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silkiemae · 1 year

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The Sun and its Shade by Piper CJ

Edit 3/6/2023: That’s right, folks. I came back and forced myself to finish this stupid book because I have absolutely no self-control. If you were wondering if it gets any better after the 40% mark, it doesn’t. Strap in because the kid gloves are coming off.

thank you to NetGalley for the ARC copy

THERE ARE SPOILERS FOR THE END OF THIS BOOK IN THIS REVIEW

the writing I know this is an ARC, so hopefully, these errors will be fixed by the time it's published, but there were a lot of punctuation marks and typos that needed to be corrected. Multiple instances of missing quotation marks when the chapter is starting with dialogue. The prose is just as overwritten as usual. Piper uses 97 words when she could use 5. It comes off just as pretentious and melodramatic as it did in the last book. Everything is so over the top that I constantly rolled my eyes. She misuses words all the time and has ridiculous metaphors that you have to reread 2 or 3 times just to make sense of. Basically, everything is as convoluted as it possible could be. Maybe some of ya’ll like this, but objectively this is not good writing. Sorry, not sorry.

plot/characters So at the end of book one, Amaris and Gadriel escape from a battle arena on the back of a dragon, HP style and then jump off its back and conveniently land right next to this magic academy. The book ends, and one would assume that the sequel will lead to Amaris going to the academy and learning to hone her magic. If you thought that, then you would be WRONG.

So we start exactly where we left off with little to no recapping of what happened in the last book. You're expected to remember, but it's hard considering how many unnecessary words are jammed between what little plot is actually in these books. They get taken to the magic school, and everyone thinks Gadriel is a demon, and they want to cage and study him. In some supremely dramatic and ridiculous monologuing, Amaris convinces the masters of the school that he's harmless. Amaris convinces herself Gadriel(now Gad) is her new best friend, but when Gadriel says, 'we fought together in Aubade' in response to being asked ', what does this woman mean to you?' she loses her MIND. She gets so assblasted mad because she thought they were friends, but APPARENTLY NOT. It's pathetic and ridiculous, and like Amaris is so naive and has no idea how the real world works at all. She cannot conceive why Gadriel won't share secrets he was sworn to keep with her even after he explains it could mean his life. Like how is Amaris supposed to be likeable lol?? Because Gadriel said they weren’t friends, and Amaris took that shit personally. Then he blames her for his shredded wings, and as usual, Amaris can’t take responsibility, much like her author counterpart. And this becomes a recurring thing in the book. Amaris stays butthurt nearly 500 pages in all because Gadriel said that she was ‘someone he fought together with’. Literally the entire book is them hot and cold with one another and it's exhausting. Neither of them are likable at all.

They look at some books at the academy for two seconds, find zero answers and guess that this tower of magic has everything they need. And conveniently, it does. They climb 10,000 steps and find the hall of prophecies from the order of the phoenix (you know, the room full of shelves with glowing blue orbs well, this room also has shelves with glowing blue orbs, but the shelves are spiral-shaped, so it’s not plagiarism, guys.) otherwise known as the hall of orbs, and Amaris realizes the floor is invisible and there's an illusion cast over it. Gadriel goes to step over it, and instead of warning him like a normal person, Amaris screams wordlessly. That's it. Then she starts berating him for not paying attention to his surroundings, even though she should know by now that she can see illusions, but Amaris is too stupid to figure this out. After all, she's been aware of her powers for three years and only just started questioning their limitations and capabilities. She is literally an idiot. Gadriel asks Amaris if he can make the jump. She reads WAY too much into this question and thinks, "oh my god, Gadriel is putting his LIFE in my HANDS. He TRUSTS me." And I'm like...bitch; you're the only one who can see the distance. Are you for real rn? Anyway, he makes the jump, and Amaris cries in relief. Literally cries. Imagine if Indiana Jones cried in relief every time he solved a booby trap puzzle while searching tombs. He would look like an idiot. Amaris has a full-blown panic attack, considers leaving and becoming a seamstress and then jumps, doesn't make it, and almost dies, and then Gadriel saves her. They touch some magical glowing blue balls, get sucked into a pensieve(I mean orb), and see some curses/blessings where faeries explode into golden dust. They meet the oldest man ever, who happens to show them the exact thing they needed to see, then get tossed from the Tardis Tower. (it’s bigger on the inside)

Gadriel gets some conveniently 'manufactured' wings and can now fly again(literally has no lasting ill effects of having his wings literally shredded), and then they realize they've learned everything they needed to know and leave. (WHAT? YOU HAVE LEARNED LITERALLY NOTHING) They try to convince Amaris to stay, and she pretends like she's going to and then leaves at night, but it's the most dramatic thing ever. She tries to write it like it's something worthy of ballads, but there is no good reason why it would be. They didn't even do anything there. And that's it. That's all that happens with Amaris' magical boarding school plot, and that's when I realized how much of a waste of time this bullshit book is. You had a whole ass magical boarding school, and you didn't use it at all?? You could've had Amaris attend school, actually learn some things since she is the biggest idiot ever and then solve a whole mystery of how the school is corrupt and experimenting on people with unique magic while also searching for the answers to the curse. But no, Amaris learns about her powers in a different way, and WE WILL TALK ABOUT THAT IN A MOMENT.

There’s a line I want to point out that I found hilariously ironic, and Piper(and Amaris) should take her own fucking advice. ” Ignorance is no one’s fault, but once you’re made aware of your lack, the choice to remain oblivious is when you become culpable.” So, if this is true, then why didn’t Amaris take advantage of the magic school so that she could not be ignorant about her abilities? Why does she continue to be ignorant of how she speaks with Gadriel by calling him terms she knows are offensive and racist? If this is true, why wouldn’t Piper fix what people have pointed in her book out as being racist, ableist and plagiarized. Why wouldn’t she do the work so she can not be an ignoramus? Hmmmm...

Now, the way that Amaris chooses to learn to wield her power is she ‘verbally consents’ to allow Gadriel to help train her. This book has a warning for consensual breathplay, but once again, Piper is full of shit and a liar. Saying, “yes, I would like you to train me to use my magic”, does not equate to “I consent to you strangling me in my sleep.” Yep, you read that right. Gadriel waits until Amaris is deep asleep, stands over her in a position that will ensure she can’t fight him off and strangles her until she explodes with sonic power(much like Ciri's power from the show....god, the plagiarism just will not stop.) And when she gets upset, he berates her for not using their safe word (snowbird). Tell me, how the fuck was she going to use a safe bird when you are cutting off her airway? How is she going to speak, let alone breathe? He says that he’s doing what any general would do for his troops, but in what fucking universe does a general strangle their troops in their sleep? This is not consensual breathplay, Piper, and if you think it is, then you need to reevaluate yourself and look up the definition of the word consent.

