#im out here hunting for any glimpse of this thing

[black-ajah-hq]

i can't stop thinking about it...

[rivilu]

OHOHO! Nenio you're giving me so many lore options to execute in my head and my head only, thank you for your service

[nattyswann]

“Im the hunter.”

authors note: AHHH okay so true sanji fangirls would know that the title is inspired by his famous ‘Im the hunter’ line in Enies lobby. However I do want you to imagine timeskip sanji rather than pre-timeskip. You guys can imagine what you want but that’s what envisioned when I wrote it haha.

Parings: hybrid!reader x hunter!sanji

Warnings: dark content! You have been warned! smut, hybridxhuman relationship, dubcon (reader tries to run away but she ends up liking it), Yandere themes, size kink, breeding kink, honestly sanji may be a bit of a sadistic fuck in this but he’s hot so it’s okay !

Summary: Sanji and his buddies go on their annual hunting trip. That’s where he meets you. He becomes so infatuated with you that he makes sure that you’re his prey for the trip.

• When sanji and three of his buddies go hunting, he doesn’t really expect to catch anything. He never does. Every year when they go on this trip they usually just get wasted in a cabin and exchange stories. They just call it a ‘hunting trip’ for some reason.

• Luffy and Zoro are typically the only ones who catch prey because they are the only ones who really care. Luffy loves hunting and catching this own food. Especially the part where Sanji gets on the grill and cooks up his kills. Zoro just likes the hunting and killing part. It’s something about it that gets his competitive side to come out so he can show how good he is at it. How much better than Sanji he is.

• Usopp loves coming on the trip but he is always too loud and jumpy to make any catches. That’s why Zoro and Luffy stick together and Sanji and Usopp stick together. The four of them decided those are the best pairs. Sanji just goes to get a glance at the scenery and see the different animals that pass by. It was usually only deers, ducks, and other wildlife.

• However..this time Sanji gets a glimpse of something a bit larger than a normal animal. It has an unusual outline and he almost makes out..a chest..slim waist..long hair. It takes him a minute but he almost mistakes it for a..WOMAN?!

• He has to do multiple double takes as his eyes take in the sight of a beautiful creature that’s foreign to him. He’s never seen a pretty thing like you before. To make sure he was seeing things right, Sanji decided to whistle at you. He was just trying to strike a movement from you. When you heard his whistle, you turned your head and widened your eyes at the sight in front of you. It was a scary man with a gun just as big as him.

• Having seeing the gun, you decided it was probably best to run if you wanted to get away with your life. Of course, Sanji followed and ran after you though. He had left poor Usopp all alone but to him it was worth it. For some reason Sanji had felt the sudden urge to catch you. The urge to tame you so he could show how much more power he had over such a small thing like you. Never had he actually enjoyed hunting but this was quite fun. He liked seeing you fumble and loved the scared look on your face as you turned back to check if he was still coming.

• After having that thought, Sanji suddenly paused and stopped running. He watched as you sped away from him and disappeared into the trees. Sanji stood there for a moment, contemplating what that feeling he just had was. What was that random sadistic thought his mind thought up? Why did it feel so good to know that he could hunt you down if he really wanted too?

• While he was contemplating these things, Usopp finally found him. “Jesus, Sanji! Why’d you run away from me like that?! You know there are bears out here! Like actual real life bears. Like with claws and shit.” Sanji shushed Usopp and pointed the same direction that you ran off in. “You know those Hybrid things. I’m pretty sure I just seen one. She was really cute too.”

• “For real?” Usopp put on his googles and scanned the area Sanji was pointing towards. “For real.” Sanji started walking the same direction and pulled his gun closer to him.

• “Wait, Where are you going?” Usopp began to follow him and pulled his own gun closer to him too. “I’m hunting. Isn’t that what we came here to do?”

• “So you’re planning on killing this hybrid?” “Of course not. The gun is just for intimidation.” Sanji seriously wasn’t planning on killing you. He just wanted to catch you and see what you really looked like up close. Then he would set you free back into your natural home. They had a few more hours until they had to meet back up at the cabin so why not have some fun?

• After about an hour of camping out and just waiting around, Sanji heard a tiny sneeze from behind him. “Usopp, keep your baby sneezes to yourself. I’m trying to listen.” “Hey! I didn’t sneeze!” When usopp said that, it set in that there was someone else there. There was someone else in the area that was there with them. “Shh. She’s here.” Sanji whispered to Usopp.

• The two of them looked around and searched for any sign of any type of hybrid. That’s when Sanji seen you again. Wearing that same oblivious face you had before you spotted him. You looked so pretty and peaceful. As opposed to the scared and anxious look you had earlier.

• “There she is. That’s the one, Usopp.” Usopp perked his head and put a hand over his mouth to hide his excitement. “Woah, You were right. She is an odd looking creature.” The long-nosed man shoved his hand into his bag to find his Polaroid camera. “I gotta take a picture to show Kaya!” “No. Don’t wanna risk her seeing the flash.” Usopp groaned and put his camera away. “You are no fun. Suddenly you are like Zoro and Luffy.”

• “I wanna catch her. She’s mine.” Usopp put his hands up defensively. “Fine. You can hunt for her on your own then. I’m going back to the cabin.” Sanji swatted him away as he kept his eyes on you. “Whatever. I’ll see you when I get back.” Usopp patted Sanji’s back as he packed up and left. “Good luck.” Sanji didn’t need luck. He was determined to trap you in and corner you when you least expect it. The same way he watched Zoro and luffy do to prey so many times.

• Sanji lifted his gun and got a closer look at you with the scope of his hunting rifle. He couldn’t believe how beautiful you were. How innocent you looked. Now that he got a better look at you, he could make out a cute little fluff of a tail and long ears that were just as adorable as you. You were a sweet little bunny hybrid and Sanji wanted to make you his. Whether he had to fight you for it or make you submit to him. Sanji was going to have you in some way.

• He decided that he waited enough and so sanji tied his boots and got ready to take charge after you. This part was the most fun. The thrill of being able to chase you down. Sanji took one step and that was all you needed to perk your head up and take a look around. You were way too slow though because the blonde man caught you completely by surprise. He jumped from the trees and dashed towards you in one fast swoop. You could barely react and it didn’t help that your fear took over and you just froze. You fell to the ground on your back when the man got too close. You felt chills go down your spine.

• “W-who are you? Why were you following me?!” Sanji took a hit from his cigarette and blew out the smoke before giving you an answer. “Who am I?” The tall man bent down a bit to get closer to your face. “I’m the hunter.”

• You trembled under the man that stood above you with his gun in hand. Sanji reached a hand down to feel the soft spots of fur on your cheek. “What’s wrong, darling? You’re shaking.” The closer he got to you, the more you felt threatened. Something about his demeanor made you quiver. Also the fact he was still bearing a gun. Sanji noticed your quick glances towards his weapon. “Awe. Does this big gun scare you, little one?” Chuckling as he put it on his back and out of view. “Don’t worry. If I wanted to use it on you I would have. I had many opportunities.”

• “You liar! I’m not that gullible. You’re wearing hunting gear and you have a gun. You were hunting me down.” Sanji’s smirked suddenly turned into a frustrated frown. “I’m telling you the truth. I was only in it for the hunt but I caught you. So I win.”

• Sanji held out his hand to help you off the muddy ground. Even though he promised he had no intentions to kill you, the scary thought still lingered in your mind. “Take my hand. You look hungry so I’ll feed you and get you all cleaned up.” When his hand came at you, by instinct you swatted it away and flinched away from him. “What’s wrong with you? I told you to take my hand. I’m giving you a chance to do it voluntarily.” “And if I don’t?”

• Sanji shrugged and retracted his hand. He tried to give you a chance. He tried being a gentleman. “Fine then. Stay down there. We can still have fun out in the wild.” Not being able to control himself, Sanji took the opportunity to get on top of you and trap you between his large frame. When you tried to throw feeble punches at his chest Sanji chucked and used one of his hands to grab hold of your wrist. “Stop it. I’m not trying to hurt you, bunny.” When the man caught a tear coming from your eyes he licked it from your cheek. “I can’t you have you crying yet.” He leaned down to whisper in your ear. “Don’t cry. I’m just gonna make love to you, bunny.”

• when you heard those words, it sprung you to fight harder and try to push him away. He was trying to have his way with you. Sanji leaned up and started unbuckling his belt. This gave you a moment to turn on your stomach and attempt to run but it was futile. Sanji ended up grabbing your ankles and getting on your back. It wasn’t long before you felt his penis threatening to penetrate your virgin cunt. You trembled at the thought of how far he might stretch you. “Ready, bunny?” You slowly nodded and lightly pushed your ass closer to his member. You weren’t sure why you submitted so quickly or why his dominating voice made you want more but your body had failed you. “Ah. You must be feeling impatient. You want your masters dick inside you?” Sanji grabbed hold of his cock and spit on the tip so he could glide it in with a bit of ease. Your eyes began to water when you felt the pressure from the tip. “Hah..I..I can already feel you inside..”

• Sanji nodded and took in your gorgeous face as you felt your first ever dick entering your gummy walls. He could probably burst just from the pure tightness and the way your hole clamped around his tip. “I’m gonna put the rest, darling. You ready to feel me stretch your tiny hole out?”

• “Please just be gentle..make it feel good.” Sanji took hold of your chin and put his lips near your neck so that he could apply loving kisses while he pounded you from behind. “Oh, I’ll be gentle. I wouldn’t wanna hurt my fragile hybrid.” Although he was sort of forcing this on you, it was nice to be claimed by someone and feel the warmth of another person. You weren’t mated by any other hybrids and you lived alone in the woods. Having this random man come by and swoop you off your feet is so overwhelming but in a good way.

• You could feel sanji begin to push forward and slowly get you to adjust to him. He believed in your ability to take him all at once so he pushed the rest of his cock into your pussy. It helped him that you gushed out wetness that began to stream down your thighs. You started to wiggle but sanji was able to calm you down by kissing your neck and stroking your clit with one of his hands. “This isn’t too much, is it baby?”

• “No..I wanna be filled with you. Go dee-” You could barely finish your sentence before he roughly thrusted deeper into you. Sanji took that as his que to go at his own pace now. He took his hand that was stroking your clit and flicked his fingers faster against the sensitive bud. You moaned out and he grinned at the fact that he was giving it to you so good already. “Fuck.” Sanji glanced down at where he connected with you. The loud plapping sounds echoing around the forest rang in your ears while you faded in and out of awareness. “You are taking me so well. Your cunt is just too eager to finally have a cock in it.”

• “Please could you b-breed me..?” You kicked your legs and moaned out again after asking such a lewd question out of nowhere. You didn’t wanna ask but your mouth ran faster than your mind and your instincts told you to get bred by your current mate. “Of course.” sanji rubbed your clit roughly as he sped up again. “Only if you beg me some more and say that I own you.” He leaned down to whisper the last part in your ear. “My name is sanji by the way.”

• “s-sanji..could you pretty please breed me with your cum..”

• “Already on it. If you keep it up then i’ll make sure to fill this pretty bunny pussy with all my seed.” “I want you to be the one to claim me. Want you to mark me.” sanji’s mind went into overload when he heard your encouraging words and felt your walls clamping around him in attempt to keep all his sweet seed from spilling out. “Mmhh..how’s that for breeding? Did I do a good job?” It went without saying that he did though because of your clearly satisfied expression. You couldn’t even give him an answer from how fucked out you were. Sanji was pleased with himself as he pulled out his cock with a pop. He smelled your neck and stroked your hair. “You were so sweet for me. You knew exactly who you belonged too.” He took two of his fingers and pushed them inside of you too make sure you could feel his sticky seed all inside of you. “Such a good bunny for me.”

[adaptacy]

i am obsessing so hard over gale. like, i kid you not, i started out HATING him cause he was eating my artifacts and seemed completely useless in battle. but then i started a second playthru with my bf and i was like 'well im romancing astarion in my main so i GUESS i'll go for the other pretty boy'

....

it was the start of a very, very, very extreme brainrot fest.

so! as I learn more abt him (im in the shadow cursed lands rn, haven't had the sex scene with him yet so i dont know his character super well/im not super confident in portraying him) take this little snippet of wizard angst cause he needs a hug and i wanna give it to him :)

-------

“I reckon it’s sweet.” 

“Sweet?” 

“Sweet,” he clarified. “And smooth. Dare I say… simple. I must admit, I was somewhat befuddled with the absence of a necessity for complexities; you required no books, no training, no vexatious intricacies– it came naturally.” He remained fixated on a point off in the distance, perhaps watching the quiet rippling of the lake, just off the camp’s coast, undisturbed by the activity that usually stirred during the day. 

Peace was a mercy, and an uncommon one, but you felt it, here, with him. Like the eye of the hurricane that stalked you throughout Faerûn, the bloodshed and chaos that ruled your everyday life was far from absent, but it was silenced. Screams that echoed in your ears were muted, momentarily, granting you a glimpse of life before your adventure, before the hunt, before the cult, before the illithid’s influence. It would be short, but the fact that it occurred at all was a miracle. 

“Like wine.”

“Wine?” You chuckled, shifting a little closer, his arm coming to wrap around your shoulder, further warming you. 

“I predicted bitterness. A bite, or a sting. I’ve read stories about flavorful affections such as these. Stories. Can you believe it?”

“With how much reading you do? I can,” you hummed, resting your head against his side. 

“Tales, I believed them to be. I’ve seen love. Red love. Irascible, fractious love. Impotent, paralyzing love. Love like a raging sea. A love that I trusted. A fool I must’ve been.” There’s a short, woe-rooted chuckle that escapes him followed by a thin exhale out of necessity, out of defense. You knew who he was referencing, but you couldn’t bring yourself to mention the name. “Any sane soul would regret it.”

“Do you not?”

“There’s little time in this life– certainly, it offers no such room for regrets. I’ve wasted too many moonrises pondering the past.” His fingers graze your arm, and you allow your eyes to fall closed. “Many a wondrous thing I’ve witnessed. More than a man of my caliber should deserve. In a single lifetime, I’ve experienced more than a library's worth of literature could possibly cover.” He smiles, you can hear it in his voice. “From a mage’s best dreams to a direwolf’s worst nightmares– I’m sure I, myself, couldn’t have asked for a more thorough tour of what this plane, and a few others, have to offer.” 

“And yet there’s more.” Your remark is a light-hearted one, as you are sure everyone will have more to reflect on the closer you get to the cure you seek. 

But he sighs. A quiet one, restraint tightening his lungs, and you feel unease. “Amongst it all, I have even discovered what I once argued impossible. Simplicity. A priceless simplicity.” This time, when his arm moves, it brings you closer. He craves the contact, the connection struck between you. “Simplicity in love, of all things.”

Your eyes open to find his gaze no longer on the quiet riverbank, and instead on you. There’s a bruise on his left eyebrow, and a cut on the bridge of his nose. He’s pretty, even with the wounds, but you know they sting. A part of you feels guilty for seeing such beauty in his suffering. Deep down you know there is no Gale without suffering. 

At a glance, that’s all there is; a bruise, a cut, and a solemn smile. An exchange of pity for one another. Even for yourselves. An agreement, silent but strong. 

On further investigation, his eyes hold an unnatural glisten. Only then does it register.

“Gale…”

“It’s what’s best.” You sit up slightly, but you’re met with a gentle hush, and his smile grows, the dimples on his cheeks fired by an unknown audacity. “I’ve come to accept it. It is the decider of my fate– it always has been.”

“There are other ways,” you push out the words, and you find the bite, the sting, that he mentioned. In love, you find the pain. 

“Never did I imagine the world outside my tower to hold such beauties. Such contagious fragility. There are no books on this subject. No studies on this exchange of power. What is a puppet to do when he loses his creator? His puppeteer? When he can no longer stand, no longer dance, no longer perform? When obeying is all he knows, what does he do without direction?” 

He doesn’t sit up, he doesn’t stir. He looks back out to the waters. For guidance, maybe. For peace. For life. You’re left with no choice but to settle with the tide. A hand comes to rest on the dark imprint below his neck, desperate to find answers where the weave fails. 

“I have found simplicity. And, perhaps, that is the final step. I never imagined growing old. I suppose it isn’t meant to be.” He breathes, and you can feel the steadiness of his lungs. He isn’t scared. You can only wonder how long he’s contemplated this decision. “You see me. You look past the strings, my love, but that doesn’t mean they don’t still linger. I am but a man; I am no hero, I am no god. But if your safety is the only accomplishment I ever succeed in, I will lie satisfied in my earthly rest.”

“A few more days,” you whisper, pleading. 

“I only ask of you one thing.” Gale inhales, his heart pumping against your palm, pressing closer to his skin, desperate to feel him, to feel more than the orb, to feel more than Mystra’s design. You find his humanity in the tear on his cheek, the hair on his chest, the irregular mock of his heart’s rhythm. You find his humanity in his love, in his hopeless compassion, in his unwavering loyalty. “Don’t let that damned vampire even think about touching me.” 

He chuckles, and you do too, pulling yourself into his chest, hugging him close. He repays the affection, lips on the top of your head, his every breath lingering on your scalp. The peace remains, but you fear this may be your last serving of merciful tranquility.

You only hope it isn’t Gale’s. 

[necroromantics]

🪓 — Conversations With A Killer

ticci toby short story.

- your pen will rapidly hit against the cold, metal table as you watch the clock tick on. time had you in a chokehold, squeezing your throat and forcing its way into your chest. you have done this before, countless times. sitting yourself in a small, empty room with nothing but a pen, notebook, and case file.

- early in your life you decided upon a career in forensic psychology. the mind of a criminal captured you as every interaction you had with a patient made you fall into their hands like a new victim. the difference between yourself and the ones 6ft under, is that in these small, empty rooms, you are in control.

- squirming impatiently in your chair, you opened the case file once again and began refreshing yourself on the indictment . goosebumps began tingling their way onto your arms, and you didn’t quite know if it was the cool air breezing in from the ac or the content on the pages that were the cause.

- thoughts swam like great whites hunting for blood in your mind about the kind of person who was capable of doing such things. your eyes glanced at the suspects name. and then his age.

- the repetitive sound of the plastic pen quickly pattering against the table came to a sudden halt as the door opened behind you. turning around to face the noise, you eyed the man wearing an orange jumpsuit being led in by two bulky policemen.

- you were wrong. that was no man, that was only a boy. he was small, and lanky. his poor posture brought his height down to around 5’6, his skin was pale and his hair was a shaggy mess.

- he threw himself into the chair as he sat down, immediately facing his head down to his shoes, eyeing the ground. you looked back at the officers who brought him in and gave them a nod of approval to leave you alone in the room.

- you knew better than to trust him, despite the harmless appearance. but here sitting across from you was a sickly, awkward looking boy who you knew to be only 19 years old. his gaze stayed firm to the floor, you couldn’t catch a good glimpse at his eyes.

- clearing your throat, you ignored the occasional twitch and jerk coming from the brunette who sat unspeaking across from you. you started, “uh- well. im going to need you to state your name for me, can you do that?”

- for a minute, there was no reply. the only sound was the buzzing of the fluorescent light, and the random sporadic whistle or forced cough from him. you repeated once again, “your name?”

- “toby.” his voice was quiet, but rough. a bit raspy. it was spoken so low you could barely make it out. you knew his name though, of course. you knew everything on the books about this boy. your job here today was to see what he knew.

- “okay toby, do you know why you’re here with me?”

- silence again. he didn’t speak this time, he only shook his head. the boy began biting his nails, his head still so far down his chin almost hit his chest. his head was coiled into his shoulders as he hunched over, doing his best to avoid any form of eye contact. his arm was wrapped around, hugging his core as his other one was raised up to his mouth to be chewed on.

- here sat a boy who didn’t look like he belonged in that orange jumpsuit, and across from him was you who didn’t know what to expect. its not to say you were clueless, god knows you’ve been around the block. but you’ve never dealt with someone so weird.

- amongst the twitches, awkward body language, and aggressive lack of eye contact, there was something else about toby you couldn’t quite put your finger on. there was something in the air around him that felt unnatural, and sickening, like the rot that surrounds a corpse in the morgue. you felt as though you were a mortician confronting a dead body.

