#he can’t even comprehend words that’s how done he is | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

roseykat · 7 months

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TITLE: Venom Biter

PAIRING: Minho x reader

SUMMARY: The end of a relationship between you and Minho turns as sour as it could ever get. A lovers to enemies trope.

WARNING: minors DNI with this post or my blog. I create NSFW SKZ related content and I know I won't be able to regulate every single interaction with those posts so please do not engage with my work or page whatsoever.

TAGS: breakups, hate sex, post-breakup sex, unprotected sex, swearing, angst, manhandling, push and shove, spitting, choking, oral sex (f!reader receiving), angst, strong hints of degradation, use of degrading names such as 'slut' and 'whore'.

A/N: this was originally meant to be for one of the days I had planned for Kinktober but I was up to my neck in work and I didn't want to post something sort of half-assed so I had to hone down on most of the work for this piece.

MASTERLIST

“Broke up?” Chan’s eyes refuse to blink. “You two broke up!?”

His confused filled stare shoots for the direction of his best friend, Minho, who quietly sits opposite him across the table. He looks slightly withdrawn or…off colour. It can’t have been the gruelling two hour lecture they finished before heading out to lunch. If it were that, Minho would be complaining his head off saying how boring it was or cursing himself for not changing his minor earlier.

He’s just not his usual self. In other social settings, he could talk until the cows came home. But the entire hour that they’ve spent together at lunch, Chan has been doing all the conversing and only receiving vague one-word answers. It wasn’t until he asked what was up with Minho that his friend dished out the news that he and his girlfriend - you, had split up.

“Why?” Chan proceeds, still swimming in shock.

A sigh leaves Minho’s mouth. He truly doesn’t feel like revisiting this subject. When he even thinks about the answer, all he can recall is the firey shouting match you both had the day things crumbled.

“It’s messy,” he replies with a cloudy and ambiguous answer.

“If you talk about it, then it might help you make sense of it all.”

He groans this time, “I really, really don’t want to do that. What’s done is done.”

“Done?” Chan questions, still not letting up on an interrogation. “You were in a relationship with Y/N, for years. You guys talked about a whole future together. That’s not something you just sweep under the rug and forget about.”

If there’s one thing he almost did forget about, it’s that you were friends with him - not just Chan, but the seven others as well. After all, it was Minho who introduced you to those select people whom he calls his brothers. They would’ve found out eventually if Minho refrained from telling them who you were dating all those years ago.

Though naturally, you became very close with them.

“We’ve both chosen to do that so there’s nothing really much left to dispute.”

Chan’s eyebrows furrow, realising he left out a crucial question to the situation, “why did you guys break up in the first place?”

Minho feels like he’s going to run out of sighs, “she doesn’t love me anymore and I don’t love her anymore. That’s literally all there is to it.”

“You’re telling me you both fell out of love - at the same time,” Chan responds, still having a difficult time trying to comprehend his friend's situation.

“Pretty much,” Minho confirms with a nod.

Chan finds that extremely hard to believe from his friend - the very person who would enter a different realm whenever he was in a five centimetre radius of you. His eyes would glaze over as if he were possessed; always fixated on you, he’d smile more than he usually would, and was comfortable in the space around you.

There had to be another reason, surely.

But it had almost been three weeks since Chan dissected the news out of Minho, and it was almost like pulling teeth trying to dive for the details. Each attempt was as fruitless as the next and in the end, Chan just plucked the same answers.

Regardless, it seemed to play out better than expected. Minho saved himself from having to dish out explanations as to why you wouldn’t be around anymore. As a result, telling Chan was the best option and since the others didn’t know, Minho was okay with him telling them so that he didn’t have to.

In saying that, Minho left out very central details of what happened leading up to the breakup. He never mentioned the constant fighting, the lying, the false accusations, the shouting matches, up until the point where you were both swimming in the toxicity the pair of you created.

He also absconded from the fact to Chan that not only did you both separate, but you’ve also both come to view the other differently and not through a good lens. Minho shouted it in your face the other day to which you did the same; “I hate you.” And that was that.

But his friends probably didn’t need to know all of that.

Since that day, you’ve been in the process of trying to find an apartment for yourself which isn’t easy. You want to remain in town and not too far out so that you don’t have a long commute to work, and at the same time, you don't want to break the bank trying to find a nice place to rent in the city. All in all, it was tough, but you were ready to just leave.

Having packed up the majority of your stuff in boxes, all you had to do was wait for landlords to contact you back about possible vacant apartments. Thankfully Minho was lenient in allowing you to stay until you found a place.

You slept in the spare room, mainly keeping to yourself and the boxes of things surrounding the space. Occasionally you would have to lock yourself in there and throw on some noise-cancelling headphones whenever Minho brought around another woman to sleep with.

It was his house, you knew that and now that you have no ties to him and he’s letting you stay, it was never your place to question his actions.

Still, that could never lessen the hurt. It was painful which is why you hated him so much. You don’t know how a person could move on so quickly after so many years of being told how much you’re loved. It was like he never meant it. With that being said, when you eventually managed to find a decent place, you were free from Minho.

All of your items were ready to be moved out, taking a couple of days to actually get them to your new place. In the tiring process, you also had to factor in your work schedule which meant it would take longer to continue moving your stuff. Nonetheless, you had the majority of your boxes out of Minho's house with only a few remaining that you needed to swing by and pick up.

"Something wrong?" he wears a blank look on his face when you arrive on the doorstep to his house.

"Some of my stuff is still here, can I come in to grab it please?" You ask politely. He gives a silent answer in return by opening his door wider for you to walk in before he goes back to whatever it was he was doing.

You make your way into the spare room where the last of your things remain, but there is one odd detail you notice as you approach the items. What was supposed to be taped down lids to the boxes had in fact been opened; not in the state you had originally left it in.

"Minho," you call out, hoping he heard you.

Sure enough, he did. Minho walks into the spare room with a puzzled expression, wondering why he's been summoned, "what?"

“Why are these open?” You ask, lifting one box off of the other to check if the rest were open as well. “Half of my stuff isn’t in here.”

“You were coming back for those?” he replies with a question.

“What the hell else would I be coming back here for?”

“That's what I thought when you got here,” he says. “I thought it was for other things that you left behind, not ones in these boxes."

Your eyes never leave his face, tracking any sudden shifts in his muscles to try to figure out if he’s actually telling the truth or not. Even though you and Minho aren’t together, you're sure he wouldn't do anything malicious out of spite.

“So why is half my stuff missing?”

Minho pinches the bridge of his nose, “I thought you didn’t need any of it and that you left it here on purpose for me to deal with or throw out.”

“So what…” you trail off, expecting his answer. Minho hesitates for a few moments, sitting on the fence about whether he should actually tell you or not. But the least he can do right now is be honest.

“I told the…girl I bought around the other day that if she wanted anything-“

“No you fucking didn’t.”

“-she could have whatever was left in the boxes,” Minho finishes the rest of his sentence which would’ve been better for you not to hear.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What the fuck is wrong with me? What the fuck is wrong with you for leaving them behind in the first place!” Minho argues back, trying to defend himself here even though he knows he’s in the wrong. “You were gone for a few days Y/N, I thought you just left!”

“I never left them behind! I told you how long it was going to take my things to move!” You shout at him, tears brimming your eyes. “Now my stuff…”

The hurt genuinely sets in. Minho feels a sharp stab of pain in his chest when he sees how visibly upset you are. He knows that he’s been nothing short of a dickhead within the past month and now he’s gone and made things worse. It’s no point in him now to say that it was an honest mistake.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know, truly.”

You shove him backwards into the dresser, knocking down some of the empty photo frames that were once homes for pictures of you and Minho, “you’re not sorry. You’re the fucking worst.”

Taken aback by your actions, Minho turns behind him to see the frames flat on the surface then looks back at you, “seriously Y/N, I would not have done that out of spite.”

“But it’s the fact that you still did it!” You raise your voice at him and shove him back again. “You didn’t bother calling or texting me about it when you should’ve!”

Minho predicts your next move and catches your arms to stop you from pushing him back impossibly further into the dresser. He shoves you back, the back of your knees hitting the edge of the bed which causes you to land on it behind you.

Before the surprise kicks in, Minho is kneeling on top of you, nearly straddling your lower half as he starts pinning your arms to the side of your head. Yet with a split second of momentum to break free, you struggle but manage to flip the tables and pin Minho on his back.

You mount his hips before your mouth comes down to kiss Minho so aggressively that it takes him a moment to react. With any other woman that he’s slept with so far, he would allow them to be on top. But because it’s you, and supposedly hates your guts, not to mention his untapped pride, it’s not going to happen. So Minho fights back, kissing and biting nearly every part of your upper body in the process until you’re under him.

He sucks large, deep, red hickies into the skin of your neck, in places where everyone would be able to see them. Minho would want people to know that you’re just a whore he uses. Especially for the next guy you sleep with who would go down on you and see the myriad of hickies that Minho would eventually put between your thighs when he rips your pants down.

“Wanna play this fucking game with me,” he rasps before yanking down your off.

Despite being a dickhead Minho will still eat you out for prep. But it’s not soft and teasing when he does go down on you. It’s tongue and finger fucking you until you’re dizzy from how hard you’re about to cum. It gives you the opportunity to pull and tug on his hair until his scalp starts burning, forcing you to be as vocal as you’ve ever been.

His fingers curl up into that sensitive spot while his tongue and mouth work simultaneously. He’s always been good at giving head, but unusually better now that he’s relatively angry. In the back of your mind, you supposed it helped having not slept with anyone for a month, making it easier to reach that peak of delicious, eye-rolling ecstasy.

“Fuck!” you scream out, voice projecting throughout the room as Minho sucks on your clit. “Fuck you…you’re gonna make me cum.”

Those words are something Minho could never get tired of hearing you say. Even in the headspace that he’s in now, he wants nothing more than to hear how good he’s making your body feel. However, he doesn’t need verbal confirmation from you to know that you’re about to cum. When your walls seize and clamp around his fingers, when you’re trembling around his head, Minho knows what that means.

The quick drag of his fingers is only light work for him, pumping at a pace that has you panting to try and keep up with it. As a result, it’s not long before Minho brings you to your sweet release; a toe-curling burst of euphoria that has you silently creaming around his fingers.

He has no patience for you to descend from your orgasm, sucking his fingers clean as he pulls away from your pussy. He gets to unbuckling his belt faster than he can even comprehend that this is still happening.

“H-Hurry,” you whine, trying to quell the hunger for Minho’s cock while you wait.

His eyes squeeze shut, hissing as he coats his length with your slick, “shut the fuck up.”

Despite being in a haze post-orgasm, you manage to sit up quickly to turn and push Minho down by his shoulders. You find yourself straddling his hips once more, reaching down and behind for his cock, aligning it with your hole. Minho allows you to work for it yourself, watching his cock vanish by the second as you sink down.

“Mmm…f-fuck,,” you whine, unable to come to grips with how much you miss him filling you out.

Taking a couple of slow strokes up and down allows you to realise that never in your wildest dreams could you ever imagine hate sex with Minho would be this…rough. Both of you pushing, shoving, and manhandling each other around, speaking to each other with such disregard for the other person's feelings – beyond the point of degradation.

“Come on,” Minho grunts, fingernails embedding themselves into your hips so that the indents remaining become as equally as vibrant as the hickies blooming on your neck.

You look down at him with disgust before your hand lowers to his throat, choking him out by the sides of his neck. That familiar feeling of restriction to Minho forces him to repress his sick enjoyment of it, even more so when you start really riding him.

“Fuck you,” you strain out, trying to assert some degree of control even though you’re battling with oversensitivity from your previous orgasm.

You slam your hips down repeatedly, building up a good pace and rhythm that’s enough for small moans to force their way out of your mouth. With a cock like Minho’s, it’s impossible to keep quiet no matter how much you try. However, as you work for your own orgasm, you don’t want to give him any satisfaction by making him think that he’s the one doing it; yet in reality, he is.

Nonetheless, you continue to use him just as much as he’s using you until the luxury of pleasure accelerates in the pit of your stomach. In saying that, it doesn’t take long for Minho to find that information out as you continue to ride him. The observation is clear-cut;

“Nobody’s fucked you since me haven’t they?” He asks you breathlessly, watching you roll your hips deliciously over his cock. “Know how I can tell? Because you keep fucking clenching around my dick.”

Your eyebrows furrow, struggling to find an answer for him because he is right and that’s not your fault, “s-so what? Want me to stop?”

“Didn’t say that, did I?” He argues back, too proud to say ‘no’. “Just…just keep moving.”

A firm hand of yours catches his taut jaw, and while his mouth is open, you lean down and spit right in it.

You curse right at him, “fuck you.”

His eyes lock with yours and for a moment, Minho is shocked, but not in a bad way. In that moment you despised him so much that he made you do something a normal person would find disgusting. Although it’s not long before a sick smirk spreads across his face, failing to pretend as if he didn’t just enjoy that, swallowing it back.

“Course you’d be into that you fucking whore,” he rasps, his body jolting every time your hips slam down.

“I’m not the whore who’s taking it,” you snipe back at him.

Your comment riles Minho, resulting in him nearly bucking you off his body before flipping you onto your stomach. He yanks both of your hands behind your back as something for him to latch onto when he pushes his cock back into you, and starts fucking hard and fast.

“Yes, yes, yes, fuck…” you whimper, eyes fluttering shut.

The new angle makes his dick slip in just that extra bit deeper, achieving a sensation which you miss all too much. With the amount of relentlessness that Minho puts behind his thrusts is nothing but a fast, brutal, and unforgiving type of fucking. He’s not holding back with you, no matter how much you hate him and he hates you, he will fuck you to tears.

“Such a fucking slut,” he drives forward nastily. “Needy, loud, slut.”

Your choked moans and whimpers are typical responses to hearing him call you that name again. In bed, if you weren’t his lover, you were his slut. Minho wouldn’t care less if the bed broke beneath him trying to fuck you like the whore you always wanted him to treat you as. But it was phenomenal.

Now, that’s only a distant memory clawing to come back.

“Make me cum…make me fucking cum,” you demand, acknowledging how close you are to the cliff of ecstasy.

Minho's breathing picks up from hearing the pure desperation in your voice, and so does his pace. His only release is not but a minute away, respecting that and also his motive to continue rearranging your guts.

Yet the possibility of keeping up any longer draws to a short term. Minho’s hold on your wrists behind your back becomes a solid death grip with no chance of escape until the wet heat from your pussy has his hips jumping out of rhythm.

His head tilts to the sky, the pleasure screaming at him from the base of his cock, “y-yes, fuck I'm cumming.”

At that very instant, Minho’s release rocks him over. His hands let go of yours in lieu of grabbing onto your ass instead. The pain and sting of his fingernails scraping deep into your flash forces strained whimpers and mewls from your throat, helping to push you over the verge of your second orgasm.

“Y-Yes, cumming, oh fuck-” you cry out with a shaky voice, stiffening while your hole seizes rhythmically around Minho’s length.

The pleasure is throat-gripping, making you forget the words to express how good you feel. Except, in the vapour of your orgasmic haze, you still don't want to accept the fact that it's Minho who makes you feel that way.

He pauses for a moment then thrusts hard back into you, making you keep the warm load that you were so undeservingly given, regardless if your walls are spasming and contracting it out. Then just as he was fast to try to get inside you, he's just as fast when he pulls out and flops beside you.

The air in the room becomes breathable again now that your heart rate isn't racing to the heavens, but picks back up quickly when you decide to hop off the bed and get dressed. You couldn't care less if you were sore and unbalanced. The thought of staying in the room with Minho any longer was suffocating.

“About your stuff,” he starts, filling the silent void with an exasperated voice. “I’ll try to get it back.”

You zip your jeans up, “don’t bother. I know you did give it away for whatever reason, but for what reason is something I’m betting you’ll take to the grave with you.”

Minho is up and now following suit by putting his clothes on. If now is the time to get one thing off of his chest, it’s now. Since the day you both separated, there has been no proper conversation. Both of you are too stubborn to admit wrongs and fix rights, but in your eyes, it's too far gone. There’s no going back to a good thing that was once more.

"I won't if we can just talk it out," he offers the opportunity to you.

“Minho, the nights that I had to listen to you fuck someone else in the next room right after we just broke up was a clear sign that we did not need to talk it out. All it made me do is realise that you didn't actually love me."

“That’s not true,” he shakes his head as you hear a twinge of desperation in his voice like he's pleading his case. "That's not true at all."

"It is though," you correct him. "You were free to sleep with whoever you wanted to because we had broken up at that point, but not a day after that did you wait."

Minho follows through with his explanation, “I was trying to get you out of my head. Spending too long just thinking about you makes me want to lose it. It didn't mean that I never loved you before."

“So you’re just going to continue being delusional? To fuck your way through trying to forget me?” You question, nearly laughing. "I honestly think you're just being pathetic."

He shrugs, “if it means that I don’t have to feel heartbreak, then yes.”

Part of you gets it. Minho’s found a vice and is using it as a tool to deal with his pain. But you’re in pain too, and you haven’t done anything to upset him ever since you split. Maybe it is as bad for him as he says it is. Maybe he doesn’t truly know how to navigate himself out of this like you’re attempting to.

It’s almost a rebuttal to your statement about whether he truly loved you or not; if he’s using other people to drive the thought of you out of his brain because it’s too painful to deal with, then maybe you were more than just a lover to him.

"I mean this in the nicest way possible, but I cannot stand being around you anymore because of how much it hurts to know that you're not actually with me. I'd rather try to forget your existence in order to not feel that type of heartbreak," Minho explains, his words coming from a place inside him that must've just opened up.

But he continues, "the second we split, I needed every last memory of you out of this house. But I know that this hurts you too and that this past month I’ve hurt you and that’s no justification to say that my reason is because you mean more than my entire life.”

There’s an ache in your chest that you’ve never felt before, a blend of all the emotional pain that could’ve been prevented had the two of you just talked. But that ache is fuelled by the fact that you can hear the waiver in Minho’s voice, and even though his back is still turned to you while he sits on the edge of the bed, you’re sure he’s crying.

A/N: Dare I say that I want to make a part 2 to this where Minho and reader try to rekindle, things are pretty tender but they sort of want to make it work...

#rosiewritesskz #stray kids smut #skz smut #lee know smut #lee know x reader

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hs-is-loml · 1 year

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The Way I Love You. (x.t)

Pairing: Xavier Thorpe x Best Friend!Reader

Summary: xavier and you are weird pair of "best friends" always reaching towards something more, but neither having the guts to talk about it so plainly, until now.

Warnings: best friends to lovers trope, enid and yoko being done with both of you, major fluff, doesn't follow exact storyline or timeline

a/n: exams in a couple days are destroying me, so this is probably the only thing i'll post for the next week sadly:(

masterlist

“Hey, babe? Are you almost done? If not I’m heading to breakfast without you,” Xavier yelled through the door as you stumbled to finish getting ready.

“I won’t be done in time, I’ll meet you in the quad,” you shouted back realizing how late you were actually running. “Can you get me juice please!”

“Okay, I’ll see you down there,” he replied back.

Enid just stared at you with the widest eyes and a dropped jaw. You turned away from her gaze as it freaked you out a bit. “HE CALLED YOU BABE?!”

“Huh?”

“I think Enid is referring to the fact you and Xavier are repulsive,” Wednesday explained.

“I THOUGHT YOU SAID YOU GUYS AREN’T DATING?!” Enid kept yelling rushing over to you and helping get your bag so you three could leave the dorm soon. “YOU CAN’T KEEP HIM WAITING!!”

“Enid! Slow down!” she threw your blazer in your arms and pushed you out of the dorm as Wednesday followed beside both of you. “What are you even going on about?”

“Xavier.”

“Yeah, what about him?” you asked confused not understanding why she was making such a big deal over something.

“I can’t believe you two are dating!” Enid cheered excitedly as you walked down the halls.

“Enid, wait for a second,” you halted in your tracks and took a second to comprehend the girl’s words. “We’re not dating.”

“What,” Enid said dishearteningly. “I thought since he called you-”

“You thought wrong, we’re just best friends,” you cut her off as you three made the quad.

“I did not know best friends had pet names for each other,” Wednesday stated. "Odd."

“Because they’re in love with each other and won’t admit it,” Enid whined while you look around for Xavier.

You felt an arm drape around your shoulders and saw a hand holding out a bottle of orange juice in front of you, in which taking it happily and opening it to take a sip. “Won’t admit what?”

“Nothing!” you choked out, glaring at Enid hoping she would get the hint to stop.

“Just that-” She didn’t.

“Enid, let’s head to class, I rather pick out my eyes than watch this,” Wednesday said to Enid.

“Oh, okay, umm… Bye, Y/n! Bye, Xavier?” Enid called out as she trailed behind Wednesday as they headed to Ms. Thornhill’s class.

“Bye, Enid,” you both tell her.

“What was she going on about?” Xavier asked while you both headed to fencing.

“Just the usual things Enid loves to talk about,” you replied. “Gossip.”

“Of course,” he puffed out a laugh. “Who’s the poor souls?”

“Just a pair of friends that she thinks are dating,” you tried to say inconspicuously when you made it the locker rooms.

“Enid has pretty good intuition with that kind of stuff, I wonder if they are?”

“Trust me, they’re not,” you gave him a small smile. “Wait for me?”

“Always.”

You walked out of locker rooms tying your hair out of your face, and saw Xavier waiting to the side with his mask already on. He held his own foil (sword) in one hand while the other held an extra foil and mask.

“M’lady,” he teasingly bowed handing you them as you approached him.

“Why, thank you, kind Sir,” you curtsied back letting out a small giggle.

“You’re paired with Yoko, this morning,” he told you making your way to the mats.

“Maybe if you whined less and praticed more, you wouldn’t suck,” you heard Bianca mocked Rowan as you and Xavier got closer to the class. “Seriously, Coach, when am I gonna get real competition? Anyone else want to challenge me?”

“I will,” you stated removing yourself from Xavier’s side and slid the mask over your face.

“Are you sure? I don’t think Xavier would want his sweet Y/n to get hurt,” she gave you pout which only encouraged you more to beat her.

“You sure do talk so much shit,” you replied to her and heard ‘ooh’s…’ around the room. “It kind of match’s your skill, don't you think?”

“Rowan doesn’t need you to come to his defense. He’s not helpless,” Bianca snarked. “He’s just lazy.”

“Are we going to do this or not? Or are you too scared?” getting yourself in a stance ready to go against her.

“Fine.”

“En garde!” someone called out.

Swords clashed and Bianca made the mistake of lifting her arm too high in an attempt to strike you, so you lowered yourself avoiding her sword while you were able to strike her side.

“Point to Y/n!”

You both continued to duel, as the crowd around you guys grew. Bianca wasn’t able to tag you yet as you picked up the speed of your hits against her. So much anger at her for how she treated everyone at the school, and how she believed that she was automatically better than everyone else. The force of your strikes against her caught her off guard and her sword swayed to the left allowing you to tag her directly in her chest.

“That’s my girl!” you heard Xavier call out from the sidelines and you were thankful you had the mask still on so no one would be able to see the blush on your cheeks.

“Winner, Y/n,” the coach announced and Bianca stalked off in anger.

You walked over to Xavier, and took off your mask in a swift motion as you noticed some time during the match against Bianca he had taken his off to see you better. He held out his arms for you and brought you in a tight hug. “I’m proud of you,” he murmured into your hair as you leaned your head against his chest.

“Thank you, Xav,” you lifted your head to give him a smile which returned his wide one. You stood on your tip toes, pecking his cheek and stood back allowing you to see the blush that spread across his face. “I’ll see you after!” you told him as Yoko called you over from the other side of the room.

“Wait-“ Xavier was too late to respond as you hurriedly rushed to Yoko who seemed like she was going to burst from the questions she had for you.

“WHAT WAS THAT?!” Yoko yelled which caught the attention of many of those around you including Xavier who was still staring at you from across the room.

“Yoko, shh! I don’t know what you’re talking about…” you shushed the girl.

“Don’t know,” she mockingly laughed, “He called you his girl!” she pointed out.

“SHHHH!” you held a hand over her mouth in order to stop her from saying anything else. “NOT ANOTHER WORD.”

“Babe, you okay?” Xavier asked loudly from where he stood and a part of you was silently cursing him while the other part blushed profusely.

“Just peachy,” you uttered, glaring at Yoko who was dying of laughter at the hypocrisy of you two. You dragged her away to a more closed-off area to allow her to question you, but the bell saved you from the interrogation.

“Okay, that’s now Enid and Yoko acting weird around you. That only ever means one thing…” Xavier pointed out once you both were walking to his dorm for lunch after attending fencing and botany.

Let’s just say Botany might have been even more irritating than fencing because you had Bianca staring at you the whole time after she saw you and Xavier walk into class together. The only problem with you and him walking in together was that he had his arm around your waist keeping you steady as you died of laughter over hearing Ajax complaining that he stoned himself the other day which led him to miss his date with Enid. You felt bad for laughing, but Ajax resembled a kicked puppy too much not to.

“One thing what?”

“There’s a guy,” he scoffed.

“Where?” you looked around to see no one around you both, so you gave a look of confusion not really understanding what he was insinuating.

“Are you talking to somebody?” Xavier questioned. “Enid and Yoko only ever get that giddy if they’re talking about a guy, and if you are I don’t know why you didn’t feel the need to tell. Y/n, we’re— w-we’re… you know.”

“Xavier!” you tried to interrupt, but he ignored you as he continued to talk.

“I thought you felt the same way, but obviously not since you felt like you hide the fact you’re with someone right now. I just wish you told me before Enid and Yoko,” he rambled on looking down at the floor with a scrunched expression covering his face.

“XAVIER!” you exclaimed.

“What?’ he softened looking back to you.

“I’m talking to you aren’t I?” you tried to hint at him.

“Well, obviously you’re talking to me right now but I meant-”

“Xav, I am talking to you,” you restated once more. “No one else.”

“But-” you knew he was going to argue with what you were saying but you weren’t going to allow it.

“Enid and Yoko were talking about us,” you explained nonchalantly letting yourself into his dorm with him following behind you, shutting the door.

“Wait what?” he took a step back allowing himself to process what you said. “What do you mean they were talking about us?”

“They were teasing about how we are with each other.” you looked down on your hand as you turned to face him.

“And how are we with each other?” he retorted back in question, walking closer to you.

“We both won’t admit it…” you trailed off as you felt heat rush to your cheeks as you tried to avoid his gaze. “But-”

“Admit what? That fact I’ve been in love with you since we met,” he noted. “I have loved you since I saw you wandering around the halls looking for your class, I love you every day when we meet in the morning to walk to class together, I love when you scrunch your nose when you're overthinking, I love the sound of your laugh when I tell a stupid joke that’s not even worth your laughter, I love that you hold my hand when you're anxious, I love you more than anything,” he confessed to you which brought you close to tears as you went to close the space between you and him.

You grabbed the collar of his uniform to help bring him down closer to your height and smash your lips against his, moving your hands to have one the back of his neck and the other on his cheek. He immediately responded to the kiss with the same amount of urgency. His hands landed onto your hips pulling you even more closer to him.

It was a messy kiss but seemed perfect for you and him. Both of you pulled back to take in a breath of air, leaning your foreheads against one another. “I love you. I will never love someone the way I love you,” you whispered to him seeing a smile spread across his face as he went to pull you back in for another kiss.

#xavier thorpe #xavier thorpe x reader #wednesday #wednesday series #wednesday netflix #wednesday addams #xavier thorpe fluff #xavier x you #xavier thorpe x you #xavier x reader #netflix #percy hynes white #xavier thorpe angst #bianca barclay #fanfic #fluff #best friends to lovers #fanfic trope #enid sinclair

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byhees · 4 months

Text

when you’re insecure about your smile.