Now on to Nox. Nox has been honestly just as irrelevant in this book as she was in the last book. She’s hanging out with Malik and Ash and has become a sudden Yes Man, and after literally a week hanging out with them, she decides she loves Malik. Are you fucking kidding me? This honestly makes me mad because Nox was coded as a lesbian. I don’t give a fuck if Piper says she’s bisexual. She wrote about her being repulsed by men, preferring women’s company. She literally says she doesn’t like men and prefers women, but because Piper really wanted to write some hetero smut, she forced her to be bisexual? Stupid af. Not to mention her obsession with Amaris. Has she suddenly forgotten about that all because one guy was nice to her? That’s pathetic. Stand your fuckin ground, Nox. Having her fall for Malik in this is a bad call because it nullifies the fact that she fought her way free from having to fuck men against her will just to get to the woman she loves, only to immediately fall for a guy for literally no reason. Malik doesn’t do anything to deserve being called ‘pure’ because he is literally no better than a sexy lamp at this point. If she had taken the time to actually cultivate a relationship here where Nox slowly learns to trust Malik, that would be a completely different story. But Piper was too eager to jump in and write smut.

I also think it’s a strange choice to make your ‘dark fae’(which, according to Gadriel, is a racist term that has been used very freely throughout the entire book) have their powers associated with ‘nightlife’ and then make them all dubious POC. She even made their country's flag ‘bronze for the skin of its people’. That is a supremely weird thing to do. Nox literally says she is good at being sneaky because of her dark fae blood, which is also what makes her ‘bronze’. Gadriel, who is also dubiously brown, is good at picking locks. Like…Piper….what the fuck are you doing???? Stop being RACIST!!!???

Everything that happens in this book is pure convenience. Nox and Amaris constantly stumble upon the answers. There is no motivation; there is no urgency. Nox dallies most of the time at the Duke of Henares' house, eating a malum malus she got from the tree of life(which is called Yggdrasil because Piper can't make up original concepts, apparently, and has to steal from everything else). She sees the tree��s memories and watches this princess pray to the All-Mother for protection for her son. Then we find out that the priestess, who is only ever referred to as the Tarkhany woman with ‘onyx skin’, was blessed by the All Mother with immaculate conception and guess who the baby was? You guessed it. Amaris. The super white snowflake was immaculately conceived by a woman with very dark skin(because Piper has a really weird obsession with the contrast of dark and light skin, I guess). This is what they say to the nameless priestess(who actually dies earlier in this book in a very throwaway scene) when she asks if she gets to raise the child she just birthed. ”The child belongs to everyone and no one, beloved….This babe is the manifestation o the prayers of the faithful.” So not only is Amaris literally the purest PERFECT SNOWFLAKE ON EARTH BECAUSE SHE IS A MANIFESTATION OF A PRAYER(in other words, Jesus), but a nameless black woman was used and killed off for no other purpose than to be her vessel.

We later discover that Nox's pen pal from the Chamber of Secrets, aka Tom Riddle, was actually the Gray Matron all along! She gets Nox to travel all the way back to the orphanage and tells her the truth(even though she had a literal magic quill she could've used to save everyone some time). Ya'll are gonna love this. Turns out that Princess Daphne, Queen Moirai's daughter, had a child with King Ceres from Raascot(the dark fae king dude). Daphne was apparently already married, and so to hide her child from this nameless husband, she goes to this CHILD MILL, leaves her daughter there and asks for a baby(specifically a boy) with similar coloring to her baby's. Then she leaves Nox there with the Grey Matron and brings the boy back with her and the boy immediately gets murdered because the nameless husband knows it's not his. This has left me with so many questions.

a) how did the orphanage/child mill have a baby of Nox's exact coloring when in TNAIM, we're told that Nox is a novelty and people of her complexion are never sold at the orphanage? She is literally put on display as a trophy becauseof her skin tone. So how did they manage to have a baby to exchange conveniently? (also, wow, way to callously kill some nameless child, Piper.) b) how did no one realize Daphne had a baby girl? were there no midwives when she gave birth? this is medieval times; I highly doubt she gave birth alone because there's a huge chance of her dying. So how is it not a single soul outside of the nameless priestess and Agnes knew that Daphne actually had a girl? When Daphne went to the temple to pray for help, she asks for help specifically for her son. Why would she ask for help for a son she does not have? I know Piper was trying to trick us or whatever, but...that's just bad writing? Do you think the All-Mother is gonna realize you're actually talking about your hidden daughter, Daphne? c)why, if Agnes never intended for Nox to be sold, did she allow Millicent to take her to the brothel? She says she didn't know how to deny her without spilling the beans, so she just....lets Nox be taken? In what world does that make sense? If she's supposed to protect Nox why did she let Nox think it was Amaris who needed to be protected? Why would she allow Nox to put herself in harm's way to protect Amaris? Why would she allow Nox to be whipped? Why would they constantly talk about Amaris being perfect and unmarred if it was truly Nox who was the important one and they knew it all along? None of this makes sense.

Nox was named Nox, so she wouldn't forget the north. Fucking kill me. Well, she clearly knew nothing about it, so.

Amaris tells Gadriel that she got turned on when he choked her nonconsensually, so then he chokes her consensually(even though she freaked out when he choked her and this could easily trigger her into another panic attack, but okay.). She blows him, and he finger bangs her while choking her but won't take her virginity because it should be gentler the first time. First of all, you cannot tell me that Amaris still has her 'maidenhood' when she's been riding horses all this time. Piper doesn't know shit about horseback riding, though, and that's obvious. Second of all, I am convinced Piper has a secret incest kink. Why do you ask?

Well, Nox and Amaris were written as sisters, but now they're apparently star-crossed lovers? (yet they're boning random men along their journey to find one another. Makes sense.) Nox and Amaris are actually 100% based on Yennefer and Ciri from the Witcher, which is a mother/daughter relationship(Piper can say this book has nothing to do with the Witcher all she likes, she literally dedicated to this book to Henry Cavill as Geralt. We're not idiots.). Amaris calls her fellow reevers her 'brothers' and then tries to fuck one of them. And now she has a daddy kink with Gadriel(proven by the fact that Piper continuously calls him Dadriel.)

Don’t give your money to Piper CJ.

currently reading

This is what happens when you write a book in 9 days and don’t accept constructive criticism. You get sentences like this.

“She knew she was about to watch the head of a man as it was gnawed from where it connected to his shoulders.”

