#he was the most in tune with his powers than ever before | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

martiniluvr · 5 months

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18+ minors dni

1,000 follower celebration!! I love u all wow. thank you for all your support, truly. be warned, this is long. enjoy 💫

warnings: nsfw alphabet for dick grayson and jason todd, so there’s a variety of things under the cut. please proceed with caution 🩷

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A | Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

jason is very different after sex. it’s a major act of trust for him, so when it’s done, all he really wants is to be close to you. in other words: he’s a big cuddler. he’ll mumble some things into your skin as you run your fingers through his hair, and after, you usually end up ordering enough food to feed a small family, because that man can eat.

dick is a loverboy at heart. once the dust has settled and you’re both down from your highs, he’s doting on you—bringing you water, a snack, cleaning you up with a damp cloth—with doe eyes and a big old grin. always invites you to have a shower with him afterwards, and you always say yes, because his shoulder rubs are divine.

B | Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

unsurprisingly, jason has some…issues with his body from all the shit it’s been through. that being said, I think he intentionally trains his back and shoulders the most. it’s what makes him look as huge as he does. as for his favourite thing about you, jason todd is an ass man, argue with the wall. he likes something he can grab. hard.

dick grayson knows his ass is fat. he’s not shy about it. but his favourite body part is actually his arms, and how muscular they’ve become over the years. as for you, he loves your hips. they trigger something primal in him; the second you put on a fitted dress, he’s thinking about giving you his children.

C | Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

jason gets nasty. he’ll cum anywhere on your body just for the obscene sight, but he especially loves to cum in your mouth when he’s feeling that extra bit dominant. he doesn’t care if you spit or swallow, it turns him on either way—but, god, he’s proud when you open your mouth to show him it’s all gone.

let’s cut to the chase. dick wants to cum inside you over and over again. he hardly even contemplates doing it anywhere else; that man wants to fill you up and watch you drip. maybe it’s his out-of-control breeding kink, maybe it’s how intimate it feels—whatever the case may be, rest assured dick grayson loves a creampie.

D | Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

voyeurism. jason likes to watch. it happened accidentally once when he walked in on you practicing some self-care, and he’s thought about it ever since. he enjoys the performance aspect of it; it’s a power play, watching you get yourself off, knowing he’s right there but refusing to help you.

this ties in with Q, but dick borders on exhibitionism sometimes. fucking you in his car, in the bathroom at a charity event, or in a changing room—anywhere you might get caught, really—god, it gets him going. it’s the daredevil in him, constantly yearning to test the limits of what he can do.

E | Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

I think jason had very limited to no experience before his death, and most of what knows today he learned by being with you. ever the fast learner, though, he sure as shit knows what he’s doing now. I think he’s very in-tune with your body and his needs, and it shows in the way he fucks you.

we have to face facts here. dick definitely got around before committing to a serious relationship. despite that, I think he knows what he’s doing thanks to his impeccable observational skills; sometimes you think he knows your body better than you do (but don’t tell him that; it goes straight to his head).

F | Favorite position (this goes without saying)

jason is a sucker for good old-fashioned doggy style, of course, but fuck, does he adore the prone bone position. trapping you under his body, hitting you deep with each thrust, and he gets to watch your ass jiggle at every movement? it borders on religious ecstasy for him.

dick goes feral—feral—for the mating press position. it’s erotic, carnal, and raw, and that’s exactly what he wants when he’s fucking you. he’s also partial to cowgirl, especially when he can tell you want to take control. the view it offers him is enough to have him whining underneath you for more.

G | Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

jason is more on the serious side; sex with him, intense as it may be, is still a big act of vulnerability on his part, so he doesn’t treat it lightly. he will, however, crack a warm smile on those occasions when you make love in the small hours of the morning, when he thinks you can’t see his face clearly.

dick is a tease, and sex with him is fun. he likes to flirt with you while he bends you into compromising positions, and he gets very cocky when you cum. he can’t help but make little quips after the fact, either; “something wrong with your leg, baby?” as your limbs twitch and tremble from your orgasm. jerk.

H | Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

in keeping with his rugged exterior, jason is only doing what he needs to in order to keep things manageable and convenient. he is not dedicating hours to manscaping. much to your elation, that means he keeps his happy trail intact.

dick is a little more meticulous in his grooming, being the “pretty boy” that he is. he prefers keeping himself neatly trimmed, partly to ensure more comfort in his nightwing suit—he’s learned the hard way that the pornstar look is a one-way ticket to chafing when you’re jumping off of buildings.

I | Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

jason really restrains himself from being outwardly intimate. he finds it hard to be that vulnerable, and while he loves the passion between you when you fuck, he’s only really able to tap into the romantic aspect if he’s wholly at ease. that’s not to say it never happens! it definitely does, just give him time.

he may be cocky and unserious when he’s fucking you, but sex with dick is always very openly intimate. he sees the beauty and romance in what you do together, and it’s truly special to him that he gets to witness you like this. sex is absolutely one of the ways he expresses his love and admiration for you.

J | Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

jason only really masturbates when he’s away from you on a mission, and needs to take the edge off. it’s less interesting without you, so he wants it done quick. he imagines you touching yourself as he does it—legs wide and eyes hazy—and that gets him to his peak extremely efficiently.

dick likes to edge himself. I said what I said. he’s thinking about how he’d much rather save his load for your pretty cunt, so he’s bucking his hips and screwing his eyes shut as he forces himself to stop right before his climax, reminding himself how good it’ll feel when he gets to fill you up.

K | Kink (one or more of their kinks)

overstimulation is jason’s go-to; he gets off on dragging orgasm after orgasm out of you until you’re hardly able to speak. he also loves forced eye contact, especially when you can barely keep your eyes open. oh, and he has a massive size kink. when you’re as huge as he is, everyone is small by comparison, and he likes how big you make him feel.

say it with me. dick grayson has a breeding kink. the visual aspect of cumming inside you is enough to drive him crazy, but the thought of getting you pregnant…now that makes him rabid. face-sitting is another big one; any variation of pussy-eating drives him wild, but having you sit on his face is his favourite way to do it.

L | Location (favorite places to do the do)

if you’re at home, anywhere is fair game to jason. he’s fucking you in the kitchen, in the bedroom, on the sofa, against the wall, in the office—anywhere. outside of home, he’s more restrictive, but he has thought about fucking you in the batmobile on the many occasions he’s stolen it.

the bedroom is definitely dick’s favourite place to fuck you; aside from making things feel more romantic, he wants you to be comfortable as he’s bending you into crazy positions. he also loves a shower quickie and car sex, impractical though they may be. don’t worry, he’s an acrobat. it’ll work.

M | Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

is it crazy to say that jason gets turned on when you argue? because he does. a moderate disagreement where you’re getting huffy with him is a surefire way to get bent over the sofa. oh, and if he feels even a little jealousy creeping over him, you’re in for a ride. also, if you nestle into him during the night, you’ll be contending with his hard cock pressed against your lower back until one of you caves.

dick is whipped. whatever you’re doing can get him going. cooking, reading, wearing his clothes—he loves everything you do. but, he’s particularly turned on whenever you dress up for a special occasion. it can be a little inconvenient when you’re running late for an event and he’s groping you over your gown in the limo, but how can you refuse those blue eyes?

N | No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

jason would be very resistant to anything that puts him in a submissive role (this goes for ak!jason too). this includes both sex acts and the use of props/toys that take control away from him; he’s just not into it. he’d also refuse any kind of roleplay, saying it’s unnecessary. he’s a pragmatic guy.

I think dick would really dislike the idea of hurting you. he’s not opposed to spanking, and he’ll even engage in some light breath play (ahem, headlock, anyone?), but he would never take it any further than that. if he bruised you through anything other than hickies, he’d be sick with guilt.

O | Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

it should come as no surprise that jason loves receiving head. there are few sights as enticing as watching you take his cock in your mouth while he instructs you to keep your eyes on him. he’s also very skilled in returning the favour, and his preference is eating you from the back so he can see your pretty ass move each time you squirm.

you know my stance on this. dick is a munch. he’s eating pussy like it’s his last meal before the end of the world, and he’s doing it for him. needless to say, he’s fucking good at it. receiving head is quite literally the last thing on his mind. that being said, when he does remember to let you reciprocate, all he can think about is how pretty you look while doing it.

P | Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

jason can get pretty rough, and he likes to fuck you hard, but he knows how much you can take. sex for him is partially an emotional release. but, he’s good at alternating between destroying you one day and being gentle the next; despite his tough facade, jay enjoys soft, passionate sex as much—if not more—than you do.

dick is kind of a hedonist; once he starts feeling pleasure, he doesn’t want it to end—especially when you start feeling it too. he’s happy to give you fast and rough if it’s what you want, but his preference is sloppy, erotic fucking. the messier you get, the better. although, if he’s got you in a mating press, the roughness seeps back in quickly.

Q | Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

while he’ll never say no to a quickie, jason prefers to take his time with you. once he starts, he finds it hard to stop, and he loves to see how much you can take from him before you’re spent. quickies are sporadic with him; he prefers to enjoy your body at his pace.

if he gets the chance to fuck you—hell, even just tease you—dick is going to take it. he loves the thrill and the sense of urgency that comes with quickies. whether it’s a hookup in his car or an impromptu blowjob when he’s supposed to be on patrol, his eyes are lighting up like it’s christmas.

R | Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

jason is not a risk-taker. he needs time to warm to any kind of experimentation, but he’s more likely to try things on you than on himself, like using light restraints on you or dabbling in sensory play. as long as he feels he has some control.

dick is a different story. he’s willing to try most things at least once, and he’s able to laugh it off if something goes south. he’s not opposed to switching (ha) things up and giving you the lead, either; he likes a woman in charge.

S | Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

maybe it’s his extensive training, maybe it’s just who he is; whatever the case may be, jason can go for a long time. but, it’s usually just one round that he draws out so he can really work you to your limit.

dick can handle multiple rounds if you give him time. his recovery consists of burying his face between your legs until he’s ready to go again, which doesn’t take very long once you start convulsing against his tongue.

T | Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

jason wouldn’t even think to use sex toys unless you brought it up, but he’d be open to using them on you if you asked. he’s quick to see the potential in your little pink vibrator when he holds it against your clit while he fucks you, noticing how much easier it is to overstimulate you this way.

ever the experimentalist, dick isn’t opposed to trying out toys in the bedroom. in fact, he’s the one who would show up with fuzzy blue handcuffs (“I got them in my colour!”) to restrain your hands behind your back, so he can devour your cunt without interference from you.

U | Unfair (how much they like to tease)

he’d like to tease you more, but jason doesn’t really have the restraint for it. as soon as you’re splayed out in front of him, he wants to take you. when he does tease, though, he likes to touch you everywhere but where you need him most, until you’re begging for him to make you feel good. then, he likes to make you regret it—over and over again.

dick is the world’s biggest tease, and you can look that up. he’s got you grinding on his lap, making out with you until you’re panting, only to say he needs to do some work as he stands up with a smirk. and when he finally gets you naked, he makes you tell him what you need while his fingers hover over your aching pussy, never reaching you.

V | Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

jason isn’t very loud at all, but the sounds he does make range from grunts and groans to the occasional low moan if you tug at the hair on the nape of his neck. he’s a big dirty talker, and he likes to get up in your ear to do it, so he knows you’re listening. he notices the way you shiver at his gravelly voice, and it drives him crazy.

dick is far less concerned about being quiet. he’s moaning, swearing, telling you how pretty you are, even occasionally whining, and he’s not worried about what your neighbours think—in fact, he’s making sure you’re just as vocal as he is, insisting you tell him how you feel. he’s also expressive when he cums, especially when he does it inside you.

W | Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

I know this is controversial, but jason would never agree to a threesome. this man is possessive. the mere thought of seeing someone else touch you in front of him is enough to make him see red, so no—he’d end up committing murder (not that it’s a far leap for him on a good day).

dick has a thing for watching you work out, especially when you’re doing yoga in the living room in those skin-tight pants. watching the way your limbs elongate and contract as you bend and stretch does things to him, but he never interrupts; the images stay in his mind for those long missions.

X | X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

jason is a behemoth of a man all over. and I do mean all over. he’s packing. an easy 8 inches (slightly more), thick, with a slight upwards curve and a prominent vein from the base to the tip—which is a mauvy pink, by the way. you’re still shocked you’re able to take him, and he was too the first time.

‘prettiest man alive also has a pretty cock’ would be dick’s headline. just over 6 inches, with enough girth to make you feel full, and a rosy pink tip that matches his lips…you could honestly just stare at it if he’d let you (and he probably would). he fits you like a glove every single time.

Y | Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

jason’s sex drive is pretty consistent; it’s always simmering a little ways below the surface. he’s able to compartmentalise it when he has to, but sex doubles as a form of stress-relief for him, so it happens…often.

dick has an incredibly high sex drive. like jason, he can reel it in when needed, but if it were up to him, you’d fuck every single day, twice even. I also truly believe that he’s regularly plagued by morning wood.

Z | Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

he’s going to make sure you’re comfortable and taken care of, but the truth is jason could probably pass out in your arms about 10 minutes after you’re done. take it as a sign of how safe he feels with you as he’s snoring softly into your neck.

he’s definitely tired after sex, but dick is waiting until he notices you dozing off before he closes his eyes. once he’s out, though, good luck waking him up again without an air horn. he’s going to need his full eight hours to recharge.

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eoieopda · 2 months

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whiskey neat | jwy

there’s no common ground between yours and wooyoung’s vastly different circles. that is, until tuesday nights at the black cat form the center of the venn diagram.

pairing: jung wooyoung x reader au: strangers to something type: one-shot | smut wc: 8.3k rating: 18+ | minors do not have my consent to interact. cw: inspired by hozier’s “too sweet”, primarily wooyoung’s pov with one switch at the end; bartender!wooyoung, musician!reader, alcohol use, setting is a bar, uhhh wooyoung is a (to the tune of that arctic monkeys song) cigarette smoker, oral sex (v), protected sex (p in v), corruption kink kind of?, use of “sweetheart” (fatal). reader notes: afab (gender identity not designated); kind of naive; into fitness/“wellness” (no body type/weight is described, except wooyoung thinking they’re “strong” + reader thinking that they are in the best shape of their life); wears a sundress at the beginning. the following terms are used in the scenes involving smut: pussy, cunt, clit, tits (no description given). a/n: i quite literally started this in march 2024 and then experienced the most severe hobby death of all time. this is coming after five (5) months of scooping it out of my brain with a melon-baller, so… not my best, but here she is! thanks @sailoryooons for beta-ing because i’m self-conscious lately 🍤

Tuesday nights at the Black Cat never used to be busy.

For three years, Wooyoung spent the majority of his shifts behind the bar doing fuck all: Folding receipt paper into increasingly complicated and wasteful shapes; replacing citrus wedges that went unused and then brown; paying visits to the stray cat camping out in the alley near the dumpster. He’d go hours without talking to another human being, and he never took issue with it, even if his wallet did.

Two months ago, however, things changed.

Two months ago, management started panicking about the lack of revenue. To keep the lights on and draw in a crowd of (hopefully) soon-to-be regulars, they implemented a schedule of recurring events — some monthly, others weekly, most stupid.

Wooyoung’s precious solitude disappeared, and in its place, he got trivia nights and turntable DJs, showing off their collections of vinyls. Games of bingo targeting hipsters, who show up en masse to fight it out for prizes — potted plants, of all things — they could easily buy on their own for far less than their tabs’ totals. Themed brunches.

A million other events and just as many used glasses to wash.

Despite his ever-present scowl — his face just looks like that — it hasn’t been all bad. Without the newly-added acoustic sessions, the bar wouldn’t need a local performer to both play and host on a biweekly basis. Management wouldn’t have reached out to you; and you’d have no fucking reason to come to a dive like this. Suffice it to say, your pilates-practicing, daylight-disciplined circle of doers would never otherwise overlap with Wooyoung’s, in all its nocturnal, nicotine-dependent grit.

Tuesday nights at the Black Cat now occupy the center of the Venn diagram.

As usual, you come traipsing in half an hour before your set starts with a gig bag slung over your shoulder and a megawatt smile on your face. This is your natural state, he’s come to learn. Solar-powered. It shouldn’t be possible, but you manage to brighten further when your searching eyes find him sitting on the counter behind the register.

Through no fault of his own, Wooyoung’s gaze trails down from your face to the little sundress you’re wearing. It’s new, he notes immediately. The skirt of it flutters with each step you take, showing off more and more of your thighs as you move.

You don’t react to the migrating fabric. Just the same, you don’t notice his appraisal or the way patrons’ heads turn as you cross the bar.

No surprise there, he thinks.

From the four (4) entire conversations the two of you have had so far, you’ve made one thing abundantly clear: You’re inclined to assume the best of people and their intentions.

Nine times out of ten, Wooyoung dodges naivety like that the second it starts skipping his way, well-versed in the consequences of trusting so implicitly. You and your cotton-candy smile have proven to be the outlier, though. Working in tandem, you and that grin have him pinned where he sits with no urge to run.

You don’t notice that, either.

When you slide onto the stool across the bar from him, Wooyoung finally clocks what you’re holding. Your right hand grips some green concoction that he suspects was made with kale. Or moss? In your left hand, an iced Americano — beautifully black — weeps condensation onto manicured fingers, making hard-earned calluses glisten.

Wooyoung’s racing thoughts about those hands are still inflicting psychic damage when you lean further over the counter.

“Extra shot of espresso,” you hum as you hold the coffee out to him. You do your best to tease him, though you’re shy as hell about it, so the words still manage to come gently: “For those of us who were still awake when the sun came up.”

Wooyoung mentioned his coffee order several weeks ago in passing. It’s sweet in a way he’s not used to that you’ve not only remembered how he takes his coffee, but that you’ve brought it to him ever since, apropos of nothing, when all he’s ever done is his best to get a rise out of you. What he’s up to isn’t sweet — not by a long-shot — but it’s easily done and well worth the misplaced effort when he sees how flustered he can make you.

Wooyoung tilts his head, draws his lips in a straight line, and gestures to your cup with his. “Worry about those waking up shortly after sunrise, sweetheart. They’re drinking algae.”

As intended, you’re visibly affected by the pet name, so much so that you stumble over your defense. “It — it’s healthy!”

“It’s swampy.”

Your nose scrunches indignantly, prompting the edge of Wooyoung’s mouth to tick upwards. He doesn’t emote more than that. Five (5) conversations in now, and he’s already picked up on how much it gets to you when he only concedes a hint of a smirk.

As much as he’d relish the opportunity to sit here and keep toying with you, the crowd surrounding you has doubled in a matter of minutes. Just over your shoulder, Wooyoung sees a patron glance down at the screen of her phone to check the time; then, he hears the complaint she thinks is muttered quietly under her breath. It’s not. In fact, you hear it, too, and you divert your wide, heart-shaped eyes away from him. That smile of yours curves in the wrong direction once you do.

When you look back at him, you say, “I should go,” but he hears it for what it is: an apology.

He’s never been good at ending conversations — especially in the rare case that he’d prefer to keep one going — so he nods, leaves it at that. You pause for a nanosecond, as if you’ve got something else to add, but you don’t. You smooth down the back of your dress once you’ve hopped from the stool to your feet. Then, you mimic his gesture.

You make it two steps towards the stage before Wooyoung calls out to you, prompting you to spin back around and your dress to flutter:

“Thanks for the coffee, sweetheart.”

Your frown disappears instantly. The smile that replaces it is still there when you disappear into the crowd, only to resurface several seconds later on the tiny stage across the room.

Guitar now in hand, you duck your head through the woven strap, shuffling carefully closer to the microphone stand. You introduce yourself, strum a quiet, major chord, and chirp, “Welcome to both the Black Cat and my favorite day of the week.”

Normally, you leave shortly after your last set, as if you’ll turn into a pumpkin when the clock strikes ten. With the schedule you keep, it’s no wonder. From what Wooyoung has gathered so far, you wake up before dawn most days to get a workout in before heading to the office. The very idea makes him nauseous whenever he thinks too long about it, so he does his best not to.

Mornings are for sleeping, he told you once.

Life is for living, you’d replied.

Apparently, the two of you have drastically different ideas about what living looks like.