엔하이픈 ・ female reader + word count 600 genre fluff established relationship non-idol au warnings not proof-read skinship kissing petnames mention of insecurity — more

a/n. requested— because the poll showed that u all would like more reactions ! ♡

heeseung would feel his heart drop; the way you’d often snap your head to the opposite side whenever you’d smile, strikes him as unusual— it’s as though he’s never able to catch a glimpse of your pretty grin; wouldn’t point it out directly, not wanting to make you feel uncomfortable— would instead sneakily engulf you in tight embraces, making it difficult for you to conceal your little smiles whenever he cracks up silly jokes in hopes of making you laugh…

jay would feel his entire world crumble; his daily serotonin boost would be to see your pretty smile, to see the precious way the corners of your lips would curl upwards in the wake of a grin, eyes crinkling to resemble small crescents— and now that you’re deliberately hiding such a beautiful sight from him, he feels the need to reassure you of just how ethereal said smile is— “baby, your smile is so, so pretty. please, don’t ever feel that way about yourself”, he’d say, peppering kisses all over your face…

jake would be visibly shocked upon realising the pattern of you turning away from his direction whilst breaking into a smile— it’s done with such an intent, it’s almost certain to him that you’re purposely trying to hide your stunning grin; wouldn’t hesitate to burst into a series of cute poses and little ridiculous dances in hopes of eliciting a giggle from you— “ah! there’s that beautiful smile!” he’d say, cupping your cheeks in his palms, admiring the way your smile’s glued onto your face, complimenting your every feature…

sunghoon would be flabbergasted beyond belief— the mere thought of you finding your smile unpleasant to look at, strikes him as unbelievable in all the many ways; you couldn’t be more wrong— your smile’s just the definition of perfection, it’s the first thing that he wishes to see every morning, it’s the first thing that he looks forward to catching a glimpse of during arduous days; that’s the beauty of your smile. would try his very best to make you laugh— be it through breaking out into a random tiktok dance, or through horribly-timed jokes…

sunoo would break into the deepest of frowns after finding out about your hidden insecurities about your smile; wants you to know that your smile is, single-handedly, one of the prettiest and most breathtaking things that he’s ever seen in his lifetime. would feign the biggest of pouts when you ever mention how “ugly” your smile is— “baby, love, sweetheart— don’t say that.. you’re so, so beautiful, and so is that little grin of yours”, he’d say before pressing kisses onto the surface of your face…

jungwon wouldn’t waste a second to let you know just how pretty your smile is; would try his very best to elicit even the smallest of grins from you— would even tickle you whilst cuddling in bed, adoring the soft laughs that slip past your lips, the wide smile that’d find itself on your face; would playfully tease you, wanting to elicit that pretty, shy smile of yours— leans in with an intent to kiss you, only to pull away centimetres away, leaving your cheeks flushed pink, a bashful grin naturally spreading across your face; “you look the prettiest when you’re happy, princess”, he’d coo, pressing a kiss onto your forehead…

riki would be in pure disbelief; he merely can’t comprehend how you’d find that precious smile of yours, unpleasant— if anything, it’s the very, very, very opposite of that; “don’t you dare hide that pretty smile from me”, he’d say, lips jutting out in a very non-intimidating pout, arms crossing over his chest; and the mere image of him acting all adorable has you grinning on your own— little did you know, it was his plan to pull out the cutesy act; after all, he’d do practically anything and everything to see that beautiful grin of yours…

taglist open! @halcyoni-ki @wondipity @yjjungwon @shysakuno @niktwazny303 @vnsux @minhosify @haechansbbg @yeomha @stepout-09-15 @chansburgah @sona-verse01 @lilly-bubblelops @smouches @mrchweeee @luvistqrzzz @nwjws @ibsysbsfsunsbs @rikisly @amyysfics @mixtape-racha @berry-and-kkami @rikislady @gweoriz @czlluvriki @okwonyo @okwons networks! @kflixnet @enhanet @k-labels

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lightwing-s · 4 months

Note

May I request hcs for batboys when their mute!fem!reader traced the words "i love u" on their backs before trying to spell the words to them?

the batboys when mute!reader writes 'i love you' on their backs

a/n: it's been a while since i last wrote one of those. thanks for the request! i had a lot of fun writing it ♡

Before you even finished writing, Dick would’ve already turned around and faced you, a beaming smile gracing his lips. He’d look at you, eyes probably watery, and wait for you to smile back at him to start plastering your face with kisses. In between each one of them a new ‘I love you’ sang aloud, ready to let the world know he reciprocated your feelings and that you too loved him, because if you couldn’t voice your love to the world, he’d do so for the two of you. Proudly!

Jason, however, would be more chill about it, but not less enthusiastic. When he realizes what you’ve done, he’d stop for a while, letting it all sink in. He’d smile to himself, the realization slowly warming your heart, before turning around to look at you. His eyes were warm, giving you a sense of comfort and certainty after you’d worried about what would be his response. Moving closer, closing the gap between you two, he’d softly whisper against your lips ‘I love you too’ before taking your breath away with a kiss.

In similar fashion, when it comes to Tim, he’d take just as long as his brother to let your words click into place. But differently, he'd ponder for a while if it was true or not. Eye to eye with you, he’d be serious while mouthing and gesturing to question ‘For real?’, something you’d reply with a simple nod of your head. Worry would flood your heart after his initial reaction, but it would all be washed out when the corners of his lips started spreading out in his face, reaching from ear to ear, in the most beautiful smile you’d ever seen. A gimmer in his eyes sparkled brighter as he’d ask ‘Can I kiss you?’ before you gladly allowed him to join your lips together, the butterflies awakened in both your bodies.

When he figured out the words you’d drawn on his back, our little Dami wouldn’t know how to react. He wouldn’t know if you meant it, if it was real or just you playing around. Was it a writing of truth or just for fun? What if he’d guess it wrong? Was it really “I love you”? Was he imagining things? Out of doubt, he would opt for not saying anything, keeping quiet until he got clarification, until he was sure what he thought was indeed true. He didn’t want to assume something and ruin your relationship. He also didn’t want to raise any expectations, afraid he’d end up getting hurt in the end. So he’d wait, he would wait until you did it again, or until you told him in any other way. Seeing your confirmation would leave him in a frenzy, blushing redder than Jason’s helmet, getting as crazy as Dick when he can’t find his cereal in the pantry. Honestly? Damian would run away, hide himself from the shame of not knowing what to do and the shyness of a love confession. And you’d laugh, because you truly loved that little dwarf and his apparent inability to comprehend your affection was just one of the reasons why.

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soobnny · 7 months

Text

talk tomorrow — lee heeseung. best friends to lovers. drunken confessions. fluff. (1.1k words)

It takes a single message from Jay reading “Heeseung drunk. Please help” for you to leave the comfort of your bed in favor of picking up your best friend.

He’d told you the night prior that he’d be drinking out with his friends, even asked you to come with him. However, you were a prisoner to your 10-page essay due at midnight so you’d opted out of his invitation – despite his accompanying doe-eyes, pout, and whining. He had taken everything out of his books of “How To Get (Name) To Say Yes” for you to reconsider, but you’d kept a firm stand on wanting to pass your subject.

Though, at 2am, with your essay—not proofread— passed and sent into the void for you to never look at ever again, you had no choice but to get the boy before he makes stupid decisions that’d have him be subject to his friends’ teasing the next day. If Jay’s one text message hadn’t convinced you, Jake’s drunk phone call with Heeseung mumbling your name over and over again would’ve done the trick.

So, clad in pajamas you had every intent on sleeping in, you’re left walking a few minutes away from his destination until you could smell the familiar scent of hard liquor. It doesn’t take a minute of you announcing you’d arrived before Heeseung barges out of the club doors to stumble his way to you and take you in his arms, just like in the movies, back slouched and head draped on your shoulder.

Though, the movies never described how foul alcohol would smell like on a boy’s sweaty body. It made you freak out, along with the thought of the connotations of a drunken boy who could pull whoever he wanted. Had he met a pretty girl?

Had it been Jake, you wouldn’t have minded. You’d even go as far as saying you’d help him, but Heeseung is a different case. Different in that you’re madly in love with him, and you could only ever see Jake as a brother figure.

“(Name)? Is it actually you?” His words come out in a slur, but you don’t miss the tilt of sudden giddiness in the way that he speaks to you.

“He’s been whining about you all night.” Jay’s voice follows from right behind him, peeling the drunk boy away from you who instantly makes grabby hands and lunges right back when Jay lets go. You could hear Heeseung mumbling, “don’t tell her”, against your shoulder.

“Don’t tell me what?” You try to support Heeseung’s wait on you, looking from him to Jay who simply shrugs his shoulders in response. Jake is a compliant drunk at the back with his eyes curtained and hands behind his back so Jay doesn’t scold him.

“That I like you.” He murmurs, low rasp in his voice and arms tightening around you as if to prepare you for the words you had never expected to hear from the boy. You would’ve stumbled in your step had Heeseung not depended most of his weight on you.

Jake’s mouth drops.

“Oh my god. He actually said it.” You could hear Jake’s harsh whispers that Jay desperately tries to shut down, dragging his friend back into the building despite his attempts at trying to see the scene unfold before him.

The door closes, and it’s just you, Heeseung, and the faint music playing from the club.

“Do you actually mean that?” You ask more to yourself, sudden bomb dropped. Apparently, it does not take seconds to comprehend that the boy you’d been in love with since middle school bears the same feelings for you. So, you stand there looking like an idiot with Heeseung stuck to you like his life depends on it.

“Of course I do.” His head perks up, defensive almost, peeling away from you. “Have you not— have you not noticed the way I look at you? How I have all your favorite books memorized, how I know everything about you by heart? I like you so much, (Name). I like you so much that sometimes it feels like I can’t breathe because what is my heart for if not to love you?”

“Hee—”

“How could anyone not love you? You walk into a room, and everyone is captivated by you. Magic is everywhere with you, and I just want to be able to have even just a fraction of who you are. But I could never tell you that. I’m just… I’m just your best friend, right? How could I be anything more?”

His eyes are glossy, and fixated on your lips before he curses himself. “I’m sorry. Are you mad at me?”

“Hee, of course I’m not mad at you. But, can we talk about this tomorrow? I don’t want you to say things you don’t mean.”

“But I do mean everything, baby. And I’ll—” Hiccup. “I’ll say everything again tomorrow, anything you want for you to believe me.”

“Come on, let’s go home. We’ll talk more about this in the morning, okay?”

“Okay.”

“You’re gonna have a really bad headache tomorrow.”

“Hmm… I heard kisses are a good remedy.”

“Really, now?”

“Mhm.”

His hand dives after yours, walking with you to your apartment minutes away. Your heart flutters in the space between your intertwined fingers. He holds onto you like he knows nothing else. It only makes you smile more.

He’ll settle for handholding tonight.

“Did you have fun tonight?”

“Mmm, couldn’t stop thinking about you though. It’s always more fun with you.” Heeseung doesn’t even think of what he’s saying anymore, spewing unfiltered words he’d normally keep hidden until he was sure you felt the same. Maybe it’s because his mind is too busy reeling what it’d be like to be with you, and how your lips could possibly feel like on his.

“Hee.” You warn light-heartedly.

“Okay, tomorrow, tomorrow. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.” He repeats like a mantra before sighing out. “Want time to hurry. Wanna know if you feel the same way.”

Heeseung looks lost in his own body when you arrive back into your apartment, but he still has everything memorized—where to take his shoes off, where to sit as you hand him a glass of water to drink, where his spare clothes are.

Your chest feels warm the whole time you help him wash his face. He simply sits there, compliant and behaved which is not how he’s like on a day to day basis, as you run your hands through his face, even after you dry him off with a towel. Heeseung is only a boy with a mind thinking if his everydays could look like this.

He falls asleep after 15 minutes, but his hand never leaves yours, and there’s a little note on your bedtime with lines you could barely recognize as Heeseung’s handwriting.

I meant everything. Talk tomorrow.

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shawnxstyles · 5 months

Text

personal 3

DATE: JANUARY 8, 2023

summary: as you begin to build your confidence, you try to learn some things on your own to surprise harry. you know, just as a little thank you. meanwhile, harry finally starts to think your unspoken arrangement is a little too personal.

request: yes!!

words: 6k

warnings: SMUT (m-receiving [hand-job, oral], dirty talk), language, and loads of overthinking! (will probably have angst in the next part!)

note: PLEASE tell me how you guys feel about this!! comment/reblog/send me a message! PREVIOUS PART.

bestfriendrry x inexperienced!reader

—

It’s barely been a few days since you last saw Harry in person, and quite frankly, you’ve never noticed how much time has passed until now. Until your mind was constantly occupied with thoughts of his hands on your body and his sweet, cocky words in your ear. You wanted to be sick of it, wanted it to be done and through. But your brain just could not let go of his touch. You must have released too many hormones during all that touching because time has never felt so prolonged and stretched. You have gone weeks without seeing Harry before, and although you’ve missed him in the past, you’ve never connected every little thing to him. Certain words and objects somehow prime your memory directly to Harry. Even thinking of your doll collection back at home sends shivers down your spine. He has seriously ruined you, and you hate that you don’t hate it.

After the last time with Harry, you swore it was the last time. You didn’t say it out loud but in your head. You knew that if you explicitly told Harry that that was the last time that it would be the last time and he would never touch you again. No, not unless you asked, not unless you begged. Which he would enjoy too much. What you found out was that you don’t have enough self-discipline to tell yourself no. So, it only makes sense that you’re still agonizing over his touch and how rough yet soft his hands are.

God, why are you thinking of his hands right now?

Your laptop is resting on your legs, warming you up as you try to finish your mid-term paper. At first, your fingers were flying around your keyboard, typing your ass off to submit it. But now you’re barely halfway through and you can’t even comprehend the last sentence you wrote because you keep thinking about Harry. Somehow, you managed to connect some Shakespeare poetry analysis to Harry.

Come on, how does that even happen without conscious effort?

No matter how many times you want to call up Harry and simply ask him for another “lesson” you can’t. It just feels too selfish to you now. He may have willingly offered because he felt bad for you, but now, you feel bad for him because he has to teach you. Maybe if you guys had a set time for all this you would feel less guilty. A schedule, just like your lectures! Then it would be like a real class.

You would never skip.

But you do recall the last thought that you had when you were with him. Would it really be so bad to learn the giving side of sex? Isn’t that the main reason why Harry is teaching you? Firstly, he wants you to understand your own body, which you feel pretty confident with after his sweet praises and words. Oh, and you won’t forget how he made you stare at yourself (or really him) in a full-body length mirror the first time. Yeah, that definitely still gives you chills. And a newly-found level of self-esteem, which is why you feel confident enough in your decision.

You’re going to do a bit of research on your end of the deal. A deal that is unspoken, so therefore, has non-existent rules. You and Harry never specified if you could pleasure him, but you would be getting the experience you needed, so what is the harm? It is in the unspoken rules. So, you’re going to surprise him with what you’ve learned.

After you finish your paper, of course.

Ugh.

–

Watching a variety of porn videos was extremely weird because you were watching them for a different reason than what they are made for.

Your eyes were straining at your laptop screen as you carefully inspected all the women’s actions. Sometimes, they would unbutton the man’s pants, sometimes they wouldn’t, but they always sank to their knees with their eyes on him. The women spit on their hands and stroke gently, or they would just put their mouth straight on him. It caused you to blink and swallow in fear because what if you didn’t like it? What if it tasted so horrible that you’ll never want to suck another man off in your life? What if your lack of blow-jobs is the reason you don’t have a boyfriend? Or why you don’t have a future husband in the running?

This is why you cannot be left alone.

From all the women you observed, they all had seductive expressions and alluring features that you were almost positive you did not possess. They had the most perfect bodies and that effortlessly flowing hair and cute little moans and they knew exactly what to do. It may not be the best thing to base anything off of, but you couldn’t help but feel a little insecure. Watching the videos gave you a little more knowledge, but also made you feel a little more self-conscious about your appearance. What if Harry didn’t even find you attractive? He definitely doesn’t want some girl mindlessly messing with his dick, especially when it’s not erect (which you have learned in health class in high school thankfully). All those words of reassurement and praise, were they just for the moment? Just to make you feel good and that’s it? Did he mean any of it? You couldn’t even manipulate yourself to an answer.

God, sometimes, you just wish that he would reach out to you. Wouldn’t that make everything so much easier? You would never say no if he just texted you first. But why would he do that? He’s doing you the favor, so you would have to be the one to text him. Fuck, how did he go from your best friend to your best friend that you’re obsessing over because he’s really good at sexual things? Maybe he hypnotized you in that mirror.

–

Harry thinks he might just die. Not from school or work, but from you. Out of all his friendships in his lifetime, even his relationships, he has never been thinking about a person so damn much.

He’s been friends with you for many, many years, and Harry has never once thought of you in a sexual manner. Or even in a romantic way. When you two were growing up, he definitely noticed you having some changes through your teenage years as teenagers do. But even then he always knew you were just friends. And that’s all it will ever be, so he never saw through that wall. Men are simple creatures; Harry realized you guys were friends, so that was it. End of story.

But for some reason, years later, he is being haunted by your sudden attractiveness? Harry’s not fucking stupid when he thinks this. You’ve always been gorgeous and funny and smart, so it made perfect sense why you didn’t have a boyfriend. You just checked too many boxes, right? The only possible solution of why men weren’t kissing your feet had to be because of your own expectations.

You’ve always been the kind of girl who thought every little thing to the tee. Harry even remembers you planning your wedding with your dolls when you were younger. You had a binder with all the people you would invite and colors that would decorate the walls of the church your parents got married in. Getting married in a church may seem basic to anyone else, but to you it was special because your grandmother also got married there. To you, it was a tradition, and Harry knows you love traditions and schedules. It’s like a plan that’s set in stone for you to complete. He just knows when you get married you’ll have the most thoughtful wedding because you would have put your heart into every single detail. You’re barely 22, finishing up your last year of college just like Harry, so you still have plenty of time to find your future husband.

Yet you think it’s the end of the world that you don’t have one in the running right now, and Harry has no idea why.

Thinking of the future like this used to make Harry feel happy for you because he knows it’s one of your biggest dreams, but there is something inside of him that’s blocking him from feeling like that anymore. It’s a nagging, sort of distant feeling in his chest that kind of makes him ill. He always knew he was going to be at your wedding in some form, but maybe he wishes it was…

No, that’s ridiculous. How did he overthink that much?

See? You’ve seriously fucked him up. This is exactly why he cannot text you. This is exactly why he cannot touch you anymore. No matter how badly he wants to. God, does he want to. You haunted his mind and invaded his soul until you were completely entwined within his consciousness, lingering like a flashbulb memory. He pitied you at first, so he wanted to help his best friend with her inexperience. That’s what friends are there for–to help you through the embarrassing times in secret, so when you go out into the real world it’s not so bad.

But now, Harry just wants to keep you for himself. He hates touching you knowing that it’s going to be for someone else one day. But he got too greedy to say no to himself, so he put you on his thigh the second day rather than fingering you. Fuck, he wishes he could slide his cock into you while whispering the sweetest and dirtiest words in your ear, just for your face to burn up in flames. He wants to hear your soft moans echo in the air from his cock because you want to be with him, not because you’re trying to “get better” at sex.

No, Harry doesn’t think he can do anything more with you without figuring his shit out.

–

Incoming call: Y/N

Harry wanted to answer it, but he hesitated too long. Fuck, what if you really just wanted to hang out this time? But fuck, he missed your touch. And your voice. And your face… How is he supposed to be around you without reaching out to caress you?

Missed call: Y/N

Voicemail: Y/N: “Hey, I just called to see what you were up to. I was just seein’ if you wanted to hang out. But clearly you’re busy, so it’s fine. I, um, have a surprise that I wanted to show you sometime. I… Well, I’ve been trying to learn some things on my own, if you know what I mean. I’ve been watching some videos, but you know, nothing is as good as a real life teacher! So, um, just call me back whenever you’re free. Bye!”

Harry was royally fucked. His mind couldn’t stop thinking about what you might have been learning about. You were also so cute in your voicemail that Harry just had to save it. He doesn’t think he’s ever saved someone’s voicemail before, but he’s never been more thankful for letting that call go to one. He took a single deep breath before he pressed the call button.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Doll. Sorry, I was in the shower…”

Now he has to rush to take a shower as you drive over to his house to present him with your little “surprise.”

–

As Harry stood up from his couch to answer the door, he regrets not jerking off in the shower.

He had an incredible hard-on, and it was embarrassingly from the voicemail. He was a little too excited for whatever your surprise was. You gave him no hint, but he’s assuming it has something to do with masturbating.

“Harry,” Your voice was chipper as you greeted him almost formally. But it was a little too high and squeaky. It was obvious to Harry that you were nervous, which made him feel a bit better in a way. You didn’t seem as distressed as you last had been, so maybe you did learn to get yourself off. Then you wouldn’t need him anymore.

That was the goal, right?

“Y/N,” he says as he widens the door and lets you in. You scurry past him and onto his couch, immediately heating up at the memory from before.

You swallowed the dryness that drained your voice, deciding how to bring it up to him. You take a deep breath and remember the confidence that he’s been trying to instill in you. You recall all the videos you’ve been researching and how assertive all those women had been. While you do so, Harry follows you to the couch and plops right down next to you.

If you hadn’t been so nervous yourself, maybe you would have seen how shifty Harry was. His eyes were darting all around, trying to look busy. His mind was scouring thoughts of things to say, but couldn’t settle on the right one. Maybe you’d see that he swallowed all the saliva in his mouth until his tongue was dry and he was biting his lip. Only then did you look up from your shivering fingers to see his bottom lip anxiously tucked between his bunny teeth.

“I wanted to talk about our…deal,” You started, tucking your calves underneath your body. Harry nods, but doesn’t say anything. “We never explicitly stated any details of what this contract entailed–”

“English, please, Y/N. You get all formal and chatty when y’nervous.”

Your skin heated, embarrassed. “Right… We never talked about what we were doing. So, if what I’m about to ask breaks some unspoken rule, just let me know. If you actually want to stop doing this, also let me know–”

“Just say it, Y/N.”

“I’ve been watching videos on how to pleasure you…” You speedily say, causing the room to go silent. You feel the heat from in between your legs grow whilst also flowing towards your neck and face. You wonder how hot a human can get before they just boil over and explode. Harry’s seemingly nonchalant face grows a smirk, which is comfortable to you now. “God, you’re a dick.”

After your mumble, you continue: “I felt… bad that you were doing everything. And I just thought that maybe I could learn something from this. And you could be… rewarded in a way.”

“So you’ve been learning what exactly?” His smirk never fades. Of course he wants you to be explicit with him, which you struggle with. He just loves making you nervous. He feeds off of it.

He’s selfish. He’s so selfish and he can’t control it. When he’s with you, it’s like driving a car without its brakes. He speeds right through all the stop signs without blinking twice.

Just one last time, he swears. Then he’s ending it.

“C’mon. Would it be easier to tell me or show me, hmm?” You swear his voice dropped an octave, just like your eyes dropped to the area on his sweatpants. There was a lump that you can’t recall being there before. Were you looking?

You took a deep breath and kept it there, unable to breathe normally at how straightforward Harry is. He’s always been like that, never changed. So why is he just now making you breathless?

Confidence.

“Okay.”

You move your eyes up to meet Harry, and he’s already looking at you. You feel your heart jump at his sudden stare, strikingly green and beaming with lust. Without removing your sight from him, you shift yourself off the couch and onto his carpet.

His eyebrows slightly raise as you hesitantly reach for the waistband of his pants. He’s enjoying this too much, he thinks.

“Go on. I want to see what you can do,” his simple words urged you to actually grab his sweatpants. As he lifts his hips, you yank the material down until his boxers are showing.

“Huh,” The noise left your mouth before you could stop it. Harry stares at you puzzled, blinking at you curiously. That’s the first time a girl has ever made that noise in front of him before. In this position especially…

“What?” Harry has never felt more self-conscious than right now. He was alright until you made that sound. That’s never something a guy wants to hear when a girl is on her knees in front of him.

“Nothing, I just took you as more of a ‘briefs’ guy.” Harry instantly felt more relieved.

“I’ave both. Haven’t y’borrowed my boxers before?” he asks. Your eyes widen as you look down. Maybe you have in the past, but the thought of that now sounds incredibly too intimate to you. Yeah, you’ll never be doing that again.

“Anyway,” You smiled forcefully while trying to rid the heat from your cheeks, “before I pull down your boxers, I have to ask you something.”

“Of course,” he agrees with sarcasm laced in his tone, which only makes you roll your eyes. You’re inches away from his cock, merely separated by a sheer layer of clothing and you have a question. He can bet it’s not going to be can I take this off now?.

“Do you find me attractive?” You had to ask. You bit the inside of your cheek, chewing on the nerves that you felt. Harry just stares at you, blinking. You always find a way to catch him off guard, he thinks. He doesn’t say a word, just two eyes lasering into yours as if he’s searching for the perfect answer. “It’s a simple yes or no. But if it’s a no, then I don’t want to do this. Because then you’ll be all-all soft in my hands or my mouth and then you’ll just be uncomfortable. Guys must not like it when they’re soft, right? You have to be hard, it means you like it… Right?”

When you got nervous, you got chatty. It was one of your most evident qualities. You had to fill the silence that Harry had created with his nonexistent answer.

Harry wishes that was a simple yes or no. Of course, he found you attractive, so yes. But only now are those feelings becoming more complicated, diverging from anything ‘simple’. It would feel like crossing a line if he said yes.

But Harry was great at brushing it off.

“Y’right. So why don’t y’pull these down and see for yourself, Doll?”

Your posture had been stick-straight and stiff unknowingly. But his hot words had your icicle-like spine melting in seconds, shivers cascading down your back like an avalanche.

You swallowed for what felt like the hundredth time since you’ve been here. You shifted on your legs on the ground, trying to get comfortable. You remind yourself that you are going to be confident and show Harry exactly what you have been learning. It should be simple. You should be able to do it without feeling all these emotions.

But it seems so hard when it’s Harry that’s tied to them.

Your fingers tuck into the waistband of his boxers and slowly pull them down. When the material is at his ankles, you finally acknowledge the hard length that sprung from beneath them. His cock was nothing like those porn videos. It wasn’t abnormally monstrous with loads of veins on the sides that looked impossible to fit into any hole. It wasn’t ugly and unappealing. Just the sight of his length alone made you want to touch him. Made you want to put your mouth on him…

You never thought you’d want to do that with anyone ever. You never thought you’d be attracted to that because of those unsettling videos. But of course, Harry is throwing you off, making reality much more fantastical and dreamy than it really is. How does he do such a thing?

You know whoever you fall in love with will not have a cock like this.

His tip was a dark pink with a smidge of wetness at the top. He only had one prominent vein that ran down the left side that was throbbing from neglect. You didn’t even notice your mouth watering, salivating as if you were classically conditioned.

“Does that answer y’question, Doll?” Harry was trying his very hardest not to stroke himself. Better yet, to come. The doe-eyed expression on your face was priceless and would forever be framed in his mind. The glossy, wondrous glint in your eyes screamed lust and anticipation. You seemed excited, but Harry could never be sure because he still feels a tad vulnerable. He’s never felt so revealed before.

He guesses with you it would have always been different no matter what. Because it’s you.

“Yes,” Your voice was quiet as you placed your hands beside his thighs. You were unbelievably nervous now. You were trying to recall what the videos did at this point in your head, but you lost your train of thought. You were literally entranced by his dick. Also something you never thought would happen.

“D’you know what happens now? Or do y’need some help?” he taunts, subtly squinting his eyes as he leans the slightest bit forward. He’s attempting to ignore the throbbing of his cock as you lock your stare into his eyes. It twitches, but he continues to neglect it. He thinks that if and when you decide to touch him, he will come on the spot.

“I know what to do, Harold.”

“Then do it, sweetheart.”

You repeat his words back to him, mocking his tone before spitting on your hands aggressively. Once you feel like they’re not as dry, you put one hand on him without hesitation. His taunting tone fueled you with more confidence than you would have thought. Your legs were tightly squeezed together, so you didn’t have to worry about the tingle that slowly began to throb between them.

Harry hissed lowly, followed by a gentle growl at your touch. Your hands were colder than he had thought, catching him by surprise.