- “my report is telling me you were arrested due to your involvement with a weapons trafficking bust. you look fairly young to be involved in that kind of business” eyeing the boy in front of you, you continued, “looking deeper into you, though. we found some interesting things.”

- attempts to illicit any sort of response from the seemingly unstable boy were proven to be futile. but your perseverance knew no bounds, and so you pushed further.

- “do you remember a fire that happened in 2011, in denver, colorado? you mustve been 17 at the time.” your hands folded softly over the beige file that held many documents.

- with one quick motion, his whole body jerked and he slammed his hand onto the table. the sudden sound nearly made you jump, and you would’ve been out of your seat if you weren’t as strong-hearted as you were. but resilient you stayed, just as you always have.

- “i dont know nothing about any fire” he spoke a bit louder this time, and raised his head very slightly, showing his eyes but not quite fixing his posture. though his head remained down, his eyes were now up as he stared at you through his thick eyebrows.

- tobys eyes were dark. his face was young and boyish, but you could see it in his eyes that he has witnessed things no 19 year old boy should have. those eyes were ripe with age beyond him. it felt as though you were looking at a veteran returning home from war, near shellshocked.

- as he continued to eat at his one hand, his other drummed rapidly on the tabletop. dirt was stuck under his chewed up nails, and they were stained with violence. you wondered to yourself for a minute what kinds of things those hands have done, what horrors they have committed.

- sliding the file in front of you, your hand rested on top of it. “do you know whats in here?”

- “a bunch of horseshit.” he muttered, glancing away as he cussed, not taking his hand away from his mouth.

- “this is a documentation of what happened the night of that fire. and information on you as well. the police out there have their own story. now i want to hear yours.”

- toby only shook his head quickly in reply, as to brush you off like dirt on his shoulder. “there is no story, there’s nothing.”

- “amuse me a little bit here toby.”

- his brooding gaze hit the floor once again as his arms wrapped around himself as if he were giving himself a hug. closing him off from the world, and you. this proved to be more difficult than you initially expected. usually younger criminals are talkers, they don’t think things through before they start letting their ego run their mouth.

- “do.. do you not know how to fucking listen? i said there is no.. no story. none.” his words were slightly slurred caused by the deteriorating gash on his left cheek. the tone began to grow harsh, but quiet, like a spark building into a flame.

- with only the lights buzzing and the drilling of the ac spewing out cold air to break the tension that slowly rose between you two, you flipped open the folder and pulled out a photograph.

- “this here is a man named frank rogers, he was an unfortunate victim to the house fire. his son was initially believed to be another potential victim of the fire that spread across the neighborhood and forest as well. but no body was ever found.”

- slowly, he raised his head up. when the boy eyed the photograph, for a split second you swore you saw a hint of amusement form in the cracks of his mouth and eyes. regardless, he remained silent. only repeatedly shaking his head at your questions in desperate attempt brush you off.

- a small tickle grew in your throat as so did your frustration, and desperation. determination to get answers bubbled up inside of you like a sisyphus boulder being pushed eternally up hill. or icarus, making his way towards the sun. despite the chilly breeze flowing in the room, you felt yourself nearly breaking a feverous sweat.

- pulling at your shirt collar, you pulled out a written document and held it in your hands. “autopsy of franks body, as far as they could recover from the fire, showed proof of foul play”. you were lying through your teeth, there was no evidence here. you knew his body was burnt to a crisp, beyond what any autopsy could prove. but you did what you must to confirm the occurrences of that night. this was your job.

- “i guess that’s unfortunate for him then. shouldve learned to play nice” was the only reply toby gave you.

- suddenly a harsh cough shot through your lungs as you felt yourself become a bit dizzy. putting a finger up, you signalled for the younger to excuse you for a moment. it took a minute to collect yourself before you continued again. a quick smirk twisted itself onto the boys face as he kept his head down, trying to avoid your gaze.

- next, you pulled out a collection of old medical records. these were reports of hospital visits from toby’s early childhood, he was remarked as a very accident prone boy. many of the reports showed his body littered with bruises, contusions, and occasional sprains. they were described as accident-caused injuries at the hands of his CIPA disorder which prevented him from feeling pain.

- you knew better than anyone what those bruises were from, and you knew better than anyone it wasn’t any accident.

- “when your father hit you, did he-“ your sentence was cut off quickly.

- “you dont know anything about my father. you dont know shit about what he did”

- the conversation cut out for a moment like a box tv turning off, the immediate change of tone in his voice caught you off guard. he went from a stuttering, quiet boy to a firm, violent tone. it was if he was baring his teeth and growling like a feral hound.

- “tell me then. tell me about your father.” and this is where you win. this is where you get toby rogers to talk.

- “my old man was a mean fucker. he would always hurt my mom, and my sister.” now the hostility has slipped away, replaced with a tragic demeanour where he refused to look you in the eye. sorrow sunk deep into his face, his eyes, now visible once again, looked much more sad then they had just moments before.

- the sudden, volatile changes made you feel queasy, or maybe it was something that you ate. the aura of the boy was suffocating, it squeezed your lungs and scratched at them, forcing out another cough from you.

- through your building unease, you spoke still. “and you? was he the cause of all these injuries?”

- “oh, yeah. i guess. i guess thats why i killed him.”

- your heart dropped into your stomach so quickly it was comparable to a fair ride. did you just get a confession? your teeth bit the inside of your cheek to restrain a victorious smile. maybe this was going to be easier than you thought.

- “can you repeat that for me?”

- “i said,” toby crossed his arms atop the table and leaned in, looking you straight in the eye, “thats why i killed that piece of shit.”

- breath escaped you, and the world around you turned to static. this made your job significantly better, when the killer freely admits to the crime. but you wanted more, you wanted to grab a shovel and dig up the grave of the past. and so you threw yourself into the rabbit hole, and let the static consume anything that wasn’t this boy in this moment.

- “and how did you kill him?”

- “knife. good ol’ trusty kitchen knife.” he was talking so casually, as if it was an everyday event for him. office chatter at best.

- “what did you gain out of this? hurting him makes you just as bad, no?”

- no word from toby, there was an image of a blaring red alarm in your head. a line you shouldn’t cross, but you do, because you need more, and more, and more.

- his stare trickled down your face as he began to eye your nose, the boys expression scrunched into one of disgusted amusement, near sadistic. “your nose is bleeding”.

- tapping onto your upper lip, you felt a wet sensation as blood coated your finger. you were too focused on the confession, and there was that static in your head that drowned out the rest of the world. all that surrounded you was this boy, toby rogers.

- quickly, you get up from your seat and excuse yourself outside. the ambience of the exterior hallway in the station was in stark contrast to the suffocating atmosphere of the questioning room. despite the time of day, the hallway was empty and quiet. it seemed much longer than you remembered.

- the hallway was quiet. the white tiled floors complimented the beige painted walls, and occasional grey metal door. the place that should’ve been filled with beeps, chatter, and police radio were now replaced with the soft buzzing of the overhead fluorescent lights that seemed too bright. your head pounded, you felt sick and dizzy, like you were losing your mind in this place.

- making your way down in attempt to find a bathroom, you felt your heart beat in your chest, building its way up to your throat. you could start to taste the metallic blood on your lips as it slipped down from your nose. uneasiness choked another rough cough out of you as you stopped in your tracks. you realized you have been walking for a few too many minutes now. the hallway was never this long.

- you must’ve missed an exit, you turned around and tried to make your way back the same way you came. when you turned heel, your body began to weaken and you collapsed to the floor, a wave of disease plagued over you as it consumed your mind and body. you fell weak onto the floor, and when your body collided with the tile, your hands met dirt and grass.

- your head faced down as you violently coughed, a sharp pain filled your head and there was a violently loud ringing in your ears. blood splattered from your mouth as you dry-heaved in attempt to catch your escaping breath. collecting yourself was a cat and mouse chase.

- the world around you now was dark, and cold. fresh air of the outdoors whipped your lungs as your body began to shake. you look up through tears of pain in your eyes as you remain on your hands and knees and look up at the tall, slender trees that now surround you. this wasn’t the hallway you collapsed in. you don’t know how you got outside.

- you were swallowed whole by sickness and disorientation, you barely noticed the figure approaching.

- a man wearing orange goggles and a barred-smile grey mask approached you. you may have not been able to see his face, but you noticed the air that surrounded him immediately. you knew who this boy was.

- now wearing a sweater and jeans instead of the orange jumpsuit, he crouched down in front of you. hatchets sat loyal on the holster connected to his belt, you saw mud and what looked like to be blood coating his shoes.

- his rough hands grabbed a handful of your hair as he violently jerked your head up to meet his gaze. he silently tilted his head as to look at you in a different light.

- “you.. you wanna know something funny?”

- the boys low, taunting voice was familiar, you felt yourself taken over by adrenaline. you didn’t know if you should try to run, or obey. you stayed silent.

- jerking his arm, he slammed your head aggressively into the ground beneath you, and by your hair he lifted your head up again. yelps, whimpers and begging was all that escaped your bloody, trembling lips as your hands now wrapped around his arm in attempts to get him off of you.

- “i said, you wanna know something real fucking funny?” his voice was muffled by the mask, but boomed loudly almost to the point it echoed. you could hear the brutality leak off of his tongue. glancing at the woods that surrounded you two, you tried to think of an escape plan

- “what..?” your once confident voice was beat to only a quiet, desperate whimper. in these woods, he was in control.

- “you were wrong. im not as bad as my father…”

- as he spoke these words in a mumble, he gripped your hair tighter and got up, dragging you to your knees and forcing your head back to reveal your neck. he stood tall on his feet and looked down at you as if you were only scum under his shoe.

- you squirmed and screamed, you didn’t want to die in this place, not today. you couldve swore you saw something behind him, hidden in the trees. you couldnt make out its face. the ringing in your ears got worse.

- with a quick motion, he removed one of his hatchets from his belt and held it back, ready to swing at your exposed neck.

- “oh, im far worse.”

[ornii]

My Better Bitter Half, Part 11

Apologies for taking so long but we back baby.

How well do we really know our parents? Take my father. I've always considered him an open book. A man given to misguided schemes and exaggerated displays of affection. But when he was a student, he was accused of a murder that took place right up there. Which leads me to wonder...what really happened that stormy night 32 years ago?

You, your sister Wednesday and, possible crush Enid stood together listening to the drivel that principal Weems was spewing.

“Nevermore was created as a safe haven for our children to learn and to grow, no matter bI realize most of you have heard about the unfortunate incident involving one of our students.bBut I'm happy to report that Eugene is on the mend and is expected to make a full recovery.bSo let's focus on the positive and make this Parents' Weekend our very best yet.” Weems said.

“On the mend?” Wednesday said.

“Try in a coma.” You chime in, Enid turns to Wednesday and you.

“Have you been to see him? You're his friends.”

“I'm the reason he's in the hospital.” Wednesday said, and Enid attempts to console her.

“That is not your fault, okay?” She says, and you raise an eyebrow.

“Well… technically speaking—“ you start, Enid glares at you, convincing you to stop speaking. You close your mouth and shrug.

“Besides, The monster hasn't attacked anyone in the past week. Maybe you finally scared it off.” Enid explains, and you rub your chin, pondering.

“Or maybe it went into hiding to avoid this weekend. Too many people… they want to avoid getting caught.” You say, suddenly your eyes catch a glimpse of black, three figures, Mother, Father, and Pugsley. Wednesday also notices the family arriving.

“I knew I should have worn my plague mask.” Wednesday said.

“Would you look at my family?” Enid looks over to her howling family.

“Talk about toxic pack mentality. I give my mom 30 seconds before her judge-y claws come out. Let's get this over with.” She said, the students agree and go to face their family.

“There he is. Oh, how we missed those devilish eyes and youthful glare.” Morticia, your mother hugged you sternly, and you happily accepted her love, as decrepit as it was..

“Madré!” You say, hugging her. Spotting your father you also reciprocate a hug.

Padre! How are you father?” You say, you see how uncomfortable Wednesday is, obviously human interaction was not her strong suit.

“How are you, my little rain cloud?” Morticia hugs her daughter.

“I thought Thing was filling you in on my every move.” Wednesday says, Morticia and Gomez look surprised that she knows, and you casually chime in.

“You didn’t think we wouldn’t notice?” You smirk, standing next to Wednesday.

“I uncovered your feeble subterfuge almost immediately.”

“We.” you chime in.

“So, how's the little fella doing? Does he still have all his fingers?” Gomez says.

“Relax. I haven't snapped any of his digits. Yet.”

“So tell us everything.”

“Since you've abandoned me here, I've been hunted, haunted... and the target of an attempted murder.”

Much to no one surprised, the Addams Re reveled in it. Morticia and Gomez reach the Principals office with the family. morticia looks at her old yearbook with Principal Weems

“I haven't laid eyes on this in over 20 years. Such good times we had, didn't we, Larissa?”

“Some of us better than others.”

“Oh, don't be so modest. You always filled a room with your presence. Like a stately sequoia tree.”

“And I guess that would make you the lumberjack.”

The two engage in passive aggressive softball, and you couldn’t enjoy it more, sneering.

“There's that biting sense of humor that I always adored. Do you remember when we did that duet for the Solstice Talent Show? Your Judy Garland impression was a dead ringer.” Morticia says.

“Sounds positively suicidal.” Wednesday said.

“I’d love to see it. Im sure Wedensday would agree.” You say, crossing your leg as you wink at Wednesday, who stares daggers at you. Morticia notices something off.

“Oh. My picture's gone.”

“Really? Well, that is odd.” Weems says, feigning innocence.

“May I borrow this for the weekend? That way Gomez and I can take a little walk down memory lane.” She says to her husband, they gawk at each other which only makes Weems more, uncomfortable.

“All right. Let's get down to the matter at hand, shall we? Unfortunately, Wednesday's assimilation has been rocky at best.”

“Because I refuse to embrace the culture of dishonesty and denial permeating this school.

Starting with the monster that killed Rowan and put Eugene in the ICU.” She says, you raise your finger.

“Although I do hear he's on the mend.” You say with a grin, Weems puts on a smile, a fake one.

“We've always encouraged our children to speak their minds.” Gomez said

“Sometimes her sharp tongue and his serrated wit can cut deep.” Gomez says.

“Apparently her therapist feels she hasn't been very open to the process. Their time together has not yielded the results we'd hoped.” Weems explains

“I'm not a lab rat.” Wednesday said in retort.

“I say more like a, Crow. A lab crow.” You say, Your sisters cold glare was in the corner of your eye.

“I believe Wednesday should get the help she deserves.” You say, only adding more fuel to the fire and Weems Agrees.

“Dr. Kinbott and I have spoken, and we both agree it would be most beneficial for you all to attend a family session this weekend.” She said, and the word “family” made you halt.

“Wait.. family?” You ask. “Absolutely not.”

“No.” Wedensday shuts it down quickly, and Weems shakes her head.

“I thought that might be your reaction, but your parents can see the wisdom in it.”

“Um, not to side with Wednesday, but, um, we're only here for the weekend.” Morticia says, and Gomez spoke up.

“Oh, come on. What can it hurt? To be honest, I've always been a big fan of head-shrinking.”

“It's not that kind of head-shrinking, father.” You say, now having the annoyed cadence of your sister.

“Well, that is disappointing. But anything for our kids.” Morticia says, much to the annoyance of the twins.

The Therapy session began as (Y/n), Wednesday and Pugsley sat in the middle with both Morticia and Gomez at sides, Kinbott looks at the full Addams family with gleaming hope.

“So, who wants to start?” She said, it was silent, until she asked again.

“Maybe we can discuss what it's like having Wednesday away from home?” She said, and Pugsley began.

“I mean, for me....it's been hard not having (Y/n) and Wednesday around. I never thought I'd miss being waterboarded and Used as a host for ghosts so much.” Pugsley admits.

“Morticia, Gomez. How have you been coping?” Kinbott asks them.

“It's been torture for us too.”

“Fortunately, my brother Fester's rack fits two people.”

“Nothing like a good stretch to bring out the best in each other.” Morticia says and the two simply cannot get their hands off of Each other.

“Enough!” Wednesday said, actually letting her anger out. And not many times, (Y/n) agrees.

“I think it's high time my parents faced the music. It seems they've been lying to me.

Keeping secrets. Murderous secrets that need to be addressed. Who was Garrett Gates, and why are you accused of murdering him?” Wednesday asks her father, (Y/n) squints his eyes and slowly turns to Gomez.

“…Father?” He asks, which Gomez’s attitude shifts, and Morticia quickly intervenes

“Those charges were dropped. Your father is an innocent man.”

“Local sheriff doesn't seem too convinced.”

“Wednesday, stop. This is neither the time nor the place.”

“Mother, did you know about this?” (Y/n) asks Morticia.

“(Y/n), now isn’t the time for this.” She said.

“Actually, this is exactly the place.” Kinbott chimes in. “These sessions are—“

“Doctor. This does not concern you. And I refuse to debate a decades-old witch-hunt with you right now.” Morticia says.

“Darling, maybe we should...” Gomez says.

“No. This session is over.”

“Have it your way, Mother.” Wednesday stood up and stormed off.

“Wednes... Wednesday?”

“If you refuse to tell me the truth, I'll just have to excavate it myself.” She walks off, and Morticia follows.

“What were you thinking? How could you ambush your father like that? Wednesday.”

“How could I? You insisted I go to this school.

Did you really think I wouldn't find out your secret?”

“You don't know the full story. Your father did nothing wrong.”

“I'll be the judge of that.” Wednesday walks off, (Y/n) exits the building to see his sister leave, and he follows, Wednesday enters the hospital and makes her way to Eugene’s room, he follows silently until she sits at his side.

“I harvested hive number three. The bees miss you, Eugene. We all do.” Wednesday said, (Y/n) smiles and gently taps on the door. Wednesday quickly turns around and sees her brother.

“How long have you been listening?” She said.

“Long enough to see you care.”

“I don’t.”

“Sure you don’t.” (Y/n) walks next to his sister, looking at Eugene. A heated rage begins to overtake him.

“He didn't deserve this. I should be in that bed.” Wednesday says, and (Y/n) shakes his head…

“It isn’t your fault, it’s the monster who did this, and we will find him, I can assure you of that. Now Cmon, we have to get back to Mother and Father, you’d hate to make they worry.” (Y/n) says with sarcasm. Wednesday reluctantly follows. The twins return to eat with their family.

“Mmm. I am famished. You're not hungry, darling?” Morticia says to her daughter, (Y/n) was too busy looking over at Enid.

“My appetite eludes me, Mother.” She replies; Enid is forced to sit with her family,

“So are you going to make me ask?” Her mother says, and Enid assumes she means the Addams boy who’s making dreamy eyes at her.

“Well.. (Y/n) and I haven't defined our relationship yet, even if it is one—“

“I'm not talking about boys. Have you wolfed out yet?” She says, Enid inhaled sharply and out on a smile.

..”No.”

“Well, that is a disappointment.”

“That's me. A huge disappointment…” she says, (Y/n) sees how sad she is, he stands up and walks over, he adjusts his clothes and smiles.

“Excuse me.” He says, he offers a handshake.

“You must be Miss Sinclair.” He says and takes her hand, the woman puts on a smile as Enid was now panicking. Her crush and now her overbearing mother meeting.

“I’m really sorry but I have to speak with Enid, just for a moment.”

“Alright? Don’t try anything—“

“Mom!” Enid says though her teeth, he leads Enid away and he sighs.

“I’m sorry to pull you from your family—“

“No it’s fine, I actually wanted to ask you something.”

“You did? What?” (Y/n) asks.

“Well… I, don’t know how to feel after the dance…” she begins.

“You, didn’t have fun?” (Y/n) asks, and Enid shakes her head.

“No, of course I did! It’s just… you’re like my best friend, besides Wednesday, you’re.. more than my best friend.. someone I really care about.

“I’d.. like that.. to be more… I know you’re still heartbroken after Ajax..” (Y/n) begins, Enid watches but slowly peers over his shoulder to see what’s going on.

“Uh.. (Y/n)?”

“And I don’t want to be a replacement I, I want to be more than that, I want to be…”

“(Y/n)… your, dad.”