For Wooyoung, life on Tuesday nights looks like catering to a steadily dwindling crowd once you finish up and disappear with a friendly wave goodbye. It’s cleaning up sticky spills, resetting migrated stools, and doing a half-ass restock that will make the opener — him — complain about the closer — again, him — when his next shift starts at 5:00 PM on Wednesday.

In the gap between his shifts, life looks like meeting up with his similarly shadow-dwelling friends on someone’s balcony to chain-smoke, sip whiskey, and watch the sunrise until he gets bored. From there, it’s either walking back to his apartment or kicking said friends out of his, so he can rot in front of his PC. Eventually, life looks like blackout shades and crashing into bed while the world around him heads out for brunch.

Tonight, however, life is starting to look a little different.

When you wander over, it’s not to say goodnight or close out the tab you think you’ve accrued, which Wooyoung never opened in the first place.

Maybe, he thinks, you’ve finally caught on that all these “technical issues with the point-of-sale system” — occurring for the last four (4) shows in relation to one (1) patron in particular — can’t possibly be a coincidence. That a free drink given will always beget a free drink received. That Wooyoung doesn’t deal in unpaid debts, even if he hasn’t and won’t own up to his petty workplace theft.

You sidle up to his bar and slip back into the stool you’d previously occupied, no more aware of the way your sundress shifts now than you were earlier. Likewise, he’s no less blatant with the way he looks you up and down, eyes lingering unabashedly and hungrily. The pair of you float in each other’s orbit for a few moments just like this: waiting for the other to speak first.

“Don’t you go to yoga class at ass o’clock on Wednesdays?” He eventually inquires, leaning back against the counter behind him with his arms crossed and head tilted.

Your eyes flick down to the screen of your phone, which rests face-up on the bar between your elbows. You clock the time but not the way your current posture causes the neckline of your mostly modest dress to plunge. Conflict creases between your eyebrows, then you tilt your chin to look at him.

Wooyoung knows that look, although he’s never seen it on you before. That look begs to be talked into something, rather than out of it. It’s a look he gets often. For better or for worse, it’s one he never turns down.

“I do,” you admit through a sigh.

Offering nothing more than a hum to indicate his intrigue, Wooyoung watches you and waits patiently for you to elaborate. Another few seconds slip by without a word. His attention makes you shy, he notes; he loves it.

But he loves the idea of toying with you even more, so when you don’t say anything else, he takes that attention and diverts it to the few remaining patrons, all of whom have vested interest in closing out and getting out.

Good riddance, he thinks as the last of them stumbles out and away, leaving the two of you in charged silence.

Even more seconds pass.

Still nothing.

Wooyoung glances around and finds a bottle of Jameson on its very last leg. It’s the perfect amount for a litmus test — two shots left, nothing more to give and everything to prove. Snatching two overturned shot glasses from where they dry on a holed rubber mat, he empties the whiskey evenly and turns back to you with an eyebrow raised.

Your eyes widen slightly when he sets the spare on the bar in front of you, more so with interest than surprise. For a moment, you stare at it with the same ambivalent expression, nibbling thoughtfully on your lower lip.

Finally, you all but whisper, “I should’ve been in bed an hour ago.”

With his left palm flat against the bar, Wooyoung rests his weight and leans in, eyelids and voice dropping. “Why aren’t you?” He murmurs, gaze flicking down to your lips then back up again — just long enough for you to notice that he was, in fact, looking. “Hmm?”

Your breath hitches — just loudly enough for him to notice that you are, in fact, finding it hard to function this closely to him.

“On a school night, no less.” His eyes narrow teasingly.

“I’m asking myself the same question,” you confess, though you’re the picture of innocence. Your fingertip traces idly down the side of your shot glass, then back up again.

He’s as distracted by the mindless movement as you are, albeit for different reasons. Before he lets himself get carried away in wondering whether or not your touch is always that delicate, Wooyoung lifts his glass and gestures for you to do the same. “Sounds like you could use a bad influence.”

A soft clink permeates when your glasses touch, followed by a muted thump when the bottom of each one is tapped against the bar. Your heads are thrown back in unison, just like your drinks, and when your faces finally level out towards one another’s, you counter him breezily, “Maybe you could use a good one.”

Wooyoung thinks he could use more than that.

Breaking eye contact, you glance down at your phone again. It’s obvious that you’re second-guessing your decision to linger. He wants to chuck that brick in the bin with the other useless shit, to get rid of any excuse you might give for having to leave, but he doesn’t.

And you don’t give him an excuse.

Your hand wraps around that fucking phone, then you stand up slowly.

“Try not to stay up too late,” you advise with a smile that still manages to read like disappointment.

Don’t.

Reaching into the pocket of your jacket, you pull out the tips you made tonight and collect a few bills before dropping them on the counter to cover the shot you didn’t even order. Wooyoung wants to tell you not to — that your money isn’t good here, even if you are — but he knows it won’t make a difference.

You sling your gig bag over your shoulder, thank him, and tell him that you’ll see him in two weeks.

He scrubs his hands over his face the second you walk out the door and mutters through gritted teeth, “Fuck.”

You don’t see Wooyoung in two weeks.

As a matter of fact, you cancel your acoustic session for the first time ever. Management either doesn’t know why you bailed or doesn’t think it’s any of Wooyoung’s business, so no one bothers to tell him. If he’d ever thought to ask for your number, he could check in on you himself, but he didn’t and therefore can’t.

Ignorant and annoyed, he resigns himself to occupying an empty tavern on a goddamn Tuesday night, yet again.

Nobody brings him coffee.

Nobody worth talking to crosses the threshold.

No one makes little comments — genuine concerns poorly disguised as digs — when he uses the paring knife to carve little stars into the lip of the bar top, instead of slicing limes.

And when he gives up and closes down early, he’s so tired of his own shit that he simply goes home and goes to bed.

Bed being the operative word.

He doesn’t go to sleep, even though he has nothing better to do. Alternatively, Wooyoung replays your last interaction on a loop in his head, daydreaming about what could’ve happened if you’d stayed. While his thoughts spiral, his hand drifts, finds the pulse beneath the zipper of his jeans, and feels the throbbing ache building through the denim.

It’s pathetic.

He knows it.

Too bad that doesn’t stop him from fucking his fist every night for the next several, imagining how much softer yours must feel.

The patron pulls a face the absolute second Wooyoung slides her glass across the bar.

Wholly uninterested in the response one way or another, he slathers on his customer-service smile and asks her, “Alright?”, in a tone that doesn’t match his expression in the slightest.

“There’s no ice in it,” she mumbles, cringing in mild horror as she does. As if the liquor features his spit instead. “I wanted ice.”

There’s a split second where he almost lets his mask crack, says something shitty just because his mood was already sour before she walked over. Wooyoung doesn’t get the opportunity, however. Over the girl’s shoulder, someone gently intervenes: “Neat means no ice. You’d have needed to order it on the rocks.”

A beat passes, then comes, “Or — you know, with ice, please.”

Wooyoung neither hears nor cares what the girl says in response. She shuffles off, and that’s all that matters. Without her body blocking the way, he sees you clearly. You’re more done-up than usual, like you’ve just come from somewhere far nicer than here.

“It’s Saturday.”

Probably should’ve started with hello.

After eyeing the glowing, neon clock on the wall, Wooyoung notices that both hands are pointed skyward. He corrects himself, “Nah, it’s Sunday.”

You slip into the now-unoccupied stool ahead of him and nod, chuckling like you can’t believe it, either. When you settle in, you prop your elbow on the bar top, then your chin upon the heel of your hand. Just above, your eyes twinkle with a kind of mischief he’s never seen you wear before.

That might be the thin veil of tipsiness, actually.

Not that he’s complaining.

Wooyoung hides his amusement by bending over and rummaging through the under-counter refrigerator that hums beneath the register. The rush of cool air has nothing to do with how awake he suddenly feels. He wonders if you feel the same but can’t ask outright; eagerness isn’t his style.

“You’re here on purpose?” He asks instead, resurfacing with a bottle of soju — some new, fruity flavor he assumes you’ll like — and a raised eyebrow.

You hum appreciatively when you see what he’s holding. That soft sound that punches him right in the center of his chest with force. “I was out with friends, but…”

Your voice trails off, too distracted by his hand enveloping the seal-covered bottle cap. With a firm grip and quick twist, it’s gone. You’re still eyeing his hands, he notes, even though all they’re doing is holding the bottle.

Normally, he’d love to give you the benefit of the doubt and attribute your sudden fixation on the rings he wears. It wouldn’t be the first time a man in jewelry snags attention, complimentary or otherwise. Unfortunately — or maybe fortunately? — for you, Wooyoung forgot to put his usual accessories back on after this afternoon’s shower.

Nope, he thinks, biting back a wolfish grin. He’s not alone. You daydream about his touch, too.

Catching yourself staring, you shift atop your stool with a quiet, self-conscious laugh that sounds more like a sigh. He opts to let it go without further teasing, but he doesn’t let it go entirely. That breathy little noise echoes in his ears, drowning out the faint slosh of liquor as he fills your glass.

In a weak attempt to distract himself, he remembers your half-finished sentence and prompts with a low voice, “But?”

“They wanted to end the night.” You accept the glass into your hand from his and raise it slightly in thanks. “I didn’t,” you whisper, then bring the rim to your lips to cloak their upward curve.

Wooyoung would be lying if he said your tiny act of defiance didn’t send all the blood in his body rushing straight to his dick. Maybe it’s arrogant of him to assume that he’s the source of this newfound rebelliousness. The spark that lit the fuse, or whatever. Maybe that should bother him. Of course, it doesn’t.

In an effort to hide how strong of a chord your confession has struck, he gestures with one extended finger to the clock. Your eyes follow, and he leans in closer; the smirk you can’t see is still evident in his voice, he’s sure. “How much of a coincidence is it that you showed up right before the trains stop running?”

When your gaze flicks momentarily back to him, he spots a hint of surprise. This impeccable timing wasn’t a scheme at all, he realizes. Not a plot. If he had to bet, Wooyoung would guess that you’re never out late enough to know that the train schedule ends at all.

God, you’re going to give him a cavity.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Coincidentally, I know someone who gets off just in time to walk you home.”

“This gonna bother you?”

Having stepped out of the bar before Wooyoung, his question prompts you to look back over your shoulder at him, one eyebrow raised slightly out of curiosity. He lifts his right hand from his jacket pocket to reveal the half-spent pack of cigarettes he’d been storing there.

He expects it to, and to his surprise, he cares enough about that possibility that he doesn’t light up without asking in the way he normally would.

“In theory, yes,” you laugh, “because I’d prefer your lungs to be tar-free.”

“And in practice?”

You must not have expected him to note the distinction; you fluster. Grinning slightly, Wooyoung answers his own question on your behalf, “In practice, you find it kind of hot.”

He keeps his eyes on you as he pulls a cigarette from the pack — slowly, to test his hypothesis that you’ve got a thing for his hands — and then, Wooyoung slides the cardboard back into his pocket.

Your gaze follows while he gently places the filtered end between his lips. It stays put when he furnishes a lighter, holds the flame to the opposite side, and inhales. Turning his head to the side, Wooyoung exhales the smoke where it won’t reach you.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” he assures you, eyes devilish. Deer in headlights that you are, you freeze but for the bob of your throat as you swallow. “I won’t make you admit it out loud.”

Yet.

Once he’s decided that he’s played with you enough for the time being, two of you head south, ambling under streetlights without any sense of urgency. Making up for lost time, maybe; picking up where the last Tuesday left off.

He can’t tell if it’s the alcohol making you more talkative than usual, or if you’re feeling the rush of your off-brand decisions, but Wooyoung’s fine with it, either way. You tell him about your week — in full and without hesitation — like you’re chatting to a friend and not someone you’ve only just started to encounter on a brief, twice-monthly basis.

You had a date this Tuesday night, he learns. It didn’t go well. Too similar, you explain with a wave of your hand. According to you, it’s boring to sit with you at a dinner table. Wooyoung looks pointedly at you as soon as he hears it, noting his disagreement. For a second, you assume something he doesn’t mean: that he enjoys his own company more than you enjoy yours.

“No,” he corrects you. “I just can’t picture dinner with you as something boring.”

You duck your head, embarrassed. “Oh,” is all you manage in reply.

Wooyoung follows your lead across several more city blocks, hanging on every word you say in the meantime. When the pair of you reach the front of your apartment building, his cigarette is spent, but neither one of you is. He takes an extra step towards the garbage can near the door and drops the butt amidst the others in the lid, which doubles as an ashtray. A faint vein of smoke bleeds out until the dark sky laps it up entirely.

You look conflicted when he turns back in your direction. Clearly, you don’t want him to leave just yet, but asking him upstairs is likely way out of your pattern of behavior. Wooyoung sees two options: He could say goodnight and go; take a few steps towards his side of the city, and hope you to act even further out of character, or —

“If you’re asking, I’m saying yes.”

— he could go off-script entirely.

Your apartment looks exactly the way Wooyoung expected it to. Everything is cozy; a far cry from the modern and monochrome edge of his place. It all makes sense, based on what he’s learned about you so far. Feels like you, although he’ll concede that you haven’t been felt by him just yet.

Each shelf features a tchotchke or framed photograph — or several — but not a single speck of dust. Likewise, the various potted plants you’ve displayed artfully around the space are well-kept. Flourishing, he assumes, despite the fact that he doesn’t know shit about fuck when it comes to plants.

His shoes, ratty in comparison to yours, are toed off at the door before he follows you further into the kitchen. You stop at the island, bottom lip between your teeth once again. Unsure, you nibble on it, like it’ll help you set your dizzy mind straight.

When Wooyoung inches closer to you, he does it slowly, even though every part of his body demands that he ramp up the pace. As badly as he wants his hands — and his teeth, and his tongue…— all over you now, he can’t be the jump scare that sets your little bunny heart to sprinting. The adrenaline is practically vibrating off your frame already with every step he takes in your direction.

Though you could, you don’t move further away, the nearer he gets. You stay put with the small of your back against the lip of the granite counter, hypnotized. Right where he wants you.

Once he’s close enough, Wooyoung tests the waters. You let him; your gaze clings to him so strongly that he feels the weight of it without reciprocating. With his thumb and forefinger, he traces the belt loop closest to your left hip, then tugs slightly, making your breath quicken for a moment.

Eyes still focused on his own ministrations, he murmurs, “Am I the first stray you’ve ever brought home?”

You don’t answer with words. His gaze flicks upwards, and from under heavy-lidded eyes, he sees the tiny nod.

“Full of surprises.” He looks down again, purposely depriving you of eye contact, and moves his fingers from your belt loop so that the pad of his thumb brushes over the top of your jeans. There, the skin of your hip peeks out from under the denim, hot to the touch. “Not just sweet, are you?”

“Someone told me I needed a bad influence.”

The sudden re-introduction of your voice pulls his focus. You stare back at him boldly, and it feels like a dare. Both of his hands move to your hips now, simultaneously guiding you closer to his chest and keeping you pinned between his body and the island.

“You’ll miss your Sunday morning pilates, I fear,” he tuts with a slight shake of his head.

“You’ll make attending redundant, I hope.”

And then your mouth is on his, all tongue and teeth, while you card desperate fingers through his hair. It occurs to him, as he licks into your mouth, that the split-dyed strands you're clinging to are a microcosm.

Black and white.

Conflicting tastes, like sugar and salt, that only make sense together in certain contexts. Like this one — right here, right now — with the two of you tangled up in your half-lit kitchen, so caught up in exploration that inhibition takes the backseat. Steeping in the aftertaste of soju and cigarette smoke, scent heady like arousal.

You break the kiss to catch your breath but can’t make it very far. His teeth claim your bottom lip, pulling forth the softest little growl he’s ever heard.

“Fuck,” he echoes with a growl of his own.

That’s it. Breathing is overrated. Wooyoung’s ready to suffocate, so long as you let him.

“Lay back on the counter.”

You’re stunned into silence for a second, and while you blink back at him, he wonders if you’ll actually let him eat you out where you eat. It’s objectively filthy, he knows, but he might drop dead where he stands if he has to wait another second — or take another step elsewhere — before he tastes you.

Your answer is a leap, figuratively and literally. The hands you’ve been using to cling to him each flatten palm-down on the island behind you. With his grip on your hips to boost you, you scramble to your new stage; and you shatter the conservative expectations he had for you in the process.

A newfound confidence flashes in your eyes, making his stomach flip and his dick twitch. A patronizing frown graces your kiss-bitten lips. “You didn’t walk three kilometers here just to look at me, did you?”

He sure as shit didn’t. Still, he can’t help but bask in the odd sense of pride he feels in staring up at you on the pedestal he put you on. The more time you spend with him, the rougher you seem to get around the edges; and he’d be lying through his teeth if he said he didn’t love the grit.

In lieu of a verbal response, Wooyoung locks eyes with you and gestures downward with the index finger of his right hand. You follow his silent command eagerly and without question; he keeps the praise you’ve earned on the tip of his tongue, saving it for later.

It takes less time than he expects to strip you of your jeans, most of which is attributed to slipping them off your ankles and dropping them blindly over his shoulder. They hit what he believes to be the range with a soft twack, then a barely audible crumple when they finally find the floor.

Your lace underwear disappears in a similar fashion, albeit more eagerly. Couldn’t be helped, he thinks. That scrap of fabric was the last barrier between him and the thing he’s been craving most since he met you; and fuck, if you don’t exceed his expectations once again.

“Christ,” is all he can say.

It’s rare to find a pussy so perfect that it wipes out his vocabulary, let alone makes him want to weep. That’s exactly what’s waiting for him when you spread your thighs wide enough to accommodate his body between them. Really, the only thing driving him more insane than the sight of you is the thought of how many self-imposed rules you’ve broken to get to this point — the self-discipline you’ve thrown out the window on your way down to him.

He accepts the invitation, descends upon your wet heat like a man starved, and loops his arms underneath your thighs. Immediately, your thighs tighten around the sides of his head, muffling the groan that slips out of him the second your taste hits his tongue. Just the same, you’ve got him drunk in an instant while he laves his way through folds sweeter than cherry wine.

From under his own lashes, he looks up and sees yours flutter at the sensation of his lips encircling your clit and suckling slowly, deeply.

“Oh, my g-god,” you hiccup before your fingers are in his hair again, nails scratching perfectly along his scalp. “You’re so —”

Wooyoung’s wickedly curved lips are slick in more ways than one, though he doubts you can see them through all those stars in your eyes. You don’t see the switch-up coming, either. Unwilling to let you race too far ahead of him, he scales it back, trading his deep pulls for targeted kitten licks.

“— evil.”

Your frustration rings out with a tortured whine. Wooyoung can’t blame you; he knows he’s cruel for guiding you so close to the edge, right out of the gate, then refusing to send you off of it. But he has to draw this out as long as he can, savor what he can for however long you give him.

And to your credit, you take it well.

You give, too, offering up the moans, whimpers, and sighs he couldn’t have dreamed up correctly if he tried.

Well…

Wooyoung did try. Gave it his best shot, even, but his imagination fell short. He knows that now. The pitch was wrong, the timing was off, and he failed to anticipate just how badly it’d fuck him up to feel you grinding against his tongue. To have your fingers tied off in his hair, refusing to accept anything less than closeness.

That particular chorus swells for the first time when he unwinds his right arm from where it secures your left thigh; and his middle finger slides into your cunt, curls upwards to greet that spongy patch of nerves along your front wall.

Eyes swimming with previously untapped desire, you look so pitifully perfect. Only breaking eye contact to throw your head back, you start to wail, “Wooyoung, I —”

But the rest of that thought must turn to static before you can finish it. Charged silence settles in its place, save for your ragged breathing. All the while, his tongue never lets up on your poor, abused clit, though your arousal already has him coated, leaking down over the knuckle.

A particularly needy tug of his hair seeks what you can’t verbalize.

More.

Closer.

When he adds his ring finger to fuck you further open for him, you can’t keep his name from spilling out of your mouth. Wooyoung starts to sound like a summoning spell; an invocation repeated so desperately that he just might give you what you want.

“W-Wooyoung, please,” you choke out, hips bucking up to chase his mouth. “I’m so close!”