“Holy shit, your hands are freezin’. How did I not feel tha’?”

“Shut up,” You grumbled as you continued to stroke him roughly, not really paying attention if it felt good. You’re annoyed with him because his dick is so perfect, and he’s trying to rush you.

“Hey,” his finger goes beneath your chin and forces your eyes away from his cock. You look into his eyes with a serious pout on your face. He wants to believe you’re truly mad, but he knows you, and he knows that you’re not. You’re secretly frustrated because you don’t know what to do now that you’re actually in the situation. And he knows you hate not knowing what to do. “You’re on your knees for me. Don’t forget where y’are. Now, show me what ya learned, pretty girl.”

His words never failed to make you dizzy. He might as well have put you on the teacups ride and then spun you in a circle. His finger was grazing your chin, and you felt as if you could melt in a puddle before him. He had you weak. He made you want to say yes, sir and obey his every command. Every drop of feminism left your body at his very words, your body going all in.

“Yes,” The s sounded slurred because the word sir nearly fell from your lips. It felt automatic, it felt right. But you didn’t want to cross any boundaries that you guys failed to cover.

Your hands continued to move up and down his length, feeling more comfortable with him in your hand.

“Can I…” You leaned forward, your mouth nearing his cock. He was leaking more than before and his tip was pulsing red. You didn’t even wait for his answer because you knew you already had his consent to do whatever you wanted.

Your mouth dropped down to his cock, sucking on just the tip. Harry doesn’t hold back his moan as it echoes throughout his living room, bouncing off his walls. You don’t move yourself any lower. You just swirl your tongue around the rutty tip and consume all of his juices. The taste wasn’t bad. Maybe a little salty, but it was nothing like you would have assumed. In a way, it was a little addicting. You had hoped that’s what cum tastes like, and you hoped that you would taste his.

Was that a weird thing to hope for?

“Fuck, Y/N,” Harry grumbled as his large hand slotted in your hair, in need of some stability. You didn’t mind, instantly loving the feeling of his hand on you. He didn’t pull or tug you, but just kept you in place. Almost as if he didn’t want you to go any lower in fear of you choking.

“Use y’hands for the rest,” Even with his eyes half shut, he was still able to instruct you on your technique. While his hand was strong, you went lower onto his cock, taking more into your mouth than before. The weight of his tip on your tongue was heavy and hot, but it didn’t stop you from slowly moving it in and out. Your hands eventually found a rhythm with your mouth, understanding speed and pace.

The louder Harry’s sounds got, whether they were breaths or moans or growls, hinted that you were in the right direction. You knew technique and skill was all learned from experience, but also being attentive to your partner. When Harry was pleasuring you, he always listened to you. Almost too well. Even just after a few sessions, he knew what got you off the fastest better than you ever did (obviously).

“Doin’ so good, Doll,” his fingers curled in your hair and you released some type of moan around his cock. The sound vibrated throughout his body, sending a shock to his core. “Gettin’ off on this, huh? ‘Course y’are. Just desperate for whateva you can get.”

Harry was completely right. Your clit was throbbing in your underwear and your nipples were beyond their peaks. But you didn’t seem as hopeless as you usually are because you finally had a reasonable distraction. Your neck was beginning to ache as your jaw felt like it was about to lock. But your hands never stopped, and your tongue continued to explore his circumference, even after swirling around it a million times.

Harry had been holding off for too long. He twitched every time he thought he was about to come, attempting to make it fade. But your mouth was just so warm, so wet, and so, so desperate to be filled, it was impossible to stay calm.

“D’ya want me to come, baby? Huh? Want me to come down your pretty, little throat? Gonna swallow it like the good girl you are, right? It’s the last step,” Harry was nearly choked from the way you moved on his cock. Yes, you were sloppy, but you were determined.

He could feel your nod along with the halt of your hands. You rested your hands on his bare thighs, clawing gently at the tiger tattoo. To his shock, your mouth went as deep as you could go, his tip nudging the back of your throat. He felt your gag, which he had expected for how fast you went down on him. Just as he was about to pull out of you completely though, you persevered, which made him go over the edge.

Before he knew it, his orgasm was spurting down your throat, coating your tongue. When he was all empty, you finally pushed him off of you to catch a breath. Harry was still in shock. He did not expect you to exceed your own limits and swallow all of him without hesitation. You have always had a good work ethic, though.

“Holy fuck, baby, are you okay?” Now, his hands grab your aching jaw in concern, pulling you up to sit on the couch. You didn’t realize how much your knees were going to hurt, but now that you’re up, all you are is achy.

The pet name made your skin hotter than it already was, wondering if he realized what he had just called you. Maybe it was an accident, but it had your heart accelerating at a speed that did not seem remotely healthy.

“Y-Yeah,” You croaked out, throat immensely dry. Harry quickly puts his boxers and pants back on before leaving to the kitchen. You’re left on his couch in shock while you rub your aching jaw.

Harry’s back with some water that you chug without thought. He can’t help but chuckle a little at your nature. He observes you doing a simple task, drinking water for your parched throat. But even with the mundane action, he’s somehow in awe. When you seem finished, you put the glass down and look at him.

“Well, that was difficult,” You sigh, leaning back on the couch. You believe that if you just pretend that what you’re feeling is normal then everything is normal. Harry’s concern for you still echoes in your head; the word baby is never going to be the same.

“I bet,” Harry’s response was dry, but only because he feels like he has to.

“Was it… horrible?” You asked, cringing in fear of his response. You know Harry’s going to be only honest, which means he could be brutal.

It felt way too fucking good for your first time and made me see you in a way I’ve never seen you before is what Harry wanted to say. But he settled with, “It was fine, Doll.”

“That’s it? Oh, c’mon! Give me something honest. I need to learn, don’t I?” You sounded like a little child. Harry rolled his eyes as you scooted closer to him on the couch. He swallowed at the proximity, which you didn’t bat an eyelash at. “C’monnnn.”

Truth be told, your heart was still racing, but you were too immersed in how off-put Harry seemed. You liked that he didn’t have some charming, witty comment hanging off the tip of his tongue. It was enjoyable to watch him get a little nervous.

“Don’t be so stiff,” his arm falls on the back of the couch, “probably why y’neck hurts so bad.”

“Pfft. My neck does not hurt,” You bluffed as you rolled your eyes, avoiding eye contact. Harry knows you too well, though, and didn’t believe you for a sliver of a second.

“Really.”

“Mhm.”

His hand moves to cup the back of your neck, absorbing its warmth. It was almost embarrassing how hot your neck was, flush with the aftermath of sucking him off. You won’t lie and say that it wasn’t attractive. You won’t lie and say that you didn’t get off on it. Everything that Harry had said had been true. It was evident that you were turned on by pleasuring him, just like he you.

You swallowed with his hand caressing your neck. His soft touch slowly turned into a gentle massage, squeezing the aching muscles between his fingers. You couldn’t stop the whispered moan that left your mouth at the relief. The slight roughness from his callouses was doing wonders to the soreness at the base of your neck. Your eyes had shut now, fully encompassed with his hand rubbing your skin.

If it didn’t feel so good, maybe you would worry about how this is too intimate and you too were way too close. But his touch wasn’t as electrifying as it was calming right now, soothing you until your mind’s thoughts were lulled asleep. You were amazed at how his hands could be both. You felt your shoulders drop in peace, teeth pillowing into your lips.

You weren’t conscious of all your movements, but each made Harry go mad. His touch was simple and light, but he could see it really relaxed you. Maybe you weren’t just sore from this, but from school as well. Sometimes, Harry felt like he hadn't talked to you as much because you too were so busy doing… this.

You guys lost time to just being friends.

Maybe Harry was too in his head, but he hated that. He hated that you hadn’t been texting him as often or even coming over as much. Every time you did now, it only had to do with sex. Don’t get him wrong, he loves that, but with you, it’s always more. It’s always been more. And he hates that there’s no ‘more’ anymore.

Should you two stop doing this? Harry already feels guilty enough. He feels selfish because he wants you in ways he knows he can’t have you, so why is he tempting himself? Each time you come over he knows what you want and he selfishly gives it to you because he convinces he’s doing you a favor. At first, he innocently was. But now, he doesn’t see you as a friend as much as something more. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to back petal his way back into a comfortable friendship with you as long as this continues. Losing his best friend because he was horny and thoughtless is unreasonable to him. That’s what it is, he concludes. That he is just horny, and he’s thinking with his dick.

But there’s a certain pattern of his heart that continues to beat your name in a rhythm that’s new and unfamiliar to Harry.

It feels like a crossed line, a boundary overstepped. If he were to officially cross the line, you would have your back turned on him unknowingly because there is no way you feel the way he’s feeling. He fears he is subconsciously trespassing an area of your friendship with these feelings that are bubbling in his chest. It’s hard for him to say he’s just a horny college boy when it comes to you, but that’s all he’s got.

Harry was so caught up in his head, he hadn’t realized how close you two had gotten. Your face looked beyond serene, basking in the warmth and comfort of his hands. But Harry felt guilty. He couldn’t stop feeling selfish for touching you, even if it’s what you wanted. You don’t know his intentions, so each massage on your muscles feels wrong.

Suddenly, Harry removes his hands off of your shoulders and your eyes peel open. You sigh with a gentle smile on your face, very thankful for the time he put into massaging your neck.

“Thank you. I guess my neck did hurt a little–”

“I, um, actually forgot I have work,” Harry blurts as he removes his hand from your neck entirely. Your smile fades as you shake your head. His words brought you back to reality instantly, taking you away from your sweet serenity. One where his hands are on you all the time, lulling you to sleep whenever you’re stressed. It was a great daydream, truly.

“Oh. Yeah. Did you say that before?”

“Don’t know. Must have slipped my mind. Sorry,” His responses were short and clipped, a tell that something was up.

“Hey,” You stopped him from getting off the couch. The worry laced in your voice seemed to slow him down. “What just happened?”

With anyone else, he would ask what do you mean? as if the other person was stupid. But he knew you weren’t stupid, and you knew exactly what was going on. Something had changed within that moment and you weren’t just going to have him kick you out because he had some random thought.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore. M’sorry,” he sighs, shoulder drooping.

You no longer felt serenity as the words fell from his lips. It’s always your best friends that know where it especially hurts. Right after you have done something vulnerable he drops that shit on you. Unbelievable.

This is why people should never do sexual shit with their best friends. Or better yet, any of their friends. It’s just way too complicated. It can never be as simple as a favor.

No, it’s way too fucking personal.

—

AHHH HOW DO WE FEEL??

taglist: @whoreonmondays @armystay89 @meighasfangirldiary @icumforbaldrry @luvonstyles @bisexual-desi @littlenatilda @crybabyddl @tiaamberxx @alwaysclassyeagle @raajali3 @likeapplejuicenpeach

crossed out= not able to tag

#shawnxstyles #personal #harry styles #harry styles fan fics #harry styles smut #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles fic #harry styles series #harry styles gif #harry styles stories

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mondaymelon · 1 year

Text

— 𝘀𝗮𝗴𝗮𝘂: 𝗽𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲, 𝗱𝗼𝗻𝘁 𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝘂𝘀. ♥

:feat~ alhaitham, kaveh, cyno, tighnari: (warnings~ obsessive behavior + teensy bit of angst)

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ (open!) : @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu

Lately, you've been playing a lot more Honkai Star Rail…

ALHAITHAM is jealous.

Which is new to him, as someone who just about has everything he could need. Everything, that is, except for you.

It’s nearly been a week since you last logged on.

And that scares him. He knows he should trust you, but the mere thought of you leaving him is enough to make the acting grand tremble. You are his light, and without you, he is dead - nothing.

It’s cold.

He misses your warmth. Your happy laughs and snide remarks he witnesses as you play and read through dialogue, seeing your bright smile through your front camera, all of it unbeknownst to you.

But, all this time, did that mean nothing to you?

Oh, but all of a sudden, is that you? You’re finally back! The scribe can’t hold back his smile, eyes sparkling as you start to load in. He can feel your comforting presence, something that invigorates him, such a simple thing, yet it fills him with the will to live.

Ah, but something is different.

Who’s this Dan Heng you keep mumbling about with such a… dreamy expression?

No, that couldn’t be right. That look was reserved for him only. How could you think of someone else with that gaze?

Oh, so this is what jealousy feels like.

KAVEH is baffled.

Confused. I mean, is it really all that much to make a fuss about? Sure, you haven’t logged on in a while, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.

He’s confident that you won’t leave him! Because, after all, you said it yourself… something along the lines of “SDFJSDFKLSDJFLK I LVOE KAVEH SO MCUH FDJSGLK” ...Or, at least, that was what you had texted over the chat feature to one of your in game friends.

He adores you, so it’s only natural that he praises every word you speak!

Ah, but what’s this new game on your device?

Honkai… Star Rail?

I-Is this what you’ve been spending all your time on? Time spent without him?

But why?

It’s only then that Kaveh notices.

The new way you’ve begun to act whenever you occasionally log on, the way you’re growing distracted, the way you sigh as you collect your daily commissions, the way you barely glance at his way, almost tired of the game that he’s in…

It’s okay, Kaveh tells himself, staring at the ground. The room is dark, and he hasn’t eaten in days, body shaking.

They’ll come around again.

They always do.

CYNO is reconsidering.

All his life, he knows that what he’s been doing is in the light of justice. All his life, he’s known that he is in the right. All his life, he has not doubted his path.

Yet…

“My Eminence, where have you gone?”

The world was so barren without you. You were incomparable, the pure life that radiated from your being gave him a sense of elation that he had never experienced before. It was a honey-like feeling that was shamefully addicting.

Was it his fault that you had left? He should’ve changed for you.

Perhaps he had missed your subtle signs, perhaps you were upset at him - he had to have done something wrong, otherwise, why would this have happened?

“I’m sorry.” His distraught hands hid his expression, his crystal tears, as he knelt before his shrine to you - a secret oblation that he held in his heart, with things he treasured. A lock of your hair, a page from your notebook, a jewel pendant that you had left behind… they were such items that he disgracefully cherished.

“I’ll do better, I promise. I’ll do anything.”

So please, let me see you one more time.

TIGHNARI is acceptant.

He’s knowledgeable in so many things… the wildlife of Sumeru’s rainforest, countless antidotes… he knows the forest like the back of his hand.

Despite that, he comprehends you more. He knows what makes you smile, what makes you irritated, all of it - because he loves you, even though he knows he shouldn’t.

You’re someone that’s off limits to a person who’s as lowly as him, as insignificant. Truly, he doesn’t deserve to even be in your presence, but it’s too impossibly warm to resist. After all, the savior is just that benevolent, and your radiance blinds him.

He’s not good enough.

That’s all that can ring through his head when he’s with you. And it’s true to him, because you are perfect in his eyes, and in the eyes of the world. Yet his heart still dares to shamefully race whenever you smile.

So it only makes sense if you leave.

At first, it did come as a surprise, but not much of one. Because he knows he deserved it, and that he was never worthy of your attention in the first place.

Still, his heart aches. But if you’re content, then so is he. Who is Tighnari to argue with your divine judgment?

So, he understands. He understands that you grew tired of him.

Ah, but still, he dares hold a small shred of hope that you’ll come back to see him again.

Is that so sinful?

(a/n) i love the sumeru men too much please send help

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slttygeto · 2 years

Text

NO NUT NOVEMBER

synopsis: eager, needy boys are so good. the ones who have self control, though? even better.

c.w: overstimulation, dirty talk, oral (fem! receiving), dom! reader (second half), riding, subby boys.

—lasts the entirety of the month: rocks your shit the moment it’s done.

you’ve tested your limits before around each other, coming to the realization that you were more than okay with overstimulation with him but this— this was too much for you.

your sobs were loud and clear, one hand pushing at his head while the other gripped the pillow for dear life as his lips wrapped around your clit and sucked hard.

“f-fuck— too much, ‘s too much please—“ your chest stuttered as you tried to inhale, hazy eyes locking with his own lustful ones. you were starting to think that he was long gone, too pussy drunk to be able to comprehend that he was pushing you beyond your limit. yet he somehow knew that you were more than okay with this considering the fact that your safe word didn’t even try to roll on your tongue.

“cmon i know you can give me one more,” two of his fingers slid inside you with so much ease, biting his bottom lip as he watched your arousal drip down his wrist.

“you’re fucking drenched— you’ve been wanting this as much as I have, yeah?”

your response being a timid nod didn’t help the man between your legs, a growl emitting from the back of his throat as he pressed his lips to your clit, his fingers setting an unforgiving pace inside your cunt.

“yeah, fuck I know you have. pretty pussy can’t get enough of me, isn’t that right?”

maybe you should do this more often if it meant getting to hear more of his filthy mouth.

haitani ran, mitsuya takashi, ken ryuguji, hanma shuji, kawata nahoya.

—lasts about one week: he was determined! but he’s so weak for you :(

hearing him whine against your lips was something you will never get tired of. he sat on the couch and tried to busy himself with whatever was on the TV, avoiding even staring at your figure felt like you were being punished as well and for such a stupid challenge.

and so you straddled his lap with so much ease, the shirt you were wearing riding up to reveal that you weren’t wearing any panties under— and with how your pussy was pressed against his aching hard on along with your glossy lips, he decided that enough is enough. his friends can laugh all they want, he needed to be inside you.

“oh shit— oh fuck I missed this,” his head was thrown back, panting heavily as he stared down at your pussy swallowing every inch of him so greedily. he tried to hold back his moan, yet when your wrapped a hand around his neck and pushed his head back on the couch, he couldn’t help the whimper that escaped his lips.

“don’t you dare keep quiet on me. I’ve been fucking dying to have you like this under me,” whatever took over you, he was grateful for it. he’s never seen you be this dominant and honestly? he wasn’t complaining.

he tried to keep his cool, tried to thrust up into you even— yet his efforts went down the drain the moment you started bouncing on his cock and suddenly he couldn’t stop the noises falling past his lips.

“shit—ah, you’re so good—“ truly a pussy whipped boy. but this would teach him not to participate in such stupid challenges.

takemichi hanagaki, chifuyu matsuno, kawata souya, kisaki tetta (hear me out), shinichiro sano.

2022 © all works belong to slttygeto. do not repost my work anywhere else.

#moon's works #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers smut #ran smut #draken smut #mitsuya smut #kisaki smut #takemichi smut #chifuyu smut #smiley smut #angry smut #shinichiro smut #hanma smut

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bothoutsiders · 17 days

Note

Bruce: Jason should be the bigger person.

Tim: The person that was harmed shouldn't have to be the bigger person when they were the one mistreated and neglected.

It made his blood boil. His heart felt like it wanted to get out of his chest and fight the man in front of him with its own fists.

“It has been years, Timothy. He shouldn’t be holding grudges for that long.”

A small sound escaped Tim’s lips. The frustration bubbled from his chest and his limbs felt as heavy as lead.

How dare Bruce speak that way? How could he be so selfish and blind to see that he was in a way worse situation?

“Bruce…” Tim spoke after a big pause, only because he didn’t know how to put everything into words. How to throw it at his face and make him see. How to force him to open his eyes and comprehend what he has done, what he is saying, and what he was expecting from others.

The man across from him kept staring in silence, waiting.

“You can’t expect Jason to not resent you after everything that has happened. He was a kid when he was murdered. How would you have felt if you came back from the death and saw that the only adult who was nice to you and would act like a real parent, didn’t do anything to the murderer? He let him continue planning more crimes, hurting more innocent people. You never stopped him, Bruce.” He frowned, feeling his body stiff from the pent-up anger. “You let Jason rot in that box while the Joker ran free, breathing your same air.”

“Tim, that’s not how–”

“Shut up. Shut up and listen for once.” He pressed his thin index finger against the man’s chest. “Jason came back, and he wasn’t avenged. He saw someone else was replacing him. He believed he had been forgotten and everyone was better without him. Nobody spoke to him, nobody explained anything to him. Nobody has done that yet! And how many years has it been? Seven? And you expect him to just realize by himself and forgive you? Forgive you even when you went to him and didn’t care to expose him to his trauma again only so that he could tell you how he came back from the death? Because you were using him to get Damian back. That doesn’t excuse you. Let’s not forget about the many, many times you have beat him up, but you never do that to criminals…”

“He’s not a child anymore. Once you grow up, you have to heal your own wounds, make yourself responsible for how you feel now. How you react to the past.”

Tim snorted and took a step back. He stared at Bruce but he was serious, there was no hint of him joking, and Tim couldn’t help but start laughing.

“You’re such a hypocrite. Aren't you Bruce Thomas Wayne, the one who still has nightmares about what happened that night with your parents? The one who still holds a grudge since you were eight years old?” Tim got ready to leave. “Grow up, child.”

#JayTim #Jason Todd #Tim Drake #not bruce friendly #never b friendly #request #w: story

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lincolndjarin · 7 months

Text

Best Kept Secret

chapter twenty six : crucifixion

ao3 link ✿ series masterlist ✩ main masterlist ✧

pairing : bodyguard!Din Djarin x afab!princess!reader

rating : 18+ mdni

word count : 12.7k

summary : judgement day.

warnings: major character death, above canon typical violence, very brief references to suicide, torture, body horror (briefly), feelings of despair, blood, wounds, general kodo grossness, vomit (reader vomits several times, it is never described in detail), language, angst, brief smut, pregnancy, death, reader is not doing well in this like she's at a breaking point, i may have missed some so feel free to let me know.

a/n: please read the warnings on this chap! it's the most serious of the bks updates, definitely a bit more intense than the rest. gonna work on getting 27 out within the next few day. i've been terrified of releasing this chapter since i started writing it so once i post this i'm going to dig a hole and sit in it and hide for a while lmao.

i changed my editing style so if there's spelling errors lmk!! apologies in advance!!

“My room is too big.”

He bursts into genuine peals of laughter and you gently smack his arm.

“Don’t laugh, it’s a serious issue! My room is enormous.” You’re giggling along with him now, it’s the hardest you’ve ever heard him laugh. You both just laugh for a few minutes, as if each other's company is the most amusing thing in the world.

Once your giggles fizzle out you wait another moment before breaking the silence.

“Where did you grow up?” You can’t see him but you can sense where he sits in the darkness, you crawl forward so you’re sitting between his legs, your own legs wrap around his waist. “I’m just curious.”

“Aq Vetina.” You can’t recall anything about the planet. You aren’t even sure you’ve heard of it.

“Do you remember your parents well? You don’t talk about them very much.” You put your hands on his shoulders, ever so slowly moving them up to his neck until you’re cupping his face.

“I’ll never forget them.” He whispers.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. We can’t change the past.” You rub your nose against his, bumping them together as you hum and nod. “My mother loved ships. We didn’t travel, we never had a reason to, but she would take me outside and we’d watch ships fly past. I could never comprehend how she knew the name for all of them, it blew my mind.” You wrap your arms around his neck, staying silent in hopes that he’ll continue, he so rarely speaks so much. “My father worked a lot but he always made time for us, he was always home in time to say goodnight to me. He was always around when I needed him, he always provided for us. On his day off he’d spend the whole day cooking, I’d sit on the kitchen counter and tell him what my mother and I had done that week. When she’d come home we’d all eat dinner together.”

“You sound like you were a happy child.” You can’t help but smile.

“I never had reason to be otherwise.” He says it so matter of factly that you don’t doubt it for a second. He was loved. It only makes you smile wider.

“What were you like, as a child?”

“Well behaved.” You immediately begin laughing once more.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Believe it. My mother homeschooled me, she always made sure I had manners. I wasn’t particularly athletic or talkative so I didn’t play with other kids a lot. It was just me and mama.” He sounds far away, it makes you want to hold him close and never let him go.

“So what did you do all day?” Your tone has softened significantly.

“I would sew.”

“Be serious.” He’s the one who laughs now at the disbelief in your voice.

“I am! I would sit with my mother after my lessons and we’d sew.” His fingertips dance along the back of your neck as he reminisces.

“What kinds of things?” You don’t tease. When you really think about it you suppose such a hobby is fitting for him. A task that requires precision and care.

“I would help her make clothes and blankets that she would sell most days. On the weekends she’d let me do whatever I wanted so I would practice my embroidery.”

“My heart is actually about to explode out of my chest, you’re so cute.” You put on a mocking tone but the thought of such a thing really does make your heart clench. “Little Din Djarin stitching his name into his clothes.”

“You’re a cruel woman.” He leans forward, knocking his forehead against yours, almost as if he were reprimanding you.

“What sorts of things would you embroider?” Your tone goes back to genuine, you could listen to him talk about himself for days and you’d never get bored.

“Whatever my mother wanted. I would ask her what I should do and then I’d stitch it onto her blanket or the hem of her skirt. Mostly flowers, she loved daisies.” You’re pretty sure one of your ovaries literally popped at the thought of a little boy with dark curls and big brown eyes sitting beside his mother and embroidering a daisy onto her skirt. Your heart flutters a bit as you think of the necklace he got you. The silver outline of a flower you now realize is a daisy. “If he was ever gone for more than one night for work my father would bring her daisies, one for each day he was away.”

“Do you still know how?”

“I used to fix Grogu’s clothes when he ripped them but I haven’t done much else since I was a boy. He says it with finality but you carry on, not wanting him to stop talking.

“What were their names? Your parents?”

“Clara and Arin Djarin.”

“Those are pretty names.”

“What was it like for you? You said you had seven siblings right?”

“Eight actually.” You think of them now. There were eight of you and your parents' love for all of you combined wasn’t even a tenth of how much Din’s parents loved him.

“Do you like having a big family?” He lifts you off of his lap, laying you back down as he crawls on top of you, laying against your chest.

“I love it. I miss my siblings everyday, do you think we’ll be able to visit them someday?”

“If it’s safe to, of course we will.” He tilts his head, if you weren’t in darkness he’d be looking at you.

“I wish they had visited here. They would have loved you.”

“You think?”

“Are you kidding me? The younger ones would adore you.” You tangle your finger in his hair, scratching his scalp. “Kids just naturally like you.”

“They just haven’t learned to fear me.” You frown when he says it like a fact.

“I think it’s more than that.”

“Yeah?” The hopeful tilt to his voice has you leaning down to press a kiss into his hair.

“Kids are intuitive, they can sense that you’re a good person.” He tenses up as you tell him he’s a good person. You know exactly what he’s thinking about now, how he punched your husband and then refused to leave.

Neither one of you wants to talk about that though, not today.

“What kind of room would you want? Since your current room isn’t to your liking.” He’s quick to change the subject and you let him.

“In all honesty, I like the cabin, I wish we could just live there.” You run your fingers through his curls as you think about it, gently pulling through any tangles.

“My cabin?” His voice is full of uncertainty as he pulls back a bit.

“It’s nice.” You feel a bit defensive, you consider the cabin to be the closest thing you have to a home. “Can you imagine getting to stay on Naboo? We could spend our mornings walking the market.” You rest your hand on the back of his neck now. “We could get jobs in the city, and then at night we’d come home.”

“To the cabin?” He still sounds rather skeptical of your hypothetical future.

“I’d cook dinner, you’d do the chores.”

“The cabin’s a bit small for us.”

“We’d make it a bit bigger, add a few bedrooms, we don’t need that much space.”

“A few?” He turns his head, his lips brush against your collar briefly as he kisses you there, freezing up when you speak again.

“At least two, one for us and then some for any little Djarin’s who might need space.” With that he sits up entirely, his legs straddle your stomach.

“Little Djarin’s?”

“And Grogu, he would come live with us as well.”

“You’d want him to live with us?”

“Of course, he’s a little Djarin.” Your hands rest on his thighs now as he seemingly ponders above you. He hums to himself in silence for a moment and you can’t help but grin at how seriously he’s taking all of this.

“How many?” He finally speaks again and you laugh at the bluntness of his question.

“Kids?”

“How many would you want?”

“You go first.” You haven’t ever talked about this sort of thing so you want to gauge his answer first so you don’t scare him too much with all the kids talk.

“Maybe five? Or six.”

“Six?” Your voice pitches up immediately and you feel a rumble in his chest as he laughs.

“Or five.”

“How about two, counting Grogu.” Turns out you didn’t need to worry about scaring him off.

