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netherfeildren · 8 months

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The Cassandra Complex : Chapter VI : Sisyphus

Series Masterlist : Moodboard

(Din Djarin x F!Reader)

Content Warnings: Canon typical violence; Blood and Gore; Explicit description of injury; Use of misogynistic language; Threat of SA but none occurs; Ass play; Anal sex

A/N: It's all downhill from here, baby!!!

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 10K

Read on AO3

CHAPTER VI : SISYPHUS

DEATH: Why the bow, if you’re breaking no laws?

Anne Carson, Grief Lessons: Four Plays by Euripides

You’re in the dark again, warm and sated, together. He’s propped up on one elbow, practically half on top of you while you lay on your belly, pressed into the soft blankets and the blistering heat of his body; your cheek, smooshed into the ball of his shoulder while you let him explore your skin at will. He’s been biting and licking and kissing all over for what seems like hours after having fucked you halfway to delirium, and you can do nothing more than hum and whimper when his teeth get too hungry, his bite too sharp, listening to the sounds he makes. Low rumbles of appreciation deep in his chest that you feel vibrate into the bones of your back, breathy huffs where he takes in your scent, mingled with the flavor of his own sweat and come. You’re damp and sweaty and a little sticky in the soft crevices between your limbs, and maybe it should be disgusting, but he tastes you everywhere anyways.The tip of his nose dragging down the line of your spine, a soft nip to your waist, a sharper one to the inside of your bicep, that vulnerable and ticklish swell. He rolls you slightly further towards him to expose your breasts to his explorations, and you feel the tickle of his armpit hair on your cheek where your face is tucked into his side. He sniffs below the damp line of your hair at the nape of your neck, mouths wetly at the satiny skin, and you drag your fingertips up his arm, barely there, pulling a shiver from him and a soft moan. “What’s your favorite place in the galaxy?” Your voice barely a break in the silence, the soft song of your breathing.

A wet suck to your nipple, “Balls deep inside of you,” entirely serious in that monotone way of his.

“Disgusting.”

“Nuh uh, delicious,” a long swipe to the other nipple, pad of his thumb brushing over the dip of your navel. A whine of his name, and he gives you a laugh, the sort of laugh that changes the trajectory of a person’s life, the sort of laugh that is so real it could almost be confused as imaginary. He moves up, lets you savor the sound of it, and there is no better taste than this: someone else’s laughter in your mouth. You twist your fingers in his curls, run your tongue behind his teeth, belly pressed to belly. “I’m being serious,” you remind him.

He buries his face in your neck, a soft hum, “Here, on the ship.” With me? You want to ask. “What about yours?”

“I like water.” You always had, had always been a swimmer when the moment allowed.

“Then we shall have to find some water for you, won’t we?” His fingers have snuck down to your bottom, and he kneads your soft flesh, the line of his once again swollen erection trapped between your bodies. Yes, you’d like that, you think, to be in water with him. You dig your fingers into the rock hard muscles of his shoulders as his mouth resumes its explorations.

“I want a loth cat,” you tell him next.

Mhmm.

“Din?” His mouth is once again latched at your breast, and his cock has begun to thrust and grind against your belly, sticky tip drooling against your skin.

“Please, be quiet,” he says with your breast still in his mouth. “I’m very busy.”

You ignore him, twist your fingers tighter in his curls, arching your chest further into his mouth. “Will you get me a loth cat?” Voice all soft and breathy and breaking as you lift your thigh around his naked hip.

Distracted: “A what?”

The man really, really does not listen. “A loth cat. Will you get me one?”

Finally, he pulls his head back. “No. What is that?”

“You’re saying no, and you don’t even know what they are!”

“You’re not bringing any animals on my ship,” and even though he can’t see it, you roll your eyes at him.

“It’s a pet. Not an animal.”

“Explain the difference to me.” He bends his head to your breast again, all teeth now.

“A pet is fluffy, and I will love it.” But he brings his cock back into the mix then, and there are no more allowances for ridiculous requests for quite some time after that.

“Now you’re going to be good and stay here like I’m asking you to this time, right? Where you’re safe.” He’d landed the Razor Crest a conservative distance away from Niima Outpost; didn’t want you too far isolated in the sand dunes while he left you to go out and fetch his bounty, but not so close you’d be easily noticed.

“Oh, you are soooo stern,” you pout up at him from where you’re curled up in your bed.

His only response: a long suffering sigh, hands on his hips. You roll your eyes at him, nuzzling into the pillow that smells just like his hair. “Yes. I promise I’ll stay on the ship this time. Where it’s safe.” He comes to one knee beside your shared bed, he’d never crawled back into that tomb of a bunk again after that last time together, this was your shared place now. He brushes a gentle thumb over the pout of your bottom lip, tipping your chin up to the dark tee of his visor, “What a good girl you can be… when you set your mind to it, little one.” You scoff, rolling your eyes at him again, but feel your cheeks heat and your lower belly go tight and fluttery. Your pussy clenches with a slight twinge, and you feel the slow thick drool of his come seep out of you. He’d taken you hard earlier, savage and rough and without restraint – like he was angry at having to leave you and taking it out on your cunt.

“Only when I try very, very hard,” you tell him. He dips his chin once, and then unfolds to his great height above you, another nod, another paused moment to take one last, long look at you, and you want to beg, so badly, for him not to go. It feels like the first time he’d left, all those weeks ago. Your first experience staying on the Crest without him while he went out to hunt his bounty, and at the same time, all the worse. You know him so much better now, you need him, you… You what? No, you can’t think of it now. It’s a non possibility, something you aren’t capable of. But a pesky, perilous corner of your mind whispers, like the Force healing? A non possibility of that sort? You want to ask him to take his helmet off and kiss you before he goes, you want to beg him to stay, you want to ask him why he’s not called you that sweet name again since that last time, the only time, in the heat and damp darkness of the fresher when he’d whispered it into your skin, cyar’ika, and you want to cry, just a little bit, if you think on it too much. On the fact that he’d not repeated it, at the possibility of it having been a mistake or a slip in the heat of the moment. But you say none of those things, and ask for no kiss, and look after him with regret and an inkling of unsettled trepidation as the broad expanse of his back lumbers down the lowered plank and then disappears with the closing of the hatch into the scorched badlands and marching dunes of Jakku.

The hull is left dark and serene with his departure, quiet, and yet it sends a small shiver up your naked spine, bare and wet beneath the warm covers like he’d left you. He keeps the space meticulously clean, but now it’s littered with small signs of your presence in his life, of your life together. Your tunic thrown over the lone stool where he forces you to sit when you take your meals with him crouched at your feet, obsessively watching to make sure you have your fill, strange and lovely man that he is. He has a complex about the food you consume, as if it’s imperative to him that you eat as much as you can, that you’re always satisfied in the ways he cannot, or will not allow himself to be. He doesn’t eat enough, never as much as you know he’d probably secretly like to, and for a man of his size and brawn, surely not enough as he needs to, and it’s slowly fostered an angry kernel of resentment within you. He should always have all the things that he needs and wants, as much food as he desires, always, and anything that would keep those things from him you’re bitterly coming to detest. It even, in a strangely convoluted way, makes you angry at yourself, that your presence here with him prevents him from freely and comfortably discarding his helmet to take his meals. If you weren’t here with him he could eat as much as he wants whenever he wants without worry of being seen, and sometimes, try as you might, you can’t let go of the thought.

He’d left the pair of his thick socks you’d appropriated for yourself draped over one of the steam pipes that are warm to the touch, so that when you’d put them on they’re nice and toasty for you. The sight of them makes your heart kick and flip and burn in your chest, and you turn over to face the other way, towards the wall so that you’ll not be forced to look upon the empty hull and the warm socks and the Din-less space and remind yourself how much you hate when he goes away. He’d said he’d be back quickly, only a few hours he estimated, and you comfort yourself with this as you tuck your hands beneath your cheek and slowly drift off into a restless sleep.

“Hello, beastie.”

You’re thrashed into wakefulness by an agonizing grip twisting in your hair trying to rip the very strands from your scalp. You screech, disoriented trying to kick out, get your bearings, but the hull is still darkened from the way Din had left you. You feel another pair of hands trying to grasp at your ankles, and you kick out savagely, bracing yourself against the cold floor, and then the sickening crunch of the bones in your hand as a heavy boot slams down on your fingers, agony, agony, what is happening? An alien dialect in a language you can’t discern, rough and grating is spit back and forth between several voices, and then the first voice comes again and an old, hunched female steps into the dim light from the shadows. You recognize her reptilian Thalassian aspect immediately, and your heart drops into your stomach. Slavers. You double your efforts, kicking and screaming and trying to claw at the hands in your hair, to rip yourself away while your crushed hand screams in agony. The old female comes closer, beastie, beastie, we’ve caught ourselves a beastie, she sing-songs in a hollow voice. Another boot to your belly, kicking the air out of your lungs, sending fire through your ribs and bile up your throat, but when you turn your head, you make eye contact with one of the old crones henchmen, another Thalassian, and with a single thought you send him slumping to the ground, brains oozing out of his ears in a melted, bloody mess.

“Murderous little beast!” the female screeches, and she’s unraveling a whip from around her forearm, and before you can even brace yourself, snapping it at you so that it’s splitting open the meat of your cheek. Searing agony spreads across your face, your vision goes in and out, and you try and shake it away, but then more of that guttural unknown language and an order from the crone, and your arms are being jerked forward so harshly it feels as though your bones will be wrenched from their sockets, and they’re clamping something around your wrists. Something cold and sucking and terrible. You slump forward, tangled in the soft blankets of yours and Din’s shared bed, still naked beneath, and you try to reach for the Force, for your strength, for Din’s mind out there in the desert, but there’s nothing. Acute silence, unbearable nothingness. All your strength zapped and stolen away in the blink of an unguarded moment, like an amputated limb.

The female is hunched over the body of the one you’d killed, leaning heavily on a thick walking stick, spitting hissing sobs, and when she turns back to look at you, you can see there are tears marring her ugly, wrinkled face. “You killed him! Creature! Dark creature!” She spits. “Pull her back, let me look at the little whore’s face.” Unforgiving claws in your hair again, and your head is ripped back and angled towards the weak light of the fresher, the blanket covering your modesty slipping to reveal your nakedness beneath. Fear and shame and fury curdle and burn within you like acid. If he comes back and finds you gone, or worse dead, he’ll be devastated, so hurt, so angry, he’ll blame himself. They can’t – they cannot put him through that. You have to think, calm yourself, get out of these binders they’ve put you in, some sort of Force suppression technology at work. The things glow a sickly purple color, nothing like the lovely warm violet of your saber. But before you can even get a firm grasp on your thoughts, collect yourself, the woman slides the walking stick in her grip, and pulling it back behind her shoulder, swings it forward with all her might to hit you in the face with the heavy, bulbous end of it, right over the split from the whip. You feel the very mass of your brain jostle within your skull, a sickening crunch, the vision in that eye going completely dark. Maker, they’re going to kill you if they’re not careful. A terrible sound rips from your throat, something worse than a mere cry, going slack jawed, whacked further into the pit of unconsciousness. One of the others says something to the old Thalassian and turning away from you, she hisses something back. She goes still for a few moments, leaning on her stick heavily once again, the sound of her wet panting breath, and when she seems to have finally collected herself she turns back to you again. In basic she says, “I know what you are. I’ve heard what they’ve been trying to do to your ilk. How they mine you for that sweet little nectar that runs through your veins, through all of us – the Force. There are rumors of you circulating the Outer Rim, did you know? We heard of you and came searching. Received word from our Huttese friends, whispers of a Mandalorian mercenary and his dark pet roaming about the dunes of Jakku, an old gunship spotted lurking where it should not be. We’ve been searching for you, beastie,” she whispers, coming closer to inspect you, voice maniacal with cruel glee. The pain in your face, your head is a numb throb sharpening to acute fire, vision fading and then glowing bright white and burning. Your head, Maker, they’ve knocked it clean off your neck. “There are many clamoring to get their hands on you. Tell me, what does it feel to be whittled down to nothing more than the worth of an invisible and illusory thing? The Force,” voice contemplative and disgusted, all the same. “To be worth nothing more but that unseen ether flowing through your veins. How does it feel to be nothing? Look at you – playing the whore to some Mandalorian brute. Pretty thing…” She pushes back at your shoulder with the butt end of her stick, “Before you went and made me angry. Hmm… perhaps, I shall sell you with that same offering, as well? Would you like that? I wonder what will fetch a higher price, your blood or your cunt.” She laughs and her thugs join around her. You can feel the wide split in your face drooling blood, throbbing in agony, the sound of their raucous and cruel laughter creating a painful symphony above the pounding of your blood in your ears. “A magical whore!” She cackles, flashing her rotting grimace. “Yes, I quite like that idea. Stealing you away from that murderer – mercenaries, the lot of them, those Mandalorians. They hide behind the conflated righteousness of their Creed and their failed history, but they are nothing but another murderous cog in the wheel that would subjugate those of us they deem lesser.” The laughter leaves her suddenly, going serious, and you feel such fear in that single pause of silence. He’s going to

be so angry when he finds you gone, and you– you cannot be enslaved again, you can’t, you won’t. You’ll kill yourself before you allow it. “Monster,” she hisses, “This is nothing worse than what a thing like you deserves after the sort of evil your ilk spread. Imperial slut,” she spits at you, and her saliva lands like a glob of acid on your bare chest, burning. “Grab her. We’re going before her Mandalorian brute returns and kills us for taking his pet.” Her underlings say something in that unknown language, gathering to grip you under the arms and around your ankles, and a frenzy ignites in your heart. Through your broken and torn face you begin to howl, writhing and kicking your legs with as much strength as you can muster despite the broken ribs. “No, no! I will not go!” You screech, getting one in the face. He jerks away and lets your bottom half hit the hard floor with a harsh thud. “Let me go! I will not– I will not go!” You won’t be taken from him, you won’t, you won’t. The one holding your upper half shoves you painfully to the ground, your poor, battered head slamming once again, and another brutal kick lands to your ribs. Maker, you’d not missed beatings like this. The crone begins to scream at them, garbled sounds you can’t make out, and you lay your head on the cold floor. You just need a second to breathe, that’s it. You can endure much, much more than this, it’s only the binders stealing your strength, you just need a moment, and then you’ll fight again or break out of these terrible things and kill them all, but your head, Maker, your head feels as if it’s been split open down the middle. Their yelling reaches a crescendo, an added shrillness to it that was not there before, and then one of the henchmen is toppling painfully over your prone form, a heavy knee to your spine as he lands diagonally over your body, but his weight is instantly ripped away from you. More screaming and oh, the sound of blaster fire, the piercing screams of the old Thalassian, you turn your head slowly, slowly to the side and there, through the bloody and matted strands of your loose hair, that bright and familiar gleam, a flash of burnt red. You bring your manacled wrists slowly up to your chest, hunching into as small a ball as you can make yourself, cradling your broken hand to yourself.

