapter with Reader's death. Either way, I hope you guys enjoyed this one!

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin vox #vox #vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin vox x reader #vox x you #Get Off My Screen Series

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copperbadge · 29 days

Text

Lately, it's felt like every time I've started to work on writing, I'll just be getting into the rhythm of it when I get interrupted, either by work or the cats or because the time I'd booked in the library study room is up (you can only do two hours at a time, and only four hours a week total). It was getting to the point where I kept re-reading the same chapter or so of previous work but never managing to add to it.

So I tried an experiment this past weekend -- I found a really cheap rate on a local hotel room, and on Friday I took an overnight bag and a very old laptop with limited processing power and checked into a room about a mile from home for a quasi "staycation". I unpacked and had a quiet night on Friday, as prelude to working Saturday-Sunday. The idea was to write uninterrupted by other people, pets, the presence of all my Stuff around me at home, et cetera.

I had snacks but I also bought meals out, which was nice; I don't often order in or buy out when I'm at home. The way I set up was that I would do fifty minutes of writing with do-not-disturb engaged on my phone and then ten minutes of checking email, texts, etc. since often what pulls me out of writing is a text or an email that needs answering, or the anxiety that I'm missing one that would. If I set it so that every hour I check, well, nobody's going to die if something doesn't get answered in an hour, so the anxiety isn't there, and neither is the distraction. (I found a nice app for this, review later depending on how functional it continues to be for me, but it's a like $4 app called Forest.)

It worked pretty well -- writing for an uninterrupted hour, as long as I know what I'm working on, is very functional for me. I average about two thousand words, that way, though there is a limit to the number of hours I can put in. I ended up doing two hours in the morning and one hour in the afternoon, then switched from fiction writing to clearing out my tumblr drafts and some correspondence for the fourth hour. So it went something like

Go out and get breakfast, bring back and eat in room

Change into lounging clothes and do two one-hour sessions

Go out and get lunch, eat lunch out

Bit of a rest break back in the room

Two one-hour sessions, one of writing; when tired, switch to something that requires less creativity

Go out and get dinner, bring back and eat in room

And then in the evening the plan was to watch movies or catch up on reading, but I ended up being mentally weary, so instead I did some simple tarot reading. It was less divination or even meditation than just messing around, keeping the creativity stimulated; I did a couple of Creative Writing spreads, some very brief divination spreads (I nicked a nice three-card spread here that I mentally call He To Hecuba, and just used it in general rather than for a specific question) and then invented a spread when I was starting to get irritated that the same like, five cards kept coming up, more on this in its own post.

Sunday I did one more writing session but it was less successful, I think partly because what I was writing required a lot of research and partly because the previous day I'd dumped eight thousand words into the file. (Research took longer because I brought the most garbage laptop known to man, and the browsers crash if you try to open Google Maps, but in other ways it was ideal since there wasn't much I could do on it other than write.) But I had a good breakfast, got some rest, packed up easily enough, and headed home just ahead of the rain storm.

I don't think it's something I'll be able to do in that format especially often, since the deal I got on the hotel was an anomaly and Chicago lodging, even just AirBNB stuff, is stupid expensive. But in addition to helping get some work done it was a nice break, so I'm going to look into ways I could swing it on a perhaps monthly basis, or some other way to cheaply spend an entire day alone with decent access to a bathroom/snacks and a way to come and go easily. I've looked into coworking spaces before but they tend to be prohibitively expensive and don't really have the setup I'd prefer; there's a hostel on the north side with private rooms that I might try out but it doesn't seem significantly cheaper than a hotel. I might just have to pick one weekend a month and watch last-minute hotel price cuts where they simply want to fill a room for a day or two.

Anyway, functionally I wrote almost a fifth of a novel this weekend, and one that I wasn't feeling super on fire about; I'm feeling much better about it now that I've got some established plot going and I feel like I "know" the newer characters a bit better. (Also I'm enjoying writing Simon as someone who is absolutely entranced by his love interest and clueless that what he's feeling isn't mild antipathy because they met while fighting over ricotta.) So it was a big help, although if I were to put a budget line item in the Extribulum Press ledger for "writing staycation" it would wipe out my royalties surplus very quickly.

#writing #shivadhverse

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leviathans-watching · 1 year

Note

Would you be willing to write how the brothers (any you decide but at least leviathan mammon and belphie) as well as any side characters (Raphael and barbatos perhaps?) would react to us/the reader telling them "you always were my favourite." ? Thank you even if you don't do my request I love how you characterize them. You write Raphael really well also [: - ⛓️

telling them they're your favorite

includes: older brothers, belphie, barbatos, raphael x/& gn!reader, luke & gn!reader (no pronouns mentioned)

wc: .7k | rated g | m.list

a/n: ught this was so fun to write and tysm!! i hope you enjoy! my inbox is open to chat, req, and leave feedback so come say hi <3

reblogs plz =)

➳ lucifer flicks a glance over at you. “is that so?” he asks, brow raising. “i thought you didn’t have favorites.” “well, i would never admit it to the rest of them, but you just get me so well. and cause me the least number of headaches,” you reply, and he lets out a half-chuckle. “i wonder why you’re admitting it to me now,” lucifer ponders aloud. “it probably has nothing to do with the fact that i know you’re hungry and know i keep snacks hidden in my desk.”

➳ mammon loses his composure quickly, sputtering. you don’t think you’ve ever seen his cheeks get that red that fast. he recovers after a long moment, chest puffing out. “i always knew it,” he insists, pride heavy in his tone. “i mean, i am your first man an’ all. it’s only natural that you’d like me best, especially since i am the coolest and best-looking of all of us.” you laugh, and he goes on. “but ya should tell me. why exactly am i your favorite and what do you like about me best?”

➳ levi shakes his head. “no, you’re just saying that to cheer me up. there’s no way a gross, lonely, yucky otaku like me is your favorite!” “you shouldn’t say those things about yourself,” you insist, laying on the puppy-dog eyes for n extra guilt factor. “it makes me sad. and i hate seeing my favorite–or should i say my bias?–sad.” levi gives you a little half-smile, convincing clearly working, and you decide to go in for the kill, prey upon his envy. “but i suppose if you don’t want to be my favorite i can pick someone else…” wow, did that turn his mind around!

➳ belphie huffs out a laugh. “please, i know you wouldn’t actually ever admit it, even though it’s true. what is it you want?” even if you insist, you know he won’t believe you, or at least believe you’re actually admitting it like he said, so you just come clean. “well, i need a ride and mammon’s the only other one home but he always makes me give him gas money.” “i knew you wanted something,” belhie grumbles good-naturedly as he pulls himself out of bed. “fine, but only if i get payment of my own. don’t you think a kiss should be enough?” his eyes slant devilishly. “at least to start.”

➳ barbatos smirks. “i didn’t know my food was that good.” “are you kidding me?” you reply, grabbing another mini-cupcake. “these are so freaking good. barbatos, if you promised to bake for me every day i’d marry you in a heartbeat.” this gets a rare true smile out of him, one complete with crinkles at the corners of his eyes. “don’t let anyone else hear you saying that,” he warns, “or else you’re going to have a bunch of wannabe-bakers messing up the kitchen at the house of lamentation, and is that something you really want to deal with?”

➳ luke pumps his fist, vibrating with excitement. “i knew it! i knew it, i knew it, i knew it! of course you like me the most, especially compared to those mean demons!” wrapping his arms around your waist, he gives you a tight hug, looking up at you affectionately. “you’re my favorite too, mc! besides simeon of course, but no one will ever beat him.” you laugh, ruffling his hair, and even though it’s mean of you to think you’re sure if he were a puppy his tail would be wagging a million times a minute. “well, it is simeon so i suppose that’s fine.”

➳ raphael blinks uncomprehendingly. “me? i’m your favorite? but, we haven’t even known one another for that long and you seem so close with the brothers!” before he can fully spiral, you smile, knocking against his shoulder. “and? i really like you. you’re kind, smart, genuine, and a good mediator. why wouldn’t you be my favorite?” you leave then, but for the rest of the day note the small, bashful smile he wears, and the way he can’t make eye-contact for more than a few seconds at a time without looking away, ears turning the slightest bit red.

leviathans-watching's work - please do not copy, repost, or claim as your own

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wilteddreamsofbaldursgate · 4 months

Text

Starlit Skirts

Astarion x fem!ElfTav|| ao3 || Masterlist

Rating: T Word Count: +2.5k A little smile stole onto Tav’s lips. “I would’ve married you in the half-hour between having my back blown out and breakfast this morning, if you’d let me. Or yesterday. Or the day before. Better yet—the day before that. A lifetime ago…” By the way his lips tenderly began to mirror her own, she could tell that it was decided. Astarion would be her husband by morning.

a/n: Valentine's Gift Exchange for @marcynomercy ; happy early Valentine's Day! ♡

Tav was growing bored, positively so.

The early Autumn sun had pleasantly warmed her back when Astarion had first helped her onto the wooden step stool. Now, the chamber was bathed in the scattering light of late afternoons, the sun’s weakening sunrays crawling past the useless cheval glass in front of Tav.

Suppressing a yawn, her gaze wandered over the thick cotton sheet that was draped over the mirror, and—for the lack of anything better to do—she began to count the loose threats standing out from the tightly woven fabric one more time.

“I’m bored,” she declared when her eyes started to strain but a moment later.

Silence.

Tav rolled her eyes. Sometimes, it was rather irritating that Astarion only shut up when he was engrossed in his needlework—or when his mouth was otherwise occupied.

“You could at least entertain me a little,” she tried again, her voice light as she swallowed yet another yawn. “Since you’re keeping me on my toes like this all day...”

It was no use. As if he hadn’t heard her, Astarion continued to kneel at her feet, rearranging her skirts every once in a while to have them fall in a specific way Tav wasn’t privy to.

Astarion had been working on her wedding dress for months now, and although she’d donned the dress for a number of fittings, she’d yet to see the actual gown.

Astarion was adamant about keeping the look of the finished dress —his wedding gift to her— a secret, covering every reflective surface in the room, having her blindfolded if the need arose; working well into the night when their Elven eyes could only see in scales of grey.

So, all Tav knew about her wedding dress was that it was quite heavy, which was at odds with the cool gossamer fabric that felt so wonderfully soft against her skin, mimicking her lover’s sweet embrace…

Tav wasn’t able to suppress a third yawn. Not only was she bored, no, she was exhausted.

It was the second day in a row that Astarion had her stand in front of him for hours on end, and her body was becoming increasingly stiff. She wasn’t used to feeling this drained by doing absolutely nothing, but she supposed it couldn’t be helped.

“Don’t move,” Astarion muttered all of a sudden, pearl head pins secured between his teeth as he grabbed Tav’s wrist to keep her left arm from moving.

He’d pinned the dress’ knee-length sleeves to its skirt some time ago, insisting that he needed to see where they would overlay with…well, he wouldn’t tell her with what exactly.

Tav, frowning at his sharp command, hadn’t even noticed that she’d tried to roll back her shoulders, instinctively wanting to ease the dull ache in her joints.

“And no peeking.”

How had Astarion even known that she was glancing down at his silver locks when he was still re-pinning and inspecting the hem of her sleeve?

“Sorry,” Tav said, a tad too meekly to be considered honest as she ironed out her slouching shoulders.

Astarion acknowledged her with a huff, but that was more than enough for Tav. Wherever the Vampire’s mind had been wandering for the past hours, he was now back in the same room with her.

She would not let him go again.

“How much longer must I suffer, heart of my heart? My feet are getting so, so tired,” Tav pouted, accentuating her misery with a deep sigh. “I don’t think I can stand like this for another moment.”

It only took a heartbeat for Astarion’s busy hands to pause in their movement.

Tav allowed herself a triumphant, albeit small grin. If there was one thing Astarion couldn’t endure these days, it was her discomfort.

“Another moment is all I need, love. Promised.”

“I would so love to believe that, but you said the same thing at least three moments ago, you big old liar.”

Astarion scoffed, although Tav could hear a small grin of his own in his voice.

“Darling, it’s not my fault that I have to alter this dress every other damn week.”

Now, Tav let out a peeved laugh. The nerve of this man!

“It is, though!”

“Well, kind of,” Astarion admitted sheepishly. “Maybe?”

“Surely! Half of it is, at the very least.”

Astarion’s hands began picking at her skirts again. “Haven’t we already established that that was an accident?”

“You really are shameless, Astarion, truly,” Tav shook her head, the grin on her face widening.

How she wished she could see his face now! She could almost picture the way his eyebrows were knitted together, trying to hide his embarrassment behind a mask of concentration.

The dull ache in her spine was all she needed to decide that she’d earned herself that very sight of him. A look wouldn’t hurt, would it?

Slowly, Tav lowered her eyes, glancing down at Astarion through her eyelashes.

The bodice of her dress was ivory, she couldn’t help but notice entirely against her will; or a gentle cream. Maybe a very pale grey? It was already hard to tell in the growing half-light…

Tav bit her lip. She hadn’t meant to peek at the dress, really; she just couldn’t help it. And it wasn’t her fault that she could see past the crown of Astarion’s curly head. Or that she noticed the golden thread he pulled through her skirts, sewing on…a pearl? A crystal? It was something shiny for sure, but what?

Tav craned her neck, trying to get a better look at—

“Eyes up, damn you!” Astarion cried as he tilted his head back, catching her in the very act of gawking at as much of her dress as she could catch. “I swear I’ll have you blindfolded again.”

Tav’s eyes darted back up, pointing obediently towards the useless mirror as if they’d never left it to begin with.

“Oh, don’t you threaten me with a good time, darling,” Tav sighed dramatically, trying to make light of the way her heart raced.

“Let’s see if you’re this cheeky later tonight, shall we, pet?”

“That could be arranged—if you’re on your knees like this again…”

“Tempting. Very tempting indeed,” Astarion purred, his hand vanishing under her skirts without warning.

His nimble fingers trailed up from her ankle towards her knee, splaying out across the back of her thigh as he gently tugged her leg against his chest.

Tav gasped.

She didn’t dare another peek at him but was sure he was still looking up at her, face half buried in her skirts. The image inside her head expelled any lingering sense of her earlier fatigue.

“But let’s finish this first, alright? It really won’t be long now—you think you can endure your plight for a bit longer, you poor thing?”

Tav swallowed. This time, it was her turn to hide her embarrassment as she tried to look absorbed in the little dust particles floating through the day’s fading light.

“I suppose I can. But only because it’s you.”

“Good girl,” Astarion nodded approvingly against her shin before he withdrew, his hands taking up their work outside her skirts anew.

As it turned out, Astarion did keep his word this time.

It didn’t take very much longer until Tav could feel one final tug at her sleeve. A moment later, Astarion shook out her skirts one final time before he rose to his full height in front of her.

He unfastened the pincushion from around his wrist as he considered Tav from head to toe, circling her to examine his work.

“That should do,” he announced, coming to a halt behind her. “Close your eyes, love.”

Just like he always did, Astarion made to unfasten the lacing of Tav’s bodice.

Unlike the other times, though, she turned around before his fingers could hook under the lacing on her back; her arms came up to protectively wrap around her middle.

Astarion raised an eyebrow at her.

“What is it?”

“I want to see it.”

A deep frown settled between Astarion’s eyes as he slowly stepped behind her once again.

As if it were a dance, Tav turned to face him once more.

Astarion ran his hand through his hair, his crimson eyes searching hers as he tried to make sense of her silly game.

“You know why it’s called a wedding dress, my sweet? Because it’s worn on your wedding day— and that’s the day you’re going to see it.”

“Well, I’m wearing it right now,” Tav established with a shrug, earning herself a puzzled look from her lover.

Fiancé.

“What?” asked Tav. “We could be wed in a moment. Or three, considering you haven’t done your hair yet. The courthouse is right around the corner.”

Astarion, clearly surprised by her sudden proposal, opened his mouth, exposing his fangs for but a second before he pressed his lips into a thin line.

“All these months of wedding planning just to get it over with in one short moment?” He asked calmly. There was no bite in his voice, just honest curiosity.

A little smile stole onto Tav’s lips.

“I would’ve married you in the half-hour between having my back blown out and breakfast this morning, if you’d let me. Or yesterday. Or the day before. Better yet—the day before that. A lifetime ago…”

By the way his lips tenderly began to mirror her own, she could tell that it was decided.

Astarion would be her husband by morning.

But the pale elf was nothing if not a tease.

Taking a step towards Tav, his hand came up to her low neckline, fiddling with a detail Tav didn’t dare peek at—not under his intense crimson gaze.

“Why so impatient all of a sudden, dearest?”

Even while standing on the little step stool Tav had to raise her eyes to admire his beautiful face—the same face she wanted to look upon until the end of her days.

“I’m exhausted, Astarion. And maybe I’m even scared that time’s running out,” Tav murmured, putting into words what had troubled her for the past weeks as her hand reached for his. In an instant, his fingers intertwined with hers. “And I really don’t want to labour through another dress fitting, now that it’s getting all serious…”

Astarion pretended to look wounded as his thumb brushed over the back of her hand.

“Darling, and here I was thinking that we were already quite serious before our little accident.”

It was true—Tav had already put a ring on the Vampire’s finger a good decade ago, allowing them to not only spend their nights but days together.

There’d never been any need to rush to get married until now.

The Sunwalker’s Gift caught the fleeting daylight as Astarion raised his other hand to cup her cheek.

He considered her for a moment as she leaned into his touch.

“Are you sure?”

Tav only nodded once.

“Always been,” she whispered without any hesitation before she pressed a kiss to the palm of his hand. “And my feet are literally killing me. My spine, too. And, gods, my shoulders—”

Tav’s moaning was interrupted by a quick peck on her lips. The tip of Astarion’s nose brushed against hers as he pulled back just enough to look at the blush on her face.

“We can’t have that, can we?”

“Absolutely not.”

Astarion nodded understandingly, his hand moving from her cheek down her shoulders, along the long sleeves of her dress. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he lifted her off the little stool, hugging Tav against him for a moment longer than necessary.

“Time for your wedding gift, then,” he whispered in her ear before he set her gently down on her feet in front of the mirror.

“Will you close your eyes one last time, love?”

Tav let out a delighted little laugh as she squeezed her eyes shut—this time she really wouldn’t sneak a look.

The heavy cotton sheet that had covered the tall mirror for months fell to the floor with a thud.

“You may look now,” Astarion said, his hand still lingering —trembling?— on her hip.

Tav’s wedding gown was unlike anything she’d ever seen.

Not knowing where to look first, she gaped at the tiny crystals sewn along her neckline as they caught the light of the golden hour fading into shades of blue.

Brilliant embroidery shot down her batwing sleeves like silver linings, naturally guiding her gaze down to her skirts.

“Oh,” Tav breathed, watching the lonely form in the mirror brushing her fingertips over the starlit skirts cascading down her swollen belly like water.

Golden threads brought pearls and crystals together in the most breathtaking constellations, making Tav think of the few fleeting moments between night and daybreak when the sky is at its softest periwinkle, kissed by the gentle fingers of the morning sun.

“Well,” Astarion cleared his throat. “I wanted it to be unforgettable, but since you’d other plans…”

Dumbstruck, Tav could only tear her eyes from her reflection because she needed to see the man who had created all of this. What would she give right then to watch him stand next to her in the mirror?

“Astarion—” was all she could get out before the first tears began streaming down her face. “It is—it really is unforgettable!”

Astarions pulled her back against his chest, his chin resting atop her head as he urged Tav to look back in the mirror.

“Oh, don’t mention it,” he purred against her dark hair. “It’s just some fabric wrapped around my entire world.”