The fact that you’re downright begging — on the brink of tears, no less — goes straight to his head. He lets up for a moment to purr, “Since you asked so nicely…”

The hand he doesn’t have half-buried in your heat grips your right hip, hard, securing you against the granite. It’s for the best, really. You jolt so much when he finally lets you cum that you could’ve knocked him out otherwise.

Not that he’d complain.

When the aftershocks peter out, and you gain back some control of your trembling limbs, you collapse back onto the countertop, chest heaving as your breath struggles to even out. One leg stays put, hinged over his shoulder, the best kind of dead weight; the other pools off the edge of the island, hanging limply.

Before pulling away entirely, Wooyoung presses an open-mouthed kiss to the soft skin of your inner thigh, suckling slightly — just enough to leave a calling card, though he doesn’t want anyone but you to know it’s there.

“You fucking menace.”

Your eyes flutter open and catch the way he’s grinning, the lower half of his face otherwise shining with a mix of spit and slick. With you watching intently, he licks his lips, simpering, “Think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you swear.”

“Deserved.” You sigh contentedly and close your eyes again for a second, but the blissed-out look on your face doesn’t dissipate.

Wooyoung wonders if you’re holding onto the image of him between your thighs, replaying it behind your lids. The sight of you is going to haunt him — then and now, before and after. Even if your stamina is depleted now, his appetite’s been sated. He can survive off of this moment alone for weeks if necessary.

But you summon the strength to stretch your arms over your head, to moan breathily while you arch your back off the counter and ease the tension in your muscles. Then, in a burst of vitality, you sit upright. Eyes alight, you give him a smile to match.

“Help me down?”

As if he’d say no to a question asked that sweetly.

You wobble when your feet touch the ground again and thank him when he snakes an arm around your waist to steady you. With a nod in the direction of what Wooyoung assumes is your bedroom, you beckon him, “Come with me.”

“That’s been the plan, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes at him — another first — and take his hand in yours. Fingers intertwined, you lead and he follows through the adjoining living room towards a door on the far side of the apartment. The pair of you barely cross the threshold into your bedroom before you turn and tug his hand, pulling him into a kiss.

“Do me a favor,” you murmur against his lips.

Wooyoung has no questions about that — the answer is yes, no matter what the favor is — but there is something he’s wondering about: when you open your mouth against his, can you taste yourself on his tongue?

Distracted by that thought, and the way your free hand makes its way to the button of his jeans, he nods. It gives him the opportunity to swallow down the groan that builds in his chest when you squeeze his still-clothed cock.

Your mouth leaves his then, drops to the side of his neck. Something about the light nip of your teeth below his ear makes his resolve start to crumble. It only gets harder when the warmth of your tongue flicks over his skin to soothe the sting. He sounds fucked out already when he sighs, “Anything.”

“Let me repay you for all those drinks you never charged me for.” Between kisses down the length of his neck, you purr, “Not exactly subtle, you know.”

He clenches his jaw to keep it from dropping. “Have I been hustled?”

“Is it hustling if I offer to reimburse you?”

Knowing damn well what it’ll do to him, you flutter your lashes against his skin, forcing him to fight off a shiver. There’s no hiding the rush of heat that follows; he doesn’t need to ask to know that you feel it creeping up his neck. “I’ll make up for it,” you promise. “Atone, and all that.”

Wooyoung reaches up and cups your jaw with his hand; you follow his direction and look up at him with excitement twinkling in your eyes, juxtaposing the deep black in his. “I’m charging interest,” he bites back. “The rates are astronomical.”

“Oh?”

“Oh, indeed. Get on the bed, sweetheart.”

With a light smack on your ass, he sends you on your way. In the few seconds it takes you to skip over to your mattress and jump onto it, he tugs his shirt up and over his head, then tosses it aside. Before unbuckling his jeans and tearing those off, too, he snatches his wallet from the back pocket. More specifically, the condom he’s been keeping within just in case you ever decided to stoop to his level.

You’re a second away from drooling when he makes his way over and stops at the edge of the bed. That kind of hunger is yet another thing he failed to see coming. There’s something insatiable in your eyes now, darkening by the second.

You reach out for the condom, but he pulls his hand back, holds it up where you can’t reach. Frustration makes your eyebrows pinch together. Out of context — if you weren’t naked, wet, and wanting him — he’d likely go out of his way to tell you how fucking cute you look when you’re annoyed.

“Don’t pout at me, sweetheart.” Wooyoung’s warning tone is gravel-lined, sharp to the touch when it hits you. Whether you intend it or not, your breath hitches in tandem with your pupils dilating. “I’ll let you do it, but I have one condition. Consider it a repayment term.”

You tilt your head to the side, eyes narrowing with intrigue. “And what’s that?”

“No hands.”

The surprised look he was counting on never comes. He gets sheer determination instead. You pull the packet from between his fingers, rip the foil open with your teeth, and flick the empty wrapper onto your nightstand. Not a second is wasted in you tugging his black briefs down his thighs.

You don’t deal in unpaid debts, either, it seems.

What happens next nearly puts him in an early grave. Wooyoung fucking wishes for a fly on the wall to witness you — someone else to memorialize the finesse you exhibit in working that latex down his length with your mouth alone — because he can’t believe his own eyes. In fact, he has to screw them shut to keep from cumming at the sight of you with his dick down your throat, lips flush to his pelvis.

“My god,” he groans, head dipping backwards. “If that’s how good your fucking mouth feels…”

You give him a second to pull himself together. Then, you wrap your hand around his wrist and pull him. He drops into the space you were occupying just a second ago, and as soon as his back hits the mattress, you steady yourself with your palms on his chest and position yourself over him.

Now, he can’t keep his hands to himself. His fingertips scratch up your thighs, leaving goosebumps along the fastidiously trained muscles underneath his touch. Palms gliding up the curve of your ass, then your waist, then those fucking tits.

“Shit,” you mewl. He lightly pinches your left nipple between his thumb and forefinger, spurring you on to rake your nails over the flesh of his chest. The way he tenses under your touch must embolden you. “Play with me all you want, but I need you inside of me now.”

Wooyoung has no idea where this assertiveness came from, but he’ll be goddamned if he doesn’t give you everything you want and then some. To prove that you’ve earned the lot, you line yourself up and take everything he has.

Somehow, you manage to take his vision, too. The world gets blurry as your heat envelopes him; everything in the periphery blackens until all that’s left is you throwing your head back in pleasure. No other light, no noise beyond the obscene sound of your pussy soaking his length and the collision of your perfect ass against the tops of his thighs.

As strong as you are, Wooyoung knows your orgasm will wipe you out long before your body tires. He sees your eyes start to roll back in your head, even when you put your palms down behind you and lean away from him to perfect the angle.

Not good enough, he decides. He wants to watch your pupils blow when you fall apart.

“C’mere,” he rasps.

Fuck, he’s about to break, too.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart.”

You push off your hands and move to lean in, but you wind up crumpling against his chest, immediately overwhelmed by the depths of his strokes when you re-enter his gravity. With the proximity perfected, every movement that follows is desperate — animalistic, even. Clinging fingers, sweat slicked bodies swapping searing heat. He lifts his hips to drive himself further into you with every downbeat, sets a pace so punishing that he has you speaking in tongues.

When you cum the second time, the moan that rips through you almost sounds like a sob. It really might be. The droplets on your cheeks are either tears or sweat; one or both would be justified, considering the show you just put on for him.

Shit, how you managed to blow his world to pieces just by walking into his bar, he’ll never understand. All he knows is that when he cums — not long after you — and his entire fucking body goes numb, you’re there on the other side of the cataclysm to kiss him back to life.

Sweet.

When you wake up, you don’t even have a guess as to what time it is. That’s your fault, you know. You didn’t think to connect your phone to its charger prior to falling asleep in a mess of sheets. The numerous alarms you always keep set didn’t go off, obviously, but right now, that’s the least of your worries.

Until your phone has enough juice to power back on, you won’t know if Wooyoung texted you before sneaking out of your apartment.

You’d taken it as a good sign when he asked for your number in a fucked-out haze. Now, you realize, that naivety of yours was operating in full swing, even when the rest of you was down for the count. That’s what one-night-stands are for, you tell yourself. That’s the decision you made.

Uncharacteristically, you’re tempted to spend the rest of your day — however much of it is left — rotting in bed. It’s an urge you’ll give in to, you can already tell; just like the one that got you here in the first place. The only thing stronger than the call of your bed is the grumbling of your stomach, begging for sustenance.

Sighing loudly, you throw your comforter off your lower half and wiggle towards the edge of your bed. Bare feet meet the braided rug below, then unsteady legs do their best to get their bearings. As you ache, you realize that you need to give credit where it’s due:

You’re currently in the best shape of your life, and Wooyoung still managed to fuck the constitution out of you.

You bend slowly to scoop a shirt from your untouched laundry basket, groaning all the while. On its own, it’s long enough to cover your ass, so you don’t bother to dress yourself further — except for the fuzzy slippers waiting next to your bedroom door.

It’s closed, you note when you finally bother to look at it. It wasn’t when you fell into bed with Wooyoung. He probably didn’t want to disturb you on the way out, you figure. This would strike you as thoughtful if it didn’t feel like a chapter ending too soon. Reaching out to reopen it, you tell yourself to be less sentimental.

In the living room, laying eyes on an empty kitchen, you also tell yourself, I told you so. This isn’t a drama, after all. There’s no love interest in your kitchen to cook you an unexpected breakfast.

Pre-made frozen breakfast sandwich it is, then.

You tear open the package with more effort than you should’ve needed to expend, then dump the single-serving lump onto a paper plate. As if on autopilot, you shove the plate into the microwave and smash a few buttons without registering much of it. The quiet hum of the machine nearly lulls you straight back to sleep.

Well, it likely could have.

The metallic rattling up the hall catches your attention, prompting you to step backwards so you can peer over at your front door and confirm that it’s locked. It is. You turn back to your breakfast in progress, and it takes five (5) entire seconds before you realize the issue here.

Keys jingle with more determination, right on cue. You spin around fully this time, eyes wide, to find Wooyoung in your doorway. He holds the door open with his elbow because both his hands are full; and as if that all wasn’t enough, he tries to toe off his shoes without being able to see them over the cardboard to-go tray in his hands.

“Fucking —” he grunts, wobbling.

It must’ve been louder than he intended because he winces immediately. In his moment of panic, his eyes flick over to your bedroom door. Then, when he realizes it’s open, they search for you, blinking in surprise when they find you. He peeps, “Oh.”

As it turns out, his ability to make you lose your words isn’t limited to late hours. The sun is beating through the sliding glass door to your balcony, and you confirm that you’re just as dumbstruck by him in daylight. So, you simply point to the drinks and paper bag he’s holding with your eyebrows pinched in confusion.

“Found that café you go to on Tuesdays,” Wooyoung explains gruffly. His morning voice is every bit as ruinous as you imagined it would be. “The logo on their cups is just a cloud, so it took a lot of wandering to solve that fucking mystery.”

This time, it’s you who peeps. “Oh?”

It’s then that he finally succeeds in getting his shoes off. With his hip, he nudges the door shut; your key ring chimes in the process, having been attached to his belt loop. In a few steps, he sets his burdens down on the kitchen island and looks up at you with a wicked glint in his eye. Apparently, his immediate thought is the same as yours. Simpering, he picks everything back up and makes for your living room’s coffee table instead.

“I’m glad to report that the green shit you drink doesn’t include algae or moss.” He lifts a smoothie from the carrier and holds it out to you, flashing you a smile that makes your knees wobble. “However, I regret to inform you that it does contain vegetables.”

If you try any harder to bite back your idiotic grin, you might lose your lips. “Did you — did you really think there was moss in it?”

He waves his hand dismissively. Notably, he doesn’t say no. That hand then lowers, finger crooked to beckon you closer. You move in, and you try to focus on the moment in front of you, rather than the obscene flashbacks the gesture gives you. The knowing look you expect doesn’t follow, though. Wooyoung simply places your drink in your left hand and your keys in your right.

“Sorry for borrowing those without asking or — well, notifying you in any way, whatsoever.” He grimaces. “I figured I’d be gone for a minute, and I didn’t want someone to waltz through your unlocked door and wake you up.”

“Was burglary on that list of concerns, or is sleep truly your main priority?”

At this, he grins like an idiot. “You’re getting better at that, you know.”

The look on your face must convey your confusion.

“I like the version of you that doesn’t pull punches,” he continues, sounding almost embarrassed to admit something about himself.

You take a move from his playbook and slide your finger through his belt loop, tugging him forward until he’s squarely within kissing distance. “This Wooyoung?” You murmur, “The one who got up early to hunt down a smoothie he’s disgusted by? Objectively likable.”

He rolls his eyes, but it doesn’t distract from the pink tint overtaking his cheeks. “I don’t know about that.”

You kiss him before he can offer to agree to disagree. And when you finally pull back, you nod firmly. “He might be sweet enough for me.”

while likes are appreciated, comments/tags/reblogs with your thoughts are really what make my brain go brrrtt.

ateez masterlist. multi masterlist. navigation.

tagging: @jihopesjoint @bahng-chrizz @sourkimchi @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @notevenheretbh1 @borabitsch @bubbly-moon (also paging @moni-logues because i feel like woo is our sister wife, lmfao.)

#ateez #wooyoung #jung wooyoung #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung smut #ateez smut #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #wooyoung fanfic #wooyoung fic #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #wooyoung imagines #wooyoung scenarios #jade writes #kvanity #re: whiskey neat

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ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral · 13 days

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Hello again everyone! Thank you all so much for the overwhelming support for the last part of the "Merlin accidentally conquers Camelot" au! I've had so much fun writing this au, and I'm so glad that you've all enjoyed it too! This will probably be the final part of this au (for now), since I have more au ideas to share with you all, but I'll probably revisit this au some day! For now, I'm approaching two pretty big tumblr milestones, so I'm working on an extra-special au to post in celebration of those (and I won't give anything away, but I think that this new au may be my best one yet, so stay tuned)!

Also, warning, this one is a long post! Be prepared!

Now, onto part four of this au! You can find part one here, part two here, and part three here!

As it turned out, planning a royal wedding was no easy feat.

Merlin had thought that simply adding a quick and (hopefully) painless wedding ceremony at the end of his coronation would make everything go smoothly. After all, the castle would already be decorated, they'd already have all of the important lords in attendance, and everything needed for a consort's coronation ceremony would already be there.

However, when Merlin announced to the lords and the steward in charge of preparing his coronation ceremony that he'd also need a quick wedding and coronation to take Arthur as his consort, they reacted with so much shock and horror that Merlin thought for a second that he'd accidentally announced that he was ordering their executions instead. The only person in the council room who didn't look like death itself had just appeared before him was Gwaine, who took advantage of he shocked silence following Merlin's proclamation to start laughing so uncontrollably that he doubled over and had to grab the wall for support.

Merlin had expected some shock and pushback from the council at his decision, not... this. All of the lords on the council had gone as pale as parchment, some trembling in their seats with fear. What on earth...

"Sire," the ever-unflappable Geoffrey called out, jolting Merlin from his confusion at the state of terror that had gripped the other council members, "while such a marriage would not be unlawful, it would certainly be unprecedented. I'm not questioning your judgement, I know that establishing yourself as a strong ruler this early in your reign is paramount, but are you sure that this is the best way to go about it? I'm certain that the citizens of Camelot will accept you as their rightful ruler as soon as they witness their true power for themselves, so taking the former king as your war prize isn't entirely necessary to show your dominance over the land."

The lords grew several shades paler at Geoffrey's words, and the trembling councilman sitting next to Geoffrey leaned in to fearfully hiss something into the librarian's ear. Merlin watched with growing confusion as Geoffrey's eyes went wide at whatever had just been whispered to him, and he rushed to speak once more.

"Of course, if this decision was made as some form of revenge or humiliation towards the Pendragon line, that is well within your right as a conqueror, Your Majesty. We would simply advise you to take the disgraced king as a concubine, perhaps, instead of your official consort. As a ruler, you must now also consider the issue of one day producing legitimate heirs, which can only be borne to you through your consort."

Merlin blinked, desperately trying to follow whatever logic Geoffrey was using. Take Arthur as a concubine?! Had the old man gone insane?! And Merlin certainly wasn't concerned about heirs, since if he got his way, then his reign wouldn't last longer than this week!

Still, with most of the council looking like they were being plagued by waking nightmares, they weren't likely to listen to Merlin's very reasonable objections to being king in the first place, so Merlin just had to get them off his back until the wedding.

After a deep sigh, which made most of the council members flinch back with a still confusing amount of fear, Merlin addressed Geoffrey's concerns.

"Thank you for your input, but I'm afraid that my decision has already been made on this... issue. I will be taking Arthur as my consort at my coronation, and my decision is final. And don't concern yourself with the topic of heirs, that will be sorted out shortly."

Several lords choked on the air at Merlin's last comment, with a couple outright fainting at his words. Merlin's brows furrowed even more with befuddlement. What... what had he said that garnered such a reaction?! He was just telling them not to worry about it!

(Meanwhile, unbeknownst to Merlin, the lords had a very different idea of what their new king- a powerful, brutal warlord and sorcerer- had planned. They interpreted Merlin's intent to marry Arthur as an act of revenge against the son of the man who killed off so many of his people during the purge. It apparently wasn't enough for the mighty Emrys to defeat his enemy and leave him with nothing to his name. No, this ruthless new king of theirs planned on forcing the former king into a life of humiliation and servitude in the court that was once his own. To a king, that must be a fate worse than death.

These lords, who were some of the most active and complicit members of Uther's purge, looked at the punishment that Emrys had planned for Arthur and thought if that's what happened to the king, what's he going to do to us?!)

The days went by quickly after that meeting, with Merlin's time being filled with a never-ending list of his new duties and things that needed to be done before his coronation, not to mention organizing the coronation itself and the subsequent wedding (which Arthur didn't know about yet, as Merlin had been deliberately avoiding the dungeons after his last conversation with Arthur).

It took the better part of a week for everything to finally be prepared for the official coronation ceremony. The ceremony itself would consist of Merlin being crowned in front of the court (a nauseating thought for Merlin himself), the vassal lords and knights willing to swear fealty to him taking the oath of loyalty, and finally Arthur being handfasted to Merlin and crowned consort.

Merlin was, for once, thankful for the amount of work that he had to do over the days leading up to the ceremony, as it kept his mind busy and his thoughts away from the pit of self-loathing that had taken up permanent residence in his head. After all, what kind of friend stole everything from the person they love the most in the world and then turns around and forces that same friend (and unrequited crush) to marry them?!

Merlin had attempted to rationalize his selfish decision to keep Arthur in the dark regarding his plan to reinstate him as king by telling himself that if Arthur didn't know about the wedding until the last minute, then he would spend less time worrying about it in the long run after he was king again! Besides, if Merlin's plan worked, they would only be married for a day or two, so there was no reason to get Arthur worked up over that by telling him earlier!

Truly, Merlin was not being a complete scumbag by doing this, he was just looking out for his friend's best interests and mental wellbeing! This would all blow over in a a matter of days anyways, Merlin was certain of it.

Still, Merlin found himself anxious and pacing the floor of his room on the morning of the ceremony. He had sent a team of servants and guards to retrieve Arthur from his cell and prepare him for the ceremony, so he likely wouldn't see Arthur until he was brought into the great hall for the handfasting ceremony. However, he still worried over Arthur's reaction when he learned what exactly when was being prepared for.

This worry lingered in Merlin's mind and consumed his thoughts throughout the entire day and into the coronation ceremony, so much so that his own coronation seemed like a blur to him. One moment he was standing in the great hall in front of the assembled crowd of lords and knights, and in the next, he was sitting on Arthur's throne with Arthur's crown on his head, with the crowd shouting "long live the king".

The sound of it almost made Merlin sick. Those words should never be directed at him, but he'd make this right soon enough. He just had to suffer through this ceremony to appease those disloyal lords who had turned their backs on their true king.

Perhaps the worst part of the coronation itself was the ceremony in which the lords and knights willing to pledge their fealty to him took an oath declaring such. It was no surprise to Merlin to see those weasels on the council of lords pledging themselves to save their own skin, but the knights who showed up to pledge their fealty were... very unexpected.