“How about three?” Three is manageable.

“Counting Grogu?”

“Counting Grogu.” He seems satisfied with that.

“I suppose we could have three, you’re the one who has to build all the extra bedrooms.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I’d work at the library and you’d work in a shipyard, we’d take turns staying home with the kids.” You pull him back to you, taking his hands and dragging him to lay his head on your chest once more.

“I’ve got enough savings, neither one of us has to work if you’d like.” It sends a twinge of pain to your heart how real this conversation has become, knowing that this exact dream isn’t possible.

You could always make parts of it real.

Someday.

“I’d want to work, to get out of the house, but you could stay home if you’d like.”

“When they’re still ik’aad, at least for the first few years I’d want to be with them.” He’s going to be a wonderful father.

“Then I’d work, not long hours, just enough to get me out of the house, when I come home I’d give you a break, you could do the shopping and I’d watch the little’s.”

“We’d go as a family, I wouldn’t want ‘a break.’”

“You’d want to wrangle three kids in the markets?” You scoff in disbelief but he continues to sound completely serious.

“They’d be well behaved.” You seriously doubt that.

“What about either one of us makes you think our children will be well behaved? Is Grogu well behaved?”

“We’ll manage.”

“They’ll be wild.” They will, not they would.

“And smart.” He sits up again, hovering above you to give you a quick kiss.

“And happy.” There isn’t a doubt in your mind that your children would be happy with Din as their father.

“You’d really want to live here? I could build us a house anywhere.”

“I like Naboo, at least everything outside of the castle. I don’t even mind the castle, I just don’t care for the people inside it.” It’s true, somewhere along the way this place grew on you immensely. You love the city and the people in it. “And they’d get to play in the garden.”

“I would build you a cabin anywhere you wanted, and I’d plant you a new garden.” He kisses along your cheeks and forehead as he speaks.

“You wouldn’t need to plant me a garden if we lived here.” You insist.

“We can’t live here, mesh’la.” He rubs a small circle with his thumb against your cheek. “This is too serious now, we’re supposed to be relaxed today.”

“When did we agree on that?” You muster up a weak laugh.

“It was a silent mutual agreement.”

“I’m plenty relaxed.” You mumble. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his stubble tickling you as you let out an airy giggle.

“I’m actually very tense and I think we should take a break from all this talking and take care of that.” He mumbles against your shoulder.

“Oh?”

“Mhmm.” He emphasizes his point by pressing his erection against your hip, you hadn’t even realized that this is where he was going with that.

“How long have you been waiting to jump me?”

“When we started talking about the five kids I was gonna put in you.” He continues to nip at your neck and shoulders as he speaks.

“Skipping the agreed upon three and going straight to five already? You’re not even going to attempt to negotiate for four?”

“So you’re open to four?” He pulls back and you can hear his smile.

“Let’s start with one and go from there.”

“Right now?” His hips stutter down a bit against yours.

“Maker, you’re insatiable.” You both burst into another fit of laughter.

“What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

“I could get pregnant, and considering the lack of sex I’ve had with my husband I’m sure that might raise a few eyebrows.”

“It would never get to that point, when we’re in the clear with this whole Kodo mess I’m getting you out of here.”

“Like… actually leaving Naboo?”

“Exactly like that. I’m gonna take you far away from here when this is over, gonna keep you all for myself.” His hands move down, giving your hips a squeeze.

“I’m already yours.” You laughed, rolling over to be on top of him. He’s right, if you’re going to leave anyway then what’s the worst thing that could happen?

You never talked about that night after that.

When everything sorted itself out you realized how crazy your fear had made you. You couldn’t just leave. At least that’s what you’d told yourself, now you feel like an idiot for not holding him to his words. It wasn’t realistic, you both knew actually leaving would take so much more preparation than a few whispered ideas during a time where neither one of you was in any position to be making such promises.

It was just talk.

Lysa came to get you from the dining room.

After everyone left you had no motivation to move, you just stood there, frozen in time. After a few hours she found you, she had taken your hand and walked you back to your chambers. She held your hand, she kept you upright when you threatened to crumble. And when you felt a wave of nausea ripple through you she rushed you to the fresher, a hand on your back as you threw up all over again.

You sat breathlessly on the tile, Lysa rubbing your back.

“Gods, I’ve been nauseous since the wedding. Even before everything fell apart.” It’s the first words you’ve spoken since they took Din, your stomach is still churning. “This has never happened before.” You groan, you’ve had many moments of upset throughout your life, but none that made you physically ill. Lysa looks almost painfully worried.

“Ma’am… is there a chance you might be…”

Kriff.

You never talked about that night after that.

Maybe you should have.

You both did a lot of things during those days. You had been so angry, and he had done everything in his power to ease that anger, to keep both of you as happy as someone could be in your situation.

You shouldn’t have used that as an excuse to be reckless.

“I’d like to go to bed.”

“Of course.” She helps you to your feet, walking you back to your room, you turn to her one last time before you close the door.

“I’m sorry. Elaine never should have gotten involved in all this.” You’d trade places with her in a heartbeat if you could.

“It’s not your fault.” She truly seems to believe that.

Except it is. Elaine never would have found herself in this situation if she hadn’t so often been helping the two of you keep your secret.

“Goodnight, Lysa.”

“Goodnight, princess.”

You lay on the bed, unable to bring yourself to sleep in the closet.

It’s cold. Colder than Hoth, as you stare at the ceiling in your far too big bed in your far too big room. Even bigger now that it’s just you.

You let your hand roam down your torso to rest on your stomach.

Just you, hopefully.

☆

You’re now having nightly dinners with Kodo.

You don’t get any respite from him, you just want to stay in bed. You’re nauseous and tired and your head hasn’t stopped spinning since that night. A million thoughts a minute.

Where is he?

Is he okay?

What the fuck can I do about it?

Mostly that.

The worst part is your lack of a plan. If the roles were reversed Din would have already rescued you and you’d be living happily ever after.

But that isn’t how your story is going. Instead you are alone, with no scheme on how to get to him. It’s only been three days but it’s driving you insane, you have never known such hopelessness, it’s maddening. To sit alone in your room all day, staring at the ceiling until Lysa comes to dress you for dinner. Neither one of you ever speaks, afterall, what would you say to each other?

“I’m sorry the love of your life had been sentenced to die?”

How morbid.

Not that you’re above being morbid.

You think about it often. How easy it would be to drive your dinner knife into Kodo’s throat. You’re seated beside him now at dinner, both of you at the head of the table, joined by the rest of his family.

The thought of killing him is the only thing that brings you peace these days. You’ve never once in your life been violent until now. Din is good. He’s a good man. In every way he is the opposite of your husband yet Din is the one locked away, Maker knows where, while Kodo is being rewarded.

It doesn’t make you mad, it makes you furious.

It makes you want to poison his wine.

But you don’t have poison.

And you can’t put yourself in danger. Because you feel fundamentally different, and even if you refuse to think that such a thing is possible you know you wouldn’t just be putting yourself in danger. There’s more at stake now.

That’s what you tell yourself to stay calm, a feat that is getting harder by the minute as you’re sat beside Kodo who is currently bragging about how he defeated a Mandalorian.

“They aren’t as strong as you think they are. Under the armor they’re weak, pathetic.”

It took six battle droids to keep him down. You didn’t even get near him.

“Some people just need to be taught a lesson, don’t touch what isn’t yours.” He sneers and the rest of the table erupts into laughter. “I certainly taught that horned bitch a lesson as well, you all should have seen what they brought me last night.”

You perk up, this is the only thing they’ve said in days that truly matters to you. You’ve heard nothing about the current state of either of them until now.

“What did they do to Elaine?” Everyone’s head turns to you, all their expressions look as if you’ve announced something treasonous but Kodo smiles as if he were explaining something to a child.

“She was properly punished, the way someone who observed such a crime with no intervention should be.” He puts his hand over yours when he says it.

You don’t ask for any follow up.

You don’t think you could stomach it, so you stay silent for the rest of your meal. When you’re finished you stand, the rest of the table is starting to pour more drinks but you simply lean down, mumbling something about being tired before giving Kodo a quick kiss on the cheek and dismissing yourself.

You’re waiting for the night where he joins you in your chambers, after all his father is dead, but it has yet to happen. He had told you that once he was king he would be in need of heirs but he seems happy enough with his pleasure houses and you’re more than grateful for the women you entertain him so you don’t have to.

So you return to your chambers alone, peeling off your gown before burying yourself under the covers.

Sleep evades you as you toss and turn. You aren’t even tired, there’s too much going on in your mind, there’s no room for exhaustion. After about an hour you manage to drift in and out of unconsciousness, earning a brief reprieve from your anxieties until a sharp knocking has you jolting upright.

You don your robe, rubbing sleep from your eyes as you rush to the door, you’re too tired to wonder who might even be bothering you at such an hour as you pull the door open.

Lysa?

“We have to hurry, ma’am.” She grabs your arm, frantically tugging you into the hall.

“Lysa? What are you doing? Are you okay?”

“I am fine, but we don’t have much time.”

“Surely you have enough to tell me where we are going.”

“Do you want to see him or not?”

Din.

You nod, taking her hand as he rushes onward, stopping at each hall to peer around the corners until you make your way to a servants stairwell, skipping several steps in your descent until you run out of stairs. You’ve never been down here, you didn’t even know there were dungeons until recently.

It makes your stomach twist in knots the moment you stare into the darkness.

“Are there no guards?” You whisper, squeezing her hand.

“Not for the next hour, I’ve made sure of it.” She begins walking down the poorly lit corridor, pulling you along behind her.

The stone floor is damp and it smells of mildew. Your bare feet are already freezing after just a few steps.

Every cell you pass is lit from the outside with a hanging lantern, they’re mostly empty, but you catch glimpses of movement out of the corner of your eye every now and then. In all honesty you’re doing your best to take in as little as possible, you don’t want to think about Din being down here in such a place, but there’s one element you can’t ignore.

The wailing.

Someone is weeping, a low, sorrowful song filling the vast maze of halls and you realize quickly you’re heading in its direction, Lysa tenses beside you as you continue on. You’re about to turn one more corner when she abruptly stops, turning to face you.

“He needs to eat.” She removes a fistful of rations from her apron pocket, shoving them into your hands.

“He hasn’t?” He’s been down here for three days.

“He won’t… let me.” You pause, cocking your head to the side and she gives you an apologetic look when she turns. “He won’t let me uncover his face.”

Oh.

“I’ll feed him.” You nod slowly, tucking them into your own pockets before turning the corner. The contents of the cell immediately on your right have you stumbling backwards but Lysa is not swayed, pulling a key from her pocket, unlocking the door quickly before handing it to you.

“He’s two cells down, on your right.” She doesn’t look at you as she rushes in, pulling a roll of bandages from her dress. “Shh… it’s okay, I’m here.” Her voice goes soft as she kneels beside Elaine. You can’t help it as you step into the entryway of the cell.

Well, you’ve found the source of the wailing.

She’s sat on a cot, curled in on herself as Lysa carefully peels back a series of soiled bandages from her face.

“I’ve got you, it’s just me.” She continues to make an attempt to sooth a rather hysterical Elaine as she peels back the final layer of bandages and your stomach flips. “You’re okay, love, I need to change these.” You don’t know how Lysa is so calm, even in the darkness you can see the extent of her wounds. Now you know what they brought Kodo last night.

Both eyes.

“She was properly punished, the way someone who observed such a crime with no intervention should be.”

Oh gods.

You’re worried you may collapse as you watch Lysa tend to her with no hesitation, cleaning them with a careful hand before she begins to redress them. You can’t bear to watch any longer as Elaine begins sobbing once more. You try desperately to force the sight of your mutilated friend from your mind as you count down two more cells before quickly fumbling for the lock, letting it hit the floor as you take the lantern outside the door off its hook, bringing it into the dark room.

It isn’t like Elaine’s cell.

There’s no bed or interior light, it’s terribly dark and fetid, his cell running deeper than her’s. It takes a few steps for you to finally illuminate the room enough to see him.

Maker.

What have they done to your Din?

You don’t hear Elaine anymore, there isn't a single thing that could distract you from the scene in front of you. There is nothing but the sight of your kar’ta. There’s too much for you to worry about, you don’t even know where to start, you’re frozen in place, a small part of your brain refuses to recognize the man before you as Din at all. He shouldn’t look like this.

Armorless.

They’ve stripped him of any clothing you recognize, the thought alone makes you nearly lose your dinner.

They took his helmet, replacing it with a linen sack.

Did they see his face?

You briefly have to shut your eyes, taking a deep breath as you take in the rest of him. His clothes are too thin, he must be freezing, they’ve dressed him in a cotton tunic and trousers that end just below the knee. You can see just how beaten and bruised he is. Unlike Elaine he’s in chains, kneeling on the floor with his hands shackled, taut above his head. You swallow the lump in your throat and finally crouch down in front of him, setting the lantern down beside you as you reach out to place a hand on his chest.

“Din…” Your voice cracks and the moment you come in contact with him he flinches back. Suddenly you know how Lysa held it together so well with Elaine, she just had to. You can’t fall apart, who would care for him now if you did? “It’s me, just me. Just me.” You whisper and place a hand over his heart but withdraw it quickly when he trembles under your touch. You ache at the sight of it but more than anything you’re confused, it only takes a moment for you to realize the issue.

He doesn’t have his helmet. They’ve not only left him here blind, but deaf, of course any touch would frighten him.

He assumes you're here to harm him.

You lean in, careful not to come in contact with him as you speak clearly and loudly.

“Din?” His trembling stops instantly. You find it a bit troublesome how much worse his hearing seems to have gotten in such a short time, you’re half tempted to reach under the bag to make sure he still has his ears.

“Sarad?” Oh, Din. His voice is terribly small and it sends you forward, wrapping your arms around him as you pull him into an unreciprocated embrace.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” You make sure to speak loud enough for him before pulling back, placing your hands against the fabric covering his face.

“Are you okay?” He coughs a bit as he asks and you almost laugh at how ridiculous the question is considering the state he’s in. Are you okay?

Technically no.

But far better than he’s doing.

“I’m perfectly fine, what can I do for you? Are you hurting?” You feel his face through the bag as you look down across his body. It doesn’t look like there’s been any permanent damage outside of a pretty nasty cut on one of his legs.

“Don’t worry about me.”

“Now’s not the time to play the hero, Din.” He flinches a little and you calm your tone immediately. What the hell did they do to him? “Just let me help.”

“How’d you get down here?”

“Lysa, she says you aren’t eating.”

“She’d have to lift my- the bag to do it.” He sounds apologetic, as if you could ever fault him for following his creed.

“It’s okay… may I?” You bring your hands to the hem of the bag but his head turns sharply.

“I- I don’t want you to look.”

You have no response. He’s always wanted you to look.

“I just, I don’t think you wanna see the condition I’m in. I don’t want your only memories of my face to be this.” He whispers when you don’t respond.

You should have looked when he asked you to. You should have done a lot of things differently.

You shouldn’t have waited so long to look.

You shouldn't have waited so long to tell him you loved him.

You should have just let yourself love him. Why did you fight it for so long? It seems silly now. If you could do it all again you would have just taken his helmet off the first night you met him and you would have married him right then and there. You would have left Naboo that night.

And you would never keep any of it from him. You would tell him how important he is and how loved he is, you wouldn’t make him wait.

Even now you can’t help it though, censoring yourself out of fear. Do you tell him about how nauseous you get every morning? About the way Lysa stares at your belly when she does your makeup?

No.

It wouldn’t do either of you any good, not when he’s in this situation.

You take hold of the edges of the bag once more, gentler this time.

“I’ll close my eyes.” You lift the fabric completely off of him, setting it in your lap as you simultaneously shut your eyes. You keep one hand on his face, using your thumb to find the corner of his mouth as your other hand fumbles to open a ration bar. You feel him part his lips as you feed him. He’s barely chewing, eating quickly and swallowing most of it whole. “Have they fed you at all?” You whisper as he finishes the first bar in a matter of seconds, his teeth lightly scraping against your fingers before you withdraw them, tearing open another bar.

“No.” His voice is still soft as you go to feed him once more, opening each package until he’s eaten them all.

“Are you still hungry? I could see if Lysa has more.”

“I’m okay.” You let your head fall forward, resting your forehead on his.

“What else can I do for you?”

“Nothing. Being here is enough.”

If you had felt helpless before it was nothing compared to this. This is more than helplessness, it’s despair.

“I’m sorry.” You pull yourself further into his lap, wrapping your arms around him in the process.

“Hey… none of this is your fault.” It certainly feels like it is. Why does he keep comforting you when he’s the one shivering and alone down here?

“Please, there has to be something I can do to help you.”

“There is one thing.” You almost open your eyes, you're so relieved, you just want to ease his pain.

“Anything. I’ll do anything.”

“I need you to promise me you won’t look.”

“Won’t look?” Your eyes are already closed, you couldn’t look any less if you tried.

“When they do it. I don’t want you to see it- it won’t be pretty.”

When they separate his head from his body.

“I won’t.” You can’t deny him this, you’ll give him anything he wants. “Do you know how much I love you?” You whisper before leaning forward another inch to kiss him.

The question is genuine. It terrifies you to your core to think that he may not know just how much you love him.

“Of course sarad.” He murmurs against your lips until you let your head rest on his shoulder, fighting back tears.

What do you say now?

What do you say to a man condemned to death?

“I love you.” You mumble into the thin fabric of his tunic.

“I love you too.” After a moment more with him you hear metal jingling as Lysa locks Elaine's cell once more. You quickly pull back from him, pulling the bag back over his head, once you know he can’t see you anymore the tears flow freely. Lysa steps into the cell and you remove your robe, wrapping it around him, immediately he begins to protest.

“Mesh’la, you can’t leave this here.” His voice is strained and it makes you sick to think he started crying once he was out of sight as well.

“Please, y-you’re gonna freeze.”

“They’ll know you were here, sarad’ika.”

“Din…” You’re practically babbling as Lysa removes your robe from his shoulders, an apologetic look on her face as she grabs your arm.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but we need to go.” Tears sting your eyes as Lysa urges you to hurry but you don’t want to leave him, you want to stay, no matter the consequence. You pull away from her, wrapping your arms around his torso.

“You need to go.” His voice is urgent through the fabric as you cling to him tighter.

Would it be easier to just stay? Get caught and join him at the executioners? You’re genuinely considering it when you feel your stomach churn once more and you’re reminded of the exact reason why you can’t stay. Before you lose your nerve and shatter completely you lift the bag, just enough to give you an eyeful of his split lip and bruised jaw as you gently lean in and kiss him one more time.

Doing everything in your power to remember exactly what it feels like.

The curve of his lips and the shape of his chin, the overgrown stubble brushing against your skin as you press your face harder against his, desperation taking over as you taste salt on his lips. You hold him as long as you can, until you hear Lysa urging you to make haste once more.

“I love you.” You press your forehead to his through the fabric, feeling the familiar shape of his face against yours.

“I’ll always be yours.”

That was the last thing he was able to say before you let Lysa drag you out of the dungeons.

☆

It’s like everythings suddenly back to the beginning.

You wake up alone, you go to bed alone, and you wander the castle alone.

There is no plotting or scheming to free Din.

Even if you were a trained killer or bounty hunter, it would be more than difficult to get him out of the dungeon and on a ship off Naboo. It would be even harder to do so when you’re one of the most recognizable people on the planet.

He is buried deep beneath the ground and there is nothing you can do about it.

After all, you're just a doll.

You don’t know when it happened but all your clothes are blue again. Every dress Lysa fetches from the closet is a different shade of blue and all your nightgowns are the color of the sky. A personal brand put on you by Kodo. It’s clearly more than just a preference now, it’s a reminder to you and everyone else that you’re his.

And time blends.

You know a date was set right around the time you visited him. One week until Kodo’s coronation and two until the execution. His first public event after being crowned king will be a death sentence, how fitting.

So you wake.

And you sleep.

And you walk.

Kodo never replaces Din and you haven’t seen Leo since that night, so you’re completely alone. It’s like he’s rubbing in the fact that you’re powerless. There’s no need for you to have a guard, you can’t leave. If you tried you’d be escorted back in an instant.

You tried to convince Lysa to let you see him again last night.

“Please, just a few minutes-“

“I’m sorry ma’am, it’s just not possible. The only reason I was able to get you down there the first time was because the guard that usually lets me in was working nights, he won’t be working nights again until next month.”

Din won’t live to see next month.

“Is he eating?”

“He won’t let me-“

“You need to insist. Tell him I insist, and tell him you’ll close your eyes.”

She pins back a bit of your hair, leaving half up and half down. You both bask in the silence for a moment.

“I’ll make sure he eats.”

“Thank you.”

That had been the last conversation you had with Lysa.

She doesn’t come to dress you in the morning. You think nothing of it and dress yourself in the gown she’d laid out last night. It’s a bit difficult, putting your coronation gown on on your own but eventually you manage, when you’re fully dressed in the obscenely decadent blue fabric you begin to worry.

You have no reason to assume that everything is fine. It would actually make sense for this to be a worst case scenario situation, everything else in your life is right now.

You’re about to leave in search of her but you decide against it. Sitting at the vanity and doing your makeup as quickly as possible, the last thing you need to do right now is give Kodo a reason to be upset with you, you have to be presentable. You smear the shimmering blue eyeshadow across your lids before rushing out of your room.

The halls are full. Servants move quickly from room to room, cleaning every inch as you carefully push through the crowds, making a beeline towards the dining room.

Kodo is seething when you push open the large doors.

He stands at the end of the table, shoving an armored guard as the veins in his neck jut out in his rage.

“Where could she have possibly gone? She’s blind. You’re telling me some blind bitch outsmarted my entire guard?”

Your heart flutters at the thought.

They escaped.

Your hope is shattered the moment Kodo begins speaking again.

“At least we still have the Mandalorian… I want security tripled, guards stationed outside his cell at all times.” He continues grumbling for a moment until he realizes you’re there. “Happy coronation day dear wife! I’m afraid we’ve had a rough morning here, somehow in the night the Togruta girl escaped, do not fret, we’ll find her.”

God's you hope not.

Even if things are worse than ever regarding Din there is one flicker of light in that darkness. Lysa got Elaine out. Knowing that almost puts you at ease.

“Happy coronation day.” You actually manage a smile when you look at your husband, it’s weak but it’s genuine. You want to be mad that they didn’t help Din escape but you just can’t be. You know they most likely tried but if the roles had been reversed and you could only get one of them out you wouldn’t hesitate.

So there is no animosity. Just a flicker of happiness for them.

They got out.

☆

You were under the impression that a coronation was a happy event. Yet when you step out onto the castle steps it seems to be quite the opposite.

They look miserable.

All of their faces are sullen and dejected. How shocking, no one is excited about Kodo being crowned king. He didn’t have any of the outside of the castle decorated or made presentable in any way. No one reacts when Kodo reads from an ancient looking book until a crown is placed on his head.

A moment afterwards you’re instructed to kneel and a tiara is placed onto your head.

The audience is silent and you feel shame when you stare out at them.

Even if you don’t have very much power you still feel as if you’ve failed them. The feeling follows you when you’re directed to the dining hall with Kodo.

“I have a couple gifts for you, wife.” His twisted smile makes your stomach turn as you enter the dining hall, now decorated with blue and gray banners.

“A gift? You shouldn’t have, my king, I- I didn’t get you anything.” You feign remorse as you take a sip of the wine in front of you on instinct before spitting it back up into the cup.

“That’s more than okay, you’re my gift, sweet wife, all mine.” The thought of such a thing makes you sick, you smile despite yourself.

“That’s very kind.” You’ll only ever be Din’s. No amount of blue fabric and faux smiles can change that. He snaps his fingers and a large box is brought to you by a servant, they set it directly in front of you on the table. You look at Kodo who nods, sitting back in his chair as you stand, the box is wrapped in checkered blue paper, a large bow adorning the top. Your hands tremble a bit as you take hold of the edges of the ribbon, tugging on them until the bow slips free, much to your surprise the entire box falls open, the sides collapsing giving you an immediate view of the contents.

The silver, shimmering contents.

Din’s helmet.

Polished like new, it sits before you, and the room suddenly empties. It’s as if you are completely alone, despite all the eyes that are most definitely pinned on you right now. Your hands continue to shake as your fingers wrap around the beskar steel, like you would when you held Din’s face, lifting it to glare into the visor.

Empty.

You can’t help but stare at your own emptiness reflected back at you.

You want to hold it close, press it to your forehead but you’re snapped back to reality by the grating sound of Kodo’s voice breaking you from your focus on the helm between your hands.

“That’s only one of your presents, open the next one.” He hisses gleefully.

You set the helmet down, realizing there was another, much smaller box underneath it. Silently you scoop it up and cradle it in your hands. It’s a larger than a ring box, it just barely fits in your palm as you ever so gently open it, swinging the top open as if it were a tiny treasure chest.

Huh.

It takes a moment.

You aren’t exactly sure what it is you’re looking at at first but when it registers your entire body tenses up, your grip tightening on the gift box.

Bloody and pink, a tongue.

Of course you know better than to assume Kodo would give you any old tongue. This is a special someone’s tongue.

No, no, no, no, no.

You had loved his tongue before anything else.

He can’t do this, he cannot do this to you.

You had fallen for his sharp wit first, it was what drew you into him. His sweet words had won you back, his declaration of devotion.

Now you hold all of that in the palm of your hand.

“What do we say?” His nasally voice breaks through your mental anguish.

No.

“Come on, where are your manners?”

Please.

“Thank you.” Your whisper is nearly silent as you struggle to keep down the scream bubbling in your throat.

“What was that?”

You clear your throat.

“Thank you.”

He makes you take it with you. You don’t bother telling him you won’t be attending the coronation ball in a few minutes, it’s not like you’ll be missed.

In one arm you’re cradling his helmet, in the other the little blue box.

You set each one down carefully onto the bed, even if it’s a bit demented these are the only parts of him you have left. You stare at the little box.

You have never been hateful.

Kodo made you into this. You are full of hate, for most things at this point. You hate your husband, you hate your room, and most of all you hate the little blue box on the bed.

And the music starts.

It must be deafening in the hall for you to hear it from your room but it’s there, loud and demanding of your attention.

You’re moving before you even have a chance to think about it, in a few quick strides you’re standing beside the vanity, your hands gripping the top of the mirror as you pull it down in one swift motion, the contents spill everywhere and the glass shatters in an instant, shards splattering the floor but you take no time to process it.

You move on to the next thing.

You yank each drawer from the dresser, throwing them to the floor, clothes strewn about until it’s light enough for you to push the entire dresser over. In your frenzy you go about the room toppling every stupid fucking table over. So many fucking end tables in one room, and you throw everyone to the floor, trinkets and vases clattering to the ground as you destroy the room. You get a rush of adrenaline as you lift one of your nightstands and throw it against the wall leaving a small dent but more importantly the force of it makes anything hanging on the wall tumble to the floor, glass frames shatter.

Your chest heaves as you stare at the carnage.

And it isn’t enough.

Your face is wet with tears and your hands with blood from cuts you didn’t feel upon your skin as you tear open the closet door, the pile of blankets mock you from the floor, you grab them, your vision now blurry with tears as you pull them out of the closet, throwing them onto your bedroom floor. When you return to the closet you’re in a frenzy, you tear at the fabric before you, yanking each and every dress off their hangers, ripping what you can.

There is nothing else for you to do, so you destroy everything you can get your hands on until the only thing left untouched is your bed, left in pristine condition as you let out a small sob.

Maybe you are a hateful person now.

You feel as though you have every right to be at this point.

You step over the shard of glass, giving your bloody hands a glance before wiping them on your gown.

Happy coronation day.

You sit on the bed, your trembling fingers wrap around the helmet, now that you’re alone you waste no time to hold it against you face, until your body just gives up, too tired to stay awake anymore.

☆

A guard wakes you in the morning, knocking on your door, when you answer it they tell you Kodo requires your presence in his chambers.

You dress in a blue gown that you don’t look too closely at. Stopping at the fresher on the way, rinsing the dried gore from your palms, wincing as you clean your wounds. None of which seem too deep.