Tav hiccuped up a laugh, leaning back into Astarion. Maybe it was the tears, or the standing up all day, the babe growing inside her or just the dizzying feeling of profound happiness, but she didn’t quite trust her balance.

“Would you look at my swooning little bride,” Astarion grinned as he turned her to take her in, his hand unwilling to stray from her waist.

“Do you like it?”

Tav nodded vehemently, accentuating the truth of it with more tears.

“But I don’t have your gift ready yet, I’m afraid,” she pouted as Astarion tugged some loose strands of hair behind her pointy ears.

“No hurry, my heart,” he said, wishing with all his undead heart that he could see himself standing beside his bride in the mirror, caressing her ever-growing belly that had been so tedious to work with. Maybe one day he would. “Unlike you, I’m patience incarnate; I can wait a moment longer. Or however many more moments that little accident of ours may need.” Tav dared to stand up on her toes and pressed a lingering kiss against Astarion’s lips. “Let’s go show off this masterpiece of a dress in the meantime?” Astarion grinned as he beheld Tav lifting her skirts so that she could get a better look at a section of embroidery he’d laboured over for weeks. He wouldn’t tell her that her happy smile was the very thing that made her dress shine—that knowledge was his selfish little present to himself. “Why, darling, that’s a gift I'll gladly accept for now.”

#astarion #astarion x tav #astarion bg3 #astarion fluff #astarion x elf tav #astarion fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #baldurs gate 3 #astarion ancunin #emicha writes #wilteddreamsbg3

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savventeen · 10 months

Text

you say the stupidest (sweetest) things

pairing: seungkwan x gn!reader rating: 16+ (for swearing) wc: 4.5k prompt: seungkwan + "things you said at 1am" summary: you say stupid shit on the best of days, so when seungkwan comes over when you're having a bad bout of insomnia, the last thing he expects to hear from you is an accidental love confession warnings: insomnia, mental health issues, dissociation mention tags: fluff, friends to lovers, first kiss, reader is a little unhinged but who isn't tbh, they're also highkey allergic to genuine expressions of love/affection but they're working on it, banter, stimming, wrestling like children to try and work through emotions, reader is some flavor of lgbt+ (they make an "i've never done anything straight in my life" joke), reader's pov is dramatic bc they're dramatic oops a/n: this is for @dokyeomin as a part of my emergency commissions (check out the post here) and this was only supposed to be 1k but it 100% got away from me... i hope you still enjoy the fluff and all of the attached nonsense <3

From: Y/n 🔪 [11:47pm]

yo kwannie if i impulsively decide to go to the 24h convenience store how harshly do u think they'll jusdge me for buying every flavor of gummy candy available *judge i wanna see if i can melt them down into one Ultimate Gummy u know for Science

Seungkwan pauses brushing his teeth and stares down at your messages.

To be fair, it's probably not the strangest thing you've ever texted him. He's known you since your second year of college, after all, so he has about half a decade of experience with all of your various y/n-isms under his belt now.

Which is how he knows to trust his gut when it tells him that this probably isn't your usual brand of nonsense.

He spits the toothpaste into the sink and dials your number. You answer on the second ring.

“Before you say anything,” you start, “I was only half-serious about the gummies thing. Like, it's a fun idea, you know? In theory. But in actuality? I do not want to deal with the mess that it would create. Or the smells. Well, the smells might actually be pretty good depending on—“

“Uh-huh,” he interrupts dryly. “Y/n, when's the last time you slept?”

The beat of silence that follows is enough to confirm his suspicions, and the hesitant “Um” that follows is just the icing on the cake, really.

He sighs. “The fact that you have to think about it says enough.”

“I don’t need to think about it,” you argue petulantly. “I just… don’t wanna tell you.”

“Y/n...” he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Look, I know, I'm sorry.” And you do sound a little bit sorry, at least. “I'm just. Having an episode. Don't worry about it.”

His shoulders droop as the words sink in. “Episodes” are what you've taken to calling your intermittent bouts of serious insomnia.

Generally speaking, you sleep about as well as the average twenty-something with a caffeine addiction. But every few months or so, it's like your brain completely forgets how to shut off and you end up staying awake for 40+ hours straight.

“Well,” he says, putting his toothbrush away and going back to his bedroom. “You know that ship has sailed, right? You know I'm gonna worry about it.”

Your deep sigh crackles over the line. “Yeah, I know.”

“So. Where're we at this time?”

He mentally braces himself. The two of you have done this enough times now that he knows that you know there's no point in trying to lie or beat around the bush.

“Uhhhhhhh, I'll be hitting the 46-hour mark in about 20 minutes.”

“Aish.”

The fact that you can say that so casually makes his heart hurt. He knows that whenever he doesn't get enough sleep, he makes sure everyone knows it and thus babies him accordingly. But you've always been so intent on hiding anything and everything you struggle with. It's taken years for him to bully himself past the walls you keep hidden behind shit-eating grins and an over-willingness to help.

“Okay,” he says, moving to the dresser to grab an extra set of clothes. “I'll be over in an hour.”

“Wait. What?”

“You heard me.” He tosses the clothes onto his bed before going to grab one of his duffle bags, firmly asserting, “You've got an hour to mentally prepare yourself for my arrival.”

“Honey, you've got a big storm comin',” you quote at him without hesitating.

“You sure do,” he assures with a snort. “Better get ready to feel the wrath of my friendship.”

“Why do you have to love so aggressively?”

He rolls his eyes while he throws his clothes into the duffle bag with one hand. “Because it's the only way you'll accept it, idiot.”

“No, it isn't.”

Your pout is so audible through the phone that Seungkwan has to stop and glance at the screen in disbelief.

“Y/n. Y/n L/n. Do not stand there and lie to my face like that.”

“I'm not lying!”

“Not—” He gesticulates wildly with one hand like he's going Can you believe this shit? to an invisible TV audience. “Okay, tell me this: what did you do the last time I sincerely monologued at you about how much you mean to me as a friend, hmm? No bits, no bullshit, just me telling you how much I love you and how amazing you are.”

A beat. “I'll hang up on you, Kwannie, don't test me.”

He barely resists the urge to shove his face into the bedspread and scream. “You're literally proving my point right now!”

“Kwannieeee,” you whine, because you know he's right.

“Also, because I'm never letting you live it down, I will remind you exactly what you did."

You say his name again, but it's muffled, and he assumes it's because you're hiding your face in shame.

“I gave you a sincere, heartfelt speech about how much your friendship has changed my life for the better and made me become a better person—” he ignores your wordless pterodactyl screech, “—and how do you respond? By staring at me like a deer caught in the headlights, slowly raising your arms to give me double finger guns, winking, and then slowly backing out of the room like an awkward mannequin!”

“...”

“Well?” He puts his free hand on his hip. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“… I’ve changed a lot since then.”

Seungkwan rolls his eyes before moving to continue packing his overnight bag. “It was literally three months ago.”

“Yeah, and? Doesn't change the fact that I've changed,” you assert.

“Into even more of a nuisance? Yes, you're absolutely right.” He smiles when he hears you scoff playfully.

“Listen here, Boo Seungkwan. You know that well-rested Y/n is ready to throw down with you at a moment's notice. What do you think sleep-deprived, zero-impulse-control Y/n is going to do the second you get to their front door?”

“Stop referring to themself in the third person, hopefully,” he mutters, finally zipping up his bag and heading to the door. “And then after that, they're going to let me bully them into resting.”

“Hmm. The council has heard your proposal, briefly pondered it, and deemed it “unnecessary” on the basis of: they're a bad bitch that can't be stopped by neither time nor physics nor any god of your choosing.”

Seungkwan scoffs as he puts the call on speaker and sits to put on his sneakers. “Well, “the council” can go fuck right off.”

“What if the council would like to fuck right on?”

Pausing in the middle of tying his laces, he blinks down at his phone. “I'm— what?”

“Okay, real talk, what do you think it would mean in this case? Like, would this be like a 'hop on' versus 'hop off' situation? Or more like an 'I'm down for this' versus 'I'm up for this' kinda situation? Because it would have very different outcomes depending.”

Seungkwan decides that this is a debate better left for another time. “I think it means that I'm going to be at your house soon and that if you're not in your pajamas with hot Sleepy Time tea and the series Planet Earth ready to go, there will be consequences.”

“Booooooo, you whore.”

He finishes tying his laces and jabs his finger at the phone. “Consequences, Y/n.”

“Ugh, fine.”

“See you soon, love you, bye.” He hangs up before you can get another word in, but doesn't move from his seated position in the entryway.

Slowly, he takes a deep breath in and lets it out, taking a moment to lean back on his hands while he stares at the back of his front door. Specifically, at the large collage of sticky notes and pictures and doodles that have taken up residence there.

A few of the notes are ones he's gotten from other members of your shared friend group over the years (the one from Chan that reads "if u eat my rice i'll eat ur kneecaps xoxo" hangs proudly in the center, right next to a picture of him sleeping that Seungkwan managed to capture from an extremely unflattering angle). But most of them are from you.

Dumb puns, meme references, bullshit animal facts you made up just to get him to laugh… almost all of them are stupid in that extremely charming way that only you somehow manage to pull off.

But the one he's staring at now is almost completely hidden by other notes and pictures that have been added to the collage. It's a pale blue, the ink starting to fade a bit with time — the first note you ever gave him, back when you two were just people who happened to sit next to each other in an astronomy class.

Even though most of it is hidden, he doesn't need to be able to see all the tiny words you crammed into the small space to already know exactly what it says.

how do u make a space party? u planet :P u looked sad today, hope this makes u feel a little better also if this is 2 forward feel free 2 pretend i don't exist. or punt me in2 the sun idk u'd be doing me a favor tbh

He'd almost skipped class that day because of how bad he'd been feeling, but he'd decided to try and push through. And before that day, neither of you had interacted with more than a polite greeting and the occasional question about the homework.

But then you'd passed him that note, and he'd passed one back that said “that's dumb. but thank you” with a smiley face, and you'd passed another one back that said “do u think lizard people have ever been to space?” and the rest, they say, is history.

Seungkwan shakes his head with a sigh before standing up and grabbing his bag and his keys, striding determinedly out the door. He's got a best friend to take care of.

Seungkwan should be at your place soon, and you're not quite sure what to do in the meantime.

You have your laptop hooked up to the monitor in the living room with Planet Earth queued up, you have the kettle filled with water and ready to go on the stove, and you have mugs and teabags ready on the counter next to it.

The Required Tasks™️ have been completed as much as possible without the arrival of your best friend, and now all that's left to do is wait.

Which, normally, you're not the worst at. You're excellent at entertaining yourself, actually, mostly because there's always something to think about. Whether it be about cute dogs that you've seen over the past week (I wonder if the pomeranian down the street will let me pet him next time), potential plot twists for the new fantasy drama you're a little bit obsessed with (what if Gregothy was cursed the whole time???), or generic ponderings of the human existence as a whole (do souls have the metaphysical equivalent of a fingerprint?), you're pretty much always thinking about something.

Which is totally fine and dandy and cool or whatever when you have the ability to, you know, shut it off. For example, when you need to do something simple and necessary like, oh I don't know, go the fuck to sleep.

You also hate when that manic mental energy somehow translates into kinetic energy as well. It makes you feel like a hamster in a cage, watching yourself running and running and running on that stupid wheel until you exhaust yourself.

Tonight's metaphorical wheel: stimming like wild in the kitchen. Flapping, rocking, (gently) slapping, making weird and fun mouth sounds, the whole shebang.

And again, normally stimming is fun. Stimming is great. But stimming because you feel like if you don't stop moving you're going to literally vibrate out of your skin is, to put it lightly, Not It.

It takes you about ten minutes to work out all of the energy until you no longer feel like your blood was replaced with pop rocks.

With a groan, you lower yourself to the kitchen floor and lay down face first. Because despite how exhausted you feel in every possible way, there's still something like an itch in your conscious, a fucking pea underneath the miles of mattresses that refuse to let you just. Fucking. Sleep.

Your pity party must've lasted longer than you realized (or, more likely, you dissociated for a hot second there) because suddenly someone's knocking at your door at the same time you get a text from Seungkwan.

And you know it's a text from Seungkwan specifically because you got Vernon to help you change your notification settings so that whenever Seungkwan texts you, the "i love you.. bitch" sound clip plays instead of a normal text tone.

For a fraction of a second, you contemplate slowly inching your way to the door like an uncoordinated caterpillar, but you swat the thought aside like you’re swatting a gnat and you awkwardly roll to your feet and make your way to your front door.

Without hesitating, you unlock the door, swinging it open with a flourish and sticking a finger right in Seungkwan's face before he can utter a single syllable, forcing him to cross his eyes.

You open your mouth wide like you're going to say something, pause for a moment, then tap your pointed finger to his nose with a quiet "boop."

He blinks, expression turning deadpan, and sighs. "I should have expected this, honestly."

“Yep!”

You let him into your apartment, and he makes himself right at home, mildly bitching at you as he goes to get the tea ready, and something within you shifts.

The inside of your head is still a bit of a dumpster fire, unfortunately, but inside your chest... something clicks into place that you're not sure that you're ready to name. Whatever it is, though, it's soft and warm and kinda feels like your heart is being hugged.

Smiling to yourself, you follow him into the kitchen.

💤 💤 💤 💤 💤

It was pretty much straight to “business” after that, and it only takes Seungkwan one cup of tea and two episodes listening to David Attenborough's dulcet narrations for him to knock right out, leaning heavily against your shoulder on the couch.

Which means it's now the perfect time to sit there and Admire Your Bro™️.

It's rare to see him so still, you think. He's an active guy, in pretty much every sense of the word, and you always feel a little honored when you get to be witness to his quiet, vulnerable moments like this one.

He looks so serene, face smoothed out and painted in soft twirling shades of blue from the screen of the monitor, though you can't see too much of it from this angle. Mostly you just see his cheeks and stupidly adorable button nose.

And you've seen the same thing a million times before — in all kinds of states and expressions — and despite how much you've tried to ignore it, each and every time you've caught yourself noticing just how cute Seungkwan is, it's caused that thing in your heart to scrunch up, full of the L-word feeling that you've kept unnamed for what feels like forever now.

Except, maybe that thing in your heart is tired of scrunching up. Maybe it's decided that it's tired of forever.

Maybe that thing has finally decided to burrow itself out of the walls you've built up because you find yourself finally allowing yourself to think, Holy shit, I think I'm in love with you.

You don't realize that Seungkwan has completely stilled against you, but you certainly notice when he suddenly throws himself forward so he can turn around and stare at you incredulously. Only he overshoots a little bit and ends up falling off the couch with a squawk and a dramatic flail.

"Oh my god, Kwannie are you okay?!"

He stares at you from where he fell, wide-eyed like you've grown a second head or like the time you'd tried to convince him that birds weren't real and actually just a government conspiracy.

"Am— am I okay? No??"

Now it's your turn to move off of the couch, coming down to his level to see if maybe he hurt himself when he fell. "Fuck, okay, did you hit something? Do you need an icepack?"

Seungkwan being Not Okay is maybe one of the worst things that could ever happen in the entire universe and you're trying not to panic as you reach out to check for injuries.

"No, no, stop—" he bats away at your hands and you stop in your motions, now kneeling in front of him. "I'm not hurt!"

Your brain does the cartoonish screech thing as it comes to a halt, and you furrow your brows. "But.. you just said you're not okay?"

"I'm not!" His eyes are still wide in shock, but he also looks confused and maybe a little bit like he's about to cry?

Oh no. If he cries and it's somehow your fault (because it has to somehow be your fault) you think the world might actually end.

"Okay, uh. I am— confused,” you start, sure you must look as lost as you feel. “But, um, what can I do to help?"

He swallows, and a part of you realizes that he's looking at you with an expression you've never seen before. "Did you mean it?"

Knowing that it's significant but not yet knowing why, you maintain eye contact. "Mean what?"

"What you just said."

You blink. "...that I'm confused?"

He shakes his head. "No, before that."

You have a hard time remembering what you just said when you're not sleep-deprived and worried you've just somehow accidentally caused irreparable emotional damage to your best friend. "Uh... when I asked if you were okay?"

"No, fuck," and it's a shock for some reason, hearing him cuss right now. You hear him say much worse things all the time, but you think it might be the way he said it — with a kind of desperate vulnerability that you're not sure you've ever heard from him before.

That thing in your chest twinges and you think maybe you're the one who's gonna start crying.

He says your name like a plea, and then he's on his knees right in front of where you're kneeling on the floor, reaching forward to cup your face in his palms. "You said— Y/n, you said "holy shit I think I'm in love with you.””

Oh.

You're pretty sure your heart falls right out of your ass and bounces across the rug, judging from the way it comes to a dead stop. You blink at him. Full of new and sinking kind of dread, you whisper, "...I said that out loud?"

He laughs, but it's tinged with incredulity and sounds a little too close to a sob for comfort. "Yes! You did!"

And wait, no, your heart is still stuck in your chest, because you can feel it start pounding against your ribcage in double, triple, quadruple time. He must see the fear in your expression, because suddenly his eyes are narrowed in a determined scowl and he growls, "Oh no you don't."

Then you find yourself going down with a yelp as Seungkwan octopuses himself around you, trapping you within the confines of his surprisingly strong arms and legs as he basically tackles you to the floor.

You try and wiggle away even as you know it's useless, and he grits, "Y/n dammit, answer my question."

"Why were you even awake?” You deflect, getting an arm free and trying to give him a wedgie. “You were supposed to be asleep!"

"I was supposed to be asleep?!” He screeches, easily evading your reach and poking your ribs to get you to reflexively pull back your arm. “You're the one who hasn't slept in literal days! And stop avoiding my question!"

"No!" He has you trapped once again, and you resort to licking his arm.

"Oh my god!"

He muffles his scream into your shoulder, long and frustrated, and then he just... goes limp. He loosens his hold and just lets his full body weight kinda crush the parts of you he's ended up lying on and just... lays there.

This is your chance, you know — to wiggle free and escape and run away from your feelings just like you always have.

But, for some reason, you don't — that scrunched-up thing in your chest holds you back. You stay there, lying beneath Seungkwan on the floor of your living room at one-something in the morning, and the two of you just breathe.

"It's okay, you know," he murmurs after a moment, so quiet you barely hear him over David Attenborough still narrating softly in the background. "If you didn't mean it. It's okay."

Holy shit, I think I'm in love with you.

And you realize how easy it would be to play it off, to blame it on the sleep deprivation, the way you blurted it out like that — to say (to lie) you meant it completely platonically, like the way you propose to Mingyu at least once a month when he cooks you all dinner.

And you also realize, quite shockingly, that despite how a part of you still desperately wants to run away, the larger part of you wants to stay. Doesn't want to run. Doesn't want to lie anymore.

You swallow heavily, briefly close your eyes, and take in a deep breath. "And if I did? Mean it?"

This time, you do notice when Seungkwan goes still. Slowly, he lifts his head so he can look you in the eyes.

When he doesn't say anything, just continues to look at you with an unreadable expression, you try to continue.

"Would you— would that— would it be okay? If I meant it? When I— when I said that I'm in love with you? Is— because um, like you said, it's okay if it's not, and uh—"

Your nervous rambling comes to a stop when he once again cups your face, but it's gentler than before, closer to a caress. The whole time you'd been talking he'd been slowly sitting up, and now he's on his knees next to where you're still lying down on the floor, looking down at you like all the hope in the world is somewhere to be found in your expression.

"Y/n." he says your name like it's something precious, and you feel the absurd urge to burst into tears. "It would be very okay." His thumbs make gentle arcs across your cheeks. "And just to be clear: you mean it in a non-platonic sense, right?” He chews on his lip. “Hopefully, in a very much romantic sense?"