He’s here.

He’s here, it’ll all be okay now.

You let your eyes flutter shut and listen to the Thalassian’s screaming reach a crescendo, and it sounds a little like that long ago familiar sound of flesh tearing from flesh. You don’t want to see. You don’t want to see him commit atrocities in your name. It’s a funny thing, you think, the nature of his violence. He is a Mandalorian, and like the Thalassian had said, yes, perhaps, mercenary, and so it would stand that he is a man who commits violence, but you’d found – Maker, you hurt – you’ve found… that a thing that commits violence is not always also, or at once, a violent thing by nature. The moment makes of us what it needs us to be, but that does not always indicate our true selves. Violence committed in an instant of necessity, the peril of threat, does not always mean that we are bad or violent in our hearts, and Din… your Mandalorian does not have a violent heart. Beneath all of that uncompromising beskar is a soft heart, a good heart. It’s why you–

The scream stops.

No, no, no, no, no– “Look at me, look at me, cyar’ika. It’s okay. It’s okay, I’m here now. They’re gone, it’s okay.” You’re a crumpled, bloody, broken heap on the ground. He’d left you. He had left you here alone for this to be done to you. There is something hot and terrifying crawling its way up the inside of Din’s chest, searing his throat, turning it to char. He turns you over with all the gentleness he can muster, his shaking hands slippery with blood, the broken, dead bodies littered around the two of you as he pushes your bloody hair from your face and takes in the way they’d savaged you.

And Din– Din feels a fury the likes of which he’s never felt before in his entire life. And in the wake of a sort of fear he’d never experienced previously either, not even at the sight of his child self watching his mother and father murdered, the image of their crumpled and broken bodies becoming smaller and smaller as he was taken away into the unknown by the Mandalorians who’d saved him, it leaves him unbalanced and of tremulous control as he pulls you into his arms. You’re cupping one of your hands strangely in the other, and when he takes your manacled wrists you let out a painful, garbled sound. Your hand is mangled, fingers darkening already and bent sickeningly in incongruous angles, and he wants, very badly, to look away from the sight of your pain. It causes a physical ache inside of him, nausea and fire and thunder, like a blaster bolt to the belly, a knife to the lung. “Look at me, cyare,” and your eye blinks open, the darker of the two, the one that whispers silently at him when he looks at it too long, the other, the bright one like a scream, is too swollen to open, but you, miracle of miracles, for you are a miracle wrapped in the shape of a girl, give him the tiniest of attempted smirks; something like the creation of myth unfolding before him. The side of your face not broken and bleeding, lifting into a crooked little half moon, and bloody smile full of sharp, menacing teeth you croak, “I knew you’d come.”

Din knows in this instant that he is going to love you for the rest of his life. It is not a question, or an uncertainty. It is simply fact. Truth like his Creed, like The Way.

“I’m here. I’ll always come for you,” he tells you in lieu of saying that which sits heavy on his tongue now, which is that he’d let you eat his very heart out of his chest if you so desired it, that he belongs to you intrinsically. “I’m so sorry. I’m here now.” The hand not mangled grips the fabric around his throat and Din feels a sob in the shape of your name build in his chest. The Mandalorian, on the verge of tears. He gently presses you closer, tries to breathe, tries to swallow his howls. They were slavers, he’d marked them from the moment he’d spotted them through the open hatch of the Crest, dropping the long dead bounty he’d found half buried in the sand to sprint towards you. He’d worried about the possibility of this for some time now, the threat of someone coming for you, recognizing what you were, thought he’d prepared for it. Rumors were difficult to avoid or quell and despite his attempts to keep anyone from getting too close to sniff you out, you attracted attention. It was inevitable. Too beautiful, too alive, too alluring. He’d been afraid of something like this happening, and he’d thought the best way to keep you safe was to keep you here, hidden away on his ship, security system set and impenetrable. He’d been a damned fool.

He takes in the sight of your bare limbs, the beginnings of nasty bruising over your naked abdomen. The idea of someone taking you from him, severing his claim, keeping you away from him… and like this, when you were supposed to be safe here in this place the two of you’d made a home of together, while you were bare and waiting for him as he’d left you, when you were still full of his semen, potentially full of his–

He swallows the thought. There are certain things you believe about yourself that Din is doubtful to agree with just yet…

“Take them off,” you whisper up at him, “I’ll–” a pained swallow, “I’ll heal. It’s okay, Din. Don’t be afraid,” you say with such earnestness, a tiny life of an eyebrow, but he is anyway. You shouldn’t be the one telling him not to be afraid right now, split open as you are, but you do anyway, and Din is deathly afraid – of this, of you, of everything, of not being fast enough, strong enough, good enough to protect you, to keep you. Din feels more afraid now than he has ever felt in his entire life.

“It’s okay. I’ll be okay. It’s not that bad,” and at the same time, your words make him so angry. At what life had made you believe, at what the galaxy had made you believe was okay. This is not fucking okay. Seeing you hurt like this is not okay. He moves to gently, as gently as he can possibly be, disengage the binders from around your wrists, careful to not jostle your broken hand too much.

“It’s not okay.” He looks at your mangled face, the blood running into your hairline, your swollen eye, that lovely and luminous eye that makes his heart feel split into a million different pieces, all engraved with the etching of your name, “This is not okay.” And then his gaze lands on the blood splattered gem of your earring. This sight he must close his eyes to, he cannot bear it. That tiny sparkle, the significance of your relationship made material, covered in your own blood and his failure to protect you.

He opens his eyes again to take in your wet gaze, unseeingly staring up at him, dark and fathomless. It shutters closed, long lashes clumped together in the sticky mess of your blood and tears. “It will be. I’ll heal soon. This is not the worst that’s been done to me,” voice thin and reedy, as if you’re embarrassed, ashamed to say the words out loud. As if you recognize them for the travesty they pose. He has to look away, swallow another sob. Din can’t remember the last time he cried, the last time he felt like crying, but he feels it now. Eyes hot and pinched and uncomfortable.

He should have never left you. He will never leave you again.

Wrapping you in the blanket, he makes sure your modesty is covered, and with as much care as he can, takes you in the cradle of his arms and moves you back into your bed.

“Where’s your bounty?” You croak.

“That doesn’t matter now. Rest. I’m going to–”

“Of course, it matters. It’s–” a pained swallow.

“Don’t talk, cyare. It’s okay. We can–”

But you press on, cut him off. “That's the whole reason we came here. We’re not going to let this be a waste.” This being your savaging, split open, almost stolen. Din feels his heart drop down into his stomach. He nods once, swallows, tries to cough up the knot of agony lodged in his throat.

“I dropped it when I saw them. They did something – fucked with the system and deviated the signal so I wasn’t alerted when they broke in. The bounty was already dead. Beacon signal still going. I found him and came straight back – saw the open hatch and knew something was wrong–” You give a soft, pained moan, brow folding into an agonized frown. Maker, he’s not going to survive this. He feels like a fucking coward. Terrified, sick to his stomach, angrier, weaker than he’s ever been in his entire life.

“Slavers. Thalassians,” you whisper, resting your head against his chest plate, broken hand clutched against your chest. “I need you to reset my fingers before they heal wrong.” Fuck, he’s never had a panic attack before, but he worries he might be having one now. He tries to swallow the scream for you, thinks he whispers something like, alright. Shifting you in his lap, he pulls his blood soaked gloves from his hands, and when he reaches for your hand he takes in the tremor of his own fingers, feels a humiliating wash of shame curdle inside of him. He’s a Mandalorian for Maker’s sake, a warrior, and yet the sight of your pain, your hurt, leaves him unraveled, as frightened and green as a child. He has never experienced the dilemma of having someone he– someone that matters, hurt. Carefully propping your back up against his bent knee he pulls you in close so that your hip is tucked up against him, he grasps your wrist tenderly between his fingers, soothes the pad of his thumb against the soft inner slope of your wrist, the webbing of blue beneath the thin skin is comforting somehow, you’re alive. He made it in time, he’s going to fix this, take care of you. “It’s okay, Din,” you whisper again.

A sharp jerk of his chin, “I know. I’m going to make this right.”

He smooths his thumb up the base of your palm, trying to settle, comfort you, the both of you, he rubs a gentle circle into the center, feels you tremble and jerk against him, and he hums low in his throat, a deep sound to remind you that he’s here, he’s got you. “It’s alright, little one. It’s alright, it’s alright,” keeps murmuring low reassurances in your ear, unsure whether they’re more for you or for himself, as his fingers slide up slow and light and grip your ring finger first, grasping it at the base to hold it securely and pulling on the tip to straighten it out, quick and efficient movements, a muted snap. There’s one. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”. Moves to your pinky next, so tiny gripped between his own large, rough fingers. He has to grind his molars together, bite the inside of his cheek so hard he tastes blood. He holds the base of that vulnerable little finger, the fine bone almost nothing beneath his touch and straightens that one too, listens to the hollow pop of the joint righting itself back into place. That one pulls a swallowed screech from your throat, you turn your face sharply away, and he sees your legs shuffle and kick in his periphery, your breathing fast and shallow.

“Hurt– That one hurt,” you choke, and he watches a single tear squeeze out of your swollen eye and make a slow, devastating track down the slope of your mangled cheek, losing itself to the shredded gash.

“What did that to your cheek?” He grits at the same time that he rights your index finger into place, tenses his knee to keep you steady and upright as you jerk. Panting wet breath hiccupping, trying to swallow back your cries for a moment, he cradles your bruised hand in his, wishes he wasn’t wearing this fucking helmet so that he could kiss the back of it, lick your wounds. He feels like screaming.

“A w– a whip.” You don’t turn back to look at him, and Din feels his blood turn to frost. Something so painful moving through his chest he struggles for breath.

“They whipped you in the face?” He looks at the pieces of Thalassian surrounding the two of you and curses himself for killing them so quickly. He should’ve been smarter, more patient, drawn it out. Made them suffer.

“It’s okay–” voice short, tense. “I’ll heal.” Face still turned towards the open hatch and the hot Jakkuian night, he watches another tear fall.

“It doesn’t matter–”

“I’ll heal. I’ll–”

“That doesn't matter–they hurt you. You can be hurt. Just because you can heal, just because you don’t care about what happens to you doesn’t mean that I don’t.” He cups the back of your head, begs you to turn back towards him with his touch. “You being hurt hurts me, do you understand me?” Voice soft as he can make it go, trying to make you see what he’s saying in the only way he thinks will penetrate the fog of your painful history.

And you do turn back at that, finally, thank you, thank you, he can see the edges of the wound start to knit themselves back together. A girl and a miracle and a myth all woven into one. “Do you understand me?” He asks again, cupping your chin, gathering the wet of your freely falling tears now, pressing the pad of his thumb to the corner of your eye.

“No, no, I don’t understand,” face crumpling, you press your forehead beneath the edge of his helmet. They hurt me, they hurt me, you cry over and over, and Din knows that you don’t only mean the Thalassians. He wishes he possessed the hand of the Maker. That he could reach across to the far corners of the galaxy, the most shadowed depths, the blackest pits, and wipe away any speck of darkness that’s ever touched you, anything or anyone that had ever done you harm. He wishes he could give you his very heart as an offering, anything that would settle the sound of your anguish. But then he thinks that an impossible sort of thing, for his very heart is held right here, sobbing in his arms, living on the outside of his chest.