You want to cut Kodo’s tongue out, to make him feel it. But you know that sort of thing would be an impossible task. So you daydream about it as you walk. You’re more than displeased when you open the door and are greeted by Leodall. You hadn’t seen him since that night and from the looks of it he wasn’t expecting you. He swallows loudly when you step inside Kodo’s room.

Normally you’d be curious, you’d probably take a look around but your eyes refuse to focus on anything but Leo as you scowl at him.

“Why’d you do it?” You don’t hesitate to ask, you have no idea how quickly Kodo will be joining you.

He simply stares at you, shame apparent on his face.

“You owe me an explanation at the very least.” You cross your arms in front of your chest as he clears his throat.

“I thought he’d reward me.”

You laugh. A harsh dry sound

“What could he have possibly given you that you couldn’t have just asked me for?” Your gaze never softens and you’re practically seeing red as you stare at him.

“I thought he’d give me a lordship.”

You can’t help it as another crisp and pained laugh slips past your lips.

“You thought Kodo would raise your status? I thought you were supposed to be smart.” Is he an idiot? “He doesn’t see servants as people, if you wanted such a thing you could have asked me, maybe I could have done something.”

A glimmer of something similar to hope flashes through his eyes.

“Would you- would you consider doing so now?”

“You cannot be serious-” Your expression goes from fury to disbelief as you stand.

“It seemed worth asking.” He puts his hands up defensively as you storm up to him, poking a finger into his face.

“You slimy little weasel, it should be you on the chopping block, not him. If it were up to me I’d have them put your head on a spike.” The words pour out of you like venom.

“I would be nicer to me if I were you.” He sneers and your incredulity only grows. You can’t help it, you scoff in his face.

“I would rather die.” A part of you really means it.

“You might if you aren’t careful, I saved your life by letting Elaine and your Mandalorian take the fall, I could have told the king that you were a willing participant. I saw the two of you together, I read your little rules. He never forced himself on you. I wonder what Kodo might think about that.” You aren’t a fighter, you’ve never so much as thrown a punch in your life but you grab him by the collar of his shirt and slam him into the wall, the back of his head hits the stone and you don’t feel an ounce of remorse as you do so.

“Do it.” You tilt your head to the side, almost as if you’re taunting him. “Tell him.” Any of the confidence he briefly had is gone in an instant. “The moment you do I’ll tell him that you’re covering your tracks, and that you made a pass at me. I wonder how Kodo would reward you for trying to touch what’s his?” Leo’s head turns as you both hear Kodo’s piercing voice in the hall. You release your grip on his shirt, brushing off your gown as you turn towards the door. Kodo and three others make their way into the room as Leo coughs behind you.

“Dear wife, I have another gift for you.” He takes a step to the side, gesturing at a line of three people you don’t give so much as a glance. He doesn’t even seem to notice the obvious tension in the room. “A new staff!”

“I don’t need a new staff, I’m fine on my own.” You abandon the pleasantries. You’re in such a state of upset right now, what's the point?

“You’re the queen now, staff is required. These three will replace the ones you've lost in a week, until then Leodall will be training them intensively to tend to your every need. Two guards will also be assigned to you but I promise they will be much less loathsome than your Mandalorian.”

All five of them will be trained to keep an eye on you. To report back to Kodo, after everything with Din you should have known he’d keep you on a shorter leash.

You barely look at them.

You hate them.

You shouldn’t, they’ve done nothing wrong, but you hate them.

You give each one a quick up and down, naming them in your mind.

A BD-3000 droid commands the most authority just based on how she stands so you mentally note her as Elaine's replacement. You’ll call her new Elaine.

New Lysa is a pasty young blonde woman with rosy cheeks. You truly wonder how well informed she has been on your circumstance. She’s smiling from ear to ear and seemingly couldn’t be happier to be here.

And new Leo is somehow even more nervous looking than actual Leo, practically shaking like a leaf at the sight of you. The bags under his eyes are worse than your own. A lanky thing with messy brown hair.

There’s no reason for you to fight this, Kodo always gets his way so why bother. So you nod. You don’t pretend to be grateful this time, instead you shove your way past all of them, content to return to your room and never leave.

☆

The morning of the execution comes before you’re ready for it.

Of course you didn’t sleep last night, how could you?

You dress yourself, apparently your new staff isn’t starting until tomorrow, not that you mind another day to yourself. You manage to find something that isn’t blue, a gray dress trimmed with gold, the closest thing you’ll find to funeral attire. No one else will dress with any respect for him but they can’t stop you. Your vanity is destroyed so you don’t bother with your hair or your makeup, you simply don’t care enough.

For the most part you feel nothing when you open the door, only emptiness until you look down.

Someone left you a small vase of flowers.

You pick them up, taking a closer look but your heart skips a beat when you do so.

Daisies.

After a few short breaths you throw the vase into the wall across from your door, tiny shards of porcelain fly everywhere as two servants at the end of the hall give you a look of horror. Your shoes crunch over the remains of it as you make your way down the hall and to the entryway of the castle.

Kodo insists that the two of you get to see him first.

You’re sweating wildly out on the steps as you wait.

Long before you’re ready for it they bring him out.

A shivering skeleton of a man with a linen bag over his head, immediately bile rises in your throat. Kodo is grinning ear to ear when his legs are kicked out from under him and he’s forced to kneel.

Kodo himself reaches forward and tears the bag off, too excited for any decorum or finesse.

You gasp as you stare down at the broken man before you.

In all honesty he isn’t at all what you envisioned.

His eyes verge on being hazel; they're such a light brown. You’d always pictured them to be nearly black. It doesn’t matter what color they are though, when you see the tears forming in his lash line you flinch, clutching the ring on your necklace to silently let him know silently just how much he means to you.

He’s a mess.

You don’t like looking at what those weeks in the dungeons did to him and the last thing you need to do right now is empty your stomach on the palace steps.

He’s too thin. Far, far, too thin, it’s like his entire being has shrunk down. He’s hollow.

Your breath hitches when Kodo grabs a fistful of his dark hair, forcing him to turn and stare at the crowd. They must have cut it while he was down there it’s a mess, jagged edges and shorter than you’re used to.

“This man has committed an act of treason against the crown.” His voice is loud and booming as the city goes quiet. “For such a crime he shall face the proper punishment.” He yanks him downawards, you watch in horror as Din’s head hits the stone, an incoherent mess of sounds pour from his bloody mouth and you have to look away.

He didn’t want you to look.

You remind yourself to try and calm your breathing. You can hear the scuffle as they drag him to the guillotine, placing his neck into the wooden divot, your heart threatening to beat out of your chest as you turn to look. His eyes are everywhere but on you as he looks at the people around him, desperately pleading for his life. Not a single person so much as glances at him, afterall, it’s just nonsense, no one can understand him without a tongue.

You can’t stand it, you almost cover your ears but you manage to resist as Kodo puts an arm around your waist, pulling you close to him.

“You’re welcome, sweet wife.” He whispers, his breath hot and wet against your ear.

Fuck it.

You don’t suppress the shudder in your spine as you shoot him a look of disgust. In a matter of moments everything you care about will be gone, why pretend any longer.

A bellowing chime plays from a nearby clock tower and you know it’s time, you straighten up as you stare at the guillotine in abject horror.

This is it.

Your chest rises and falls in sharp short bursts as everyone prepares themselves, a hush forming among the crowd on the street.

And it begins, a chain reaction that you cannot stop now that the executioner has his ax raised above his head.

You had expected more. More time.

A part of you thought that time would slow, that you’d have a chance to stop it.

But no.

There is no epic fairy tale moment where the sun glimmers off of the blade and the executioner raises his ax, giving you this perfect moment to run to him, to shield him from the inevitable, to beg them to take you with him.

That moment never comes.

You barely have enough time to close your eyes like you promised him. In one unbroken motion the rope is cut, the blade falls and boom.

Just like that, he’s gone.

When you hear the metal slicing through the air you squeeze your eyes shut, hearing only the wet crunch as it cuts through flesh and bone. A soft, squishy thud when his head hits the stone.

In fashion with your decision to no longer hide your disgust from Kodo you vomit. Bending down you puke onto the stones, spraying your own, and Kodo’s feet. The triumphant smile on his face vanishes as he realizes what’s happened. You wipe your mouth on the back of your hand, refusing to look at Din’s limp body as you give Kodo one last look of detestation before turning around and running back into the castle, not caring what anyone thinks anymore.

The moment you’re inside the reality of it all settles in as you feel tears falling wildly as you run up the steps to your room.

☆

You have been good, and kind, and in return the maker rewarded you by killing the love of your life.

So when you stand in the center of your demolished room you do the only thing your body can do at this point.

You scream.

From deep within your stomach, you scream, loud and raw.

If anything was left unbroken in your room you’d be throwing it at the wall. But there’s nothing so you scream.

You shriek.

You howl.

And you wail.

You scream until there is no more noise. Your voice, like the rest of you, gives up.

You aren’t sure how late it is when you finally stop. You’re tired and it’s dark outside and your throat is raw.

And you lay on the floor. Because the bed is too big, and too cold, and the closet is so empty. So the only place left to sleep is there. You lay on the floor with no more tears to cry and no more sounds to scream as you stare at your bed, only from this angle can you see a rectangular shape under your bed frame.

You wipe your nose with a stray piece of fabric before slowly crawling over to it, you sit on the floor and when you retrieve the item a brand new lump forms in your throat as you stare down at the box Din had bought all those days ago at the market.

Your failsafe.

With quivering hands you open it, staring into the small space containing a mess of items but what catches your eye is a piece of folded paper with your name on it. You take it between your fingers, opening it, careful to not let your tears fall onto it.

Sarad’ika,

If you’re reading this then I’m afraid things aren’t going all that well for me. There are plenty of possible reasons as to why I’m no longer with you, but what’s important is that I plan on doing everything in my power to get back to you. There is only one thing in the galaxy that could keep me from your side, and if that is my fate then this box will ensure you’re taken care of.

The most important thing is for you to get off this planet. I have included a few possible plans for you, do what you have to to survive. Elaine will help you escape.

You can seek out Greef Karga on Nevarro. Tell him Din Djarin sent you, tell him what’s happened and he will see to it that you are cared for. Explain our circumstances and I am certain he will provide you with safe lodging.

Tatooine is also an option. You’ll find a Mandalorian there by the name of Boba Fett, he will not turn you away. You will be protected there, if you need to relocate for some reason after that he will help you locate the Mandalorian convert. Show the Mandalorians your ring and you will be cared for the rest of your life, the convert will protect you.

As an absolute last resort there is a planet located in the Outer Ring called Ossus. There is a school there, taught by a man named Luke Skywalker. I doubt he would be eager to take you in but you must insist. Bring the chainmail, they’ll know who sent you. Take care of each other.

In this box you will find enough credits to get you off planet and take care of you for several months, a year if you’re frugal, I suggest you take a few jewelry pieces to pawn off for extra credits as well. You will find a small chainmail shirt, and a necklace of mine.

And lastly you will find your vibroblade.

Protect yourself. You’re strong, and more than capable of doing so.

I have one request for you, please, I will only ask this one thing of you.

Be smart.

You are the smartest and kindest person I have ever had the honor of knowing. Be smart, take care of yourself. If the roles were reversed I know that I would go to extremes to either get you back, or find justice for you. And all I can do is ask that you do not attempt any such thing, the only thing I would ever want for you is safety and happiness.

So seek those things out.

Be safe. Be happy.

I was lucky to know you, and even luckier to be yours.

an ner kar'taylir darasuum,

Din

All my love.

You flip the paper over, desperate for more, more Din, but all you find is scrawled coordinates to each location. Your fingers sift through the items, everything he promised is found inside but you latch onto the blade. Laying back down on the floor you clutch it between your fingers as you think of Din.

Din, who was yours.

Din, who they took from you.

Who Kodo, took from you.

And your grip on the knife tightens.

☆

Two guards stand outside your door round the clock now.

They never follow you or come into your room but they’re there, silently watching as you direct all your anger at your new staff. As promised Leo trained them to be as persistent and infuriating as he was.

When the two new girls come to fetch you in the morning you can’t help it when you scream at them to leave you alone and to stop trying to clean the ever growing mess of things.

It doesn’t matter that it isn’t their fault, you can’t stand the sight of anyone.

All three of them try. New Elaine and Lysa show up three times a day, trying to dress you and squeeze their way past you into the room but after enough shrieking they always leave you be.

New Leo usually tries once or twice a day, you don’t even look at him. You always stare at the floor, when he tries to speak you give him the same treatment as the girls, screaming at him and slamming the door.

Why should you let them in? You know what they are. They’re here to spy on you, to be Kodo’s eyes while he’s busy being king. They’re easy to evade. When you leave to fetch yourself food or a book from the library you easily outrun them. The two girls are worse at navigating the castle than you were when you first arrived and new Leo has a bad leg, sometimes he’ll make attempts to limp after you but they’re always unsuccessful.

You think of nothing, day after day because there is nothing to think about.

Except for the fact that Kodo took your future away from you. He took everything from you.

If you thought time was blending before Din’s death nothing could have prepared you for now. You don’t track the days as well, you keep your curtains drawn and only leave when you get hungry or start to think of Din. The last thing you need to do is have another screaming fit so you keep him locked away in your heart, an ache that’s always there that you don’t address.

One day, in a fit of tears you took your knife and decided on a whim to kill Kodo. You didn’t care about the repercussions at that point you just wanted him to suffer but the moment you opened the door you nearly tripped, stumbling backwards the guards didn’t so much as glance at you.

Another vase of flowers.

You’re tempted to just kick them down the hall but you can’t help yourself when you lean down to pick them up.

A bouquet of blue lilies. Your nose twitches at the sight of them, out of the corner of your eye you see new Lysa and new Elaine approaching so you take the opportunity to slam the little glass vase into the stone floor. Glaring at them when you do before returning to your room.

☆

Maybe it’s been three days since Din died.

Maybe it’s been three months.

You aren’t sure.

You aren’t sure when you made plans to kill Kodo either but suddenly you have them. A fool proof way to get him alone.

And suddenly you’re dressed for the first time in, well, however long it’s been. In a baby blue nightie with a robe you march out into the hall. The guards watch in silence as you walk away, your bare feet scampering down the stairs until you find yourself watching the main entrance. Waiting for your loving husband to make his nightly trip to a pleasure house, a trip that is typically accompanied by guards.

You grip the handle of the knife in your pocket as you wait until you finally hear footsteps approaching.

“Kodo, honey?” You step out from behind the stone column, holding your robe closed as you bat your eyelashes at him. He stumbles around drunkenly until his eyes focus on you.

You’ve only used your voice for screaming for so long you sound meek, exactly as you want to right now.

“Wife?”

“I thought maybe you’d like to join me tonight…” You hold a hand out towards him, putting on a sickly sweet tone of innocence. His mouth twists into a grin.

“I knew you’d come around eventually.”

He doesn’t question where you’re taking him, he simply follows.

What a joke.

You pull him up the stairs, you know from hide and seek where to find an empty room so you guide him there in calculated silence until he trips a bit, laughing to himself as he stutters.

“I knew if I got rid of the Mandalorian you’d realize how much better I am than him.” The statement doesn’t sit right with you and he can see it on your face, even in his drunken state he can sense your confusion.

You both stop, you’re above him on the stairs as you turn and stare into his eyes.

“You- you knew?”

He simply nods, that sickening smile of his is plastered on his face. His icy blue eyes shimmer with delight.

“How long?”

“When Leo told me I remembered everything. That little altercation in the hall when your boy knocked me out came right back to me, from there it wasn’t hard to figure out.” Your eye twitches as he speaks.

He knew you loved him and he took him from you anyway.

Any hesitations you had are gone as you nod, pulling him onward until you reach the large vacant tower room. He’s so drunk you decide to just drop the voice, pointing at a spot on the floor.

“Lay down.” You mumble, reaching into your pocket once more.

He eagerly does as he’s told, laying down on the cold stone, you take a deep breath, in one swift motion you grab your knife, holding it behind your back as you toss your robe aside. He gives you a toothy grin as you ever so slowly walk to him, standing above him before sitting, straddling his waist.

You look him up and down, one last time.

Your loving husband.

One of his hands plays with the blue lace of your nightie as you collect yourself. You look up at the ceiling briefly.

I’m sorry.

Not for Kodo, but for Din. This is exactly what he didn’t want you to do.

You aren’t a killer. And you aren’t hateful, but a person can only be pushed so far before something breaks.

Be smart.

You think of Din’s note one last time before you bring the blade out in front of you and slam the blade into Kodo’s chest.

He makes a sickly wet sound, coughing as he stares at you in shock.

You remove the knife, the hot steel cauterizes his wounds, there isn’t so much as a drop of blood as your face twists with fury and you bring it down again into his stomach now.

How dare he look surprised by any of this.

After what he took from you? He deserves galaxies worse.

So you remove the knife.

And you stab him again.

And again,

and again,

and again.

Until there is no more shocked look on his face. You don’t have a snarky remark or a statement to commemorate your revenge, you’re all used up at this point, all you have is this, this stabbing motion.

He didn’t even have a chance to fight back.

You crawl off of his body, sitting on the stones as you toss the knife to the side, waiting for a rush of euphoria.

But it never comes.

It doesn’t feel as good as you thought it would.

Staring down at Kodo’s lifeless body. You let yourself crumble. Collapsing down onto the floor, gasping for air as you sob.

This was never going to bring him back.

You lay there on your hands and knees for quite some time, just wailing, because what else are you supposed to do right now? You realize far too late that this was never an act of malice, some demented and shattered part of you thought that this would somehow bring him back, that it would give you peace.

They won’t execute you.

You planned this exactly so they wouldn’t.

Kodo didn’t tell anyone about your relationship with Din in much detail, not enough for them to assume that you could be with child. Everyone will assume that it’s Kodo’s. They won’t kill you, they can’t.

Not if they think you’re carrying Kodo’s child. Now that Kodo’s dead, there’s no one to tell the royal family that you never consummated your marriage, your child is the most well protected person on the planet. The future monarch. It’s almost funny, you haven’t permitted yourself to think about the stirring within you as a child until just now, in this moment of weakness. A child, your child.

Who will most likely grow up without a mother because of the decisions you've made today.

You bite your fist, swallowing a scream as you sit back on your heels.

Your child will never know how loved they were. Your little one will never get to sit beside their mother while their father teaches them to sew. You put your head in your hands as you wail, no longer caring who hears. Your fate is sealed, what does it matter?

You don’t turn when you hear someone coming up the stairs. When they pull you into their arms you try uselessly to shove them away. Your vision is blurry and filled with tears as you stare up at the unfamiliar figure now holding you. They rub your back, drawing swirls and stars against your spine as they pull you closer.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.” They mumble into your hair. You dry your eyes hastily on your sleeve, confused by the voice you’re hearing, it’s painfully familiar, on instinct you wrap your arms around their torso, pulling yourself into their lap as you both sit on the floor beside Kodo’s body. “You’re okay, I’m here.”

“I’m- I’m sorry.” You whisper against the stranger's shirt. You knew you weren’t hateful. You’re certain of it now because even though he took quite literally everything from you, you still feel bad when you look at Kodo.

A large hand cups your face, pulling you back to their chest so you can’t see the corpse anymore.

“I didn’t mean it- I- I didn’t mean to kill him. Well I did but I just-” You begin to ramble as a fresh flood of tears begin sliding down your cheeks.

“Hey- hey it’s okay. I know you didn’t mean it. We gotta get you cleaned up, okay? I’ll take care of this, I’ll fix it.” Their arms tighten around you, giving you a reassuring squeeze. You finally find the courage to look at your companion and it takes a moment for you to even realize who you’re looking at.

New Leo.

Why would he help you? You treat him like shit. When you look at him he looks like he’s about to cry and for the first time since Din was taken from you drop the walls you’ve put up and you let yourself feel bad for him. You show an ounce of kindness to him because in all honesty he’s the first person to make you feel safe since the night Din was taken from you.

A lighthouse while you sail through a storm.

So you hug him.

You pull yourself closer to him and you offer him a comfort you haven’t known for days.

“I’m sorry… for all of it, but especially the flowers, I should have told you, I just- you wouldn’t let me and the guards wouldn’t let me in without your permission and you just wouldn’t look at me.” He begins to mumble his own apologies, sending a surge of confusion through you.

You furrow your brows, pulling back once more giving him a perplexed look as you search his nearly black eyes for some kind of answer.

And it clicks.

All at once it snaps into place and you want to say his name, so desperately, but you’re terribly afraid of being wrong.

And then he smiles. A soft smile that makes you feel okay and you don’t even care if you’re wrong and you don’t care if it doesn’t make sense you just have to ask.

“Din?”

☆

a/n : yeah so uhhhhh yeah uhhhh this is the first chapter i've ever written where im actually very fond of the writing and nervous about the plot stuff so im gonna go hide?? and just vanish for a while lol

I don't have a tag list anymore !! follow @lincolndjarinnotifs for updates!!

#lincolndjarin #the mandalorian #best kept secret #bks #din djarin #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fanfiction #mandalorian smut #din djarin smut #pedro pascal #din djarin/reader #din djarin/you

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ddarker-dreams · 8 months

Text

Nexus V.

Yandere Blade x F Reader.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, possessive behavior, codependency o'clock, implied/mentioned not SFW, coercion and mommy issues. Word count: 10.1k.

Nexus index.

Time is a way to measure reality.

It allows the woefully inadequate mind of a sentient being to process a sliver of something greater. The senses are a sieve that retains what little they can of the universe’s riptide. Considering this, it’s no wonder the Aeons tend to keep to themselves. How long would you entertain the whims of a speck of dust? You’d gain nothing from it. The dust cannot understand, it lacks the means to properly perceive you. It simply wishes to find a nice, comfortable spot to occupy its days. It can loathe, revere, or fear you, it matters not; for in the end, it’s nothing but a speck of dust.

So why do the Aeons occasionally make themselves known? What do they stand to gain? Further power, enlightenment, entertainment?

They should’ve just kept wading through the stellar sea.

Specks of dust shouldn’t be allowed to wield even an ounce of their power.

All it does is let them destroy themselves and others in new, horrific ways.

The white rings around your mother’s pupils shine.

She subjects Kafka and Blade to concurrent curses. Cutting, snipping, trimming; their psyches are flayed one layer at a time. How she does so rivals a butcher preparing a tender cut more than a doctor performing a delicate surgery. Inky blots propagate along Blade’s vision. From this limited perspective, you can’t determine Kafka’s condition. Not that it would matter, you can barely comprehend what Blade’s going through.

Mother has to be forming a link, right?

Ideally, both parties consent to a link’s formation. This grants stability and lowers the chances of complications. An unwelcome link is treated with the same hostility as an immune system that’s noticed a germ. It’s sought out, identified, then exterminated. The host may suffer malaise for a time, but if their body is in working order, the problem will sort itself out.

There has to be more to this, you surmise. Mom, please, don’t let this be the end. You can’t. Not you.

The disease inflicted on Blade metastasizes; Kafka is likely facing a similar predicament. Memories swarm around him like locusts, buzzing and biting.

The Zhuming is the womb from which divine weapons are born. It is the warden to the subdued Flint Emperor, whose flames once burned hot enough to rival the stars. These flames will one day exterminate the rampant borisin, the young boy is certain. Whether it be in his lifetime or not doesn’t matter. No child deserves to be made an orphan. He can’t undo what’s been done to him, but he can help prevent it from happening to others.

“If you believe you are up to the task, I will take you on as my apprentice. What you do with the knowledge I impart is your decision.”

This Foxian lady sent to retrieve support for the fight against the borisin loves to chat. There’s rarely an instance where a grin can’t be found on her face, wide enough that her eyes must squish to accommodate her exuberance.

“Just focus on what you want to do, and let fate take its course."

Those who belong to the short-life species cannot grasp a nebulous concept such as ‘fate.’ This sentiment is commonly found among his fellow Artisanship Commission members. It doesn’t deter him — if anything, his resolve is strengthened. His life won’t be as long as theirs, but it will burn hot and bright before it extinguishes.

“The borisins must pay the price for their evil.”

One day, a lady with long, silver hair, who has conquered the moon and brought it to heel, approaches him. The air around here is crisp, contrasting the sweltering air of the Zhuming. She reminds him of the winters he experienced on his home planet. He had forgotten how frost stings.

“A talent such as yours shouldn’t be left to drown amidst a mediocre sea. After this visit, I’m bound for the Loufu. A seat will be made available for you. Come and reach your full potential, or, languish here where your accolades will fade from history’s recollection.”

The Shard Sword, Starfall Reverie, Cloud-Piercer, and Baiheng’s recurve bow were no longer what he treasured most. Those monumental accomplishments don’t enrich lives, it ends them. Standing here, where the ocean’s blue is more brilliant than the artificial sky, is where he’s found something akin to peace. The Scalegorge Waterscape has become a gathering place for friends. Laughter, sparring, and the burning of liquor are shared beneath the moon’s watchful eye.

He raises a cup to his lips and silently wishes this joy could last forever.

“Do you remember?”

This voice interrogated him unceasingly for answers they both knew he couldn’t give. Again and again, he’d undergo a punishment disguised as a lesson. Frost didn’t just sting, it imparted necrosis, yet what is decomposition to an immortal but a joke? Again and again, his flesh would be pierced, organs punctured with expert execution. His body wasn’t allowed the privilege to rot.

Again and again, he’d be swallowed by death, only to be spat back up, as it’s unable to digest him.

"Listen, I can always kill you again, otherwise I can't bring you back."

What he thought to be prey standing in his way turned out to be apex predators. A woman who could render him useless with her words alone and a suit of armor that reflected the sun in his weary eyes. He had to get his fill of death before considering her offer. It sounded too good to be true, but he was reminded that the universe has enough instruments to perform the threnody he so desperately wishes to hear.

“Having trouble settling on a gift? Hm… I suppose that’s to be expected. Any off-world flora you leave behind will shrivel beneath the planet’s atmosphere, unless it possesses special qualities. It’d be a bad omen to give her a lotus that can wilt. Why not try a different approach?”

He stands solitary on the cragged terrain around the LOTUS-EATER. Though she’ll soon emerge to gaze up at the starless sky, his wait won’t end there. It’ll bleed into the next day, then the day after that, on and on the cycle will spin. Destiny’s Slave promised this vortex would end so long as he remained patient. Once he fully bows down before her, damnation will be her crown. The weight of his burden is to be shared by two.

He considers the iridescent crystals in his bandaged hands.

He thought the joy he found in creation died the same day ▇▇▇▇▇ did.

This emotion’s resurrection, however…

… If it’s a sin, then what’s another addition to his list?

“Listen, Blade, snap out of it.”

The swarm falls silent.

Bright screens, the thrum of the oxygen generator, sterile colors. Kafka towers over him, implying that he’s fallen to the ground. Her complexion lacks its usual glow. While Blade stands, she reaches inside her jacket and pulls out a portable blush. She dusts the rosy powder over her cheeks.

“That was unpleasant,” Kafka sighs. She snaps the container shut. “I guess that’s to be expected from one of Noct’s Emanators. It seems you bore the brunt of it, though.”

Mom, an Emanator? You think. Maybe… maybe that means she had a chance to get away. This was a diversion that she used to go into hiding. Faking a corpse is within their skillset, Silver Wolf can hack reality itself. I only looked at it long enough to confirm her identity.

Blade places a hand on his throbbing head and grimaces. His vision alternates between different degrees of blurriness. Kafka’s positioned in front of him, which prevents you from seeing the area your mother occupied. You pray to anything that might listen for her to fucking move already.

“That trip down memory lane was a red herring,” Kafka says. “She bought herself enough time to complete her real objective.”

Even Kafka thinks so!

Instead of explaining further, she leisurely reaches for her lipstick. Your frustration boils over. You aren’t the only one feeling impatient. Blade hasn’t uttered a word, but his typical apathy ebbs and flows irregularly. Kafka hums a tune as she smears the rouge pigment along her puckered lips. This whimsical attitude shows no signs of tapering off.