The whole book is like this. How did this pass the beta reading process?? This is not ready for publication.

pre-review

ya'll remember that time that Piper said that TNAIM wasn't even inspired by the witcher and then she went ahead and dedicated this book to Henry Cavill as Geralt? Yeah, me too.

thank you to NetGalley for the ARC copy

THERE ARE SPOILERS FOR THE END OF THIS BOOK IN THIS REVIEW

BIG WOOF, YA'LL. I gave up at 40% because I couldn't take it anymore. If you follow my reviews, you know how much it pains me to DNF books, but I'm trying this thing in the new year where I don't torture myself as much with bad books. If it's like dragging my body through shards of glass just to read one chapter, I won't do it. The fact that I made it to 40% is a miracle. Nothing of importance even happened in those over 200 pages.

the writing I know this is an ARC, so hopefully, these errors will be fixed by the time it's published, but there were a lot of punctuation marks and typos that needed to be corrected. Page one is missing a quotation mark in the very first sentence. The prose is just as overwritten as usual. Piper uses 97 words when she could use 5. It comes off just as pretentious and melodramatic as it did in the last book. Everything is so over the top that I constantly rolled my eyes. She misuses words all the time, has ridiculous metaphors that you have to reread 2 or 3 times just to make sense of. For example; the deer within Amaris tensed to run for the opposing tree line. So there's a deer within Amaris now? How about; It blocked their ascension with the stoic ferocity of an impenetrable sentinel. That was so many words for no reason.

plot/characters Alright, like I said, I read a little less than half of this book, but I'm going to tell you about what I read, and I'm also going to tell you some things that I've been told by others who have read and finished this book. First, I was expecting this book to be about Amaris going to a medieval magic boarding school and Nox maybe becoming a monster hunter with the help of Malik and Ash. If you were expecting that, too, you would be sorely disappointed. We get some monster hunting from Nox, but Amaris is entirely useless.

So we start exactly where we left off with little to no recapping of what happened in the last book. You're expected to remember, but it's hard considering how many unnecessary words are jammed between what little plot is actually in these books. Starting with HP rip-off number one, Amaris and Gadriel are dropped from the back of a dragon into/near a lake surrounded by a forest conveniently near this magical academy that happens to have the answers they're searching for. What are the chances?? They get taken to the magic school, and everyone thinks Gadriel is a demon and they want to study him. In some supremely dramatic and ridiculous monologuing, Amaris convinces the masters of the school that he's harmless. Amaris convinces herself Gadriel(now Gad) is her new best friend, but when Gadriel says, 'we fought together in Aubade' in response to being asked ', what does this woman mean to you?' she loses her MIND. She gets so assblasted mad because she thought they were friends, but APPARENTLY NOT. It's pathetic and ridiculous, and like Amaris is so naive and has no idea how the real world works at all. She cannot conceive why Gadriel won't share secrets he was sworn to keep with her even after he explains it could mean his life. Like how is Amaris supposed to be likeable lol?? Because Gadriel said they weren’t friends, and Amaris took that shit personally. Then he blames her for his shredded wings and as usual, Amaris can’t take responsibility much like her author counterpart.

They look at some books for two seconds, find zero answers and guess that this tower of magic has everything they need. They climb 10,000 steps and find the hall of prophecies from the order of the phoenix, otherwise known as the hall of orbs, and Amaris realizes the floor is invisible and there's an illusion cast over it. Gadriel goes to step over it, and instead of warning him, Amaris screams. That's it. Then she starts berating him for not paying attention to his surroundings, even though she should know by now that she can see illusions, but Amaris is too stupid to have this figured out. After all, she's been aware of her powers for three years, and only just started questioning their limitations and capabilities. She is literally an idiot. Gadriel asks Amaris if he can make the jump. She reads WAY too much into this question and is like, "oh my god, Gadriel is putting his LIFE in my HANDS. He TRUSTS me." And I'm like...bitch, you're the only one who can see the distance. Are you for real rn? Anyway, he makes the jump, and Amaris cries in relief. Literally cries. Imagine if Indiana Jones cried in relief every time he solved a booby trap puzzle while searching tombs. He would look like an idiot. Amaris has a full-blown panic attack, considers leaving and becoming a seamstress and then jumps, doesn't make it, and almost dies, and then Gadriel saves her. They touch some magical glowing blue balls, get sucked into a pensieve and see some curses/blessings where faeries explode into golden dust. They meet the oldest man ever who happens to show them the exact thing they needed to see then get tossed from the Tardis Tower.

Gadriel gets some conveniently 'manufactured' wings and can now fly again and then they realize they've learned everything they needed to know and leave. (WHAT? YOU HAVE LEARNED LITERALLY NOTHING) They try to convince Amaris to stay, and she pretends like she's going to and then leaves at night, but it's the most dramatic thing ever. Like they made it into something that apparently is worthy of ballads, but there is no good reason why it would be worthy of ballads. They didn't even do anything there. And that's it. That's all that happens with Amaris' magical boarding school plot, and that's when I realized how much of a waste of time this bullshit book is. You had a whole ass magical boarding school, and you didn't use it at all?? You could've had Amaris attend school, actually learn some things since she is the biggest idiot ever and then solve a whole mystery of how the school is corrupt and experimenting on people with unique magic while also searching for the answers to the curse.

On the other hand, Nox is now a Yes Man and likes Malik and Ash and is probably gonna fuck Malik, which I think is bullshit considering she was coded as a lesbian. Call her bisexual all you want, and I won't believe you. She was repulsed by the touch of men, only sought comfort from other women and was OBSESSED with her 'precious little snowflake'. Having her bone a dude in this is a bad call because it nullifies the fact that she fought her way free from having to fuck men just to get to the woman she loves.

I think it's weird that the northern fae is all known to have 'bronze skin'; their powers are associated with 'night life', and their colors are 'black and copper', and they are considered the 'dark fae' aka the 'evil demons'. Like....girl... do you not see how deeply fucked up that is? Like, what are you doing? lmao.

Now, some things I was told. Amaris was immaculately conceived by a black woman. I repeat. The perfect white, special snowflake was immaculately conceived by a black woman. The precious perfect too pure for this world white woman who had her 'bronze-skinned succubus friend' whipped on her behalf. Oh, and Nox is the princess of both countries; the grey matron who made Nox her serving girl was aware of this and allowed Nox to be whipped and sold to a brothel. Also, Nox was named Nox so that she wouldn't forget she was a 'dark fae'.....What the fuck??

Also, the 'consensual breath play' is not consensual, jsyk. You can't consent when you're asleep, and someone starts choking you. You're fucking asleep. Good god.

currently reading

This is what happens when you write a book in 9 days and don’t accept constructive criticism. You get sentences like this.

“She knew she was about to watch the head of a man as it was gnawed from where it connected to his shoulders.”

The whole book is like this. How did this pass the beta reading process?? This is not ready for publication.

pre-review

ya'll remember that time that Piper said that TNAIM wasn't even inspired by the witcher and then she went ahead and dedicated this book to Henry Cavill as Geralt? Yeah, me too.