After he insists on you allowing him to spread bacta along your cheek and hand, despite your protestations that it’ll close on its own, that you’re fine, you remind him that his bounty is still lying dead and forgotten out in the sand sea beyond the ship. He goes out to retrieve the pitiful thing, felled by the wrath of Jakku, most likely, and you make an agonized attempt to stand and dress yourself. Your ribs and back ache, the line of your spine feels on the verge of fracture from the last blow you’d taken, and you shuffle about slowly, trying to force yourself to hurry and get yourself covered before he returns, not wanting him to see the extent of the damage done to your ribs and back. You manage to get on a pair of underwear and one of his shirts before he’s stomping back up the gangway, dead bounty slung over his shoulder. He bends to shuck the thing off, the limp body hitting the durasteel with a harsh thud that snaps your mind into focus for a millisecond so that you’re taking in the carnage surrounding you. The release of gas from the carbon freezer sounds around you as you find the old Thalassian – her head seems to have been ripped clean from her neck somehow, you cock your head slowly, taking the sight in. He’s moving about, dragging the pieces of the bodies and chucking them out the hatch, and your mind feels like a piece of elastic snapping far out and away from you, and then shooting back in a painful reverberation, vision going hyper focused, too bright to bear, and then murky, as if viewed through a broken pane of glass. You hear the whirring, metallic shifting of the closing gangway, and your head swoops, belly twisting with nausea. There are pools of blood coagulating thick and disgustingly viscous on the floor, and you reach out for the wall to steady yourself as your blood rushes in your ears, but he’s immediately there, gentle hand to the curve of your waist and the bend of your elbow to pull you to himself. “It’s okay,” he says again. And he keeps saying so, but seeing this, what he’s done for you, something feels distinctly not okay.

You think of the Corellians who’d attacked you all those weeks ago, the Corellians you'd slaughtered for him. And the memory somehow makes the sight in front of you worse, some sort of horror. You’d turned him into you. You’d forced him into repeating your own horrible actions. In a moment of startling, sickening clarity, you’re confronted with the reality that he is only encased in beskar, he is not made of it. And one day they will go through him to get to you. Because there will surely be more, there will surely be another day, another time, another planet; more slavers or dark siders or someone of equally low measure will come for you again, and he can’t protect you forever, nor you him.

This time, please, let it end differently.

It’s all you ever do, you think, beg and plead for a different sort of fate. The duel of the fates, over and over again, but it is only ever you, alone, at odds with destiny itself. Fighting against what must be, what already is, what always has been. Your own sick ouroboros; eternally destroying and recreating yourself and the things around you.

He leads you back to bed, grabs his socks from where they’d lain draped over the warm steam pipe, and you return his own past words to him while he kneels before you, pulls them over your cold feet, looking over his shoulder the world seems inverted, mirrorlike, the black puddles of blood filled with dark mercury. They would have taken you from him. “You shouldn’t have had to do that.” Your voice sounds hollow and cold, unlike yourself.

He pauses his care of you, helmet tipped down, and you wish you could see his eyes right now, you feel, strangely, like you need them, like it would make everything better, more clear and stable. Taking one small foot in hand, he wraps his fingers around the entire thing. “You’re right,” he tells you, and your stomach flips with bile and fear again. “I shouldn’t have had to do it because I never should have let it happen. This is on me. I shouldn’t have left you alone for this to happen.”

You reach for his wrist, wrapping your fingers around the thick of it to feel his pulse beat against your fingertips. Something furious in the fluttering thrum of it; something of a monolith about him, steadfast, unmovable, the strongest thing in the entire galaxy. There’s a tinge of crimson rage swallowing him, and you can tell he’s doing everything in his considerable strength to keep it under reign for your sake; the proof is in the strew of bodies he’d littered the floor of the ship with. “They’ll always come for me, Din. As long as I’m alive, as long as the dark exists, as long as The Force exists they’ll come for me. They’ll never stop.”

The helmet snaps up, the yawning tee of dark transparisteel whispers its rage at you. “Then I’ll make them,” he grits. “I’ll find a way. I’ll protect you. We’re going to fix this. I’m going to fix this.” And you feel so–so strange. So sad. Devastated. The wave of fate swallows you whole, and that dark red thread crumbles to dust. You feel so unbearably sad for the both of you that your tears are renewed. Sad and old and at the end of your line.

And again: A person without a soul cannot cry. And so this must only be proof of the fact that you still possess yours, as shriveled or weak as it’s been made, you must still have one. You must. You must.

It’s his now. Undoubtedly. Whatever of your soul has bloomed back into life belongs to him now. You bring your trembling fingers up to the face of his shining beskar helmet, warring wishes wrapped into a strange tangle for what you know will not be the last time: that it wasn’t there, that you could have all of him, and, at the same time, that you too had something of such strength and conviction to protect you as his Creed protects him. What a comfort it must be. “I know you will.” Lie.

He goes to initiate takeoff and get the ship into hyperspace after that, and you can hear the uncharacteristic frenzy of his movement echoing in his rushed steps as he flits about the cockpit. Settling into your nest of blankets, you face the wall so you’re not made to look at the mess that’s been left, and when he returns, you listen to the sound of him divesting himself of his armor, the rustle of falling clothes, you can feel his panic now up closer, pressing against the confines of your skin like some living thing, trying to sneak its way into whatever break in you it might find. He was frightened, he is frightened. For you. If you weren’t struck stone cold you’d perhaps laugh at the idea of it, but strange memories flash in your mind, highlighted by painful bursts of bright light behind your closed lids, memories of darkness and pain and being so alone another person, a real person, existing in the entire galaxy seemed too far fetched a thing to be true. The sort of loneliness that forces you to forget that other living things exist. You curl in on yourself, still tucking your now halfway mended hand close to your chest, cupping your other palm over your eyes to hide yourself away. Shocked into a subdued, humming terror. A peripheral thing, the reality that you should be afraid or shaken, and you are, kind of, but interrupted by that memory of similar or much worse things that make this small mishap seem inconsequential in the shadow of all the rest, all the past.

You listen to him move towards the fresher to throw the two of you into darkness, and you panic, “Don’t turn the light off, please,” you murmur, still hidden behind your palm. If you cannot see the world, perhaps the world cannot see you either. “I’m sorry to ask – I won’t look, I promise.”

He pauses, silent for a moment. “Don’t apologize. Don’t. It’s okay. Anything you want.” What you really wish he’d say is that he doesn’t care if you look or not, a selfish and rotten and horrible feeling rolling in after the thought.

He crawls in behind you, sliding up against you bare and burning hot; an entire sun held inside the heart of a single man. He keeps his hands to himself at first, and you enjoy the brush of his chest up against your back on every one of his inhalations, the symphony of his breathing, but eventually he braves the salted earth and passes a gentle hand down the line of your spine.

“What do you need?” His voice is the deepest thing in the entire galaxy, you think. Space has nothing on it.

You press your hand tighter over your eyes. “Nothing.”

“You are strong and capable,” he says after a moment, and you worry you might vomit. “But you don’t always have to be. I don’t want you to have to fight when you’re with me. I only want you to be comfortable and cared for and well. Let me help you.”

“Okay,” barely a sound breathed through the part of your lips. And it takes several hours, but eventually that thing they’d come for, the very thing they’d attacked and tried to take you for, heals you. The Force. What is it to hate the very thing that makes you up, the very marrow of you, the sustenance of your life? Agony, madness, bitter, bitter resentment. Loneliness. To be alone within yourself. Terrible pain. Every bad thing that’s ever come to you throughout your entire life has been done in its name. And you’re angry at the fact, you think. For years and years things were done to you to honor that invisible giant, and it built an anger within you that is incoherent, unidentifiable, inconsolable.

You ache like you’re recently made.

But he holds you so gently while you knit yourself back together, seam by seam, so that the possibility of pain is removed entirely from the equation. He holds you like he loves you, and you want to ask him if he does, if he thinks he could ever love a thing like you, even if you do not deserve it. Even if he does not deserve it.

You fold it away instead.

Tell me, what does it feel to be whittled down to nothing more than the worth of an invisible and illusory thing? To be worth nothing?

Like spitting salt through an open wound, the agonized phantasma of an amputated limb.

You’re nothing.

And Din? He’s everything.

From behind your hiding spot you tell the quiet: “Sometimes it feels like I haven’t been happy my whole life. But I know I feel it with you. I want you to know that.”

“Do you?” His hand slides up the line of your vertebrae to cup the back of your neck, and you tremble beneath his heat, as if he were anointing you with the power of a sun.

“Yes.” You wish you had the courage to say more, to say everything. A real confession, the cutting sort: I was made to be nothing more than a weapon, but now I am a human, now I am alive. Now I am only myself. And I hurt, and I wish I were a girl again: only half savage, unmarred and free. But despite all of this, I am still only yours.

“I know already.”

Cyar’ika. Cyar’ika.

And so what does it matter if you hurt when he calls to you so sweetly? And yet, a quiet and unused part of you whispers back that it should not be so, that the thought is not quite right. Focus, focus, call them growing pains if you must. Focus only on him. And you realize that there is something about him that makes you fragile in the face of his strength, for some reason and most importantly, in a way that you like, in a way that is appealing to you like nothing else you’ve ever experienced before. Something that tells you that you need him to be strong in ways you’ve never had or needed to be strong before, a strength that is soft, something that is unyielding for the vulnerability you allow yourself with him. You can’t understand it.

“And I will let you take care of me.”

“I’m going to. This means something,” he says very quietly, the words bouncing off the back of your neck, and you know it is true. “This means something.”

It does. Everything. The two of you mean something together.

You finally turn to face him again, eyes closed, seams more securely knitted together and press your forehead to the notch of his throat, cracking your eyes open to look down at the expanse of his abdomen. You run a flat palm down his belly, feel the strength of him. If there is nothing else, perhaps, there can be Din.

“Close your eyes,” he threads his fingers through the back of your hair, “Let me kiss you,” and you feel your heart break and melt into desperation all at once. You press your eyes shut tightly and tip your face up towards him, parted mouth and bated breath, ready to receive the taste of him. He licks into you, pulling a moan from your belly and onto his waiting tongue, and you wish there was something more you could give him, something deeper, more significant that could translate all you feel for him. “I need you to forgive me,” he licks the words into your skin. “I need you to tell me you forgive me for letting this happen.”

“Don’t say that. There’s nothing to forgive. There’s nothing–”

“I should’ve been more careful. Smarter, more prepared. We shouldn’t have wasted time in that fucking desert for so long.” But you’d distracted him, kept him from going out, seeing to his responsibilities.

“There’s nothing to forgive,” you say again, tipping your head back to bear your throat for him.

He licks a line up the slope, tasting your pulse, the proof you’re still alive. Plants a kiss at the hinge of your jaw and then presses his forehead there. “I’ve failed you,” he whispers.

“Din, listen to me, listen to me. You could never do that. Never. Do you understand me?” If he only knew all you’ve not told him, all the ways in which you’ve failed him. You’re sure he’d see you in a very different light.

“It’s not going to happen again,” he promises, and you’ve not the heart to tell him again that they’ll never stop. That the life of a hunted creature is the only sort of existence you could ever live. You pull his mouth back to yours, kiss him with a renewed fervency. If you cannot give him anything more you’ll put everything you have into this.

“Just kiss me, please,” you beg, twining your arms around his neck and opening to him. He drags his mouth along the inner slope of your bicep, ending at the dip of your elbow and laving his tongue at the sensitive dip. Gripping the bend of your knee he hitches it against his hip and rolls the two of you over. Settling between the cradle of your thighs, he levers himself up off you, careful not to demand you bear his full weight, and finally, you feel ready for the dark again. With a single thought you submerge the two of you into the almost dark again, a weak stream of light coming from the fresher, rattle of the Crest moving through hyperspace sounding around you. He prepares you to take him softly, slowly, with intention. The gentle pad of his thumb to the slick seam of your cunt, parting your folds to get to the wellspring of your desire for him. A single finger and then another hooked against that place inside of you that seems now branded with his ownership over you. Nothing like this has ever existed, and you press the thought into his mind as he tastes your tongue, brings you to orgasm for him with slow and exploring fingers, the slick slide of his thumb over your swollen clit, and the whisper of your name to the shell of your ear. When he feeds his cock into you, slowly, so that you’re made to feel every curve and ridge and then meeting the end of you, so deep you can’t tell where he ends and you begin, it brings tears to your eyes and all sorts of confessions to your tongue that your more rational mind knows should be kept in the shadows. But very like the sun, he shines a light on all the dark and derelict parts of you better left unseen.

When you come for a second time, thick cock splitting you in half, there’s a screaming desperation for more urging you on. “Remind me–” you beg him.

“Of what? What do you need?”

“That I’m yours. That I belong to you. That I’m alive.”

“Do you need reminding of that?” He squeezes your bottom, presses you tighter to himself, his wet mouth sliding against the slope of your shoulder. “Don’t you know always? No matter what?”

“Yes.” Soft, soft, soft, but you don’t need it like this – you need it more– “Remind me anyways.”

You’re as close as can be, but he tells you anyway: “Come here, come here. I’m going to take care of you.” He pulls out, a wet and sucking sound, and turns you in his arms so you’re back to belly, and pulls you open again, thigh thrown over his hip. He runs his hands over the hills and contours of you, cups and squeezes your breasts, rough fingertips softly at your nipples, and you feel your cunt clench and gape, hungry for filling. He cups you over that soaked, ravenous place, slides his hand back and forth over the wet, swollen mess, and then further back, his fingers pressing and prodding gently at your ass. “I’ll have you here now, little one. Yes?” All you can do is nod back against his shoulder where your head is propped, a tightening so intense it’s almost painful strangling your throat, your heart, your cunt. Nothing more than a knot of abandoned want. A thing that doesn’t know how to take without devouring, and you do, you want to devour him. You think he might even let you. He presses a slow finger into the knuckle, and you go tight, bearing down around the invasion, spitting his name out in the shape of a wail into the quiet hull.

“It’s alright,” he gently thrusts that probing finger, hooking and wriggling it. Making space within to fuck you open on his cock. “You’re so tiny here, little thing. But you’re going to take me so well. I know you are.” He pulls his finger out entirely, and then there are two pressing back in as slow as possible, petting first, stretching second. “How’s that? How does that feel, my sweet girl?”