Staring at him staring at you, eyes bright with hope and a little bit of wonder... you can only imagine you must be looking at him the same way. Your chest feels like it's full of helium but also like something warm and gooey is sloshing around in there. And all that hope and wonder and holy shit is this actually happening? is causing your tongue to stick to the roof of your mouth, and all you're able to get past your lips is a breathless, "Hopefully?"

"Oh my god," he groans in frustration, but it's light and airy and makes you think of amusement park rides and fairy lights and how you want to annoy the shit out of this man for the rest of his life, if he'll let you. He's shaking his head, smiling, beaming, and he asks, "Why can you never give me any kind of a straight answer, huh?"

"Because it's my life's purpose to be the bane of your existence until the day we die," you say, reaching up to hold his face too. "Also because I've never done anything straight ever in my life."

And then your body is moving before your brain can think it though, dragging him down until you can press your lips to his and finally, finally know what it's like to kiss Boo Seungkwan.

He makes a little noise of surprise, one that you can feel buzz against your lips before he melts into you. And oh, any thoughts you might have had are forcefully ejected from your brain because all you can focus on are his lips pressed to yours, the way they move slowly, gently, turning this chaste kiss into the most scorching experience of your life. His nose bumps against yours and the heat of his warm breath sends tingles throughout your body, and his hands, fuck, his hands are still holding you gently but also with a firmness that feels like he doesn't want to let you go.

And then he's pulling away, and you whine at him because this may be the cruelest thing he's ever done to you ever in your entire life. "Noooooo, why'd you stop?"

"Because, as much as I'd love to continue to make out with you on your floor while an old British man narrates about life on the Serengeti—” he mercifully ignores the way you choke on your spit at the way he talks about making out with you so nonchalantly "—it's past someone's bedtime."

Your mouth drops open in offended shock. Was he actually going to put you to bed like a child? Like you both hadn't just declared your romantic love for each other? "Are you fucking serious?"

He just stands up and crosses his arms, looking down at you with a single raised eyebrow. You take the part of you that finds it annoyingly attractive and promptly smother it, crossing your own arms from your position on the floor.

"I'm not a baby," you definitely don't pout.

"Hmmm...” And then the bastard fucking pouts at you. “But you're my baby."

You blink at him.

"Welp, that was nice while it lasted,” you grunt, rolling to your feet, “but I suddenly need to relocate to Antarctica and become a penguin herder.”

He pulls you into his arms with a laugh, and you let him, burying your face in the crook of his shoulder.

“You know,” he starts after he's held you for a few moments. “This isn't how I ever imagined how us confessing to each other would go.”

You snort.

“But also,” he continues, “it feels very 'us' doesn't it?”

"Yeah,” you murmur, not bothering to lift your head from his shoulder.

“Mmm, is someone finally sleepy?” he teases, starting to waddle you both towards your bedroom. “Did all the emotions finally wear you out?”

Instead of nodding, you lightly kick him in the shin and the sappy part of your brain that is currently in charge of everything thinks that his indignant squawk is one of your most favorite sounds.

The sappy part of your brain is right, of course, and when you wake up in your bed 15 hours later and accidentally smack him in the face, the urge to run is a little bit smaller than it was before. And the way he flushes bright red after you sleepily kiss him on the cheek is an image you're going to cherish until the day you die.

#svtsource #seungkwan fluff #seungkwan fic #seungkwan x y/n #seungkwan x you #seungkwan x reader #svt fluff #seventeen fluff #savv writes #savv fics #in my queue world

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katiexpunk · 8 months

Text

Heat Wave | Pairing Javier Peña X fem!Reader

Summary: In the sweltering haze of a Colombian heatwave, everyone's on edge, including you, your nerves fried crispier than plantains in a hot skillet. Even Javi is not immune - his nights spent tossing and turning, the relentless heat driving him mad. Imagine his surprise - and yours - when he knocks on your door late one night, a little buzzed and sweaty, craving a distraction. What's a generous soul to do but let him in and share some cool, sweet cholado? As the night unfurls, the heat outside might be unbearable, but inside, things are just starting to warm up.

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI. I say this with love -- GTFO.

Word count: 5K

Warnings: Javi wasn't super nice to reader and has to gravel a bit, female masturbation, references to the cartels, use of pet names (Hermosa, Cariño), emotions, reader cries, sweat, fingering, female stimulation, face-fucking, blowjob, praise kink, unprotected sex (wrap it up, don't lead by my written example), direct p in v, pussy slap, somewhat rough sex, sensual sex, creampie, and cum eating.

Authors Note: Eek! This is my first time writing for Javi, so be kind to be hunnie bunnies. Joel will always have my smutty heart, but damn, Javi can fucking get it. Special thanks to @sydneyinacoma for being my personal hype woman on this one, and to @josephquinnswhore for telling me this premise wasn't total trash. Ily bbs.

Also I often edit after I post (hello typos) so if you saw one originally sorry 🫣

The window is wide open, but the curtains aren’t moving; only offering a slight flutter now and again, offering a deceptive promise of a breeze that you know will never come. You lay there, restlessly, the cotton sheets sticking to your damp skin. The eerie silence of the room was punctuated by the whirring fan overhead, its blades churning the stale, hot air in a slow, hypnotic rhythm. It’s nearly midnight, hours since you’d gone to bed, but yet, you find yourself staring at the ceiling, cursing why you ever decided to move to Colombia. Had you known it would be the hottest summer on record, you might have thought differently and denied the job.

You turn to your side, annoyed at the hair clinging to the back of your neck and forehead like velcro. You stare at the alarm clock on your nightstand, watching the numbers slowly change, like a shitty version of trying to count sheep, but there’s no point. You’re wide awake, and there doesn’t seem to be anything that can change that.

You roll onto your back to splay out like a starfish, hoping the gap between your limbs will somehow offer you some reprieve from your burning core, and you stare at the ceiling. You wonder if you’ll actually get any sleep tonight. The heat was enough to keep you awake, but there were other things that would probably prevent you from dozing off if the heat weren’t a factor.

Outside of the thud of your own pulse, it’s completely quiet in your apartment. You’re sure people are awake, but no sound comes from Steve and Connie’s apartment next door; nor from Javi’s. Odd, you think, considering work has been slow as of late and most of Colombia, even the cartels have hidden themselves away from the relenting sun and suffocating humidity, too tired to do anything substantial.

In your haze, eyes transfixed on the ceiling panels above you, you try your best to think about something else, anything but him, but your last conversation replays in your brain like a bad rerun.

You knew he wasn’t really the type to settle down, and you were more than aware of his reputation, yet you let yourself hope that this situation might be different, that you might be the one to change him.

He had insisted that it was for the best and that he wasn’t the right guy for you; that it should be simple for you to move forward and erase any trace of your connection, and that he should do the same. Perhaps that was the reality of it; maybe it was only you who had experienced a heightened sense of joy during those countless nights he held you close. When wrapped in his embrace, the burden of your conscience seemed to lighten, and you couldn't help but wonder if he had ever found comfort in your presence as well.

Your mind begins to drift to the ways he made you feel like you were the most precious thing in the world. You can still feel his pillowy lips leaving a soft trail of kisses up your neck and across your jaw, cock buried deep inside of you. The memory of it sits low in your belly, adding to the stickiness between your thighs, now a cruel mixture of sweat and arousal.

Your mind swirls with thoughts of him, and you decide that there might be one thing you’ve yet to try that might be able to help you fall asleep. You lay there, trying to focus, to let your mind sink into better days, better nights, ones you had spent wrapped around him in every way possible.

You tease your fingertips along the thin fabric of your tank top, trying to ignore the way the sweat that’s seeped into its fibers causes it to bunch up as you stroke your hand down your sternum. You circle your nipples through the fabric, trying to call forward any sense of arousal or sensuality. You slide your hand under the waistband of your linen shorts and place your hand between your legs, resting it atop your lace underwear, already wet, courtesy of Colombia and your incessant thoughts of Javi.

Your fingers are quite delicate compared to his, and you miss the thickness only he can seem to provide. You slide your underwear to the slide, and drag your index finger through your folds, bringing your slick up to your clit. Your hips lift at the sensation, and you let out a little moan.

You begin to slowly draw small circles, eventually increasing your pace enough to provide a nice mix of movement and pressure. Your restless thoughts of him have you so keyed up, already so close to the cliff of your orgasm you can practically taste it. Your body heats even more as you chase your high, desperate for a release, practically begging for an escape from this inferno. Like a cord about to snap, you swear you’re starting to see stars when you hear it – knock, knock – and the distraction cruelly pulls you back from the edge, your pressure gauge falls, and your orgasm retreats back inside you like you scared it.

No! Fuck.

Now hot, tired, and sexually frustrated, you let out a long sigh. You slide your underwear back in place and withdraw your hand from your shorts. You wipe your wet fingers on the fabric beneath you, gaze at the clock once more, and wonder who the hell would be at your door at this hour. You rise, legs still a little shaky from your would-be orgasm, and walk over to answer it.

Your aggravation at the disruption vanishes the moment you clock his face through the peephole. You unlock the top and bottom lock and release the chain from the door, opening it to completely see him.

He looks like he’s been chewed up and spat out, his hair a disheveled mess of thick, dark, damp curls, small beads of perspiration collecting on his lush, tan skin. You’ve seen him like this before, a look of affliction, hiding behind soft brown eyes. But there’s something else flickering in his eyes – some kind of yearning. For what? You haven’t got a clue. He’s made his stance on your relationship very clear, or at least, the parade of women filing in and out of his apartment speaks volumes.

You lean up against the door frame, waiting for him to speak, to give some sort of explanation as to why he’s on your doorstep.

“Hey,” is all he says, eyeing you up and down, eyes lingering a little too long on your exposed stomach.

You’re positive you must look like a mess right now, but you don’t really care, you feel like one.

“Javi – is everything okay? It’s late,” you answer quietly.

He crosses his arms, then uncrosses them, then shifts the weight from one hip to another, unsure of himself, obviously uncomfortable.

“I know, ‘m really sorry to bother you. Can I come in?” he asks, looking at you with his big puppy dog eyes, and you can’t turn him down. You step aside so he can enter your small living room, hoping he can’t smell your arousal on you, hoping that he’ll assume the musk lingering in the air was just from the cracked window, the outside world seeping in.

Your apartment was rather small to begin with, but with his presence, it seemed to shrink before your eyes. He walks over to the center of the room, and pauses once he sees the couch; a memory of him railing you on it flashes through his brain.

No.

No, he won’t let himself think about that. He swallows the thought, and palms at his jeans to adjust himself. He’s not here for that, he’s here to gravel.

You let out a sigh, and walk over to him. You come to stand right in front of him, giving him the opportunity to commit the sight of you like this to memory – all pretty, skin clammy, cheeks a darker shade of pink than normal. You pause before saying anything, still unsure why he’s here in the first place.

“Can I get you some water, whiskey, anything?” you ask, cringing at how awkward it feels to play hostess with him now, considering he’s explored every inch of your body with his tongue.

Javier shakes his head and runs a hand over his forehead to wipe away the sweat collecting there as if he’s deciding what to say.

“Mmm, no. Probably shouldn’t have any more whiskey tonight,” he admits. “Some water would be good. You don’t happen to have anything cold by chance, do you? This heat is fucking killing me,” he says.

“Actually, yeah, I do,” you say, your voice an octave too high, remembering your creation earlier this evening. You nod to Javi to take a seat on the couch, giving him a perfect view to watch as you saunter over to the kitchen. You open the freezer and reveal a container with a kaleidoscope of colors. It closes with a thud, and you open the fridge next, pulling from it a bowl of fresh fruit – juicy chunks of mango, sweet pineapple, zesty oranges – and a can of whipped cream. Javier watches intently as you gather it all neatly onto a little tray, glide over to the end of the tiny kitchen to grab two spoons from a drawer, and close it with a quick thrust of your hip.

You place the tray on the coffee table. The couch lets out a little squeak as you find your seat next to his.

“Fresh cholado – made it tonight,” you say, offering him a spoon.

You neatly assemble the fruit on top of the colorful slushy mixture. The sound of the whipped cream releasing its contents onto the top of the fruit causes the hair on the back of his neck to rise to stand.

“Go ahead, dig in,” you say, offering him a kind smile. God, you’re always so sweet and nice to him, even when he doesn’t deserve it.

Both with a spoon in hand now, you delve into the sensory masterpiece, pausing in silence as you savor the blend of textures and tastes, a welcomed escape from the heat.

Javier closes his eyes and lets out a small hum in delight.

“This is so good, holy shit,” he praises, not even finishing with his latest bite before he’s digging in for another.

“I’m glad you like it,” you say, and you really mean it.

The elephant in the room becomes harder and harder to ignore.

“Why are you here, Javier?” you ask, voice a little unsure.

His eyes hold your gaze for a moment, and he swallows his last bite and then places the metal spoon onto the tray in front of you both. He doesn’t say anything, instead, he holds out his hand, his eyes pleading with you to take it. You hesitate, before deciding to place your palm in his, allowing his fingers to wrap around yours. He stares at it, the pad of his thumb tracing over the back of it, and he inches closer to you.

Neither of you says anything, but your brows furrow and you look at him, hoping he can see the pain – the hurt he inflicted on you – in your eyes.

“Cariño,” he whispers softly, and you sense the obvious change in his tone. His hand releases yours, and he brings his palm up to land on your cheek. Maybe it was just the heat playing tricks with your emotions, but the simple action causes tears to well up in your eyes.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he admits.

Oh god, he already broke your heart once, was he here to just do it all over again? The thought causes your already battered heart to sink into your stomach.

“I can’t pretend like I don’t need you anymore,” he continues, “like you’re not the only thing - the only person - in Colombia preventing me from losing myself,” he adds.

The sudden truth bomb he’s dropped leaves you speechless.

“I —” you start to say, but the broken silence is all it takes before Javi pulls you in closer, hugging your waist, dragging you up onto his lap, your knees straddling him. You try to ignore the uncomfortable press of his DEA badge digging into your inner thigh but secretly hope it leaves a mark.

Fuck, it feels so good to be on him like this again. You shouldn’t feel this way, but you do. You rest one hand on his shoulder and instinctively run the other hand’s fingers through his hair. Old habits die hard. For the first time in a while, you feel a bit of relief; you wager he must feel the same by the hefty sigh that escapes his lips.

“Javi – I don’t,” you pause, your words trembling, “I don’t want to get hurt again,” you say, allowing your hands to wrap around his torso and your head to fall into the crook of his neck. Hot tears begin to spill from your eyes and fall to the fabric of his shirt, the weight of your confession compounding with all of your other frustrations from the evening.

“I know, baby. I just…fuck, I don’t know how to do this. I suck at the emotional,” he admits, gently patting the back of your hair and holding you close to him. He pauses before guiding your face up to look at him and continues, “I’m so sorry I hurt you. I was just scared; didn’t want to get hurt, or even worse, hurt you, but I realize now that I did, and I was wrong. I was so fucking wrong. Shit. I just… I need you, I need you more than I need air in my lungs,” he adds, and you hear the break in his voice.

“You do?” you ask, hating how pathetic you must sound, your eyes puffy and cheeks wet from your crying.

“I’ll always be here for you, cariño, if you’ll let me. I know I don’t deserve it, but do you think you can forgive me?” he softly mutters. Seeing you trying to blink away the silent years trailing down your cheeks, he reaches up and swipes away at them with his thumb, and his hand stays there, cupping your face.

You nod yes in response.

Just like that, it’s almost as if everything were still the same; as if it were just you and him against it all. A thought of doubt crosses your mind, one saying this might just be temporary, your heart still unsure if you can trust him, but you allow yourself to cave into the feeling all the same.

He holds you quietly against his chest, the pressure of his strong arm around you is soothing. You feel his cock begin to stiffen under you, and it causes something to stir in your lower belly. God, you want him. It was less than half an hour ago that you were coaxing yourself to orgasm with just the thought of him inside you.

Your chest begins to flush, and the heat your bodies generate together mingles with the warm air in the room around you. You slightly press off of him to find some reprieve from the burning surface of his chest and place your hand on it, his shirt slightly clinging to it as you do.

You lean forward and press a soft, breathless kiss on his lips, one laced with the taste of tears. It’s delicate at first, as if to test the waters of your reunification after so much time apart, but it’s not before long that it deepens; his tongue exploring the recesses of your mouth, your mutual lust boiling to the surface. His hands glide down from your waist to your hips and he grips onto the delicious flesh there, inviting you to grind against him.

Your hips roll on him, and you feel a sudden disdain for the clothing that clings to your skin like a second skin. The fabric is damp and heavy, and with each roll of your hips, it chafes against you. Your eyes tell you that you’re not the only one who’s uncomfortable, Javier’s face in a slight twist, one that screams both pleasure and pain.

“You know, Colombia’s hot enough without the two of us making more of it,” you say, letting a little giggle out as you do, tilting your head back, letting your hair fall behind. Javier trails kisses down the side of your neck and then darts his tongue out to lick the hollow of your throat. The action causes your breath to hitch.

“You’re right, Cariño, we really should do something about these layers, hmm,” he purrs, and you catch his drift.

He releases both of his hands from your hips and helps you lift your tanktop over your head, your perky tits bounce in response and the friction of the fabric on your nipples causes them to stiffen. One of his hands finds its home on your hip, and the other comes to grab your breast. He rolls your nipple between his fingers, the feeling sending a tiny zap through you as he does. His mouth finds your chest and his tongue trails the valley of your breasts before slowly making its way over to the stiff peak of your other exposed nipple. A low, hungry growl leaves his chest, it’s a needy and desperate sound that goes straight to your cunt.

“Javi –” you moan, “clothes,” It’s not a question, but a request, one he’s happy to oblige.

He begins to undo the buttons of his linen shirt, and you watch in anticipation, his stiff cock under you making you impatient. His shirt joins yours on the floor, and you trail your hand down the expanse of his chest, noting the little freckles that pepper it; the small detail drives you to another level of impatience.

You swing your leg over him, feet coming to the floor; a temporary but necessary adjustment so you can step out of your shorts and panties. You stand there before him, happily naked, pleased to be free of your cloth prison. The air is thick and hot, but it feels good to have so much exposed skin for the first time tonight. With his eyes dragging over every inch of your body, you eagerly watch back as his hands come to his waistline and he undoes his metal belt buckle.

You look down and notice his boots are still on; you drop to your knees in front of him and you swear you hear his heart thump in excitement at what you might do. You look back up to lock eyes with him, and you reach down to his shoes and begin to undo the laces of his boots. Fuck, that’s definitely not what he thought you were going to do. With his feet free, his fingers fumble for the button and zipper of his denim jeans, and he slowly undoes them, lifting his hips slightly to let them over his ass as he drags them down, taking his briefs with them, until everything is off his body.

Now both totally naked, you rise to take a seat on him, but his hand darts out to your shoulder as if to hold you in place on your knees. He spits into his free palm, and takes his heavy cock in hand, slowly gripping the length of it up and down. You salivate at the sight, the tip of him is red and weepy with pre-cum.

“I think you look pretty good where you are, Hermosa,” he says, “always so pretty, especially like this,” he adds, still stroking himself.

You love when he uses his Spanish on you, his words sending a surge of desire through you like a bolt of lightning, your body responding with intensity as the sticky tread of arousal pools between your legs.

You inch closer to him, your hands finding his knees, and you gently pry them apart, creating just enough space for you between them. You look at him as if to say let me, and he releases his grip on himself, and you take over stroking his length. You lick your lips and position him at the entrance of your mouth. You place a soft kiss on the head of his cock, and smear the precum that’s gathered there on your lips like chapstick.