#the sun and its shade #the night and its moon #piper cj #book review

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battlevann · 10 months

Text

i have so many ideas about zarathos' kid(s) i need to write so heres a headcanon dump thing that will immediately be discarded once we actually see them in canon

-they r fraternal twins (also they r both trans because i said so) their names are Anastasia and Riven

-neither of them got to actually talk to Zarathos until they r somewhere in their teens

-neither of them like Lilith

-Anastasia wants to have a civil discussion with her father, Riven does not.

-Neither of them have a clear and correct idea of Zarathos in their mind, but Anastasia seems to favor or idealize her father while Riven resents him

-Anastasia has modified her features by (PAINFULLY) removing the fangs that protrude from the corners of her mouth and has modified her face to make the sunken-in skin that outlines her jaws so perfectly less noticeable. The scaring is awful, but she'd rather be scarred than look as she did before

-Riven has modified himself as well, sawing his horns down. its a painful and awful process that he gets reprimanded for, but he'd rather not look like Lilith.

-I have this very strange little idea that Riven was raised separately from Anastasia after a little while. Blackheart of all people was the one to strike up a deal with Lilith and pull Riven away to presumably teach him how to blend in with humans and use him to further his own plans against Zarathos

-Riven managed to worm his way into Blackheart's cold, loveless heart. BH will deny that he got attached but he did (mostly because i think it'd be funny to see Zarathos be so sulky over his kid viewing one of his biggest enemies as a father instead of him)

-Anastasia is strangely pacifistic, she is much more focused on trying to twist her powers to heal instead of hurt.

-Riven was very influenced by Blackheart and looks up to him a lot more, so he took lots of the things that were told to him by Blackheart about Zarathos more seriously than what Lilith may have said

-After Zarathos and Johnny y'know, fucking murder Blackheart(rightfully), Riven develops EVEN MORE resentment and hatred towards his father!

-Zarathos has no clue either of his kids actually exist (I think this is canon because when Lilith told him it wasn't actually him)(THAT MIGHT BE WRONG PLZ CORRECT ME)

-Anastasia and Riven don't get along, much to Anastasia's dismay. She tries her best to get him to listen but she hasn't learned that she can't help everyone yet.

-Riven snarls and lashes out, convinced he is justified in his hatred, but you'll have to forgive him as he just hasn't learned that you can't stay stuck in that stage of grief forever, it will eat you up.

-the first time Anastasia and Zarathos meet, the girl stumbles over her words and rambles, her father remains dumbfounded that he has a daughter. that confused silence gives way into overwhelming joy, something the older of the two has not felt in a long time.

-Anastasia tries her best to warn her father about Riven, how he won't listen, she really does. Zarathos is persistent, he is adamant that he can bond with his son

-Their meeting does not go well, actually, it goes terribly

-Riven attacks and attempts to maul the older, shouting out about his 'dad' from a throat that's sore and raw from the sobbing he's done hours earlier. Zarathos doesn't want to injure his child but he's not sure what to do

-He pulls Riven into an embrace, an attempt to restrain him, Johnny tells him to 'keep the kid there, he'll tire himself out. he needs to do this'

-Zarathos begrudgingly admits that Johnny was right, Riven did need to fight and shout. He needed to express his rage before he could speak.

-Their meeting ends with Riven muttering bitterly about how Zarathos' took his dad away from him, and it is only when Anastasia calls out for him as he lumbers away does the older demon realize Riven was talking about Blackheart

#ghostposting #blugh headcanon dump

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opinated-user · 2 years

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Heres some LO gossip. It was in one of her livestreams back in the day, like maybe 2018 or 2019, so its been deleted as all of them are, so take my word for it, but the discussion revolved issues around final fantasy, and I commented about how i found a specific character design to be racist. LO told me to cease the discussion altogether, and I guess I didnt answer in time, because then everyone in the chat hounded me for daring to voice this opinion and Lily said nothing while it happened. I, a black woman, was ridiculed in her chat for saying a character design was racist, and she sat back and did not care. I was called stupid and overdramatic and to shut up because it was bothering LO (my opinion was in one message). I stopped joining the streams after that - i used to be quite the regular. LO would add in things to her script directly taken from my chat messages, quite a few I can recall in the disney roundup series. Tarzan, Lilo and Stich, and Hunchback. I would also correct her a lot on very simple facts, like a certain show belonging to a specific network, or what animators worked on which films. She'd swiftly delete my replies correcting her after editing her scripts/posts. Once I asked her twice, maybe three times, why she claimed Treasure Planet failed financially due to bad writing in one review, but then praised Treasure Planet for its amazing writing in a later review, and she ignored me. I suspect its because its a blatant example of her showing her dumb ass. From these interactions, I realized how disingenious LO is when it concerns racism, how ignorant she is, how unoriginal she is, how little care she puts into research for her work and how cult-like her following is and how much she loves that, she cultivated it. As LO would say, she's a fake and a grifter.

anon, i can't testify about everything else but i vaguely remember someone doing a comment like that during one of the streams. was it a character from kingdom hearts by any chance? if it was then i was there too and it surprised the ease she had to just ignore it after creating so many videos about how everyone else should do their best to learn to be better allie. at the time i still wasn't totally convinced about the extent of LO's actual indifference towards other people and their issues so somehow i kept giving her chances to prove everyone else wrong. that was one of those moments in which she didn't. i don't find hard at all to believe you on everything else because she has done the same thing to other people. on her video about SU (you know the one) a black non binary person that LO quoted on her video called her out on her enbyphobic attitudes. did LO ever adressed that, apoligized or tried to do it better? no. and now the exact same mistake she did back then (that non binary people are "inherently interesting") is the exact same one that she does with black people (that hunter would be "inherently more interesting" if he were black). she never learns anything, she just changes the how she's wrong about things. since that video multiple have called her out for many mistakes on that video and she dismissed them all as reactionaries, even when they were the most polite and respectful anyone could ever be when pointing out a mistake.

i'm sorry that you were treated like that, anon. you didn't deserve to be ignored like that by anyone, but especially not someone that had you convinced that they cared.

#lily orchard

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sk3tch404 · 2 years

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AKSJSHJSJ PLEASE RECONSIDER, WHEN I SAID NONNY WAS BASED OFF OF BAD WATTPAD FANFICTION I MEANT: HES THE EPITOME OF BAD WATTPAD WRITING,, HIS FIRST WORDS TO Y/N ARE LITERALLY: "r u lost babygrull?" AND THATS A F T E R HE KIDNAPPED HER INTO HIS BASEMENT :,)

To be fair tho, the Y/N of this story isn't even the REAL Y/N technically. Basically X years ago when the real Y/N was a child, she was playing in the woods and got lost. The deeper she went into the forest, the more distorted it became, until she eventually encountered a monstrous creature with spider like limbs, to one's surprise she ran the fuck away, ran straight off a steep slope and died. Back to the monster, so like,, I forgot if they were supposed to be actively malicious back then or if they were simply trying to communicate to Y/N that "hey, I'm not bad or anything, I just want to lead you outside the forest because you're kinda trespassing into my home rn kid" I think it was supposed to be left ambiguous in the game but the point is, the monster felt bad that Y/N died and was like "nahhh man, you gonna live, live through me that is" so I think it either consumed Y/Ns whole body and shapeshifted into her or uhhh carved out her insides and basically possessed her dead skin like a rlly fucked up meat puppet.