Blade exhales sharply, belying his annoyance. He’s near his limit as well.

Kafka clicks her tongue. “Don’t be so impatient, you two. I’m dolling myself up.”

…‘You two?’

“Yes. Now, let me assess the damage,” Kafka switches from looking at Blade to inspecting his psyche. She gasps, playing the role of a melodramatic damsel perfectly. “Oh my. Ania did a number on you.”

This woman is insufferable, always playing coy. I swear, the next time I see her—

“Your memories of [First] Phaeales, the visceral emotions she stirs up in you; they’re growing fuzzier by the second, I presume? In an hour or so, they’ll be gone altogether. Hmm… ‘gone’ might not be the best word to describe it. Sealed away might be more appropriate.”

A premonition too cruel to put into words coils around you.

No, no, no.

“Can you fix it?” Blade strains. The hypothetical Kafka suggested encourages his mara to writhe and hiss in dissatisfaction. It crawls around his head, murmurs near his cochlea in a scratchy voice, demanding a quick fix. To be deprived of you is unacceptable, it insists. This sentencing must be overturned. It wants you, needs you and will destroy anything to have you. Himself included.

Pandemonium wreaks havoc inside his head, it’s like he barely exists. The warring influences rip away as if drawing and quartering him.

“I can’t, no. It’s beyond my abilities,” Kafka’s smile is all teeth. “Fortunately, I do know of someone who can undo it.”

His mara hushes so it may hear her out.

“Contact them,” he snaps.

“You’d get all bashful if I did. Besides, I don’t think she’d do a very thorough job if she knew the context.”

Kafka stares Blade in the eye and tilts her head like she’s posing for the camera. “Isn’t that right, Miss Phaeales?”

You think you might be living in a nightmare.

Please, no…

Blade’s heart lurches inside his chest at your mention.

“Listen, Bladie. Until [First] Phaeales undoes her mother’s seal, you’ll be unable to remember the past twenty-four hours. The second the seal is undone, this memory, on June 8th, 2153 AE, starting from Eris’ local time of 0223 and concluding at 0214, will resurface in your consciousness. It will play for her so she’s fully caught up.”

How could something this awful… ever happen…?

The edges of the memory fade and curl inward like burning paper.

“I’ll throw in some advice, just for you, sweetie. He’s bound to get tongue-tied around you, so remember to be patient,” Kafka’s suggestion is muffled. “Oh, and another thing. You might want to get a headstart while you can.”

…

You can’t breathe.

The room performs for you, rippling side to side, hypnotizing as a pocket watch. A white blur whirrs by. Clink, clink, clink, it crashes, spurting its innards in a splatter of red and glimmering gold. The sound itself seems delayed, echoing a moment too late. It isn’t in time with the opal shards that scatter like teeth along the polished floor. The deluge is offbeat, dissonant, yet the song continues.

You can’t breathe.

The percussion is ousted, making way for the woodwind section. The flutes raise and raise in pitch. This tocsin sounds shrill and consistent, stabbing your eardrums, and vibrating your bones. Dizziness makes for a distracting audience member, its dry, unblinking eyes landing on you. It opens its maw impossibly wide, tearing the tendons around its cracked lips, and swallows your head. For some reason, it cannot go past your neck, so it contents itself with gorging on your cranium like it’s sucking candy.

You can’t breathe.

There’s something living inside your throat. A parasite, leech, or slug, maybe. It wriggles back up whenever you try swallowing, like jello on a wobbling plate. The tiny hairs along its gelatinous body tickle your esophagus. You’re always on the precipice of choking, but not quite. It delights in the warm and moist cavern you’ve provided.

You can’t die because it wants more from you.

You can’t be reduced to a husk because your vitality sustains it.

You can’t breathe, you can’t breathe, you can’t breathe—

Something awful touches your skin and you want to burn the residue it leaves behind.

“[First].”

You scramble back until your spine hits a cold, solid surface. A hand retracts.

What is this thing before you? It’s tall and has eyes like vats of blood. You see your reflection held captive inside the crimson miasma. The woman it shows resembles you in some ways and doesn’t in others. She looks afraid. Sickly. Lost somewhere between the junction of life and death. Traipsing, testing the fraying line’s integrity. One wrong step guarantees a plummet to inconceivable depths.

“[First].”

“Don’t,” you rasp, your voice wobbling like a transmission with a poor signal, “Don’t you fucking dare come near me!”

He listens. For now, at least. You’d be a fool to mistake stalling for surrender. You press your back into the wall hard enough to ache. The enclosed space seemingly shrinks around you. You press a trembling hand over your heart, feeling how it hammers against your chest cavity. The room’s air is stifling. Your sympathetic nervous system can’t decide its course of action. Should the little oxygen you’re inhaling go to your brain or your heart? Delegation is a tricky endeavor.

Blade’s gaze eats you alive.

He’s starving and you’re the only thing that can fill him.

The manifestation of his mara frightened you less.

Mom, what have I done? What can I do?

“You should sit,” he says. You want to rip his vocal cords to shreds. “There’s nowhere to run and you know better than to fight.”

As if he had to remind you.

The Shard Sword. So that’s the name of the terror he wields? You’ve read about it in history books, there are entire chapters dedicated to the High-Cloud Quintet’s exploits. Even if he were unarmed, you wouldn’t stand a chance. Any flesh wound will heal, any organ will stitch itself back together, and any death will be a temporary visit he’ll saunter back from.

Blade takes a step closer.

How do you get out of this? How do you get him to stop? What would get him to stop?

What could he possibly want more than you?

Oh.

The answer unfurls like a body bag.

… There is one more thing, isn’t there?

You thread your psyches together with a thin string. It’s too weak in its present state, the weight of your goal will make it snap instantly. You need to fortify it as best as you can. Otherwise, there is no place you can go where he won’t find you. The prismatic shards that record his history are no longer indecipherable, each moment is visible to you, forming a macabre mosaic.

The second you finalize this link, he’ll know. Your touch isn’t a stranger to his mind anymore. Nothing about you is.

You recall the shattered opal goblet a few feet away.

You let your knees buckle like they’ve desired all along. You fall toward the jagged shards and you brace yourself. It happens as swiftly as you expected — his inhuman speed allows him to catch you easily. He steadies you against him, holding you up since the strength leaving your body wasn’t an act.

Your hand brushes over a sliver of his skin.

You wanted me to show you what it’s like to die, you think. It isn’t beyond my means at all, Yingxing!

The Synalink is a success.

He might want you, but his longing for a permanent death eclipses that.

This is a scenario unlike any you’ve ever built before. The dimensions are simple, you’re creating one static scene. It isn’t a vast galaxy with trade, economies, and conflicting ideals, teeming with planets that house millions of individuals who each have their own role in the story to play. Grass doesn’t have to blow just right, there aren’t bystanders whose conversations you need to generate and perform maintenance on.

The stage you’ve built is, at its core, nothing. A vacuum you’ve molded into a cube and placed him in the middle of.

You’ve cut off stimuli to each of his senses. He can’t perceive anything, because there’s nothing to perceive.

His psyche shows no signs of resistance. This is what he wants, isn’t it? Total absolution. The loss of self, to be undone and woven into the universe’s indifferent tapestry. Every factor has aligned in your favor like a once-in-a-millennium syzygy. Your newfound knowledge of his past, his most innate desire being death, then the amplification physical touch brings.

This isn’t an unknown pathogen, it’s a welcome salvation.

You just have to maintain it.

Your main hurdle is finding a way to do so while navigating the physical world. The slightest deviation could have catastrophic consequences, his acumen is that competent. How long can you sustain this Synalink if you don’t dedicate your entire attention to it? There’s no point of reference. For all you know, it could be impossible.

Regardless, you have to try.

Reopening your corporeal eyes, you find yourself in the private room.

The Stellaron Hunter, who uses the alias ‘Blade,’ stands behind you like a cocked gun.

He isn’t moving. The white rings in his eyes match yours. His vitals are consistent with what you see in clients immersed in Synalinks. Low respiration and heartbeat, and the paralysis of limbs so as to deter unwanted motor functions.

You hold your breath, shimmy out of his loosened grasp, and then cautiously take a step back.

Your heels crunch down on a stray fragment from the broken goblet. You cringe.

You expect the worst when you gather the courage to look at him again.

Still nothing.

Keeping your back against the wall, you awkwardly slide toward the door leading to The Lounge.

The burning question of what to do next sears your mind. You have no faith or trust in Chrysus. There’s Caicias, but he’s in Mele. The fastest nectar guide would still take two hours, factoring in the repairs being done to the one in Thelx. Even if he did make it here, what could he do? Help you negotiate? Would Blade even give him the chance? You’d be condemning the elder quadrant leader to certain death.

Who is in your star system? You’ve heard that the Astral Express has had run-ins with the Stellaron Hunters, but they could be millions of light-years away. Then there’s Kafka. If she goes too long without hearing from Blade, she won’t just sit around and let you scheme. Silver Wolf could hack into the LOTUS-EATER’s surveillance system or use thermal imaging to gauge the situation.

The price of hope is too steep.

Your fingers grope blindly for the door’s switch. You refuse to take your attention off Blade for a split second. You feel a protrusion, start to flick it up—

Sparks fly from the wall like frantic fireflies, joined by chunks of dark debris. Strands of your hair blow aside as if subject to a wicked gale. Sediment scratches at your skin. Out of instinct, your eyes squeeze shut, shielding you from what they can. A figure towers above you. You can’t see him, but you can feel him. The torment, bloodlust, and yearning are so prevalent that they may as well be in the room alongside you.

Through a looking glass, you saw the reflections of a wretched life.

How he fell victim to a friend unwilling to accept a comrade’s untimely demise. That for this incursion, death would never grant him permanent residency. Over a thousand times, a swordmaster gripped by madness tested this ordinance, her strikes colder than winter’s wrath.

He’d lose a piece of himself each time, leaving a mangled afterimage of what he once was.

A sinner rendered mara-struck and immortal — a shade that will dye you his accursed color.

Blade pins your wrists above your head. It hurts, but you’ve learned there’s pain worse than this.

“Open your eyes.”

It isn’t a request.

You hesitate for as long as he allows. Ultimately, you have no choice but to give him what he wants. Scarlet eyes reward your reluctant obedience. Leering, glowing. Your chest heaves beneath the burden of each breath. Something wet and warm trickles down your cheek. It titillates the flames of his mara as if it’d been lathered in oil. He shackles your wrists with his gloved hand and drags the other downward. Over your temple, cheekbone, then finally, your chin.

He tilts your head up.

Neither of you speak.

How? How did he break free?

You didn’t sense any fluctuations, nothing that’d warn of your incoming fate. Your control didn’t slip, it was pulled out right from underneath you.

Isn’t death what every segment of his psyche seeks? His rationality, morality, and base instincts were all in agreement, a unanimous jury that didn’t require deliberation.

What unforeseen note upset this triad?

Your reflection in his eyes is drenched in red.

“Haha… seriously?” You laugh a humorless laugh. “Me?”

Blade doesn’t respond. You don’t know if he heard you. Either way, it doesn’t matter. He is the author of whatever happens next.

A butterfly with injured wings loses none of its original beauty. If anything, it’s made easier to admire, now that it can no longer fly away. You have nowhere to go, nothing to do, and not a word to say that’d make a difference. This futility reassures his mara. That which was held above its head has been made to crawl along the ground. Blade seizes total control of himself as his mara slinks away. Cognizant of his bruising grip, he releases you. Without his crushing support, you collapse like a house of cards. Your knees hit the ground.

You sink down further and squeeze your head in between your hands.

It hurts, mom, it hurts. Why couldn’t you give me up one more time? ‘My’ life never belonged to me in the first place, anyway. You should’ve granted the shift in ownership when it was still a choice.

… I’m scared.

There is no getting out of this, is there?

Metal clinks by your side. Dazedly, you inspect the sound’s source. A silver dagger rests beside you. It’s small in build, yet pointed as a weapon should be. Your attention flitters between him and the blade. What is this? A pitiful attempt to level the playing field? Has he not humiliated you enough? Taken everything that wasn’t yours to give?

Sensing your confusion, he explains, “Sins should be punished.”

You grasp the hilt.

It’s heavy.

“What… are you even saying…?” You murmur. Is he referring to your mother? “It’s ‘permissible’ to take life, according to you.”

You recount his creed with the venom it merits.

He falls silent.

“Not yours… not for free,” he drawls. “I’ll pay any price.”

Transactions benefit both parties. What’s there for him to gain?

You stand on unsteady legs.

Blade’s countenance is an impenetrable fortress. The violent waves have settled, leaving still, murky waters. Is it twisted affection swirling in his gaze? Guilt? The celebration of a long-fought battle? You don’t know. You don’t know what to think, feel, or do. You’re just numb. What will you be after this? Your mother likened their designs for you to a ‘retractable leash.’ Close, but not quite.

You’ll be more of a portable oxygen tank.

Kafka can’t always be there to soothe Blade’s mara, but you can. You will. You have to. It’s a duty that binds more than marriage.

If transactions benefit both parties, then…

What he’s offering to pay for here is you.

Your eyes drop down to the dagger.

The currency will be blood and flesh. He’ll let you kill him, however you want, for as long as you want. Ten, one hundred, one thousand times or beyond, until you feel the scales have balanced. The blank canvas has given you the tools to create your final masterpiece. Once the paint dries, the roles will reverse. The subjugated will become the subjugator. It isn’t a matter of if, it’s a matter of when.

You raise the dagger, his cold heart your target. It’s yours. A gift, a burden, an unbreakable vow.

You plunge it down, and—

—He doesn’t even flinch.

The tip of the blade rips his shirt, but not his flesh.

You toss it aside and shake your head.

“Has anything worthwhile… ever come from killing you…?”

Blade doesn’t respond, but you know he heard you.

He furrows his eyebrows, your question hanging over his head. Whatever he expected, this must not have been a possibility he accounted for. Had he been anyone else, he might conflate mercy for forgiveness. He isn’t, though. He knows the crippling weight of guilt. How it secretly imbues you with a craving for more, so you can finally be crushed to death, instead of being forced to roll the boulder onward.

Each slice would be for him as much as it is for you.

If that’s penance to him, you will never grant it.

“My mom…” you trail off, not because you don’t know how to complete the sentence, but because finishing it will finish something inside you. “Is she…?”

Blade’s memories have made their way back to him using you as their bridge. You could parse through them, but you don’t want to. You don’t think he’ll lie. He hasn’t lied to you as far as he knew. The truth is worse and the truth is what you’ll get. The emotions you pick up from him hint at what you already know. They nibble at you as piranhas would. Notably missing from the onslaught is any iteration of guilt or its distant cousin, regret.

He’d die a thousand deaths to pay the fee of having you. What’s a little more bloodshed to someone who views death as enviable?

“Never mind,” you murmur. “Forget I asked.”

He won’t.

He refuses to forget anything about you ever again.

For now, he’ll pretend otherwise.

You’ve decided that from this distance, Eris looks like a marble.

It’s just a little black sphere, infused with the occasional stream of gold. You center the image in between your thumb and pointer finger, making minuscule adjustments until it fits just right. Once you’re content, you hold it there, squinting your left eye so this speck’s the main focus.

As of the latest census in 2155 AE, the planet Eris is thought to have a population of 2,912,840. 560,432 in Ade, 1,510,781 in Mele, an estimated 200,400 in Arc, and 641,227 in your home quadrant of Thelx. Each of those numbers can be attributed to a living, breathing being. Someone with their own family, history, ethics, dreams, and struggles. Your fellow Nymphalians, descendants of prisoners dumped on a dark and frigid planet to die.

You thought you’d given them your life before. In a pretty, metaphorical sense, that could be made into poems for generations.

Your conversation with Destiny’s Slave reassured you that no, there’s nothing pretty or metaphorical about what awaits you. No one will be penning sentimental poems detailing an ascetic’s life led in solitude so that the people may prosper. You’ll be a cold case. For a week, your name will be a hot topic on primetime television. A headline sprawled in large font across news media companies. ‘Tragedy Strikes: Eris’ [First] Phaeales Kidnapped, IPC Implicates Stellaron Hunters,’ or something to that effect.

Then another calamity will occur and you’ll be pushed from the public’s consciousness.

You might get a special mention on anniversaries. The first, fifth, tenth, fiftieth, then the hundredth. Podcasts will do deep dives. Books will be written. Forum boards will swap theories. Who knows? An anonymous user might guess the truth and be labeled a conspiracy theorist for their troubles.

You pinch your thumb and pointer finger together, smushing the faraway planet from your perspective.

“Boom!” You exclaim in a whisper yell. “Is that how easy it is to you?”

He doesn’t respond.

You turn away from the sheet of glass separating you from the limitless depths of outer space.

“The silent treatment, huh?” You muse, drumming your fingers against the window pane. “You saw this future and worked oh so hard to procure it. What? Having second thoughts, now that it’s here? That’d be a shame.”

There’s something ugly living inside your heart. It’s been there since you were born and will remain until you die. Maybe it lives inside everyone, you can’t say, you can only speak for yourself. Kindness isn’t inherent, it’s learned. Practiced so that it may be honed. Otherwise, the steel grows dull and rusts. Sharpening means losing layers of yourself against a whetstone. Those layers are worth losing, you’re told. Spite, vengeance, hatred; they’re all so, so ugly. Little imps that should be sandpapered away.

An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind, that sort of platitude. It’s nice bumper sticker material. Something to slap on a graphic tee or coffee cup, maybe. To be fair, practicing the antithesis isn’t so simple either.

You don’t want his eye, it’ll grow back.

You don’t want his life, he’ll just be born anew.

You don’t want him, but from now on, he’s all you’ll get.

“Are you curious about the deal I made with Elio?” You probe.

Blade sighs, likely preparing himself for the vitriol you’ll slew his way.

“I don’t need to know.”

“You want to know, though,” you smile thinly. “I could feel you brooding from rooms away. What? Does the thought of me speaking to another man displease you that—”

He rushes forward and lifts you by the collar of your blouse. You don’t waver, if anything, you could get drunk off this emotional outburst. His nostrils flare and you can feel his warm breath fan against your face. Your heart whirrs strong against its bony restraints, adrenaline blasting throughout your system.

“That mouth of yours is testing me,” he chuckles, although he’s far from amused. “Have you forgotten the position you’re in?”

“Have you?” You scoff. His grip tightens. “Go ahead. Choke me, ravish me. You can’t bring yourself to though, can you? Want to know why? Hm? You’re holding out for the slim, impossible chance that I might return your fucked up feelings, even if just a little bit.”

Scornfully, you whisper, “Elio was generous enough to answer some of my questions. The extent of the Stellaron’s influence, the true perpetrators behind the nectar guide bombing, why you’d get so pissy whenever Lear swung by… in retrospect, it’s painfully obvious, really. Messing with the LOTUS-EATER’s noise-canceling software is child’s play for Silver Wolf. Did you enjoy eavesdropping on us? Probably not, huh?”

He growls your name, low and menacingly. It’s a warning.

You ignore him. Maybe you shouldn’t, but you do.

“I never told him,” your lower lip trembles. “Because of you, I’ll never get to, either. You want to pay a price? Have your sins punished? Start by listening to this!”

His mara bubbles up as if it were magma. For someone unraveling from the inside out, he doesn’t look the part. Emotion and vitality have drained from his face. His complexion is that of the dead man he wishes himself to be. Pale, vapid. He wants you to stop, yet the only way you would is if he tore out your tongue. To do so would guarantee he’d never get to hear those three words directed at him. He must consider that fate harrowing indeed if he allows the means for you to utter your next sentence.

The finger you pricked all those years ago tingles.

“Lear is the only one I’ve loved. The only one I’ll ever love. He gave me a life; you’ve destroyed mine. How could you ever compare, Yingxing? How can you even come close?”

You wrench yourself free from Blade’s grasp. He lets you.

His hands remain where you once were. Gradually, they fall, as do his shoulders and head. It’s peculiar. You’ve come to be so in tune with his emotions, picking up on frequencies only you can hear. This pitch falls silent. His mara is too. The infighting over where he should begin and end calls for a temporary cease-fire. Neither madness nor sanity care for victory, their attention has been cast elsewhere, to a more prominent problem.

“It is.”

You narrow your eyes. “What?”

“Earlier, you asked if it’s that easy for me,” he says, plainly. “It is.”

Your system absorbs the implication as well as it would cyanide.

“Eris and all of its inhabitants are strictly off-limits. I figured you'd already heard this.”

“I have.”

“Then—”

“It’s not loyalty that ties the Stellaron Hunters together,” he interrupts. “It’s the pursuit of individual goals which just happen to align.”

Blade saunters forward. You bristle, awaiting unwanted physical contact, yet he brushes by your shoulder. His footsteps echo throughout the ship’s hollow corridors. You pivot, intent on following his every movement. He gazes out the window, your home planet his point of interest. The little black and gold marble orbited by four moons, far away from any star.

“Goals change, lotus.”

His eyes find yours in the window’s reflection.

He’s bluffing. He has to be.

“You’ve sought death for over 700 years,” is your uneasy reply. “Surely, you wouldn’t risk the one avenue you have to reach it.”

“Didn’t I already betray that expectation of yours?”

Death is no longer what every segment of his psyche seeks, as it’s the one place he can’t have you.

“... You’ve stopped running your mouth. Clever girl,” Blade flexes his fists by his side. The leather glove on his hand creaks as he does so. “If you think this an empty threat, I have a suggestion.”

Blade grins from ear to ear.

“Repeat any of what you just said to me and I’ll prove it isn’t.”

It’s as if his mara forms tendrils that slowly slither up your body. It caresses your thighs, your midriff, and your chest. Breathes against your nape and coils around your neck. You can’t find the strength to move. It wishes you would so that it’d have an excuse to hold you tighter. Squeeze harder. Sink into you deeper.

You glower at him. His mara keens, finding the expression delightful.

“Look at me like that any longer and I’ll take you up on your suggestion.”

You pinch your eyebrows together, belying your confusion.

He wets his lips with his tongue.

“‘Choke me, ravish me,’ was it?” he muses, chuckling breathlessly. “Who am I to deny such a tempting offer?”

Finally, you muster the effort necessary to break free from his hypnotic stare. You’re overcome with the need to scrub off every part of your skin he’s touched. You want the residue gone, purged from your flesh. Nausea floods you like a broken dam.

You let him touch you, you let him kiss you, you let him fuck you.

He can’t have anything else.

You don’t know what more there is to take.

His eyes are heavy on your back as you leave the room. This spaceship’s decently big, but it’s not enough. A universe could separate you, but it still wouldn’t suffice. You’ll create any gap you can, illusionary or otherwise. You speed through the ship’s main corridor until you near what’s to be your room. Before you can open it, your hand stills.

Elio said we’re to leave on a job the second Silver Wolf starts distracting the IPC’s blockade, you think. That should be any minute now.

Your blood freezes over.

After this ship makes the jump, you’ll never see Eris again.

Or Nona.

Or Lear.

Will Nona continue to pursue her studies without you there to teach her? Is there a reason for her to? She’s come so far since you first met. That harsh, untrusting girl with a permanent scowl blossomed into something truly special.

“Seriously? You’re supposed to be my mentor?”

“Alright, lemme set one thing straight. I’m here to save up enough to leave this shithole. If that hurts your feelings, go and cry to mommy about it, I couldn’t care less. It’ll be bad press to ship your latest Arc rescue back over, after all.”

“Why do you care about this planet, anyway? Beyond whatever sense of purpose you get from playing the hero, I mean. All anyone here ever does is complain and half-ass things. ‘Let’s give anarchy a shot guys, but like, a nice version of anarchy, where we all hold hands around a campfire and sing songs.’ It’s hilarious.”

“The first time I made it to Thelx’s border as a kid, I thought I was hallucinating. I asked my older travel buddy, ‘What’s with these tiny, floating yellow spheres?’ She didn’t even spare me a glance, she was so enchanted. ‘That’s light,’ she said. ‘Take a good, long look. You won’t be seeing much of it.’ I remember how angry hearing that made me. Not just what she was saying, but how she said it. Like she’d given up. Like that was acceptable.”

“A cargo ship bound for Rosiz is heading out in three cycles. You and Lear could come with me, y’know. Elope, or whatever. My contact would allow it. Probably. Hey, don’t give me an answer right away. Geez. At least think about it.”

“Yep, I’m still here. Surprise! My other plans fell through, what can I say? Apparently, Rosiz is run by a weird blood cult. I don’t want anything to do with that. Guess you’re stuck with me a while longer. What’s with that look? Yeah, I still think this planet’s a shithole. But, you’re here, so… it’s 5% less shitty, give or take. Lear brings that up to a whopping 15%. Yes, he gets a value of ten. Have you tasted his cooking?”

Will Lear ever know how much it meant when he comforted the haughty and naive girl you once were? How without him, all you ever would’ve known was loneliness? You were a handful, there’s no doubting that. It’s a miracle he put up with you.

He had the softest voice when you were kids.

“I’m supposed to play the princess? But… but… I’m a boy, and you’re a girl… so shouldn’t you…? Ow, ow, stop pinching! Okay, okay! I’ll be the princess! Eh? Whaddya mean ‘you’ll kiss it better?’ Miss Phaeales? Miss Phaeales…?!?!?!”

“I’m back from work, my wife. Huh? Husbands don’t say that? No no no no, you can’t play the husband, I have to play the husband! Lemme try again! Ahem. From work, I have returned… woman… I’ve married. That’s no good either? This is so complicated!”

“I dunno why you like Connect Four so much. I mean, we could play Monopoly, but you always steal credits when I look away. No, that's not allowed! … You’re just ‘being a capitalist?’ What’s that mean? Cheater, or something?”

He didn’t lose this soft quality when he became an adult — his tenderness was the air you breathed.

“‘What do I want,’ huh? Where do I begin? To be a part of you, I guess? Ah, if I’d known you were going to grin like that, I wouldn’t have said anything. W-Well, of course I want you. I just don’t think the phrasing’s right. You’ve always viewed yourself as a commodity. I don’t want to reinforce such a terrible thought.”

“It’s… so good, so warm, so… fuck, please, don’t look at me like that. I can’t believe… that I get to do this with you. You’re beautiful, you’re everything…! I’ve always loved you so much. So, so much. Is this okay? Is it really okay? If it is, then please, let me pleasure you.”

“Quit messing around with me already. There’s no way that was your first time. Because, I mean, you’re so sought after, y’know? You must’ve had tons of opportunities to— ow ow ow, again with the pinching?! Alright, I get it, I get it! Pfft, stop, don’t make it weird. Okay, fine, hearing that does make me a little happy. Aaand there you go, making it weird. No, I’m not possessive. You said you don’t like possessive men, so… what? Of course I remembered that. I remember everything you say. Wait… are you embarrassed? I didn’t… didn’t think that was possible… one sec, lemme get my camera…”

You swore an oath not to cry.

You didn’t when packing the few items Blade approved of, or when you negotiated with Elio.

It’s not that you don’t want to. Should your resolve slip for a second, you grow dangerously close to drowning in a puddle of your own tears. There’s plenty to cry about, plenty to mourn. Once you start, though, you don’t think you’ll ever be able to stop. You’ll waste away as your body’s wrung for all its worth. Should that happen, you won’t be able to uphold your end of the bargain with Elio.

There’ll be a lot more to cry about then.

For this reason, you don’t turn back.

Your deal with Destiny’s Slave consists of two elements.

First, you are to serve as Blade’s ‘field partner,’ offering him your unremitted support however he sees fit. And second, you pledge the full extent of your psionic abilities to further the Stellaron Hunters’ mission. This second condition perplexed you, but it wasn’t like you had many bargaining chips. For so long as you cooperate, Eris will remain unharmed and the nascent Stellaron neutralized.

Kafka had called to ‘celebrate your inauguration.’ You braced yourself for the worst, but she was surprisingly amicable.

“Have you really never considered your utility outside of parlor tricks?” She wondered. “The power to create fantasias and read memories certainly has its uses, no?”

“I just don’t see how it’d contribute much,” you replied.