“I don’t– I don’t know,” moaning and shifting, trying to plead for more with little hitched arcs of your hips. “More, please.”

“You want my cock?”

“Yes–”

“How badly do you want it? Tell me–” He twists his wrist, stretching, claiming, all while the hill of his palm rubs against your cunt, so wet you can hear the slick sound of its desperation echo in the quiet.

“So badly,” you moan and sob, “More than anything.” He pulls his fingers from you and grips the root of his cock, fat head at your ass and starts to press in slowly, slowly, stretching you open around the incredible girth of him. Your breath comes in puffs and gasps, an unbearable heat flushing through your body, pulsing in your face and swirling in your belly, tightening the tips of your breasts into painful knots. You moan out his name, please for more, for harder, for faster until he’s buried to the root and you’re strangled into a hiccuping silence. Overwhelmed and overwrought by the feel of him buried in your ass so deeply. There’s no space for anything else inside of you, stretched to the brim and so full you can barely breathe. He’s everywhere. Gripping your hip you feel his breath against your cheek, the sweating, curling hair around your ear ruffled as he pants and groans, gritting his teeth and rumbling deep in his chest as he starts to thrust slowly into you.

“How’s that?” Voice strangled. His other hand comes around to thrum gently at your clit, the swollen mass of bundles pulsing with each punch of his hips. Your cunt leaks down to where the two of you are joined, and he picks up his pace, fucking up into you harder, faster, that strumming thumb flicking more quickly. He flattens his fingers against you, rubs at the length of your leaking sex, and you’re beyond words. Impaled and cock drunk. All you can give in return is an approximation of his moaned name, and he gives a quick, sharp slap to the top of your mound. “I want you to tell me how it feels,” voice ragged, almost broken. You tighten almost impossibly at his roughness, clenching down around him so he’s gasping, shocked ah, ah, ah’s, ending on a ragged groan. He brings his forehead to your shoulder, and you listen to his overwhelmed sounds. The first time you think you’ve heard him so close to the precipice of losing control. “Most perfect fucking ass in the entire galaxy,” he grits. All mine, mine, fucking mine.

“Feels–” His fingers resume their exploration of your cunt, “Feels so– so good,” your voice is nothing but agony made pleasure.

“Yeah? Feels good?” The sound of his hips slamming against your ass, wet and lewd, the press of his heavy balls to the round of your bottom. “What about this?” He begins to slowly press two fingers into your gaping, grasping cunt, and oh, it’s too much, your orgasm hits like an exploding star, singing all coherent thought along the way. You feel your pussy gush, go tight as a knot, and he snarls at the curve of your ear, bites down on the line of your shoulder, not halting the thrusting of his fingers inside of you. “Fuck, yes–fucking come for me. Come for me while I fuck your ass–”

“No–no, I can’t anymore, please, I can’t,” you cry.

“You can–you can. I know you can. My fierce little cyar’ika, soft only for me. Aren’t you?”

And how can you deny a man such as this anything. One that holds you so, one that fucks you like he loves you. You’ll lie to yourself, like so many other lies you tell, and pretend that this is the touch of love, that it’s something you deserve. His fingers, his cock are ruthless within you and they force another soaked orgasm out of you, shaky and weak, before he’s following suit, fucking the searing heat of his spend deep inside of you. He rolls you over onto your belly, levers himself up over you and slows his thrusts until you feel the last spurt of his cock kick inside of you, the low reverberations of his pleasure sounding from his chest. When he pulls out he spreads you apart, thumbs at your swollen skin. “It gapes so pretty for me,” he murmurs as he plays with the milky white drool, smears it into your slick, stretched skin. “This is how you should always be, covered in my come, beautiful thing.” All you can do is bury your burning hot face in the blankets.

When the two of you have finally settled later, cleaned yourselves up, and he’s made sure you’ve had enough water and a snack, when your panic has gone dormant, you remember your earlier request. A sniffle, and then voice broken and wet, just for added insurance: “You’ll get me my loth cat now, won’t you?”

A long suffering sigh, but he squeezes you tighter to his chest, presses a kiss to the crown of your head you feel sizzle all the way down to the tips of your toes. “I’ll get you anything you want, anything.” You smile into his skin, a miracle all of its own, that after everything he still provides you the ability to smile.

But later, right before he falls off the precipice of consciousness into the ebony deep and serene lake of sleep, you whisper into the thrum of his life force right at his neck: “We will take care of each other, won’t we?” Again – the both of you, together.

“Always,” he says, and it rings with such promise, in a way you know only someone such as he could swear, and you’ve always been a liar, but you do not want this to be a lie.

This time, please, let it end differently.

Chapter VII

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teal-fiend · 16 days

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content: f prey, pred pov, unwilling vore, digestion

you're hanging out with your friend, and their friend who you've only just met.

this person is small, maybe the size of a raggedy anne doll. She's not a tiny, but she's a way away from being a regular sized person.

You're feeling a little bit hungry, but when your friend offers you something to eat, you refuse.

and so you talk for a while, the three of you. you learn this new person studies bio, going for a masters, and she does bug taxidermy - you forget what she called it.

it gets a little less awkward as the conversations progress, you get used to each other and then your friend goes off for a bathroom break. leaving the two of you alone.

it's quiet for a moment, something sits in the air.

your stomach lets out a deep, prolonged growl. you excuse yourself. she laughs self-consciously, and tries to say something to you, but you're already on the move.

you act swiftly, and make sure you get her head in your mouth quickly, and by the time she can make a noise, her voice is muffled by your throat.

you feel her struggling with your throat muscles, and it almost activates your gag reflex, but you ignore the ticklish, irritation, and swallow. You have to use some force, as you don't usually get prey this large. You swallow hard, feeling the prey make gradual progress down

there is a very real sinking feeling in your chest. it's immensely satisfying, you take one last big gulp, then you follow the sensation as your hungry stomach is suddenly filled with a bounty of a meal.

You can watch as your belly swells out as the prey finds itself at it's last destination.

you look down at your mid-section curiously. If you tighten your core, you can make your body look relatively non-suspicious. Just a bit of an outward curve. But if you relax, it's easier to see how full you look.

You look pretty stuffed. Like you've just had a big dinner. You feel your belly cutting into your pants, which now feels too tight.

you look over to the empty chair where your prey was sitting before you decided to eat. Her jacket is still on it, and her bag is still on the floor. You belch loudly, it catches you by surprise.

You don't really know where to go from here. it was a spur of the moment decision. You feel the person kicking your gut, which is a funny feeling. you've never had prey so big - usually it's barely perceptible, but this is noticeable. It doesn't hurt, but you can definitely feel when she tries striking your stomach walls.

watching carefully, you can notice your belly move on it's own, as she pushes against your skin. You notice lumps and slight bulges appearing and she moves inside your stomach. You laugh quietly at the realisation. you've never been able to actually see your prey wriggling in your gut before. it's kind of satisfying, or engaging. but it's also a bit much; you've never had food that puts such a strain on your stomach.

you scratch your belly, thinking about it. it's kind of uncomfortable, how full you feel. You feel a little groggy, maybe a nap would help.

you run your hands over your stomach, feeling how taut it is through your shirt. Yes, time to rest, and get all this digested.

You lie down on you friend's couch, and rest your hands on your tummy, feeling the prey's body just under your skin, and feeling the grumbling of your stomach as it gets to work.

Your friend comes back in, apologising for taking so long

they start to say "hey, where's (x)?" but they stop when they see you up close.

as you turn over to get up, your stomach sloshes and gurgles, you burp again.

"I thought you said you weren't hungry"

"I wanted to have room," you explain, as you pat your full stomach.

your friend is probably mad at you, but you feel smug about the situation. You know they'll understand - you can't help your instincts, and they shouldn't have left a predator alone with a perfectly edible prey.

"I thought you two were getting along"

You shrug, "eh..."

your friend mutters something under their breath, frustrated. but you just yawn, stretching your arms above your head, feeling the contents of your stomach bubble as you move.

"okay, time for you to go home."

You try to make them feel bad for kicking you out, but they don't seem to care. You find yourself on their doorstep. it's cold outside, but your full belly will keep you warm. You sigh and start your walk home. walking is good for digestion, at least. probably for the best.

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kaizensluvr · 1 year

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hellooo can I request chishiya, niragi and ann tickling their s/o please? :)

chishiya, niragi, & an tickling gn s/o, and you tickling them

author note! ofc u can ;) includes tickling those aib characters aswell

shuntaro chishiya

it started out of curiosity, and as they say, curiosity killed the cat. you wanted to see if you can elicit any reaction from this man from physical touch besides stiffness. as you walked up behind him, you tried tickling his neck. no response except a stiffness and “what are you doing y/n?” you thought it was over then, but no he’s mastered all the places where you’re most ticklish. you’re done for. one time you were just washing your face, and he knocked on the door asking for a towel, so you let him in, the he came up behind you and started tickling your stomach. you ended up spraying water on him. and what’s even more annoying is the fact that he acts all innocent by teasing you for his entertainment.. “what are you talking about? i didn’t even touch you i was just getting a towel??” he only stops when you’re out of breath, begging him.

suguru niragi

you two were cuddling as usual after a day of him patrolling. then you messed up by saying “hm.. i wonder if the strong niragi is ticklish.” to which he replied by saying “don’t even try anything you’ll regret, brat.” if only you listened to his warning, because as soon as you started tickling his arms, your arms were pinned above your head and he was sitting on top of you. “i told you not to try anything you’ll regret baby.” and he tickles you MERCILESSLY. you ain’t pulling that again, the only way you can get him to stop is to bribe him with kisses. “‘ragi stop!! i’ll give you as many kisses as you want, promise!!”

rizuna an

she was mad at you. ever since you started making negative comments about yourself every morning she would personally feel offended that you would even dare say that about her beloved. one day as you were looking at your reflection in the mirror, she heard you mumble something about how you wish you had a prettier face. lemme tell you she did not let that slide, she knows that you’re very sensitive to touch so she stomps over to you and holds you in her arms so you don’t fall over while she tickles you. you kept saying something over the lines of “an stop! i can’t stop laughing please!” to which she replied by telling you she won’t stop till you say 10 things that are beautiful about yourself. as for you tickling her, one time you guys were driving back from a game and you had placed your hand on her thigh, and she tried to hard to hold it in but she was laughing. that’s the only place she’s ticklish in, thing is she won’t laugh if she’s knows you’ll tickle her. so that’s a one time thing.

#chishiya x reader #niragi x reader #an x reader #aib scenarios #aib x reader

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k-nayee · 10 months

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F-R-I-E-N-D-S Hyung Line

Song Inspiration: Friends by Marshmello & Anne-Marie wc: 5.1k

Dreamer M.List

ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

NAMJOON

"Joonie stop!" The sounds of your squeals echo throughout the apartment as he tickles both of your sides.

"No, not until you say that Kim Namjoon is the sexiest man ever!" He states as you try to wiggle away from his torturous grasp.

"Never! You might as well just let me g-" you gasp when he begins to increase the speed of his fingers.

"I'll only do it if you apologize for saying that Han Sung is more handsome than me." He slows down with raised brows, plump lips stretched so much into a smirk that his dimples appear.

Body now able to take in stable air, you let out a huff of defiance. "You know if I say that it'll be a lie!"

Namjoon stares at you with a blank face as his lips purse in agitation. "Okay...you wanna be like that then."

"What are you-ah! Stop it! Shit, I'll apologize!" You scream from the familiar feeling of being touched on your ticklish sides.

"Hmm? What was that? I couldn't hear you over the screams," Namjoon calls out through his own laughter, eyes adoringly taking in the way your face scrunches up.

"I-I said I'll apologize! Now please stop!"

Hearing your whining pleads, Namjoon finally stops.

"So...about that apology?" He leans against the chair with a grin as his arms cross in victory.

Scooting back against the furniture, you make eye contact with the smug male.

"Aight damn. I'm sorry for saying the character Taehyung plays in that drama is more handsome than you..." He nods his head at your apology and patiently waits for rest.

"...cause truth be told: that Mothafucker ten times sexier than you. Like, a bitch was damn near finna say fuck it and go back into time for dat ass."

Namjoon's face quickly shifts into an angry frown.

"Take. That. Back!" He hisses with narrowed eyes, body slowly creeping towards you with a clenched jaw.

Your lips form into a mischievous smirk. "But why should I?"

He freezes at your question with wide eyes before lowering his head. "Because...because I..."

You frown at his sudden change of demeanor. "Hey, you okay? You know I was just playing right? I'm not serious."

"Yeah...I know. It's just that...I-I don't know how to explain this." Namjoon nervously wrings his hands with a strained smile.

A few moments pass, he continues to stumble over his words before shaking his head with a weak It doesn't matter.

Leaning closer to him, you put a comforting hand on his shoulder with a bright smile. "You're my friend Namjoon, so whatever it is you can tell m-"

"Don't say that!"

You flinch at the loudness of his voice and quickly withdraw from him as he gets up from the floor to began to pace.

"J-just please...don't." He shakily whispers, running a hand through his dyed locks.

"What's wrong?"

"I-I thought that I could just pretend and act like always. But no! I can't do it! What the fuck is wrong with me? "

"Hey!" Getting on your feet, you walk over and grab his hands when he begins to hit his head in a scolding way, "calm down Joon. It's okay...just tell me and maybe I could help."

Namjoon looks at your joined hands in thought. You give them a squeeze forcing him to look up and shyly make eye contact.

"I love you."

A warm smile replaces your frown as you playfully push him away with an eye roll. "Dammit, dude! And here I thought it was something bad when it was only that. I love you too ya dork."