“What I’m trying to say is that I want you to be my Girl—“

“Your dads getting arrested!” She yells. (Y/n) stops and turns around to see his father being taken away by police.

“Gomez Addams. You're under arrest for the murder of Garrett Gates. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

“Father?”

“You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed for you.” (Y/n) can only watch as his father is taken away, god only knows what hellscape awaits.

The Twins stood at the blocked off prison visiting room, as their father sits solemnly at the seat. He sees the two stand there.

“My little tormenta, how's your mother?” Gomez asks Wednesday first.

“Devastated. She hates you in orange. I caught her laying a rose on a grave earlier today. The headstone read "Garrett Gates." The very boy you've been arrested for murdering. Care to explain?” She says, and (Y/n) nods.

“It’s best for everyone, father, elaborate.” He said, and Gomez explains.

“Garrett was infatuated with your mother. He mistook her kindness for interest. His infatuation turned into obsession, and he started stalking her.”

“Why didn't you call the police?”

“We tried. But his family were the oldest and richest in Jericho, But No one believed us. Garrett's father, an outcast-hating bigot, was furious that your mother had accused his only son. It all came to a head the night of the Rave'N Dance. Your mother and I stepped out to catch our breath. And that's when I saw him. He had broken into the school. His twisted love for your mother had made him insane. His eyes bore into me, brimming with murderous intent. My life flashed before my eyes. Driven by jealousy and hate, Garrett was When I saw the sword, my survival instinct kicked in. It was a terrible accident.” Gomez says, (Y/n) and Wednesday look at each other. (Y/n) motions his sister over and they speak out of hearing range from their father.

“If I'm being objective, his confession sounds entirely plausible, delivered with the perfect degree of sincerity. Perhaps father is exactly what he says.” Wednesday said.

“I agree; although father has a magnificent poker face, I think he’s telling the truth, but then again, what other rotting skeletons are in his closet, let’s play it safe.” (Y/n) said, they walk back and speak at the same time.

“Thank you for being honest with us.”

“I'm sorry I wasn't a better father.” He says, trying to hold back tears, Wednesday had no emotion, (Y/n) sighed.

“Could we please do without the overt display of emotion?” Wednesday demands, and forms composed himself.

“How many fathers hand their daughter a fencing blade when she's five?”

“Your saber strokes were an essay in perfection.”

“How many fathers would teach their son how to beat a lie detector?”

“It’s all about your heartbeat.”

“Or teach her how to swim with sharks?”

“They found you as cold-blooded as I do.”

“The right way to flay a rattlesnake?”

“They really do taste like chicken when prepared properly.”

“The point is, you taught us how to be strong and independent.” Wednesday begins, and (Y/n) adds in.

“And..How to navigate in a world full of treachery and prejudice. You are the reason we understand how imperative it is that we never lose sight of who we are, no matter what life throws at us.” (Y/n) looks into the eyes of his father, showing he means everything he says.

“So as far as fatherhood goes, I would say you've been more than adequate.” Wednesday said, and Gomez holds back a year.

“Gracias, (Y/n), Wednesday.”

The visitation ends and the two step out of the jail.

“We’ll have to consider all of this…” (Y/n) said, Wednesday also agrees and turns to (Y/n).

“You need to… console, Pugsley.”

“Why me?” (Y/n) asks, and Wednesday stares at him.

“… Yeah, I suppose you trying to comfort him would be… an issue.” (Y/n) chuckles, Wednesday turns her head forward.

“I’m going to.. convince the sheriff to hear me out.”

“As long as you don’t wind up behind bars as well, go for it.” He says, they split up and leave, (Y/n) walked past multiple happy families, (Y/n) approached the lake with a bag in hand, he peers over to see Pugsley sitting down.

“Go away.”

“Pug, You forgot your fishing gear.”

“I know you’re just trying to be nice to make me forget about dad. You’re being honest…It doesn't suit you.”

“That’s… fair. Father packed your favorite bait.” He sits next to him and digs into the bag, and grabs a hand grenade.

“What'll happen to him now?” He asks, and (Y/n) primes a grenade and casually tosses it into the water.

“Well, he's confessed, so there won't be a trial. After he's sentenced, he'll be sent to a state penitentiary, where he'll lose his mind being separated from Mother. Did you know they haven't spent a night apart since they tied the knot?”

“I always thought You’d be the first one in the family behind bars.” Pugsley said, (Y/n) shrugged.

“Funny enough, Wedensday nd I had a bet going… she owes me everything in her will.”

The water explodes deep down, and dead fish float up.

“That's quite a catch. Take the shrapnel out and we have a good feast.”

“I'm gonna miss him, (Y/n).”

“It's not over yet. He's innocent.”

“Well, if anyone can figure out who really committed the crime... it's you and Wednesday, you two work really well together. You have to find out the truth and free Dad.”

Pugsley’s words, so endearing. (Y/n) grits his teeth and nods.

“I will. I will Pugsley…Well, until that happens, we both know Mother will be falling apart.

Which means we have to be strong. And by "we," I mean you. Definitely not me.” He says, the brothers spend more time together before (Y/n) left the forest, as he walks out, his ears pick up the sound of sniffling. He halted as he searched for the origin of the sound, what caught his eye was the bright pink vest. He immediately recognized the color. He peers over to Enid sitting behind a tree, crying.

“Enid?” He asks, she looks up to him, her makeup a mess as it seems she’s been at it for a while, (Y/n) sits next to her.

“Is.. something wrong?” He asks, Enid looks at him like a sad, hurt puppy.

“It’s my mom she, wants to send me to… to..”

“To?”

“Conversion therapy! Like I’m some sort of disappointment!” She looks so hurt, (Y/n), not knowing how to console someone, he sighs and speaks from his black heart.

“Enid… you don’t need to wolf out to be a Weerwolf or, find a mate. Even without those powers, you’re unique, sparkly, bubbly, so kind and.. beautiful.” (Y/n) says, looking at the ground, enid looks up at him, perplexed.

“You.. think so?”

“Of course I do! You’re the only person who makes looking at pink bearable.” He says, his hand gently placed on hers. “If my father taught me anything, it’s to be yourself.. unapologetically, which…” he trails on.

“Ive.. been meaning to say this Enid, but I’ve had no luck, I want to ask.. will you—“

“(Y/n)!”

He hears his voice being called, he very didn’t much want to turn his attention to it, but he did, and he saw his sister approach.

“You have got to be kidding me..” he says, he was dragged away by his sister.

“Wednesday this better be good.”

“Father didn’t Kill Garrett. Neither did mother.”

Wednesday said dropping a bombshell, which raises the eyebrow of the Twin.

“Then.. who did?”

“Himself.”

“Okay, elaborate.”

“Mother told me what truly happened, she was protecting father when he attacked, but Garrett was foaming at the mouth. His eyes didn't look human. Foaming saliva, dilated pupils, mental confusion. What are those all textbook symptoms of?”

“Nightshade poisoning…” (Y/n) gets it, and puts everything together.

“He was dead before Mother stabbed him…”

“There's only one way to find out.” Wednesday said, and (Y/n) frowns, he knows what that means.

Late in the night, at the Grave of Miles Garrett, the twins dig his corpse up, both going to the graveyard as they dig up his casket, Morticia stands above them, watching the two.

“This reminds me of when you got your first grave-digging kit. You were so happy, you nearly smiled.” Morticia said, (Y/n) grumbles.

“Are you sure you don't want to join?” Wednesday asks.

“Uh... mm... No, that's okay, darling. I don't want to spoil your fun.” She says.

“This isn’t fun, mother, Digging up graves is for knaves and psychopaths.” (Y/n) jams into the earth again and feels a loud bang, they stop and uncover the decrepit tomb.

“Moment of truth.” Wednesday and (Y/n) open the tomb, the waft of rubbish bond and decaying flesh hits their nostrils. Wednesday seems to enjoy it. (Y/n) isn’t as enthusiastic as his sister. He looks over the corpse.

“I was right.” She points to the inner pocket, seeing hints of a stained blue liquid.

“Nightshade..” (Y/n) reaches in and grabs a finger, and with a quick and sharp twist, effortlessly removes his finger.

“Alright, now.. all we have to do is—“

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Someone from behind all three of they spoke, the twins popped their hands from the grave to see a police cruiser aiming their headlights at them, the second in command.

“Guess there's gonna be an Addams family reunion in lockup tonight. You're all under arrest.”

(Y/n) is locked up with his father, and Wednesday with her mother. Wednesday stands there, silent, as (Y/n) Taps his foot, fuming. Morticia and Gomez were all over each other

“Get comfortable. You can post bail in the morning.” Sherrif Galpin glares at the twins and leave..

“Not even the long arm of the law could keep us apart.”

“At least we'll have one last night together.

Yes.”

“I've seen jackals with more self-control than you two.” Wednesday glares at her parents lost in love.

“Neither one of you are strong enough to serve hard time. And thanks to me, you won't have to.” (Y/n) stops taping his foot.

“I knew our little jailbird would have an escape plan.”

“It seems Wednesday was correct about Garrett, He died from nightshade poisoning.”

“The remarkable preservation of soft tissue and blue tint confirms it. Which means Garrett was dying...Before you stabbed him.”

“You look even more ravishing as an innocent woman!”

“For once, could you two get off of each other and focus.” Wednesday said, (Y/n) agrees.

“Yes, we need to get this to the mayor, and he will drop all charges, all we need is someone to bring it to them.. someone we trust.. Pugsley.” (Y/n) says

“No.” Wednesday replies flatly.

“.. Lurch?”

“No.”

“…Uncle Fester“

“Absolutely not.” Wednesday said, (Y/n) walks to the edge of the cell.

“Well what do you suggest then? break out of here?” He says, Wednesday walks over and snatched the finger from his hand, and suddenly, she had a vision.,

“Prove to me you're still worthy to be called my son! Kill all those outcasts! Sneak into that dance and spike the punch bowl.” Those words rang through her. She sat up from her episode and her family obviously looks concerned.

“Did you have a vision?”

“What happened?”

“What did you see?”

“The night Garrett died, he had a vial of nightshade poison that broke in his pocket.

He wasn't just trying to kill father. He was going to use the nightshade poison to murder the entire school.” She says, the family look at each other. A sly grin creeps along the face of her brother.

“Oh I’m going to enjoy this…”

“Thank you for seeing us at such short notice, Mr. Mayor.”

The twins stand before the mayor, after being in jail for approximately 4 hours.

“Yes, well, veiled threats have that effect.”

“Then let’s cut to the chase, Garrett Gates wasn't killed by a stab wound.” (Y/n) goes first, then Wednesday places the severed finger on his desk.

“That blue sheen is a telltale sign of nightshade poisoning.” Wednesday said.

“But you already knew that, dont you mayor? Because back when you were sheriff, you were in charge and covered it up.”

“Ansel Gates hated outcasts and Nevermore.

He claimed the land the school was built on was stolen from his family over 200 years ago.

Garrett went there that night to spike the punch and kill all the kids at that dance.” The twins deliver a fairly clear shut argument, and the mayor grumbles, and confesses.

“Ansel confessed the whole thing to me in a drunken stupor. It was his idea.”

“Then Why did you instruct Dr. Anwar to falsify the autopsy report? You knew the truth about how he really died.”

“Listen, my job was to keep the peace. If there had been a trial, Jericho's and Nevermore's reputations would have been trashed.”

“I think the only reputation you were worried about ruining was your own.”

“I remember Garrett bragging to me that his father had the sheriff in his pocket. One year later, you get elected mayor. Hmm. No doubt with the full support of Ansel Gates.”

“I resent your implication.”

“I resent the fact you decided to cover up a potential Genocide of an entire school by a bigoted drug crazed maniac to save the face of this place. The truth stings, doesn’t it mayor?” (Y/n) said with a cold bite.

“What I resent is that you could have prevented Garrett's death if you had done your job when I lodged my complaint about him stalking our Mother.” Wednesday snaps back, The mayor was at a loss, and gave in.

“What do you want?” He asks them.

“All charges dropped. Our father will be released with a full and unequivocal apology from the sheriff's office. Do we have a deal?” (Y/n) asked, and the Mayor gave in.

The twins exit the building as (Y/n) thinks, and decides to speak about it.

“Have you spoken to mother about your visions? You know she could help you. You’d only have to ask Wednesday, we’re family.” He said. Wednesday was silent for a moment, and he continues.

“We’re Navigating this, treacherous shoal of our sibling relationship. But I'm always here for you, Wednesday. Mother, father, Pugsley, unfortunately.” He says.

“I’ll.. consider speaking to her.” Wednesday says, and (Y/n) sighs with relief. Gomez and Morticia We’re Released and All hugged, besides Wedensday.

“Don't crowd me.”

The next and final day, (Y/n) approached Enids family with her Next to him, they stopped and he motions for her to go.

“Stick to yourself, I know you’ve got this.” He says, and Enid walks to her mother, ready to stand her ground. Enid approached and her mother was already hounding her.

“So, it's decided. Six weeks at Camp Howl.

You'll need to pick which activity—“

“No, I don't. Because I'm not going. Not this summer. Not ever. If I'm meant to wolf out, then I'm going to do it on my own timeline and not yours. I hope that one day, you'll finally accept me for who I am.” Enid turns and sees (Y/n) smile, giving her a nod of approval.

(Y/n) returns back to his family as Wednesday was reluctantly being hugged goodbye.

“Don't push it.”

“Well, at least we can't say Parents' Weekend wasn't a nail-biter.” Gomez said.

“I knew you didn't have what it takes to be a murderer.” Wednesday says flatly,

“As much as that stings, gracias, my little death trap.” Gomez gives his daughter a hug, and turns to his son.

“A devious as always, my boy.” Gomez grins and (Y/n) smugly bows.

“Of course, manipulating the mayor into freeing my family a stroke of genius.” (Y/n) replies, and he and his father continue to laugh about it, Wednesday and Morticia watch them, she sighs happily and then goes back to her daughter, and she hands her the yearbook.

“As I leafed through the pages of this yearbook, I was reminded of all the wonderful times I had here. But they were just that. Mine.

You have your own path to blaze. I don't want to be a stranger in your life, darling. If you need me for anything, anything at all, I'm only a crystal ball away.”

“Thank you, Mother.” Wedensday looked blankly at her, but under those eyes was love, the Addams leave, letting the twins look into the book, and at a page of Weems.

“Hm… her Judy Garland costume was phenomenal..”

“…no.”

“No?”

“That isn’t a costume… she looks exactly like her.”

“Wednesday that’s impossible, the only way she could if Weems could shape her body to match hers.”

“…like a shape shifter?” Wedensday asks.

“Most likely, yes.” (Y/n) replies; Wednesday immediately slams the book shut and quickly walks off.

“Wednesday?” (Y/n) asks, and she bursts into Weems office.

“I knew it. I did witness Rowan getting murdered that night.” Wedensday stopped at the foot of the desk.

“Excuse me?” Weems asks.

“When Rowan appeared the next morning, it was you. When you participated in the talent show, not only did you impersonate Judy Garland, you became her. You're a shape-shifter.” Wedensday accuses her, and Weems scoffs at her.

“That's a fascinating theory.”

“I'm curious to find out how Sheriff Galpin feels when I tell him.” Wedensday says threateningly, Weems stands up, slowly showing her towering height.

“You won't tell a soul, Miss Addams. And it wouldn't matter much if you did. Rowan's father already knows what happened, and he fully supports my decision not to involve the authorities.”

“Why would he agree to that?”

“Because Rowan was not in his right mind. His telekinetic abilities were driving him mad and he attempted to murder you twice. His tragic death allowed us to rectify the situation without casting the school or Rowan in an unflattering light.” Weems explains the cover up.

“You and Mayor Walker are the same, aren't you? Burying bodies to cover your dirty secrets.”

“I did what I needed to do to shield this school from controversy and protect its students from harm.”

“Tell that to Eugene. How are you protecting him?”

The two continue to bicker, until (Y/n) bursts in.

“Principal Weems, Wedensday… you have to see this.” He rushes back and the two follow out to the yard as they bear witness. Flames dance in their eyes, seeing words burned into the ground, this was a message, who knows the borrows that are yet to come

[tg-headcanons]

Heyo!! I recently watched tokyo ghoul pinto and wanted to know what you thought of it (if you've watched it)!

I DID AND I LOVE IT BUCKLE UP BECAUSE IM RANTING ABOUT HOW GOOD IT WAS

Tokyo ghoul pinto has it all. Ghouls doing average things, a glimpse into Shuu’s past, how humans view ghouls, HORI, and most of all, possibly the best and most important part of Shuu’s lore

So it comes as no surprise that I love Tsukiyama. He is my chew toy, my purse dog, a bug in a jar, my rotten soldier, my good time boy who I am putting in a dog crate and kicking down the stairs, because he is so interesting and bitchy. And in pinto I think we see the biggest, core arc of why Shuu is the way he is and what forces him to change

Shuu Tsukiyama has never faced consequences

We already know what he’s like. He’s grand, he’s fruity, he has access to social circles and hobbies that are both revolting to most and highly sought by few, but are, most importantly, a rich man’s game. Shuu may be a ghoul, but he has so much money and power that he’s never faced most of the struggles ghouls normally do. Sure he’s still as illegal to exist as the others, but no government agent is going to go after a family so well funded. When he hunts, it’s recreationally. When he’s at his lowest, he has a safety net. When he wants something, he gets it. He has all the time and resources in the world to devote to doing whatever he wants and what he wants is decadence that can not exist without harming people. Decadence that is generally understood to be sadistic and unnecessary, but he doesn’t view it that way because he simply doesn’t consider that there are consequences.

In the opening, we see him doing this. He attacks and kills a runner who he has apparently been tracking for a long time. He’s wearing nice clothes, he’s in a nice neighborhood where people with time feel safe out at night, and he’s doing this not out of hunger, but because he wants this specific meat that’s been toned to perfection. Much in the way someone would prefer a cut of veal over ground beef, he prefers a human body with the perfect taste

Here he’s caught by beloved ratgirl Hori, who gets a picture of him hunting. Now, any other ghoul would have killed her. It’s well established that when a ghoul is seen by a human, they need to kill that human because no matter who they are, it’s a risk to have someone know who they are. However Shuu doesn’t even seem to consider it. He doesn’t have that instinctive bolt of life or death terror like we see in touka or Hinami, because he isn’t like other ghouls. He has money and power and men like him don’t get investigated. So rather than immediately killing her, he treats her as he would a business acquaintance. He takes her out to eat, looks at her ID, and just… let’s her live. Of course he keeps tabs on her, but its very abnormal for a ghoul to let a human who has seen their face, let alone has photographic proof of what they are, just walk away

He trusts that he will see her at school. He trusts that she won’t report him. He thinks that this is a safe bet because, well, why wouldn’t he?