Look, Merlin had assumed that it would just be Gwaine and a small handful of guards and younger knights that he had roped into his mischievous scheme swearing loyalty so him. All of the other knights with their wits intact would surely still be down in the cells of the dungeon, holding true to their prior oaths of loyalty and keeping their true king company.

What Merlin did not expect, however, was for nearly a quarter of all of Camelot's knights to take a knee before him and pledge their loyalty, led by a highly amused Gwaine, who was no doubt enjoying every minute of this. Merlin quickly scanned the crowd of knights, trying to take count of who all had turned their backs on Arthur and could no longer be trusted.

Gwaine, of course, came at no surprise. Many of those assembled were commoner knights whom Arthur had taken in, including Percival, but the giant regularly got pulled into Gwaine's nonsense, so this wasn't truly that much of a shock if Merlin thought about it. There were a fair number of noble-born knights in the crowd, including all of those whom Merlin had noted had a softer outlook on magic. And then, of course, there were a decent number of pompous, high-born knights who had never given a lick about magic or loyalty, they just wanted to preserve their own wealth and power no matter the cost.

Merlin narrowed his eyes at the cluster of those knights. All the rest had logical reasons to side with Merlin, between Gwaine's persuasiveness, solidarity between the lower class, or a connection or sympathy towards magic, so they would be allowed to stay in court after Arthur had retaken his rightful throne. But these knights? These cowardly snakes had to be dealt with at the first opportunity. But how could he get rid of them without people becoming suspicious?

... Wait a minute, Merlin was king now! He might only have that title for a day or so, but in that time, he could certainly use it! (And he absolutely was not using this as a tactic to prolong this part of the ceremony so that he had a few more minutes of peace before the wedding began.)

Right, but how was he going to play this? He couldn't exactly just announce that he wanted those knights to leave because he wanted them gone before Arthur took over again.

Merlin narrowed his eyes at the group of treacherous knights and noted how they squirmed a bit under his gaze, with even some of the people around them shuddering. Right, he looked like a ruthless and powerful sorcerer to them now. He could use that to his advantage.

As the knights finished reciting their oaths, Merlin held up his hand, signaling for them to stay in place. The knights did so, but a confused and concerned murmuring started buzzing around at this strange departure from the normal ceremony. Slowly, Merlin lifted his hand and pointed at the assembled group of knights in the back.

"You lot. In the back."

The murmuring died down the instant Merlin opened his mouth and was instead replaced by an oppressive dread weighing down the ornately decorated hall. If Merlin wasn't trying so hard to keep a straight, intimidating face, he would have winced at causing such a wave of fear with nothing more than a few words.

Hesitantly, one of the called out knights stepped forward, addressing their new king.

"Yes, your majesty? Is there something you require of us?"

Merlin held back the urge to smirk as an idea, and a very satisfying one at that, formed in his head. He quietly cleared his throat and put on his most imperious "Emrys" voice that he could muster.

"I can sense insincerity in your hearts with my magic. Just as you abandoned the previous king, you would also turn your backs on me at the first opportunity to do so. Do not even attempt to deny it, you know just as well as I do that this true. I cannot trust any such men as knights of mine."

The group of knights went pale as Merlin called them out for their flimsy loyalty, and at once whispers began fly in the crowd. Perhaps they were intrigued by this show of his "powers"? Were they scandalized by this public shaming of a group of high-ranking knights?

Either way, the knights immediately began groveling, begging Merlin to let them keep their positions, their wealth, their power, but Merlin dismissed them with a wave of a hand and publicly revoked their knighthoods. The murmuring of the remaining people in the great hall grew louder as the disgraced former knights made their way out of the hall, no doubt intimidated and scandalized by how quickly their new ruler was purging his court of the disloyal.

However, with the loyal knights having taken their oaths and the untrustworthy ones having been cast out, the coronation ceremony was now officially complete, meaning that Merlin could no longer stall what would come next.

Merlin sat still on his stolen throne, trying his best not to fidget with nervousness as Geoffrey gave some traditional speech that had to be done before the doors of the great hall opened to let consort walk down the aisle to the throne.

After a couple minutes, Geoffrey's monotonous voice became nothing but a buzzing in Merlin's ears as he stared at the doors of the hall, desperately trying to imagine any scenario where those doors wouldn't open to an Arthur who was filled with nothing but rage and betrayal.

All too soon, Geoffrey's droning speech ended, and the trumpets in the hall announced the arrival of the soon-to-be-consort and signaled for everyone of lower rank to stand. Merlin's heart leapt to his throat as he jumped to his feet, even though he was the only person in the room who didn't need to. Ever so slowly, the doors to the hall swung open, revealing... Arthur.

Merlin damn near choked on his own saliva at the sight of him. He had seen Arthur in a wide range of states over the years as his manservant, ranging anywhere from sleep-rumbled to solemnly prepared for battle. But this... he had never seen anything like it.

Merlin couldn't decide if whoever had been in charge of dressing Arthur and preparing him for the ceremony ought to either be promoted to Arthur's personal tailor or immediately banished. In place of Arthur's usual surcoat and chainmail for official ceremonies, which was what Merlin had foolishly assumed the servants would dress Arthur in, there was... a monstrosity that would haunt Merlin's dreams for the rest of his life.

Merlin didn't even know how to begin to describe it. The garment that the servants had no doubt forced Arthur into, as Merlin knew that he would never wear such a thing of his own accord, was somewhere between a set of intricately intertwined robes and a dress, which hugged Arthur's shoulders, upper arms, and thighs, highlighting the muscles there. Most of the outfit appeared to be made out of a rich velvet, dyed in a majestic royal blue that both looked entirely out of place on Arthur and brought out his eyes like nothing Merlin had ever seen before. And dear gods, was that lace on there?! And why the hell did the outfit need elbow-length lace gloves?!

(The servants who had been in charge of dressing Arthur for the ceremony had assumed that their brutal new warlord would probably want his war prize to look as far from a warrior as possible, in order to further prove that he had beaten the previous rulers. So, they selected a delicate and elegant outfit for Arthur in the hopes of appeasing their new king.)

Merlin swallowed dryly as Arthur slowly began making his way down the aisle with measured footsteps. The movement snapped Merlin out of whatever temporary madness the outfit had sent him spiraling into, and Merlin finally locked eyes with Arthur.

Merlin winced at the sheer amount of rage that Arthur managed to fit into one glare as he took another step towards the throne that was rightfully his. Merlin tried to give Arthur his most reassuring smile, but he was almost certain it only came across as a nervous grimace.

Just go along with this, Merlin tried to beg of Arthur with only his eyes. Their bond had always been one that allowed them to communicate without words, and Merlin prayed that their connection would hold strong once more and get his message across to Arthur.

Neither Arthur's impressive glare nor his furious scowl let up though, but he kept his pace towards the throne steady, which Merlin decided to take as a good sign. After all, if Arthur truly did not any merit to this impromptu plan, why would he still be walking of his own accord towards the altar?

Still, as Arthur grew closer and closer to the altar prepared for the handfasting, his eyes became darker with rage as Merlin winced. Yes, this would certainly be harder than it needed to be, but this had to be done to get Arthur back on the throne! Surely Arthur would understand that!

After what must have been an eternity, Arthur finally reached the altar and, ever so slowly, walked around to stand at a fidgeting Merlin's side.

As Geoffrey began yet another speech that had to be done before the handfasting took place, Merlin quietly turned to Arthur and gave him a small smile, trying to a least let Arthur know that everything was alright, that everything would turn out fine.

That little smile, it seemed, turned out to be the final straw for Arthur. Merlin wasn't even entirely sure how it happened.

One moment, he was standing next to Arthur in front of the altar, with the only sound in the room being Geoffrey's boring voice. And in the next, there was a savage war cry coming from Arthur, who was now armed with a sword, and a decent amount of screaming coming from the crowd.

It spoke volumes about Merlin's state of mind that his first thought upon seeing Arthur run at him with a blade in hand wasn't get back, dodge! but was rather that dress is tight, where on earth did he hide that sword?

However, Merlin's sense of self-preservation wasn't nearly as terrible as Gaius accused it of being, as his second thought was I should probably try to avoid getting stabbed at my own wedding.

Reluctantly, Merlin gathered his magic, ready to disarm Arthur and hold him still if need be. Arthur could stab Merlin later if he really felt like it, but Merlin needed to at least officially make Arthur his consort and heir before Arthur did that!

However, to Merlin's surprise, rather than trying to run Merlin through, Arthur instead stabbed at the wooden handfasting altar, sinking his blade deep into it. Merlin carefully kept his eyes on Arthur as the other man viciously pulled off one of the dainty lace gloves and threw it on the ground at Merlin's feet.

Dumbfounded, Merlin stared at the thrown glove on the floor and then looked back up to stare at Arthur, not quite getting what Arthur was trying to tell him here. Did he just really hate the outfit? Or was it this whole marriage plan that he objected to?

"Pick it up."

"Huh?"

Arthur nearly started growling, his rage apparently rising with Merlin's confusion.

"It may not be a proper gauntlet, since you have denied me such a dignity, but it will suffice for this. Pick it up, King Emrys. I challenge you to a duel in single combat for the throne of Camelot. You may have defeated my sister, but you did not defeat me! I am no prize for you to claim!"

Merlin simply blinked, completely thrown off by this turn of events, while loud shouts started erupting from the crowd. By the time his mind caught up to what Arthur had said, Arthur had taken up his sword from where he had struck it into the altar and was pointing it threateningly at Merlin again.

As Merlin's shock wore off and he finally understood what exactly Arthur had just done, he had to fight back the urge to scream into the sky with frustration as yet another one of his plans to reinstate Arthur as king had just been ruined by the obstinate clotpole himself. Couldn't the prat just let Merlin help?!

With his frustration rising, Merlin glared down at the thrown glove. While a duel would certainly allow Arthur to retake the throne, Merlin wasn't entirely sure how his magic would react to such a fight. Merlin would never consciously hurt Arthur of course, but who knows if his magic would strike out in self-defense?!

And, besides, formally accepting and preparing the duel would take days. And, in Merlin's opinion, this whole farce has gone on for long enough.

"No. I will not accept your challenge."

Arthur's face went red with anger at Merlin's refusal.

"You are just as much of a coward as the rest of your kind, sorcerer! You would not even grant me the opportunity to take back what's mine!"

Merlin bit back a frustrated scream at that. Arthur would be getting his throne back if he just followed through with any of Merlin's plans instead of ruining threm!

Merlin took a deep breath and sighed on the exhale, trying the rein in his own anger. He just needed to go through with this ceremony, and then everything would be fine.

With a quick flash of gold in his eyes, which had Arthur flinching back (and didn't that just sting?), Merlin turned Arthur's blade into dust had Arthur's glove fly back onto his hand, setting everything right as it had been before Arthur had pulled out a sword and all hell had broken loose.

"That's enough! I've been trying to restore you to your rightful position as king this entire time, and yet you push back at every opportunity! I am not about to let you sabotage your own destiny! So, here's what's going to happen!"

Distantly, Merlin heard the wind outside whipping around, like his own frustration and stirred nature itself into a frenzy.

"You are going to stand here, complete this ceremony, be named my heir, and then retake your throne when I abdicate! Are we clear?"

Arthur, who still looked rather shaken at Merlin's display of magic, scowled, but still nodded his head. Merlin, satisfied by this, turned back around to face the shocked crowd.

"And do I make myself clear to all of you?! There will be no more interruptions of this ceremony, and Arthur will take back his throne!"

The frightened crowd went silent at Merlin's outburst, seemingly relenting to Merlin's demands.

Merlin then turned to Geoffrey, who was still standing in front of the handfasting altar with the rope in his hands.

"Now, Geoffrey, I would greatly appreciate it if you would get a move on here. I don't want to wear this stupid crown for any longer than I have to."

The only indication that Geoffrey gave that he was surprised by Merlin's outburst was a mere uptake of his eyebrows, rather reminiscent of Gaius's signature look. Without further ado, Geoffrey tied Merlin and Arthur's hands together, declaring them to be now married in the eyes of the gods of the Old Religion.

(Merlin tried to ignore the hurt and longing that built up in his heart in that moment. How many times had he dreamed of something like this? But he never wanted it to happen like this. This was Merlin's dream come true, but it was all wrong. In that moment, Merlin didn't dare look at Arthur, too afraid of what his dearest friend thought about this grievous overstep of boundaries.)

Immediately after Geoffrey untied the handfasting knot, Arthur's coronation as consort began. The ceremony itself went smoothly, but Merlin's heart broke both at the sight of Arthur kneeling before him, waiting to be crowned, and at the furious glare Arthur gave him as he gently put the consort's crown upon Arthur's head, officially naming Arthur as his heir.

As soon as Arthur stood from where he was kneeling, applause broke out from the crowd. Someone (Merlin heavily suspected Gwaine) started a chant of "long live the kings!", which caught on quickly. Merlin winced again at the chant, not daring to turn and look at Arthur's face.

Still, Merlin reminded himself as he took a deep, calming breath, everything was coming along. Arthur was now officially his consort and heir, and all that was left to do... was the copious amounts of paperwork finalizing his abdication.

Yeah, no. Merlin wasn't going through that process when he could just take care of it here and now.

"Citizens of Camelot, on this most joyous day, I, King Emrys, abdicate the throne!"

Even though he had made his intentions clear only a few minutes earlier, shocked whispers flew around the crowd, like they hadn't truly believed that he would go through with it.

Merlin couldn't help the grin that was forming on his face. Finally, everything would be set right again!

"I am no longer your king, and as per the laws of the kingdom, the throne now rightfully belongs to your true king, Arthur Pendragon!"

With that, Merlin reached up and yanked the crown off of his own head, marched over to a dumbfounded Arthur and, without any hesitation, replaced the consort's crown on Arthur's head with the true crown.

"There, that's much better," Merlin whispered to himself as he gazed upon Arthur, finally looking like himself again, but he was certain that Arthur must have heard it too, as Arthur's eyes went wide at his words.

But that was a conversation for another day, as Merlin was now done here. This entire calamity was over, and now Merlin was going to savor its end.

Merlin turned back to face the crowd once more with an undoubtedly crazed grin.

"Goodnight everyone! Be sure to obey your true king! In the meanwhile, I'm off to bed for my first full night's rest since this nightmare started!"

And with that, Merlin merrily skipped out of the great hall, made his way to his cramped room in Gaius's chambers, and slept soundly.

Bonus Scene!

THE NEXT DAY:

Arthur: Busts into Merlin's room

Merlin, unwillingly woken up from the best sleep he's gotten in years: Ugh, what do you want you prat?! You're king again, aren't you?! Don't you have kingly duty to be attending to?

Arthur: Merlin you idiot, you abdicated the throne.

Merlin: Yes, and now you're king again. You're welcome!

Arthur: But you never dissolved our union!

Merlin: Huh?

Arthur: A divorce can only be granted by the same ruler who authorized the marriage! You know what this means, right?!

Merlin: Yeah, that you can just declare us to be not married anymore and we can all be on our way.

Arthur: No, YOU were the ruler who authorized the marriage, and now that you've abdicated, you can't dissolve the marriage! Legally, no one can!

Merlin, turning pale: What?

Arthur, looking weary: Yes, apparently it's some legal technicality that Geoffrey cited from Bruta's code. I've spent all morning arguing with him, but there seems to be no way around it.

Merlin: So... what you're saying is that we're stuck being married to each other.

Arthur: Yes, you buffoon, that's exactly what I'm saying! Now, get up!

Merlin, feeling incredibly guilty over this entire situation: Arthur, I'm so sorry, I take full responsibility for this, I never should have forced you into-

Arthur, cutting him off: Let's go. We don't have much time before the rest of the castle is up and about, and I'd rather us not be seen here.

Merlin, confused but complying: Arthur, where are we going? Why don't you want us to be seen here?

Arthur, blushing: It would reflect poorly on the king if word got out that he let his consort sleep in this dirty broom closet on their wedding night, wouldn't it?

Merlin, blushing: Ah, I suppose it would.

And that's a wrap for this au for now! I hope you've all enjoyed this story!

A huge thank you for everyone who asked for this continuation! (and holy cow there were a lot of you!! Thank you all so much!)

@magic-mushroomss @miyriu @whole-buncha-snakess @achillesuwu @aerismoon

@tidalwavesandthunderstorms @marki9 @isaidno @retro-wallflower @samwinjester

@lascienzadellafantasia @sugar-coated-prat-dragon @theoldfroglady @ryeallytired @mind-of-a-crow

@whynotreinventmyselfeveryday @likeapaperplane @odinjm @orliththedragon @aglmry

@caraspud @aostrek-236 @justaz @slippysalt @coffee-shop-gay

@the-king-and-the-druidess @theroundbartable @fanfic-library-for-me @linotheghost @scuttlingsleipnir

@guiltyscarlet @cinnabon-sweetroll-tiramisu @247merthur @veryroadpartystatesman-blog @verxen

@lascienzadellafantasia @jareicanon @arrowlovesdragons @juliairian @thesuperstitiousoldelf

@lovermyme @bootprivileges @rem-the-moth @hippielittlemetalhead @ole-to-you-nonetheless

@lordmushroomkat @starchaos01 @reynaharmonia @anastasia0614 @starlight-crow

@wheneverfeasible @savlikesbluengreen @fuckingdeadinsidetm @notquitehumanwrites @purplesandwichtiger

@rocks-d-xerxes @olli-is-a-fish @luluzealand2565 @dangerhumming @tireddruid

@spiralingtowardtheabyss @mundaneone @anxiousdragoncollector @catface233 @bennedict

@elementalpirate4 @bertolio @vadis-protenus @chaosofbelievers @floating-on-avalon

@merthurogies @justaz

And, as always, thank you all for reading through my ramblings! :D

I'll see you all next time!

#merlin #bbc merlin #merlin bbc #arthur pendragon #merlin au #merthur #merlin prompts #king merlin

382 notes · View notes

theamberfist · 3 months

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Susan Repellant | Alastor + Gen Z! Reader HC's

Platonic! Alastor with a Gen Z! Reader

Description: Alastor avoided you at first, but when he found out your mere presence was enough to keep Susan away, he quickly changed his tune.

Notes: (CW Alastor, Susan) (gender neutral reader) (mentions of cannibalism) (Gen Z Reader)

Words: 1,005

♡ No one knows how or why you ended up hell; just that you're here now. You're pretty new, and you don't talk about your backstory much

♡ They also have no idea how you ended up at the hotel. One day you just appeared and everyone kind of accepted it; especially because Charlie saw a lot of potential for redemption with a younger sinner

♡ It quickly became apparent that you were the most Gen Z to ever Gen Z

♡ Your slang, style of dress, and mannerisms really showed it, and at first Alastor avoided you for this reason

♡ He would never admit it, being the great and powerful Radio Demon, but he was terrified of you because he could never understand what the fuck you were saying and doing

♡ Also you seemed weirdly unafraid of him???