Anyhow the monster who's now become our/the games Y/N has like, -1 braincells and no idea how to act convincingly human. The parents ignored it mostly because, when the hell have badly written Wattpad parents actually acted like parents? And being like "haha kids amirite?", it was a good thing that Y/N was at the age where children learned how to read. So what does our protagonist do after learning how to read? Steal all of "her" mothers trashy romance novels and scour the internet to find literature on how to act like a convincing teen so she can be prepared on how to act once "she" becomes older. Everyone else thinks she acts a bit strangely but chalks it up to "idk man, maybe that's just her personality?" So no one ever corrects her behaviour.

also the w.i.p name i literally just Y/NxNonny (real creative yeah I know) so it's not like you're missing out on much. I'm gonna infodump on the other, spriteless characters in another ask because this one's already long enough, but yeah this is the insane lore you'd get to explore in the game if I were to ever finish it.

-Ren'py anon

Renpy anon. You need to listen to me when I say this. Make. This. An. Actual. Thing.

This is the epitome of peak fiction. The peak of crack fic.

Its not just dumbass characters acting absurd, IT HADS GOOD PLOT, GREAT REASONING, INTERESTING CHARACTERS, A GOOD BACKSTORY, AND MOST OF ALL HAS ANON HACKER KIDNAPPING Y/N.

I'm so down to play as a monster possessing some persons dead body and pretending to be a cringey human 😊

I might die inside because I used to write on Wattpad but it's fineeeee

(Don't do it when ur busy or want to do other things though! I'm just saying its an awesome story idea and I could never think of this 1000000 years into my life ever)

I still want anon hackers sprite in my gallery. Idk if he's a hottie or not, BUT I WILL MAKE HIM FOR YOU IF I GET THE CHANCE

JUST GIMME A GOOD DESC/SUMMARY/PHOTO OF HIM AND I WILL MAKE HIM LOOK SO DAMN TASTY EVEN THOUGH I HAVE 0 CHARACTER DESIGN SKILLS.

Okay last part, half true. I can still make him hot though.

#renpy anon game #anon hacker #possessed monster Y/n #sounds awesome #ngl #AND BBY GIRL???#NO NO 365 DAYS GET OUT #OUT OF MY HEAD AND BLOG RIGHT THIS INSTANT #THIS ANON HACKER WILL BE EITHER #MUSTY OR HOT OR BOTH #IDC #I HATE BAD TASTE ANYWAY #I FINE 40+ FICTONAL MEN HOT #NOTHING WILL STOP ME

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sinnoman · 3 years

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Letting Diavolo Go To The Human World Is The Same As Letting The Pigeon Drive The Bus… Do Not Do It!

tw: cursing. also, minus luke.

The Demon Prince’s fascination of the human world wasn’t a new thing to you. However, it did surprise you how much he did not know of the customs and cultures humans had. He’s centuries older than you can imagine and he’s never impulsively gone up there before?

When you asked him about it, he gave you wide grin. “I’ve only gone up there for conferences and meetings. I’ve never gone up there simply to have fun. I have so much work and it takes up too much time.”

You frowned a little disheartened that Diavolo hasn’t been able to experience or enjoy a trip to the human world without it being work related. You were about to suggest a proposition as Barbatos added on, “Speaking of conferences, your four o’clock meeting is about to start in ten minutes, Young Master.”

The bright smile on Diavolo’s face fell a little. “I’m sorry, MC, our weekly tea has to be cut a little short.” You reassured him it was no problem as he got up from his seat and walked you to the door. He told Barbatos to escort you to the House of Lamentation. The minute Diavolo was out of earshot, Barbatos leaned towards your ear with a strained smile on his face.

“The Young Master is able to do what he wants. However, no matter what he does, do not let him go to the Human World by himself and with no motive.”

You didn’t understand why Diavolo wasn’t allowed to go up there without being supervised. He was a grown man and the literal Future King of Hell. Surely, he could take care of himself. So a few days later you asked him if the two of you could to the Human World together and he agreed. What could possibly go wrong?

Oh, you were wrong. You were so wrong!

It’s been less than twenty-four hours and now the both of you are sitting in a jail cell. Your left hand was sticky, your clothes were damp with rainwater and you were sure the guard kept eyeing you up and down as if you were insane. Diavolo sat next to you with a guilty look on his face. He mouthed a “sorry” at you, making you giggle while tearing up at the predicament you both were in. He could only laugh with you as you laugh and cry at the same time.

When the guard had told you were allowed one phone call (courtesy to Diavolo for compelling him to do so) you immediately headed towards the jail phone and punched in the number. You were a little surprised that the Devildom phone numbers worked but you didn’t really dwell on the thought.

You just hoped the person you called would bail the both of you out.

LUCIFER

Sigh…

Someone get him five shots.

When you called Lucifer to tell him that you and Diavolo went to the Human World for a day trip, he was hoping you were going to ask him if he wanted anything before the both of you came back.

What he wasn’t expecting was (in less than 24 hours) for you to tell him not only have the both of you created an unnatural phenomenon, you managed to commit three felons, crashed a car that neither of you have a license to drive and managed to get caught of all things.

When you told him that you got arrested he was debating on letting you go to prison so you could learn your lesson. Then he heard Diavolo’s voice in the back and started choking on his wine.

How in the three realms did Diavolo managed to get arrested? And how did you (the one he thought was as responsible as him) allow this to happen? What do you mean you let Diavolo drive the car? He has a butler for a reason, MC, obviously hE DOESN’T KNOW HOW TO DRIVE—

Was about to lecture you about the danger you put yourself (Diavolo) in and what the consequences when he heard Diavolo’s, “I don’t want to go back.”

Immediately gathers everyone to go and pick you both up. Has the bail money ready to go, makes sure he thinks of everything that can go wrong and gives it a solution and prepares to drag Diavolo out that jail cell himself.

When he gets there he gives you a glare that could soil cheese in 2.5 seconds.

When he goes to bail you both and the guard tells him you both can’t be released tonight, he snaps. Immediately threatens the guards with the unholiest torture threats you’ve ever heard. The guard ends up caring a little less about his job and a little more about his life and let’s you both go.