He does keep tabs on her, but he doesn’t even seem to realize how much power he has to do so. Shuu isn’t the one investigating her, his servants are. His servants watch her. Matsumae, his family’s personal school plant that his family can personally afford to train and hire, is the one who gets her information. She offers to kill her for him because this is such a routine, and is surprised when Shuu insists on handling it himself, citing his need to learn how to care for his own issues. This is a surprise because this hasn’t happened before. There’s been plenty of threats that have needed to be neutralized to keep him safe, but it’s not like the great and powerful Tsukiyama has ever had to do the work. Why would he? That’s what servants are for

He is solely at fault for being caught, but nothing bad is going to happen to him. He’s rich and he’s charismatic. Every girl in the school swoons over him because he’s beautiful and says the right words. Every jealous boy in school can’t touch him because can you imagine what his lawyers would do? Not a single person would dare speak badly about him because they know how powerful he is. The only time anyone ever tells him this is a bad idea is when he tells seemingly the only other ghoul student what’s going on. A girl who doesn’t have his money and power. And she tells him exactly what he’s doing

“I can’t believe you allowed this to happen, and yet at the same time I’m not surprised. This is just like you, or rather like your family. They’re so powerful they have influence over politics and business, as their distinguished son you get to live a charmed life. If you’d been brought up in a normal household, you wouldn’t dream of going into the world and making a spectacle of yourself. I’m amazed you’ve gone this long without getting found out”

And she’s right. She is issuing him the only warning that anyone has been willing to tell him. She tells him that the reason he’s alive, the way he lives, isn’t because he’s special, or clever, or beloved by all. It’s because his family is powerful and that’s it. It’s because his family has influence and money, enough to prevent people from looking too close, or digging too deep, or finding all the bodies in his wake. He is immensely privileged to be as cocky as he is and he needs to be careful

He is warned, but he doesn’t listen. Because in his mind, he is the main event, and it’s not only his right, but his duty, to put on a show

Shuu instead continues his game, because to him that’s all this is. To him, this is just a story, and he is the narrator. He invited Chie to the hospital to see the show he’s put on. He tells her about his observations with the aloof certainty only seen in particularly annoying grad students and men who don’t have people in their life kind enough to humble them before their inevitable social philosophy phase. He tells her about one particular interaction between a patient who is so rich that he gets away with all the harassment he wants, and the nurse who is trapped there by social necessities, but takes every opportunity she can to hurt the old man back. He sees this as a particularly human story that he is viewing from the outside, and takes it as an opportunity to show Chie how So Very Enlightened he is about how he sees it. He doesn’t once consider that he has something in common with that old man

Chie, ever the pawn in his game, goes along with it. She goes up with him to the old man’s hospital room. It’s opulent and nicer than anything she could afford, but inside there’s only rotten fruit and a dark, quiet place where the nurse can attack the old man where no one can see. Shuu narrates it like one would a nature documentary. Waxing poetic about how they’re both hiding their awful deeds and both victim and perpetrator, until he decides to step in.

He wants to show her that he is above them. That no matter who is in the right, or who they are, or how strong they are, he by right of power can do whatever he wants to them. He pins the nurse and makes her shut up, he rips the skin off of the old man’s leg and eats it, he makes quite a show of what he’s done and looks back at Chie for her reaction

And gets nothing

Pinto is a story about Shuu. This is what we see as an audience, it’s all from his perspective. This is what Shuu believes as part of the story, he too sees himself as the protagonist here. He’s always the protagonist, he’s always the coolest most interesting person in any room. Everyone loves him, everyone wants him and wants to be him. Shuu is gods specialist boy in every way so why, oh why, is Chie not impressed?

How dare Chie not be impressed?

This entire performance was for himself. She was a prop for him just as these other people were props for her, but he doesn’t seem to understand that. He’s enraged that all this time, no matter what he does, she’s just snapping pictures and listening, but not understanding that he is supposed to be better than her. Something she’s doing for herself. He yells at her, he threatens her, he even leans her out the window to show her that he is capable of killing her. He is asking her, demanding to know, who she thinks she is

She just takes a picture

He drops her, and only as he sees that she is continuing her work in the face of death does he save her. She’s happy to be alive, but even now, she doesn’t seem impressed with him. He makes a comment on keeping her like a pet because she’s amusing, but Chie refuses

Mind you, this entire time Chie has not been impressed. She does not idolize him. She does not hate him either. He simply isn’t important to her and it drives him insane. Shuu is so used to being the object of everyone’s adoration or hatred, he is used to people caring so much about what he does with no consequences when he does it, so when Hori, someone so below him doesn’t look up to him, he sort of loses it. He does everything he knows how from gracing her with his presence, to feeding her, to putting on a morbid show, and none of it works

And then she drops the bombshell that she has the picture of him eating ready to upload in the case of her death

For what is likely the first time ever, Shuu realizes he is in tangible danger. Everyone is a pawn in his game, but this time he’s not just an outside observer chuckling and commenting on how poorly everyone else is doing, he’s a player. He’s involved. He’s part of this story and not on his own terms. For the first time ever, someone is on his level and their world does not revolve around him. He is not the mastermind, he is no different than that old man waking up to someone who is ready to strike back at him, and now he’s painfully aware of just how capable he is of bruising

And he. Is. Afraid.

He plays it cool and quickly tries to get Chie to cancel it, and she does, but she also teases him. She toys with him in good fun but now, he’s in the place he wanted her to be in. He is as aware of her ability to kill him as he wanted her to be aware of his, and he is uncomfortable. His whole life he has gotten away with literal murder. His father sees no problem with it because he’s rich and sheltered too. His servants see no problem with it because the job pays and they care about him. His peers don’t even suspect it because he knows how to smile pretty and throw money around

But Chie never cared

This story is not about Shuu. This story is about Shuu and Chie, and he’s never had to share a title screen before. Chie had her own motives and desires that had nothing to do with him, only with her hobby and how she could better it. She was interested in him as a morbid curiosity and eventually a friend. She chose to be a part of his world not on his terms, but on her own. She was always capable of destroying him, but chose not to. Shuu was always capable of destroying her, and chose not too while not taking it very seriously, and didn’t realize until that decision that he didn’t really think much about had passed that he is in real, serous danger

Now, Shuu has two paths here. He could either kill hori like any other ghoul would, like his own servants usually do, or he can let her live as an equal, knowing everything she knows. And he lets her live. He lets her live because, in some small, almost unnoticeable way, he has grown. He sees her as her own person and, as much as it pains him, her life has value outside of him

They remain friends, friends who for the first time in Shuu’s life, are equals. Because for the first time in Shuu’s life, he is aware of what it means to have your fate in someone’s uncaring hands, and has to learn how to live with it. It is an amazing arc that continues in the main story, but I always come back to pinto to watch Shuu realize in real time that he is not untouchable, and one day someone will get the better of him

[ask-sibverse]

SwanxReader: Reader is alone for once and Swad seeks them out and talks to them.

Ah yes. Because that went so well last time.

Although perhaps this way things might take a different path.

You were in an AU alone for once. You and Nightmare had heard of something that would greatly benefit a new ally of yours, and definitely boost your relationship with them. The only problem?

It was in a naturally pretty positive AU, which meant Nightmare could neither portal there nor enter it. Which meant you were alone. You probably should have taken one of your allies along, but you were confident you could handle it.

You hoped your confidence wouldn't be your undoing.

It was a positive AU though! The residents were friendly and kind! There weren't any enemies...

Other than Dream himself.

You immediately went on the defense, magic flaring and at the ready.

Dream immediately held up his hands. "Wait! Im not here to fight, just to talk!"

You gave him an incredulous look.

"... Or kidnap you. You're alone, right?"

You stared him down.

"... Okay that was a horrible question. I'm seriously just here to talk."

You pointed at a nearby cafe. "Over there." While Dream's aura rendered any safety of public spaces completely useless, it still would make you feel better than an isolated conversation.

The two of you sat at an outdoor table with your drinks, Dream looking almost comically too big with his massive frame and even bigger wings. Still, he sat with no complaint.

"Why does my brother like you?" Was Dream's first question. "You're mortal, and human. Fragile and negative."

"Yeesh, that's harsh."

His eternally positive mask slipped for a brief moment, giving you a glimpse of guilt before it was gone again.

You sighed. "A number of things, I would like to think. For one thing, because I'm always by his side and at his defense. He doesn't have a lot of that, thanks to you."

Another slight slip of the mask. "Im the only defense he needs!"

"Are you? When you're the one that's eternally hurting him, hunting him? Keeping him from ever knowing peace for centuries?"

"He doesn't need anyone else! Everyone else will just destroy him!"

"And you're not?" You took a sip of your coffee, feeling a stress headache coming on. "I haven't hurt him, and don't plan to. But if it were to happen, I would talk things through and fix it. He's a person, not just some idealized body to put on a pedestal and"protect" as you seem to see it."

He huffed and sipped his own drink. "He needs protection."

"Yes. From you." You got up. This was going nowhere. You'd come back to this AU later, maybe with Axe or that Killer or Dust you'd been visiting so you had backup and hopefully Dream deterrent. "I'm going now."

You left through a portal of your own before he could try to stop you.

[saints-who-never-existed]

Rereading The Terror

Chapter Fifty-Four: Des Voeux

Oh gang, we're rapidly running out of living POV characters as you can see. But that means we do get a glimpse into the inner life of the Notorious C(F)DV, a generally sweet lad more akin to his real-life counterpart than to his gremlin-like show one.

Des Voeux is deliriously happy, right off the bat. As well as successfully hunting and gorging themselves on seal out on the pack, his party have spotted real proper leads in the ice with clear water all the way to the Adelaide Peninsula and Back's River. "Everyone could leave Rescue Camp. Everyone there now had a chance at survival." :(((

His joy doesn't last for long, however, as his party returns to camp not to fanfare but to abject misery. The men at Rescue Camp are so despondent that they don't even react to the eight tasty seal carcasses Des Voeux and his men haul behind them. "Did someone die?" asked Charles Frederick Des Voeux

The last men standing with any kind of seniority/rank gather in a tent to fill Des Voeux in, all but one of them smoking like chimneys all the while. They are: Second Mate Edward Couch, First Mate Robert Thomas, Captain of the Hold Joseph Andrews, and Captain of the Maintop Thomas Farr. They've found the bloody carnage that Hickey's party left behind them: "[the remaining bones and flesh] Had knife marks on them" finished Robert Thomas. "Lane and Goddard were butchered by a human being" "Not a human being" said Thomas Farr. "But some vile thing in the shape of a man."

The conversation that follows has definite shades of the E10 Lawful Mutiny scene with Des Voeux cast in Little's role instead. "We have to go after him and the murderers with him," said Des Voeux No one spoke for a moment. Then Robert Thomas said, "Why?"

It's hard to disagree with them really. They discuss the lives that would be wasted in such a battle, mentioning Thomas Johnson again who - as we now know - was sent to track the Mutineers to ensure they really left only to fall bloody victim to them. Des Voeux argues first for Crozier and then for Goodsir but the others reason that they don't even need the surgeon any longer - Tom Hartnell has learned enough to be able to administer what few medicines they have left and as for surgeries... Couch smiled sadly, "Lad, do you really think that anyone who needs actual surgery from this point on in our travels is likely to survive, no matter what?" That ever-so-slightly condescending reference to Des Voeux's youth gets to me especially, it really does! He's just a wee guy!

The assembled men still worry about predation from Hickey and the Mutineers as well and have some choice words to say on the matter: "... He sees all of us as livestock. What if he's just waiting out there beyond the next rise, waiting to attack the whole camp?" "You're turning the caulker's mate into a bogeyman" said Des Voeux. "He done that to his self already." said Andrews, "But not a bogeyman, the Devil. The actual Devil..." I feel like that specific phrasing - his self vs. himself - can do SO much heavy lifting if you want it to. You could interpret it as Hickey not just being corrupted but as devoting/losing his entire sense of self to that corruption. Delicious stuff!

The remaining men decide explicitly that Des Voeux should lead the Expedition entire as he's the highest ranking left among them. He accepts this though he vows to continue to consult closely with the other four in the tent where necessary. Poor Hodgson is mentioned here, in a way that makes me laugh much much more than it really should: "Technically," said Thomas Farr, "Lieutenant George Henry Hodgson is in charge of the expedition now" "Oh, fuck Lieutenant George Henry Hodgson up the arse with a hot poker," said Joseph Andrews, "If the little weasel were to come crawlin' back now, I'd strangle 'im with me own hands and piss on his corpse."

It's not long before Des Voeux faces his first tough decision as official leader and, when it comes down to it, he turns more Le Vesconte than Little. You're not going to like this one, gang, or what it means for poor scurvy-ridden Jopson...! "Here is my first decision as new commander of the Franklin Expedition. When we drag the boats to the ice in the morning, any man who can walk to the boats and get into harness - or even into one of the boats - comes with us... But tomorrow, only those who can walk to the boats will leave Rescue Camp." :(((

[jangofctts]

Thing for Trouble (boba fett x fem!reader x din djarin) (part one) (part two) (part three) (part four)

Rated: explicit 18+

word count: 7.6k

warnings: threesome, smut, thigh riding, oral female receiving, handjobs, unprotected sex (dont be a deadbeat, wrap that shCMEAT), light choking, throne fucking, vaginal fingering, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, creampies, pet names, sub? din? more likely than you think (also lmk if I missed any tags!)    

a/n: yall im sorry this is such garbage but kjkwejh here we be. I hOPE YOU ENJOY THE CIRCUS. thank you to everyone who’s encouraged this so COME GET YALLS MANDO MEAT  

There isn’t much when he it comes to Tatooine and fun things to do. There’s pod acing, drinking, Sabaac tourneys, more podracing, gambling and scavenging. Unless there’s a festival or some wild event, you’re stuck with boredom and whatever you can scrounge up for fun in the palace. 

Now, don’t get it wrong—if you had it your way, you’d spend every waking hour trialing behind Boba, but you don’t want to smother. Fennec too—while you enjoy her company, you know that half of the reason she sticks around is Boba’s order for your protection. Kinda ruins the fun when you know she probably only tolerates you because she’s being paid to. Eh whatever—doesn’t stop you from tagging along on as she runs errands in town—besides, today you actually have a reason to be here instead of loitering like a lost puppy. 

Fennec tells you to be safe and com her the second trouble rears its ugly head and disappears into the weapons shop—muttering about her prized rifle being jammed or something. You don’t know, all you hear is that you have the entire afternoon to yourself to hunt down your oh so elusive prize. Star cherries.    

The markets are always vibrant. Jam packed with people from each and every corner of the galaxy, hundreds of booths and stalls selling their wares that varies from foods to jewelry to even bounty services. Tempting as is it is to peruse the sparkly rows of dainty necklaces and rings or inspect the vast array of beige ponchos and manilla undershirts—you have a purpose. A once a year chance you refuse to let go to waste.   

The shabby booth is tucked near the end of the street, the mountain of the little red fruits looking comical compared to the withered old lady who sits beside them. She flashes you a gap-toothed smile, the crowfeet wrinkles surrounding her eyes scrunch with the movement. “Ah! I was wondering when you’d show, dear.” 

“Hello, Mrs. Feraan,” you greet, bending at the was it to kiss her wrinkly cheek. The old vender was one of the first kind souls you met here when you arrived on Tatooine. In return for a couple compliments or an offer to be the lab rat to test her new recipes for pie or tarts, she hooks you up with the best of the cherries—handpicked with love. “How’s business today?”

She waves her hand in dismissal, her silver rings glinting in the sun. “Same as always, child.”

Eventually you work your way through the pleasantries and a couple, long winded tangents. The sort that only old people can flawlessly spin and keep you engaged. Trials and tribulations to earn your prize—you don’t mind sacrificing a couple hours.

Finally you’re allowed to walk away—cherries in hand and exceedingly eager for your sweet snack. Unfortunately, suffering through Mrs. Feraan’s old childhood laments is not the only bump in the road you have to face.       

Granted, it is your fault—not looking where your feet are taking you—

Your temple crashes into something agonizingly hard. You swear you hear a quiet bonk when your skull collides with the mystery material and fucking hell—you probably have a concussion from the force of it. 

Unbothered by your probable brain injury, you’re far more concerned with the cherries spilling onto the ground and so, as you flail and dramatically topple over—the brunt of your fall is cushioned by your shoulder. Something pops and yeah, ok, maybe you just tore a ligament but—kriffing worth it for the cherries you miraculously saved from their dusty graves.     

Your temper flares as you spot the dirty brown boots pointed in your direction. Maneuvering yourself up so you don’t also get trampled by the crowd, you bare your teeth and put on your best impression of a terrifying force of nature despite the fact you’ve been knocked flat on your ass. “What the fuck—“

The words shrivel up and die upon your tongue as your eyes slide up the stranger’s legs, broad shoulders sporting the shiny armor that twinkles in the midday suns. They then settle on an all too familiar helmet. Well, sorta—you’re familiar with a certain red and green one, not the equivalent of a wearable disco ball.

You squint as the stranger’s head dips to look at you crumpled at his feet. You dust yourself off and point an accusing finger. “Fuck is your problem standing in the middle of the road?”

The stranger quirks their head. “You ran into me—maybe you should watch where you’re stepping.”

The raspy voice is a striking sound. Mellow and silky even as it passes through the vocoder and dresses it in static charm. Some of your anger melts away—maybe this is the friend Boba was talking about—it’d make sense. They’re wearing the same type of armor…  

You shake your head and shove down your pride. You don’t think Boba would appreciate you chewing his ear off. “Sorry—you’re right.”

As you readjust your clothes and precious cherries you introduce yourself with a tiny smile. Yet just as you're about to ask him his name he interjects with a step forward. You flinch away but all he does is sweep back a strand of hair from your forehead, revealing a little nick in the skin. You hiss as his fingertips scrape against it--great, an actual head wound. “Are you alright?”

Maker—here you are, after yelling at him and he finds it in him to be compassionate. You wave away his concerns. “Y-yeah--peachy.” 

He apologizes with a dip of his head and words soaked in regret and fuck--now you feel bad. You wrack through your brain and search for last ditch attempts to fix this little mishap and settle with a half baked idea. It’s dumb--but hey, if it works, it works.  

“Seriously, it’s fine. But I mean, if you’re so worried, how about you walk me home and we call it even?” You propose, sticking out your hand to seal the deal. If your assumptions are right, he’d just be tailing you the whole way home anyway. “I’m headed towards the palace, so if it’s not too much out of your way then—“

He hesitates and interrupts by taking your hand. “Alright. Deal.” 

You smile. “Lovely.” 

On the return trip, Din is quiet—tells you his name and responds to your conversation fillers with interested hums—but other than that he remains on the silent end. Intriguing with a rounded softness unlike the armor he wears--a man of mystery much like  a certain someone who awaits you back home. Well--Din is less grumpy--by a long shot...but still. It’s easy to spot some of their shared similarities.  

                                        -=-=-=-

Upon arriving at the castle you part ways with Din before he reaches the throne room--you’re not too excited about showing off your new battle scar yet and while it was an accident, making an entrance with Din will make it far too easy to link the injury with him. Besides, you don’t wanna risk scaring off your new friend if Boba decides to showcase that tightly sealed lid of anger and brutality. 

Instead you take the long way around the palace. Soon, muffled voices carry through the long corridors, growing louder as you work your way back from the kitchens. You round the corner, catching glimpses of Boba and your new friend through the pillars that prop up the low ceiling. You don’t meant to spy, but you do so anyway, hesitant on interrupting.     

That is...until Boba cocks his head to the side and settles his eyes onto the pillar you hide behind. “It seems we have a little shadow with us today.” 

You suck in a breath as your heart skips in a thrumming pace. Boba addresses you by name and crooks his fingers in a lazy motion for you to step out into the light—revealing yourself to the small party of two. “Come here, little one.”

The low light catches off of Din’s helmet with a glittering sparkle when he swivels his head. The tiny, warped figure of yourself reflects in mirror-like pieces of smelted beskar as his shoulders pull tight with recognition. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep the smile that threatens to crack across your face at bay. Boba is no fool—he excels in the subtleties of shifting eyes and clenched fists to hide anxiety or closely guarded information—sickeningly familiar with your own quirks and tells, but—  

There’s no reason to reveal Din’s little secret—not yet. Boba called him a friend but you truly have no clue what the depths of that word entailed. Friend could mean anything from a casual acquaintance, to an old childhood bond, and or anything in between. You sigh and brush past him, mentally congratulating yourself for keeping a cool mask of indifference etched into your features. If Din wants to open that can of worms then so be it—you weren’t the one offering to walk random people home. 

You step onto the dais and slide your free hand into Boba’s outstretched palm. The worn leather tickles up your forearm and locks over your elbow, silently demanding you to sit on his lap. There’s plenty of room to both sit on the throne but no—Boba prefers you tucked against the cool metal of his cuirass. You grunt as the bowl of star cherries you cradle dangerously dips when Boba adjusts your weight over his thighs.  

His fingers pull back a strand of your hair, tucking it behind your ear and then spider along your jawline. The ends of his mouth quirk as Boba pinches your chin between his forefinger and thumb, capturing your undivided attention. “I don’t like it when you lurk in the shadows, little one. You’re allowed to listen.

You huff. “I know—but lurking is fun.”

Boba releases your chin with a scoff. “Foolish, girl.” You dip your chin with a sheepish grin as heat rushes to your cheeks. You briefly forget about the tiny nick adorning your right temple, the only thing you were trying to keep hidden—but Boba is all too quick to notice. “What is this?”