“If it stopped there, maybe. Should you be able to replicate Ania Phaeales’ seals, though… that’d come in handy.”

You gritted your teeth and read between the lines. They want that too, huh?

You’ve since worked tirelessly to understand how such an anomaly is possible, much less replicable. Silver Wolf provided an updated version of the Arbiter training software to aid your endeavors. You’ve tried and failed hundreds of times. Deleting fragments of a person’s psyche has disastrous results, as you once hypothesized. If the Stellaron Hunters wanted a foe lobotomized, they wouldn’t have gone through all the trouble of obtaining you.

The holographic screen floating before you presents an error message.

‘Generated psyche #643, Garçia Chamora, has been rendered comatose from suffering damage to his cerebral hemispheres. Press here or say next to generate a new psyche.’

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose.

This job on Rosiz requires a nobleman’s lifelong fealty to be sealed, you think. If I can’t figure this out before then…

Your stomach jumps to your throat like you’re in a free fall.

Leaning back in your chair, you swipe the screen away. You look at the digital clock in the ship’s common room. It reads 2:05 a.m. This shift to a twenty-four-hour time has been a pain, but you think this number means it’s late. While glancing around the uninspired decor, your eyes land on a solitary figure.

Blade sits on a beige couch with his arms and legs crossed, his eyelids shut. You assume he’s asleep. There are plenty of comfortable beds he could veg out on, but wherever you are, he isn’t far behind. You don’t get why he’s playing prison warden. He can’t think you’re stupid enough to try escaping with almost three million lives dangling over your head, can he? Perhaps he’s getting off on your suffering.

Whatever the case, you loathe having to breathe the same air as him. You wish he’d fuck off already.

You’ve barely spoken to one another since he made his threat. If it has to do with the upcoming job, you’ll give a few curt words and nothing more. He’s never been outgoing, so without you initiating conversation, hours trudge by in tense silence. You’ve recently made the unfortunate realization his input on your mother’s seal would be useful. He was under it for two years, there must be some information you can glean from him. You need anything you can get.

The thought of asking him for assistance, though… it makes you sick.

“What?” he asks, his voice gravelly from unuse.

You tense. He could tell you were looking at him without opening his eyes?

“Nothing,” you reply.

He grunts and that’s the end of it. You pull the holographic screen back up, eager to distract yourself. Except, all you can focus on is the #643 in the bottom left corner. You’ve already made that many attempts without any progress? One of Kafka’s contacts is going to help sneak this ship onto Rosiz in two days. You’re running out of time.

You spare Blade a quick glance. Unsurprisingly, he hasn’t moved.

Every muscle in your face scrunches up as if you’d bitten a lemon.

Just get it over with, you tell yourself.

“Blade?”

He makes a noise to prove he heard you.

“Can I… ask you a few questions?”

“That depends on what they are.”

You exhale shakily. “When your memories of me were sealed away, what did it feel like?”

His mara murmurs, discontent at this reminder. He appears outwardly unaffected.

“Why do you want to know?”

You play with your skirt’s hem, picking at a loose thread. This is what you were afraid of.

“Knowing will help me understand and replicate the seal better,” you explain. Then, you hastily add, “For the job.”

All is silent. You shift in your seat.

“That isn’t my concern,” is his eventual answer.

Your jaw drops. “Wh— are you serious? You wouldn’t want to botch a job, would you?”

“It wouldn’t be me ‘botching’ it,” Blade says, coolly, evenly. “It would be you.”

You gnash your teeth together but bite your tongue. As callous as he’s acting, he isn’t wrong. He doesn’t owe you anything. Especially after you said what may have been the worst combination of words to him. You refuse to regret it, but you can follow the cause and effect.

“You really don’t care about what’d happen?” You press, breathless. “Eris is my home. You lived there for months yourself, experienced the culture… does that mean nothing?”

“Why do you ask questions you know you won’t like the answers to?”

Blade hasn’t so much as opened his eyes. You just don’t get it — you’ve peered inside his mind multiple times and still struggle to understand him. To what extent does he care about you, if that word even applies here? Does it stop at your physical well-being? Can his current nonchalance be attributed to your diatribe, or would he have acted this way regardless? He doesn’t make sense. He’s an enigma.

You decide to try another approach.

“What about Nona? You’d still feel nothing then?”

Finally, he opens his eyes. The warm hues feel cold.

“I hold no ill will toward your student. I’d consider it a shame,” he says. Despite his impersonal word choice, he isn’t being sarcastic. That must mean something. Before you can expand on this, he smiles. It’s far from kind. “I see you’ve omitted your boyfriend from this thought exercise. A wise choice.”

Your heart skips a beat.

Ah, fuck.

“A word of advice, girl. Manipulation isn’t your forte.”

It feels like a struggle between life and death to maintain eye contact.

“Negotiation, though, you’re half-decent at,” Blade muses. He inclines his head to the side. “Well? Make me an offer.”

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth. What do you have to offer? In a business setting, you can lowball some figures, that’s how everyone starts. You doubt he’s interested in money or stocks. There’s your Synalink ability, but there’s no way he’ll put himself in a vulnerable position like that again. Everything’s been taken from you. Your business, assets, connections, leverage; all you have are the clothes on your back. Still, if he’s entertaining this conversation, there must be something.

Goosebumps erupt all over your skin. “Are you… propositioning me?”

“Oh? That’s how you’ve chosen to interpret it?” he raises an eyebrow. “If that’s your offer, I accept.”

“No, I’m not—!”

“I know. Calm down,” he interrupts your panicked exclamation. “You’re easily rattled when exhausted.”

Your heart’s pounding so loud in your ears that it’s difficult to hear him.

“Relax. The next time I take you, I want you willing.”

The next time? Is he delusional? Has he suffered long-term memory loss? You’d sooner saw off your hand than sleep with him ever again. You come dangerously close to voicing this, but ultimately decide against it. You need him in an agreeable mood. This seal — have you been set up for failure? You can’t imagine why they’d bother. Still, there’s no singular script, as per Elio’s own admission. It’s a string of possibilities loosely connected by little choices. If one script isn’t followed, that means another has taken center stage.

Should you be unable to deliver, that future has been accounted for as well.

It’s a future that can’t come to pass.

Blade speaks your name.

“Come over here,” he says.

Your eyes widen and lips part, horror painting itself across your countenance.

He clicks his tongue. “Trust your own intuition. You said it yourself, didn’t you? That I’m ‘holding out.’”

You fight the urge to wince at the quotation. He’s the one who mentioned it, not you. This can’t count as an infraction on your behalf. Taking a deep breath, you start trekking over, counting each step. Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen… ah, it didn’t take anywhere near long enough.

He pats the spot beside him. Once you’re situated, an arm coils around your shoulders, tugging you into his side. Your heart thumps away. This is reminiscent of the evenings you spent together in your office and on the balcony. The high you received from sex would fade away, replaced by this nice, soft haze. Talkative as you were then, there was something about those moments that kept you quiet. You’re not sure why.

Maybe it’s because you realized you’d finally met someone lonelier than yourself.

“You’ve hardly eaten or slept. That I can understand,” Blade says. “What I don’t get, however, is why you haven’t cried.”

“I can’t.”

“You’re often on the verge of tears. Like now, for instance,” he points out. You struggle to swallow the lump in your throat. “Why not let it go?”

Something already broken in you shatters beyond recognition.

“What good would that do?!”

Your fingernails dig into your palms hard enough to bruise the sensitive flesh.

“I’m nothing, I-I have nothing, I’m—” you laugh and laugh, making your throat feel scratchier than it already is. “I wanted to do so much…! I was stupid. So stupid! I actually thought that I could— could find a way to fix things, if only I kept working, kept trying! There isn’t a way. There never was a way. We’re greedy, we’re awful, we’re ignorant. A planet like that… a universe like this… so long as we’re in it, it’s fucked, it’s all fucked.”

You shake your head. “I may have hated her, but I still wanted to be her. To outdo her. Prove that I could’ve done it better, that change was possible, so she’d have no excuse. I couldn’t do either. Even if I had, it wouldn’t have mattered. I’d just be delaying Eris’ inevitable fate like she did.”

Your shoulders heave with each painful breath you take.

“Did she feel vindicated in the end? Think that by saving me once, it’d make up for all the times she didn’t?”

Whether you’re talking to him or yourself, you can’t tell anymore. It doesn’t make a difference. Speaking the truth aloud doesn’t make it any more or less real. It just leaves a bitter taste that’ll never go away.

“If she cared so much, why did she never tell me?” You whisper, your voice cracking. “What was she so afraid of…?”

What was I so afraid of?

Tears trickle down your face in a free flow. The drizzle shifts to a torrential downpour, no matter how hard you try shaking or shutting it off. There’s no point in telling him this. You’ll probably regret it, somewhere down the line.

You faintly register how your body moves without your input. Blinking the wetness in your eyelashes away as best as you can, you see gold patterns. There’s weight around your shoulders too. Weight and warmth. The scent of blood and anise.

He’s pulled you into an embrace against his chest.

You twist and jerk your limbs around, attempting to purchase freedom you can’t afford. You yell at him, curse him, beg him to let you go, and still, his grip never relents. He just holds you there, your struggles amounting to nothing, your pleas falling on deaf ears. His grip doesn’t feel tight until you try wriggling yourself out of it. Then, and only then, are you hit with the realization he could crush you so easily. It must take a great deal of self-restraint to avoid doing so.

The fight leaves your body and you tremble like a leaf in the wind.

His large hand runs over your back, slow and steady, as if his touch were destined to soothe rather than destroy.

Your well of tears runs dry eventually.

“When you live for others, you’ll die for them too.”

Blade’s statement doesn’t make you feel better or worse. It washes over you without soaking in. Whether it’s a warning for you or condemnation for yourself, you don’t know. Perhaps the two overlap in an unsightly hybrid.

Some time passes before he speaks again.

“The day that man drew his weapon on you, I felt something stir, as rousing from a long slumber,” Blade reveals. “I assumed it should remain undisturbed.”

This is your chance. You detach yourself from him enough to look him in the eyes. He loosens his grip just enough to allow this, but no more. The vice would tighten should you try extracting yourself further. You wipe away the moisture clinging to your lower eyelashes with your wrists. Since he’s sitting, he isn’t towering over you. This small detail aids your waning resolve.

“What made you assume that?”

His bandaged hand cups your tear-stained cheeks. You wince, but allow him his indulgence.

“Instinct,” he murmurs.

Your eyebrows pinch together as you think. That wasn’t what you were expecting. You guessed that’d it feel like something significant was missing — a gaping hole. That the individual would want to fill it. Curiosity is the sentient being’s natural state, after all. Especially since this should’ve been an element of itself the mind wishes to reinstitute. Yearning, affection, and care; even if it’s a vestige of the full experience, these positive emotions shouldn’t set off alarm bells.

Unless the mind decided it was worth suppressing.

Maybe your mother wasn’t using the influx of memories inflected on Blade as a ‘red herring.’ Kafka adores messing with you, she could’ve floated the idea because she knew you’d hear it in the future. What was your mother doing then? Pulling up key instances throughout Blade’s life, specifically those with heightened emotions and long-lasting influences…

What if it’s not so much altering memories, but altering the mind’s perception of them?

The Arbiter training software is bound to your movements, which allows it to manifest with a few hand gestures. The screen displays itself close to your right. You’d prefer to figure this out elsewhere, but Blade doesn’t appear interested in letting you go anytime soon. He silently observes as you pore over the generated psyche. You’re too focused to comment on how creepy he’s being.

Liliana Kokot. 34. Short-life species. Citizen of the planet Punklorde. Witnessed the murder of her parents at a young age. Came to despise gang activity. Joined police academy. Assigned to the Homicide Unit by age 25. Discovered possible connections between the police chief and organized crime.

You pull out the prismatic shard containing her parent’s murder.

The mind has mechanisms to inhibit trauma that’d otherwise obliterate it. Repression, denial, projection, displacement, rationalization, and regression to name a few. In the same way, prisms have multiple sides. The one which refracts the most light will change depending on how it’s angled.

You adjust the shard without changing its shape. Eventually, you find a side that deems this memory too much, beyond what Liliana can handle. It’s easily absorbed back alongside the other fragments. Except that now, the mind chooses to repress the memory, deep down in the subconscious where it cannot do irreparable harm.

A ‘seal.’

“I get it now,” you wave the screen off. “It’s similar to a heart transplant. Mechanical valves aren’t integrated as smoothly as tissue valves. The body’s more willing to accept what’s similar to it in composition, as is the mind.”

“You don’t look less troubled,” Blade notes.

You scrunch up your nose.

“I mean… this is— I don’t even know. It undermines what makes a person, well… who they are to the very core.”

“When you accepted Elio’s deal, you knew you’d be an accessory to criminal activity. How is that any worse than homicide?”

Blade’s refusal to sugarcoat the truth slashes through you like a phantasmal sword. Perhaps not a thousand times, but close enough.

“This is your price, lotus.”

You want to avert your gaze, but you don’t. It’d feel wrong, somehow. Cowardly. Hypocritical.

No longer can you dwell on the currency itself. What matters now is ensuring you pay your dues on time.

Your debt extends beyond Destiny’s Slave. There’s another proprietor you must settle with, for even the slightest peace of mind.

“Blade— no, Yingxing,” you correct yourself. His muscles stiffen, his true name having gone unspoken for so long devoid of contempt. “I may have made a deal with Elio, but… I haven’t personally made one with you. I’d like to change that.”

You can tell you’ve piqued his interest.

“I swear on everything that is sacred to me that I’ll remain by your side until my final breath. In return, regardless of if I’m alive or dead, you’ll never harm my home or the people who inhabit it. Intentionally or otherwise.”

His long, dark eyelashes flutter shut as he mulls over your proposal. He doesn’t take long. Soon enough, vermillion bores into you again. Candle wicks flicker inside them, alight with an emotion you refuse to name.

“How do you finalize deals, Miss Phaeales?” Blade asks, moving aside a stray strand of hair from your face.

It’s like the air’s been knocked from your lungs. He couldn’t have known, right? The ripples born when those two words are stitched together? Your chest feels tight and hollow all at once. It’s like your internal organs have liquified, leaving nothing but shapeless viscera. This isn’t the right voice. It should be softer, a tenor’s pitch, not a sonorous bass.

“M-Miss Phaeales?”

You blink away a fresh set of tears.

“A promise? Miss Phaeales, I don’t know if I can.”

“Hand me the dagger from before.”

“I don’t really get you, Miss Phaeales, but… I wanna.”

He does, after a moment’s consideration.

“It’s my fault, I should’ve killed that man, and now she’s in that criminal’s debt, because of me…!”

You prick your pointer finger with the dagger’s tip, just enough to create trickling blood.

“Everything you just said — I can tell you believe it.”

He mirrors your actions. His skin quickly mends itself back together.

“So why… why do you look so sad?”

I had so much to say, you think, bitterly. So, so much.

Blade’s bandaged hand falls to your lower back, where it softly pushes you forward. His gloved hand envelops your face, the leather refreshing against your feverish skin. His lips descend upon yours. You may have called the kiss tender had you known nothing about him. You do know him, however, as fate has decreed he’d get a better future at the cost of yours. It’s as if everyone was in on the joke, leaving you the odd one out.

He murmurs words in between kisses that you fight desperately to unhear.

When you pull back for air, you notice how madness surges and retreats in his eyes, as if it were ocean waves washing against the shore.

The likeness helps.

Pretending the red shade’s a brilliant blue instead comes easier.

The next time he kisses you, you cautiously kiss back.

A/N: i thought i'd feel satisfied when i finished nexus' last chapter, but i actually feel rather sad JTFSIKL i cannot overstate how much i enjoyed working on this story. it scratched a sci-fi itch i've had for over a decade now. when writing longer works, it's rare for me to not get caught on snags that sap my inspiration away. that never happened with this story though. from start to finish, i was contentedly tip tapping away on my keyboard.

i became enamored with this idea of a yandere story that didn't just revolve around the MC and yan, it just wasn't until i started outlining nexus that i had an excuse to explore this concept further.

the main cast of n darling, nona, and lear (an anon affectionately dubbed them the lotus trio, which is a term i loved enough to hijack) has become close to my heart. for that reason, writing this chapter physically hurt at times 😭 i wanted to swat blade away like a fly and have everything end nicely. from the very first sentence though, i knew this would be a tragedy, so it'd go against the Themes to pull a power of friendship ending.

at first, i worried about the reader's ability to empathize/connect with n darling, since her status and abilities aren't universal. like at all. the solution presented itself rather naturally. n darling, at least to me, stresses that simmering anger women feel the need to hide for professionality's sake. her experiences as a child where she's given responsibilities beyond her age's capacity, then in adulthood, where she isn't taken seriously (chrysus) or unintentionally infantilized (caicias). i'm sure many afab individuals can relate to some extent.

my primary interest was in having these two deeply frustrated individuals crash together and spill debris everywhere. i was given a little more liberty with blade's actions and dialogue, due to miss phaeales' id inducing presence, which drew out more than he'd normally give. as for blade's characterization, if he isn't in the throes of mara madness, i really can't see him being a hellion 24/7. he feels more somber to me when lucid.

of course, that changes if the right buttons are pressed... but that isn't exclusive to him.

since the final chapter is divided into three main scenes, i wanted to fully explore the three predominant ways i picture a yandere version of blade acting. the first is his guilt and shame, the second, his mara-induced sadism, and the third, a more neutral self where reason prevails.

i hope that you enjoyed reading nexus as much as i enjoyed writing it!! although the main storyline is finished, i'm by no means done with the universe as a whole. i'm planning a little epilogue for starters. then maybe some side stories from blade's perspective ?? who knows, the motivation's still there, so anything is possible.

thank you again 💖

-sincerely, lock.

Tag list: @99-nct @pixiestixes (idk why the tag thingy won't work but an effort was made) ...

#blade x reader #yandere blade x reader #honkai star rail x reader #yandere honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #yandere hsr x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #nexus #my stuff

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hxltic · 2 months

Note

Heya!

First of all, I just wanna say that your stories/writing skills are AMAZING, I’m absolutely obsessed with your page tbh <3

I do wanna request another Megumi smut fic, if that’s okay. Maybe one where the (fem) reader is pretty anxious about getting intimate, but he gently talks her through it iykwim

Thank you so much pretty, and it’s perfectly okay.

You’d been thinking about it all day. So much so, that as your feet patter on the square tile of the kitchen in your shared apartment, you realize that instead of retrieving the parmesan out of the fridge, you’re pacing back and forth.

But then, every aspect of intimacy throttles into what you thought was a confirmed decision. It then splits it apart, leaving you conflicted when you thought you were done contemplating it.

You were ready. You were more than ready.

What if your ph wasn’t balanced? What if it’s not everything you dreamed of? It’s been a while since you’d actually shaved, would that turn him off? Should you wear something different? Can you even be seductive without being unable to take yourself seriously?

You shake your head at the reeling mess of hypotheticals, somewhat hoping the action would disperse them so that they dissipate into the air. Forcing one foot in front of the other with a sigh, you go to the opposite side of the kitchen, and take a seat on the stool at the bar top after plating your dinner.

And then you’re maybe two bites in before the front door’s lock rattles, clicks, and twists to invite nobody other than your beloved boyfriend in, returning from errands.

He effortlessly carries three bags of groceries in one hand, unintentionally showcasing the rings wrapped around his fingers. The other holds another two bags. He shuffles into the house, closes the door, and greets you, raising the food up high enough to rest it along the granite.

“Hey, what’s up? You made dinner early?” He stocks the milk into the refrigerator.

With a final chew, you place the fork down and rest your chin in your hands. “Yeah, I thought you told me to?”

He nods with a small curl of his lips, “I did. Told you to stop waiting up for me.”

You hum in response. It’s pretty quiet after that, just you two in each other’s presence as a couple, until he’s done with his task and gets a plate of his own. Of course, he comes to sit right beside you, but not before moving your hair out of the way and providing a gentle kiss to the forehead first. You smile, but not as bright as you usually do. He inspects your distant expression.

“Are you okay?”

Your eyes find his. You can tell he’s trying to think of anything that could possibly be wrong—something he forgot, or something he did. It’s almost instinct for your heavy emotion to lift temporarily when anyone asks this question, giving you the appearance of an excited puppy. “Yeah, yeah! I’m good. Just,” you shrug, “thinking.”

“Tell me what’s on your mind.”

You definitely have his full attention, but when he takes a bite of his dinner, he can’t help but comment on how good it is. Meanwhile, you’re slightly able to feel heat rising to your cheeks. “Uhm…I don’t know. I don’t really know how to explain it.”

By this point the smell of the food is rising into your nose from below, long forgotten as your fingers rub circles into your temple.

“Try. I’ll piece it together,” he reassures. You’ve been trying to work on your communication, as is he, but he’s usually succeeding far more at it than you are, you have to admit.

“Uhh, fuck. I’m…” It’s already difficult to convert thoughts into words, let alone thoughts like these. Oh yeah, Megumi, I’ve been thinking about you fucking me for a while now. It’s even harder when you can feel him staring dead at you with those tender eyes, just waiting patiently for an answer. “Ready to take our relationship— further?”

Your shoulders haunch up protectively when you turn your attention to him, whose eyebrows are furrowed a bit, attempting to comprehend what you just said. It then looks like it hits him, but he inquires anyway, “Further, how?”

You pout, “Are you going to make me say it, Megumi?”

The man wasn’t stupid; he knew exactly what you were asking for. But the culpability of being incorrect would make him feel like the worst person on the damned planet, and this would tell you that he was “hoping” you would say something about sex. He knows you. It implies that the topic was on his mind beforehand, ultimately enhancing the pressure since you then would know he was thinking about it.

But truth be told, he wasn’t. When you said you wanted to take it slow, he was completely okay with that. Of course—there’s no denying the amplification of his hormones when you’re fresh out of the shower, walking around braless in a large tee, shorts, and wet hair—but it was never enough to push you into something you weren’t ready for. It would never be. All he had to do was take a shower, whether extra long or cold.

“Are you sure? You do understand that, no matter what, you come before your body, right?”

“Of course. You’ve always made me feel safe, and I wouldn’t have said it if I hadn’t done the thinking. I’m just nervous, I guess? I want it to be good for you, but I haven’t really done this before.”

“I guarantee you, there literally isn’t anything you could do that would make it a bad experience for me.” His smile spreads a grin to your features, lifting your mood a little. “And you don’t have to be nervous— I’ll be there with you the whole time. I’ll take care of you, I promise.”

“Finish your food. I know you’ve had a long day and you need energy for the scandalous acts you’ve committed to,” he adds. You giggle at the joke, suddenly feeling lightweight from the anchor that he’d single-handedly lifted off you.

Only to leave as quickly as it came because that meant you had to get ready for tonight.

——•——

After taking one more shower before he took his, you’re already in bed after dinner, curled up watching the light from the tv fill the room every time you change the channel. The smell of strawberries and coconut bounces off you, probably now into the fibers of the bed, and you’re as smooth as a baby. Everywhere.

The door to the bedroom suddenly opens, revealing Megumi with a towel draped low around his waist, hair fallen, dripping all over the carpet, and cut abdomen a distraction from whatever show you had playing.

The best part about having had that conversation is that you don’t have to conceal your feelings or the throb between your legs anymore. There’s no guilt from knowing the two of you will only get to kissing, desperately trying to find some friction.

Megumi leisurely walks over to the closet, entertained by your low eyes trained to him like a moth to a flame. You don’t even notice his amused gaze. “Can I help you with something?” He teases, eyebrows dipping into a smirk.

Your eyes finally shoot up, but you can’t even bring yourself to be embarrassed. “Maybe.”

He chuckles, opening a drawer to grab some sweats. “We just talked, like, an hour and a half ago, and you’re already about to pounce on me.”

“Oh please— tell me you don’t feel the same way.”

You carelessly throw the remote down. Megumi disappears, then reappears, pants on and ruffling the towel to dry his hair. When he finishes, he comes to his side of the bed, pinches your chin delicately, and tilts it up to him. His voice was lower, and velvety sweet. He knew he could ask you to do anything if he spoke like this.

“You know I do.”

The ravenette allows you to kiss him softly, but he keeps it short. It’s just enough for a huff to leave your mouth when he pulls away. “We don’t have to do this tonight. There’s no deadline for me to be inside of you,” he swipes his thumb over your bottom lip.

You’d think he was talking about taxes with how casually he said it. Now that was what embarrassed you. “Right. Yeah.”

You force a smile to your face and turn away, going back to the tv, trying your best to ignore the growing heat in your stomach and the sudden disappointment of your work going to waste.

He observes that you don’t actually look satisfied, and was instead shuffling and moving awkwardly. To be fair, he knew what it looked like when you were horny.

“Unless, of course, it was what you really wanted.”

Then you look to him, and when he slowly pans back at you, knowing you took the bait, he immediately understands the severity of how you feel by the undercurrent of desperation in your eyes. You seemed to need him. His eyes slightly widen.

You didn’t just randomly want to have sex with him; it had been growing over time. Every kiss, lick, and touch began to lose its fervor when you’d already known the outcome— when it would stop. You’d just finally been able to vocalize it.

“Come here,” he opens his arms up to you. The bed bounces when you throw the covers off and crawl to him, resting atop his lap and clearing his view to the tv. He didn’t mind; he has a better one.

The friction you get from his legs, pathetically, has you shifting before getting fully situated. His hands come to rest in the dip of your hips to keep you still. But he knows.

“You understand that I love you...”

It was said declaratively, like he was sure, but just in case he was wrong, you could speak up. His eyes carried a kindness to them and his cushiony voice melted your brain. “I do.”

“And you understand what you truly want? You’re sure I’m who you want to be your first?”

You nod. “And hopefully my last.”

“Then I want you to know that anything after this,” he waves his hand in a circling motion, “You are in complete control of. Tell me to wait, I will. Tell me to stop, and I’m sure as hell pulling out, taking my hands off you, whatever, all in an instant. And don’t feel bad about anything you say to me. Ever.”

Soaking in the lecture, being unable to ignore as if they were terms and conditions, makes you fathom how serious this is. He’s speaking earnestly because you did before, hence when you begged to take it slow the day you started dating (he confirmed he didn’t mind, but you truthfully didn’t believe him as per past relationships). In this heart to heart, you looked into his dark blue eyes, wondering how you managed to find someone like him that would wait a million years for your trust.

“Okay. Likewise, I want you to teach me. That way in the future I can be better at what you like.”

A finger comes to brush a tendril of hair behind your ear as you mindlessly fiddle with your thumbs. “You are what I like, beautiful.”

And then you can’t resist feeling the sight in front of you, the same one the pads of your fingers have memorized from repetition, so with a featherlight touch, your hands separate and design delicate swirls into his v-line, trailing only up to about his belly button.

You love seeing his muscles contract when he twitches since everything he does seems to send a shiver down your spine.

Widening your fingers as they rise, they stretch the span of his chest. There’s a low hum when you make sure to lightly drag your nails across his skin, reminding you to shift your focus to his expression. He was already staring at you through his eyelashes.

Your lips find his in the slowest, most sultry manner you can control. Both hands card through his semi-damp locks, quickening his breath alone, while his take rest at the band of your sleep shorts. And just when you think he’s going to slip his fingers through the silk, he grabs you with a firm grip and rolls over so your back is to the sheets, leaving you still pawing at his nape.

The experience increases in heat as it does speed. You were smothered with his presence but you wouldn’t have it any other way. He connects your lips one last time before he parts to share his kisses on other spots of your body, including your jaw, collarbone, and once he gets the thin shirt you’re wearing off— your chest.

And he does just that, peeking up at you first for confirmation you two share the same idea. You answer by lifting and helping him tug it off.

You reach your hands up past your ribs to the swell of your breasts, massaging them, unable to look him in the eye.

“Look at me.”

Well fuck.

You do, and just then he’s placing his free hand over yours, ultimately pilfering its spot entirely, and taking his time to lick around the bud, swirling it into his mouth. It’s his first time hearing the whine that came out of you. He will hear it again.