You hum in delight as you sink down onto him, letting your jaw relax so you can take him deeper, savoring the salty taste of his skin. He gathers your sweaty hair into a makeshift ponytail and holds it back from your face, allowing you to work him without distraction. And god, you’re into it – the sounds are filthy, but your delighted little moans have Javier unraveling like a runaway spool of thread. You look up at him through your wet lashes and let out a little wink, an innocent act considering your practically sucking his sanity out through his dick and having fun with it.

“Fuck, baby. Gonna have to stop or you’re gonna make me cum,” he says, holding the hair on your head taught as if to warn you to slow down, letting his head fall to the back of the couch, staring at the ceiling as if to think about something other than how good you’re making him feel. You let out a satisfied mew, and release him, a little pop sound fills the air as you do.

“C’mere –,” he says, a little breathless and sweaty. You rise to stand, your knees pink and sore from the ground, and he stands to join you. At full height, you have to look up to see his face, and you feel him grab both of your hips and twist you around onto all fours, your upper body resting on the couch for support. “My turn to taste you, Cariño,” he says, using his knee to nudge you, and encourage you to spread your legs open for him.

With your tummy flat on the couch cushions, your ass is on full display, and he fucking loves it. Using his middle finger, he inserts it into your needy cunt, gently curling it to sweetly abuse your g-spot. The moans that escape your lips only encourage him further, a light chuckle follows when he reminds you that he’s only using one finger and that he’s just getting started with you. He uses his other hand and pushes your hips and ass deeper into the couch, while his one finger stays in place, gently rubbing the spongey texture of your g-spot without breaking, making you squirm under the bare minimum he’s providing you.

You’re already wet, but once he thinks it’s enough, he extracts his finger, and uses his hands to lift your hips up, making you arch your back for him. He crouches down further to plant a tender kiss on your ass, biting into it very dimly, eliciting a little yelp from you in response. He slowly begins to move lower and lower, kissing the lines where your ass meets your thighs. He taps your cunt a few times with his thick fingers, each time getting a bit rougher, sending a stinging sensation through your whole body. The rough taps eventually become a full-on slap, and you move your hips in desperation, a mellow whimper escapes your lips begging him to give you what you need. He flattens his tongue, and moves it across the expanse of your dripping folds, lapping at you like you’re the cold refreshment he needs.

The tip of his tongue finds your clit, and he stays there momentarily to give it a little suck before moving it upwards, licking the whole length of your pussy. He continues to do this a few more times, before finally stopping and focusing his attention on your now swollen clit. You’re barely breathing as his tongue relentlessly pleasures your needy little clit. He brings his forearms onto the back of your ass, and uses his thumbs to spread your outer lips open completely for him.

“Javi – holy fuck,” you moan as he slides his greedy tongue inside you, moving it in and out as breathless moans continue to leave your lungs.

“Taste so good, sweeter than the fuckin’ cholado,” he praises, and you’re nearly gone at his words.

He continues to eat at you, but releases a hand and then brings it back up, under you this time, as his fingers begin to circle smooth circles over your clit once more; your whole body begins to shake, it’s so much. You’re moaning and whimpering at the feeling of both his hands and his mouth on you.

“Come for me – want you to soak my face,” he says, his encouragement is all you need and you snap. Your vision goes white, and your whole body tenses under his attention. He rides out your orgasm with you, ensuring no drop of your sweet juices goes to waste. Once your shaking has subsided, he lifts his chest and you readjust, bringing your weight to your forearms on the couch.

“Javi, need you, god, please,” you’re all but practically begging for him.

‘I’ve got you baby,” he coos, “gonna give you what you need,” he says as he strokes his cock a few times, and then places the tip at your slick and waiting hole. Both of his hands come to your hips, surely leaving little bruises under his strong grip. Your slick makes it easy for him to bury himself in you to the hilt, your greedy cunt taking every inch of him like it was your fucking job, like it was made for him.

He begins a relentless pace, thrusting his cock deep inside of you, the obscene sounds of the clapping noises, a song made as a result of your wetness and his thighs, spurs you on. He reaches out and grips the back of your neck, and jerks you backward into him, forcing you to arch your back against him. The new position lets him take you deeper, harder. Holding you against his chest, he snakes a free hand around and his fingers find your clit once more. He makes soft circles on your clit, working you with each thrust until he once again has you climbing the ladder to your climax.

“Just like that, you’re so perfect, Cariño, taking me so perfectly,” he praises, voice low.

You squirm and babble something of the likes of gonna come under him, and he holds in place as you begin to unravel once more for him. Your hole contracts around him, your perky tits bouncing as he continues to fuck you through it. You’re so tight, your sweet sounds have his own orgasm not far off.

Suddenly, without warning he stops fucking you and pulls out. You look back at him, brow creased, wondering why he stopped.

The sight is one you’ll remember till the day you die, Javi all sweaty curls, ragged breaths, hard and throbbing cock in hand, shiny with your slick, looking at you through needy brown doe eyes.

“Why – why’d you stop,” you ask, breathless.

“Turn around, Hermosa. Lay on the couch. Want to look you in the eyes as I cum,” he rasps.

You do as he says, and spread your legs open for him. Within seconds, he’s back on you, filling you up to the base of him. The dark hairs at the base of him tickle your swollen clit as he rolls his hips into you. A tingling warmth pools in his belly and surges through every sensitive nerve on his body, accompanied by the surge of blood that rushes to every corner of his flesh, his response making it obvious that his release is imminent.

His hips slow, and he lets out a rough moan, spilling inside of you. He pauses there, and you feel him gently pulsate and twitch as your walls drain every last bit of cum inside him.

He collapses on top of you, working to catch his breath, an exhausted mix of sex, heat, and general tiredness from the restless night. You wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, and intertwine your fingers around his now full-on wet locks and trace small patterns onto his back. You stay there like that, in your sticky embrace of sex and emotion, until your heart rates return to normal and your breaths find a manageable pattern.

He slips out, bringing with him a glob of cum that pools on the cushion beneath you. He leans back on the other arm of the small couch and watches as he slowly pools out of you. “Mmm, sure do love watching me drip out of you,” his gaze doesn’t move from the filthy sight of it.

He leans forward to drag his pointer finger through your folds, causing your body to twitch at the unexpected sensation on your tender clit. He slightly presses the tip of his finger into you, and his cock twitches and begins to swell like it’s ready to go again. He drags his finger out, now coated with a mix of you and him, and he brings it up to your lips.

“Taste us,” he says. You open your mouth to welcome the cum-coated finger onto your tongue. You savor the taste of the mix of you, an overly salty, heady mix of sweat and semen.

Once satisfied, he removes his finger and leans back once more.

In your fucked out state, you tilt your head toward the coffee table, noticing that the remaining cholado has turned into a sticky, syrupy mess.

“Sad that’s melted, I could really use something cold right about now,” you say as you reach your arms up and try to secure your wet hair into a little bun on the top of your head.

“How about a cold shower,” Javi offers, a smile on his face. He stands and offers his palm to you for the second time tonight.

Without saying anything, and without hesitation this time, you place your hand in his, and he pulls you off the couch and into his arms. His chest firm against yours, he brings both of his palms to cup your face in an embrace. He pauses momentarily before leaning down to place his lips against yours.

“And then maybe some breakfast?” He says, tilting his head to the side, signaling to the window.

The sun is now rising, bringing with it what you can only imagine is going to be another tortuous day.

Well, almost as torturous.

At least now you have each other.

Although you’re pretty confident you won’t be getting any sleep tomorrow night, either.

END

Tagging some moots: @darkheartgatita @elegantduckturtle @alltheglitterandtheroar @hotgirlbedtimescenarios @reddedmiller @morallyinept @theywhowriteandknowthings @beefrobeefcal @secretelephanttattoo @ruinmepedro @papipascalispunk @dins-riduur-anthe @untamedheart81 @planet-marz1 @pascalpvnk @elvinaa @joeldjarin @javiscigarette @cavillscurls @bastardmandennis @janaispunk @endlessthxxghts

Oh hey! You made it to the end. Cool. Thanks for reading. Since you're here, I'll pass on a reminder that I'm just a horny little wannabe fic writer trying to make her way on this hell site and write things that make people turned on happy. Likes and comments are wonderful and much appreciated, but reblogs are really what counts in making people see this, especially for smaller blogs like mine. If you like this, please consider reblogging.

#javier pena narcos #javier pena smut #pedrohub #javier pena x reader #javier peña #javi pena #javier pena fanfiction #narcos #javier pena x you

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sasaranurude · 1 month

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Okay. I've been playing Tokyo Debunker today, since the release happened to catch me on a day when all I'd planned to do was write fanfiction. I just finished reading the game story prologue (it was longer than expected!), so here's a review type post. If you're reading this post not having seen a single thing about this game: it's a story-based joseimuke gacha mobile game that just released globally today. It's about a girl who suddenly finds herself attending a magic school and mingling with elite, superhuman students known as ghouls. If you look in the tumblr tag for the game you'll see what appears to be a completely different game from 2019 or so: they retooled it completely midway through development, changing just about everything about it due to "escalating competition within the gaming industry."

I'll talk about how this looks like a blatant twst clone at the end.

Starting with the positive: The story is charming. I enjoyed it thoroughly the entire time and am excited to read more. The mix between visual novel segments and motion comics was really nice--it broke things up and added a lot of oomph to the action or atmospheric scenes that visual novels generally lack. I like the art in the comic parts a lot. the live2d in the visual novel parts is... passable. Tone-wise, I think the story was a little bit all over the place and would like to see more of the horror that it opened on, but I didn't mind the comedic direction it went in either. The translation is completely seamless. The characters so far all have unique voices and are just super fun and cute. Of the ones who've had larger roles in the story so far, there's not a single one I dislike. It's all fully voiced in Japanese and the acting is solid. (I don't recognize any voices, and can't seem to find any seiyuu credits, so it seems they're not big names, but they deliver nonetheless.) Kaito in particular I found I was laughing at his lines a ton, both the voicing and the writing.

He's looking for a girlfriend btw. Spreading the word.

The problem is like. The gameplay is the worst dark-pattern microtransaction-riddled bullshit I've ever seen. Hundred passive timers going at all times. Fifty different item-currencies. Trying to get you to spend absurd amounts of real world money at every turn. There's like five different indicators that take you to various real-money shop items that I don't know how to dismiss the indicator, I guess you just have to spend money, wtaf. Bajillion different interlocking systems mean you have zero sense of relative value of all the different item-currencies. I did over the course of the day get enough diamonds for one ten-pull, which I haven't used yet. Buying enough diamonds for a ten-pull costs a bit under $60 (presumably USD, but there's a chance the interface is automatically making that CAD for me--not gonna spend the money to check lmfao), with an SSR rate of 1%. BULLSHIIIIIT.

There's like a goddamn thousand-word essay explaining the dozen different types of character upgrades and equippables and equippables for the equippables!! Bad! Bad game design! That's just overcomplicating bullshit to trick people into thinking they're doing something other than clicking button to make number go up! That is not gameplay!

In terms of the actual gameplay, there is none. The battle system is full auto. There might be teambuilding, but from what I've seen so far, most of that consists of hoping you pull good cards from gacha and then clicking button to make number go up. There's occasional rhythm segments but there's no original music, it's just remixes of public domain classical music lmao. I'd describe the rhythm gameplay as "at least more engaging than twisted wonderland's," which is not a high bar

At least there's a cat in the rhythm bit.

And like, ok, I gotta remark on how derivative it is. Like I mentioned in my post earlier, this game is unabashedly aping twisted wonderland's setting and aesthetic. (That said, most of the stuff it steals from twst is magic school stuff that twst also basically stole from Harry Potter, so...?) However, it isn't exactly like twst: in this one, the characters say fuck a lot and bleed all over the place and do violence. Basically, the tone is a fair bit more adult than twst's kid-friendly vibe. (Not, like, adult adult, and I probably wouldn't even call it dark--it's still rated Teen lol. Just more adult than twst.)

Rather than just being students at magic school, the ghouls also go out into the mundane world to go on missions where they fight and investigate monsters and cryptids. Honestly, the magic school setting feels pretty tacked-on. The things that are enjoyable about this would've been just as enjoyable in about any other setting--you can tell this whole aspect was a late trend-chasing addition, lmao. So, yeah, it's blatantly copying twst to try to steal some players, but... Eh, I found myself not caring that much. Someone more (or less) into twst than me may find it grating.

Character-wise, eh, sure, yeah, they're a bit derivative in that aspect too, but it's a joseimuke game, the characters are always derivative. Thus far the writing & execution has been solid enough that I didn't care if they were tropey. If I were to compare it to something else, I'd say the relationship between the protagonist and the ghouls feels more like that of the sage and wizards in mahoyaku than anything from twst. There's some mystery in exactly what "ghouls" are and their place in this world that has me intrigued and wanting to know more about this setting and how each of the characters feels about it. I have a bad habit of getting my hopes up for stories that put big ideas on the table and then being disappointed when they don't follow through in a way that lives up to my expectations, though.

So, my final verdict: I kind of just hope someone uploads all the story segments right onto youtube so nobody has to deal with the dogshit predatory game to get the genuinely decent story lol. Give it a play just for the story if you have faith in your ability to resist dark patterns. Avoid at all costs if you know you're vulnerable to gacha, microtransactions, or timesinks.

#suchobabbles #Tokyo Debunker #it's a global simultaneous release so I'm curious to see how it ends up doing in Japan #it's gonna be competing directly with stellarium of the fragile star which releases in a few days lmao. and is about a magic alchemy school #looks like the two games twt accounts have a similar number of followers #and then theyre competing with bremai releasing in may...#also adding this at the very end since i cant confirm anything:#but i found out abt this game bc it was rt'd by the former localization director/translator of A3en #i dont know if she worked on it or maybe her friend or maybe shes just hype! who knows! but i think her word (or rt) is worth something

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angstywaifu · 4 months

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The Lost Sister - Part 6

Synopsis: Xaden is known as an only child due to his sister who 'died' during the Rebellion. Little do they know she didn't die and has been so close this entire time.

Garrick Tavis x OC A/N: I couldn't resist posting this so close to the other part. I'd say I'm sorry for the slight cliff hanger.... But I'm not. Also I've started writing some of the stuff around threshing, what do you guys think Ophelia's signet should be? What dragon will she have? Also what should we make Garrick's signet? I've seen a few theories on his being pain due to his dragons name, and honestly kinda leaning towards it. As per usual if you want to be on the tag list let me know! And if you guys have any prompts or ideas for small little one off stories/one shots, please pop them in my asks! Would love to give some other ideas a go. Probably leaning more towards our rebellion boys (Xaden, Garrick, Bodhi and Liam), but happy to give some others a go.

The Lost Sister Masterlist | Masterlist

Garrick leans against the wall at the end of the bed, his hazel eyes watching me like a hawk. He hadn’t take his eyes off me since scooping me off the floor. I’m a little disappointed he managed to put a shirt on before bringing me here. I could have used the view while the healer works at cleaning the blood off my face and mending my nose. Every time I flinch or wince as the healer works, I swear I see Garrick’s hand twitch as if wanting to reach out and stop her. The healer walks away to get me some healing balm to take with me to help the last of my nose heal and to help with any bruising that may decide to show up. As she rounds the corner, Garrick pushes off the wall and pulls up a chair next to my bed. He reaches up and tilts my head towards him with his right hand. His eyes assessing my face and the work the healer has done. When he’s satisfied I’ve been healed adequately his eyes meet mine. His hand still lingering on my face.

”You two really did a number on each other.” He says with a chuckle.

”You finally going to tell me what the hell is up with you and Imogen.” I say more aggressively that I intend.

Garrick flinches at my words and his moves his hand from my cheek to his lap as he looks down and starts to fidget with this hands. Some of his dark curls falling in front of his eyes. Definitely not the response he was expecting from me.

“I promise you there is nothing going on-”

”Bullshit.” I spit out cutting him off mid sentence.

He looks up at me shocked and almost scared. Something I can safely say I’ve never seen from Garrick towards me. Granted I don’t think I’ve used that kind of tone towards him before in the entire time I’ve known Garrick, which is pretty much my entire life. He hangs his head and goes back to fidgeting with his hands, the chair creaking under his weight as he moves around. Clearly uncomfortable with the situation.

“For me there’s nothing going on with her. We hooked up a few times, but that was it.” He admits, his shoulders sagging with the confession before looking back up at me with sad eyes that almost plead forgiveness from me. “But I made it clear I wanted nothing serious. But it is becoming clear those hook ups meant more to her than just something casual.”

”You never struck me as the casual hook up type.” I admit to him.

He slowly nods in agreement before looking away again, intently focused on his hands again. “Honestly I’m not. But there are times while you are here where you just need someone. And the person I needed. The person I wanted more than just a casual hook up with.” His eyes flick up to mine, and I swear my heart stops as if I know what’s coming. “Well I kind of thought they were dead till recently.”

His words come out so quietly I barely hear them. But I do. My heart rate starts to pick up as his words sink in and silence falls around us as we just stare into each others eyes. There is no doubt that Garrick meant me. It’s not like anyone else has come back from the dead recently. Garrick who I spent most of my child hood and teenage years crushing over, has just confessed they feel the same way and all I can do is sit here and stare at him like a deer about to get torched by a dragon. And I’m sure my face probably looks similar to that deer right now. His words start to sink in as he stares at me hopefully. His eyes pleading at me to say something. Say anything back to him. But I can’t. All I can do is stare at him in shock, despite wanting to hear this exact confession from him for years.

At that moment the healer comes back with the healing balm, completely oblivious to the tension in the small closed off area. “Here you go lovely, just apply it to any bruising as it appears.” She says sweetly as she hands it to me.

I tear my gaze from Garrick as I stand and take the healing balm from her, before quickly walking out of the room. I hear the chair Garrick was sitting on scrape against the floor. As soon as I’m out the door I take off. I vaguely hear Garrick call my name as I run back to the riders quadrant.

Part 7

Tag List: @riorgail @going-through-shit @fw-gt @bbkissme99

#fourth wing #fourth wing fanfic #garrick tavis x reader #the empyrean #garrick tavis #garrick tavis imagine #fourth wing imagine #the fourth wing

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hbyrde36 · 4 months

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Honey, You're Familiar

Written for the @strangerthingswritersguild Hozier Project

Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

WC limit: 3000 | Song prompt: From Eden by Hozier

Rating: G | WC: 2998 | also on ao3

Steve and Eddie had been best friends since The Beginning.

From the moment angels were blinked into existence, in a flurry of wide powerful wings and otherworldly beauty, they were inseparable, happy, right up until God made something new.

Humans.

Curious creatures with souls and hearts capable of a full spectrum of emotions, given the one thing angels had been denied.

Free will.

Eddie hated them. Part of their job as angels was to watch over these new creations, but the more they watched, the more withdrawn Eddie became.

He claimed God favored them, these beings who hardly knew of divine existence and whose lifespans were so short they barely mattered in the grand scheme of things. Steve disagreed, arguing that God didn’t play favorites, and surely, even if They did, the angels who’d been gifted with power and immortality were the preferred children.

They debated about it– a lot, until friendly arguments turned into shouting matches.

Was this anger?

This unpleasant thing that served no purpose except to make Eddie fly away from him in a huff. Was it sorrow that made his friend’s eyes shimmer, his lips turn down in that awful way?

Eddie was changing, and Steve didn’t know what to do. He much preferred the days when they could laugh and smile together. It always left him feeling warm inside.

“You envy them.” Steve accused one day when Eddie was especially prickly. “Why? Is it not enough to be as you are and live here in Heaven with God? With me?”

“No! It’s not enough!”