He pushes your hair out of the way of the cut, inspects it, then curls his fingers around your jaw to demand an answer. You refuse to let your eyes wander over to Din—what a dead giveaway that would be—and instead muster up enough courage to hold the weight of his stare. 

“I tripped at the markets,” you say—not a complete lie. “It’s just a little scratch—no biggie.”

Boba squints in suspicion and grumbles a soft hm. You feel his chest rise and fall with a deep sigh—he won’t argue about it right now. Not a battle worth his while when you’re keen on keeping the full truth behind a wall of teeth and anxieties. Boba’s hand falls away, gestures to Din who still stands stiffer than a stature, then lays it over the golden armrest. “I’m sure you’ve noticed our guest—“

Din tips his head in acknowledgement. 

“The rightful ruler of Mandalore,” Boba continues. “Din Djarin.” 

Din Djarin…despite already knowing his name (or half of it, at least) you like the way it rolls off the tongue—like how it’s seemingly made to be repeated and carved into the walls of some ancient script. Your knowledge on all things Mandalorian is…limited to say the least but you know enough about the rumors. 

“Isn’t Mandalore supposed to be haunted?” You don’t mean for your words to be a pointy jab to the ribs but regardless, it strikes a tender chord within the Mandalorian. You wince as Din shifts his weight and clenches his palm—a long story. “Sorry—I—I’m sure your home is lovely, all I know about it are dumb ghost stories about evil wizards and laser swords.” 

The blood under your cheeks burn red hot. Great. Not only are you a complete bantha brain, you’ve also managed to sound like an impudent child. Boba soothes a thumb over your thigh as you curl into yourself—bastard. He thinks this is funny.        

“It’s not my home,” Din responds, albeit tentatively. “Never been.”

Your brows furrow. Alrighty then.  

Boba snorts and shakes his head. He mutters something in Mando’a and lazily waves his hand, dismissing the line of conversation entirely. It was turning into a dumpster fire anyway—   

With a slow exhale, you remove yourself from the discussion and instead tuck your head under Boba’s chin. The beskar is cold against your cheek but it feels nice against the sweltering midday heat.  

Their conversation fades in and out as you rest your head over Boba’s cuirass, listlessly picking through the bowl of fruit for the ripest ones. You sigh—the next cherry you bring up to your lips is intercepted as Boba’s hand clamps around your wrist and redirects it into his own mouth. You don’t find it in you to be grumpy about the stolen treat when Boba’s tongue slides over your sticky fingers. Still holding your wrist captive, he sucks the tip of your thumb into the warm heat of his mouth and curls his tongue around the digit. Your index finger is given the same treatment before your hand is returned. The beginnings of arousal spark to life below your belly, and fuck—that shouldn’t have been so…so…hot. 

Din’s smoky baritone fades into background noise as the entirety of your attention zero’s in on Boba’s mouth. You purse your lips and suck in a shaky breath, then return your hand to the bowl to fish out another fruit. You don’t need any guidance this time around as you bring the cherry to his mouth—the crimson juice spilling down your palm and part of your arm as his teeth pierce the fragile skin. You breath hitches as Boba dips his head, catching the bead of liquid running down your arm with the tip of his tongue, then swiping s a slow trail up, and over the lines of your palm. He plants a careful kiss there, then breaks away. 

Before you have the chance to reach for another one, Boba plucks a cherry from the bowl and rests it against the seam of your lisp, inviting you to partake in this little game he’s created. A wicked smirk curls over his mouth as you accept—the tart flavor of the fruit spilling over your tastebuds as you chew and swallow. A little wine escapes you as his leather-clad thumb rolls over your bottom lip, bushes past the barrier of your teeth and seats the digit into your mouth—all the way down to the third knuckle. 

You hardly notice the moment Din’s voice tapers off into silence—much too enraptured with the taste of leather and the smooth feel of it over your tongue. You gag slightly when Boba’s thumb reaches the back of your throat, then retreats just as slow. The string of saliva that still connects the digit to your wet mouth, drips over your chin and part of your lip, eliciting a jagged, echoey breath that crackles through Din’s vocoder. 

Boba grins—something that better belongs on a sneering jackal just about to pounce on unsuspecting prey with needle sharp talons, rather than his face. His eyes drift up to address his guest. “Do you see something you like, Mand’alor?”

Din’s head jerks, averting his gaze to anywhere but the throne. He murmurs a weak apology and shifts his weight to his other leg—acting as if he were to look at you a second time, it’d burn him to a crisp or force him to confront Boba Fett’s wrath. Obviously, neither thing would happen, but Din still remains unsure with his foothold in this situation.   

“I see how you look at her,” Boba drawls—not an accusation, just a statement brought to light. Boba’s hand drops to your thigh, the warm weight of it resting just past your knee as Din swallows his nerves and returns his gaze. “It’s alright—a pretty little thing like her is bound to turn heads.” 

A blush hotter than wildfire licks up your cheeks as Din nods in agreement. “She’s beautiful…you’re a lucky man.”

Boba’s grip on your thigh hoards you closer to his chest. He is and he’s fully aware of that fact, but there’s no need to admit such a thing when it’s so blatantly obvious. A lull in the conversation creates a palpable tension—nervous energy and a choice to let this is fade into nonexistence or…or breathe life into that flickering ember of unsaid desires.     

Your heart leaps into your throat when Boba shatters the silence and addresses you. “You’re awfully quiet, princess…what do you think?”

He’s placing whatever this is into your hand and leaving you to call the shots. You’ve always been a troublemaker and there’s no will or way as to why you’d stop now. You look between your lover and Din as a smile curls over your face. “I think…if he’s so interested—why not give him a show? After all, he did bring me home—he deserves some reimbursement for the trouble.”

Boba’s shoulders jolt with a chuckle. “How chivalrous.” You shiver as he strokes the back of his finger down your cheek. “Fine, as you wish, little one—go play.” 

Giddy excitement bubbles through your chest as Boba offers Din to take a seat on the edge of the dais. Din still has an option to escape, to slip through the cracks and pretend this never happened—but stars, you hope he stays. Din takes a step forward, then another—and another until he’s standing before the throne. He studies the raised edge and gingerly takes a seat. 

You abandon your bowl of cherries onto the forearm of the throne and slip off Boba’s lap. You drift over to Din, his gloved fingers clenching and unclenching as they rest over his thigh plating. He’s purposefully avoiding your eye as you kneel beside him—still locked onto that niggling fear that this could be some sort of trick or test in resolve.      

Smiling sweetly, you skate your hand over his knuckles—guiding his large palm to your waist and then under and up your loose shirt and bra. Din mutters a curse as you place his palm over your breast. “I’m glad you stayed.”

Pleased with his reaction, you peel off your shirt and bra, breath hitching as Din pinches your nipple between his forefinger and thumb. “Same—I think…”

With a bit more bravery backing his movements, Din pulls away briefly, shucks off his gloves and encompasses both your breasts. They’re warm and calloused, riddled with silvery scars that stand out against his brown skin, a storybook of past battles—won and lost—all equally important to the fibers of his being that stitch him together into a whole. His hand whispers down the length of your ribcage, no doubt feeling the thrum of your heart beating wildly against the cartilage and bone. It tickles over the swell of your hips then—        

“You said you wanted to give him a show,” Boba drawls behind you, a sharp twinge of hostility lacing his words. “So enjoy the show, Mand’alor, ’nd keep your hands to yourself."

Din recoils at the verbal reprimand and drops his hands speedier than a flash of lightning. You frown and throw a glare over your shoulder. Bastard. Boba quirks a brow and runs his thumb over his lip, the edged sparkle in his dark eyes taunting you into challenging him. You huff and turn a cold shoulder. 

“Sorry, Din,” you purr, scrounging up any and all back up plans to keep you both entertained. “Seems my king isn’t as generous I thought.”

Din withers a bit at the catty remark, keeping his lips sealed tight as Boba growls your name in warning. You don’t pay him any mind. 

You puff up your cheeks and release the air in a steady stream, as your eyes scrape over Din’s armored thigh. Ok—you can work with that. It wouldn’t be breaking any rules…not technically. You step away, paw at your waistband and let the breezy fabric pool over around your ankles, your underwear quickly joining the pile. 

Now bare, you return to Din’s side, his careful inhale distorted into choppy static as you straddle his thigh. He lifts both hands, intending to grab at your waist, but pauses midair. No touching. You lips tilt with a smirk as he clenches his fists and pins his hands to the cool stone instead, an attempt to curb that urge to reach for you. His shoulders knit together when you mold your hand in the gap between his shoulder pauldron and cuirass to give yourself some sort of balance—obviously not used to a soft touch.  

You lower yourself and hiss through clenched teeth. It’s fucking freezing. Goosebumps rush up each limb as the wet warmth of your cunt meets the frigid beskar—the chill much colder than you initially expected. It’s one thing to touch the beskar with an open palm and another thing entirely to feel against such an intimate part of yourself. Din’s visor drops to look between your legs as you give your hips an experimental roll. 

It’s different. You’re used to hardened muscle and fabric, or your own fingers while pleasuring yourself. Your breath hitches as Din’s thigh twitches, the smelted seam of the cuisse bumping against your throbbing clit. 

“Sorry,” Din mumbles, “Didn’t mean—“

“It’s ok,” you smile, rocking your hips to ease into the sensation. “Just surprised me.”

The pace you set is slow, careful not to overwork your nerves as your arousal blooms and metastasizes like simmering coals low in your groin. With each lecherous pull of your cunt against his thigh, the beskar begins to warm to the temperature of your skin—the wetness between your thighs abating the friction and making the surface slippery. A low gasp escapes you once you find the right ridge and angle that just grinds perfectly against your aching clit. Your fingers dig into the cowl of Din’s cloak. 

“Shit—feels good.” Like your voice and little moans jumpstart Din’s ability to move, his large hand drifts to the front of his trousers—an already sizable bulge tenting the dark brown fabric. You squeak as Din's leg jolts for a second time, a burst of dizzying ecstasy wracking up your spine with the choppy movement. 

You suck in another raspy breath as your attention drops to his hand that cups his cock and palms himself through his trousers. You chew your bottom lip and clench your fist gripping his cowl, still gyrating your hips over the beska as Din hooks his thumb into his waistband and pulls them down, slow as molasses. 

Fucking hell—he’s bigger than you initially imagined. Flushed a rosy brown, and half hard already, twitching as Din wraps his fingers around the thick length. Din lifts his head, gauging your interest or disapproval—but kriff—who the fuck would ever be unhappy with that sorta heat he’s packing? You bite your bottom lip, scouring your brain for ideas to convince Boba into letting you taste Din—but your plotting is abruptly cut short. 

Boba sits up and off the throne, his presence looming over your shoulder as he lowers to one knee. You shiver and arch your neck, exposing more of your vulnerable throat as Boba runs the fingertip of his pointer finger down the side of your cheek. “Are you enjoying yourself, princess?”  

You nod, eyes fluttering shut as Boba opens his palm and cradles your jaw. You groan and roll your head back onto your shoulders as Boba snakes one hand around your hip and jolts you forward and down—disrupting the slow rock with a catastrophic interference. Unrefined bolts of plasma shoot up your spine as desire licks up thighs—you need more. 

Boba dips his head and nuzzles into the crook of your neck. You grunt when his teeth sink into your flesh, worrying a bruise into your skin. Boba laves his tongue over the throbbing area, then licks a wet trail up to the shell of your ear, all the while you continue to grind on Din’s thigh. Boba nibbles your earlobe and whispers your name—the sound sweeter than any symphony could ever hope to make. Like smoke over deep water or the surging crackle of energy just before a thunderstorm high up in the mountains. 

“You’re allowed to touch…” he says with a rough chuckle. “Go on.”

Your noise of agreement is quickly muffled as Boba interrupts you with a feverish kiss—all open mouthed and breathless as his tongue curls around yours. Your chest heaves for precious air as Boba retreats just as abruptly as it began. With a satisfied smirk ghosting over his lips, he taps you below the chin and returns to his throne to continue observing.         

Dropping your eyes between Din’s legs, his cock, hardened to its full glory and held casually in his  calloused hand, is truly a sight. Your pulse thrums in your ears as Din rolls his wrist and pumps his length, the velvety skin shifting over what looks like fucking beskar underneath. It strains towards his navel as you watch with wide eyes, mesmerized with the way he touches himself. 

Rolling your bottom lip between your teeth, you touch your hand to his wrist.  Din shudders like your skin is made of sizzling embers that’s broken off the tail end of shooting star—like you’re something too luminous and dangerous to be handled by someone like him. You lift your gaze, smiling into that darkened void of the visor and gracing him with a toothy smile. “Will you let me touch you, Din?”

He nods and utters a breathy yes. 

Fuck yeah.    

Din sucks in a stuttered breath when your hand circles around his thick length. His hips jolt into your palm as you slide your fist to the base then all the way back up. Precum beads over the tip, dribbling down and coating your knuckles with sticky wetness. It eases some of that friction as you fall into an easy rhythm, matching your rocking hips with each pump of his cock. 

Din’s stuttered moans fill the small space between you, dragging you closer to your release that’s suddenly so close. He whines as you abandon his length to chase after your high, your arousal leaking from your center and dripping down the sides of the beskar. Din takes his cock into his hands, fisting himself to your little show of breathy wines and rough jerking of your hips over his thigh. 

Din says your name attached with a broken moan and it’s over—    

Everything seizes up tighter than a jaw clamp as your tumble off that jagged peak of searing, white hot pleasure. It’s raw, sparking off like a blade to metal, burning you from the inside out as you cum. Your cunt clenches around nothing, your thighs shaking as you curl inward as if he punched you in the fucking gut. It feels like he did. Maker—the cool beskar against your throbbing clit is like you’ve been thrown to the mercies of an electrical surge. 

It doesn’t help either that Din is still pumping his length, hips stuttering as he brings himself to his own euphoric high. The air in your lungs seizes when a fragile groan, light and airy passes through the vocoder. Din rocks his hips into his fist, once—twice and then he’s throbbing and cumming into his hand. Hot ropes of his release splatter up his chest plate and parts of your thighs, his helmet nearly knocking into you as he hunches foreword from the intensity of it.     

Too exhausted to keep yourself upright, you smash your cheek against his cuirass, involuntarily twitching as the last little waves of pleasure prickle through the rest of your nerves. You whine as you watch Din move his hand to collect some of your wetness coating his thigh. He brings two fingers stained with your slick to the lip of his helmet, pushes it up with his thumb just far enough to sink the two digits into his mouth. He groans out a quiet fuck, and repeats the action, swiping his fingers through the mess you’ve made and feeding it to himself. Your cunt clenches as you catch a sliver of his pink tongue that twists between his thick fingers.   

He groans and rolls his head back onto his shoulders. “Please—can I taste you? Fuck—I-I need my mouth on you.” 

Stars—the mere idea of it stokes the dwindling flames into a blaze of want. You look up at Boba and puff out your bottom lip. Pouting and begging hardly ever gets you what you want under normal circumstances—Boba Fett is more stubborn than a rancor—but you hope just this once he’ll be lenient.   

Boba holds out his gloved hand—summoning you to his lap without a lick of protest on your end. Din however makes a sound akin to a whimper when you leave him. Boba gathers you in his arms for the second time, the leather a strange sensation as it spiders down your ribcage and around your hips. You can feel his hardness poking into your backside once you settle against him—his chest plate a cold shock to your naked flesh. You shiver and bury your nose into the crook of his neck, poking your tongue out to taste him. Boba’s cock twitches under you as your teeth sink into him with a cheeky nip.   

“Is that what you want, little one?” Boba rumbles in question. His right hand glides lower, grabbing a handful of your thigh and squeezing. You groan and keen out a whine of affirmation. 

Boba cocks his head towards Din. “Well? You’ve got your wish—don’t keep her waiting.” 

Din shakily stands—hesitating with removing his helmet for enough time that you notice the silence that follows. The vocoder crackles as Din sighs. “Do you trust her?”

“With my life.” Boba states it without a second thought. Your heart twists, golden light spilling from  your lungs and staining your insides with devotion and fuzzy affection. You press a soft kiss over Boba’s jaw.   

“Is she…” Din speaks a word in Mando’a you have no hope to decipher—either no direct translation or he’s purposefully left you in the dark. 

Based on the way Boba almost imperceptibly tenses, you guess the latter. Boba responds with a grunt and an unsure dip of the chin. The answer is complicated—that much you can gather…you push it to the back of you brain for now. 

Din nods, inhales, and steels his nerves. Plastering his hands around the shiny helmet, he tugs it off with a slow reveal of dark, patchy facial, plush lips and wavy brown hair that falls around his olive skin. And oh, his eyes—soft chestnut brown eyes that hold such ache within them—lost things, broken bones, wearing his wounds like decoration upon his chest. Forged in the flames of war, risen from the ashes with murder and mercy rolled into one.      

You wish him a kinder future. One that doesn’t end with pain and a blaze of an unchecked wildfire—the same way how all heroes end up as martyrs.  

Though—right now—you can be the beginning of softer things for Din. You smile and invite him closer, a vortex of anxiety peppered with arousal as his eyes flit over your naked body. He sets his helmet to the side with care and drifts to the foot of the throne—fuck, he’s broad. Why hadn’t you noticed that before?   

Your mental berating is severed when cool air meets the wet heat of your cunt as Boba hooks your thighs over his knees, spreading you wide as far as your hips allow. Din’s unfiltered moan at the sigh of you, sends a volt of electricity through every vein. Din lowers himself to one knee, and then the other, shuffling between yours and Boba’s legs. 

“Can I touch?” He asks, soft brows raising in question. 

Boba lazily raises two fingers in a motion of permission. Your chest tightens at the sight of Din’s boyish grin—warm palms settling over the sharp bend of your knees. His thumbs trace soothing circles over the skin and right as Din decides to swoop down, Boba catches him by the hair atop his head and yanks. Din grunts—the long, arched line of his neck a tempting sight as he swallows. “No marks.” Din’s jaw clenches, but nonetheless, he agrees to Boba’s command. 

Boba hums in satisfaction and untangles his fingers from the mess of Din’s soft curls. Din’s brows pinch together for half a tick but smooth out in the next breath. No use being irritated—especially right now.   

As directed, Din leaves not a scratch. Instead he scrapes the blunt edges of his teeth along the insides of your thighs, threatening to catch soft flesh between them—but he knows better than to act on the urge. He laves his warm tongue over each freckle or blemish he finds, leaving no patch of skin undiscovered as licks a steady trail to his prize. Din mouths a warm kiss over the crease of your thigh, and smooths his calloused hands over your hips, settling for a moment to trace little circles with his thumbs onto the soft protrusion of bone there. Seemingly satisfied, he then shifts them closer to your aching cunt. His hot breath fans over your cunt as he uses his thumbs to glide through your folds, almost curious with his exploration. He makes a little hum of appreciation low in his throat when the pads of his thumbs part your soaking folds.    

You whimper and bury your face into the crook of Boba’s neck, his warm palms a much needed comfort as they tickle down your ribcage, then sweep back up to cup your tits. You cry and arch— Din’s tongue is scalding—like liquid velvet as he dips the tip of his tongue from the base of your cunt all the way up to your clit. Din sucks on the little bundle of nerves, rolling his tongue until you’re crying out, molten pleasure zipping through your abdomen. He grunts as your fingers tangle into his hair—kriff. 

Fuck, you need more.   

Arching into his mouth, all thoughts are transfigured and molded into a vicious loop—beginning with those adoring brown eyes, the color of freshly tilled earth and the warmth of sunlight over dappled aspen leaves in the balmy summer afternoons. It ends with soft lips—rose petal pink with devotion crystallizing in his mouth like sugar—madness and uncertainty and lovesick desire is all that he is and you’re not sure if you’ll come out of this unscathed.    

He sinks two deliciously thick fingers into your clenching hole and curls them, only to retract them a moment later to shovel more of your wetness onto his tongue—as if simply using his mouth wasn’t enough for him. Like he needs to savor every drop of your arousal like the golden ambrosia the gods feast upon in their palaces of cloud and endless twilight. 