"No ____, you're not understanding me." He shakes his head at your words before grabbing your hands again. "I love love you."

You stare at his face with widened eyes, searching for any trace of laughter to see if he was serious or not.

'Namjoon...he loves me?'

But by the way he looked, it was clear to see that he meant every single word. But you refused to face the truth and instead brushed it off with small giggles.

"Yeah right, go somewhere else with that Romeo 'O Romeoheadassery. But thanks for the small joke, I really needed a chuckle or two." You wipe away the forming tears with a breathless sigh.

"____!" Namjoon huffs before grabbing your face to pull you closer to his. "I'm in love with you. I always have been ever since I met you all those years ago."

Dark eyes boring into yours, it almost made you feel vulnerable from the intenseness they held.

You step back from his touch and turn away, sure that if you hadn't you would've been broken down at the confession. "You don't love me Namjoon...you can't."

"____, I get that you've been a little rocky when it comes to the topic of relationships. Especially after what had happened with [Ex-Boyfriend's Name]. But I want you to know that I'm here for you and-"

"We're nothing more than friends okay?! So stop it!"

Namjoon goes quiet as you look at the ground with clenched fists.

"...I just don't love you that way, you're more like a brother to me."

The room goes quiet. The weight of your words caused you to feel even worse until it was replaced by a shaky sigh.

"It's because of my looks isn't it?"

Quickly turning around, you catch sight of Namjoon quickly wiping away the tears that were starting to form.

"Of every girl I've ever confessed to, they always rejected me. Even my fans didn't want me because I wasn't handsome or cute enough. I was afraid to tell you, but I thought that maybe...just maybe...the one person who's been by my side since the beginning would love me for me," He looks at you with a laugh of disbelief, "but even you don't love me the way I want you to."

Tears filled your eyes from his words as you let out a small sigh. Reaching out to him you place a hand on his shoulder. "Joon."

He flinches away from your touch with a forced smile, dull eyes staring at you.

"N-no I'm okay, really. I don't need pity."

"Look Namjoon, you're an amazing guy-and please trust me when I say that. But I've known you since we were ten, it's kinda impossible for me to see you that type of way..." you look at the ground knowing that your friendship may not ever be the same way again, "but there's another reason why I'm not able to love you that way."

He observes your shrunken frame, the way you hold yourself as you avoid his gaze. "I'm guessing you've found someone else?"

Despite knowing you were going to say that his heart still breaks at your subtle nod.

At the sudden sound of keys, you look up in time to see him grabbing his coat and wallet. "Wait, where are you going?"

"I'm...I'll just go for a little walk or something. You can see yourself out while I'm gone."

Walking out when you're hurt is one thing, but to walk out of your own place? That was definitely some deep-ass heartbroken shit right there.

But it was also deep-ass heartbroken shit you needed to quickly fix before it got worse.

"Namjoon wait! Just please hear me out." He stops at the front door without turning around, refusing to see your face and get more hurt.

"What is it ____? Because I really don't want to hear 'how much of a great guy he is' or that you want me to meet him. Especially after I've just gotten my heart broken by my bestfriend." He clears his throat in an attempt to shake off the waver in his voice.

You feel your skin heat up in embarrassment. "Um, well...actually-you won't believe this by the way. It's so hilarious that-"

"Dammit, ____! Can you just get to the point so that I can cry while stuffing my face in peace after you leave!" Namjoon cuts you off in irritation with a snap.

Nervously rubbing your hands, you rock on your feet. "It's not a he...it's a she."

His hand lets go of the doorknob before slowly turning towards you with wide eyes. "W-wait a minute. So that's why you won't go with me...and broke up with..."

You sheepishly nod at his words. "Yup, I like pussy."

A laugh explodes from Namjoon as he runs over and picks you up with a twirl.

"Ah! You don't know how happy this makes me." He breaths out, the gloomy face from before now replaced with a bright smile.

You look at him with raised eyebrows. "So you're not upset?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "Yeah, but not as much. I mean, at least you're not getting dicked down by a guy. So when did you find out?"

Scoffing at his answer, you lean against his shoulder with a soft glare. "I'm just gonna pretend I didn't hear that sexist ass comment. But to answer your question, you know when we went to that party in the eighth grade?"

Namjoon stares off into space before dawning a look of realization. "Oh, when you played Seven Minutes of Heaven with that girl? Wasn't her name Rosie?"

A huge dimpled grin appears on his face at your shy nod, "My girl! She's a hottie right?"

"Really? Are you seriously gonna ask me that?" You look at him in disappointment, head shaking with a frown.

Namjoon hangs his head in shame once he realized what he said. "Yeah, you're right. My bad, I shouldn't have asked that. I'm s-"

"Because I'm gonna tell you right now...that ass is amazing." You hum out with a dreamy look sat on your face.

"Hmm...good to know. You don't think she'll mind sharing right?" He wiggles his brows, hand creeping up your leg.

Smacking it away with a fake contemplating look you finally let out a sigh of disappointment. "I don't know...I mean I'm already used to that kind of thing, but I guess I can see if Mina and Hye-jin will agree to it."

Namjoon chokes on his spit, eyes stretched open. "Y-you pulling two girlfriends at once?!"

With a cocky grin, you stretch your arms out. "Uh-huh. Put both of their asses to sleep before coming over here."

He quickly gets on his knees in a begging position. "Please please please: teach me your ways."

Seeing the ways his eyes sparkled with hope, there was no way you were going to turn him down.

"Well, the first thing to do is-"

The familiar ringtone of your phone fills the room, forcing you to stop talking to pick it up.

Opening the device, you immediately see the picture showing both of your girlfriends barely covering themselves as they asked you to come home.

"Sorry bud, duty calls," quickly showing him the picture, you put the phone away to grab your things and run out of the apartment.

Namjoon runs to the doorway just as you got in your car and shot him a sly thumbs up.

"Bu-hey! Can you at least send me that picture? ____!"

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SEOKJIN

"Just drop it! How many times do I have to tell you that I don't feel that way?!" You yell out in anger as the two of you faced each other.

The day started like any normal one: Jin would visit, you'd sit together and hang out for hours until it was either too late to stay out, he was needed to record a song, or if any of the other members called.

It was a system that had been running for nearly seventeen years, but now...not so much.

"____, please just hear me out," He desperately pleads with misty eyes. Your glare softens a little as you look at the face you've known since middle school.

You step away from his warm touch, refusing to fall for it again. Every single time you were close to going off he would wrap you in his arms, making you lose all confidence to say it.

But not this time...

You couldn't do it anymore. What kind of bestfriend were you if you just turn a blind eye as he continued to suffer day by day?

"No, you hear me out Jin. Constantly bringing up shit like this will only push me away. That stuff about being head-over-heels in love with me...it makes me go crazy sometimes that I can't even think straight. For fucks sake, I already have a boyfriend and you know that! You can't just expect me to drop my three-year relationship out of the blue," your voice cracks, eyes lowered to the ground despite wanting to look him in the face.

The room goes silent. The tension grows thicker as the sound of your breathing being the only thing heard.

"I love you so much ____ that I-I can't stop thinking about you. My pulse race whenever we make eye contact...heck, I even stop eating my food whenever your name pops up in the conversations during practice just to join in," he weakly jokes despite the view of his eyes filling with tears.

You want nothing more than to just walk up and hug him, but you knew it'll only add salt to the wound by doing so.

The only option left was to wrap your arms around yourself in a lame attempt to mimic the same feeling of protection he would give.

Hot tears ran down your face at his words. Lips formed into a shaky half-assed smile when you look up at him.

'Why is everything complicated?'

"Jin..." your words trail off when he holds up his hand and sadly shakes his head.

"No...you don't need to explain yourself when it's not even your fault. I fell in love with you knowing there was zero chance of you having those same feelings. It was all on me," he slowly walks to you only to stop when there were only a few spaces in-between.

A bright smile appears on his face, but you could still see the true pain that was held behind his eyes.

"Just know that cocky asshole you call a boyfriend will mess up, and it'll be to a point where he loses the best thing that has ever happened in his life," a shiver runs down your spine at the intenseness of his words.

With gentle movements, Jin pulls you to his chest and cups your face before placing his forehead against yours.

As your eyes close he continues to observe you. Wanting to have the sight of your face etched in his mind 'til the day he takes his last breath.

Even in a crying state such as this, your [Light/Brown/Dark] skin dulled from the lightning of the room as leftovers tears clung to the eyelashes underneath your puffy eyes, he still thought you were the most beautiful woman he's ever seen.

And if he couldn't have you? Jin would still grow old with a smile knowing he got a chance to have someone like you in his life.

"Despite the dreams I have of us together...I will still stand for you even if I can't have you in reality."

He presses his lips unto yours, putting everything he has into the tender kiss before reluctantly parting away.

You're brought back from your frozen state and stare at him with wide eyes, heart stuttering from his actions.

Softly touching your lips, heat spreads over your face and ears.

The sound of your thundering heartbeat and Jin's retreating footsteps fill your head as he leaves you alone with your shambled thoughts.

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HOSEOK

"Oh my god! What are you doing?! Don't just stand there looking at it! Run bitch! Don't fucking go in that basement you dumbass! I don't give a damn if you hear movement down there! No don't look back- aaaand she's dead," you glare in annoyance towards a character that was in the scary movie.

Hearing a chuckle from the side, you turn your attention to Hoseok as he watches you scold the idiotic people for their mistakes.

"What?" You stuff more popcorn into your mouth with a huff, happily eating the only thing that's making the 'movie night' experience tolerable.

His eyes widen in shock now upon seeing that realizing you caught him and quickly turn towards the movie.

"N-nothing!"

Your eyes narrow in suspicion before shaking off his weird behavior and continue to watch the screen.

But it seemed that task was damn near impossible when the constant feeling of eyes gazing against your skin caused you to finally snap.

Eyes closed with a small annoyed groan, you turn off the TV. "Look Hobi, we've already been over this haven't we?"

Hoseok innocently looks at you as a light blush spreads across his face. "W-what? What do you mean my dearest ____?"

"You really think I don't see you looking at me with that look in your eyes?"

His once light blush turned into a full-out crimson wave that covered his entire face as he sheepishly looks at his hands. "Was...was I really that obvious?"

"Nooo, you totally were so notobvious with the constant sneaky glances and blushing cheeks that turned even redder whenever we made eye contact."

Hoseok lets out a small sigh. "Okay, I know you said no, but please just give me a chance. I promise to-"

He immediately stops talking at the sight of your raised hand. "Look, you are a very great person who would seem like an awesome boyfriend. But just not my boyfriend."

He shakes his head at your words. "____, I just know we're meant to be together. I said I love you, you said you love me-"

"I love you as a friend. Got it? Plus I only said that like once when I was high from those weed brownies Jin had made. Man! You're really not going down without a fight huh?"

"You know, I really think we are meant to be. I mean both of our signs are compatible and everything. I even know all the things you're allergic to just like you know mines." Hoseok says with a smile, ignoring all of the words that came out of your mouth.

"Oh my god! Just because we know things about each other doesn't mean anything. And I only told you because of that time you made me banana bread and my whole fucking face and hands got swollen even after I've specifically told you that I'm allergic to nuts. But your dumbass put almond paste in the damn bread!"

"All the more reason why I should be your man. You could've died if I wasn't there to call the ambulance."

You stare at him in disbelief, your eye begins to twitch in anger. "Now I know goddamn well-motherfucker! You were the one who caused me to go to the damn hospital."

"Shhh...don't worry babe, just calm down. We'll talk about us later okay?" He coos out, holding your face with care as he brushes away the wrinkles from your furrowed brows.

The room goes silent.

"Get out."

Hoseok looks at you in shock, startled from the calm tone you spoke despite the fire raging in your eyes.

"Are you okay? Do you need some tea? A foot massage? Back massage? You name it and I'll do it." He frantically asks and places his hands on your shoulders so that he could start on your command.

"Get. Out." You spit out the words as you look up at him, your eyes slowly forming into slits.

"Now you know I can't do that. No boyfriend should-"

"Get out! GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOME!!" With a roar, you push the confused love-sick fool off your couch and towards the front door.

"Wait. I-"

"NO! You can't be reasoned with. I'm done being polite to your ass. Hit the road Jack! Siyahnara! Ducese! Ádios Amigo! Au revoir! Salut! Now bye!" Cutting off any possible explanation, you push him out the doorway along with his jacket and shoes.

Hoseok looks at you like a puppy who had its chew toy taken away. "We could be something great if you just give us a try ____!"

You let out a sigh of exhaustion, hands gripping your braids in frustration with his never-ending attempts.

"Hoseok...I've told you one, two, three, four, five-hell now six thousand times: I don't love you like that. Just as friends okay?"

He nods his head. "Yeah but-"

"Good to know you understand. Buh bye~" Cutting off his words with a bright smile, you slam the door shut in his face.

"But sweetheart, you can't do this to me...I love you." He whimpers out in sadness on the other side of the door.

You lean on it for a few moments, the occasional pleads from the man outside fill your head as he continues to stand outside in the cold.

'Goddammit! Doesn't he have anywhere else to go? The fuck he still doing out there?'

"I'm really doing this aren't I? Dammit ____! Why you gotta be so fucking nice?"

Slowly getting up off the door, you open it revealing a red-nosed Hoseok sitting on the ground in sadness.

"Hobi..." Hearing the soft calling of his name, he lifts his glassy eyes to meet your reluctant ones.

With a soft head nudge, a smile suddenly appears on his face before he quickly gets up and runs inside the warm building.

You close the door behind him and trudge to the living room.