♡ Eventually, he came to attribute it to the fact that you had zero sense of self preservation. You once told him "if you killed me I would just respawn like a video game character" and because he doesn't know what that means, he's vowed to never do so and find out

♡ Charlie took notice of the fact that Alastor always avoided you. When you were in the lobby, he suddenly had an extremely important errand to run elsewhere. When you tried to talk to him, he was suddenly melting away into the shadows. When you were out of the hotel for the day, he seemed significantly more relaxed

♡ She, however, attributed this avoidance to him and you not getting along. So, she started creating situations to force Alastor to interact with you

♡ You didn't seem to care but he sure did

♡ Once, he was heading to Cannibal Town to go see Rosie for the day and just as he was halfway out the door, Charlie pulled you over and shoved you at him; suggesting he bring you with since you hadn't left the hotel (or your hotel room, for that matter) in several days. With that, she slammed the door behind you

♡ Alastor begrudgingly brought you with him, but refused to walk on the same side of the street as you. He remained a ways behind you and on the opposite side, claiming he "simply could not be seen with weaker sinners in public." In reality, he was too afraid to get near you and refused to give you the advantage of being behind him where he couldn't see you

♡ Finally, you got to Cannibal Town, where Alastor basically turned you lose and then went to rant to Rosie about how he'd had to bring you along

♡ She found his fear of you very funny and couldn't really relate to his fear because I think she's a lot more with the times than him. They had some tea and cannibal cakes together, but halfway through their conversation, there was a commotion outside that prompted both Alastor and Rosie to stand up and go check it out

♡ There, they saw you in the middle of the town, facing off against Susan with the rest of the cannibals crowded around you both in a circle

♡ You were both essentially tossing insults back and forth. She would comment about your 'distasteful' style of dress and you would simply reply with "okay, boomer" or something along the lines. She, like Alastor, had no idea what any of your slang meant and seemed to feel just as threatened by it

♡ Finally, Susan made an extra nasty comment about you and you started coming towards her, rolling up your sleeves and asking a nearby cannibal to 'hold your earrings'

♡ Susan immediately scrambled back before you could reach her, and that was when Alastor realized he might be able to use this dynamic to his advantage

♡ Rosie ended up breaking you both up, and you and Alastor left Cannibal Town soon after. It seemed like he'd now gotten over his own initial fear of you, because he came right up and walked beside you down the street, asking how you felt about the old woman

♡ When you told him you and Susan now had "serious beef" (which he assumed was a negative thing), he knew something very beautiful could be born from this awful day

♡ After that, Alastor stopped avoiding you. He was still cautious, but he would interact with you enough to maintain at least a neutral relationship

♡ In Alastor's eyes, you were akin to a feral cat. He mostly left you alone unless you approached him first, but would occasionally bring you small trinkets or gifts he thought you'd like as a way to maintain peace

♡ Think you sitting casually on the couch and Alastor approaches with a gift in hand, carefully extending it to you with one hand while keeping the rest of his body as far back as physically possible. When you can't reach what he's trying to give you, he just tosses it at your feet and runs

♡ Now, though, Alastor can walk through Cannibal Town with no fear of possibly running into an ornery old bitch. Why? Because (scary dog privileges) he has his own personal Susan repellant

♡ Whenever you're nearby, Susan stays as far away form you as possible. When she does come near, the two of you start beefing and she ignores Alastor anyway, which is also a win for him

♡ He refuses to visit Cannibal Town without you in tow now, and though he's still a little scared of you, Susan is even more so

♡ Meanwhile, Charlie is super confused and has no idea how you two managed to start getting along so fast, but she's glad you don't seem to hate each other anymore. She's even more happy when Alastor insists on bringing you with him every time he goes to see Rosie; thinking you're finally becoming friends

♡ In reality, he just doesn't want to deal with any mean old ladies, and you seem more than happy to throw hands with Susan in his place

♡ So in the end, it works out for both of you

#alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel #hazbinhotel #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin alastor #alastor #hazbin hotel platonic #platonic reader insert #platonic x reader #platonic alastor x reader #platonic hazbin hotel x reader #platonic hazbin hotel #alastor x child reader #alastor x teen reader #alastor x gen z reader #gen z reader

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freelancearsonist · 3 months

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brat

➔ Frankie "Catfish" Morales x fem!reader

➔ 695 words

➔ You've been torturing Frankie, so he decides to return the favor.

➔ Rated MA // short and filthy lil giflet, unprotected p in v sex, power dynamics kind of

“You’ve gotta stop doin’ this, babe.”

“Doing what?” You bat your eyes innocently, but you know exactly what Frankie’s referring to.

His dark eyes rake slowly up your naked form, jaw working around a swallow thick with lust. You’ve taken to jaunting around his place completely bare–what’s the point of clothes when he’s just going to rip them off anyway?–and it’s driving him insane.

“You know exactly what,” he growls from somewhere deep in his chest. “Can’t even think with you flittin’ around the place like this.”

“What do you need to think for?” You ask with a practiced smirk, knowing exactly what it’ll elicit from him.

He growls again, somehow even more deep and menacing this time. You’ve pushed him to the exact precipice you were hoping for, and now it’s time to reap your reward.

The aforementioned reward comes springing out of his pants with a heady kind of energy as he shoves his pants down over his hips. He’s already harder and thicker than he should be just from watching you move.

He leans back in his armchair, an easy kind of arrogance about the smirk on his face and the way he sets his hands on his thighs. He can see the way you’re staring at his cock, practically drooling for it, and it only adds to his ego.

“Come get it then, if you’re so eager for it.”

He senses what comes next, and he stops you before you can move to your knees in front of him. “Huh-uh, baby. Only good girls get what they want. You’ve been nothin’ but a brat.”

This is a new development. He’s never turned down head before, especially not when you’re so willing.

“Frankie–”

A simple shake of his head silences whatever you were about to say. He leans further into the chair, arms draped over the rests with complete nonchalance. “This isn’t about you, baby. You’ve been tryin’ my patience. Get up here and make it up to me.”

If this is supposed to be a punishment, it’s the best you’ve ever had. You’re more than happy to climb into his lap, settling your bare chest against the soft fabric of his t-shirt as your mouth meets his.

He wastes no time pulling you down on him, smirk only widening at the little whine that escapes your lips as your cunt struggles to accommodate him with such little notice. It’s always been a bit of a struggle to take him–there’s no denying he’s big. Thankfully he’s completely tuned into your body–his fingers easily find your clit and set a vicious pace to help you out. You’re dripping down the length of him within minutes, and you’re starting to see why this is a punishment. You’re already so achingly close to the edge and you’ve hardly even found a rhythm thanks to his relentless fingers.

“Don’t hold back,” he whispers low and deep. “Lemme have it.”

You think he might actually be trying to kill you. Still, what a way to go–you clench hard around him and delight in the groan it elicits from him through the fuzzy haze of your orgasm.

You’re not even conscious of your pace slowing, but his hands grip your hips and keep you working him as you come down.

“Don’t give up on me yet, my little brat,” he murmurs. “Haven’t made it up to me yet.”

This is definitely torture, albeit the most delicious kind you’ve ever endured. You’ve barely finished fluttering and clenching around him when he starts bucking his hips up, a relentless attack on the spot that he knows draws the most sinful sounds from you.

It’s barely minutes before you’re shuddering and shaking again, eyes squeezed tightly shut against the onslaught of heady pleasure.

“Learned your lesson yet, brat?” He purrs, voice deceptively sweet as he tilts his head down to litter kisses across your collarbone.

You’re shaking your head ‘no’ before you even process the consequences–you open your eyes to see the most wolfish grin that’s ever adorned his face.

“Don’t worry,” he growls as he pulls you down hard on him. “You will.”

➔ gif: @skyshipper (special credit to @bitchesuntitled for sending it to me <3) ; beta: @futuraa-free ; dividers: @saradika-graphics

➔ Want to see more from me in the future? Follow @freelancearsonist-updates and turn on post notifications to be notified when I post new fics!

➔ Want to support me? Please reblog this fic! It helps boost it in the algorithm and gives it more circulation no matter what your follower count is :) any feedback or comment is always greatly appreciated!!

#frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales smut #frankie morales fanfiction #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #cece writes

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farmerstarter · 1 year

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The Bachelors on their Wedding Day

Hi Hello have this short list of my little Headcanons of the bachelors on their wedding day. Hope you enjoy it! Reblogs and likes are appreciated!!🌷🤍

ʚ🏈ɞ ˚ · . Alex :

🏈 Fiddles with his tie relentlessly and ends up ruining it. He runs to Evelyn to ask her to tie it up again. The only other thing he fusses over is his hair.

🏈 Alex keeps a rabbit's foot in his pants, wanting all the luck he can get.

🏈 Spent literal days writing his wedding vows. Ends up opting to wing it. It wasn't the most eloquently worded thing you've heard but it was sweet.

🏈 He gave himself a pep talk in his bedroom before the ceremony. You only know about this because George was complaining about how loud he was to you.

🏈 Dusty the dog is the mermaid pendant bearer, I decided.

🏈 Also, the song that plays during the wedding is the same tune from Alex's music box. 🥺

ʚ🪶ɞ ˚ · . Elliott :

🪶Beach wedding. You guys have a beach wedding. You've expressed your interest in one and Elliott, with the eager help of Willy, clean up the beach for your special day. Elliott's shoes would fill with sand but his discomfort is overpowered by his delight when he sees you all dressed up.

🪶 He reads you one (of many) of his poems about you. You later learned that he's got a whole book of poetry about you that he's been writing ever since you two started dating. The poem he read on the wedding day was the very first one and is the first page of the book.

🪶 He spent hours trying to make himself look good. Asking for Leah and Willy's input on what he should wear for a solid 3 hours.

🪶 Aside from him worrying over his appearance, Elliott is more excited than nervous. He's on the verge of creating a new chapter in his life with someone else. Gone are the days of his lonely shack and the empty (well, not as empty since you moved into town) beach. Honestly, to say that he's excited is an understatement.

ʚ🛩️ɞ ˚ · . Harvey :

🛩️ Gets awfully shy when reading his vows, stuttering his way through his words and being a blushing mess. He has no problem with the one-on-one check up sessions he does with the other villagers of Pelican Town, but to read aloud in front of all of them at once threw him off. But he kept his eyes on you and managed to power through it.

🛩️ He considered shaving off his mustache for the wedding at least twice. But he decided against the idea.

🛩️ Insisted that you eat Farmer's Brunch the morning of the wedding. Even during your wedding day, he wants to make sure you're feeling healthy.

🛩️ Holds your hands throughout the whole ceremony. Whispering apologies for how clammy his hands are.

ʚ🎸ɞ ˚ · . Sam :

🎸 He wrote a whole song about you and played it on your wedding day. He made it a surprise for you and the moments of him hiding his guitar and shoving music sheets under his bed when you visit his room were all starting to make sense to you.

🎸 Couldn't sleep for the whole night before the wedding. He worried over the ceremony and wanted to make it go smoothly. He's not one to meticulously plan every detail, opting to engage in spur of the moment decisions, but he tried his best to make everything as close to perfect as he can get.

🎸 Jodi tried to gel Sam's hair back, but no matter the amount of gel and hours, his hair would always spring back. Sam wasn't a fan of dressing up in a "dorky suit" but he did anyway, for you.

🎸 Sam didn't want to see you until the wedding so he got Vincent to play messenger for the two of you. He wouldn't do it at first but only agreed to do it because he likes you (Cue a dramatic gasp from Sam).

ʚ🐸ɞ ˚ · . Sebastian :

🐸 Ends up smiling through the whole ceremony, looking at you with such a brightness in his eyes.

🐸 He isn't one to wear anything fancy. The closest thing he ever wore that is considered formal was the suit that Lewis got him and the rest of the dancers to wear for the Flower Dance. He asks his mom to help him dress up for the wedding, asking her about it while she was building furniture. Sebastian doesn't want to admit it, but he liked watching his mom so happy over something that was so mundane to him. He makes sure to keep the suit in perfect condition throughout the ceremony because of it.

🐸 He tells his very heartfelt wedding vows. And while he does, you could hear the faint "that's good," from Elliott before a grunt, inevitably elbowed on the side by Leah.

🐸 You and him ride on his motorcycle after the wedding. He drives you two to the cliff overlooking the city, the same cliff where he confessed his true feelings to you. Under the full moon, the two of you would look at the stars with Sebastian occasionally pointing at a constellation that Maru taught him to find.

🐸 Consider: winter wedding.

ʚ🐣ɞ ˚ · . Shane :

🐣 Genuinely doesn't believe that you want to marry him. He thinks it's a dream at best and a prank at worst. It wasn't until you were tying his mermaid pendant around his neck for him to know that you do love him. He still has trouble understanding it sometimes.

🐣 Shane asked Marnie to teach him how to waltz for your wedding day. Sure, he's danced in the Flower Dance countless of times but he wanted to learn something new to surprise you. And he did. After dancing with you, he dances with Jas. Well, it's more of Jas standing on Shane's feet while he walks and glides around.

🐣 He gave his chicken, Charlie, a bow tie for the wedding and everything. Even got a picture of you and Shane with the little guy. The picture ends up being hanged on Shane's side of the bedroom for many years to come.

🐣 Has his pocket full of corn chips, let's be honest. He offers one to you before the ceremony starts.

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bakugoushotwife · 1 year

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Daddy's Home

a/n: yes this is a repost!! it got com labelled straight at posting last time and didn't even crack a hundred notes! btw there is a continuation coming by request so get excited for baby daddy satoru :0

cw: breeding, unprotetected p in v, daddy kink, sorta rough maybe idk

wc: 2.1k

“You really should know better angel.” He growls, his large hands gripping the backs of your thighs so hard they were starting to burn. You could only choke out a moan in response, your eyes stinging with tears as he fucked into you relentlessly. Your hips hurt from the wide-spread angle your eager husband loves to take you in, keeping your legs by your ears and fingers clawing at his biceps. The pleasure was so intense it colored your vision, circular orbs of bright greens and purples floated across your sight, and you knew you were losing composure. Your screams ramped up deliciously, making the strongest man in the world let his head fall back with closed eyes to memorize the sounds.

He couldn’t help it, really, and it was all your fault. He came home earlier than usual, meaning his sister-in-law’s toddler was still at the Gojo residence. He was two, and just a precious kid. He was usually well behaved and was a massive fan of his Ti-Ti and Uncle Sato. But when he entered his home to see you passed out on the couch, the little boy curled up on top of you, his heart skipped a beat. The boy shared a lot of your features since your sister was the mother, but it took him aback to see you look so peaceful. You had your arms wrapped tightly around him, even in sleep. Your breathing was light, mouth parted slightly. The little boy had his thumb in his mouth and head buried in your chest. There were soft nursery tunes in the background, and he could smell dinner simmering on the stove. Everything was right in the world, it seemed. The boy must feel someone staring, for he picks his head up and sleepily looks at his uncle. The boy smiles softly at him before turning over on you and going right back to sleep. Gojo smiled at the sight, heart warming in his chest. He snapped a picture for you, but he couldn’t stop staring at himself.

It stirred something inside him, something that yearned to see you cradle a child he gave you, one that looked just like you. He never pictured being a father. Not even when he took in Tsumiki and Megumi, he felt more like a cool older brother rather than their dad since he was still a teenager himself. But he also never imagined being a committed boyfriend turned completely whipped married man, but here he is. He couldn’t ever possibly imagine the joy and love he feels with the life you’ve built so far. He wouldn’t even know how to tell his past self about it, if he had to. It made him wonder if children were the same. He could only imagine a tiny little mixture of himself and the person he loves most, and he knows they can’t lose that genetic lottery. How could that not be the best thing in the world? Spoiling you for an extended period of time? He does that anyway. The thought of you growing his kid, watching you swell month by month, god it was so perfect to him.

So don’t blame him for this, you had to go and make him think about a family. So it’s only natural that he’s keeping you locked in this position, all his weight leveraging his slender hips into your body. He always abused this power, smirking at you as you twitched and jerked beneath him, getting more and more sensitive with each orgasm he brought you. You looked so good like this anyway, his sweet pillow princess just laying there taking him oh so well. Your hair somehow always fell so perfectly around your head like a halo, lips swollen and bruised from his assault on them and your face pulled together in a picturesque pout. Your gorgeous tits bounced rhythmically along with his feral thrusts, sweet hands pawing at him to ground yourself. Not to mention the view he has of your glistening cunt and cute ass, his balls slapping up against your warm flesh violently. He loved everything about it, watching your ever tight pussy swallow his long curved cock, coating him in your arousal and arrivals so beautifully it made him moan. His noises were always so breathy and dreamy, you felt blessed every time he made one.

He was impossibly pretty, his hair messy from the paths of your fingers, the tendrils that hung in his face were starting to stick. His eyes always shined brighter, filled with focus and admiration for his wife. His mouth was also slightly open, soft pants leaving his similarly-swollen pink lips. You feel your core tighten again, pulling like a rubber band while your eyes rake over your husband’s body; pale skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat and several fleshy pink scars. His physique was ever perfect, tone chest and tight muscles through his abdomen, you loved trailing your fingers down them. You felt hyper-aware of everything, the sheets tickling your back and the noise from the fan overhead. The moon lit up the scene, giving Satoru an ethereal glow.

“So pretty Sato..” You mumble mindlessly, smiling to yourself at your magnificent luck in attaining the world’s most beautiful man.

“Thanks, pretty mama.” He says, managing to pull his lips together in a smirk. He was close, feeling your choking walls spasming around him made goosebumps spring up on his skin.

You moan softly at the pet name and squeeze down on his muscular arms and his throbbing erection. He grins at your reaction, leaning over your upper half to whisper in your ear. The feeling of his breath fanning over your neck makes you squirm, making him chuckle airily.

“You like being’ called mama? I’m tryin’ to make you one.” He grunts, kissing the shell of your ear. You can feel him twitching inside you, the slight squelch of your fluids was the only sound other than your soft moans punctuating every roll of his hips and the lewd words he whispered in your ear.

“Oh yeah?” You muster the willpower to say, getting absolutely punished by his force. “My hubby wants to be a daddy?” You coo, holding the back of his neck.

He shudders, and you can tell he definitely likes that. You giggle and watch his cheeks flush as that sends him over the edge, pumping his hot seed into you and moaning quietly through his high. He leaves himself there even once he’s come down, intent to keep any of his cum from leaking out. He does let your legs rest around his hips, knowing you must be incredibly sore.

“You would want that, right?”

You look down at his member keeping you plugged up. “Looks like it’s too late for protests.” You joke, giving him a soft smile after. “Of course I want a family, I just never knew when you’d be ready. I’d love to see you be a father. No doubt you’d be great at it.”

He smiles in that arrogant way of his. “Just like everything else huh?”

“I would say my favorite quality of yours is your humility.” You groan, rolling your eyes at your lover.

Things would just spiral from there, his craving to breed you not fulfilled until you present him with the evidence. He would bring you vitamins and you would make sure to track your cycle and dress in a more accessible way at home. If possible, his need to fuck you has skyrocketed, forcing you to be impaled on his cock at any given spare moment of the day. You’re not surprised when your dress is slid above your hips shortly after hearing the front door open and clothes.

“Hey there pretty mama.” His voice rumbles in your head, his warm bulge pressed against your bare ass.

“Hey there baby daddy.” You giggle, bending over the counter a little more, wiggling your backside in his grip. His hands press into your hips for a moment, and then you hear the sound of his belt. You grin, spreading your legs wider.

His expression is similar as he slides his arm around your hips so he could reach the front of your pretty pussy. As eager as he was to plant his kids in your womb he always took the time to get you ready for him. Your body instantly starts to tremble when he begins to rub methodic circles around your bundle, sending jolts of electricity through you. He chuckles at you, making sure his other hand was holding your hips upright.

“That’s my girl, I know you love this shit angel.” He coos, sliding his hand down to slip a digit inside your waiting entrance. You moan lowly, clenching around the one finger. You’re a whimpering mess shortly after that, his second finger added to the mix doing enough to you fuck yourself back onto them. He always curled them perfectly, tickling your pleasure spot so perfectly you were coming around his fingers in record time.

You turn your head to watch him pull his fingers out of your cunt, slipping them into his mouth happily. You moan at the sight, wishing nothing more than to have the evidence of his love growing in you. He cleans his digits, pulling off his underwear in a swift motion. His hard member slaps his white happy trail, and you’re wiggling in anticipation at the sight of his pretty length. His tip was leaking and pink, what you guessed must be at least an hour’s worth of need pent up causing that color. Even his veins were pretty, slender and purple perfectly decorating his long shaft.

“Ooh, mama’s feeling impatient today?” He asks, quickly tugging his blindfold down to rest between his collarbones. He hums, eyeing your weeping cunt happily. “All this after just my fingers? You wanna be bred more than anything, isn’t that right?”

He spits on his cockhead, stroking the lube around himself. You nod, his words and touch doing unspeakable things to you. It was true, you wanted him to knock you up just as badly as he wanted to do it to you.

“Yes, I wanna make you a daddy so bad.” You whine, gripping the sides of the counter when you feel his tip spreading your lips. You gasp sharply when he shoves his way in, bottoming out with no resistance.

He hisses at the tightness, always mystified by your pussy. “You’re gonna, I know you are. Not gonna give you the choice, princess.” He groans, grabbing hold of your hips and using the grip to slide you along his cock. It’s filthy, the sound of skin on skin and your helpless wailing.