That frenzied desperation lingers on the edges of his movements like he’s afraid you’ll fade away like a hand through fog—but you’re going nowhere. You’d stay here, suspended in time forever if the choice were up to you. 

You whine and arch off Boba’s chest plate as Din strokes and curls his fingertips, plucking little gasps and moans from you easier than breathing. He zeros in on that little spot that makes your leg go all jittery and forces out high pitched mewls that echo through the throne room. You’re careening towards another high, the sensitivity of your last orgasm amping up the influx of pleasure. 

“Stars—Din. Close—I’m so close,” you gasp, pulling his hair tight enough that you know it must sting—at least a little bit. He makes no sign that it does, just groans and buries his tongue into your dripping hole, licking alongside his fingers that shovel more of your wetness into his mouth. 

Your release zips through your body like a flash flood—quick and fatal that leaves you gasping for air and struggling not to let your head dip below the waves. Your high seeps into each limb until they feel heavier than lead. Fuck—it’s so hard to work through the muddled thought and remember where exactly you are. You groan and toss your head back as Din keeps going.    

“Another one—let me—“ He moans, opening his mouth as wide as it’ll go so he can devour more of you. You can feel the mixture of saliva and your own arousal dripping down your cunt and over your thighs, some of it pooling on the throne or onto the floor. Your thighs shake as Din pushes you towards another high.        

You squeak as Boba’s palm sweeps up your sternum, locking his fingers around your throat in a loose hold. The tip of his nose nuzzles into your cheek—silently demanding a well earned kiss as his hips rock into your ass, grinding his cock for the barest scrap of friction. You moan into his mouth as Din doubles his efforts, raw and bordering that serrated edge of overstimulation and ecstasy.  

Goosebumps rush over your arm as Boba places his lips right beside the shell of your ear. You feel the sticky heat of his breath fan over your throat and shoulder, and the way his lips skim your ear when they move to form the syllables of his words. “Such a filthy princess…”

You clench around Din’s fingers and moan a half garbled, “Boba—“ 

His weathered palm encompasses the entirety of your breast, rolling your pebbled nipple between his forefinger and thumb. “If only you could see yourself…dripping all over my throne and another man’s tongue.” Boba clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “Depraved creature—cum for your rightful king.” 

Wildfire chars your insides as it begins in your core and sweeps through your body. Tears prick the corner of your eyes as you buck and squirm in their arms—no mercy as the prickly waves of your orgasm make you hypersensitive to each touch. Even the hold on your hip, while innocent in nature, is blistering as if you suffered from a fever. You shudder as a salty tear rolls down your cheek. Boba catches it with his tongue as your ears pick up Din’s raspy praise—thanking you while spattering reverent kisses up your thighs. 

Struggling to keep your eyes open, you do spot the apparent wetness soaking through the front of Din’s trousers. Fuck—he—he came again while eating you out. You whimper and rest the back of your head over Boba’s shoulder.  

Your belly flinches under his scratchy facial hair as Din travels up, seizing and worshiping every inch he’s freely given before intercepted. He catches your nipple between your teeth, tugs a bit then moves to the other, lavishing equal attention with adoring lips and sweet whispers. When he reaches your collarbone, you’re boxed in against his chest plate and Boba’s. A blush blooms under your cheeks hotter than stare fire as Din gingerly sucks your earlobe into his mouth and breathes out a muted moan of your name—committing the very essence of you to his memory for the rest of his days. 

Your heart squeezes tight like a clenched fist when he mumbles another thank you. Plucking up a smidge of courage, he risks planting a kiss right on the corner of your mouth. You blink—despite the sweetness of the gesture you wince as Boba snarls a curt phrase in Mando’a. Din peels himself away with a minuscule frown and slinks away.          

Yet before you have the chance to remedy the situation of wounded pride and territorial jealousy—Boba tightens his hold on your hips and flips you both, so that now your back is smashed against the seat of the throne, a bit crumpled and sorta folded in half. Your hips hang off the edge as Boba holds the majority of your weight, grinding his clothed cock between the apex of your thighs. 

“Don’t forget, princess—” Boba barks, slithering a hand up the column of your throat. You breath hitches as he lightly presses his palm down. “—what belongs to me.”

Reaching between you, he slides his gloved fingers through your slick folds and sinks two of them inside of your clenching center. You jolt as his thumb scrubs over your clit, still sensitive and edging towards too much. 

“You want me to fuck you here?” He asks, shifting his hold to grip your jaw instead—the rounds of his fingertips digging firmly into the flesh and bone. “Say it.”      

You gasp and scrabble weakly at Boba’s shoulders as he grinds the heel of his palm into your clit. “Please, Boba! Please fuck me—I need it.” 

Boba folds over you, his breath fanning hot and hungry against your cheek. He devours your mouth with a discordant edge, like he’s trying to prove to the entire galaxy you are unmistakably his despite the fact you’re already wound so tightly around his fingers. Boba wrenches himself free and tears at his robe and trousers to free his thick length, leaking and flushed a rosy brown at the tip. He doesn’t keep either of you waiting as he removes his fingers and replaces them with something bigger.       

You both groan as he lines himself up with your entrance and sinks into you, a delicious stretch that leaves you shivering beneath him. “Fuck—so wet for me.”

The first roll of his hips makes an obscene noise that showers shame down your throat, but it’s quickly kicked to the back of your brain as he slams back into your cunt—obliterating all thoughts save for him. Boba’s lip curls over his teeth as he claws at your thighs and yanks them over his shoulder, crushing you even further between the throne and the weight of his body. Each stroke is a liquid fire, tearing you apart at the seems while at the same time stitching you back together and leaving your body begging for more. Like this, it’s as if he’s reaching the deepest part of you, pounding into your cunt and hitting every nerve with deadly precision. Your legs prickle with the stretch as you squirm beneath him, stuck with the brunt of rough thrusts and violent stamina with nowhere to go.   

“Bein’ such a good girl for me." He hums into the juncture of where your neck meets your shoulders. He sucks a mark there and tangles a hand in the hair at the nape of you neck, forcing you into a steeper arch. “Maker, you look so fuckin’ pretty stretched around my cock.”

Your walls clench tight around him as you dig your nails into the fabric of his cowl. You voice cracks with airy moans—attempting to work through the haze of lust and respond. All that tumbles from your lips is a pathetic whine of his name—so close to that precipice again.    

The friction of each thrust scraping against your clit, the way he fills you and the possessive hand curled over your throat. You wiggle an arm between your bodies and rub the little bundle of nerves in a frenzied half-circle. You wheeze as Boba increases the pressure over your throat. 

“Tell me who you belong to,” he demands as devastating ripples begin to spark through your core, a live wire an inch away from a puddle of water. “Tell me—“

“You! It’s you—“ You sob, desperate for another release only he can give. “I’m yours—“

Boba snickers and gives your throat another squeeze. “Cum on my cock.” 

There we go. 

You seize and cry out, violent shivers forcing your back to arch high off the throne and into his chest plate. It tears through your being, quick and deadly through your core, spreading to every nerve and shredding through it with molten pleasure. Boba’s voice is a gravelly scrape that vibrates next to your ear, sprinting towards his own deserved euphoria. Your climax still boiling through your blood, is dragged out as Boba continues thrusting—an endless echo that leaves you incredibly oversensitive sore. For the next few moments, his thrusts are too sharp, the grip he has on you too abrasive—but then he’s cumming too. A couple more rough jabs and then he’s seating himself deep inside your cunt, his warm release coating your insides with thick ropes. 

You’re panting breaths fill the air between you, settling like fresh snow over a silent wood. By the time Boba pulls out, leaving behind a sticky trail of his cum and your arousal over the throne, you’re toeing the line of hazy unconsciousness. 

“Such a good girl,” Boba praises, threading fingers through hair and tracing the lines of your face. The the soft drone of his voice mixed with Din’s gentle baritone, murmuring something you don’t catch, casts a dreamy haze over your reality. You’re not afraid that this could back fire and blow up in your face—to move inches from two serrated blades, each seeking for a taste of blood and flesh, is always a risk. But yet, the calloused hands and the sweetness of brown eyes reach through chaos and silence to offer you salvation. You take it with a smile. 

You should invite Din over more often…you think, as you slip into content sleep. 

taglist: @goldafterglow @djxrxn @velvetmel0n @steeeeeeeviebb   @stargazingcarol @ohiobluetip @anxiety-riddled-mando @absurdthirst @thesoftdumbass @huliabitch @max--phillips @silverfish-kingdom @krissology @teaofpeaches @pettyprocrastination @nelba @beskars @jango-fettish @corrupt-fvcker @maybege @auty-ren @legally-a-bastard @bigdickdindjarin @thesparkleslugs @cryptid-candy @mandowhorian @pascaliprincess @mitchi-c @vesperstalksclones @cmakars @cptnbvcks @whewchiles @leias-left-hair-bun @astrochellie @angryares @rise-my-angel @stardust-galaxies @phoenixhalliwell @samhollandssweaters @blue-writes-a03 @hdlynnslibrary @darthadeline @calamity-queen @luxurybeskar @justanotherblonde23 @book-hoardingdragon @fahrenheit-not @princessxkenobi @skdubbs @ben-is-a-hoe @3strogen @chasingdreamer @weebblossom @bobaandthefetts​

sorry if I missed you AH!!!!

[lavendersb]

Provider

Din Djarin x reader

Summary: Din wants to give you the universe. Making you see stars seems like a good place to start.

Warnings: Smut, this is str8 up sin, fingering, soft!dom Din, service!dom Din, overstimulation, so much praise, i wrote this at 3am so if this is hardly literate im so sorry :)

@maybege​ i have you to blame for encouraging my sinful behaviour 

Din doesn’t know how he survived before you.

Of coursed he coped, he hadn’t become the best bounty hunter in the parsec without a certain level of diligence. His structured Mandalorian upbringing had taught him the importance of being capable and organized, of always being one step ahead.

But the child had brought with him its own unique set of challenges. Din could deal with the bounty hunters and imperial forces, they where nothing new to him. The joys of parenthood however had taken some getting used to.

He was an angel most of the time. Din could spend hours with the little womp rat and not encounter the slightest hitch, but when the fancy struck him, the child could turn into a little terror of angry gargles and twitching ears. The fact that he could also throw items around the crest with his strange magic powers didn’t make these tantrums any easier for Din to handle.

That’s when you had arrived. Offering your services as caretaker and claiming to be a half -decent mechanic as well, Din had hired you almost instantly. The child was almost as taken with you as he was, and from that moment on, Din never looked back.

He learns quickly that you had been very modest about your skills. Not only where you capable of handling whatever the child threw your way, you could also help with just about any problem the crest came up with. Din also learns that you’re not bad in a fight, and on the odd occasion he invites you out on a hunt with him. You work together like a well-oiled machine, united by a common goal of protecting the child. Protecting each other.

Perhaps it was your caring and capable nature that drew Din closer to you than he ever expected he would. Regardless of what it had been, Din has never felt as happy as when he comes home to see the love of his life waiting for him with his strange little son.

This is where his mind has wondered as he trudges through the swampy mud back to his ship. The bounty was on planet thankfully, so Din never had to worry about bringing the quarry near to his safe haven. The safe haven in question, the metallic body of the razor crest, peeks out at him through the trees and Din’s feet just can’t move fast enough.

Din lowers the ramp, and as he reaches the warmly lit interior of the hull he can’t help but pause a moment in shock.

The hull when Din had left it was a state. On the previous planet you had returned to the crest just as a team of Jawas had started to tear it apart. Thankfully Din had managed to scare them off before they could cause any real damage, but a fair few interior wall panels had already been unscrewed and tossed aside. This morning Din had left the hull in that same state. Now it was as if there had never been any damage at all.

But there, in the centre of the hull is the thing that makes Din’s heart clench beneath the beskar. You’ve set a small metal container on the ground, filled it with some warm water which gently steams, and placed the little green child inside for a bath. He watches where you kneel beside the tub, grinning at the child as he holds one of your fingers in one tiny hand, and splashes the water with the other.

“Hi,” you say through a slight laugh, snapping Din out of his reverent staring “we’re almost done here”

Din walks forward, coming to stand beside you and bending to press his forehead to yours softly.

“Did you fix the ship?” he asks softly, though he knows the answer.

“Yes,” you confirm, pulling away from him reluctantly. The child, now wholly interested in the return of his father, reaches out to Din and begins to babble uncontrollably.

“We’ve had a busy day, haven’t we? But you’ve been such a good helper,” You say to the child, and Din watches you fish the wriggling child out of his bath and wrap him up in a soft towel. He notes that the task of fixing the crest must have taken almost all of the day, and having to keep the child entertained at the same time wouldn’t have made it easy for you.

“Mesh’la, have you eaten today?”

Din takes your silence as an answer and his happiness falters just a little. Of course you would prioritise your task and the child before yourself. Sometimes he wonders how you would survive without him.

“I wanted to wait” you reassure him weakly “enjoy my break when the work is done”

“I’ll take him from here, you should rest” Din says, leaving no room for argument.

He takes the child from you, now dressed in a freshly cleaned robe (another task you’ve completed that he wants to thank you for). Din sees a moment of doubt pass over your face as you try to argue with him, but the feeling of tiredness creeping into your bones wins you over. With an acknowledging smile, you kiss the child on the head and disappear towards the nearest bunk.

Din takes care of the last few jobs of the day, content in the knowledge that his love is resting nearby. He makes the jump to hyperspace first, cradling the child in his arms. The little bundle is still warm from the bath, and Din watches his big glossy eyes blink slowly at him, trying to savour the last moment seeing his Buir’s shiny helmet before he falls asleep.

Once the child is safely asleep in his cot, Din goes to fish through his bag, producing one of the fresh bread rolls and a selection of berry’s he bought before he returned. He plates them with the last of the soup that’s left, and once he’s finished his own portion and secured his helmet back in place, he calls out to you to join him.

Woozy and half asleep, Din watches fondly as you float towards the little kitchen set-up. The sleep in your eyes is replaced with excitement as you catch a glimpse of the fresh food on the table.

“Din,” you breathe “you shouldn’t have”

“It’s the least I can do for everything you’ve done today”

Din watches as you happily devour the food. He listens intently as you tell him all of the things you and the child got up to that day. How long it took to fix the panels, how the two of you played out in the muddy swamp for a while before you brought the child in for a well needed bath. This domesticity is something so new to him, but you make it feel easy. Just like you made it easy for him to fall in love with you. He would give you the galaxy, Din thinks, if only he knew where to start.

When the food is finished, Din clears the plates away but there’s a feeling deep down in his soul that he can do more for you. There’s still something else he can provide. As he sees you walk away towards the refresher, he knows he must act fast.

Din crowds you against the wall, pressing you against the panels you’ve just diligently fixed. A hand that rests at the back of your head prevents you from hurting your skull, and Din lets his fingers wind through the strands beneath them. Your eyes are wide as you stare up at his visor, surprised by his sudden movements and hopeful, Din can tell, that he might be about to pull unspeakable pleasures from you.

“Have I taken care of you? He asks quietly.

“Y-yes”

“No,” Din chastises “I haven’t. Not yet. Tell me what you need”

Your lips flutter as the words Din seeks dance around your mouth. He encourages your response by fisting your hair a little harder, not to be cruel, but to ease you into his instruction.

“You, Din” he finally hears you gasp “I need you”

Pride swells in him at your words, and he moves the hand in your hair to wrap around the small of your back and fasten on your waist, pulling you close to him whilst he presses you to the wall.

“Then you’ll have me”

Din uses his free hand to pull at the obstructing fabric that keeps him from the apex of your thighs. Softly, but without preamble his hand dips to your heat and makes a gentle swipe through your folds, groaning when he finds it warm and soft and so very wet already.

His fingers find your clit and with tiny, firm little circles he plays with it to his hearts content. Din feels you tremble and sag against him, enjoying how accepting you become to his touch.

“My sweet girl,” Din breathes, and it’s said so reverently it makes you tremble and mewl just that bit more.

“My sweet girl, you’ve worked so hard today” The movements against your clit slow and you whine in complaint. Din chuckles and shushes you “I think you deserve a reward, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you whine desperately, moving to grip the arm that reaches between your legs, hoping to encourage it to move again.

Din smiles beneath his helmet, satisfied with your compliance as he returns to your clit with vigour, plucking from you tiny gasps that draw his hungry eyes to the way your pretty chest rises and falls.

“Then cum mesh’la. Come so I can fuck your pretty cunt with my fingers”

And oh how that filthy promise pushes you off the edge. He feels you stiffen in his arms and pulls you closer to him until you feel crushed by his solid presence. You can hardly register it though, too lost in the waves of pleasure that don’t seem to ease at all. Din doesn’t stop playing with your clit until your pretty moans turn to gasps and pleas to stop.

He doesn’t remove his hand from you, simply sliding his fingers down to trace that little fluttering hole he loves so dearly. He watches your face the whole time, enjoying how slack it goes when the first finger makes a teasing press against you.

“Pretty girl you take such good care of us, but you neglect yourself” he teasingly scolds, pressing into you a little further with his finger and watching you keen at his tone.

“Would you like to be taken care of? Is that what you need?”

“Yes, Din, yes” you nod frantically, squirming in his firm grasp.

He squeezes your hip in warning, before sliding his finger deep inside you. Both of you groan at the feeling of your soft heat welcoming his finger. He starts to pump into you, his pace direct and precise, hitting against that soft spongy spot with each push. Din wanted to give you the galaxy, making you see stars seemed like a good place to start.

“I knew from the first minute I saw you that you’d be so warm and soft everywhere” Din says as you cry out for him “and I was right, wasn’t I mesh’la? Your cunt might be the warmest, softest thing in the whole galaxy”

As he adds another finger, Din swears he’s never felt more whole then when he’s breaking you apart like this. Letting you be tender and vulnerable. You break apart for him so well he muses.

“Won’t you cum for me?” he says, and stars you’ve never wanted to come so bad in all your life. Not just because you think you might explode at the way his fingers are aiming for that spot that makes you cry out in pleasure, but also because you want- no need him to know how much you love him. How grateful you are that he treats you so well.

When you do cum its electric. You reach for Din’s pauldron for support, gripping the metal as you rock against his hand. He feels you soak his palm and groans, shamelessly grinding himself against whatever part if you he can.

He doesn’t pull his fingers from you, instead he massages your walls gently watching you twitch when he rubs that special place inside you. He waits until you meet his eye through the visor, expectantly waiting for him to withdraw his fingers.

Instead he presses his thumb back against your thoroughly abused clit and holds you tighter as you give a startled jolt against him.

“Din,” you whine, and he smirks at how wrecked and helpless you sound “I can’t-“

“You can” he insists, picking up the pace of the fingers inside you “You’ll cum again because I’m telling you to. Because I’m taking care of you, right?”

You can barely nod in response, your body to busy trying to cope with the overwhelming feeling of overstimulation. Din gazes at your face, taken by the way your brows pinch and fat tears fill your waterline and weigh down your eyelashes. 

The sight of you has him desperate, and he removes the hand from around your waist, using his torso to pin you to the wall so you don’t collapse. He tugs the cowl away from his neck to expose the tanned skin of his neck. You don’t need his instruction to know what to do next, and with what little energy left in your body, you lean forward to press messy, fluttering kisses to the skin over his pulse.

Din grunts, truly blissed out by the feeling of you on him doubles his assault on your sensitive heat. He barely hears your gasping warning before he feels you come utterly undone against him. Your cunt squeezes his fingers so tightly, and he makes sure to tell you that, though he’s not sure you can hear him. Your face is still pressed against his neck, breathing against him, and he swears he feels a wet tear drop against his skin.

“I love you, sweet girl” he says, pulling his fingers from you softly.

The hum that comes from your heavy, satisfied, and sleepy body tells him he’s done his job well. He lets himself feel proud. Upstairs, his child sleeps soundly in his crib. Well protected and well loved. Here, in his arms, lays his love. Soon she’ll be asleep in their shared bed, and Din will find himself wondering how he was blessed with such a wonderful and loving partner.