Eddie’s hands wound into his own hair and pulled, as if he’d tear it out from the root. “Why do they get the freedom to form such relationships? Why do they get to have it, and I don’t?!”

Steve tilted his head, perplexed. “To have what?”

“Love!”

“But, you do.” Steve said, still not understanding. “God loves us, and we love Them.”

Eddie sighed mournfully, all the fight draining out of him at once. “It’s not their love I ache for, Steve.”

It was no surprise when Eddie sided with Lucifer in the war and consequently fell from Heaven. Steve was there when it happened, forced to bear witness to the first and greatest loss he’d ever known.

He was… sad, when Eddie was gone.

Steve tried to pretend otherwise, but whenever he was alone and he thought of how he would never see his friend again, his eyes leaked and he would feel a terrible pain in his chest.

Was he broken?

He hadn’t thought angels were capable of such sentiments, but that couldn’t be true. Eddie’d had these things, feelings. They were what led him on his doomed path.

It was possible, it just wasn’t allowed.

He did his best to go on as before. It was difficult, nearly impossible sometimes, but it all became easier when a new flock of angels was made to replace their numbers, and Robin came barreling into his life.

Part of him wanted to resist, to keep the space next to him forever empty, preserving the memory of who’d been there before, but he’d been alone for so long.

Robin grew on him, and they quickly became close. While she could never replace Eddie, their friendship went a long way in filling the hole losing him had left behind.

They complimented each other well. Where Steve was quiet and contemplative these days, Robin talked almost constantly. Not one to sit in silence, she always preferred to fill it.

Just like Eddie.

They were quite alike actually, Eddie and Robin. Steve couldn't help thinking that if they’d ever met they would’ve become fast friends, or killed one another.

Things were ok for a while, Steve managed, until he was sent to Earth for the first time. He begged Robin to come along, nervous to walk amongst the humans when he’d only ever watched from afar, but she wasn’t allowed.

Guardian angel for a day. An easy job, mostly watching and waiting, ensuring his charge remained safe. In all likelihood, he wouldn’t even be needed.

The human in question was a kind older man, who ran a small coffee counter in a park, in a city Steve couldn't remember the name of. He ordered a drink and took a seat, doing his best to go unnoticed.

He observed much over the course of the day. Joyous reunions and somber goodbyes. First kisses and last kisses, and not one but two chance meetings where sparks flew. It was a magical thing to see someone find their soulmate.

Steve returned to Heaven with a heavy heart.

It'd been a very long time since their last conversation, but he could still hear Eddie’s voice… how resigned it had sounded, how devastated, when he’d looked at him and said “It’s not their love I ache for.”

Finally, he got it. Eddie had loved him.

Steve loved Eddie too, though he hadn’t realized it back then, so caught up in what they were supposed to be. He’d witnessed it up close now, love. Recognized it and the power it held, even as it made the wielder feel powerless.

It was agony.

Unable to hold it in anymore, he told Robin.

It was probably the most words he’d ever said to her at once. He didn’t mention Eddie’s name, or admit whether the object of his desire was angel or otherwise. He didn’t want to rebel, but he couldn’t continue on as if nothing had changed. Couldn’t live the lie anymore. He was supposed to love only God, and it simply wasn’t true.

Robin said he should talk to God, convinced that They had grown softer since the fall. Steve wasn’t so sure about that but he trusted her, and had little choice.

Thankfully, she’d been right. God was understanding, in Their way, and not wishing to see Steve so unhappy decided to gift him– a chance.

He didn’t know what it meant, and that was as ominous as it was thrilling. It had felt a little too easy, in the end. All he knew was he was bound for earth, and as he prepared for the journey he could only wonder what the catch would be.

Steve woke up feeling like he’d been having the strangest dream. He couldn't recall the details apart from a beautiful boy’s face framed in soft dark curls, but wasn’t that always the way?

He hopped out of bed with a spring in his step. It was a big day, the grand opening of his and Robin’s new coffee shop and he couldn't wait to greet their first customers.

Eddie cut ties with Lucifer shortly after the fall, uninterested in trading one leader demanding blind faith and allegiance for another.

He was still a demon, technically, as were all who fell, but although he hated humans, he had no desire to harm them.

He wasn’t evil, he was angry.

At them, at God, even Steve, but mostly at himself.

He’d let his feelings overtake his sense, and in his effort to fight for more he’d somehow wound up with less, only managing to get himself banished– sent as far away from the one he loved as it was possible to be.

Eddie didn’t spend much time on Earth, still too bitter. He wasn’t exactly welcome in Hell either, but over the years had found his fair share of quiet corners to inhabit.

He kept in touch with some others who’d also refused to follow Lucifer as he made the transition from fallen angel to Devil. Gareth, Jeff, and Grant. They became friends, of a sort. Kept an eye on eachother, gave warnings of trouble on the horizon, and a heads up about other interesting goings-on.

Which was how Eddie found out about the first time Steve set foot on earth.

He’d gotten rip-roaring drunk once, on a rare night where all the boys were together in one place, and spilled his guts about Steve.They teased him a little, but only in good fun. They’d had their own motivations for taking up the cause and agreed love was as good a reason as any.

When Gareth came by to say an angel had been spotted in Central Park who bared a striking resemblance to his Steve, Eddie panicked. He’d been existing as if he’d never see the angel again, because he’d honestly thought he wouldn’t, and spent many long years pushing it all down, pretending he didn’t care anymore because it was the only way he could function.

Suddenly it all came rushing back to the surface, his heart becoming a gaping wound, open to the world all over again.

He wanted to go to him, of course he did, but it’d been eons since they last spoke. Would Steve want to see him? Would he care? Even if he did, what would it matter?

It would change nothing.

Deciding it would be more painful to see him now and lose him all over again than to never see him at all, Eddie buried his head in the sand. By the time it hit him that regardless of the pain he’d regret not going forever, it was too late. Steve was gone, nothing but an empty cup of coffee on a table to prove he’d been there at all.

When fate conspired only days later to give Eddie a second chance, he knew he couldn’t waste it.

He’d gotten an address from Jeff and had to huff a laugh when he spotted the place. A cute little indie coffee shop. Was Steve the fucking coffee fairy now or something?

The front of the cafe was a wall of windows, and Eddie’s heart skipped a beat as he spotted Steve through the glass. He froze with his hand on the door, unsure if he was ready to face whatever was about to happen.

Steve stood behind the counter next to a girl with a mischievous smile, laughing raucously at something she’d said. His eyes shone bright, and he was as beautiful as Eddie remembered– though he did miss the way his wings had framed his body. A pity angels weren't allowed to use them down here.

Just when Eddie was building his resolve to finally go inside, Steve turned and their eyes met. The angel’s smile fell, mouth twisting into a curious expression, a wrinkle forming between his brows.

He’d been prepared for a number of reactions, for Steve to be happy to see him, or angry and hating him, but he was wholly unprepared for Steve to look at him like that– as if he didn’t know him at all.

Eddie fled.

He didn’t run far, taking refuge in an alleyway across from the shop, well-versed in hiding in the shadows by now.

He watched for days, unable to leave while Steve was near, but just as unable to approach him again.

In the evenings he would follow Steve home, never knowing where the girl went. Robin, as her name tag said. One second she'd be there and the next, poof, but Steve always walked to a small apartment where he’d spend the night hours alone before leaving again early the next morning.

What was he doing?

Who was his charge?

Eddie had assumed it was Robin but the more he observed the more convinced he became that she was an angel too.

None of it made sense.

It all came to a head one night when he was lurking in his spot waiting for Steve to walk by, and found himself getting bodily thrown into a brick wall. A figure stepped into him, her small hand strong and firm around his throat, skin glowing ever-so-slightly with heavenly power.

Eddie raised his hands in the universal gesture for, I come in peace, and finally Robin let him go.

“What do you want, Demon?”

“I prefer Eddie, actually.”

She smirked, raising a single eyebrow. “Eddie the demon? What, you didn't want to come up with some fancy new name like all your buddies?”

They weren’t his buddies, not the demons she was referring too anyway, but she wasn't likely to believe that.

“Never been one for conformity, I guess.” Eddie grinned, stifling a laugh.

Understatement.

“Seriously, why are you watching him? What are you planning?”

“Nothing, just… looking in on an old friend. I swear.”

“Sure, you and Steve used to be friends. I’m supposed to believe you're not here to ruin his chance, attacking an old ally turned enemy now that he’s vulnerable?”

“What do you mean?”

She narrowed her eyes, considering him carefully.

“You actually don’t know, do you?” She backed away, looking him up and down. “You came to the door that first day, but never came inside. Why?”

“The way he looked, I… don’t think he remembered me.”

She snorted a laugh.

Which Eddie did not appreciate. “Jeez, way to kick a guy when he’s down.”

“Sorry.” She said, not sorry at all. “Look, it’s nothing personal. He doesn’t remember anything. He’s human now.”

“What?! Why?”

Robin shrugged. “He wanted more. He loved another before God and They took mercy on him, sent him here for a chance at a different life.”

“Who?” Eddie gasped, reeling.

“Who, what?”

“Who did he love enough to leave Heaven for?”

“What do you care?!” She sneered, throwing her hands up. “Y’know what? Don’t answer that, It doesn’t matter. Not even I know who it is, and I'm his best friend.”

Best friend.

Eddie deflated. Had Steve replaced him so easily?

Robin plowed ahead, either unknowing or uncaring of the pain she was inflicting. “I know your kind. You’re bad news. If you really were friends before, if you ever cared about him, you’ll leave him alone.”

Eddie tried to go back to his life, such as it was. He wandered the underworld aimlessly, plagued by thoughts of Steve.

Was it Eddie… that he loved?

Was he okay? Was he happy? Was he safe? He was so vulnerable now– to sickness, and injury. Shit, humans dropped dead from heart attacks all the time!

Eddie could deal with it before, knowing he was out there somewhere, even if they couldn’t be together. But now… now Steve would grow old and die one day, and he couldn’t take that.

The idea of living forever in a world where Steve no longer existed was intolerable.

He went to Lucifer.

It was a long shot, he knew. He’d abandoned his de facto leader long ago, but back in the war Lucifer had been fond of him and Eddie hoped against hope that their history would help his case now.

The former angel all but laughed in his face. He held no such power, not that he would ever grant Eddie’s wish if he did.

“What a waste that would be,” the Devil had said, still holding out hope that someday Eddie would break and join him.

Desperate, he returned to the coffee shop, taking up his old post, and waited for Robin to confront him.

As she stalked angrily into the alley, he hurried to explain.

“I know what you’re going to say, but hear me out. I love him, Robin, always have. That’s why I fell. I was outraged at being denied this thing that humans were given freely to take for granted.”

She pursed her lips.

“You don’t believe me.”

Robin sighed heavily. “I can’t believe I'm saying this, but I do, actually.”

“Really?”

She pulled a scrap of paper from her pocket and handed it to him.

Eddie unfolded it with shaking hands, a perfect sketch of his face.

“I found this, along with several others. Apparently he’s been drawing them for weeks. Somehow, deep down, he remembers you.”

Tears poured down his face as he continued to stare at the proof of Steve’s feelings for him.

“Why did you come back here?” She asked.

“To beg you to take a request to God, plead my case… please.”

“What for?”

“To make me human too.”

“Are you sure? If They agree to it you’ll be just like him, vulnerable, with no memory of who you were.”

“I know. I’ll just have to trust that we’ll find each other again.”

Eddie woke up feeling like he’d been having the strangest dream. He didn’t have time to dwell on it though, rent was due soon and he still hadn’t found a job.

He set out for the corner store to pick up a newspaper and found himself drawn to an adorable little coffee shop along the way with a help wanted sign out front. He knew the prices at a place like that were well out of his budget, but one look at the beautiful man behind the counter was enough to have him thinking– screw the budget.

Besides, it couldn’t hurt to put in an application, even if he had no experience as a barista.

The man looked up as Eddie entered the empty shop, and their eyes met. There was something familiar about him. The man paled, eyes going wide. It was a curious reaction, but Steve, as his nametag read, shook it off quickly and forced a smile.

“Good Morning, what can I get you?”

Gorgeous and the voice of an angel? Eddie was half in love already.

He ordered the cheapest thing on the menu, a drip coffee, which Steve poured with shaking hands, cursing as a little of the hot liquid sloshed over the cup’s side, burning him.

“You okay?”

Steve turned, offering his first real smile, laughing at himself as he shook his head.

Without a word he reached into his apron pocket and pulled out a small sketchbook, sliding it across the counter. “This is going to sound crazy, but I think I've been dreaming about you.”

Steve showed him then, page after page filled with drawings of Eddie's face.

Eddie’s stomach flipped, suddenly realizing why Steve had looked so familiar. “I think I've been dreaming about you, too.”

As always, all my love and thanks to @penny00dreadful beloved friend and beta.

Also to @hitlikehammers and @theheadlessphilosopher for listening to me talk about this and reading it through as I attempted to parse this down from 3400 words to it's current form.

Some tags of those I recall expressing interest or i think might like this? (sorry if i miss anyone or if you didn't want to be tagged!): @griefabyss69 @pearynice @eriquin @cranberrymoons @momotonescreaming @kikidoesfanfic @brbsoulnomming @estrellami-1 @manda-panda-monium @hellion-child @dreamwatch @mentallyundone @finntheehumaneater @goodolefashionedloverboi @vegasol

#STWG Hozier Project #steddie fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie #steve harrington/eddie munson #robin buckley #hozier songfic #stwg

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proxima-writes · 1 year

Text

title: hokaanir riduurok

pairing: din djarin x non-mandalorian female reader

rating: explicit (18+ minors DNI)

word count: 6278

summary:

hokaanir riduurok - the mandalorian joining ceremony during which one warrior submits themselves to their intended, allowing their flesh to be carved with a symbol of their unity.

or: you marry a mandalorian and their weddings are a little different than you’re used to

author’s note: a gift for @dindjarinslegs , who’s beautiful brain sparked this whole work. the term of endearment “pirun’ner” comes from this list by user @starrypawz . if you enjoy this work, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging!

content warnings/additional tags: explicit sexual material (18+ minors do not interact), no use of y/n, very plot heavy porn, writer considers ‘din’ to be the mandalorian’s first name, exploration of Mandalorian customs and lore, use of Mando’a, ceremonial scarification, mentions of blood and wounds, use of weapons, use of aphrodisiacs, wedding ceremony, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, creampie, mild/moderate breeding kink, cum play, multiple orgasms, vaginal fingering, biting/marking, thigh riding, dirty talk, praise, pet names, reader i have taken liberties. let me know if there are any missing!

You’re washing a dish when you hear the metallic clang of heavy beskar approaching. You turn, ready to greet the Mandalorian, only to find Din holding a blade out to you across both palms, helmet tilted down and feet planted wide. You glance at Grogu, who offers only a slow blink of his large dark eyes and a twitch of his ears in answer.

“Uh…Din? What…what are you doing?” You ask. He lifts his helmet, dark visor obscuring your view of his face but not the white hot feel of his gaze across your skin.

“In Mandalorian culture it is tradition to present our intended riduur a blade with which to complete the hokaanir riduurok,” his modulated voice explains.

“Right, right. Of course,” you mumble. You dry your hands on the apron around your waist. “What uh…what’s that, exactly?”

“The Mandalorian joining ceremony.”

You blink. “Joining ceremony? You mean like…marriage?”

“To Mandalorians it is more than marriage but…yes.”

“Din Djarin, is this a proposal?” You ask. You can’t stop the broad smile spreading across your face as you approach him.

“Yes, cyar'ika,” he murmurs, armor heavy arms wrapping around your waist when you’re within arms reach. “Is this an acceptance?”

He tilts his head, pressing the cold beskar to your forehead. A keldabe kiss, he’d told you once.

“Of course.”

________

Din calls the Armorer following his proposal. She, along with Bo-Katan, have chosen to remain on Mandalore with a number of Mandalorians who wish to rebuild the planet to its former glory after the fight against Moff Gideon.

“She has accepted the blade,” Din tells the Armorer’s hologram.

“It has been a long time since the Tribe has seen a proper Mandalorian wedding,” the Armorer says. “Even longer since the sands of Mandalore have borne witness.” She pauses, helmet tilting to the side. “Did you tell her the significance of the blade?”

“I told her it was for the joining ceremony,” Din replies. He should have known the Armorer would see right through him.

“Yes, but did you tell her its purpose? How she is meant to carve her possession into your flesh to be kept with you for the rest of your days?”

“I may have neglected to provide that much detail.”

The Armorer sighs. “I would suggest you bring your aruetii to Mandalore ahead of your joining ceremony. We will have much to discuss.”

“We will endeavor to arrive within the next lunar cycle,” Din concedes.

“This is the Way,” the Armorer intones.

“This is the Way.”

________

“I can't believe I’m visiting Mandalore,” you say excitedly. “I’ve never even been off Nevarro.”

Din is strapping you into the co-pilot seat of the freighter ship he’s borrowed from Karga’s fleet. While he’s content to fly and sleep in his Starfighter, he said he wants you to be more comfortable during your first trip off-world.

“Stop moving, pirun’ner,” he says, fitting the straps across your chest. You wiggle again, just to be stubborn, and he huffs a laugh, tapping his helmet to the crown of your head.

“You know, you’ve never told me what that means,” you say as he takes a seat in the captain’s chair. You watch as he confidently moves through the pre-flight motions, flicking switches and pressing buttons, inputting coordinates and checking gauges.

“The literal translation from Mando’a is ‘my water’,” he says. “Water begets life. Without water, there is no living.”

“Din…,” you murmur, words getting caught in your throat. “Makes me feel bad for the nickname I give you in my head.”

He turns his head, somehow managing to look affronted despite you not being able to see his face. “And what nickname is that?”

“Tin man,” you joke.

“But…this is beskar,” he says, clearly not understanding your joke and you can’t help but laugh.

The nickname comes from the early days of your relationship with the Mandalorian.

As Nevarro’s resident baker, you’re familiar with the locals and even more familiar with the gossip around newcomers. The town buzzed with excitement when one of the Mandalorians that defended the trading town had returned and settled on the outskirts with his son.

The first time you saw him was when his son made a cookie float off your display and into his little green hand. The Mandalorian had shown up while you were bent to the little creature’s level, asking where his parents were.

“Grogu,” his modulated voice chastised. “We talked about this.”

He was clad head to toe in the beskar armor you’re now intimately familiar with, but you didn’t know that at the time, so you called him ‘tin man’ in your mind. You didn’t learn his name until around the third time he’d visited your bakery.

The ship jerks harshly in take-off, breaking you from your trip down memory lane. Your fingers curl nervously against the armrests of your seat.

“Does that usually happen?” You ask.

Din must sense the anxiety coming off of you in waves. He reaches a gloved hand over and rests it over yours. “You are safe with me, cyar'ika. I would never let any harm come to you.”

You smile at him, the tension easing from your shoulders. You turn your hand palm upwards to fold your fingers between his.

“I know.”

________

Later, in the pitch black crew cabin, you’re curled against Din’s body on the scratchy cot as the ship’s autopilot continues your voyage, reveling in the feel of him against you without all the beskar and weapons. He feels human like this, soft, yet somehow still your solid pillar of strength in a galaxy not built for gentle things.

“Tell me about Mandalore,” you murmur.

“It’s not the same as it once was,” he replies, his unmodulated voice deep like the vastness of space beyond the ship. “It’s harsher now. War ravaged. For a long time we were told it was not even fit for life.”

“Were you raised there?”

“No. I was born on Aq Vetina. There was…a raid. My parents were killed. Battle droids. I was raised as a foundling on Concordia, Mandalore’s moon.”