Diavolo doesn’t leave the cell. Father help him, his patience is running thin.

The next two hours is just him, Barbatos and Diavolo arguing.

“Young Master, for the last time. Get out the cell.” “NO!” “Can we just leave him—” “Quiet, Belphegor! We cannot leave him. Lord Diavolo GET OUT THE CELL!”

MAMMON

Impressed but at the same time mostly concerned.

When you told him what happened, his face started to get paler with each word. How did the two of you manage to do all this in less than a day? And here he thought he was a troublemaker…

Then the words finally process in his head. “Ya got in a car crash?! Human what we’re ya thinkin’? What if ya died? I don’t care who was drivin’ I’m never letting ya near a car again!”

Looking and thinking for someway to profit off of this. Then realizes, as the appointed human watcher, if Lucifer found out that he let you get arrested ON TOP of Diavolo being there with you while he made money off of it, his head would be ripped off.

In a state of fear in panic for both his life and yours, he goes to pick you both up alone.

It’s not his first time encountering the police. He’s been arrested before for illegal gambles, dealing, fights and such its not hard to guess what for. He will tell you though that he’s actually not the first brother to get arrested.

When he gets there the first thing he does is rush to you and make sure you’re okay. He doesn’t really care that Diavolo is there too. He just has to make sure that you are okay. All human parts are intact? Okay. Good. Let’s go.

Then the guard tells him that he can’t let you both leave yet because you need to be trialed.

Uh oh. Frustrated Mammon is here.

Immediately starts arguing with the guard. He gets so angry he’s about to start throwing punches. That’s until the guards throws a handcuff on him and shoves him in the cell with you.

He gets a phone call too, though.

You tell him to call Lucifer or Barbatos and then Diavolo tells him not to call either of them because he really doesn’t want to go back. Suddenly, Diavolo and him are best friends.

You command him to call Lucifer though and he bites his lip. The ringing of the jail phone has his heart pounding. When the phone connects, the words spill and he mentally cursing at you.

Long story short, Lucifer is the one that gets you both out and leaves Mammon there.

LEVIATHAN

Immediately asks you why you called him of all people. Doesn’t hesitate to try and refer you to someone else.

Then immediately remembers it’s like that this is exactly like that one anime where the—

When you told him why you got arrested he got extremely nervous, ESPECIALLY when he heard Diavolo’s voice in the back correcting you when you left a detail or two out. Not because he’s of the intensity of the crimes but, because he knew Lucifer would absolutely strangle you.

Is already panicking and looking for a solution. Is trying to remember what his brothers had done when he got arrested. (Spoiler Alert! He was the first brother out of all of them to get arrested. He punched a child in the face at an anime convention. The kid snitched and told his mom, cough cough, little shit, cough cough. Does he regret it? Nope! In his opinion, the kid deserved it.)

He voices his anger when he realizes that he has to use manga money to bail you both out. How could you do this to him? He thought you were his Henry. Turns out you’re just a fish…

He blogs and video records the minute he gets up there. It’s going to go viral, he just knows it. Then he gets a message from Lucifer with a smiley face and a link to his blog and he’s panicking. He has to get you two out of there. NOW!

Simply just throws money at the guard, not really caring if you two can’t leave just yet. He’s getting you two out of there one way or another before Lucifer gets here. Listen MC he doesn’t care that he’s making things worse, he refuses to die without having his 93849281849th Ruri-Chan marathon.

Then the dilemma of Diavolo not wanting to leave hits him and his patience is running thin. Why of all people did you have to get arrested with the person needed most in the Devildom?

It becomes too late when he finally manages to start convincing Diavolo to come back home. Lucifer walks through the door.

And Levi summons Lotan.

SATAN

Mr. Agent of Chaos #1 is so proud and impressed with you.

Don’t get him wrong, he was worried about you. Getting arrested and caught for your crimes is a big deal. Yet, you managed to commit three felonies before you got caught? Love, he’s invested.

He has so many questions for you. What felonies did you commit? What was your favorite felony? How’d you get caught? What do you think was the first mistake you made that got you behind bars? If you could do this all over again do you think you would get caught? Here, let him get a pen and paper so you can tell him every little detail of what happened so he can make it fool proof for you.

Then, he here’s Diavolo say he’d be glad to provide the details of what happened and now he realizes what the big issue is.

Oh he can’t wait to hold this against Lucifer’s head. Wait, let him go tell Belphie!

He has everything prepared and is ready to bail you out. You knew he was reliable.

If you see him take a picture of the two of you curled up together in the cell. It’s for research purposes. Totally not for Belphie and him to hold against Lucifer. You can’t tell him to delete it, his printer is already making hundreds of copies.

Turns out Satan isn’t as reliable as you thought. This is because five minutes and a broken desk later, he’s thrown in cell too.

He knows he should get a call too but the guard doesn’t tell him he gets one. Starts cursing so quickly you can’t even make out the words he’s saying.

When Diavolo tells him it might be better that he doesn’t get a phone call, it clicks in his head. Who needs to be bailed out when you can just escape, duh.

He doesn’t even get to the good part when he sees his brothers, Simeon, Solomon, and Barbatos walk through the door. Turns out Belphie’s sleep talking doesn’t have a filter.

He gets a little upset after this whole ordeal. He didn’t even get to try his escape plan…

ASMODEUS

Honey, he can’t relate. It sucks to suck.

Like Lucifer, he has never been arrested. He’s been close to but whenever that happens he just distracts the police from doing it… wink wink.

He knows and seen how stingy police can be with arresting people so he immediately feels for you. And when you’re telling him why you’re in a jail cell, he immediately starts getting ready to come charm you out of that cell. Then he hears Diavolo’s voice.

On second thought…

He immediately has thoughts on how Lucifer would react if he found out he were some how involved in this. Yeah… no, he rather have skin blemishes for the rest of his life.

No matter how nervous he is, he marches his perky butt up there and goes to get you both.

When he gets there he immediately goes to baby you. Checking for any injuries and makes comments on how you’re wet and such. Then he takes in his surroundings.

You’ve been here for how many hours? Oh no. Honey, look. There’s rust everywhere, unidentifiable liquids on the ground. Ew, is that a dead roach caught in a spiderweb? Why were you sitting on the small bench they had? Do you know how many gross people sit on it too? Don’t even get him started on the smell of this cell. Once the both of you go home, straight to the bath.

He goes to pay the bail but then the guard tells them they can’t leave just yet. He knows it’s time to work his magic.

You owe him. The guard is grimy and smells like he hasn’t showered in months. Not only that they’re very persistent at about their job. Charming them is taking longer than he originally had planned.

And then he realizes that Lord Diavolo does not want to leave. Oh boy.