Plopping down to the spot next to him, the TV was turned on once more. The light atmosphere from before the whole ordeal had returned.

"____?"

Finally dragging your eyes from the movie currently playing with a popcorn-filled mouth, you turn towards a quiet Hoseok.

"Hmm? Whut yuh wahn?" You mutter, eyes quickly going back to the screen while still munching on the crunchy popped kernels.

He doesn't answer making you grow agitated from his lack of words. "Bitch didn't you just hear me? I asked what the fuck you w-mm?!"

Your eyes widen at the sudden feeling of a pair of lips pecking your own. Snapping towards him, you catch sight of Hoseok running out of the room with a smile.

The sounds of his giggles echo around the apartment as you sit there in a frozen flustered state, trying to figure out what the fuck just happened.

"HOSEOK!!"

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YOONGI

"Oh my god, he's soooo hot! ____, do you think he'd hook up with one of us?" One of your lab partners whispers out as she and her other friends surround you.

You stiffen at the sound of your name being called. "Huh?"

The girls roll their eyes. "I said do you think he'll go with one of us. Weren't you listening?"

Your lips purse at her words. Pushing the sliding goggles up, you lift the tubes filled with unknown liquids in hand.

"Um...I really wouldn't know a lot about that. But as you can see here, we have to find out what these substances are. Don't you think it would be very efficient if we would all just do our part of the project? It'll make my work much easier."

They scoff at your words. "You always have your nose in a book or task. Relax for once! It's not like one failing grade is the end of the world."

You open your mouth ready to speak once more, but they cut you off and continue to fawn over the lone male that sat across the room.

'Now I know these motherfuckers didn't just...'

Eyes closing in frustration, you let out a tired sigh before finishing the rest of the work and collect your things.

"Mr. Go?" You call out to the teacher who was grading papers on his desk.

"Oh, ____! What brings you here?" With no words being said, you place the completed sheets of paper in front of him.

A small chuckle leaves the man once he picks up the sheets and analyzes the completion of the work that had only your handwriting on it. "Got tired of the gossip and left them behind?"

"Yes! I really cannot believe that they'll actually give up their chance of receiving a good path of education over some...dickhead." You rub your temple frustration and count backward in hopes of calming down.

A smile appears on Mr. Go's face at the way of words. "Okay, I understand. But since you used such foul language, you'll have to go help him over there."

Following the directions of where he was pointing, your eyes in horror. "What?! No please you can't-"

He raises his hands.

"Now you know I can't show favoritism among my students...even if you are my favorite." He puts on a frown, clearly struggling to stay serious and keep himself from laughing at your face.

"Fine," Your head lowers in defeat before crossing your arms with a sour pout, "but I want extra points for this."

Reluctantly making your way across the room, everyone goes quiet once they see where you were going.

Whispers begin to float in the air when you plop down in the empty seat and lay your head against the warm-toned body.

"I'm gonna take a hint and say that Mr. Go forced you to help me right?" His chest vibrates from laughter as you give a low whine in response.

"Yeah...and it's all your fault!" Leaning off him with a hiss, you send him a heated glare.

Yoongi looks at you in disbelief. "How the hell is it my fault? I haven't done anything!"

"You say that, but o-"

"____?" Turning at the call of your name, you see that it was one of your used-to-be lab partners with a tight smile on her face.

"Yes??"

Her face becomes bright red at the amount of attention she was receiving from your new partner.

"Um...why haven't you come back towards our table? You know we have lots to talk about and stuff." She grits, anger clearly showing through her fake concern.

You raise an eyebrow. "Oh really? You want me to go back?"

"Yeah, you are our lab-partner after all."

"Nah," a snort escapes your relaxed form, "I'd rather not go back. But thanks for the offer though." With a fake smile plastered, you turn away and lay down on the desk.

"Excuse me? Who do you think are?" Her voice rises in anger and embarrassment causing the classroom to go quiet.

Yoongi raises his eyebrows at you. Eyes slightly widening at the dark emotion that fell over your face.

Your desk screeches back as you stand up and face the dramatic girl with the over-glossed lips.

"Now I was nice enough to say thanks, but you pushing on my last few nerves. You really got me fucked up if you think my ass is finna go back only to hear you and your group threaten me and talk about how you want to hook up with my friend. Want him that bad? Here, you can take him!" You pick up his arm and hand it out to her.

"Hey hey! I didn't agree to whatever the hell this is! Leave me the fuck out of it." Yoongi pulls his arm back with a pout before glaring at the girl, "I think it's best you leave. I'd hate it if you got your ass whooped in front of everybody."

"Mr. Go!" She turns to your teacher with a frown, "aren't you gonna do anything about this?"

Any traces of amusement on his face immediately disappears once realizing students were now looking at him. "Huh?"

"They threatened me! Bullying shouldn't be tolerated right?!"

Mr. Go's face goes blank. "Um..."

"Mr. Go," both of their attention shifted towards your smiling face, "no need to worry. If it's really a problem, I don't mind going to the Dean's office to speak of how I, one of the school's top students, had an altercation with someone who's two grades behind. Matter a fact, I'll just go up there right n-"

"N-no need! It was just a misunderstanding. T-that's all!"

"You sure?" She nods her head with a pale face.

"Well thank you for your cooperation sweetie! Now, get the hell out of my face before I break yours."

Both humiliated and afraid, she storms off with a glare towards you.

You sit back down with a sigh as the room slowly went back to its talkative ways.

"Damn...that was hot. Why'd you have to be so mean babe?" Yoongi grabs your hand and interlocks his fingers with yours.

Lifting your head with a glare, you yank away from his hold. "Because Yoongi, I'm done being nice to those fake ass girls who only talk to me so they can get closer to you. And don't call me babe ever again, I'm not your girlfriend."

He pouts before laying down on your shoulder. "Why not?"

"Because you're my friend, and it's kinda weird when my friends use pet names with me."

He sighs in disappointment. "I really hate that."

You look at his frowning face in confusion. "You mean the pet names? Cause I really don't have a problem with them in general, just the intimate ones."

"Nah, it's the friend part. I hate the word friend when it's put in a sentence with you and me."

Your eyes close in irritation, already knowing what's about to happen.

"Come on Yoongi. I-"

"Did you know every time we hang out, people would've come up to me and say we look like a cute couple? Why can't we get together?"

"Look Yoongi, we've known each other for literally one school year. Not even connecting over the summer or breaks. Truth said I don't even date someone unless I've known them for at least two or three years. Plus they'll have to meet my parents and other family-it's just too complicated."

He goes silent as you rub your temples in exhaustion. "But I really like you, and I don't think it's just some middle school crush. Plus-"

You quickly cover his mouth before he could say anything else.

"My guy, haven't I made it obvious? Wasn't I clear enough when I told you this? We are friends and nothing more. Or do you want me to spell it out for you? F-r-i-e-n-d-s. Got it?"

Head nodding, the once happy glint in his eyes faded away into a dull gleam of disappointment.

Seeing that he gave up, you remove your hand and grab your notebook to write down notes for next week's test.

A few minutes passed of taking small peeks at the star athlete only to see him blankly staring at the desk.

With the pressure of guilt getting too much, you place the pencil down with a sigh.

"Look, I'm sorry if I made you upset or anything. But you have to understand that it's just how I am when it comes to dating."

Yoongi nods his head before a small smile appears. "I understand, and I'm sorry for misunderstanding you. I get what you're saying now."

You smile at his words. "Thank you, and-"

"I get that I'll just have to talk to you more, wait two more years, and meet your family until you're mine. And it won't stop there babe, not until a ring is sitting proudly on that finger of yours showing everyone we got married." The bell sounds as you look at him frozen, no words to say.

Having a bright gummy smile instead of the usual intimidating glare, Yoongi gives you a quick peck on the cheek with a wink. "I'll see you later ____. Or should I say, Mrs. Min? Damn...has a nice ring to it doesn't it?"

Your mouth opens to say something, but he leaves before any sound could come out.

Leaning against the chair your head shakes in disbelief when a sudden thought came to mind.

"Wait...he said married?!"

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g1ggl3-c4t · 6 months

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Take this little scene redraw of Andy getting wrecked :3

Strong tough and terrific boys can be ticklish too :]

Og frames:

This move has me in a choke hold help me aLSO THE WAY ANN AND BABBETE ARE JUST WATCHING HIM IM KANDMSNDMSNDK

☆COMMISSIONS OPEN☆

#cat goes meow :3 #sfw tickling community #tickle blog #sfw interaction only #sfw tickle community #sfw twords #sfw tk community #cat does art #tickle thoughts #lee!andy #lee!raggedy andy #Ler!gazooks #raggedy ann and andy tickles

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kusuguricafe · 5 months

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"So immature..."

@tickle-fight-club and @driftiscat, you are so right <3

A/N: I couldn't help but notice multiple comments like these popping up on that paralive clip I posted, so of course I just had to write this

(fun fact: his wiki says that his greatest weakness is "being teased by people")

Summary: An alternate continuation of this scene

Characters: lee!Hajun, ler!Anne, ler!Allen (and brief lee!Allen)

“P-plehehease stahahahahahap! Mercy! Mercy!!” Allen laugh-cried.

“No secrets!” Anne declared.

Hajun, who happened to be passing by, halted as soon as he noticed his two group mates fooling around. He sighed before asking, “What are you doing?”

The two jumped and turned around to see Hajun, looking down on them. “So immature…” he scorned.

“Hajun…” they said in unison.

“Do you two have no sense of shame?”

“Oh, come on, Hajun,” Anne retorted, “We were just having a little fun is all.”

“Maybe you were,” Allen countered, clutching his sides.

Anne chuckled at that.

Hajun rolled his eyes. “I don’t see what’s so fun about something as childish as that.”

“What, you too ticklish or something?” Anne remarked, wiggling their fingers at him.

Hajun’s eyes widened. He blinked a couple times. Closing his eyes and furrowing his brow, he turned away and said, “No, of course not.”

“Hmm, I’m not sure if I believe you. What do you think, Allen?”

“I don’t believe him for a second.”

Anne and Allen exchanged knowing looks. They turned to Hajun, who opened one eye to peek at them—but he was too late. His feisty bandmates were already on top of him.

The two tackled Hajun to the ground, Allen grabbing his arms and holding them behind his head as Anne clambered onto his legs.

“H-hold on, is this really necessary?” Hajun asked warily.

“Yep,” Anne grinned.

“There’s no way you’re more ticklish than me,” Allen reassured him, “So don’t worry, you’ll be fine.”

Just hold it in, Hajun thought. It’s like he said, there’s no way-

“EEYAHAHA! NohohoaAAHAhahaAhahAHA!”

Fuck.

“Oh my gosh!” Anne exclaimed, “Are you really this ticklish??”

“Whoa! I wasn’t expecting him to laugh at all!”

Hajun had thought he would be able to hold back, but they really took him by surprise! Anne was drilling their thumbs into Hajun’s bottom ribs, one of his weakest spots (unbeknownst to them).

“I-I’M NAHahahAHAAAAA! AHAHAHANNE!!”

Anne suddenly switched to kneading his hips, another really bad spot. (They must have secret tickle spot locating powers, or something.) Hajun was practically howling in protest, but the pair was having far too much fun to stop.

“Are you seeing this?” Anne asked Allen excitedly.

“I’ve never seen him laugh like this before.” Allen stared in disbelief.

“STOHOHAHAHAHAHAP! THIHIHIS ISN’T FAHAHAHAHAIR!”

“Sorry, but this is just too good,” Anne said.

Allen, getting mildly jealous, put Hajun’s wrists in one hand so that he could lightly scratch Hajun’s neck and ears with the other. Anne began tickling him under his arms. This wasn’t nearly as bad, but it did elicit some… unfavorable reactions.

“EhehehEHE *snort* I-ahahA *snort* StohohOHOP IHIHIHIT!”

“Did he just snort!?” Allen asked.

“Sounded like it!”

“Ahare you ehehEHEven listening to mehE *snort* ehEHE!”

“Ah! He does it whenever you brush up against the back of his left ear!” Anne said to Allen.

“N-no I doHO *snort* hOHON’T!”

“He does!” Allen declared. “Hm, let me try something…” Allen put Hajun’s arms on the ground and held them down with his knees instead. Now that both of his hands were free, he reached over and vibrated his fingers in between Hajun’s ribs. “He was laughing a lot louder when you did it. What am I doing wrong? I thought you were-”

“NAHAHAHAHAHA! NohohahAHAHAT THAHAHAHAT AGAHAHAHAHA!”

“Oh! Heh, did I find it?”

Allen did indeed find those two little spots just beneath Hajun’s bottom ribs that Anne had discovered earlier. Meanwhile, Anne was back to massaging his hips.

“Coochie coochie coo~!” Anne teased. “Who’s a ticklish little prince?”

Hajun blushed.

“Where else are we ticklish, hm~?”

Allen paused, watching Anne.

“How about… here!” Anne emphasized “here” with a squeeze to Hajun’s upper thighs.

“EHE! D-dohoHOHOHOHON’T!!”

“Are you ticklish everywhere!?” Allen exclaimed.

Hajun shook his head (lying).

Anne squeezed Hajun’s thighs a few more times before Allen asked, “Anne, do you mind if we swap?”

“What, you want in on this action?”

“Oh, shut up. Just come here.”

“D-do I get a say in this?”

“No,” Allen and Anne answered bluntly.

Hajun’s brain was so fried at this point that he barely made any attempt to escape as his two attackers swapped positions. Anne held on to his arms as Allen sat by his legs and put his feet in a headlock. He began to take off Hajun’s shoes.