“I’m so sorry, Din,” you whisper. You trace your hand up his chest and neck until you can cup his stubbled cheek in your palm.

“I didn’t set foot on Mandalore until recently. I had…removed my helmet, in the presence of others, which goes against the very tenets of The Creed.” He takes a deep breath. “I was an apostate. Dar’manda.”

“Seems kind of harsh.”

He chuckles. “You and Bo-Katan will get along well.”

“You still wear the armor,” you point out. “If you’re not a Mandalorian, is that allowed?”

“By bathing in the Living Waters in the Mines of Mandalore, someone who is dar’manda can seek redemption. It was a long shot. The Mines were thought to be destroyed.”

“But they weren’t?”

“No. The planet is more hospitable than we were led to believe, even in its ravaged state. It’s why Bo-Katan is able to rebuild, to reunite what once was broken.”

“So, you were able to bathe in the Mines then?”

“Yes. I have redeemed myself in the eyes of the Creed.”

Your mind conjures an image of your Mandalorian, tall and broad though his face is nothing more than a blur, stripped of his armor as he wades into a pool of water. You rub your thighs together, hoping the friction eases the ache forming between your legs.

“What are you thinking about, pirun’ner?” Din asks. His voice has gone lower, darker, and his hand presses you closer to his body. You realize you’ve been caught.

“You,” you reply honestly. He shifts, running his hand down your waist and over the curve of your ass, not stopping until his hand grips behind your knee and drags your top leg across his hips. Your hips shift against his leg.

You’ve not seen your Mandalorian’s face or body before, but you know the feel of it intimately. The hard planes of muscle in his arms and chest, the softness of his tummy and the thickness of his thighs. The stretch of him inside you, the bite of his teeth and strokes of his tongue under the cover of darkness.

“Is my riduur feeling needy?” His hand urges your movements, your hips now rocking steadily against his thigh. Your moan is breathy and desperate in the small, dark space.

“Not your riduur yet,” you gasp. Din’s warm hand grips your chin, tilting your face upwards. You feel his nose trace along your cheek as his mouth seeks out yours in the dark. His lips are warm as they move against yours in a slow, burning rhythm that matches the slide of your pussy over his thigh.

“The next time you cum, after tonight, you will be,” he groans. Your hips stutter, your release hitting you like a burst of light, sparkling at the corners of your vision. He kisses you deeply. “Sleep now, ner’karta.”

Your heavy eyelids obey his command.

________

Two figures stand at the mouth of a cave as Din lands the Alanar N3 Light Freighter on the surface of Mandalore, a woman with bright red hair and blue armor and a helmeted figure with copper armor and a gold helmet with spikes.

“Welcome,” the redhead says as the two of you approach. “It’s been a long time, Din Djarin. Hopefully you will not need rescuing while you’re here this time.”

“Bo-Katan. Or is it Mand’alor Kryze, now?” Din replies. She smirks.

“Alor Kryze will suffice,” she corrects. Din bows his head in respect before introducing you by name to Bo-Katan and the other Mandalorian, who identifies herself as the Armorer you’ve heard Din speak about at length.

“We have much to show you and discuss,” the Armorer says. She regards you. “Follow me.”

You glance at Din, eyes wide. He gives you a nod, squeezing your hand. Taking a deep breath, you follow the Armorer’s retreating figure as she enters the cave. You meet her at the edge of a cliff that overlooks what appears to be a bustling city.

“Wow,” you mumble.

“It has taken much effort to restore the Mine City to functionality. But it is prospering.”

“How do you get down there?” You ask.

The Armorer chuckles. “We fly. Come closer. We will go together.”

“Oh, uh. Okay.” You step closer and she wraps an arm around your waist, the jetpack on her back igniting as she takes a step over the cliff. You scream, clinging to her shoulders and squeezing your eyes shut.

Your feet hit the ground and you slowly open your eyes. At this level, other Mandalorians bustle about, some with helmets and others without. There are even children running through the streets.

The Armorer releases you once your footing is solid. “Come, we will visit the Living Waters.”

You trail after her again, head swiveling as you take in the city. Some of the Mandalorians look at you curiously as you pass, and you wonder what they must think. From what Din has told you, his Tribe is very secretive. Do they worry you’re a threat? The thought almost makes you laugh.

She leads you deep into the Mine City, down from the street level until you’re standing at the bank of what appears to be a lake, stone steps descending into the dark depths.

“These are the Living Waters of Mandalore,” the Armorer says. “In the days before the Great Purge, the Living Waters saw many ceremonies. Initiations to the Creed, joinings, the adoption of foundlings, the merging of houses. It is the lair of a Mythosaur, a great beast tamed by Mandalore the Great, the first ruler of Mandalore.”

“There’s something down there?” You ask. She tilts her head.

“Allegedly. Mythosaurs have not been seen in many moons,” she replies. “Your joining ceremony will take place on these steps. Has Din spoken to you further about what that will entail?” You shake your head. The Armorer continues.

“It begins with a proposal. A Mandalorian warrior chooses a riduur to whom they will submit themselves, body and soul, for as long as they continue to live. The warrior presents their intended with a blade with which they will perform the hokaanir riduurok.”

“The ceremony consists of three parts,” she continues. “The dinui, or gift, where both parties have selected a weapon to give to their warrior.”

You blink. “He’s going to give me a weapon?”

“Yes. It will be forged specifically for you,” she confirms. “And you will select one for him as well.”

“The second part of the ceremony is the riduurok, or the vows. You will drink spiced wine from the same chalice before reciting the traditional Mandalorian vows.”

This, at least, sounds familiar to you. Vows were common in the few wedding ceremonies you’d seen on Nevarro.

“Finally, the hokaanir. You will take your blade and cut your unifying symbol into his flesh, just above his heart. Then, the covert will host a celebration in your honor.”

“I’m sorry, I have to do what?”

The Armorer tilts her head. “We are a warrior people. Our loyalty is demonstrated with honor and blood,” she offers in explanation. When she’s met with silence, she continues. “I am happy to help you choose a weapon and unity symbol for your ceremony.”

“Thank you, Armorer,” you reply honestly. “For sharing everything with me.”

“This is the Way,” she says, bowing her head. “Do you have any questions?”

Only about a thousand, you think. But there’s one you’ve been wondering about since landing on the planet and being introduced to Bo-Katan, a Mandalorian who showed her face.

“I hope this isn’t insensitive but…you and Din always wear your helmets, right? But Bo-Katan and some of the other Mandalorians…they don’t. Why is that?” You ask carefully.

“The Tribe follows the Creed as described by the Way of the Mandalore. There are other interpretations of the Creed that do not consider the removal of one’s helmet grounds for exile,�� she replies. “We are learning to live in harmony.”

“With your Creed…will I ever be able to see Din’s face?”

“As his riduur, he may choose to show his face to you and your future warriors.”

You blink. “Future warriors?”

“Your children. Foundlings or by birth.”

You hadn’t considered children before. Of course, you adore Grogu, Din’s adopted son, but growing your family? Now that the idea is planted, you can’t shake the roots loose.

“Shall we discuss weapons, then?” The Armorer asks, breaking through your racing thoughts.

“Let’s do it.”

________

“You really didn’t tell her anything about the ceremony?” Bo-Katan asks as she walks with Din through the restored Mine City. Din is in awe of the progress that’s been made since the last time he was here. There are a surprising number of Mandalorians now residing in the city, Alor Kryze’s unification efforts clearly working in her favor.

“I haven’t even witnessed one myself,” he says. “In the covert, they only recited the vows. There was no ceremony involved.”

“It’s certainly an experience. And for an aruetii, it may be challenging. We are born and raised as warriors. Blood is nothing to us.” She pauses. “Speaking of raising warriors, where is your son? I miss the little womp rat.”

“He and Karga will join us for the celebration.”

“Din Djarin,” the Armorer calls. He turns just as you collide against him, your arms around his waist. He tips his helmet to your head.

“Pirun’ner,” he says, holding you to his chest. The reunion is short lived.

“We must discuss your joining ceremony,” Armorer says. “Join me at the Great Forge.”

________

The heat from the fire that burns within the Great Forge is stifling and oppressive. Sweat beads on Din’s temple within moments of stepping foot into the cavernous space.

“Your aruetii was rather surprised by our customs,” the Armorer says. Din can feel the judgment in her gaze, even through the helmet. “But receptive. She will do well.”

Din nods. “Thank you for taking the time to explain it to her.”

“She has chosen a weapon and a unity symbol. Have you given thought to her weapon?” The Armorer asks.

“A vambrace,” Din says easily. “A defense weapon. With shields and a comms unit. Nothing she could accidentally hurt herself with.”

“A fitting choice. It is settled. Your ceremony will commence in two days, upon the completion of your weapons. This is the Way,” she says.

“This is the Way.”

________

Bo-Katan helps you dress for the ceremony in a dress made of material so soft and light, you worry it will disappear into thin air. It reminds you of some of the gowns you’ve seen in holovids from Coruscant, white fabric draped over your shoulders, plunging in a deep V down your chest and falling to the ground, secured at the waist with a broad belt of beskar and crystal. When you ask her about it, she looks away.

“It belonged to the last true leader of Mandalore,” she says, not inviting any further questions you may have. “Women would normally wear ceremonial armor as well, but since you are not a Mandalorian, exceptions can be made,” she says.

“Have you seen many weddings, Bo-Katan?” You ask. Din was right when he said you would get along well with the new leader of Mandalore. You’ve been enjoying getting to know her over your last two days on the planet.

“I helped prepare for a few, before the Purge,” she replies. She adjusts the strap of your gown on your shoulder. “But the ceremonies are private. A leader in the community helps to guide the couple through the stages before taking their leave once the hokaanir has been performed.”

“Oh, why’s that?”

Bo-Katan smirks. “The ceremonial wine will have certain…effects on you that you will not want someone to bear witness to.”

“Maker!” You hiss. Your eyes go wide as she laughs. “Are you joking?”

“Guess you’ll have to find out.” She guides you out of the room and down into the city, where the Mandalorians are prepping for the celebration that takes place after the ceremony. There are flags raised with a familiar Mudhorn skull and others with what Bo-Katan explained was the skull of a Mythosaur, the symbol of the Mandalorians.

Helmeted Mandalorians tip their heads as you pass, while those not wearing helmets hold their fist across their chest. You feel nervous but excited and your heart races with each step closer to the Living Waters.

Bo-Katan leads you down into the depths, the sound of a crackling fire growing louder as you descend. As your eyes adjust to the dim glow of the firelight, you notice two figures standing at the top of the stairs to the Living Waters.

They turn as you approach. Your steps falter as you take in your Mandalorian’s attire.

Rather than the silver beskar and flight suit you’re used to seeing him in, Din now wears a pair of black linen pants belted with beskar tassets that hang to his knees. A black cape hangs down his back to the floor, held in place by impressive spiked pauldrons, a heavy chain sitting at the base of his throat. He still wears his familiar silver helmet.

As he turns to face you fully, your mouth goes dry. He’s shirtless beneath the cape and pauldrons, the tan skin of his chest and abdomen on full display. The firelight illuminates the muscles you’ve traced with your fingers and mouth but never with your eyes.

Perhaps most surprising, however, are the black tattoos that adorn his chest, swirling lines that stretch from his collarbone and down his pectorals until coming to a point right above his belly button. Shiny scar tissue catches the light - a large one on his hip that looks like a blaster shot, thin lines that bisect his tattoos and deeper gashes near his ribs. Your fingers ache to trace them as you commit them to memory.

Bo-Katan gives you a little nudge, urging you forward until you’ve joined Din and the Armorer at the stone steps. She takes her leave with a nod of her head and the Armorer regards you both.

“Shall we begin?” Her modulated voice asks.

“Yes,” Din’s modulated voice replies. His bare hand reaches for yours, fingers wrapping around your palm and easing the wild beat of your heart.

“We will begin with the dinui. You have each chosen a gift that befits your riduur.” She turns, hefting a large ax-like weapon from the low wall behind her. “Din Djarin, your riduur has chosen the munit'kad halberd, the Mandalorian vibro-ax. A weapon worthy of the head of Clan Mudhorn."

Din takes the ax, testing the weight of it in his hands. A twist of his hands activates the sonic blade, the beskar glowing blue. He swings the ax in a wide arc, slicing it through a nearby stone that crumbles to pieces.

Another twist of his palms and the blade goes still. He hands the ax back to the Armorer, who places it back on the wall before picking up a smaller item.

She holds the item to you as she says your name. “Your riduur has chosen a vambrace, fitted with a communications unit and defensive shield projectors.”

The Armorer gestures for your arm, securing the beskar vambrace to your forearm. It looks similar to the ones Din wears, reaching nearly to your elbow. There’s a screen that lights up when you tap it. You press at it again and a circular shield projection emits from the device, startling you and making you laugh.

The Armorer taps at the screen, making the shields disappear. She unclasps the vambrace from your arm, setting it beside the ax. “Din Djarin, do you accept this gift that your riduur has selected?”

“I do,” Din responds.

The Armorer says your name again, dragging your attention from Din. “Do you accept this gift that your riduur has selected?”

“I do,” you repeat.

The Armorer turns and picks up a chalice. “You will now consume the tal’galar, a symbol of the Mandalorian lives lost before your union.” She passes the chalice to Din, turning her head to allow him the privacy to lift the bottom of his helmet. You follow suit, training your eyes to the floor.

He passes the chalice to you. You glance briefly at the dark liquid before bringing it to your lips and taking a sip. It’s warm, thicker than you expected, but sweet. As you swallow, that warmth intensifies and it feels like it’s already suffusing through your veins, making you feel tingly.

The Armorer takes the chalice from your hands, setting it aside. She picks up the blade that started this whole series of events, the one Din presented you with in your kitchen what feels like ages ago, and your hands start to feel sweaty. You swallow nervously, heart beating wildly in your chest.

“You will now recite the vows,” she tells you. “You will repeat after me.” Din reaches for your hand and the feel of his skin against yours is electrifying, lighting up every nerve ending. “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.”

Din repeats the words in Mando’a, the deep timbre of his voice like silk. You want nothing more than for him to pull you closer, to whisper those words in your ear. This is your husband - this fierce warrior, this gentle man, this loving father. A wave of emotion clogs your throat, making it hard to swallow as you watch him.

“We are one together, we are one when parted, we share all, we will raise warriors,” the Armorer repeats in Basic. You echo the words back, eyes glued to Din’s helmet. His fingers tighten briefly around yours as you finish the vow.

“Din Djarin of Clan Mudhorn, do you so submit yourself to your intended, until your final battle has been fought?” The Armorer asks.

Din drops heavily to his knees, chest heaving with breath. “I do.”

She turns to you, holding the blade across both palms. You take the weapon in hand and face Din. You feel hot all over, like anything you touch may catch fire in your wake.

“Your riduur has chosen to symbolize your unity with pirun,” the Armorer says. “You may begin the hokaanir.”

________

Every moment in Din Djarin’s life has led to this - kneeling at your feet and staring up into your beautiful face as you ready yourself to unite your souls. A fire burns in his veins and his body aches with the need to touch you, his cock straining in his pants.

The tip of your blade drags across the skin of his chest and his breath catches at the prick of pain. He can feel his skin splitting in its wake, the sharp sting and burn of a new wound quickly morphing into an ecstasy that has him gasping.

The blade lifts from his skin and you begin the second line of the symbol. His hands curl into fists against his thighs, body fighting against the urge to wrap you in his arms and claim.

Din can feel the blood sliding down his chest, little rivulets trailing from the most significant scar he’ll ever receive. When his eyes find yours from behind his visor and he sees his own bottomless lust reflected back at him, his restraint frays further.

You start the third and final line of the symbol, an inverted triangle that represents pirun, water. His water, his life, his everything. He can’t help the moan that breaks free, echoing in the cavern.

He reaches for you, gripping your hips as his head bows forward and he gets his first glimpse of his hokaanir, the cuts you’ve made over his heart with so much focus and care, stark red against the tan of his skin and bisecting his mandokar markings. His heart swells with pride at carrying a piece of you with him forever.

Din distantly registers the blade leaving his skin and the echo of retreating footsteps but all he can focus on is getting his hands on you, rucking up the gauzy fabric of your gown until his fingers are tracing the soft skin of your thighs. You drop to your knees, your own trembling hands sliding up his arms.

“Take it off,” Din commands. “My helmet, take it off, cyare.”

“Are you sure?” You ask, even as your hands grip the heavy beskar.

“I’ve never been more certain.”

________

You slowly lift Din’s helmet, revealing a strong, stubbled jaw, plush lips, a prominent nose, soft brown eyes and curly dark hair. You set his helmet to the side without daring to take your eyes off of him, the sound of beskar hitting stone echoing through the cavern. You bring your trembling hands to his jaw, smoothing your thumbs across the high point of his cheekbones.

“Din,” you whisper. His hands wrap around your wrists, steady where yours are not. “Maker, you’re so beautiful.”

He smiles and it feels like a blaster shot to the heart to finally see it, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners and his mouth tilts up a little higher on the right. He wraps a hand around the back of your neck, pulling you forward for a sweet kiss, his lips moving gently with yours.

It doesn’t stay gentle for long.

Din’s lips turn insistent, hungry, bruising in their quest to conquer yours. His teeth nip at your lower lip, making you gasp and he uses it to his advantage, his tongue tangling with yours and exploring to its content.

His hands explore your body, tugging roughly at the straps of your gown until your breasts are exposed to the cold air of the cavern. His lips leave yours, kissing down your jaw and neck, sucking bruises into your sensitive skin.

Your own hands explore his chest, fingers ghosting over the fresh wound of his hokaanir and coming away sticky with blood. He moans against your skin each time your fingers catch on the angry red lines.

“You feel that, cyare?” Din asks. He takes your hand, holding your palm to the mark. “A heart that beats blood only for you?”

He doesn’t wait for a reply before he’s moving, his body urging you down onto your back, eager hands rucking up the skirt of your gown up to your waist. He presses your thighs apart, settling on his belly between your legs, his thumbs parting the lips of your pussy for his appreciative gaze.

“I’ll never have you in the dark again,” he says, brown eyes meeting yours. “Not when I know what it’s like to see you in the light.”

With his gaze still holding yours, he licks a broad stripe through your folds. His eyes flutter shut as he groans, savoring the taste of you on his tongue. When they open again, there’s a hard gleam to them that wasn’t there before, a mischievous glint that has your breath catching at the intensity.

“Remember what I told you, cyare? On the ship?” He asks. His thumb circles your clit, broad swipes over the sensitive nub that have you crying out, the sound echoing around you. “That the next time you came would be as my riduur?”

Din slips two fingers into your soaked entrance, curling them against your front wall as he sets a pace that has your hips chasing after his hand with every withdrawal. Every movement of his fingers inside of you feels hotter, stronger than it ever has before. Maybe it’s the wine or maybe it’s just Din, unmasked and all yours, but you’re already so close to coming from just his fingers and his words and the look in his eyes.

“Want you to cum on my fingers first, want to see it,” he says, and that’s all it takes to have you clenching tightly, tiny supernovas behind your eyelids as you come undone. “That’s it, ner’karta.”

He doesn’t remove his fingers, instead dipping his head and licking at your sensitive clit and making you cry out, already oversensitive.

“Din, Din, Din,” you pant, fingers digging into his curly hair and pulling tightly. He groans against your cunt, working his hand faster as his lips and tongue drive you to a second orgasm before the first has even subsided.

He growls when you nearly knee him in the head with your thrashing, removing his fingers and shoving his arms beneath your thighs, rising to his knees and bringing your body with him. Your upper back rests on the ground as your hips are suspended in his hold, your pussy completely at his mercy as he devours you.