It only takes him a few minutes to have you sputtering brainlessly, grip loosening on the counter, your ability to support yourself long gone. You’re seeing stars and calling out for him in a mumbled pant, letting him know you were adequately satisfied based on your body language.

“My pretty girl. She’s being so good for me, taking all this cum all the time. Makes me s’happy…can’t wait for my pretty girl to get pregnant..” He voices, only making your walls squeeze down on him sporadically. “I’m gonna give you my kids, mama, you be good and keep it.” He grunts, your ass rippling with his thrusts. He only needed a few more thrusts before his sperm was fertilizing your womb, making you feel impossibly good.

Your soft pants are music to his ears. He grins as he slides out of you, easily sweeping you off your feet and into his arms bridal style. “Now go lay down and hold onto this round.” He winks, just intent on spoiling you even though you’ve explained that that doesn’t necessarily matter. He refutes you every time, simply refusing to accept that there was nothing extra he could do to help you conceive.

Luckily you didn’t need any more help. Not two months later are you bringing him a handful of different at home pregnancy tests that prove that all the hard work has paid off. And naturally, you're swept into his arms like a baby yourself, getting peppered with kisses and sweet whispers of his excitement and his oaths to take good care of you, as his latest fantasy has come true.

He stays true to his word, you don’t want for anything and he keeps you as happy as can be, though his insatiable craving for your body doesn’t lessen now that his mission was successful. Now that he gets to watch you swell with his child, your body changing to become even more heavenly if possible, he can only think of keeping you this way.

#jjk x reader #kyleewritesjjk #gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo #jjk thirst #jjk gojo #gojo smut

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stellas-and-tonitruses · 9 months

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⚠ SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 93 AHEAD! ⚠

now that we have finally met demetrius, it seems like a great time to dissect his first scene and proper conversation! :]

his wide, unfocused stare hides ✨unexpected complexity✨, as expected of a desmond

he's impatient (common desmond trait at this point)

he's nonchalantly exceptional, as we expected and have been repeatedly told thus far

...but most importantly, amidst a sea of accomplishments, he is burdened with a lack of people skills and visibly frustrated by it, as evidenced by his conversation with damian in this chapter.

the analysis and speculation continues under the cut!!

so, a breakdown of the main meat of his introduction

similarly to every single time there's an interaction between damian and another desmond, damian is the one who reaches out first by calling out to demetrius, who immediately asks him what he wants. damian tries to begin with small talk, congratulating him on his accomplishments of the day

demetrius is brief and to the point, but it doesn't feel to me like he is annoyed here. perhaps curious, perhaps indifferent, we don't know -- demetrius is a boy of few explanatory thoughts, after all

merely in the next page, demetrius is revealed to have a blank mind for most of this conversation.

i don't believe this is a sign that demetrius was experimented on or anything. obviously, this does not rule out that he has been experimented on, but i don't think his lack of thoughts are indicative of that, nor do i believe anya was too far away (in previous chapters, she has read the thoughts of people at greater distances than this with ease!). i think this has something to do with his upbringing, but also very importantly his state of mind at the moment

his eyes are wide open, but his stare is unfocused. i think this is an intentional choice to hammer in that he's not really here at this moment, listening to what is undoubtedly to him pointless praise. he has likely tuned all of it out completely.

(as a side note, if we wanna involve anya in this situation more, we could assume that he is intentionally cloaking his thoughts from anya or any other potential mind-readers, but while i do think donovan is very likely involved in project apple, i severely doubt the financial benefactors of project apple would spend likely a lot of money to figure out a way to shield the thoughts of a middle schooler, regardless of who his dad is, from potential telepaths. as far as we know, anya is the only one with this specific power and demetrius is unlikely to have any information that would incriminate the operation. if that was an issue, i don't see why they wouldn't spend their money to protect melinda's mind, since she likely has way more info than demetrius ever could.)

moving on from that side note though,

we do not see demetrius' face as he says this! this is important to me

we are left unaware to whether or not he is disappointed or just trying to abscond to take a nap (he really needs one)

but then, he says this:

this, to me, is a direct attempt at connecting!! he's trying to reciprocate the small talk, the praise, trying to continue the conversation. his thought, "i don't understand him," may feel contradictory but to me, it only underlines his frustration about this, because he knows what damian is going to say next:

even though it was expected, this is not what demetrius was hoping to get out of this. his downturned eyebrows give a feeling of discontent. he is not blank, he is visibly frustrated, visibly annoyed.

and we are thus made aware of a boundary demetrius and melinda both share:

never mention donovan.

for one reason or another, this is the boundary damian has overstepped with both his mother AND his brother now, without ever being informed that it IS a boundary in the first place

so demetrius, upset, turns around to leave and throws this at damian:

this is important, because damian has shared a very similar sentiment to anya before, albeit in a mournful tone.

demetrius likely feels similarly neglected by his parents, but is long past feeling sad about it. he has moved straight to anger, understandably!

but the bigger reason for his frustration, imo, relates to a problem damian once again ALSO has: people treating them as a gateway to their father and nothing more.

demetrius has more than likely also been treated like this, and probably still is unless his peers have learned not to engage because of his brief, snippy responses, so he is familiar with the feeling of being used.

...and damian unknowingly treated him the exact same way, even though he's also grown to hate it.

of course, he's 6 years old and he meant no harm by this -- he's just a lonely boy trying to be noticed by his neglectful parents, after all, what else could he possibly do?

but for demetrius, this is the end of the conversation. he is not his father's manager, he's not even that close to him, so why does his brother only ever talk to him when it relates to their father?

as he said before: he doesn't understand him, and why he keeps doing this. does he not know there is little info to be gained?

he doesn't understand their father either, with his impossibly high expectations, never pleased, never happy, never available

and lastly, as ewen and emile try to introduce themselves

demetrius has one final thought.

and he casts aside this entire conversation, leaving the scene as empty as he entered it.

of course, the chapter doesn't end here, but this is where demetrius' involvement in it does, leaving us with a newfound understanding that while to damian, demetrius represents everything he can only strive to become... to demetrius? his accomplishments ring hollow in the face of everything he wishes he could understand.

we do get an extra flashback that hearkens back to a better yesterday, but while donovan is lacking some very important details (those scars, that dead disinterest that follows his every move -- he seems mirthful somehow here), we don't know if this scene represents a time when they were closer or if it's simply evidence that as far back as everyone can remember, demetrius has been doing nothing but studying all the time

could this be evidence of something nefarious relating to project apple? eh, not particularly, not to me. the boy's just studying hard, any relation to project apple would have to be more recent in the timeline imo

TL;DR:

demetrius has been built up throughout the past 92 chapters as a figure larger-than-life, and this has been thanks to most of our knowledge of him being directly affected by damian's perception of him, as the younger brother living under his shadow

however, he has now been humanized by his flaws: a short temper and a lack of social skills that comes paired with a clear want to connect, to understand, to converse. he seems to be a very lonely kid, everyone around him either jealous, putting him on a pedestal or actively seeking to use him under the false impression that he has important connections, and although he doesn't mean to, damian has unknowingly been treating demetrius in the same way, only seeking him out when he wants to know something about donovan.

interestingly, him and melinda share the same trigger, that being donovan himself, though we do not yet know if their reason for this is also shared.

CLOSING THOUGHTSSS

it has been so exciting finally meeting this little goober-- i thought i might never see the day 😭😭😭

thank you to whoever read this far, i literally made this blog just now so! HOPE I DID WELL!

💖

#spy x family #sxf #demetrius desmond #damian desmond #donovan desmond #manga spoilers #spy x family manga spoilers #sxf spoilers #ch 93 #chapter 93 #sxf ch 93 #sxf chapter 93 #spy x family ch 93 #spy x family chapter 93 #spy x family 93 #trying to cover all possible spoiler tags for anyone who has them blocked sorry #sxf theory

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tekumaniac311 · 3 months

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My Space Rider team

Credit of the artwork goes to the mastermind of this au herself, @onyxonline!

This is one of the various Space Rider groups out there in the galaxy right now, doing the duty of battling the Cult, and combating the Red Mist itself, all that shtick. However, what stands this particular group out from the others is their eagerness, well their leaders eagerness, to best Dogday and his group in the battle against the Prototype!

Introducing from left to right:

Captain Dogbite Solaris: Sounds familiar right? Well he is Dogday's BROTHER, younger than him by 3 years, he's one of the youngest to ever achieve the rank of captain at the academy. His leadership skills and sun abilities are almost identical to that of his brother. But what he has that Dogday does not is an extreme arrogance, recklessness in combat and leading. Fueled by his jealousy towards Dogday, he aims to best him and his squad any way he can.

Drago Kitano: Second in command of Dogbite's crew, Drago Kitano posses a calm, level-headed manner in combat or off duty, he attains an inner peace and care toward his fellow members. It often takes him to stop his captain, Dogbite from going overboard in challenging Dogday. Possessing the power of pyrokinesis.

Leopardaisy: A quirky, fun loving and very sneaky snow leopard, Leopardaisy is always one to joke and kick butt at the same time, a born optimist and acrobatic expert, she's there to lend a hand to folks and cheer up. She possesses power of limited invisibility and phasing through solid objects.

Lean Lemur: As a communications helper and mechanic assistant, Lean Lemur despite his size and age is a valuable member regardless, although he tends to be the most antisocial and secluded of the group, shy of meeting others and not used to being in parties at all, poor guy.

Prettybird: Pretty is the best to describe Prettybird, she is the top medical expert of the squad and fashion expert to. Born from a doctor and a fashion expert, she went instead to the academy to see the galaxy and help others with her medical knowledge...and look pretty while doing it.

Mama Mammoth: Working hard, large and full of heart is what to describe Mama Mammoth, an expert chef who's cooking skills can bring any diner/fast food joint to shame. With a huge gentle giant personality, she often leads the group who stay behind while the other four fight. She always shows a motherly nature towards her fellow teammates and always makes sure not one of them are without what they need.

FixFox: Not afraid to get her fur all greasy and having a big love for engines and vehicles, FixFox fits right at home tuning the vehicles and designing the gadgets for her Rider team, her upbeat, quirky personality always shines through when working on a vehicle or just chilling out with her buds.

Berserkerine: The muscle of the squad, Berserkerine grew up beating up bullies or punks before joining the riders, quickly growing a friendship with Dogbite he joined the team after graduating. Now he rides with the team, looking for more cultists to bash and skulls to crack. He possesses powers of pain resistance and enhanced strength.

#poppy playtime #space riders au #poppys playtime oc #space riders au oc #smiling critters au #dogday #smiling critters oc

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toms-cherry-trees · 1 year

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Thrilling Chase || Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary: All the girls want him. One does not. And he wants her

Word Count: 1551

Warnings: Not really. Aemond being a bit more of book Aemond than show Aemond and being overall annoyed with life

Author’s note: I dreamt this plot Sunday night and spend the entire day racking my brains to turn it into a fic. Please let me know about any errors, I am still polishing my English. Also this Aemond I am not sure I got the characterization right but I liked how it turned out. And remember I interact from @finite--incantatem

The ball is being hosted with the purpose of celebrating Aegon’s nameday. What better way to celebrate the anniversary of his birth than being surrounded by fine drinks and lovely ladies, a field full of flower buds for him to pick and spoil? Aemond can barely stand the frivolous pomp and pageantry, the ass kissing lords showering his brother and father in banal pleasantries and praises, as if any one of them paid any heed to such flummery; one too inebriated to care and the other unable to hear anything above his own wheezing.

Aemond has tried to excuse himself three times before the feast has even been served; as dutiful as he could be, even he has a limit, and his limit has been long surpassed by this insufferable event. But his weak spot has overcome his distaste, in the form of his gentle mother, who implores him to play the part for the evening. His sweet mother, who does everything in her power for the family to present a united front, all while sweeping the shambles behind the drapes. Only for her happiness is he willing to endure this foolery.

He hoped that chatting up some minor lordlings and not yawning before them would be enough to fulfil his obligations; but he has not accounted for the unwanted feminine attention. Aemond thought his physical imperfections and his downright hostile demeanour would be enough to ward off the ladies, but he could not deny the facts; as the eldest bachelor in the family, he remains a coveted prize to whom lords would offer their daughters in silver trays. He can vividly imagine them, ambitious men whispering in the ears of their girls and urging them to employ any means necessary to get in Aemond’s good graces. Only then could he explain the parade of fair maidens, all of them more adorned than carnival horses, showering him with their candid smiles and their coy giggles, batting their eyelashes and hinting most cunningly how much they would love to dance. They all seem to ask the same pre thought and bland questions; if one more lady asks to ever see Vhagar, Aemond would go and bring her down to the hall for them to see up close and personal.

Just when he hopes he has done enough to please his mother and the crowds, the first dances begin. One look from the Queen deters his efforts to flee the scene; without word, he has been reminded that his duty has yet to conclude. But Aemond would much rather eat Aegon’s toes than be found dancing with a lady. All his dexterity and gracefulness in the sparring yard do not translate to his waltzing skills; while he could be fast and silent and slippery in the face of the enemy, at the tune of the strings he possesses the elegance of a rotting tomato left in the sun.

The Prince knows the second he sets foot into the dance floor, he will be swarmed with adoring girls. But he cares not for them, since he has already set his eye on one. Just like the others she is burdened by golds and silks and stones, but unlike them, she carries her adornments with such grace and dignity that the opulence of her garments only brings forth her natural beauty.

There is something in her, something unidentifiable and unexplainable, that makes her so…so alluring. It may be the way her lips hold a perennially ineffable smile, so subtle one cannot truly tell it is there, but the mere possibility of its existence is enough to entice the mind.

It could also be her hands. Aemond cannot stop staring at them, from the way her fingers curl around the stem of the goblet, to the particular way they bend when she holds onto the pendant hanging from a fine gold chain around her neck, a subtle move that occurs whenever a young man engages her in conversation. Her left hand holds delicately onto a small fan, although its purpose seems to add to her aura of mysticism rather than keep her cool; her face disappears behind it whenever her smile becomes too wide, only her piercing eyes remaining visible, keeping her expressions unreadable, a most intriguing secret.

Only the greatest artists of the country, working for years on the best of marbles, could even dare to come close to resembling her splendour. The figure of the Maiden brought to life, and that would be a most dashing compliment - for the Goddess.

If he is to dance, he must dance with her.

He cuts through the crowd, moving past wide-eyed ladies and squeezing around dancing couples with one objective in mind. She is right there, standing near the pillar bearing the image of King Jaehaerys. She is alone, and she saw him coming. The proximity of the prey has Aemond on edge, muscles tense and ready to pounce. A man cuts his way, and he pushes him aside vigorously, but it is too late. Her figure has disappeared amongst the crowd like a vision.

Aemond spots her again a few minutes later, near the massive gates of the hall. Once more he approaches her, but he is distracted by his mother asking something, and once more loses his chance. The process repeats several times, with her always standing just at his fingertips but never close enough to grasp, her presence so real yet also so unsubstantial he begins to think he is trapped in a vivid dream.

The Prince is well damn tempted to just order everyone but her out of the chamber, but there is something in the chase, the subtle yet invigorating excitement of the pursuit, the way his pupil is blown wide and his jaw set in concentration. A sensation he has only ever experienced while wielding his sword in the training yards or soaring the skies with his dragon. An unexplainable elation, all due to this little dove who keeps flying away.

Aemond groans in frustration as she evades him once more. How can she be so fast and nimble while wearing a heavy gown? Are the Seven playing a wicked game on him, fate holding the prize above his head just out of reach? He does not care now for dancing nor pleasing his mother. This is a matter of pride; to go through all these obstacles to drop out mid-hunt would be shameful and disappointing.

She is now across the room, now more easily visible due to the dwindling crowds. She is looking straight at him, half her face obscured by her fan. But she pulls it down softly, painfully slow, and Aemond’s heart beats frantically in his chest, like he is witnessing the unveiling of the world’s greatest mystery. The fan rests lightly on her chin, and she rewards the prince with a cunning smirk.

She is doing it on purpose.

It all makes sense now. How could he be so stupid not to realise she has been playing the game alongside him? Evading him and taunting him, letting him think he had her and then slipping away like sand. This newfound knowledge spurs his desires. He needs to have her close, needs to know who she is and why is she doing this to him. His decorum and self-control slips away as a new feeling blooms within him. A warmth blooming in the depths of his body and spreading through his body. The more he cannot have her, the more he wants her. She may be akin to the image of the Maiden, but Aemond is sure the deity has never evoked the thoughts now crossing his mind, nor has any other woman ever before.

Determined to sate his curiosity, and perhaps some other lowly needs, he makes a straight line for her. She does not move nor backs out, and he can already feel the silk of her dress under his fingertips and the scent of her perfume in his nose. He doesn’t understand where the primal urge to crash his lips against hers stem from, but he is ready to give in to that urge as well.

His marching is cut abruptly by the colliding of his body against a long table. He had been so focused and lost, so unlike himself, that he paid no attention to anything or anyone around him, his vision like a tunnel focused upon her. The table is so long he would have to wander half the hall to circumvent it, and he still has enough hold of his wits to know it would be improper to vault over it or slide under the tablecloth. They are so close, yet the brief distance is unbreachable for the time being.

His eye meet hers, the mischief dancing in her pupils. The corners of those soft lips tug just a bit more, sly and bewitching. She backs away slowly, the fan coming up once more to shield her face. She turns around and disappears behind a column amidst the rustle of stiffened skirts and the tinkling of her bracelets

Defeat overcomes the Prince, but a smirk spreads across his own lips. He has not given up the chase; he is just giving the dove a head start before the hunt resumes.

#marsie writes #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond one eye #aemond kinslayer #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen one shot #house of the dragon #hotd #aemond stannies

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absurdthirst · 10 months

Text

Vivid {Mando x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 6.4k

Warnings: SEX POLLEN, dubious consent, fuck or die, oral sex (male and female receiving), 69, face sitting, blindfolds, sex in the dark, vaginal sex, rough sex, overstimulation, cream pie, cum eating, masturbation

Comments: A chance encounter in the canyon just beyond Din's little house on Nevarro leads to a sticky situation. A vivid pink flower, a powerful aphrodisiac, and a need to fuck has Mando bringing you home.

Co-written with @pedropascalsx

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Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

The changes around Nevarro are….nice. The little house that was deeded to Din is far enough away from town that he doesn’t feel crowded, yet it’s close enough that he can walk Grogu to the little school that he had enrolled him in. His journeys needed to include more socialization than bounty hunters, killer droids and Mandalorians. He needed to be able to move throughout many different cultures respectfully and what better place to learn than school?

Din’s own education happened in the Fighting Corps. Effective, but he had a mind to raise his adoptive son and apprentice better than his own teacher had. Especially since Grogu had an advantage that he had never wielded, the force.

“No Grogu,” Din shakes his head and sighs softly as the fifty year old baby tries once again to float his little school pack off the shelf to where he is sitting. Wanting to go to school, even though it’s the weekend. “There is no school today.”

****

It had been a long day so far, you’d run your usual errands and finished a few tasks around your home. A few of the children in your class had been requesting some more painting time during the week, and never one to dim anyone’s excitement for the arts, you couldn’t say no.

You like to make sure that art class is just as educational as it is fun, so you grabbed your book of plants and flowers and got ready to make your way out of town to collect and pick some plants and flowers for the kids to paint and learn to identify.

The cool breeze was welcomed as you began your trip, a wicker basket hanging comfortably from the crook of your elbow as you made your way through the town, greeting everyone politely and with a warm smile as you did so.

You like Nevarro. Especially as of recent, the town was much friendlier and a new sense of community had fallen across the planet.

After a brief chat with one of your overexcited students and his parents you continued your walk while nibbling on some fresh fruit from a stall you had passed.

The kid is passed out in the little bed that Din had bought for him, the Mandalorian steps out of the house, striding off towards the canyon. He needs to tune his blaster, having replaced the plasma cartridge earlier. The domesticity is unusual, but he likes it, a set schedule and a home to make meals in. It’s oddly appealing, even though he does often wonder how the covert is doing on Mandalore.