[obesericewrites]

What would the ros do if MC left and came back hurt? [Cuts, bruses, ect]

Im assuming this is apart of the last ask here

M: This time around M would perk up with worry when the smell the scent of blood on you and be by your side in an instant. M would would pant you down immediately and they let out a wounded noise when they see your scarred hands and legs.

“What happen? What do this?”

When the MC explains that they simply had a rough time through the thorn bushes and sewing the backpack up it would make M less worried. They understand that hunting may be dangerous. It would change the way they handle your gift completely. They would put it to the side and pull out some plants and herbs and rub them on your skin to heal your wounds.

Expect to be babied for a few hours until your wounds are fully healed. Then they’ll give you (un-needed) advice to hunt better without getting any wounds nest time.

S: Would freeze when they find bruises on your sides and legs. “Where..” S would seethe, “did you get these bruises?”

Mc would have to explain rather quickly because S is ready to rip someone’s arm off by the furious look on their face. Mc tells them they bumped into the blacksmiths work tools and that’s how you got those bruises.

They would huff in what you can determine is relief or annoyance before they practically drag you by the ear to somewhere to sit so they can keep a better eye on you.

They wouldn’t baby you. At least not admit they did. But sure enough you swear you can feel eyes on you as you do everyday things after that day. Though when you turn to make sure nobody’s looking, you find nothing but a glimpse of a figure disappearing into a near by alley way. Though you hear later on S had cussed the blacksmith out for leaving their tools all over the place.

B: B would be horrified when you hand them the gift and they see the MCs hands busted up.

”My gods, what the hells did you do?! Wrestle a spiked serpent or something??”

They would place the gift somewhere safe and quickly bring your hands into their own, gently touching the blisters and cuts. When the MC explains how they got the wounds, which was simply helping the wood carver, B would stare at MC for a moment. A soft smack of the head would make the MC yelp in surprise. B would scold you and immediately rush you towards a healer so your hands could be healed.

Though B wouldn’t forget the gift and quickly pocket it as they scold the MC like a worried parent to their dare devil child.

They would baby you extremely. B would do your chores, they would sew for you, cook for you, clean, etc. They won’t let you do anything until your hands are fully healed.

[mai-sau]

Prompt "give me attention" for kidnap family?

"haha, im gonna take it easy with prompts this time around, only a few hundred words -" cue spongebob title card "2.3k words later"

seriously tho thank you for the prompt!! (and sorry about the wait!) i had fun working on this one bc well i love any chance to write about this lil family of murderers and tiny bois :') hope u enjoy!!

Prompt: "Give me attention."

“Nelyo.”

“Nelyo.”

“Ne-”

Thump. Maedhros slammed his book shut. A puff of dust wheezed out from the crusty pages; Maglor could make out the swirl of particles flying about in the dim shafts of sunlight peeking into his brother’s study from windows that he was sure were clean at some point in their existence.

Said brother tossed a glare over to Maglor from the other side of his desk.

“You’re allowed to be here. Quietly.” Maedhros threw a pointed look towards the abandoned scroll in Maglor’s hands.

“But I’m so very lonely, Nelyo,” Maglor pouted, and dropped the scroll on the desk. The parchment rolled out towards Maedhros, whose face was fast approaching the same shade as his hair. “Besides, I’ve already taken care of all my correspondence for the day. Nothing much else to do, really, but seek out the company of my darling brother.”

“I’m older than you,” Maedhros grit out, rubbing his temple in terse little circles. Which one of them he was reminding Maglor couldn’t say.

“Only by a few years,” Maglor teased. He let the corners of his lip curl up - he was well aware this made him look like “a cat about to feast on the fattest saucer of milk it’s ever conned” according to his brother, and that was why he did it.

On top of that dusty old book, Maedhros’ fingers twitched. Got you.

“Come on, Nelyo,” he whined. “Give me attentiooon.”

Maedhros threw him a positively hateful look, but Maglor knew he wouldn’t throw him out just yet. By this point, Maglor liked to think he knew his brother well enough.

There were some things he didn’t, of course, and this was fine. When his brother would wake and traipse out to the courtyard in the dead of night, staring at the moon hungrily for hours and hours as if he would never glimpse its light amidst the pitch dark again; when one of the many elves around Amon Ereb would do something wrong - not when one of their craftsmen made the same excited little exclamation as Curvo used to, or hunters fletched their arrows just how Tyelko did, Maglor understood these, at least - but a request phrased too sweetly, an abrupt movement, a smile too wide, and Maedhros’ throat would tighten, his words clipped, before excusing himself to go lock himself in his room for an hour, or two, or three: these parts of his brother Maglor may never know.

But he knew much, or at least enough. A few months after they’d taken in the twins, Maglor had just finished mopping an explosion of jam on the dining floor and sweeping up the shards of what was once the hefty jar that contained it. He’d first gently let Elros know that if they wanted food, they need only ask; he’d then let him know that no, of course they wouldn’t cast him out for breaking the jam jar, with no small amount of tears or internal panic on either end of that conversation.

By the time Maglor slunk into Maedhros’ study that evening to go over reports from around the fortress, he was maybe a bit tired. When Maedhros told him to wait for just a few minutes while he wrapped something or other up, Maglor might’ve let slip a touch of petulance and no small amount of theatrics into his voice when he asked when his dear Nelyo could spare just a moment for his poor baby brother, simply wilting away from the neglect.

Maglor had frozen, fearful of what his second-most severe brother would have to say in response to - well, whining. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d let himself do so. Oh, he’d been quite the brat in Valinor, and used to be quite proud of that fact, thank you. Each and every one of his brothers’ last nerves practically had his name on it. But it seemed ever since they arrived here, it was as if they simply couldn’t afford the waste of time. Ribbing was a favored pastime of his in Aman, but Beleriand offered no such frivolities.

But living with the twins, putting on playful words and coaxing laughter from two young faces that Maglor couldn’t bear to see two seconds from breaking anymore, had apparently loosened his discipline.

He’d thought Maedhros would treat him to one of his signature frowns, barking at him that neither of them had time to make things any harder for each other, but instead he’d… laughed. Just the slightest huff of air, yes, but a laugh nonetheless. Maglor hadn’t heard his brother laugh since…

Well, if anything, he was honoring his cousin’s memory.

So Maglor experimented over the years, let a few more teases and whines slip into his day-to-day interactions with Maedhros. His brother had since mustered a valiant effort to act annoyed, but Maglor could still catch a muffled chuckle or smothered grin here and there.

So. All in all, he’s sure he knows his brother pretty well at this point, and Maedhros was not troubled (bad), just bothered (good).

Which, of course, meant they could continue to play; Maglor would show no mercy.

“Please? Please, please? Just a smidgen of tender love and care from my dearly beloved big brother?” Maglor asked, eyes wide and pleading, hands clasped in front of him as he leaned over the desk. His hair, inky black, spilled all over his scroll.

Maedhros’ nose twitched. His right ear flicked. Oh yes. He was close to a chuckle now, he could tell. His dearly beloved big brother stood no fucking chance.

“Oh dear Eru, let my brother pay attention to - MANWË’S TITS!” Maglor shrieked, springing up from his seat after spotting a dark shadow peeking through the window.

His brother whirled around. Quick as a viper, his hand darted out to grasp the hilt of his sword. Despite this, Maglor could hear a choked noise he was more than halfway certain was the chuckle he had so desperately hunted. Oh well.

A chubby face stared right back at them, eyes round as saucers. Wait, make that two faces.

Both Maglor and Maedhros sagged with relief.

“Elros, can you please come in?” Maglor croaked, feeling five feet to the left of his physical body. “You too, Elrond.”

The two of them nodded bashfully, heads bobbing as they fumbled over to the glass. And they were… flapping. Each twin sported small brown wings on their back, looking much like the falcons Tyelko used to play with as a child. Maglor supposed, thinking of a great bird soaring away over the sea with light itself clutched tight in its talons, maybe they should have expected this one in particular.

Elros pushed once, twice at the windows, tiny arms straining against the pane and looking more panicked by the second. Behind him, Elrond simply pointed to the - oh, the window latch. Yes.

Maedhros stood up and flicked it open. Elros came tumbling through, nearly bashing his skull on the desk before Maedhros caught him midair.

Elrond flew in smoothly and landed on Maglor’s empty chair, wings neatly folding in. Maedhros dumped Elros on his own chair. His wing smacked Maedhros’ arm by mistake.

“We talked about this. No new shapeshifting without me or Maglor there,” Maedhros said, fixing each of them with a stern look.

Both the twins looked down at this. Elrond wrung his little wrists.

“We’re sorry!” Elros burst out, tears welling up in his eyes. “We won’t do it again, promise!”

“That’s what you said last time, sweetheart,” Maglor told him.

“And the time before that,” Maedhros grumbled.

“What we’re saying, dear, is that we understand that you’re sorry. But keeping your word has to take first priority,” Maglor explained softly.

Maedhros coughed.

“Or, er, not doing it again,” Maglor corrected. “That’s what counts.”

“We understand,” Elros sniffled. “It’s just, we wanted to hear, but you weren’t there to check with, because well, you were here, and, well, um, yes -”

“Bringing us to the next point of order,” Maedhros rumbled. He raised a brow at both of them. “Eavesdropping. We have also been over this.”

Oh dear. Elros looked like he was about to drown in a puddle of tears. Maglor rubbed a hand between his shoulder blades soothingly, careful of the new feathery appendages.

Thankfully, Elrond stepped in. “We remember, it’s not nice because we like to be in private sometimes and it’s not fair for us to not let other people be too,” he recited shyly. “Um, we just… we know you both meet up a lot like this, and we know it's important… but… um…” His lip trembled; his voice cracked. “Do you... talk about us? Do you not want us to hear because it’s bad? Because we can do better!” He promised quickly, eyes wide and wet. “Elros is getting really good at his music lessons, he’s practicing a lot! And I’m working on my writing lessons every day!”

Something in Maglor’s chest twisted. “Oh, honey, no -”

But his brother beat him to the punch. Striding out from behind the desk, he knelt down in front of Elrond. “Can I hug you?” he asked very quietly.

Elrond bit his lip and nodded. Without another word, Maedhros wrapped him up in his arms.

They stayed like that for a moment, Maedhros’ hulking frame wrapped around Elrond’s body, like a drape of russet locks, leather and rich furs. When his brother finally pulled away, he gave a heavy look to both children.

“We will never give you away because you’re not good enough. Alright? You will always be good enough. Both of you,” he told them. He reached out and covered Elrond’s tiny hand with his own, fingers curling around and intertwining. “And not because you’re caught up on your lessons, or do what we say.”

“Though those are certainly nice,” Maglor added. He flashed them a teasing grin before taking care to soften his expression once more, and laid a gentle hand on Elros’ shoulder. “You will always have our love. And nothing, not even the worst jam spill, or missed harp lesson - don’t think I didn’t notice that last week, dearest - can ever reach in and steal it. It is your’s by blood and birthright.”

“Love you,” Elros sniffled. Elrond echoed him, voice no less wobbly.

Maedhros gifted them with a small smile. “Love you both, starlights.”

“And -” Elros started, hiccuped, and continued. “And same for me too. Nothing can change that! I’ll always love you two.”

Maglor felt a pang of sickly guilt invade his chest and looked away. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Maedhros stiffen.

“Me too,” Elrond said, voice suddenly clear. Maglor glanced at him and met a gaze that seemed years ahead of its time; he froze, rooted to the spot. “We’ll always love you no matter what you do.”

“Well -” Maglor started. “That’s…”

“No need to worry about us,” Maedhros recovered quickly, waving his hand. “Now then, it’s nearing bedtime, hm?”

“But wait!” Elros cried. “What were you two talking about then?”

“Yes! We saw Atya going like this,” Elrond clasped his pudgy hands together and shook them. “And his voice sounded all funny, and then he prayed to Eru about Atar paying more attention to Manwe’s t-”

“ALRIGHT!” Maglor yelped, clapping his hands. His face must’ve been steaming, his cheeks were burning, oh stars - “Bedtime!”

“But we want to know why you were saying all those funny things,” Elros complained loudly. His voice slipped into a high pitched whine, dripping with petulance. “Nelyo, Nelyo, give me attentioooon -”

“I do not sound like that!” Maglor gasped, scooping up a giggling Elrond to be carried to bed.

“I do not sound like that!”

Maglor turned around, gaping. That was not Elros’ voice.

Maedhros stared back. His eyes glinted with mirth and the most shit-eating grin curled his lips. In his arms was a starstruck Elros, who looked no less shocked than if the clouds themselves had just burst into song and danced a lively jig. And quite frankly, Maglor would be less surprised.

Maedhros dealt him one last smirk before twirling on his heel and walking out of the room to go deposit one elfling in his bed. Maglor still had the other, who poked his cheek.

“Atya? Are you okay?”

Slowly, ever so slowly, Maglor felt a smile grow across his face. His eyes stung with tears. He quickly wiped them with his sleeve before they could fatten and spill over his cheeks and probably make Elrond worry even more.

“Wonderful, dear.” He frowned for a second, considering. “Although I think there is a dreadful amount of mockery in my future.”

He looked down at Elrond. His son merely tilted his round head, offering a blank look. Maglor sighed happily. “But that’s okay.”

XXX

In time, it became clear that there was no need to worry about the looming threat of brotherly teasing paid back in full; Maedhros may have been looser with his laughter, but even this was a rare occasion still. Maglor did not mind, for any time he saw his brother’s eyes alight with anything other than fatal passion was a gift.

The true threat that lurked within Amon Ereb made itself known eventually.

Two weeks later, Maglor was scurrying to meet up with one of the smiths to discuss pending repairs but stopped short in front of a small figure in the courtyard blocking his path.

“Not now, sweetheart, Atya’s very busy,” Maglor told Elrond, harried, ready to flag down someone on the way to attend to whatever his son needed.

And then it happened. Elrond’s face crumpled just so. His eyes widened: big, round, and wet. His lip wobbled. When he opened his mouth, his voice took on a tone so absolutely, horribly pitiful that Maglor half-suspected the echo of Lúthien herself lived in his words.

“Please, Atya,” he begged, every word a death sentence. “Give me attentiooon.”

Oh Eru, Maglor despaired, even as he opened his arms for an evil little elfling to leap into, repairs forgotten. I’ve made a monster.

[castee-yel]

Destiel AU

| calm | soft | semi-canon | word count = 1,178 |

AU that occurs after Mary dies, Castiel distances himself by wiping the hunters' minds.

This is just one of the many random plot lines that formed in my head, this one just resides in my head im a warm setting, so enjoy.

preview:

Castiel hadn't spoken to dean or sam in months, ever since the incident, what had ruined it all, ever since Mary had died due to his actions, he had decided there was no going back for him.

If he was being honest it wasn't what he thought it would be, wiping his best friends minds of the memories he had alonside with them, from hunts to sharing his first beer(s), to watching over them as they slept in crappy motels. He thought throwing all that away would provoke some great unbearable emotion in him that would lead him frantically running back to the winchesters as soon as given the chance, but he was nothing more than just... empty.

Cas, after months of migrating country to country to distract himself, had given up on that idea and now worked at the nearest gas-n-sip 40 minutes from the bunker, where he spent hours restocking shelves and watching the clock tick every day, just hoping the boys would pop in on the way to one of their many hunts.

It was one of those days, where the temperature was just right and cool, the sun was bright enough to warm your skin but not overheat you, and the clouds complimented the the skys pretty blue. The store smelt fresh and the sunlight made it seem a much brighter and spacious place than it really was.

Castiel was refilling the beverage coolers with cans of soda, the rays of light coming from the blinds warming the back of his neck, just as he bent down to pick up another soda from the crate at his feet, the door chime started jingling.

He turned round to go towards the cashier, and said "How can I help you today?" as he looked up, to which he paused, eyes widened a little bit and gulped.

There it was, the rush of blood, his heart heavy, his head light, he felt, alive, it was impossible to keep himself standing up straight without feeling faint. Cas leant on the cold steel counter for support.

"He's here, he's really here" the angel thought to himself, he tried his best to not seem to overjoyed or terrified.

"Hi, my brother and I were wondering if you sell motor oil for that-" he flicked his index finger towards the sleek black impala outside the shop window, "pretty thing outside" he continued, raising his brows and smiling as if he told some form of joke, "I don't want to hurt her engine with any of that low quality crap" the man went on as he chuckled about how precious his "baby" was, practically oblivious of Castiel wincing at his voice and laughter.

Castiel was shut off, he'd been blankly staring into the mans eyes for the entirety of his car appreciation speech.

"So, the motor oil then?" he was brought back to reality.

"Agh, yes" Castiel walked out from behind the cashier leading the man towards an isle at the back of the store, "These are the finest we have, they're a bit expensive but worth the price, we also discount the changing charge if you purchase the oil here and get it changed here too."

He had said this speech so many times it had gotten flat and dull, but he did his best to put the energy back into the words. After all, it was him...

Cas waited as he watched the man pick up one of the containers while quickly skimming through the back, barely giving any attention despite his obvious excessive concern for the car.

"I'm assuming you'd like to purchase that one sir-?"

"Its Dean" He smiled, to which Castiel felt warmth he hadnt in ages, "and yeah, if its as friggin good as it says"

Castiel gave a laugh he had been practicing ever since he got the job, to seem human enough of course, but for the first time it didnt feel like a facade. It felt genuine, and he knew why.

Cas looked down as he he took the bottle from Deans hands and walked towards the cashier, Dean following not too far behind him. Castiel placed the bottle of motor oil on the countertop and started punching in numbers on the till, avoiding his every thought to take another glimpse at dean.

"Y'know, this might be crazy but-" Dean leant foward over the till and lifted a finger "I've seen that face before" now pointing directly at a shaky, half ecstatic half horrified Castiel.

"M-Me?", He chuckled nervously avoiding those eyes and looking towards the sanitary products aisle to his left. "No no I really doubt"

"Purgatory!" Dean exclaimed, mildly blushing, "Thats where right?" He was grinning at the thought.

Castiel froze, hand putting the motor oil bottle in a bag mid air, he was no longer smiling, "P-Purgatory?" he asked, squinting, trying his hardest to seem confused and not scared.

"Miami?" Dean straightened himself so that he was no longer bending towards the man, "Purgatory Miami right?" he asked again, the angel still completely oblivious to his reference.

"I-" Cas stuttered, "I don't think we've met" he finally shoved the motor oil into the plastic bag he was holding for what seemed like years.

"My bad," Dean shrugged, handing over the money for the motor oil with a subtle smirk towards Castiel. He thanked him and strutted towards the door and out into his car.

He was gone, that was it; Cas slumped back into the chair by the till, placing his elbows on the counter and letting his head rest upon his palms as he contemplated:

"He's not dead" he thought, "and he's happy?" now leaning back and looking up at the white plain ceiling. "Miami though, what was that about?" he scoffed to himself, "Guess i'll never find out".

He got up and walked back towards the beverage coolers and continued where he left off, restacking the sodas.

Castiel was relieved, Dean Winchester was somewhat happy, he was alive, and his plan had worked, leaving him to spend his days thinking about the man who had no memory of him.

Dean got into the car to which his brother whined "What took you so long?"

"I don't know man, weird guy," Dean replied, with less of the cheery tone he had from before.

"Weird how?" His brother asked, "our kind of weird?"

"No no Sammy," Dean mumbled as he looked to the back window of the car while backing out of the stores parking lot. "Pretty sure I'd seen him in a gay bar before, he denied it a bit too harshly"

"First off, what were you doing in a gay bar" Sam questioned looking confused but not concerned, "And second off why would you confront the guy?"

"It wasnt like that, I was on a case" Dean avoided his brother's assumption, "And I thought he'd find it funny, nothing serious"

They drove off into the road, and that was that, just silence all the way, the familiarity of the man was never really shaken off from Dean, it was almost like it was printed onto him.