Din’s fingers dig into your ass, grip as strong as the beskar armor he wears as he holds you steady, his tongue working you into a frenzy. The dull spikes on his pauldrons press into your thighs, the discomfort a direct counterpoint to the pleasure he’s lavishing you with.

He sucks on your clit, rolling it between his lips as he hums, the last tether of your control snapping as you fight against his hold, your second orgasm washes over you like warm starlight in your veins.

Din eases you through it, pulling away only when you start to whine. He presses kisses to your thighs and bites at the sensitive skin, sucking marks into your flesh to match the possession you’ve carved into his.

He finally lowers you to the ground, setting you gently to the cold stone. His eyes are hungry as he stands, removing the beskar tassets and tossing them aside before shoving the black linen pants down his legs. He unclips the cape from his neck, laying it on the ground.

He reaches a hand out to you, pulling you to stand when your palm fits against his. His hands cup your face, kissing you fiercely, the fire igniting in your core despite how boneless you feel from the two orgasms he’s drawn out of you.

“Ner’riduur,” Din murmurs against your lips. His hands unlatch the belt at your waist and he sets it aside with more care than he’d given to his own ceremonial items. He slides the fabric off your body until it pools at your feet. “Lie down for me.”

You do as asked, settling on the black cloak. He drops to one knee, then the other, crawling over your body, looking every inch the fierce warrior that he is, black tattoos and scars shifting over well-earned muscle. His cock presses to your hip and he groans, shifting until his length glides between your dripping folds.

“Ni kar'taylir darasuum,” Din says. He takes himself in hand, pressing the thick head of his cock to your entrance. “I love you, pirun’ner.”

“I love you, Din Djarin,” you reply as he presses inside of you, the steady stretch of him making you gasp. You glance at his hokaanir, the skin splitting as he thrusts into your body. Fresh beads of blood form along the lines, dripping from his chest to yours.

Din grunts, hips slamming against yours. You moan and reach up to wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer and seeking his lips with your own. It’s more of a messy press of your mouths than a kiss, the sharing heated breath as his body works against yours.

He dips his head to your neck, sucking more bruises to your skin as he murmurs dirty praise in Mando’a and Basic.

“So fucking warm and wet.”

“Made just for me, weren’t you, ner’karta?”

“Jate riduur’ika.”

You push him up, shoving frantically at his shoulders until you’re able to reverse your positions, him lying beneath you as straddle his waist, his cock never leaving you. He presses so deep inside of you like this it makes you shiver.

“Want you to fill me up, Din,” you say, hands pressed to his chest to give you leverage as you move your hips over his cock. His eyes flutter shut as he moans, the sound making your head feel fuzzy. His hands grip your hips, tight and possessive as his fingers press bruises to your skin. “Please, please, please.”

Din plants his feet against the ground, meeting each movement of your hips with a powerful thrust that makes you see stars. Your muscles tighten once more as you pulse around him with another wave of release that you can feel soaking his hips.

You collapse forward against his chest, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pounds into you from below, chasing the release he so deserves. You press little kisses to the skin you can reach as he uses your body to take his pleasure.

With a final harsh thrust he holds your hips tightly to his, his cock pulsing deliciously inside of you as he groans your name in prayer and ecstasy. He works his hips in tiny movements as he empties inside of you.

Din’s movements eventually slow to a stop, both of you panting as you try to catch your breath. You lift up, looking down into his face and smoothing the sweat damp hair from his forehead as he looks up at you with an expression so full of love you want to weep with the force of it.

“Pirun’ner,” he whispers, cupping your cheek. “You‘ve given me the greatest happiness.”

You press a soft kiss to his lips, your smile hard to fight as you do. You hold each other for a long moment as your adrenaline and euphoria settle and Din slips from your body. He gently eases you to the side, urging you to lie on your back.

He stands, grabbing something from the low wall, dipping it in the water and coming back to kneel between your spread legs. His eyes are dark as he looks at your swollen pussy, glistening with your combined release.

Din swipes two fingers through the mess, pressing them slowly inside of you and making you whine. When he appears satisfied, he wipes a wet cloth through your folds, cleaning you up.

He smoothes the cloth through the dried blood on your chest as well, gently wiping it away. When he’s done, he presses a trail of kisses from your belly to your throat before meeting your lips, slow and languid.

“As much as I’d like to keep you beneath me, we have a celebration to attend,” he says. “Let’s get you dressed.”

He helps you into the dress and belt and you help him fasten the cape back around his shoulders when he’s dressed himself in the pants and tassets. Your hands smooth other the black tattoos on his skin.

“You’ll have to tell me about these one day,” you say.

He pulls you close. “Mhi me'dinui an. We share all. I will be glad to teach you more of our customs.”

You grin at him. “We have many days ahead of us, Din Djarin.”

“I like the sound of that, pirun’ner.”

________

When you arrive at the celebration, a loud cheer moves through the crowd, the sound roaring in your ears as you hold tight to Din’s hand.

High Magistrate Karga approaches the two of you, a wiggly Grogu leaping from his hold and running towards Din, who scoops him up from the ground, holding him in his arms. A little green hand reaches for you, wrapping around the finger you offer him.

Bo-Katan and the Armorer stand nearby, watching the new clan of three.

“A successful joining,” the Armorer says.

“Mandalore is healing,” Bo-Katan replies. “This is the Way.”

“This is the Way.”

Want more Din Djarin? Check out my masterlist

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x female reader #din djarin smut #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x female reader #mandalorian smut #mandalorian x you #no use of y/n

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redara · 2 months

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And Your Voice Was All I Heard

Pairings: Union of Light Bi-Han/Áila Havarôr Ratings: Mature Words: 6.990 TW: depiction and mention of abuse, blood, torture Summary: Post-MK1. Áila realizes the Lin Kuei is steering away from their purpose. She needs to escape the compound and return to Liu Kang in the Wu Shi Academy before the Grandmaster finds out what she's doing, for the price for treachery is death.

A/N: also posted on AO3. Áila is the OC of @tazahan and this fic is based on her work:

The bell rings.

Áila follows her peers – the group of Lin Kuei warriors – rushing to the main hall to attend the call for the urgent meeting. She is dreading the worst; it’s difficult to think of anything positive at this moment, not since the Grandmaster returned, alone and injured, and declared his two brothers as traitors. It’s the hot talk of the barracks; Scorpion and Smoke had defied order; they had attacked Sub-Zero and left him by the outer outpost of the Lin Kuei’s territory. Search parties have been assigned since then, and while it was fruitful, Scorpion and Smoke have fled Arctika.

Then, Sub-Zero suddenly announced that the Lin Kuei will not answer to Fire God Liu Kang or the Wu Shi Academy anymore.

Truth be told, Áila is confused with the whole ordeal. A part of her is telling her to trust the Grandmaster, yet deep inside she knows there is more to the story than what has been told. There must be a greater reason why Scorpion and Smoke forsook their oath and left the clan – either there is one reason, or she is still in denial, like any other Lin Kuei.

The main hall is already full of neatly lined warriors; Áila falls into formation, scanning the room. Tension is high, mixing with a variety of emotion – confusion, anger, anxiety, mixing as one. Hushed chatters being exchanged, questioning the reason for their assembly, questioning if it has something to do with the runaway brothers. Until the grand door opens, and the hall falls silent.

Walking into the room is the Grandmaster himself, dressed in his usual blue uniform. The lack of yellow and gray warriors who’d tail behind him is a new sight, one that makes Áila’s heart clench. Instead, there is a trail of ice following his footsteps, crackling, disappearing after a second. The torches of the hall sways as he comes in proximity. He takes his stand and looks down at his warriors; anger flashes in his usually stern gaze in the form of the warm fiery lights of the hall; the hardened feature of his face lets it be known how serious he is tonight, that whatever he is about to say will be of the utmost importance.

“I shall keep this brief,” he opens, his deep voice cuts the silence with such authority, echoing against the stone walls, “for as I am speaking, the two traitors have settled in Japan and built a clan to fight against ours. Carve this name in your mind: The Shirai Ryu; for mercy shall not be given to them or their allies.”

Sub-Zero paces slowly. “For centuries, the Lin Kuei have stood loyally by Earthrealm; our ancestors have kept the peace and protected the masses without recognition. We have stood, leashed to ridiculous rules set by Liu Kang, for no reason but to hold us back. You,” he waves his hand in a general direction, startling a line of warriors, “have trained and learned all your lives. Yet when the time calls, you have witnessed Liu Kang picking unworthy fighters to be tested against your might – a test of which you must fail. You have witnessed your brethren be sent off to fight by the demand of the Fire God; how little the number of those who returned, and our name remains unseen in the grand history of the world.

“Centuries of hard work, dedication, and loyalty… Would you like to know what the other Realms call us?”

His nose scrunches up in disgust as he continues.

“‘Liu Kang’s lapdogs’.”

The deafening silence is replaced by a cacophony of gasps. The tension breaks into a unified anger and hushed protest. Áila tries to remain composed – no, no, it’s not true… Liu Kang trusts the Lin Kuei, in fact, he talks of them highly. There is no way he would let anyone belittle the Lin Kuei.

But the Grandmaster carries on, collecting the newfound disappointment of his Lin Kuei warriors towards the Fire God, “No more shall our name be wiped from history. I vowed to you that we shall be known throughout the Realms. A clan – a nation – of which others will fear and respect –”

What is happening? No, no, this is not –

“Never again shall we be shackled by Liu Kang and his tyranny. We shall stand on our own, not for Liu Kang, not for Earthrealm –”

Áila internally begs the Grandmaster to stop. This is madness… He is declaring war against Liu Kang and Earthrealm – against his own brothers!

He clenches his fist and raises it high, “For the Lin Kuei!”

Áila watches helplessly as fists are raised in the air – the decision has been made, the future of the Lin Kuei has been set – and her heart begs her to scream, only capable of hearing the warriors all around her chanting out their loyal reply to their Grandmaster.

“For the Lin Kuei!”

***

With each passing day, the Lin Kuei begin to undergo plenty of changes. For one, the Engineering Department is more active than usual; the sound of metals and tools screeches out of their workshop, day and night; tons of materials being sent in, raising curiosity of what they are used for.

Áila grows wary. The lack of information from inside and outside of the compound is making her anxious. She wishes she could contact her father and ask if their clan, the Sól Eldur, is aware of what is happening, but communication with the outside world is very limited. Her guts are telling her to run away, run to the Wu Shi, and join them, but… what if Sub-Zero is right, and Liu Kang has been ruling Earthrealm under his tyranny, and Scorpion and Smoke are truly traitors?

Gods… the need to find the truth on her own is itching her mind. It doesn’t help that this afternoon, a fellow warrior dropped a hint that only makes the itch worse.

“Do not quote me on this, but I think our Grandmaster is building an army,” said the curly warrior to the masked warrior who was sitting across from Áila, “because I saw plenty of body armor in the workshop – not your usual armor, mind you, these are full metal, with cables and tubes, a very complicated design.”

The masked warrior frowned, “You mean he’s building an armored suit for us?”

“No, an army. Mechanized army. Well, granted, I only saw them briefly when I had to deliver some paperworks, but I know what I saw.”

“That is a bit of a stretch. It can be anything –”

“And I might have overheard Sektor talking to Cyrax about needing a new mathematical model for the brain. Come on, why would they need one if they’re making armors?”

So now here Áila is, sneaking into the heavily guarded workshop, internally regretting her decisions by the second. There might not be anything of importance here, and she’s risking her life for nothing, but she knows she has to do at least something; at the very least she should see what Sub-Zero and his engineers are making.

It is eerie. The smell of molten metal lingers in the air, mixing with a hint of rust, of singed materials, and dampness. Áila tiptoes through the hallway, passing a few doors, hiding from security cameras, until she finally reaches the inner workspace, and –

By the Elder Gods….

Tall, skeletal, humanoid creatures made of metal are lining up in the workspace; one is laid on the workbench with an open chest, displaying a mess of cables and tubes and gears. What should be their faces are nothing but a jumble of unfinished circuitry. Approaching warily, Áila can see some sharp blades on another workbench, they are equipped with weapons? But before she can observe them in detail, a voice startles her.

“-- more time, Bi-Han, or would you risk injuries to the Lin Kuei?”

Without missing a beat, Áila slithers towards a stack of crates. She hears footsteps – the unmistakable pace of the Grandmaster, followed by a more hurried one – and soon she can see the owners approaching. Sub-Zero appears first; his maskless face is seemingly stuck in a scowl; Sektor is following behind him as if trying to get him to stop.

“I understand you want the Cybers to be ready soon, but this – all of this – is something beyond our calibers, but, Cyrax’s team is still figuring out the math. It is paramount –”

“-- for everyone’s safety. Have you no other reason to say?” Sub-Zero finally stops, and he looks around the workspace, until he settles on the metallic body on the bench. He heaves a long sigh, tensed shoulders slumping with the motion. “With the days we are losing, we are one step behind the Shirai Ryu, and they are already on our doorstep –”

BANG.

Áila tries not to flinch when Sub-Zero punches the metal workbench with his bare fist, creating a dent and sharp icicles that spread; Sektor takes a step backwards, jaws clenching. Sub-Zero continues, “Kuai Liang keeps sending his dogs to sniff around our borders, and you are giving me nothing but scraps! Are you that incompetent, Sektor, that you cannot make one of these move?!”

Sektor stammers, “I – I – I could, I could, but you have to know –”

“What?! Safety again?!”

“-- they’re deadly. Bi-Han, the Cyber Lin Kuei will be capable of destroying a major city in one night. I need to have the additional math for the safety precaution, it is for your own safety as well –”

Sub-Zero interjects again, but Áila has stopped listening; she uses the opportunity to slip by unannounced, tiptoing deeper into the workshop; the voices of those two men are becoming further. Her mind is racing, still trying to wrap itself around this new revelation. So this is what Sub-Zero wants, freeing the Lin Kuei from ‘tyranny’ to subject others to his tyranny?

Her guts win; she has to leave the Lin Kuei.

She stops in front of a closed door of an office with Cyrax’s name etched on the nameplate. The math, she recalls, I need evidence. Liu Kang should know about this… Cautiously, she opens the door; it swings without a sound; and she is met by the sight of an empty office. Three large monitors are on the wall, displaying numbers and documents with intricate writings.

Áila steps inside and closes the door. Immediately, she rushes for the desk, eyes flicking between monitors. The tech is next level, definitely something custom-made by Cyrax, but the interface shows similarity to what Áila knows – and by the Gods, she intends to make it work.

After so many clicks and navigating the menus, she finally finds the email function. Without bothering to change the account, she types the email address of the only person in Wu Shi Academy who is constantly glued to the phone.

Sender: cy.4d4 To: jcage Subject: SOS Johnny, it’s Áila. I don’t have much time, but if you can read this, please get to Liu Kang ASAP. The Lin Kuei is preparing some kind of a robot army dubbed the Cyber Initiative. It’s not functional yet, and I hope it never will be, but they said it would be able to level a city in a day. Details in attachments. I’m leaving tonight. If I don’t make it to the Wu Shi in a week, you know what happened.

Áila drags a few recent files to the email before sending it. She makes sure to remove it from the ‘Sent’ folder as well to remove the trace.

She should take her leave now, yet she stands still, reading the open documents on the monitor, how most of them can’t be sent through the email due to the size of the files. She tears her eyes from the screen for a moment to scan the desk for some kind of a hard drive or a flash drive, something portable to bring a copy of the documents with her. Just her luck, a red flash drive is sitting by a stack of papers.

Each second that she uses to copy the data into the flash drive raises the level of her anxiety. Only when it is completely full and packed that she pulls it out, and tucks it into her uniform, into her breastband, right under the fold of her ample breasts where she knows it would be safe and hidden. The hard part is done, now it’s time to –

The blaring of alarms sends her jumping in place.

The once quiet hallway is now echoing with the incessant ringing and the footsteps of incoming reinforcements, one of them is the familiar heavy pace of the Grandmaster. Áila bolts for a makeshift exit – a window – where she throws herself against the glass and comes out tumbling onto the snowy ground of the Lin Kuei compound. Without looking back, without acknowledging the ache and the burn from the small scrapes, she takes long strides and runs.

“THERE!”

“GET HER!”

Shoutings of orders. Crunching snow under their soles. The biting wind whistling in Áila’s ears. She manages to cross the courtyard, dodging a handful of guards. The gate is just right ahead, still opened, unguarded –

A net suddenly collides with her side and envelopes her – what is – when it suddenly shocks her is what gets her to fall. Áila can’t react much when her muscles contract and spasm involuntarily, she can only lie on the snowy courtyard, body jerking against her will. The pain begins to form, then the dread takes over when she realizes this is the end; the footsteps are coming closer; the exit is still further away; Sub-Zero’s boots come to her view, colliding with her face – Áila yelps as pain blooms on the bridge of her nose.

“Well done, Cyrax.” His praise comes out under a heavy breath.

“ Hah , I knew that would come in handy.” A tall Lin Kuei appears next to Sub-Zero, wearing a mechanized vambrace. He presses a button, and the shocking stops; Áila pants aloud, feeling light-headed when her muscles are finally relaxing. “Ah? I think I’ve seen her before. The Carrot-Hair woman from the Wu Shi Academy, right?”

Sub-Zero moves the net away – Áila jerks away from his touch – and his icy hand grabs her around the neck, bringing her face closer to him. He rips her mask with another hand, baring her broken and bloody nose to view. “ Tch , Áila Hávarôr. I should have known you’re in league with Liu Kang. Planning a little mutiny on your own, hmm?”

“N-no –” Áila grits her teeth to stop them from chattering.

Cyrax scoffs, “Still has the audacity to lie. I know you sent something from my office, did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

The grip around her neck tightens, “Is that so?”

Áila repeats, “No…”

“Liar.” Sub-Zero lifts her off the ground, rendering her clawing at his vambrace for purchase, as she feels her lungs burning from the lack of air. She tries kicking him, only to be replied by a firmer grip that darkens her vision.

“Aren’t you going to kill her?” She hears the muffled voice of Cyrax.

Sub-Zero chuckles darkly, “A swift death is not what this harlot deserves. But by the time I’m finished with her, she will be begging for it.”

***

Crimson blooms through the tear of Áila’s blue uniform. Clutching her stomach, she hisses, hunching over as she hobbles backwards; her thighs are shaking, trying to stay balanced while standing on the icy floor. Her vision is clouded by the blood that’s streaming down her crown, that no matter how many times she wipes it until her vambrace is drenched, she can’t remove it. The sight of Sub-Zero, blue and red, approaching her again at a rapid speed –

Áila lifts an arm to block whatever attack is coming. Her defense is futile, and her torso is met by the sole of his boot, kicking her backwards until she finally falls again.

Sub-Zero coos in a cynical tone, “Is that all you’re capable of? Pathetic. You dare wearing our uniform and displaying such weakness.”

Áila rolls over, pushing herself off the floor. She can hear him approaching again, and before she knows it, pain shoots up her side from where he suddenly kicks her. He grabs her hair, pulling her off the floor – hurts… she cries out, angry tears blurring out her sight, as he forces her to look at him.

“Not killing Kuai Liang and Tomas when I had the chance was a mistake, one that I don’t intend to repeat. Another traitor shall not be unpunished! Look at me!” He growls, voice ringing aloud in her ears. A snarl replaces his scowl. “A weakling like you is only good for two things: a bed warmer or a training dummy. So tell me, which one is it?”

The coldness in Sub-Zero’s eyes makes Áila wonder if he is truly the man she used to respect. It disgusts her to think she once admired his discipline and leadership. Her stomach turns at the thought that the Lin Kuei see this inhuman cryomancer and still choose to serve him. Is this what Scorpion and Smoke saw? Is this why they left him?