Suddenly, Hajun was on high alert again.

“W-wait, AlleeEEE!”

“Ooh, I think you may have struck gold,” Anne remarked.

“Does it tickle, Hajun?” Allen asked, just barely wiggling his finger against Hajun’s sock-covered sole.

Hajun winced.

“Does it tickle, Hajun?” Anne repeated softly into Hajun’s ear.

Allen slowly removed one of Hajun’s socks and curled his fingers against the arch of his foot.

“G-gaha! GahahanjileobdaAAAHAHAHAHA!”

“What?” the two asked.

“K-kusuhuguttaidesu! IhihIHIT TIHIHIHICKLES!!”

“Ohh.”

“Yeah, I thought it might,” Allen said before stripping Hajun’s socks off completely and scribbling all over both of his feet.

“AAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA! HAHAHAHAJIMAHAHA!”

“What was that?” Allen looked over his shoulder at Hajun’s bright red face.

“DOHOHOHON’T! PLEHEHEHEHEAAAAAHAHA! NAHAHAHAHAHAT THEHEHERE!! AHAHAHAHALLEN!!”

“I think he means under his toes,” Anne commented. “Am I right?” they whispered into his ear.

Hajun whined.

“Riiiiight here?” Allen gently pressed into the ball of Hajun’s foot.

Hajun couldn’t help but smile in anticipation.

“Tickle tickle! Tickle tickle tickle~!” Allen teased as he went to town on Hajun’s worst spot.

“Tickletickletickletickletickle,” Anne repeated in his ear. “You’re the most ticklish prince in the world, aren’t you?”

“AHAHAHAHAHAAAAA *hic* HAHAHAHAHAHA STAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAAAHAHA!!!” Hajun screamed before his laughter went silent.

His sunglasses fell off his face, revealing tears of mirth trickling down his hot cheeks. Not wanting to push their poor friend too far, Anne and Allen released him a few seconds after he went silent. While Hajun laid there panting, Allen delicately put his socks and shoes back on for him.

“Why…?” Hajun finally said.

“We’ve never heard you laugh like that before,” Allen said.

“And you looked like you needed some fun,” Anne added. “Did you have fun?”

Hajun looked up at them and blushed even deeper. “M-maybe,” he muttered as he looked away. “Whatever.”

Anne and Allen smiled.

“Why were you attacking Allen in the first place, Anne?”

“Allen’s keeping something from me,” they said, glaring at Allen.

“Wh-why don’t we just forget about that?”

Anne held out a hand to Hajun. “Wanna help me out?”

Hajun nodded. The two leered at Allen.

“G-guys? W-w-wait, no! WAAHHH!!!”

#tickling #tickle fic #hajun yeon #48 #allen sugasano #SUZAKU #anne faulkner #anZ #lee!hajun #ler!anne #ler!allen #bae #paralive #paradox live #princess scrawlings

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canirove · 11 months

Text

Granada | Chapter 6

Previous chapter | Next chapter

Masterlist

It had been a couple of weeks since the wedding, and while Anne and Diogo were on cloud nine, nothing had changed between Rowena and Rúben. Their conversations consisted mostly of bickering and teasing the other, and the pillow wall hadn't gone anywhere. Though each morning, Rowena found herself waking up closer and closer to Rúben. Like that morning.

When she opened her eyes the pillows were gone, and she found herself curling next to his body, her face just a few inches from his. And she couldn't help but stare at him. At the locks of hair falling on his forehead, the need to touch them and put them back in place being very real. At how long his lashes were, being the envy of many ladies. At the way he pouted while asleep, something she found very cute.

"Urgh" Rúben grunted, moving until his body was facing Rowena, his arm around her waist, trapping her.

"Great" she murmured.

She tried to move, to somehow free herself without waking him up, but it was impossible.

"Rúben" she whispered. "Rúben, can you move?"

"Urgh" he grunted again.

"Rúben… move." But nothing. He was fast asleep again, and Rowena was starting to feel the need to… relieve herself. "Rúben, if you don't move, I'll have to hit you."

Again, no movement.

"Rúben" she whispered, blowing on his face. That made him move, though it was just to twitch his nose.

"Rúben " she repeated, blowing on his face once again. This time, she couldn't help but laugh at the weird face he made.

"What…" he mumbled after she blew on his face again. "What is that?"

"The wind" Rowena giggled.

"Did you open a window?" he asked, his eyes still closed.

"I could have if I wasn't trapped under your arm" she said, blowing on his face one more time.

"Stop it."

"Then move."

"I'm comfortable like this."

"I'm not."

"Too bad" Rúben said, pulling her closer to him.

"You asked for it."

"Rowena!" he complained when she blew on his face, this time doing it with all the force she could manage.

"Let me go and I'll stop."

"You are such a child sometimes…"

"Look who's talking" she snorted.

"Yes… look" he said, finally opening his eyes and looking at Rowena in a way that made her regret all her teasing.

"Rúben… don't."

"Too late" he said as he swiftly moved to be on top of her, his face very close to hers.

"I swear, if you lay a finger on me…"

"What will you do, uh?"

"My leg is between your legs."

"And?"

"And if I reach my knee up a bit" she said, slowly moving her leg until she touched him.

"That's having the opposite effect of what you want, you know?" he smirked.

"What… oh" she whispered, her cheeks getting very warm as realization hit her.

"Yes, oh" he said, his smirk turning into a big grin.

"I can still kick you if I want."

"And I still can do what I wanted to do."

"Rúben…" she warned him.

"Rowena…"

"Don't touch me."

"Not even like this" he asked while tickling her.

"Rúben!"

"I knew you were ticklish!" he chuckled.

"I'm not."

"Then you won't mind if I do this" he said, now tickling her on the other side.

"Stop it!"

"No."

"Ru… Stop!" she laughed.

"You deserve it for waking me up" he said as he continued to tickle her everywhere.

"Rúben, please!" she laughed, tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Did you just use the magic word?"

"The what?"

"The magic word. The governess Diogo and I had as kids always told us to use the magic word if we wanted something."

"Please is the magic word?"

"It is. So since you've used it, I'll stop."

"Thank you. Can you now move?"

"I am very comfortable like this too" he smiled.

"Move or I'll…"

"Good mor… oh" a maid said after walking into the room, freezing in place the moment she saw them. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt."

"You weren't interrupting anything" Rowena quickly said, hitting Rúben in the arm and making him move.

"Didn't she?" he chuckled while letting himself fall on the bed.

"She did not."

"I think she did, wife. But we'll continue tonight. Maybe earlier if we can't contain ourselves" he smirked as he watched her leaving the bed, laughing when she gave him one of her most murderous looks yet before throwing him one of her slippers.

#ruben dias #ruben dias fanfic #ruben dias imagine #football fanfic #football imagine

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selenemoonlite · 4 months

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hii it's been a while hehe can I request nsfw headcanons for bae (separately) with a soft chubby mc~, maybe in a situation where she offers to cuddle them while they put their head in her lap or on her chest while she caresses their heads but the situation progresses to something more /u\ .... that would be all but if you want you can use another situation don't worry, thank you and have a good day! ^u^

┈➤ greetings! Sure lovely, this is an interesting prompt, thank you for requesting!

┈➤ Allen Sugasano

Allen isn't the clingy type, slightly blushes over the feeling of your body squished against him is a tempting moment where he can scoop your body onto his arms. Don't worry, Allen has his strength to hold you so

He reassures you that your size doesn't matter to him, what matters to him the most is that you're too close to him that perhaps this kinda closure isn't something he didn't anticipate at all

He tries to calm himself down while looking at your features, boy it's something he gulps nervously. Poor guy

There are times when he asks you to lie down over than being pressed over his chest. You're absent-minded and nod over his request.

A little foreplay of where Allen engages the mood, now he didn't think of which part he can place a mark on by how your body is a distraction towards the fiery phoenix.

Gentle kisses trailing over your lips, nibbling, licking your skin. Allen prays he had never done this bold to someone he sees such admiration. But that doesn't matter to him

His favorite part is to get his foreplay on, turning you on by biting your thick thighs and going lower on you. Lowkey he is a "thick thighs save lives" type of guy

Allen didn't mind where this went, however, he sure felt his stomach swirling around as he kept teasing your body

"Fuck this, can I go into you?"

┈➤ Anne Faulkner

They would go all on with you, positively. The type to praise your body as you're laying onto their lap with such adoration Anne could've imagine

Them caressing your sensitive parts makes you feel ticklish, cause Anne isn't going to go straightforward with you unless they'll do their best to make you feel comfortable

"(Y/n), you know I always love this..."

They whispered to you, that Anne has something mischievous to pry on. Don't worry, they promised to keep things slow. But, you assured yourself this is Anne Faulkner after all.

They love kissing you all over, even the passionate and deepest kiss you can ever ask for. Anne is the epitome of all intimate encounters. But, of course, when it comes to you they'll give their all and all you ever wanted from them.

Anne teases your body and they pinch it thinking you're adorable. You shivering under their might to place hickeys whatever they could

If Anne were to know your spots, their favorites are neck, shoulders, ear, and down to your chest which they love to fondle.

You cannot process this situation that elevates to where you were only laying down their lap

But this is heaven for you, don't deny

Their fingers traveling to whatever skin they could touch.

"Something to cherish, give me your loveliest soul, baby..."

┈➤ Hajun Yeon

You'd be surprised Hajun can only be affectionate when the two of you are alone

He gives the best stimulation after minutes of silence enjoying your company. Hajun was having naughty thoughts about placing you on his lap, you were worried that he couldn't handle your size

Hajun didn't complain, his core strengths from going to the gym anyway makes him feel needed and the responsibility to carry you with all his might

Hand kisses are the first thing he can take the initiative, and you know how much of a gentleman he can be to take the first engaging move right now

This, of course, made you nervous as Hajun's unpredictable moves could make any girl swoon over. He knows your weaknesses, whispering under your ear with sweet nothings, even dirty talking could suffice that body of yours to react as if melting away from his grasp

He bites your earlobe while he explores your body underneath his fingertips. You huffed a bit and told him your insecurity. But that didn't stop him, no

Hajun loves to plant kisses on your neck, his soft lips could send you from heaven yet at the same time committing sins

Master of foreplay, he loves teasing you in any way he can. It's so ecstasy to the point you can just submit yourself to him. Probably, this is a sign of his sadistic nature to you

There are times when he takes control, you can't comply with his touch

Kisses everywhere while at the same time as lavishing you with his tongue and pampering smooches on your body

"See what we're doing, (Y/n)? No worries, only this body can make me feel needed right now..."

#lunaticcreatives =͟͟͞⚝#paradox live #anime and manga #paradox live the animation #paralive #pararai #elise answers #eliseasks #lunatichcs ⋆｡° ✮#hajun yeon #paradox live anne faulkner #anne faulkner #paradox live allen sugasano #allen sugasano #looniesuggestives 𓁹‿𓁹

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oliviaischillin1204 · 8 months

Text

Hungry For Raspberries

[olivia's note: hello gang! time for another wonderful offering from the incomparable anne onymous! thank you anne!!!]

Today had been a rather tickly day for Virgil. Not that he minded, of course. Tickling was pretty common in the Mind Palace, but today really...took the biscuit? Took the cake? Took everything in the bakery, or however the saying goes, Virgil couldn't remember. It first started this morning when Roman was given the dreaded task of waking Virgil, who always slept in until noon if you let him.

Virgil buried his face in his pillow, giggling madly as he tried not to think of Roman who was hovering over him with wiggling fingers. "Come on, Virgil. If you don't come out, the tickle monster's coming iiin!" Roman teased in a sing-song voice. "I'm gay!" Virgil squealed, his voice muffled by the pillow. "That's not what we meant and you know it." Roman said, sitting down on the bed. "We?" Virgil asked, looking up at the creative Side. "Yes, "we". As in me...and the TICKLE MONSTER!" Roman exclaimed, scribbling his fingers all over Virgil's ribs, causing the emo to squirm and giggle.

Safe to say, Virgil definitely didn't oversleep this morning. And that was just the beginning. Later on in the living room, he kept putting his feet on the coffee table which annoyed Logan to no end. Finally, he had enough and grabbed Virgil's feet, placing them on his lap.

"How many times did I tell you to stop putting your feet on the coffee table?" Logan asked. "Four." Virgil replied. "And how many times did you listen?" Logan queried. "Zero." Virgil answered. "Hence why it is your own fault for what I am about to do." Logan said, tickling the arches of Virgil's socked feet. "Ahahaha! I'm sohohohorry!" Virgil apologised. "Somehow I doubt that highly. Perhaps your punishment should be more precise." Logan reasoned, slowly slipping off Virgil's socks. "Uh-oh." Virgil giggled. ""Uh-oh" indeed, Virgil. Allow me to tell you the story of five little piggies. And since I know you just adore this story, I might even tell it twice." Logan said with a sly grin as Virgil hid his face in a couch pillow. He was pleasantly surprised that Logan would play "This Little Piggy" with him given how serious Logan tends to be and how that nursery rhyme is for children.