Explains that Lord Diavolo can go anywhere he wants after this, he doesn’t care. That was until you interrupted him saying neither of you can leave without him. He really starts to stress. Why did this have to happen to him?

Somehow and in someway, the both of you manage to convince the redhead to go home. When you get to the House of Lamentation, he’s pulling you straight to his bathroom.

BEELZEBUB

You made him drop his macaroons… his macaroons. He just got them… :(

He is so confused on how you managed to do all of this in a short amount of time? Then he realizes what you just said and he starts stress eating. Poor baby, you kinda regret calling him because it really stresses him out.

“What do you mean you got into a car crash? Are you okay? Are you sure? Don’t worry I’m coming to get you.”

Then he hears Diavolo’s “take your time” and now he’s really stress eating. Not only does he have to bail you out, he has to bail out Lord Diavolo too? Oh boy, the amount of stress you’ve given him is making him have stomach tremors.

He was thinking about getting the both of you alone. Then he started having thoughts of all the human world food and realizes he wouldn’t be able to go alone without getting distracted. So, he brings Belphie to keep him on track.

His frown grows deeper when he sees the two of you curled into each other in the corner of the cell. He ignores how Belphie’s laughing and taking pictures of you both before walking over to you two.

He didn’t bring any bail money. Like Levi, ignores how the guard is saying that they can’t let the both of you leave. Simply pushes the guard off of him when they try to stop him. He also rips the bars from the ground and throws them aside. C’mon, we’re leaving.

Then Diavolo doesn’t want to leave and that’s where Beel gets upset. He’s hungry, Lord Diavolo. He doesn’t have time to be fooling around. His stomach his about to make earthquakes.

In less than three seconds, he’s now playing tug-a-war with Diavolo. Trying to ignore the empty promises of royal dinners the Prince is throwing at him.

“Lord Diavolo, we’re leaving!” “I will let you have anything you want to eat from the Palace is you let me stay!” “WE ARE LEAVING!”

BELPHEGOR

He knew he should have slept through the phone call.

He was actually wondering where you were. You missed their daily nap session. If he wasn’t too tired, he would have gone looking for you earlier.

When you explain to him what happened there’s two opposing sides to his thought. On one hand he’s like “What do you mean you committed three felonies?” in an amusing way. Lowkey is kinda proud. The most he’s been arrested for is fight with some mom who told him he couldn’t sleep at some park with his pillow.

On the second hand he’s like “WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU COMMITTED THREE FELONIES?” He’s stuck on the part on how you could have died in less than 24 hours. He’s more angry at the fact you’re making him worried about you then at the fact he has to go pick you up.

When he went to go get Beel so they could go pick you up, Mammon overheard and started making a whole commotion. You can only guess what happened next when eight demons, a sorcerer, and an angel showed up at the police station.

When he sees not only you behind bars, but Diavolo too, he’s really wishing he slept through your call.

He snaps when the guard tells him he can’t go home with you just yet. Starts picking a fight the guard. It’s a screaming match before it turns into fist fight. He’s not leaving here until he makes a point Lucifer. He’s winning this fight one way or another! You can’t stop him!!

When he hears that Diavolo doesn’t want to leave, he doesn’t care. He drags you out the cell and leaves the Prince there. Lucifer can deal with him. He just wants to go home.

When you guys do finally get to go home, he’s covered in scratches and a couple of bruises. He’s using you as a body pillow tonight whether you like it or not.

DIAVOLO

He’s so happy.

He doesn’t care that he’s committed serious crimes and is now sitting in this jail cell. He also doesn’t really care that it could potentially hurt his reputation as a ruler. He’s so happy he’s got come up here and do things he’s never done before. And he’s most happy that he got to do this with you!

And although it’s mostly his fault, he pretends as if none of it matters and keeps reliving the moments in head. (He’s sorry, truly. But when he gets so excited he just simply forgets about everything else and focuses on what he wants to do. Laws and regulations; out the window. It’s Diavolo time!)

At first you were more than a little upset with him. But then he couldn’t contain himself and started telling you about what happened today as if you weren’t there. The words are coming out his mouth so fast it gets to a point where he gets all tongue tied and he’s barely saying words.

He tells you every single detail all over again and every emotion he felt within that moment and thought he had too. And the more and more he speaks, that anger you felt diminishes. You’re happy that he’s happy and enjoyed himself although this day hadn’t particularly gone to plan.

Even when Barbatos and Lucifer come to pick you both up, he’s smiling through it. Especially when they both are lecturing you, it goes through one ear and out the other. He’s glad he was able to experience this.

Oh and don’t think it’ll stop here. He basically tries to convince you to go with him again.

BARBATOS

Longer sigh…

He warned you.

He told you not to do it and look what happened. He hopes you learned your lesson.

He also knew this was going to happen regardless of his warning. He tried preventing it, really. But no matter what alterations he made to the timeline, you both still ended in a jail cell.

When you told him what chaos the both of you have caused in less than a day, his anxiety spikes. You let Lord Diavolo drive a car? Of course he’s going to tell you he knows how to drive. Just because he tells you doesn’t mean he actually knows MC—

He’s upset with you but at the same time he feels for you too. He knows how his Young Master gets when he’s too excited. There’s nothing stopping him, he’s really the definition of one-track minded.

He tells you to give him a few seconds to gather a few things before hanging up. You thought it was going to take a half hour at most but then Barbatos is walking through the station door three seconds later.

The guard lets the both of you go willingly and with no money. You suspect it’s Barbatos doing and when you ask him about it, he acts as if he knows nothing.

Actually, he covers the entire mess completely by altering time. He can’t have people finding out Lord Diavolo had gotten arrested by human authorities, can he now? Nothing pops up when you search for news reports on the web.

He lets Lucifer deal with your punishment as he deals with Lord Diavolo’s. However, he does lecture you about it the next time he sees you. Oh, and the two of you alone together? Never happening again.

SOLOMON

You don’t get to finish your explanation before he’s laughing in your face.

Mr. Agent of Chaos #2 is so amused by this, he wants to hear exactly how you got yourself in this mess. He’s even more surprised that you allowed yourself to get caught. You have pacts with seven demon lords and you thought to not use any of them?? This is more entertaining than Asmo at a frat house.

WAIT DID HE JUST HEAR LORD DIAVOLO’S VOICE TOO?

He starts laughing even harder. The Demon Prince got arrested too? This is comedy gold. Wait a little while longer, he needs to document it for future references. Quick question: what type of unnatural phenomenon did the two of you create? Describe it to him.

He knows what the police are like but never has had to deal with them himself. He can’t be shady if he hasn’t avoided the police for a decade or so. What? He got tired of paying taxes…

He goes alone. When he sees you and the large demon smiling at you he starts to laugh again. It’s to the point where he’s wheezing and bending over. He wipes tears from his eyes afterwards. This is priceless. Please let him take a selfie with the both of you in the back.