He does the other the same, hardening the peaks only to leave them be with a conclusive squeeze. “Do you like that?”

You manage, “Yes.”

He kisses down your stomach, leaving a hum in response, and drags his fingers down even further to ghost over the fabric of your panties. “Lace?”

“Yeah, for you.” You shiver at his touch.

His thumb circles over your clit as his chin tips down to shift his eyes around the garment. “How long have you been planning this?”

“It started last week.” Your chest rises and falls when you giggle, it ultimately dissolving into a breathy moan once he applies a deeper pressure. “I took a trip to the mall.”

There’s no response. His hand draws up to the sides of your waist, pausing to give you more slow, endearing kisses along the band.

“I wore it so you could take it off, Megumi.”

“Great.”

And just like that, he’s sliding it off you, down your thighs and throwing them elsewhere behind him. “Can you open up for me?” He coos.

There’s a coil beginning in your tummy, and you aren’t exactly sure if it’s because you’re already throbbing or if the embarrassment is just now settling in. No matter what, you just want him to do something. You spread them.

He groans at the sight of you. Bare.

“Fuck, you’re something else.”

With some hint of friction to stabilize himself, he shifts his hips against the bed, then he dips his head into your center.

You’ve thought about what it would feel like when he “eats you out.” Would it feel slimy and trigger your sensory issues? Would you squirm in disgust or ecstasy? Would it feel like anything?

And now, you finally have an answer, because after the swipe of his tongue on your inner thigh, there’s a warmth you associate with the muscle of his tongue dragging between your lips. Involuntarily, you do begin to squirm.

He does it again, sealing his mouth over you. The unpredictability of where you will feel him next is thrilling despite being now sat up lazily on your elbows.

There’s no doubt it’s making you feel something and it’s starting to gather. So much in fact that the sight of his angled nose and eyebrows between your legs may be too much to handle. You don’t render it as pleasure quite yet though.

“That feels kinda weird,” you mumble honestly. The rumble of his chuckle surges through your stomach as he pulls his face away for only a moment.

“Here,” he utters, and you’re expecting him to do something to help when he shuffles, but suddenly, a single finger prods at your wetness until it’s sinking seamlessly. “This is something you’re familiar with, right?”

Immediately, a gasp forces itself out. You’d done it yourself before so he wasn’t wrong, but when it’s him toying with you and his long finger, it’s a little different. “Mhmm.”

Now he’s really pulling the noises from you. He curls the one finger experimentally; Left, your hip twists. Right, your breathing picks up. Straight up, and your back arches.

He doesn’t take his time sucking up your clit and anything you release for him, the lewd sounds his mouth creates enough to support that, but how can he help it when he thinks about how bad you wanted it? He’s gotta make it count.

On that note, his tongue drags up from your hole to the nub and his head shifts to the side for a better angle. At the same time that he repetitively curls his finger into the spot he observes you like best, he slurps your clit, only to release it wetter than it went in and do it again. There’s a messy sheen of saliva and your slick coating his chin and a dot on his nose.

His palm snakes around the thigh he isn’t practically laying on to your lower stomach and rests it there so you feel everything but tenfold. It wasn’t to keep you still; he likes the chase.

“That feels s-so good, Meg,” you praise, watching his thick eyelashes flutter open when you speak, but somehow still looking like he has no idea what you said. The tingle was getting stronger and stronger, now converting to a hot fire resonating just under his palm. He adds another finger. One of your hands that wrapped around your breast drives into his dark locks. “Oh God—”

When he groans at the feeling is when your body tenses and cinches up, holding onto him for dear life, chasing something not quite too far, but the contorted countenance your features hold instantly lets him know how you feel.

“Let it go, I got you.” He speeds up the finger gyrating through the cushiony walls.

“Megumi.”

“Come for me, baby.”

You relax just enough to feel the entire distant, solitude of your orgasm; but at the same time, it didn’t feel lonely at all. He was right there, quite literally fucking you through it, but it didn’t feel lewd or sexual. It was the first time you’d felt anything like it.

It was like you were somehow spiritually connected as well as emotionally and physically, and there wasn’t anything to separate you from him as every ounce of your being was woven together.

Fuck, you’re already this sentimental and he hadn’t even put it inside yet.

Returning back to the Earth was as hard as it sounds, but the fall is a lot easier when Megumi is there to mitigate it.

On the other side— when you release the iron grip of his finger, he can finally remove it. The only sound in the room is your own heavy breathing.

“Are you okay?” He wipes his chin carelessly.

“It kinda felt like... like I was dying. But good.”

“Perfect, that’s what it’s supposed to feel like. Do you want to keep going?”

“Yeah.”

He nods in approval. Anxiously, your feet rub against each other. His hands trickle around his waist as he slides off the bed, but he notices the staring just before he kicks his pants off.

Instead, he comes around to the side, near the bedside table, only propping a knee up on the comforter to get closer so he can ease you into what he’s about to do next. “Give me your hand,” he suggests.

Without thinking you oblige, but your curious eyes blow wide when he begins to lead it onto his lower abdomen and deeper until both of you, in one movement, are smoothing over trimmed hair and down the length of skin. He was obviously erect beforehand, pressing through the fabric as if needing an escape, but feeling it is something else. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when he cups your hand and drags a slow stroke all the way up to his tip and back. Similarly, he releases a shameless, airy moan of his own.

He does it again, and again, then feels that you’ve gathered enough confidence to do it yourself. Which you do; by the time he lets go, you’re already fully wrapped around him and feeling what you can’t see. You follow what he did.

His body slightly moves when he facetiously laughs, but it somehow removes and duplicates the nerves simultaneously.

“What?” You blink up at him.

“Nothing. You’re just so delicate with it.”

“Shut up. I’ll rip it off.”

“Please do,” he laughs once more, bringing an imminent smile to your face, and then he moves to push his pants down his hips. You can’t help but stare at his length in your hands.

He was right, you seemed to be barely gripping him, right before the tip. It was a smooth descent to the shaft, colored a muted shade of pink.

You pop back into reality. Squeezing, you earn a grunt. It was slightly harder to move now. There were only a few ways to lubricate his cock that you had on hand, and the best way that you had been curious to try is right next to it already.

You correct your positioning laying sideways on your elbow, the other hand curled around him, and he almost recoils when you stick your tongue out and look up for his reaction as you press your head forward. A deep sigh flows from his chest.

It wasn’t bad, and didn’t taste like anything, so you do it again, enclosing your lips softly over his tip. He wanted to let you explore so he stayed silent.

You had began to bob your head to cover some distance while trying not to choke yourself, and that’s when he gives the instruction, “Breathe through your nose. Don’t stop breathing.”

It does make it just a little easier as you keep going, but not much, so you pop off and roll your hand around his slick cock now that it was wetter. You sit up completely, tracking the other hand to his balls, praying it’s a myth that boys don’t feel anything there. Hopefully, it will make up for your sensitive gag reflex. “Sorry,” you mutter.

He holds his hair up with his arm, the other hand brushing through yours. His eyes are barely open and accompanied by a darkness brewing inside his pupils. “What did I say?”

You search your brain over for the memory. “Not to feel bad.”

“Yes. And don’t jump to conclusions. You don’t even know how fucking close I am to exploding.”

With that, he removes himself from your hold and reaches down to swiftly grasp your ankles. Yelping, you come sliding down. His pelvis is connected to your ass.

His lips can never stray too far from yours. Just when you’re expecting the deep fervor from not having ever gotten this far, or maybe just having not kissed since you were perched atop his thighs, he resonates his love in the cloud-like puff of his lips. Just when you begin to moan softly while placing a hand on his cheek, he pulls a few inches away.

“You ready?” He rubs over your clit a few times with his thumb. “What do you want me to do? Condom? Birth control? Both?”

You fidget underneath him, shoulders raised high and cheeks reddening. “I’m on birth control. Can you wear one anyway though?”

Your little voice as if he would have any type of negative reaction hurts his heart. “Of course.”

Just as he turns around, you add, “there are some…uh… in my purse.”

“In your purse?” He quirks a brow, smiling.

“I told you I’d been planning this…”

Moments later he returns with the small packet in hand just to rip it and casually roll it onto himself. His eyes focus and his brows furrow.

“Hmm.”

“What?” You sit up. Finally, you spot the problem— most importantly, how the base of the plastic stops about four fifths of the way down his shaft.

“What size did you get?”

“I don’t know. I asked for whatever the average was.”

“Have you no faith in me?” He lightly presses you back down to your back. “Do I look average to you?”

No.

Not like you knew, but you could imagine.

“We’ll make it work. Hold on to me,” he assures. You do just that in an attempt to run away from the embarrassment and link your arms around his neck.

Before you know it he’s patting your dripping pussy, lining himself up, tipping his head up to nip at your neck, and prodding at your entrance.

“Oh shit,” he hears you say under your breath. He didn’t mean to laugh but it slipped.

“What? You scared?”

No reply.

“It’s okay, you’re in charge. Take a deep breath.”

When he feels you inhale under him is when he takes the chance and inches in, pulling a gasp from your lungs right into his ear. Both of you curse at the same time. “Megumi.”

“Breathe, baby.” He inches in farther, not quite bottomed out yet, but closer. Your back raises from the duvet. “You’re almost there.”

One more deep breath that you have to actually, manually breathe out, finally has him buried inside you to the hilt.

“Good girl.”

You were delirious. You wouldn’t be able to believe what is actually happening if it weren’t for the uncomfortable throb below you. It didn’t burn; it was just a pinch from the stretch, which is the best case scenario from all the ways you imagined it would go. Wriggling around to try and speed things up, you were unknowingly killing the man above.

His breathing picks up because, fuck, you were so tight, and whoever said the condom takes away some of that is a fucking liar. Or maybe they weren’t, and if you ever allow him to, going bare might just be on his headstone. You were latched onto him with all your might both on the outside and the inside.

“Tell me—”

“—You can move.”

You accidentally cut him off, but before you can feel bad about it, he’s pulling out, slowly but surely, and turning up your eyebrows when he returns.

A few more of these, a few more “are you okays” from Megumi, a few more of your nods “yes,” and the pain dissipates. Your hums dissolve into low moans that wisp against his neck.

“Does it hurt?” He lifts his head and looks down at you cautiously, searching for pain.

“I’m okay Meg, you’ve asked a thousand times.”

“Do you want me to speed up?” His hands change from your hips to your thighs, then to your legs. His body language portrays that he is nervous. He’d been so focused on you that it slipped your mind how he felt. What better way to calm him down than to get him riled up?

“You’re saying you’ll fuck me now?”

It seemed to work perfectly. His eyes blew wide for a split second hearing your voice say something so demanding and vulgar, but he raised his chest high, took a mean grip back around your hips, and pulled all the way out. When he presses in, his waist has a small curve to add some distance, and it persists like this with increasing speed. The sound in the apartment grows.

There’s a constant movement from the bed going back and forth because of the rhythm he set. With each thrust your jaw drops further. There wasn’t unimaginable speed, but he was pounding against the fat of your ass each time and it was overwhelming. One of his hands finds your bouncing breast.

“When did you get so goddamn needy?” He asks. He wasn’t even grunting or anything, just very accurately moving his hips so his cock stretches the length of your walls.

“When—”

His fingers quickly squish your puffy cheeks together while he bends over close to your face. “Don’t answer that, smartass,” he pecks you on the lips.

The familiar warmth was building within you. Your arms reach up to connect around his back, locking him to your figure and keeping the angle of his thrusts low. You were already finding ways that you liked. Him not too far and his pelvis running against your clit as he grinds. Somehow, you manage to shake him off your face.

Not even to say anything, just to squeeze your eyes shut and release useless words and whines into the atmosphere with your red cheek to his shoulder. He did catch one word though, “closer,” and even though you cannot possibly be any closer than you are, he would try until you’re satisfied.

Testing your flexibility, he hikes both your knees up until they’re almost touching the comforter below and brings them together. This initially makes you feel farther apart with a barrier called your own legs, but then he leans forward on his toes so far that it pushes you deeper into the bed and his nose less than a breath away from yours. He curls his arms around your legs and lifts your head to dig his fingers through your hair before allowing you to rest your head again. How you’re balled up makes you feel so little.

No, to him, you feel more than little; the closeness of your thighs squeezing together removes a significant amount of space on its own. He gazes deep into your eyes when you whisper “there,” in ecstasy.

He hadn’t moved yet, but he could conclude his tip brushed past it as he was trying to get situated. It doesn’t take long for him to find the patch again by the way your eyes flicker back and forth in front of his. Then his hips lift, and he relies on gravity to slam him back down.

“Fuck!” You squeal, twisting your waist to no avail with his weight atop yours. He hits the spot dead on. “Hngh, m’ gonna come s-soon.”

He has an aggravating look on his face like none of this affects him but you know it does. The twitch of his cock says so. “Oh yeah? Can you feel it?”

“Yes! Yes—stop teasing.” The words come out slightly muffled by your scrunched up position. He continues pounding down, the squelch and slapping of skin loud in your ears. It felt like he was reaching your belly button. Every now and then a grunt would push past his mouth.

“But I’m not. Are you sure you haven’t already? You don’t hear that? Or is your pretty pussy just that wet for me?”

You could hear it along with the creak of the bed, but none of it matters when he comes forward, just a little more, to taste the swell of your lips, catching all of your moans in a hot kiss. “Meggg,” you whimper, eyes hanging low and fresh painted toes dancing in the air though every thrust.

“Yes?”

He wasn’t supposed to actually reply, but he only did because he knows you’ll provide an answer if he wants you to. You croak, “Please don’t stop,” to both him and the universe.

“That’s not something you want, beautiful.” And you take it just how it is— a warning, because now that he’s had a taste of you, he’ll go until sunrise. He glances down to where you connect to a sloppy mess of clear and white. It was wet, no doubt, but he wouldn’t want it any other way. “Push against me.”

“What?” Is what he takes the way your eyes peel open as.

“Try to push me out.”

When you finally understand his advice, a light groan turns into a full on cry of his name. He immediately regrets it because you tighten around him, removing the already little space necessary for him to move, almost making him spill on the spot while dragging your nails down the span of his back. He hadn’t known that was what would set you off. Oops.

“Damn,” his brows dip together and his head drops to yours. He decides to suck on the thin skin of your neck as you, like he asked, try to push him out, as well as the rest of the silky white he has clogged. Of course, he was pushing back with just enough strength. Your face was turning red with how hard and unexpected your orgasm hit.

Now, a few more thrusts (that are more deep grinds) to ride out your high is enough to tip him over the edge. He grabs the base of his cock as he pulls out quickly, making sure to hold on to the plastic. Despite how tired you are, you still feel empty.

The second he’s out, he rips the condom off, soothing the skin of your leg with one hand and the other wrapped around his length and quickly twisting the tip. Huh, you were being delicate, you realize.

Watching through deep, weighty breaths as he works himself, it takes everything in you to sit up on your own and wait patiently. It tells him all he needs to know by your posture.

He finally groans loudly, nothing to your volume though, cursing over and over when your hand comes up to knead his balls as the white comes out in spurts all over your chest. It was mostly your breasts, but some tainted your collarbone and chin too.

He finally comes back to Earth sometime later and wipes away the spot on your chin with his thumb before it drips.

“Fuck, sorry,” he breathes.

Before he can get too far, you wrap your lips around the pad of his thumb, sucking it and more off. You get all the way to his bottom knuckle, smiling as you watch his eyes zone in on the action. You remove yourself with a pop.

In case you didn’t know—yeah, he was hard again.

©️hxltic

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hidtired · 1 month

Text

Hangman [Part 2]

(Daryl Dixon x Reader) Masterlist

Description: Y/N Dixon was to be punished for her husbands actions at the line up. Negan decided to do it in style. Daryl watches you hang before being dragged away. But you had still been alive by the time you were cut down. What will Daryl go through before reuniting with you?

2.8k words

Warnings (Mentions of suicide, gore, ANGST, violence, injury, ect.)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Daryl POV

He saw you getting dragged to stand on that wooden box. Noose swinging back and forth in the air. He had threatened and then pleaded when the rope went around your neck. ‘He had done this, the reason for you standing there.’ You were looking at him. A sweet smile on your face. How could you possibly not be furious with him. He was getting dizzy from moving so much and the amount of blood he lost already. He watched the tears slip down your face but then your face straightened and you glared at Negan. How could you look so brave into death?

Negan was still yapping but the ringing in his ears muted most of his words. He registered, “Any last words?” You didn’t even hesitate stating, “See you in hell.” The look in your eye must have been murderous under the bag that been dragged over your head. Negans chuckle in amusement sent his skin ablaze, “Hope I don’t keep you waiting-“ the silence that followed had Daryl’s mind racing to replace the noise, ‘How do I stop this?’ ‘I can’t lose her!’ The abrupt kick from the box under your feet felt like a stab in the heart. He felt like he was watching it in slow motion. Your slow decent to the ground. To hear the rope pull tot again the tree branch above you.

He watch in shock no noise coming out of him. The bounce of the rope tightening around you suspending you in the air. It was Carl he heard the loudest make a pained grunt at witnessing it. Then you were clawing at the rope that suffocated you. Feet dangling and kicking. You had made a surprised yelp at the first impact. It burned into his mind as soon as he heard it. He took a sharp intake of breath for the first time and he mumbled incoherent please through his cry’s.

When your head fell back you then went slack. Your stillness punched all the air out of his lungs. Everyone’s cry’s and faces pulled into disbelief at your now motionless body. Daryl’s eyes remain glued to you. It felt like he was pulled into a sinkhole and had an empty feeling flowing through him. Negan’s proud voice cutting through the noise of grief, “That was like a damn witch hunt! Shit, didn’t think she would be flopping around so much!” He turned to the people shaking on their knees. “Damn, seems to have learned an important lesson finally! We got there in the end though. THEY GET THE SPIRIT AWARD FOR SURE!” Negan turned to Rick, “I JUST GOT A FEELIN’!” Negan yelled prancing around… putting on a show. “YOU PROVIDE FOR ME!” Rick slowly nodded, “SPEAK WHEN SPOKEN TO!” He gulped a flash of light making him squint before speaking, "W-we provide-" Negan nodded with a pleased smile getting what he wanted. He pointed to Daryl, "Load him up."

Daryl had dug his hands in the dirt still staring at your body, looking dazed. He felt them pull him and he only struggled a little, tears streaming down his face, noise unable to release from his tight throat. He couldn't leave you. They throw him back in the truck they had dragged him out of in the beginning. He struggled to get back up so he curled into himself. The door slammed making him jump. His mind getting dragged to flashback of you. The moment you saw each other after the prison. When you first admitted to being in love with him. Remembering when you took his last name as yours.

Till death do us part.

Now that it had happened he couldn’t comprehend it. To live without you. For your existence to simply cease. His grief rolled into anger. At the world, at the saviors, but mostly himself. You had always disliked when he got worked up, ‘It will be the death of you!’ But in the end it was the death of you. You had yelled it at him during an argument. He would have said something back to that if you hadn’t started to get worked up tears shinning in your eyes.

‘Your love for me got you killed.’

He quietly sobbed at the thought. The van he was in started to move. He was being taken to who knows where. Whatever it was he would burn it to the ground with everyone who had hurt you in it, including himself.

He passed out somewhere along the way. Only waking at the feeling of stitch’s digging into his shoulder. He was later stripped of his clothes and put in a dark room. He would sit in the corner huddled together playing with the remaining ring on his finger. That’s when the torture here began.

He was feed poorly. Sleep deprived with a song that play on loop at full volume. He felt weak, sometimes thinking he would hear your voice off into the darkness. He would perk up and cry apologizes to you. Blaming himself, soon your presence turned into a haunting after a rough day. He tried to run but was tricked and beaten. He was on the cool floor hearing your voice ring in his ears, “Your fault. If I never took pity on you I’d still be here! YOU KILLED ME!” He would often pull on his hair to quiet you.

A day later, he was dragged to Alexandria. His face was swollen and he had a remaining shake in his hand. He was in a constant state of fighter flight. When he had got to the gates he couldn’t meet anybody’s eye. They had succeeded in breaking him. But not the way they intended. They broke him to comply. To be one of them. But he continued refusal. They broke him by making his life meaningless. With a sole purpose of destroying the ones who took his love from this world.

He was helping move boxes from Alexandria homes. Rick standing next to Negan near by. Rick had spoke to Carl from the porch, “You should go check on Lori. Make sure that she is okay.” He said it loud enough for Daryl to overhear. Daryl was perplexed at the sentence, was he trying to insinuate something? Lori had been dead for a while now, had he lost it again? Carl chimed in, “I’m sure she is doing fine.” Were they talking about you? There’s no way in hell you would be ‘fine’ after the shit that happened. It was hopeful thinking, he probably didn’t even say Lori and he imagined it.

Rick pleaded for Daryl being able to stay but when asked to make his case he knew he wouldn’t let him go. He also didn’t feel he deserved it. He had looked to his brother, his face screaming he cared. It only made him more guilty. You had cared for him, that’s why you were dead.

That was only solidified more back in his cell. Dwight was on him to join them, that all the torture would be over. Even if he did, the torture would still continue in your absence. Daryl said somethings that struck a nerve, “And be like you? Lettin Negan bang your wife, wow you sure saved her.” Dwight threw the dog food sandwich to the floor, “At least she is still alive.” He threw a polaroid to the floor, slamming and locking the door behind him.

Daryl’s hands were balled up. The burning ache in his chest at the mention of you. He slowly moved for the picture flipping it over. The crack of light coming from under the door revealing the picture. It was you hanging in that tree. He immediately looked away, clutching a hand to his chest. The hard tension of emotion bubbling out. He silently wept while the music changed. How stupid could he have been? To think maybe Rick was suggesting you were OK.

Your POV

Daryl was right about that, you were everything but ok. Alive yes, but struggling. When you had gotten to hilltop you were rushed to the doctor. He had done a endotracheal Intubation, shoving a tube down your throat to assist you with breathing. Maggie held your hand while Glenn pinned you down. You relaxed when it was in place. Breathing fully and properly, your eyes rolled in the back of your head going unconscious. All adrenaline leaving your body, now unable to process the pain and shut itself down.

You woke startled. The intrusion down your throat causing a panic. You pulled it out but struggled to cough to clear your airway. You rolled over the side of the bed letting gravity do it. It was hard to work any muscle in your throat. You felt something rapped around it. Almost like a pillow. It was a neck brace but the feeling reminded you of having the rope around you. The pillow case under you reminding you of the bag. Someone grabbed you and propped you up to sit. It was the doctor. You froze from your panic seeing panicked eyes all watching you. Maggie sat leaning into Glenn’s shoulder with a hand clasped around her mouth.

It was like a slap of reality. Eye contact with everyone in the room. They explained things to you while still a little frazzled. You were asleep for 14-16 hours. Your bottom lip trembled and you waved everyone closer to you. You enveloped people in hugs. You had never been so close to death. You gesture for something to write on. After getting it you wrote, “Is everything Ok?” Sasha who now sat in a chair next to the bed spoke first, “You should get better, only concern was how you would eat.” The doctor chimed in, “The damage to your throat is unknown. I can’t say for sure if you could eat solid foods or even talk ever again.” You rub the tension between your eyes grabbing the paper and writing again.

“Daryl?”

Glenn put a hand to your leg, “He’s alive. You should know the saviors took him before they left.” You ran a hand through your hair eyes closed tight. The burning in your eyes from the need to cry only added to the pressure in your growing migraine. You bit your lip and tried to swallow down the tightness growing in your throat from tears. However, the sensation of gulping made your whole body tense, slamming your fists down at the pain. A shaken inhale coming out of you. Everyone cringed around you. You collected yourself before writing again. “How the baby?” You had pointed the paper to Glenn and Maggie. She smiled, “We’re ok.” You breath in relieved about the first good news.

Then came the recovery. Not just physically but mentally. Any rope, tie, or, string set you off. You now no longer slept with a pillowcase. You had to eat everything in a paste. You’d crush it and dilute it with water. Felt like dog food. You were persistent when it came to asking about updates on Daryl. ‘When were people going after him?’ ‘When are we fighting?’

Everyday with the same answer. To think of what they were doing to him as each day passed. You started to debate going after him yourself. No opportunities presenting itself until Sasha and Rosita went off to kill Negan and hadn’t come back. With everyone distracted by them you follow after them. You left a note that read,

“I’m sorry for not telling you I ran off, but I need to go get Daryl. Anyone would do the same in my situation. So, no being mad when I come back! Preferably with two Dixons.”

You while still unable to talk and less than great ability to even drink water, were going to save your husband. You followed old tracks from the girls. Knife in hand and an empty gun holster. Also a black hoodie that was a few sizes too big, (you stole from Jesus.) You were by far behind in your tracking ability compared to your Husband. You remember all the times you would go with him to hunt. Being out there alone often lead to other activities you will admit. Probably what took you so long to learn. You found a factor type building the near the end of the trail. You would wait until the sun goes down and seeing what you were working with.

You had rounded the building a few times preparing for when it became sunset. You also took notice at a lot of cars that had left. You decided to act while they were gone. There was a lot with cars and to your surprise Daryl’s motorcycle. It seemed empty and unguarded. There was already holes in the fence tied with zip ties. You avoided the walkers attached to the fence. Breaking the zip ties with your knife and sliding through. You quickly and quietly made your way through a side door.

The hallway had minimum lighting. Any door you would pass you slowly open to look inside. Footsteps on the other side of the hall caused you to go up a flight of stairs. Quick to make your way down the upstairs hall when you heard women chatting. Ducking into a room closest to you. Pressing your ear to the door listening for the people to pass. Taking notice of the room there was a big bed, and a jacket all too familiar. You were in Negan’s room. Stepping back outside you paused and looked at the door.

Deciding to carve a little message in his door before continuing your search for Daryl.

____ | | | o | /|\ | | | / \ |_

"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _."

You made your way back downstairs. Passing door after door until you saw one cracked open. It was another bedroom. You slowly opened it spotting the key to Daryl’s bike. You pocketed it then saw another thing you recognized, Rick’s python. You moved it to your holster while moving back to the door. You ducked your head out of it looking both ways before continuing. Your heart raced every second you were there.

There was 3 doors left at the end of the hall. When opening the first one it opened to reveal a small space that was empty. It was dirty with full brick walls and concrete floor. You moved to the next one but it didn’t budge, it was locked? You moved to the last door and it popped open like the first. You back tracked to the other door and made a small knock against it. Leaning your ear to the door you heard a deep sigh. Someone was locked in one of these small rooms. Inhaling and hoping it was Daryl. You looked around again to make sure no one was coming.

Jamming your knife in the key hole and pulling out a Bobby pin from the back of your head. You were used to lock picking doors open since all the scavenging you’ve done. It was a habit to always have it on you. You fiddled with the lock looking around from time to time. When you finally got it to turn and unlock you put the pin back and held your knife out for whatever was behind the door. The door slowly opened light illuminating the dark room with a beaten and dirty Daryl. Your heart dropping. He was sat down staring at the floor squinting from the light. You slowly feel to your knees.

He looked up seeing you. A mix of a panicked and heart breaking look flashing across his battered features. You put a finger to your lips telling him to be quiet. You crawl over to him and grab his face. He leaned into you making your heart feel strained, ‘what have they done to him.’ Daryl whispering apologies, “It’s all my fault… god I love you.” His hands hovering over your face. You leaned over to lay your head in his hand. He seemed surprised at the contact. He leans forward looking at your face searching your eyes. His hand traveling down gently to your neck his eyes catching a sight glimpse of the bruise around it before you flinched at the contact to it. He breath comes out ragged,

“Y/N?”

You nuzzle your face in his and leaning down to give him a quick kiss on the lips. He was looking at you with amazement. You grabbed him by the arms and tried to get him to stand, trying to hint that you both needed to leave.

You were going to get him out of here.

Part 3

Next part is final! Feedback welcome and requests always open! What do you think the Hangman game spelt?

This feels like I wrote it poorly so apologies.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl fanfiction #daryl imagines #daryl x female reader #daryl x reader #norman reedus #twd daryl #angst #fluff

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