Shaking with rage and fear, Áila chooses not to answer him.

Her silence is taken as disobedience, and though it gives her a sense of victory – seeing his control snaps and he growls in frustration – the moment is short-lived. He lets her go with a hard shove, and in return, he grabs the wrist of her right hand, and twists it to her back.

“AHH!” Áila screams, feeling the stretch of her muscle mixing with the burn of the cuts she earned from his ice dagger. She can feel the tension of her bones warning her of their unnatural position. She tries to move to alleviate the pain, but Sub-Zero keeps her in place.

“Filthy harlot, your Grandmaster asked you a question.” His voice joins her cries, and soon, his ice dagger joins the conversation as well; Áila yawps, hoarse and painfully, as the sharp edge is dragged slowly against her skin, following the length of her arm. Her free hand grips her uniform tightly, trying to channel the pain. Her legs are kicking, thighs spasming.

The blade presses deeper, “No – no, please –”

“Oh? Now you have manners?” Sub-Zero drags the blade higher. The cold burns and numbing, but when it melts, the pain doubles. “Tell me what you want.”

Áila hisses, shaking her head, “S-stop… Sto – Ngh !” Sub-Zero presses his thumb into a fresh cut.

“Mind your place, you lying harlot.”

“Grandmast – Grandmaster, please stop!”

A deep, devilish laugh echoes in the room. “Say you're sorry, and I might consider stopping.”

“I’m sor – I’m sorry!” This time it is not the blade that hurts her the most, it’s the tight grip around her wrist, threatening to twist it. Her whole body shakes with disgust as she cries, “Forgi – forgive me! Please! I won’t – please! AAAH!”

A crack, followed by the numbing pain shooting up her now-broken wrist up to her heavily wounded arm, and Áila knows her fate has been sealed. Sub-Zero finally releases her, and though she can’t see him, she can hear his victorious chortle as he watches her lying on the floor, too scared to move. He turns her around with a kick; now she can see him towering over her, with wisp of cold dancing behind him, freezing the air.

“ That is one. I shall break every single bone in your body, a day at a time, until you can do nothing but wriggle like the worm you are. Only then shall I reunite you with your family,” he crouches down. Áila jolts away when his fingertips meet her neck. He clicks his tongue, “Better fix your expression for the joyous occasion, for your father shall receive your head in a pretty box.”

***

Áila leans against the bar of her prison. Her hoarse breathing is loud in the otherwise empty dungeon. She cradles her hand to her chest, how swollen her broken wrist has become in mere hours. Her strength is dwindling down, and it terrifies her, for she knows when she is awake, she would have to face the same treatment again. There will be no winning against Sub-Zero, especially not in her injured state.

His voice… The threat lingers in her mind that she wants to cry aloud, for she knows he will go through with it. She can’t imagine it, her father opening a box and seeing her severed head. Her heart breaks for the potential future; if the Cyber Initiative has been completed, no one will be safe from the Lin Kuei; she fears even the Earthrealm Champions would have no chance to win against an army of destruction.

Something is poking her chest. At first, she thinks it must be one of her ribs, probably a broken one that she wasn’t aware of. But it’s small, and rectangular – the flash drive.

There is a chance.

Despite feeling ready to keel over, she forces herself to stand up; there is no way she would die in the enemy territory, dressed in the uniform that doesn’t bring her pride; her blood is not Lin Kuei, never has been, never will be. The power of the sun runs in her, the blessings of her ancestors, the Sol Eldur clan; it sings in her heart, guiding her to do what is right. Now, she needs to stay strong a little while longer.

Áila raises her hand over the lock of her cell. The cold metal won’t budge yet . She closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath, so deep that her whole body trembles when her chest expands; the cuts on her torso sting from the action. Her father’s guidance comes to mind.

“Breathe in… And out… Good, do you feel that? There is a heat in your belly, and it expands to your chest. Let it spread, my dear, it’s fine, I promise. The next part is going to be tricky, are you ready? …Very good. Do you remember when we went fishing and you caught your first trophy? Lots of reeling, it was exhausting, right? You wanted to give me the rod because your arms felt like they were about to fall off, but I told you to keep going, because I know you got it. And you did!

Remember how happy you were? Yeah, you do? This is going to be like one of those moments. When you need strength, I want you to remember the good times we had. I want you to remember the things you’ve accomplished by being who you are… That’s it. Oh you feel the energy now? That’s it, my dear, let it take over, it’s going to be alright.”

There is a loud pulse accompanying the beat of her heart. It ebbs and flows like the waves her ancestors used to conquer. It’s warm and light like sitting by a campfire after a long windy day. It overwhelms her senses. At first, she can only see the dark, but it gradually becomes brighter, a glow, like the first ray of sun breaking the night. The more she breathes, the brighter her world has become. The pulse is snapping, ready to burst, ready to lash out like the solar storm against the cold, dark space.

And she lets it.

She cares not what she hears or feels – the cracks of metal, the crumbling of stone, the intense heat against her skin – she feels safe. Her heart tells her to open her eyes, and she does, seeing the bars of her cell bending outwards and the stone floor and walls are partially destroyed, still burning red. Her heart tells her to run, and she bolts, not caring for her injuries or the dungeon she is leaving. Her heart tells her to go one way, and she follows, the cold wind fails to caress her skin.

Her heart tells her not to look back, and she does not, until the ground is replaced by snow, until there is no more light, until the shadows of the trees are merging with the dark night, until it’s only her and moonlight, until the adrenaline has stopped pumping throughout her bloodstream that she begins to feel everything.

Áila inhales the cold air of freedom. The snow reaches up to her knees, seeping into her boots, making her bones ache. She persists, one step at a time, not caring if she is going the wrong way as long as she is going further away from the Lin Kuei compound. If what Sub-Zero said is true, then the Shirai Ryu might still be lingering around the borders of Arctika. She just has to find them.

She doesn’t know if her body is cold because of the snow, or because of the loss of blood and adrenaline; if she is still moving or she is kneeling on the ground; if the darkness is because of the night or because she has closed her eyes. She doesn’t know if she’s hearing the howling of the wind or the wolves or the dogs. She doesn’t know if she is still alive or stuck in a dream; if she opens her eyes, will she still find darkness or the face of Sub-Zero? But she does know the feel of the flash drive pressing against her chest, and it gives her a little bit of hope that whether she is alive or dead by the time the Shirai Ryu find her, the truth will still outlive her.

It’s going to be alright… It’s going to be…

***

The smell of agarwood incense permeating in the air rouses Áila awake. At first, it is faint, and she believes she is dreaming. Then she begins to feel the warmth, how stable it is as if she has been tucked under a blanket and the fireplace is roaring. Her eyelids are fluttering, blurry vision seeing a tall, dark red ceiling, with yellow lanterns hanging. She blinks repeatedly, where am I…?

She hears a movement to her left, and she turns to the source. Someone is moving behind a dark red partition; the sound of mortar and pestle, the clinking of glass, the pour of water, makes her realize that they are brewing something. The smell of a familiar tea assaults her senses, she knows that smell, can already taste it in her mouth – that is Madam Bo’s special brew .

Áila sits up gingerly. There is indeed a blanket covering her body – her bandaged body; someone has taken their time to clean her up and cover each and every cut she has. Her broken wrist is wrapped by a thick bandage and placed in a sling that’s hanging from the ceiling. She looks around the room; there is no mistaking it, this is the Wu Shi Academy. The smell is the same as she remembers. The interiors are what she is familiar with, all of the dark red and gold ornaments, wooden instead of stone. It seems her action had not been in vain; perhaps the Shirai Ryu had found her and taken her here – at least that’s what she hopes had happened, because she can’t feel the flash drive poking her chest anymore, and she hopes it didn’t fall out and be left in Arctika.

The person behind the partition has finished brewing the tea. Áila wants to call for them, wondering if it’s Madam Bo herself, but she chooses to wait. She watches eagerly as the person walks out carrying a tray of teacups and a teapot –

But her eagerness dwindles down upon seeing the light blue uniform. Her heart sinks into the pit of her stomach when she sees his face framed by the same shade of dark brown hair and the loose strands. His eyes meet hers, a genuine surprise, and his mouth moves to speak; the same deep, raspy voice comes out, and all that she can hear is the threat.

“I shall break every single bone in your body, a day at a time, until you can do nothing but wriggle like the worm you are.”

Áila shakes uncontrollably, no, this is not real… This is cruel, a mind game, exposing her to a sense of security only to show how wrong she is. She has to get out – she jumps out of the bed, and her legs immediately give away, causing her to fall right onto the wooden floor. Panic poisons her blood as she hears him making a move, placing the tray on the table, and his heavy footsteps come approaching. She pulls herself to move as well, but his boots are already in her peripheral vision, and she tenses, scrambling, clawing away like a defeated animal. The pain in her wrist jogs her memory, reminding her of the unbearable stretch, and her fear grows tenfold at the possibility of it happening again.

“Please no –” she curls on the floor, head bowing down, forehead kissing the wood, “-- Grandmaster, plea – please – I’m sor – sorry. I’m sorry… I’m –” She hiccups, already feeling too hard to breathe. But she persists, not wanting to take any chances of being seen as disobedient again by Sub-Zero. Her cries come out in desperate huffs of breath. “I beg – I beg of you… Grand – Grandmaster… I’m sorr –” she flinches when he takes a step forward, and already she can tell he is going to grab her by the head again, “ Mercy! Mercy! Please! Mercy!”

The door swings open – he’s bringing the guards – and a large hand makes contact with the back of her head, but the familiar voice is what gets her to look up, “Áila!”

Áila’s eyes are widening upon seeing the face of Liu Kang. This… This can’t – why is he here with Sub-Zero? She suspects foul play, but Liu Kang pulls her up from the floor with such gentleness and warmth, and there is remorse in his eyes, and she knows he is truly the Fire God, and she is safe. She clutches his shirt, her cries come out without restraint; tears can’t stop streaming down her face when he helps her get onto the bed again.

More familiar faces come into the room; Raiden, Johnny, Kung Lao, and Kenshi, the Earthrealm Champions. Following behind them are none other but the yellow and gray-clad warriors. “S-Scorpion? Smoke?” Áila rasps.

“Those are not our titles anymore. You can call us by name.” Kuai Liang scans her from top to toe. His expression hardens, sadness is evident in his eyes. “Did… Did my brother do this to you?”

Áila glances towards the light-blue-clad Sub-Zero in the room; he stands in place as if petrified, as if he is not the Sub-Zero they are talking about right now.

Thankfully, Liu Kang intercepts, “I think it is best for me to explain to you what happened. Everyone, please leave the room for now, give her some space.” One by one, the familiar faces are taking their leave, but not before giving Áila a sympathetic gaze. Sub-Zero, however, remains standing in place, until Liu Kang calls him. “Bi-Han, please, give us a moment.”

“Of course.” Sub-Zero replies without hesitation, even bowing down a bit before he begins to walk away. Áila follows his movement, still wary. He stops at the threshold, and with an expression full of remorse, his eyes meet hers, devoid of cold. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

And he closes the door.

***

“Don’t take it to heart, Bi-Han, it’s not your fault.”

Bi-Han glances at Kuai Liang – not his Kuai Liang, but he shares the same features that remind him of his brother, even the scar. This timeline still gives him whiplash where he is least expecting it. “Generally speaking, it is still my fault.”

“Bi-Han – our Bi-Han – did it, not you. It’s a pity, his obsession has driven him mad; I can’t believe he would stoop this low. Wounding me is one thing, it was a warning, but I should have realized it was only a matter of time before he lashed out on someone else.”

“At least Áila survives.” Tomas tries to sound positive.

“Barely. The scouts found her half-frozen in the tundra. If they were too late, the Sol Eldur would be building her funeral pyre.” Kuai Liang sighs heavily.

Bi-Han frowns, “The Sol Eldur, is that her family?”

“Her clan, yes. The last time I spoke to them, they were fortifying their village in case the Lin Kuei would ambush them first; I’m not sure if her father can come here when his presence is still needed there.” Kuai Liang sighs again. “But thanks to her, we now know what Bi-Han is planning. Forgive us; the Lin Kuei in this timeline must have stained the name of your Lin Kuei.”

They don’t exchange another word, as Kuai Liang walks away followed by Tomas, seemingly to lament their brother privately. Bi-Han remains standing, watching the life of the garden of the Wu Shi Academy, with a thousand conflicting thoughts running in his mind. He knows it was not him who wounded Áila to such an extent that she fears the sight of him, but the shame and the guilt still weigh on his heart; it is his name, his title, his face – it is him, but not truly him .

He recalls the night when Johnny barged into the meeting with phone in hand, “Guys! You’re gonna want to see this!” he had said, and he read the email sent by Áila. Kuai Liang took charge of the Shirai Ryu scouts to scour the tundra and the mountains. Even the blind swordsman, Kenshi, insisted on going, believing his ancestors could help as well.

At that time, Bi-Han thought what a remarkable person Áila must be, to be within the walls of the Lin Kuei, and still tried to reach out. Her action earned his respect, that at the moment, he innerly prayed to the Elder Gods to see her safety so he can meet this warrior for once.

But he was not expecting to see her being brought in on a stretcher.

She was blue and red, frozen and bloodied, that everyone believed she had been dead. The extensive injuries she sustained were a clear tell that she had been tortured, or beaten up within an inch of her life. Liu Kang had used his power to thaw her just enough to get her blood to run again, and then the monks took her to be cleaned up and patched.

And though no one is pointing fingers at him, Bi-Han knows this is his counterpart’s doing.

The door to Áila’s room is opened – Bi-Han turns to it – and Liu Kang walks out alone. He offers a small apologetic smile as he approaches Bi-Han. “Are you alright?”

Bi-Han returns the question, “Is she alright?”

“She will be. I have explained the situation, though she might need time to process everything. Please do not think you are in the wrong here. Neither of us anticipated this behavior from Sub-Zero.”

“I should have.”

“No, you shouldn’t.” Liu Kang hums. “This Sub-Zero is not you, Bi-Han, you can’t expect to understand what he will do next. Our timelines may share similar people with similar lives, but that is where the similarity ends.”

Bi-Han feels his jaws tensing. There is a pull in his heart, tugging at his heartstring, when he remembers Áila’s reaction to seeing him; her expression of pure anguish is still fresh in his mind. “She begged for mercy… Three times, she did, I…” He huffs a cold puff of air, feeling rage forming in his chest at the image of Áila begging Sub-Zero to stop but he carried on nonetheless. What kind of a monster has he become? Bi-Han shakes his head. “Can I… Can I see her?”

Liu Kang shrugs. “Usually I’d tell you to give her time, but this depends on you. Are you strong enough to face her again?” He doesn’t wait for an answer when he adds, “I hope the two of you can find peace in this time of conflict.”

***

The pot of tea on the table is untouched, despite the smell beckoning Áila for a taste. She wants to, she truly does, but the fact remains that the tea was prepared by Sub-Zero – and though Liu Kang has explained extensively of what happened, of how this ‘Bi-Han’ is not the Sub-Zero who nearly maimed her wrist, she is wary nonetheless. She sits still on the bed, trying to quell her thoughts and senses, telling herself that she is safe now, that she is alright, that Sub-Zero will not go through with his threat of sending her head in a box. Her rapid heartbeat is slowing down. Her welling tears have dried.

Then the door slides open, and Áila sees him again.

Their eyes lock at each other for a moment. Her gaze is of fear, but his is of remorse, a palpable guilt. He stands unmoving by the door, which she is thankful for, because her body has begun shaking on its own.

“Bi-Han.” He breaks the silence, voice purposefully made a bit higher than the usual deep raspy tone. “Please call me ‘Bi-Han’. You do not need to call me by any titles. I am neither of those in your timeline.” He pauses, thin lips tensing and relaxing as if he is tasting the words he would utter. “Would you like some tea?”

Áila glances between him and the teapot. The idea of the Grandmaster serving her tea is wild – no, this is not the Grandmaster, this is Bi-Han . She shakes her head, “Are you really not Sub-Zero?”

“I am Sub-Zero, but ,” he hastily adds when she flinches, “I am not of your timeline. In my timeline, I am also Sub-Zero, and the Grandmaster. But I can assure you, I am not like him .”

She can see how genuine he is, how he seems borderline desperate to distance himself from the Sub-Zero she knows. But her body and mind are acting on their own, as tears begin to well up in her eyes again, and they roll down her cheeks when she blinks. “I’m sorry – I know you’re not him , but you look alike, and I – I don’t know…”

“I could change my attire if it makes you more comfortable.”

“No, you’re – you’re already dressed differently.”

“Oh? Is Sub-Zero not wearing blue in your timeline?”

“Not in the same shade as yours.” Áila forces herself to relax. She cradles her wrist tightly, hugging herself to feel more at ease. “Liu Kang said you crossed the timeline to lend him your aid.”

“Liu Kang spoke too highly of me; I’m merely doing my part to help. Sub-Zero needs to be stopped before he destroys Earthrealm – given the information you brought, he is already planning to do it.” Bi-Han takes one step forward, a tentative action, and he looks at Áila as if asking for her permission. She nods, and he approaches quietly; the footsteps are softer, quieter, calculated for her. “I’m here to thank you, Áila. If it’s not for you, we would still be in the dark of what the Lin Kuei are planning. This gives us time to be better prepared.”

“I’m only doing what I’m supposed to do in the first place.” Áila lowers her gaze to the wooden floor – calm down, calm down, calm down. He’s not Sub-Zero. He’s not going to hurt you. It’s going to be alright – “Perhaps I should have done it earlier before they assembled the Cybers, but I –” she closes her eyes when she can see his boots entering her view, “-- I was in denial. I didn’t know which side I should support. Too weak. Too late. I should have known Sub-Zero was wrong when he drove his brothers away. When he –”

The memory flashes behind her eyelids. How Sub-Zero had dragged her to the dungeon by the neck. How he had goaded her to fight him. How, with every cut he made and the punch he landed, Áila slowly lost her hope to survive. At one point, she lost consciousness, and was woken up by the cold tip of the ice blade pressing against her cheek. The flooding memory is too much, breath turning ragged as if she is back in the dungeon trying to breathe the air that Sub-Zero had knocked out of her lungs.

Áila feels a warm hand pressing against her thigh. She opens her eyes, but the tears have blurred her vision. She can see a blurry light blue crouching beside her; she blinks until she sees Bi-Han in close proximity. Yet for once, from this close, she can truly see he is not the Grandmaster. There is grief in his eyes, and pain, as if he shares her burden. There is regret and guilt, and she swears those brown eyes are a bit glossy as well.

“You are not weak.” Bi-Han’s voice comes out as a calming whisper. His fingertips meet her wet cheek, interrupting the stream. “Your bravery will be remembered across all Realms.” Áila sees his lower lips slightly tremble. “There’s no need for you to fear me, I’m not the Sub-Zero you knew. You are safe, and I will try in all my power to keep you that way, and I will never, ever, hurt you.”

“Truly?” Áila rasps, barely audibly.

Bi-Han responds, "I give you my words.”

She doesn’t know who breaks first – is it him who pulls her close or is it her who falls to his lap? – but their bodies collide and he cradles her, surrounds her in his strong arms. She is holding onto his light blue gi, grounding herself to his promise. He is holding the back of her head, and yet for once, she does not tense, does not flinch.

There is no sound in the room but their shared, quiet cries.

#bi han #bi han x oc #bi han imagine #sub zero x oc #sub zero imagine #sub zero #mk1 #mortal kombat 1 #fanfic #redarader

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