So yeah, quite a busy morning. As for right now? Virgil was currently in a very tickly cuddle with Patton on the couch. He was smothering Virgil's neck and ears in kisses and nuzzles while squeezing his sides. As Virgil squealed and wiggled in his embrace, Patton thought he could hear a "stop" among his giggles. "Sorry kiddo, are you not in the mood?" Patton asked, stopping everything. But Patton couldn't be more wrong. His neck nuzzles and tickly kisses were the best, but all the previous attacks put Virgil in a really big lee mood. One that couldn't be cured with gentle tickles. Virgil wanted something a little more...intense. "Actually, umm, I was just wondering if you could maybe, uhhh, move to a different spot?" Virgil asked shyly. "Oh, ok. What about your armpits? Is that better?" Patton asked, scribbling in Virgil's sensitive hollows. "Eek! Hahahahaha! Nohohoho, nohohot thehehehere!" Virgil giggled. "What about your ribs?" Patton asked, poking and prodding at Virgil's ribs. "Ahahahaha! Gehehetting wahaharmer!" Virgil squealed. "Oh, I see. You want the tickle monster to give you tummy tickles, hmm?" Patton teased, skittering across Virgil's tummy with both hands.

"Ahahahahaha! Yehehehes, buhut nohot lihike thahahahat!" Virgil cackled, pushing Patton's hands away. "Not like what?" Patton asked. "Not with...not that way." Virgil said. "You mean with my hands?" Patton guessed. Virgil nodded. "Oh. Well I'm sure Roman has some crafting feathers we could borrow. Or we could use this new feather duster Logan just got, oh my goodness, he got me with it yesterday and it was so tickly, I didn't even know I could be that ticklish. I think I could even tickle myself with it, but of course Logan would argue that your brain anticipates–" Patton suggested but Virgil interrupted. "No f-feathers either, just...I mean...God, why is this so hard?" he stammered, burying his face in his hands in frustration. Virgil and Logan always struggled when it came to asking for tickles, Roman and Patton were the only ones who could shamelessly ask. One time Roman upright asked Virgil and he almost choked on his coffee.

"Maybe try texting it to me. That way you don't have to say anything." Patton suggested. Virgil took out his phone and started to type. But it turns out just writing the word and having to look at it can be just as difficult sometimes. Thank god for emojis. Just one problem: there's no raspberry emoji on his phone. But there was a strawberry emoji and a mouth emoji. That should do it. Patton's phone buzzed as he got the text but his face screwed up in confusion as he read it.

💜Virgil🌩:

👄🍓

"You wanna get a snack first?" Patton asked hesitantly. Virgil facepalmed and groaned. Take 2. This time he had to be more direct. Patton's phone buzzed again and Patton thankfully didn't look as confused as before at this one.

💜Virgil🌩:

👋❌ 🪶❌ 👄✅

"Ahhh, I think I get it now." Patton said, pushing Virgil's shirt up and straddling his thighs with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Virgil covered his eyes with his arms to avoid eye contact with Patton. "Ok kiddo. Ready?" Patton asked. Virgil nodded and Patton blew the biggest raspberry he could into Virgil's belly, making him scream with laughter. "AHAHAHAHAHA! OH MY GOHOHOHOHOD! HAHAHAHAHA!" Virgil shrieked, kicking and squirming like crazy. When it finally ended, Patton caught his breath while Virgil giggled happily from the phantom vibrations that made his tummy tingle and gave him butterflies. "Was that fun?" Patton asked, smiling as he noticed Virgil's eyeshadow had turned purple and glittery. Virgil nodded then suddenly covered his belly protectively with his arms, giggling more. "Had enough?" Patton guessed. "No, I just thought how much it would ti...how bad it would be to experience three r...to have three at once." Virgil confessed, curling into himself. "Think you can handle it?" Patton asked. Virgil nodded.

"Logan! Roman! Virgil's hungry for raspberries!" Patton called. Logan and Roman rose up into the room with amused expressions. "You're still in the mood for tickles?" Roman asked. "Was my storytelling not satisfactory? I was even generous enough to do it twice." Logan teased, causing Virgil to squeak and hide his face in his hood. "I'd suggest moving from the couch to the floor for this, Virgil." Patton advised. Avoiding eye contact with anyone, Virgil walked away from the couch and laid down on the floor. "So, how are we gonna do this?" Virgil asked hesitantly. "How about Logan on your left, Roman on your right and me in the middle?" Patton suggested. Virgil nodded in agreement and the others got into position. Logan knelt down by Virgil's left side while Roman sat by Virgil's right side and Patton went back to straddling his thighs. "Let's do a warm up first. We should see if you can handle two at once before diving into three." Patton recommended. Virgil held back a whine and nodded. Without any warning, he felt two raspberries being blown on the sides of his bare belly.

"HAHAHAHAHA! HEHEHEHEHEY, NOHOHOHOT FAHAHAHAIR! AHAHAHAHA!" Virgil bellowed. Roman and Logan gave each other a smug look while they caught their breath. Meanwhile Virgil giggled like a mad man and squirmed from the phantom tickles as he recovered. "Still think you can handle three?" Roman asked. Virgil nodded. "Just in case, we should come up with a safe word." Logan recommended. ""Panic" works for me." Virgil suggested. The others nodded in agreement and prepared themselves. "Ready Virgil?" Patton asked. Virgil nodded and braced himself. "Ok, on three. One..." Patton started. "Two..." Logan continued. "Three!" Roman finished. They all took a deep breath and blew right into Virgil's belly. He screamed and cackled and kicked and bucked like crazy. "NOHOHOHOHO!!! AHAHAHAHAHA!!! PAHAHAHAHANIC!!!" Virgil screamed. Everyone stopped immediately and Logan went to the kitchen to get some water for Virgil.

"Thahat...wahas...soho bahad." Virgil gasped. "Was it still fun?" Roman asked. Virgil nodded. "Here, Virgil. This should help you." Logan said, handing him the glass. "Thanks." Virgil replied, drinking the water gratefully. As he continued to catch his breath, Patton couldn't help but feel slight envy. Oh well, there's an easy fix for that. "My turn!" Patton exclaimed, lying down with his arms up. The others gave Patton a fond look before surrounding him in a similar fashion to before with Virgil: Roman and Logan by his sides and Virgil straddling his thighs after finally composing himself. "Any specific instructions?" Virgil inquired, moving Patton's shirt up to reveal his sensitive tummy. "First I want just one on my belly, then two at the same time, and then all three of you at once. Please." Patton instructed. "Got it. Safeword?" Virgil asked. Patton thought for a moment before blurting out "Kitties!"

""Kitties" it is. And if you forget or can't say it, just bang on the ground like a wrestler tapping out, ok?" Virgil suggested. Patton nodded, eagerly awaiting the tickles. Virgil decided not to go first considering he was just tickled senseless a minute ago, so he gave Roman a subtle nod and he gladly did the honours. Thankfully, Patton still seemed to enjoy himself. "YAHAHAHAHAY! HAHAHAHAHAHA!" he squealed. Virgil smiled down at the giggly father figure as Roman got back up for air. "Would've gone first, but I need to give my lungs a break." Virgil explained. Patton nodded in understanding but was soon cackling like mad as Roman and Logan once again went for the surprise tactic. "HAHAHAHAHA! IT'S SOHOHOHO TICKLY! HAHAHAHAHA!" Patton cackled. "That's kind of the point, Padre. This would be really awkward if it didn't." Roman pointed out after he stopped.

"Still certain you want to go through the final round?" Logan checked. Patton nodded eagerly. "Ok, if you insist. On three?" Virgil suggested. Patton shook his head. "Ok, I guess we're diving right in." Virgil said. And just like that, Patton felt three raspberries being blown on his ticklish tummy and completely lost it. "HAHAHAHAHA!!! NOHOHOHOHO!!! KIHIHITTIHIHIES!!!" Patton shrieked. The sensations stopped immediately and Roman went to fetch Patton a glass of water. "You good, Patton?" Logan asked. Patton nodded, still catching his breath. "Here." Roman said as he gave Patton the glass. "Thahanks." Patton gasped before swallowing it down slowly. The others watched him for about two minutes to be sure he was definitely alright. "I'm ok, don't worry. Just needed a second." Patton assured. "I must say, this activity is actually quite amusing. I'm tempted to try it myself." Logan confessed. "You should try it, Logan. It's really fun." Patton said. "Well, it is my job as Thomas's logic to understand things, so, very well." Logan reasoned, blushing hard.

"Don't bother with the singular one, I'm already aware of how it feels." he added, lying down comfortably. "Ok. Safeword?" Virgil asked. "Crofters." Logan said. "How original." Roman teased, straddling Logan's thighs. "Don't get cocky or I'll make your turn figurative hell." Logan warned. "Isn't that the whole point of this?" Virgil asked, settling himself down by Logan's left side. "Touché–HEHEHEHEHEY! HAHAHAHAHA! IT'S SOHOHO BAHAHAHAHAD!" Logan cackled in surprise as both Patton and Virgil blew on his belly. "I wish you could see this from my perspective, because this is hilarious." Roman remarked as Logan recovered from the surprise raspberries. "Roman, be nice." Patton scolded. "You still good to go, Lo?" Virgil checked, relieved when the logical Side nodded. "Care for countdown?" Roman inquired. "From five will do." Logan said. "Alrighty then, in five..." Patton started. "Four, three..." Roman continued. "Two, one!" Virgil finished, before everyone blew on Logan's belly, shattering his composure. "GAHAHAHAHA!!! I CAHAHAHAN'T TAHAHAKE IHIHIT!!! CROHOHOHOFTERS!!!" Logan shrieked, causing everyone to stop and Virgil went to get him a glass of water.

"You alright?" Patton asked. Logan nodded and sat upright, trying to calm his breathing. "Here you go." Virgil said as he handed Logan the glass, watching him sipping carefully. As soon as he was done, Roman spoke up. "Looks like we've saved the best for last." he said, lying down confidently and pulling his shirt up. "Don't bother with warm-ups, just dive right in!" Roman requested, raising his hands behind his head. "Are you sure, Roman?" Patton checked. "Yeah, it's pretty intense, dude." Virgil warned. "You should at least try two at once before just submitting yourself to three." Logan advised, straddling Roman but was met with a glare. "Alright, if you're positive about it. Safeword?" Patton asked. "Disney, obviously." Roman replied. "Fitting. Would you like a countdown?" Logan asked. "From ten." Roman answered. "Ten?! Jeez." Virgil exclaimed. "What can I say? Anticipation is half the fun." Roman said. But he didn't just mean his own anticipation. Roman smirked as he watched the others impatiently count down from ten and decided to tease them by saying they were counting too fast and must start all over again. Finally after ten agonisingly long seconds, touchdown.

"AHAHAHAHAHA!!! IHIHIT TIHIHIHICKLES!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!" Roman bellowed. "That's the point, Roman. This would be a fruitless endeavour otherwise." Logan said as everyone got back up for some much needed oxygen. Patton went to get Roman a glass of water but Roman stopped him by grabbing his ankle. "Agahahain." Roman giggled. "You wanna go through that, again?!" Virgil asked in disbelief. Roman nodded. "Uhh, well, if you're sure, Roman. I guess we could do it again." Patton said hesitantly, kneeling back down. "Should we go down to two at once this time?" Logan suggested, causing Roman to shake his head and looked almost offended. "Very well, then, if you're certain. Shall we count down again?" Logan asked. Roman shook his head again. The others didn't bother with responding and just blew more raspberries on his belly again. "GAHAHAHAHA!!! OH GOHOHOHOD!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!" Roman cackled. The others stopped to catch their breath and Patton once again tried to go get a glass of water for Roman, but the prince stopped him once again.

"One mohohore." Roman giggled. "Are you kidding me?!" Virgil yelled. "Roman, if we do this too much, it could have serious repercussions such as loss of consciousness, bladder failure or even-" Logan protested but was interrupted by a kick and glare from Roman, causing him to roll his eyes. "Fine. Just don't say we didn't warn you." Logan said. "I thought I had it bad earlier, but you're like a masochist today." Virgil commented. Against their better judgement, the three once again blew into his tummy and Roman lost it. His laughter went silent as he banged his fists on the floor. Virgil was the only one who remembered the tapping out backup plan and stopped, pushing Patton and Logan away from Roman. Patton rushed to the kitchen to finally get that water while Logan and Virgil guided Roman through his breathing. Patton arrived with four glasses, receiving a rather puzzled look from Virgil. "Uh, I don't think he needs that much water, Pat." Virgil said. "It's not just for him, the other three are for us." Patton explained, passing out the glasses. Roman desperately gulped down his water while Logan, Patton and Virgil merely sipped away slowly. After about five minutes, Roman was finally fully calmed down.

"You ok, Princey?" Virgil asked. "Yeah, I'm alright now." Roman assured. "We warned you to not push yourself too far." Logan said. "But I was having fun." Roman whined before letting out a yawn. Patton giggled before finding himself yawning too. "Hey Roman, you got enough energy to help me summon something?" Patton inquired. "Sure, what do you need?" Roman asked. Patton whispered in Roman's ear, causing the creative Side to hold back giggles. His ears weren't usually ticklish, but those three rounds of raspberries pumped up his senses from one to one hundred. Nonetheless, he understood Patton's request and gladly delivered. The room was now covered top to bottom in blankets, fairylights strung across the ceiling and pillows scattered across the floor. Logan and Virgil couldn't help but smile at Roman's handiwork. "I thought we could use a cosy blanket fort to take a nap in after all that." Patton explained, summoning his cat onesie. Logan and Virgil wanted to protest but couldn't fight back their own yawns. Roman and Virgil summoned their onesies while Logan summoned his blue pyjamas. "Come on, Logan. If I'm doing this, there's no reason you shouldn't." Virgil argued. Logan wanted to protest but found himself too tired to do so and summoned his onesie. The four Sides cuddled up together under the blankets and enjoyed a well-deserved afternoon nap.

#my posts #submission #tickling #tickle fic #sanders sides tickling #anne onymous

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