[lordabovehelpme]

hi love!! im absolutely obsessed with your writing. i was wondering if you could write a little imagine where the reader is braiding their hair and kylo or mando (your pick) wants to learn how to braid hair! i just think it would be so soft !! thanks lovely💗

Again? - Din Djarin x Reader

A/n: Hello sweetheart! I am so flattered and thankful that you like my little blurbs! This one is for our darling tin can but I am currently working on another for Kylo. But I have been in a major Din mood recently. I hope this is what you kinda envisioned! :)

My masterlist 

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Your head rests in his lap as he watches the child run around with the bees. Running water echoes throughout the small secluded meadow. Wild flowers provide color and life as they mix in with the soft blades of grass. Birds sing to each other from the branches of the tall trees surrounding you.

His helmet casts a shadow perfectly on your face, but you can feel the warm rays of light soaking into your skin. Your eyes run over the sharp edges of the hard beskar. If you couldn't physically feel him breathing you would think him to be a statue.

It’s nice, days like these when you can just lay around and mosey about. It’s nice when you’re not bound to the beeping of a tracking fob or an unlucky quarry. But most of all, it’s nice when he allows you to touch him, when he lets you slip in between the cracks of beskar surrounding his heart. It’s nice how he lets you see a different side to him, one he saves only for you and the child.

Your eyes finally catch hold on the strands of hair peeking out from underneath his helmet. His hair having grown too long to be confined and sealed away from your gaze. Smiling, you watch the soft brown curls slightly flutter when a breeze passes by.

Curiosity overwhelms you and you reach out, slightly pulling a particularly long lock. The mandalorian stiffens beneath you but makes no move to stop you. An audacious attitude runs through your veins. You’re being more bold than you’ve ever been with him.

Separating the lock into three parts you start to braid the strand. The child’s laughter chimes around you as he chases an innocent frog. It’s serene, too domestic for your own good. His vocoder cracks as it tries to pick up the sharp inhales of his breathing.

You’re on braid four when something stops you. His voice deep and gruff floods your ears. “What are you doing, Cyar’ika?”

Feeling your cheeks become warm, you drop your hands to your sides. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me. I just-”

“How are you doing it?”

You look up at him in curiosity as his visor peers back at you. “Do what?”

“The thing with my hair. How?”

“Braiding?”

He nods before running his hand through your hair, gathering a section and looking at you expectantly.

“Oh, um, here I’ll show you.” Placing your hands over his, you move them along with your own as you weave the strands together in a simple braid.

He listens and watches as you explain how, trying to burn it into his mind. When the braid finishes he lightly swats your hands away. Unraveling the braid you just finished, he starts over.

It’s your turn to not breathe properly, taking in breaths quickly. You close your eyes and relax as best as you can further into his lap. His fingers faintly tug and pull your hair, trying his best.

His heart swells when you close your eyes and when he feels you nuzzle further into his lap. It’s dangerous, harboring these feelings for you and allowing himself to open up to you. But he can’t help it. You are one of those people who you just know you can trust, and he has fallen straight into your trap.

But that's the thing, you’ve captured him and yet you have never hurt him. Maybe that’s your plan, to lure him in further and strike when he never expects it. Yet, he knows deep down you would never do that.

Looking down at you he watches as your chest rises with each breath. He runs his eyes over the way you’re spread out, trusting him.

As his fingers move your hair he ponders over the relationship he has with you. He has no idea what to call it. 

When he first hired you, he only wanted someone to look after the child. Over the past year, you not only have graciously looked after the child, but him as well. You always make sure he gets fed and enough sleep.

When he comes back from bounty hunts all bloodied and tired you say nothing and start your care. Taking his armor off piece by piece and dressing his wounds along the way. You send him to the fresher to wash up. When he finishes you always greet him with a cooked meal and take the child with you to the cockpit so he can eat. Then you come down and take him to bed, and you just hold him in your arms.

It’s a routine now, how you eagerly care for him. He tries to take care of you too, to protect you. Never will he let you near a quarry and if you even get in the same vicinity he always has his eyes trained on you. He tries to remember the ingredients and food you like so when he travels to markets he can bring them back to you. It’s his favorite when your eyes light up and you smile, thanking him over and over again for a simple fruit.

He snaps back to reality when his fingers run out of hair to braid. Your eyes are open now, piercing through his visor, looking into his soul. He sucks in a breath and brings his hand to cup your cheek.

You nuzzle into his hand and his eyes soften. “Close your eyes for me?”

Giving him one last glance your eyelids flutter closed. He presses a button, checking the treeline for heat signatures. When he finds only his son, he grabs the sides of his helmet. Lifting it just enough for his lips to be revealed he leans down and presses them up against your own.

You gasp and your heart nearly beats out of your chest. It’s when he starts to move away, you wake up and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him back down to you.

A smile works its way onto his face as he moves his lips in tune with yours. He groans when you pull his bottom lip between your teeth.

Breaking away he looks down at you as he breathes heavy. Placing his helmet back in its normal place on his head he taps your cheek.

His heart stops when your eyes look up at him. Your lips puffy and your eyes shine in the light. “Again?”

A strong baritone laugh breaks from his throat. You sit up and shift to sit in his lap, hands placed on the sides of his helmet. Slowly you bring the helmet up, waiting to see if he will stop you. You suck in a breath and bite your lips when you catch the first glimpse of his chin. Soft stubble litters across his jawline but you can’t get distracted.

When you can see his lips, you immediately dive in. Mashing your mouths together you pour as much love and passion as you can into your kiss. He growls and grabs your hips. Steadily he lowers you both to the ground.

Although he doesn’t want to, he has to break away for air. 

He suppresses a chuckle at the sight of you, completely drunk with love; although, he is not much different.

“More?”

“Maker, Cyar’ika. You’re going to kill me.”

You smile and giggle, “But I want more.” Pushing out your bottom lip you pout.

“You’re insatiable, you know that?”

“It’s my charm, pretty boy.”

“It’s something alright.” Moving back down to run his lips over your jaw line.

You laugh and laugh as his scruff tickles you. “I love you.”

Both of you stop and stare at each other. Mentally, you kick yourself for ruining the moment. You just had to open your mouth didn’t you?

“I love you more.”

His helmet still sitting halfway up his face allows you to see the smile gracing his features. Pulling him back down you kiss him with a newfound passion. Wrapping your legs around his hips you use all your weight to shift you both. 

With you now on top you take liberty to attack his jawline and neck. He groans when you bite the spot between his neck and shoulder.

But before you can continue any further the child runs over and flails his arms around. He coos and babbles to you both, obviously trying to communicate something.

Sitting up you sigh. The mandalorian pushes his helmet back over his mouth.

Picking up the child you walk him back to the ship. “Continue later?” You throw over your shoulder.

He’s left laying in the middle of the meadow, one hand underneath his head, the other resting on his stomach.

Maker is he the luckiest man in the entire galaxy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks again for requesting, hon! I hope you liked it. 

Love, Lordy :)

[bakubitch-minusultra]

Not Alone: Chapter Five

-> an apocalyptic series with bnha characters but without quirks because im the writer and i can do whatever the fuck i want :P this chapter has more shit in it lol

-> Word Count: 2.9k

-> Warnings: blood, violence, guns, descriptive shit abt the infected peeps

-> Taglist: @5sosfckss @laudthingcat [if you wanna be added lmk <3]

Hades whined. He never whined much but he sensed it. Y/n couldn’t look back. The sickening feeling that was creeping around inside of her grew with every step she took. The cabin was a parent, a hug, a haven. It was the only thing she had from before. Turning her back on it felt like hurting herself. Every step she took was a betrayal to her soul.

“We’ll come back Y/n.”

Y/n looked over at Mina. She wanted to scratch her eyes out and roast her flesh over a spit. Y/n knew her face expressed that. She knew because of the way Mina winced when she met her eyes. Hades rubbed against Y/n’s side, his back up to her hip bones. She rested her fingers in his coat. She lightly gripped his fur, as if holding onto him would ground her and she would get back to her semblance of her safety.

Fingers brushed her arm and then squeezed and suddenly Y/n is pulled back into an embrace. She wanted to fight against it but the warmth overwhelmed her. She couldn’t fight her tears and Kirishima at the same time so she just let him hug her.

“Y/n we’ll come back one day. We didn’t hide all that food for nothing. It and the wood and the supplies will be here when we come back.”

Y/n pushed his body away and craned her neck to look up into his dark red eyes, “Don’t you see? We can never come back. This is always going to be a place that’s watched. They won’t stop until we’re all working the farms.”

His eyes grew passionate, “We erased all of the signs of life. Give it time. Not that many places have a functioning well Y/n. We can’t afford to just ignore it.”

She wanted to push him away, but a funny thing was happening to her skin when he touched it. It was just like the books she read. He made her swoon and shiver simultaneously. He frustrated her.

She shook her head and tore from his grip, “Look, we need to get going.”

The path down the mountain wasn’t her favorite hike, but today she felt distracted. She walked quickly, listening to the forest sounds. Hades seemed content. His sloppy wolf face was a great indicator of what’s what in the forest.

“Mina, remember the second house your dad hid us at?” Mina ignored him and Y/n wished that she could do the same. “I think it was near here. Remember it had the pool and we swam in it to get clean.” Y/n glanced at her, Mina’s jaw was set. But Kirishima looked oblivious, “God then we found that pantry full of food. Cherry pie filling on toast made on the barbeque was my favorite.”

Y/n imagined the cherry pie filling for half a second before catching a glimpse of Hades in her peripheral. He was crouched with his hackled up and stalked into the long grass. Y/n imitated him and crouched low and Mina followed along. Not from watching Y/n but from seeing Hades. Her eyes haven’t left him.

“What?”

Y/n groaned, “Get down.” Kirishima ducked along with the two girls, but he was too large to actually be able to hide in the grass. She raised an eyebrow at Mina who rolls her eyes. It made Y/n snicker; she’s never actually snickered before.

“How are you still alive?” Y/n whispered.

Mina laughed quietly, “Pure luck. Not even kidding.”

Y/n glanced back at a red-faced Kirishima and smirked.

“Nice to see you have an actual personality Y/n.”

She stuck her tongue out at him until she heard it.

The high moan.

Y/n felt her eyes close in fear and disappointment. She thought one of them were going to die. Whoever couldn’t run fast enough would die.

Hades looked back at Y/n for a second and she could see the worry. He crept forward along the grass and Y/n licked her finger and put it in the wind. The breeze was behind them, meaning it was carrying their smell down the hill. The infected were like survivors that just don’t seem to die. They hunted like animals.

Mina licked her lips and Y/n could see the worry and fear cross her face. Her heartbeat was pounding in her neck and Y/n could watch it increase. Mina looked around and pointed to the trees behind them. But Y/n shook her head. Climbing a tree only puts you a tree surrounded by the infected.

“The river,” Y/n whispered.

Kirishima looked at Y/n with a confused look, “How far?”

“A mile.”

“Y/n your leg and mine won’t make it outrunning the infected for a whole mile.”

Y/n sighed, she knew he was right. But she didn’t have any other ideas. She pulled one of her guns out of her pack and passed it to Kirishima and looked him in the eyes.

“Don’t shoot unless you have to. Don’t shoot me or yourself either.”

Mina took the rifle with the scope, which she had grown fond of, and took the right flank. Hades stalked down the middle of the field and Y/n took left. They left Kirishima on the hillside. His injuries were worse than Y/n’s. The bullet never made its way very far into her leg. The new stitches, lavender and tea tree oil made it heal faster.

She looked back at Kirishima’s red head of hair poking out of the long grass and sighed. He was too big to even try to hide. Y/n was sure that he would be the death of them all. She knew she would leave them if she had to. She forced herself into that agreement. No matter what happened, her father didn’t die so she could waste her life on strangers.

But they didn’t feel like strangers anymore.

She focused her thoughts and scanned the grassy and thin forest.

Bile rose up her throat when she saw them. They were slumped over something. They looked disgusting and diseased, even from the distance Y/n was at. One shoved the other and the high pitch moan shrieked out across the emptiness. Y/n felt the walls of fear closing in on her. She saw a hand come up and down on whatever they had on the group. One of them was striking it. It was still alive. Whatever it was, was sick now, infected like them. They were the closest thing to zombies. They were human but lived with the sickness in a way that could never be considered survival. Their skin was covered in sores, open and scabbed over. Their hair was falling out where sores had taken over their scalps. They cry tears of blood like in the fantasy movies Y/n watched when she was younger. The first thing the virus destroyed was the throat. The high moan was from the scarring in the throat and the brain damage the high fever caused.

She looked toward Mina and hoped that she wasn’t scared. But she quickly forced the thought from her mind and looked back at the infected dinner party. The last time she worried about either of them she got shot.

Y/n pulled her mask from back pocket and slid it over her face. It wasn’t a guarantee but it was better than a gamble.

It was another rule Y/n had. She wore it whenever they were around. The virus should have died out years ago but the ones who got sick after it mutated survived, if you could call it that. They were contagious but didn’t seem to die, no matter how sick their bodies got. There weren’t many of them left but somehow they still managed to ruin lives.

Y/n counted the heads, seven. Not mentioning the one on the ground, if it was human. It could be an animal. The infected had no sense. They attacked anything that moves. Their hunger was too great. Y/n’s seen them attack a bush on a windy day.

Y/n knew that she could take down at least three before they got close enough to make reloading her bow a gamble. She didn’t like gambles. She knew Mina had a pocket full of bullets, but she would be forced to trust that Mina could shoot them before they got to her. That too felt like a gamble when she thought about it.

She felt stuck, like her back was against a wall. She knew Hades could take down at least one. Together they could guarantee four. It still didn’t feel safe enough. She turned back and looked at the hill behind her. She wanted to go home. She wanted to climb the hill and get into her own and lock the world out. Again, she regretted opening the stupid door. She should have left them. She should have left him in that stupid hole.

Y/n was about to run and whistle when she looked at Kirishima once more. He winked at her and grinned. Her stomach started to do the hurting twinge thing. Her lips grin back, she never told them to do that. They seemed to be making choices for themselves.

She pulled the arrow back and sited in the largest one. She felt the gusts of wind and the cycle they seemed to come in. A large gust hit and then left spaces in the air until the next one. She exhaled and released the arrow. He had dark brown hair and a swollen face. He was a man once. But she turned her heart off to him and reloaded instantly.

She felt the next gust of wind and fired, compensating for it. The arrow sliced into a matted head of dark blonde locks. She reloaded, ignoring the ticklish feeling on her cheeks. The infected had noticed two were down. They turned their faces around, searching. Her next arrow hit the milky eye of an older one. The remaining four stood up and began to make the squeal. She cringed, and knew that the sound would haunt her for weeks.

Her next arrow hit the one pointing at her. She dropped the second it slid through her open mouth. She felt a shiver at the sight and reloaded as the remaining three shriek and start their mad dash toward her.

She was able to drop another one before turning and running for the nearest tree. She wanted to run the other way. She wanted to run into the hills and leave them but her feet wouldn’t listen to her. Her legs wouldn’t make it far with a bullet hole in it. The long grass tangled in her feet and pulled at her and the burn in her leg tried to convince her to stop running.

“Y/n. Y/n.” She ignored the voice and continued to run. She could feel the panic rising.

“Y/n they’re all dead.”

She reached the bark of a huge tree and pulled herself up onto a branch just using her arms. She’s practiced this. She looked down at the only two people standing in the grass who were looking at her like she was crazy. But Hades paces. He understood. They’ve run from them many times.

Kirishima approached the tree limping slightly. He put his hands out like he was scared of her, “Y/n they’re all dead.”

“How?”

Mina beamed up at her, “I shot them. I waited for them to run to you and then dropped them all instantly.”

“You? You killed them?”

Mina tilted her head, “You still don’t trust us to help you?”

“I’m stuck.”

Kirishima stood below the huge branch and put his arms out, “Jump.”

Y/n threw down her bow and arrows and looked around. The field didn’t move, except where the wind stroked the dark amber colored grass.

She turned over on her stomach and lowered herself from the branch. She hung there for a second before the strong arms circled her and held her tightly. Suddenly the screaming agony in her leg dulled. Hades nudged her legs and whined,

Kirishima’s breath brushed against her face as he spoke, “You looked a bit like you were going to run away.”

Y/n didn’t realize how close their faces were until she saw herself in his eyes. She bit her lower lip and shook her head, “I panicked. I’ve never been hurt like this when they’re this close before.”

He pulled her close, “I’ll protect you Y/n.” He looked toward Mina, “We both will.” Y/n could see the darkness in her eyes, it was the same look she gave everyone.

“Thanks,” Y/n said just loud enough to be heard.

Mina nodded, “You killed most of them. You have to leave more for me to kill next time.”

Y/n still felt scared and alone.

Kirishima placed her on the ground gently. “Y/n you’re like Robin Hood.” Y/n smirked at the mention of a novel she’s read multiple times during her years of solitude.

Mina sighed, “Kiri don’t get started again on the stories.”

Y/n smiled at him, “I like reading too. I’ve read the same books for ten years. Sometimes I get lucky and find a small paperback that I can fit in my pack. Robin Hood was one that I’ve read a lot.”

Instead of enjoying the feeling of being near him, a heavy disgusting feeling blanketed her. It forced away the joy she borrowed from him. She almost left him. She almost left them. She would leave him. It was her nature.

He frowned at her, “I’d ask a dime for your thoughts but it would probably be more than I could afford.” Y/n laughed but it wasn’t the same free feeling of joy she had seconds ago. She walked away from him and went to pet Hades, who was needy all of a sudden. He rubbed against her and jumped up on his back legs to stand and wrap his paws around her. She hugs him back.

“I love you too,” she whispered into his fur. She glanced at them and nodded in the direction of the farmhouse. “It’s a days walk to the house.” She pointed down the hill.

“We need to deal with him too,” Mina pointed at the beige mass at the bottom of the field and trees.

Y/n squinted, “It’s a man.”

“Great. You get to kill him.”

Y/n laughed bitterly and handed over the bow and arrow to Mina. Mina thought like Y/n and she liked it. She never fired once when Y/n was shooting the arrows. Mina understood conservation. She gave Y/n a wide-eyed smile and took the bow.

“Really? I’ve never done this before.”

“We need to walk closer to him. When you pull the arrow back control every inch of your arms. It feels hard at first but you’ll get used to the tension.

They walked over to where the hill crests. They were near one of the fallen infected and Y/n could smell him. She pointed at a tree further to the right and they all walked over there.

They walked away from the smell of the rotting sick carcass. At the tree Mina attempted to pull the arrow back. Her skinny arms trembled and she looked frustrated.

“I know how you feel right now. It took me two years. It won’t happen on the first try.”

Mina pouted, “Can we make me a bow maybe?”

Y/n nodded excitedly. They hadn’t had much to talk about. She took the bow and arrow and shot the dying man. His body trembled slightly and his skin had chew marks. The infected will eat anything.

“Hold it steady, sight in what you want to shoot and then take a deep breath.” Y/n explained. They were close enough that it made a slicing sound as the arrow entered his temple. “Always exhale when you release.” Y/n grimaced as she looked at the arrow sticking out of his bleeding head.

“Wow,” Mina said in awe.

Y/n nodded, “Yeah it took a lot of practice.”

“Sweet fucking god.”

Y/n turned toward Kirishima’s voice, “What?”

Kirishima was standing behind the two girls, “You guys do realize that’s a person you just shot. These were all people.”

Mina scoffed, “They’re infected Kiri. They’re not like you or me or even the city people.”

Y/n frowned, “City people?”

Kirishima looked down at the grass.

Mina looked at Y/n, “We saw it. We went close enough to see it.”

“Electricity? Running water?”

Mina nodded, “Everything. No cars but a subway and houses and pretty big buildings. It’s on the edge of the desert.”

Y/n felt sickened by the question that popped into her head but she asked anyway, “What about the farms?”

“Up and running still. I think the babies go to the city after they’re born.”

Kirishima sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He seemed bothered by the conversation.

“He’s military.”

“What?” Y/n asked as she looked at Mina who was pointing to the dead man with the arrow sticking out of his temple. She looked at her boots and shook her head. “We need to be far away. Now.”

They didn’t talk. They left the arrows sticking out of the faces of the people on the ground. Y/n never took the arrows from the infected. They walked across the small field and into the forest on the other side.

She watched Hades the entire walk. It stopped her from watching Kirishima. Hades was the best warning system. Kirishima was a distraction.

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weewooweewoo i smell like poopoo