After a nice breezy walk, your basket is almost full, you’ve picked multiple flowers and plants for the children to paint and learn about. The canyon is quiet, peaceful, the only sound coming from the soft breeze shaking the trees and the occasional twitter from the out of sight creatures.

You’re just about to leave and make your way back home, before it catches your eye and steals your attention. A vivid shade of pink and standing alone. The petals are perfectly uniform and it’s the most perfect looking flower that you’ve ever seen.

Din sighs, seeing someone in the canyon ahead of him. There wouldn’t be any practice unless the person was just leaving. Making him huff under his helmet and hope that it wasn’t someone who is looking for trouble.

You kneel down in front of the flower, appreciating its beauty before reaching into your basket and pulling out your holopad. Unable to resist taking a few snaps of the gorgeous flower.

Zooming in on the photo you notice a figure in the background that you immediately recognise as the father of Grogu - the new and unbelievably adorable little green foundling in your class.

You place your holopad back in your basket, figuring he’ll want some space. He’s polite, not much of a talker but there’s something about him that’s… intense. The kind of intenseness that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand upright and makes that magic button downstairs pulse uncontrollably until it gets the attention it deserves.

You gently snip the bottom of the stalk and gently scoop up the flower in your hands, inhaling its gorgeous and intoxicating scent and letting it flood your senses.

And then it hits you.

Walking closer, he recognizes that it’s Grogu’s teacher. You are a newcomer to Nevarro, at least, you hadn’t been here when it was a bounty hunter’s hive. One of the more gentle settlers, and it doesn’t hurt that besides him, you are Grogu’s favorite person.

He smiles slightly under his helmet, wondering what you are doing out here in the canyon, although he spies the basket on your arm.

The effect is immediate, within seconds fire is coursing through your veins and pain meets a new type of pleasure in the most delicious way.

Every nerve ending in your body is set alight, and the pleasure center in your brain is working overtime. Arousal floods your core, your nipples harden and your clit is pulsing with desperate need out of nowhere.

You start to whimper as your legs threaten to fail beneath you, you’re still kneeling but you feel as though you’re about to collapse in a heap on the floor. The sounds that leave your mouth are nothing short of filthy, and you become more and more aware of your need for something to quench the flames that are burning stronger with every passing second.

Seeing you stumble, Din rushes forward. Hand on his blaster as he tilts his head up, searching for danger. Why else would a healthy woman nearly collapse? “Hey! Hey, get down!”

“The flower,” you say with a breathy moan, “I think it’s the flower.”

He’s already reached your side, grabbing you and your basket and dragging you behind a craggy outcrop in the canyon, getting you to cover. Unaware of your moaned words, they were too unintelligible. The pollen from the flower drifts under his helmet, not pressurized against contaminants and floods his nostrils in a heady rush.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” you babble, as you start to pull on the collar of your dress. The material feels much too constricting and far too warm despite the cool breeze.

“Dank ferik.” Din hisses, his own armor suddenly feeling as if it weighs more than the great forge on Mandalore. “It’s- it’s the pollen.” He croaks out, slapping the basket out of your hand, but he knows it’s too late.

“What’s w-wrong with the pollen?” You gasp out, unsure why your clothes feel heavy and your body is trembling uncontrollably. Your need to be touched now is desperate.

“It’s an aphrodisiac.” He grunts, cock already hardening and tenting the fabric of his flight suit. “It- it lasts for hours and-“ His eyes under his helmet widen as he remembers one particular trait of this toxic flower.

“And?” You ask frantically, “And what?”

“Your heart explodes if you don’t- uh, have sex.” His hand slaps against the rock wall of the canyon and he groans, thinking about an activity that he has long denied himself. He’s been too busy with the kid to seek out any companionship, even for a night.

“What?” You say with a pained laugh, “How is that -fuuuuck- how is that even possible?” The lace from your bra rubs painfully against your hardened peaks and you have to physically fight the urge to free yourself of your dress and bra.

He doesn’t fucking know, but the digital display in his helmet is broadcasting that fact as he looks down at the flower. “What the fuck were you doing with it?” He demands, trying to think about something other than pushing you against the rocks and burying himself in your cunt.

“I was just.. I’m picking flowers for the kids to paint,” you say between labored breaths, “Please, do something. It fucking hurts.” You start to beg, unsure what can be done.

He hadn’t anticipated that response. Groaning, he shakes his head. Knowing that a quick fuck in the canyon isn’t going to do it. Plus it’s too exposed out here. “Hold on to me.” He orders, stumbling next to you and wrapping his arm around your back before he kicks on his Rising Phoenix.

You squeal with shock as you’re shot upwards into the deep blue sky, your arms wrapping so tightly around The Mandalorian that it hurts.

Din’s groans are covered by the sounds of the jetpack and the wind. His cock is throbbing and leaking into the flight suit and he knows you have to be feeling worse. Your exposure was vastly greater than his own.

He senses the moment that the pain becomes too much for you to bear, his arms wrapping even tighter around you as you start to lose your grip. Pain shoots throughout your body as you whimper in his arms.

“We-it’s- it’s close.” He groans, his own body used to pain although he’s never experienced an arousal that might override all his senses like this before. All he can think about is stripping you down, burying himself in your body over and over until relief is finally achieved.

“I can’t hold on much longer,” you gasp, as the aching between your thighs grows stronger and more uncomfortable.

The outline of his small cabin appears and it can’t be a second sooner. His entire body is tense and his jetpack is nearly sputtering as it sets down on the ground in front of the remote dwelling. His star-fighter is parked off to the side and he is grateful that the baby is still asleep in his own little room.

His grip on you stays firm as you reach the ground, and he gently pulls you into his cabin. Spinning you around he presses you up against the door and gently palms your tit with his gloved hands.

“Tell me-“ Din groans and bites his lip under his helmet. “Dank ferik, tell me I can fuck you, Mesh’la.” He begs.

“You can fuck me,” you say with a moan as you press yourself up against him, desperate to feel him inside of you.

His head turns towards the door where Grogu is sleeping, relieved to find it still closed and he steps back to drag you away from the wall. “My room.” He demands, knowing the kid didn’t need to wake up and see anything.

“Yes, sir,” you say as you follow him on shaky legs into the room. Your clothes feel heavy against your skin, but you wait for his command to remove them. Standby patiently but writhing in discomfort as he walks towards you. “I need to take my dress off,” you say, as the material irritates your skin.

“Take it off.” He knows he will rip your dress if it touches it and he needs to get out of his armor. It’s chafing his skin and he’s overheating.

You immediately unzip the dress and let it fall to the floor, before working on your bra and panties. “Need you so badly,” you whine and you climb down onto the bed, and spread your legs. Dipping your fingers into your entrance and spreading some of your arousing through your folds and circling your clit.

“Dank ferik.” The armor clanks to the floor carelessly. Unable to treat it as reverently as he normally does. Fingers fumbling as his cock throbs, visor trained on your cunt.

“Hurry,” you beg, as you circle your clit faster, you’re soaked enough for him to slide right in with little resistance. “Am I allowed to touch you?” You ask as you continue working your clit, you know a little about Mandalorian creed but you’ve never fucked one before and want to make sure you’re respectful and you don’t cross any boundaries.

“I-I’m going to turn out the lights.” He groans, wanting to see you, touch you. And have you touching him. “And I need to blindfold you.”

“Whatever you need,” you say, as you turn your head so he can blindfold you. “I won’t touch you unless you explicitly tell me where it’s okay, and I promise the blindfold will stay on until you take it off.”

“You can touch me.” He is panting as he ties the blindfold and quickly strips out of the flightsuit and his boots. Even though he is burning, he hesitates when reaching for his helmet.

You reach out and let your fingers run across his chest, “Fuck,” you say, as your pussy clenches around nothing, “Want you to fuck me so badly, but I really wanna suck your cock first, Mando. I want to rub my little pussy while you fuck my throat.”

“No.” He chokes out, knowing that your body is screaming for release worse than his own is. It makes the decision easy and the click of the locks is accompanied by a slight hiss as he lifts the helmet off his head and it clatters to the ground.

“Oh,” you say, clearly disappointed but still rubbing your clit as fast as you can and chasing your release. “How do you want me?”

Din knocks your hand away and climbs up on the bed to pull you up and spin you around. A lifetime of training makes picking you up easy and he flips you onto your stomach on his chest. “Suck my cock and I’ll lick you.” He rasps out, his voice unmodulated and clear. “Never done it, but I want to. You need it.”

The sound of his voice is even sexier when unmodulated. Raspy and rough. Each word going straight to your pussy. “Yes, sir,” you say as you feel around and finally get his cock in your hand. It’s thick, veiny and dripping in pre-cum, the room is dark enough and the blindfold is opaque enough that you can’t see it but it feels glorious in your hands. You give him a teasing lick, lapping up all the pre-cum before taking the tip of him in your mouth.

Din groans, his gloveless hands reaching for your hips and his entire body shudders when he realizes that it’s full skin to skin contact. Dragging you back and immediately plunging his tongue inside your quivering and leaking cunt.

“Oh, fuck,” you choke out as you pull off his cock, loving the dexterous heat of his tongue. You take him back into your mouth and hollow your cheeks, your moans vibrating against his cock as he eats your pussy. For someone who said he’d never done this before he’s unbelievably skilled, eating you with such vigor that after a few minutes you can feel your orgasm rapidly approaching.

There have been a lot of holo vids around oral sex in his past, learning and aching to try the things that he saw. Although he’s not got a forked tongue like some species, nor one as long, he still grunts in pleasure as you moan loudly around his cock. Rocking your hips back to taste you more, getting deeper into your cunt.

“Gonna cum,” you croak out around him, before swirling your tongue around the tip of him and pulling away before cumming with a loud whimper of the only name you know for him, “Fuck, Mando!’

Din nearly whimpers at the loss of your mouth but the sweetness of your cum makes up for it. Soaking his face like he’s never experienced before. His cock throbs and he pulls away. “Close.” He chokes out, knowing he’s going to cum from this alone.

You take him back into your mouth and double down on your efforts, sucking him harder and licking your tongue around him. You take him as deep as you can, working the bottom of his shaft with your hands, saliva dripping everywhere as you work him towards his high. Needing to feel his cock twitch and start to flood your mouth with his cum.

It doesn't take him but a few more seconds when your mouth wraps back around him for Din to start to cum. Groaning out your name harshly, it's the only warning you get when he shoots a hot rope of cum down your throat, immediately followed by another.

You swallow around him, humming at the rich yet salty taste of him. Not letting a single drop go to waste, eagerly awaiting each burst as your mouth milks him dry. He’s delicious, salty and musky and you want more. You keep sucking until he orders you to stop and you slowly pull off of him with a groan.

Even though he's cum, his body still aches, his cock is still hard and he knows you aren't satisfied either. "My tongue or my cock in your cunt this time?" He pants out, needing to know where to bury his cock again.

“Your cock, please,” you beg as you lift off of him, “Do you want me to ride you, Sir?”

"For now." He knows you might need him desperately and he wants to see how much you are willing to grind on him for his cock.

His harsh tone makes your chest clench, but you push away that feeling and position yourself over him, slowly sinking down on this thick cock and moaning loudly as he stretches you open. His cock fills you entirely, your walls flutter and hug his cock as you get used to the delicious stinging from how stretched out you are from him. You start rocking your hips slowly, before increasing your pace, grinding down on him over and over. Desperate moans slipping through your plush lips as a wave of euphoria floods through you.

The darkness is just enough that he can see you move. A shadow and he wishes that he could turn the lights back on but he can't risk your blindfold coming loose. It's barely a loophole and technicality of the creed, but you can't see him. Not unless you were going to bind yourself to him.

“You feel so good,” you choke out, as you rock your hips a little faster. “So big. So thick.” You murmur again and again as your pace quickens, chasing a high and feeling a desperate need to have him cum hard and paint your walls with his delicious cum.

"Fuck." Din chokes out, puffing up at the praise. It's better than the moans with his cock in your mouth and he palms your tits, plucking at them and pinching your nipples while you bounce on his length.

“Tell me what you need,” you moan, “Fast or slow? Need you to feel good, baby, want to feel this cock fill me up.”

Din curses again. "Fuck, fast." He hisses, squeezing your tits harshly. "Fucking ride me hard."

You do as he commands, increasing your pace and bouncing up and down on him as fast as you can, moaning in pleasure as he hits that spot inside of you. Your hands cover his as he squeezes your tits, holding on tightly as he starts to fuck up into you, matching your pace with his own.

The loud sounds of sex fill his room. His hips snapping up as you bounce down on his cock. Both of you moaning and cursing greedily as the fire of the pollen rages in your systems. He knows you’re craven for his cum, the only thing that can soothe the effects of the flower.

You reach down and start to circle your clit, as you keep the same pace, wanting to clamp down around him and hear those delicious groans from him. “You’re incredible,” you pant as you near your high, circling your clit with perfect precision as he fucks up against nirvana inside of you. “Gonna cum,” you warn, before pleasure washes over you and squeeze his cock like a vice. Yelling his name as you cum, hard.

Letting go of your tits, he grabs your hips again and starts the hammer up into you. His hold on your body is the only thing keeping you from being thrown up into the air. Harsh punches of his cock that hit deep and wrench a cry out of you every time he hits your cervix, he can’t even care if it hurts you because you gush another wave of heat around him.

“Fuck,” you choke out, as he pushes the air from your lungs with every thrust. You’ve never been fucked like this before, but it’s addicting, you crave more and more from him with each harsh thrust of his hips. “Fill me up,” you beg, each word more strained as his pace quickly overwhelms you.

His arms wrap around you and he’s thrusting up into you like you are his personal fuck toy. “Fuck, fuck, gonna, fuck- fill you up.” He promises, grunting out a word every time he buries his cock into your spasming cunt. One harsh thrust later and a harsh bark of your name, he delivers on that promise. Cumming just as hard and as much as when he came down your throat only minutes before.

Falling forward onto him your face nuzzles into the crook of his neck, he’s still hard and twitching inside of you but a wave of exhaustion starts to make an appearance. You pant into his warm skin, arms tightly wrapped around him and you can’t ignore how tense he is. You’re unsure if you’ve crossed a line, but you need to catch your breath again before you’re able to move off of him and ask how he wants you next.

Din is tense from how close you are to his face. It’s been so long but you don’t reach up to touch it. Your arms around his shoulders and your face tucked into his neck. He rolls you onto your back and starts to rock into you again. Knowing that the night isn’t over by a long shot.

You moan as he rocks into you, his stamina clearly better than your own as you attempt to gather up some strength. But he seems content to pick up the slack as your pussy flutters around him and your walls hug him tight. “Are you allowed to kiss me?” You ask, barely above a whisper as his hips snap forward.

Din groans and he nods even though you can’t see him. “Can I?” He breathes above your lips. He’s never kissed before and right now as he fucking you both through a dangerous exposure to sex pollen seem to be a good time to experience it.

“Yes, please.” You plead softly, wanting to taste his lips despite not knowing what they look like. Not caring at all that you have no idea what he looks like.

Permission granted, he crushes his lips to your in a messy kiss. Much less coordinated than when he licked into you, he had avoided kissing holo vids because he had felt jealous.

You giggle a little at the way he smashes his lips against yours, before lightly touching his chin and taking the lead. Licking his bottom lip gently until he parts his lips enough for you to slip your tongue inside and press it against his own. It doesn’t take long until he’s mastering the art and taking control, his lips now refusing to part from yours as he rocks his hips into you. Kissing you just as hard as he fucks you, changing up the pace every now and then and swallowing your moans of delight.

Groaning into your mouth is like ambrosia. You are the best thing he’s ever tasted and he can’t get enough. His cock steadily fills you with strokes and his tongue mimics the motion into your mouth as he pants his pleasure loudly.

With a few more strokes of his cock, he has you clamping down around him and crying out the name you know him by in pleasure. The stuttering of his hips as your pussy acts like a vice around him makes him grunt your name before pulling you in for another breathtaking kiss. The effects of the pollen start to lessen but the effects of him growing stronger. Everything about him is consuming, his scent, the power he commands and with every snap of his hips and grunt of your name; you want more and more.

Din can barely rock his hips but the clenching and squeezing of your cunt pushes him over the edge. This time he is moaning your name into your mouth while pushing more cum into your pussy. Sliding down your cheeks and soaking his bed underneath you in growing puddle.

“Fuck, Mando,” you say against his lips, with a bright smile. “Picking that flower was the best decision I've made in months.” You love the way he twitches inside of you, your walls still hugging him tightly as he groans against your mouth. You gently run your hand up and down his back as he works on catching his breath.

“Din.” There are plenty of people who know his name now and he doesn’t see why you shouldn’t. Given that he had just fucked the life out of you and still had a few more rounds in him before the pollen is completely gone. “My name. It’s Din.”

“Din,” you repeat softly, “I like that. Din.” You press a light kiss to his lips before repeating his name a few more times. “Do you think I can jerk you off next? My pussy isn’t used to being fucked this good. Give her a little break before you fill her up again?”

“Do you want my mouth again?” He asks, knowing you might still need something. “I can just suck on your clit.”

“Are you sure?” You ask, “I know you said that was the first time you did it, and I don’t want you to feel like you have to do it again if you don’t want.”

“I liked it.” Din twitches inside you as he admits that and kisses you again. “Unless you didn’t like it?”

“I loved it,” you giggle, “Can’t believe that was the first time you’ve done it. Best oral I’ve ever had.”

“Good.” He grunts happily. “Then I’ll do it again.” He pulls out of you and rolls onto his back.

“You want me to sit on your face and I can jerk you off as you eat my pussy, baby?”

“Fuck yes.” Din groans. “Want to taste your cunt filled with my cum.”

“Fuck,” you moan at his filth, “Yes, sir.” He helps you position over his face, and you hover a few inches above his mouth before reaching down and gripping his cock. Giving it a few languid strokes before finding a pace that has him groaning. “I bet you’ve got a gorgeous cock, Din, I can feel how good it is. But fuck. It’s so thick and long and those veins… I.. fuck. It’s so perfect.” You tell him before he pulls you down and starts to eat your pussy like a man starved. You work his cock like it’s the most important job in the work, each flick of your wrist designed to make him groan and grunt with pure pleasure. “Do you like that? Do you like me stroking your cock while it’s still dripping with my cum, Din?”

He huffs, nodding his head as he continues to lick and taste both of you combined. He’d love it if you sucked his cock again but your hand is good too. Tilting your hips up, he finds your clit and sucks it into his mouth.

“Fuck, Din,” you yell out as he sucks on your clit, “Maker- I could get used to this.” You squeeze his cock a little harder, changing the pace from fast to slow. Wiping your thumb across the tip and gathering up the pre-cum to taste on your fingers. He groans as you let him, bringing your fingers up to mouth and licking them clean before gripping his cock again. “Going to suck your cock again after this, you taste so good, baby.”

Din groans and sucks on your clit harder, pushing his tongue against it and releasing it to lick it and suck it back into his mouth to start the entire process over again. He could get used to this too. Eating your pussy every night and having you on his cock.

“Diiiiiiinnnnnn,” you moan, over and over as he works magic on your clit. You stroke his cock over and over as his hips stutter, “Gonna c-cum.”

He pulls away just to gasp out, “me too.” Before he’s reattaching his lips to your clit like a hungry sucker fish.

“Din, Din, Din,” you chant his name over and over like a sacred prayer, pumping his cock until he’s spurting out thick ropes of cum, cum that you’ve desperate to scoop up and lick from your fingers. You feel your pussy clench down around nothing as your orgasm pulses through you, soaking his face with your arousal as he continues his delicious assault on your bundle of nerves.

You stopped stroking his cock, too focused on your own pleasure but you squeeze him. Making him pulse as his balls draw up against his body again.

“Din,” you pant one last time, as he grunts beneath you. You feel his cock twitching in your hands, clearly desperate for more release, and you resume your strokes. Milking him free of his pleasure and loving the way it pants your skin. Your fingers, wrists and arms are covered in his cum. All of it begging to be licked clean.

Letting go of your clit, Din groans your name as you stroke his cock and milk it of every drop of his release.

The second he stops cumming, you gently let it go and start cleaning it from your skin. Moaning at the taste and humming in content as you swallow it all down. “You taste delicious, Din.”

His cock is still hard but he’s not desperate to be inside you. The fire in his veins nearly burned away and it will only take once more before it’s all done. “You taste good, Mesh’la.” He praises roughly. “Could taste you everyday and be a happy man.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you say with a giggle. “It’s wearing off, I think, it doesn’t burn as badly but I think I can go again. You wanna fuck my mouth or my pussy this time, baby?”

“Is your pussy too sore?” He asks, knowing he’s been rough with it.

“I can take you again, I’m definitely going to be feeling you for a while, but I'm not complaining.”

“Why don’t you ride me then?” He asks, stroking your hip. “You can kiss me this time.”

“Perfect,” you say, wasting no time and getting into position and sinking down on him again. You press your lips against his and start to rock your hips, the ache between your legs getting drowned out with pleasure as he matches your pace.

"Shit, shit, fuck, you are so tight?" Din groans in surprise. "How are you still so tight? We've been fucking for hours." He doesn't stop touching you, anywhere and everywhere he can while you ride him, stroking your back, your hips, sweeping his hands up to your breasts. Greedy for that skin to skin contact now that he's not quite as focused on cumming. "Kiss me, mesh'la." He begs.

You immediately press your lips to his, and moan into his mouth. His hands feel perfect on you, they explore your body with ease as you rock up and down, chasing relief once more around his cock.

This time is less frantic. It’s slower and almost more intimate. It’s almost like you are making love.

“Need you to cum,” you murmur against his lips, exhaustion taking its toll on your fucked out body, as you rock your hips slowly. His thumb pressed up against your clit as you chase some friction

“I will.” He promises. “After you, Mesh’la.”

You move your hips just a little faster, still keeping the pace slow and intimate. His thumb circles your clit perfectly as you grind down on him, cunning with a soft moan of his name, clamping down around him and relishing the groans of pleasure he fills your ear with. “Cum for me, Din,” you plead, as you can come back down.

Now that he feels your entire body melt, he knows the pollen has worked completely out of your system. “Good girl.” He grunts, rocking his hips as he wraps his arms around you. “I’m gonna fill you up again.”

“Please,” you beg, needing to feel his release. “Please, Din.”

He doesn't rush, knowing that you have to be exhausted at this point. Only his ability to go beyond his limits allows him to keep rocking his hips up. As soon as he cums, he knows he will pass out to sleep for a good while. You are almost asleep as he fucks you.

You sink your face into the crook of his neck, unsure how you’re going to find the strength to pull yourself out of bed and make your way home. Rocking your hips more and more, his release clearly moments away, you ride him harder, determined to give him every bit of his pleasure.

"Fuck." He groans and thrusts up one more time to bury himself deep. Throbbing again and feeling your walls grip him tight when he starts to spill inside of you again. Groaning your name quietly as he fills you. Feeling the heat and need of the pollen falling away with the last pulse of his orgasm.

“Din,” you murmured into his skin, “Tha-thank you.” Exhaustion rumbles in your joints, everything aches, but everything feels worth it when you’re wrapped up in his arms.

"Sleep, mesh'la." He hums, his hand sliding up and down your back gently. He's still inside you and doesn't want to pull out right now. He wants to sleep inside you. "I know you are exhausted."

You hum happily into the crook of his neck, letting him move you slightly and wrapping his arms around you. “Goodnight, Din.”

Sleep comes easier than it has in months, safely pulling you into slumber as he gently rubs your back and holds you tight to him.

Sometime during the night, Din wakes up. opening his eyes and letting his vision adapt to the darkness. He's softened and is barely inside you but it was probably the most relaxed and the best sleep that he's ever had. Possibly in his entire life. Reaching up, Din gently unties the blindfold that is still firmly over your eyes. He's decided that he wants you to see him. Or have the choice if you wanted him to turn on the lights. Now he just holds you, waiting for you to wake up.

Waking up, you hum contentedly in his arms, nuzzling your nose into his warm skin. The fact he’d removed your blindfold not fully registered yet as you wish him a ‘good morning.’ It’s only as you pull back and the light hits your eyelids that you realize the blindfold is off. “Din,” you say quietly, “Is it ok to open my eyes?”

"Opening your eyes comes with consequences, mesh'la." He admits quietly. "I am not allowed to let anyone see my face. Or I become darmanda." He explains. "I would no longer be Mandalorian."

“What do you want me to do?” You ask, before pressing your lips against his, “Tell me.”

"There is a way that you can see me and I am still Mandalorian." He tells you, slightly nervous about what you would think. It's crazy, but he couldn't stop thinking about it when he woke up.

“Tell me,” you repeat, “If you want to.”

"If you are my riduur....you can see my face without any consequences."

“Riduur?” You repeat slowly, “What is that?”

“Spouse.” He whispers the Basic word and waits for your reaction.

“Oh,” you say quietly, before bringing your hands up to his chin and gripping it gently. “Riduur,” you repeat, loving the way it sounds, “You could see me as yours one day?”

“You would be mine then.” He tells you. “If you want.”

“I want to be yours,” you say against his lips.

“Then open your eyes, Mesh’la.” He murmurs softly. “You can look at me before we say our vows.”

You kiss him first, pressing your lips firmly against his before pulling back and slowly opening your eyes. Staring deeply into his brown eyes and feeling a smile spread across your face as you take in his features. “Gorgeous,” you say quietly, before letting your fingertips gently run across his face.

His eyes softly and his lips part when your fingers drag across them. He’s been touched by Grogu but this is different. “Pleasant enough? Or should I put my helmet back on?” He jokes self-consciously.

“You’re perfect,” you say honestly, “I can’t believe you’d want me. You’re gorgeous.”

“You are mesh’la, it is Mando’a for beautiful.” He hums, smiling up at you.

“Mesh’la,” you repeat, “You are mesh’la, Din.”

Biting his lip, he says, “repeat after me. Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.”

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde,” you say as clearly as you can, eyes still focused on his as you do so.

Din grins. “It is our vows.” He explains. “It means - We are one when together, we are one when parted, we share all, we will raise warriors."

“We are one.” Taking his hand you bring it to your lips and place a small kiss on it. “Yesterday took an unexpected turn… But I’m so glad I picked that flower.”

He snorts and shakes his head. “Good thing I wasn’t secretly a Gungan under my helmet.” He teases.

You giggle back at him before pulling him in for another kiss, “I don’t think I’m going to be able to walk normally for the next few days, you realize that right?”

“That’s to be expected.” Din flashes you a dirty grin. “Make sure you tell them that when we go to Mandalore.”

“So every time you fuck me, I’m going to be feeling it for days?” You ask with a raised eyebrow.

“Not every time, but when you’re fucking to stay alive, I’ll make sure you feel it.” He chuckles, wrapping his arms around you and grinning up at you. “You can pick those flowers anytime you want….riduur.”

“I might just have to do that,” you giggle, “Thank you for saving my life, Din.”

“I think I’ve gotten a pretty good reward.” Din hums. He had settled here for Grogu and it was a nice little place, maybe a little lonely since he’s not so busy, but now he has a feeling he will never be lonely again. Not with you by his side.

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exoticb-utters · 1 month

Note

Hello!

So I saw that your requests were open, and would like to ask for a Hank McCoy (Wolverine and the X-Men) x Reader short story, if that isn't too much trouble. If that's not on the table, I'm sorry for bothering you.

YES OFC, I haven’t been writing much, and instead, I’ve been posting a lot more art so it’s about time I get back in touch with my roots 🙏🏽 (sorry this took me forever omg) pls enjoy 😘

Confessions

Hank x Mutant Reader Word Count: 2.7k Words

Mutant Power: Water Manipulation

You’ve been a member of the X-men for the last 3 years. Yes, that’s almost 3 years you’ve had a crush on Henry McCoy.

I mean, how could you not? He was so sweet, and always put aside time for you whenever you needed it. He’s also, like, insanely hot…

While you do have a huge soft spot for Hank, everyone had given you a warm welcome when you joined of course, this team was your family. More of a family than your parents; who called you a freak for doing ‘tricks’ with their drinks.

You’d make frequent trips to the lab, knowing all too well there would be a big blue hermit waiting for you. As you did this, Hank could never bring himself to admit the embarrassing fact- but your frequent visits were the highlights of his day.

The rest of the team were amazing family to him of course, but no one checked in or visited Hank as often as you did.

Most of the time anyone usually ever came down was if they needed something; nothing this personal. It was new, but it was nice for a change.

Your jokes with him never got old, and your smile that came with it could only make it better. The willingness you had to sit around and let him rant about the latest experiment that had him losing sleep, to even offer a hand with whatever he was struggling with. Your innocent praises glorifying how smart he was had him hiding his growing blush by looking behind a microscope.

“I’m afraid blue blushes too, my dear…” He would joke, causing you to smile and chuckle. Ugh who loves a hot, funny nerd. You’d chuckle to yourself.

Oh who was he kidding, Hank was head over heels. While he tries to use his brain to rationally sugar coat things, he knew he was helpless.

Your attention to detail was incredible, you somehow remember all of his favorite things without fail. You were just so…thoughtful.

He couldn’t help but feel a bit selfish, wanting more than your visits down to his lab, the long talks, your presence. He was going crazy.

Then, every night you’d find yourself laying awake in your thoughts, knowing he couldn’t possibly feel the same.

You’d never put your friendship on the line for something so…selfish.

The thought ate away at your conscious, the numbing sound of your fan tuned out by your busy mind. You sigh, rolling over to your side while pulling your blanket with you.

You don’t know why you were like this.

You and Hank are…friends. Which is fine- even though it hurts. You are fine with it, and you’ve been fine for the past 3 years.

…for the most part anyway.

♡ ♡ ♡

You were now hanging out with Hank in his lab, legs dangling over the edge as you talked to each other. Something about a new opera showing happening in town.

Suddenly, you hear Xavier telepathically call for the rest of the X-Men to meet him in the control room, suited up. Must be a mission.

You were informed the Jaggernaut had escaped custody, again.

All X-Men that were on stand-by were now assigned on this task. The team consisted of you, Hank, Cyclops, Jean, Wolverine, Nightcrawler, and of course Storm. Stacked team if you say so yourself.

Everyone was in the Blackbird with the sole goal of neutralizing the Jaggernaut before he caused severe harm.

Cyclops was put in charge, giving direct orders as he looked to you and Ororo. “I need you and Storm to direct him towards us, we need to keep him separated from civilians. Meaning I need a tall wall of water, Storm you freeze it making sure he won’t be able to get through.”

You both looked to one another with nod. Scott then turns around to Hank who was piloting the jet. “Hank you go with them and watch from above and make sure things don’t get to out of hand. If they do we need your strength to counter-attack.”

Hank replies with a “on it” before tilting the jet to left, bringing the stealth instrument closer to the designated location.

“Logan you’re taking the wheel while those three get dropped down. Everyone else is with me.” Scott said finally while Hank clicked some buttons before switching with Logan. The bottom hatch of the plane opened up, allowing you, Storm, and Beast to exit.

Storm flew to her position in the air, leaving you and Hank free falling towards the ground. Hank turned to look at you expectantly, blue hair blowing wildly in the wind.

“Yeah, yeah, I got it.” You chuckle. You outstretched your arms towards a nearby pond you spotted earlier. Pulling your hands back to your chest in a stream-like manner, a large funnel of water shot out towards you and Hank.

You grabbed Hank’s arm as the funnel reached you, changing the water into a shape similar to a slide with your free hand. You surfed down the water, holding onto Hank making sure he kept up- and knowing him, it was also preventing him from falling off.

As you neared the ground, you spun the water into a wide spiral to slow down your momentum for an easy landing.

“I’m still impressed you can do that with your hands.” Hank comments as you reach the ground, earning an amused huff from you. “Well it took some practice,” You trail off, your eyes now looking at his crazy wind blown hair.

“Actually, I’m more impressed your hair can take that shape…” You snort, biting on ur fist to hold in your laugh. It looked like he had an insane cowlick…well, maybe if the cow had 4 tongues.

“…what?” He said before quickly bringing up a hand to his hair. While he was busy fixing his crazed hair, you spot Storm flying over.

“I’ve located the Juggernaut, he’s down the street!” She briefly informs you before taking off, flying further down the street.

“Right right, back to business.” You say, waving an arm around yourself to recollect your water. Hank takes off, leaping after Ororo as you ride your stream of water.

You hear loud commotion around your surroundings the further you went, hopefully you arrived in time. You spot the Juggernaut on the street, wildly flipping cars as if he were in a mad rampage. One was now launched and flying in midair- towards you, specifically.

You expertly weave around it, spinning upside down in doing so. Before he can flip anymore cars you jump, using all surrounding water to form a wall as Scott instructed.

You hear a crack of thunder overhead as you land, the air chilling and the clouds growing darker. With a strong gust of wind, the walls you made froze over. You see Storm fly into view along with the rest of the X-Men behind you.

Beast jumps onto a light post, swinging on the end before propelling himself onto the large wall of ice.

The Juggernaut’s actions were now solely limited to facing the X-Men head on. Realizing this, he began charging with full force towards the rest of the team.

“Get his helmet off!!” Cyclops orders before bringing two fingers to his visor, firing off his laser beams.

Night Crawler bamfs around the brute, landing on his shoulders for brief moments, attempting to unlatch the dome.

You shape your water into a whip, ready to attack if the villain closes in. You see Storm raise her hands, calling down thunder as lightning begins to target the Jaggernaut.

You even see Jean pressing her temple with two fingers, using her telepathy with the other outstretched hand to slow down the pursuer.

He wavered just barely under her prowess, the strong bolts only slowing him down slightly before Wolverine decides it’s time he steps in.

With a growl, Logan leaps towards him with his adimantium claws extended before being swatted away by the Juggernaut’s large hand.

Not a moment later he grabs onto Nightcrawler and tosses him aside as well, throwing him on top of Wolverine.

The X-Men were losing options, and fast.

You had to do something.

You swing your water whip from underneath the Juggernaught before quickly whipping it back against his head, effectively tripping him and causing him to topple toward.

Before he could regain his footing completely, you call back all your water to blast him with as much force as you could muster.

And…It was working! He was regressing in distance.

…Until he took a step.

And then another.

And another.

It wasn't long before he began fully charging toward you.

Your concentrated expression quickly fell to one filled with fear and disbelief. “Watch out!” You heard Jean, Scott, and Cyclops warn in unison.

Their cries were all in vain, a large hand splashing out of the water had taken hold of your face. You felt your feet lift off the ground as you were directly dangling in the air, at the mercy of an unstoppable force. In this position, the Jaggernaught could easily crush your skull if he so pleased.

“I will find Xavier. And I will make him pay.” The brute speaks as his grip on your head steadily tightens, your chest burning as you screamed in sheer horror at the increasing pressure.

From above, Hank was almost hesitant to give away his position as the others before you attacked- he knew they could hold their own. But watching you face the Juggernaught head-on…Seeing how your life was in such jeopardy, hearing your screams, Hank had no second thoughts about intervening and saving you.

With a distant roar, you hear Beast come down on the Juggernaut. He releases you, but at the cost of you falling; and of course- hitting your head on the pavement.

Your head began pounding, ears ringing as the corners of your vision grew fuzzy with dark spots. All you could see was a flurry of blue viciously wrestling with a large brownish blob. More figures rushed into the picture before a redhead precluded your vision, concern written all over her face.

“Stay with me! Don’t close your eyes and just listen to my voice…“ Her words began to fade out as the black dots in your vision clouded the world around you.

Your head rolled to the side, your closing eyes finding the blue figure before your heavy eyelids inevitably shut.

Hank.

♡ ♡ ♡

You slowly awoke to a steady beeping of a monitor nearby, your eyes softly fluttering open. Looking up to the ceiling, you recognized it as the flat cement ceiling of Hank’s Lab.

Before you could get up, you felt the intense throbbing pain coming from the back of your head. Had you really hit your head that hard?

Well if it had knocked you clean out it must’ve been…

“You’re awake!” You hear a familiar voice call out to your right. It wasn’t long before a blue face came into view, blocking the blinding lights of the overhead fluorescent lights.

“How are you feeling?!?” Your vision slowly focused in on the figure in front of you. “Good…I think.” You slowly sit up, rubbing the back of your head tenderly.

You notice you had an IV inserted into your right forearm. Without another thought you removed it, ready to go…to wherever you were needed.

“Woah, there- you should slow down it’s been…a bit and you're still recovering.” Hank warns, grabbing your wrist to keep you from moving any further.

You looked to his face…he was worried??? “Hank, I’m fine! See?” You said reassuringly; though, Hank himself didn’t find himself too convinced.

“Hey, what are you so worried about?” You ask, brows drawn together hoping to get a straight answer out of him.

He was worried about you, obviously. You suffered several traumatic head injuries within a short span of time! If you had not been a human…he didn’t even want to think of the possible outcomes of that situation.

Hank sighed heavily, organizing his racing thoughts. “I thought I’d lost you.” He managed to drag out.

Huh?

Scared??

That he lost...YOU?!?

“Hank, I think I’ve suffered greater injuries. You should know this.” You say with a small laugh before quickly stopping, his solemn expression instantly killing your attempt to lighten the mood.

His large hands grab your wrists firmly. “You have been out for a month.” His words shook you, so much you found yourself shaking your head in disbelief. You hadn’t been out for longer than a day, right?

Hank must’ve sensed your reluctancy to believe your current situation because he started again. “You suffered several fractures to your skull, luckily, nothing broken or opposing threats to your brain. Unfortunately the stress your skull took on added with the hard contact of the ground basically split your head open.” He explained, running a hand down his tired face.

You hadn’t realized this had happened. “But I’m…I’m okay now, aren’t I?” You ask hesitantly, raising a hand up carefully to the back of your head. You felt stitches, running up your skull. Your stomach dropped.

“I performed an emergency medical procedure…which I won’t go into details with you so soon…” He sighed heavily once again, plopping down in his wheeled office chair.

“I hadn’t realized…” You quietly trailed off while fidgeting with your fingers out of nervous habit.

Hadn’t realized what? How bad the situation was? How worried the other X-Men must be? How much Hank went through to make sure you were well?!?

“Please, it isn’t your fault. If anything, this situation has made me realize something…” Now it was Hank’s turn to dramatically pause, his head in his large, blue hands.

“What? What is it?” You ask nervously, fearing your health was in critical condition at this point.

He grabbed you by the shoulders once again, looking into your eyes deeply, “Because…because I fear I’m falling in love with you.”

You stared in utter shock. Had you heard him correctly? He feels the same way?!?

“I-I want to come home to you, to kiss you like it’s been eons since I last saw your face. I need you safe, I don’t know how I’ll live with myself if you aren’t-“ You didn’t need to hear anymore.

You grabbed him by his lab coat, pulling him into you as your lips pressed together in a flurry of passion.

He held onto you, hungrily chasing after your lips as he poured all the love he’d helplessly held in for so long.

Your hands slowly slid up his broad chest and towards his neck, finding themselves tangled in his soft hair. “Hank” You sighed against his lips, the kiss ripping all oxygen from your lungs and leaving you breathless in the process.

He groans into your mouth in response, his tongue running against your bottom lip to beg for access.

Your heated ‘session’ was abruptly cut short by the lab door sliding open. Hank shot up, nearly taking a tumble trying to remove himself from you- to avoid any suspicion of previous actions of course.

Though, the scene didn’t look too convincing; seeing how Hank’s glasses laid crooked on his face and his hair was well tussled. You had to cover your giggle at his appearance.

It was Morph, Cyclops, and Logan. They all start laughing, causing the rest of the X-men to come in, groaning in defeat.

“Woah, woah- we’re all of you just standing outside the door?!?” Hank exclaimed.

“Pay up, daddy’s waiting.” Logan holds out a hand expectantly towards the other X-Men, a smirk displayed across his face while completely ignoring Hank.

“I knew I should’ve bet with Logan.” Rogue mumbles, fishing out money from her pockets along with the rest of the team.

Oh yes. This was only the beginning of a long, beautiful (and heavily teased) relationship with Hank.

I hope you enjoyed this cute little one-shot! ;)

If you want more like this or want something written, please hit up my ask box! Requests are always open 💕 Until next time🫡🫡

-Mae

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