He goes over to magically open the cell until the guard tells him he can’t do that and you guys can’t leave. He looks over at the guard and mumbles a few words in latin. Now the guard’s a duck, great. Nice going, Solomon.

When Diavolo tells him he particularly doesn’t want to go back the Devildom, Solomon doesn’t care. He can do what he wants as long as he can take you back with him. But when you tell him to help you convince the Prince to go back home, he sighs.

He threatens Diavolo about calling Simeon to come get him and the redhead is glaring at him but still walks out the cell. Great! Now everyone can go home!

So about that the phenomenon….

SIMEON

Three words: What the fuck?

How did any of this happen? When did any of this happened? What do you mean it happened today? The day’s barely ended! You got into a car crash? Are you okay?

Voices his concerns, deeply. Makes you feel so guilty about what happened today you start crying while the jail phone is pressed against your ear. Diavolo can only rub your back as he listens to Simeon thoroughly explain to you on why what you did was wrong and that you’re lucky he isn’t Lucifer.

He then hears Diavolo’s “Maybe calling Simeon was a bad idea.” Oh. Now he’s really upset. Doesn’t understand how Lord Diavolo allowed this to happen. You could have died, he’s not ready to see you in the Celestial Realm just yet! He tells you to pass the phone to the Demon Lord and you can’t imagine what Simeon is telling Diavolo that’s making him so pale. It’s your turn to rub his back.

When you get the phone back, Simeon tells you to sit tight and he’s coming to get you.

When he does get there, the frown on his face makes you feel even more guilty than on the phone. You could even Diavolo go stiff beside you.

When the guards tells him that the both of you aren’t allowed to leave, he’s super close on letting the both of you suffer the consequences. Yet, he tries to make the guard more lenient by guilt tripping him too.

When he hears that Diavolo doesn’t want to go back, it doesn’t take much for him to convince the Prince to go back home. All he does is glare at him and the redhead is walking out the cell with nervous chuckles.

When the three of you go back to the Devildom, he makes the both of you explain to Lucifer and Barbatos as to what happened within the last hour and why he had to go and pick you up.

TAGS: (sorry this is really long.. also don’t mind the grammatical errors I wrote this on my phone and actually less than 24 hours)

@beels-burger-babe

@mammonsemptycreditcard

@obeythebutler

@minteyeddevil

#obey me shall we date #obey me! shall we date?#obey me brothers #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me solomon #obey me simeon #obey me headcanons #otome game #crack headcanons #crack taken seriously #crimes #diavolo please why can’t you just behave?#diavolo and mc adventure number one #a study of firsts: a series

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gaiuswrites · 3 years

Text

King of Cups || Chapter 9

Chapter 9: The Hanged Man

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | eight

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: After some time apart, new conclusions are met.

Word count: 7.8k~

Rating: Explicit

Warnings/tags: SMUT, fingering, unprotected piv sex, emo emo emo (are we even surprised any more), mature themes, abandonment/family trauma, loss

Notes: Friends, wow. I'm honestly embarrassed by how long this took. Thank you for your patience. I hope you find the reward worth the wait. This chapter is nearly all in Din's POV until it switches and blends in the last chunk. If you’re new to KOC, you’re more than welcome to start at this chapter! Love you guys x (gif credit: @bestintheparsec)

“Din.”

Familiar fingers brush through his hair, a hand he knew once combing over his overgrown locks. He feels the drag of nails across his scalp, tucking a truant curl behind his ear, and the act feels like home— like hearth.

Somewhere beyond his open window a morning bird trills, perched in its roost nestled into the forked branch of the elm.

He breathes a sigh, the sound thick with sleep, and turns to his pillow, burying himself deeper into the linen.

“Din, honey.”

He blinks— lazily, molassesed— her shape clearing into focus.

Green eyes peer back at him, fine lines framing the corners of them, and crescents crease around her lips, pulled warm into a soft curve.

Small toys— wooden things, baubles and bits, dolls made from scraps of old fabric—litter the floor, spilling from the chest butted against the stone of the wall. A book, well-loved and dog-eared, rests on his nightstand—the one he insisted she read from each night, the story he couldn’t possibly fall asleep without hearing—the images written on the page, dancing in his small mind to the tune of her voice.

It’s all there now as it was then before.

“It’s time to wake up.”

She sits at the edge of the bed—his bed—the weight of her arm draped over his shoulder like a blanket— like shelter. Like never being fearful again. Like never dying. Like summer, forever.

“I am awake,” he murmurs, and it is with his own tongue that he speaks. Not that of a boy, but a man—unfiltered, unmodulated. Stripped of his helmet, he hardly recognizes the tenor of it, of its richness, but he feels the words reverberate against the hollow of his throat and he knows they belong to him.

Light casts through the window behind her—particles of dust, trapped in the tines. Floating there, suspended on strings.

She only smiles, and strokes a thumb across the sweep of his cheekbone, there in the room he last felt safe.

“No, not yet.”

It’s time to wake up. It’s time to wake up. Wake up wake up wake—

“Not yet.”

His eyes blur open with a flutter of his lashes, the lifeless durasteel ceiling coming into view—the jade of her gaze fading, fading. Blowing away.

He shifts a hand through his hair— through the long strands in dire need of trimming— lying on his bedroll, spine knobbing into the thin mattress. The cold metal overhead stares back at him.

His chest rises. Falls.

Din can still feel her, the warmth of her, there on his cheek.

///

There is no part of this that comes easy.

He knows what you’re thinking, he can see it in the guard you’ve encased yourself with— your glass walls, your glass house. Transparent but impenetrable, Din can only look. A spectator, watching as you go about your routines— a stranger on the outside.

And he sees how you look at him.

You think he’s fine.

You think he’s marble. Unbreakable. Impervious to time, to cold, and he does nothing to correct you; no, he allows the belief. He lets you believe the calloused veneer of his beskar— lets you assume he is more machine than man.

Din thought it would be simpler. Convenient. Din thought it would hurt less.

Because how can he tell you? How can he possibly communicate the imprint you’ve left on him— how his mind revolves around the imagery of that evening in vicious figure-eights. How he can’t unremember your heat curling around his fingers, how he can’t unbridle the pulse of his cock in your palm. How he can’t unspeak that which he called you, his virgin tongue flicking new and flighty around the word.

Cyare.

It tripped—in the midst of his pleasure, it sprang clumsy from him how the inevitable always seems to where you are concerned: transport to Coruscant, his past, his history, his identity— it just happens, reasonless, illogically. Some driving magic beckoning him to buckle, wishing him to give.

Your moans, your gasps, how you prayed his name— this is the white noise murmuring through the ship, harmonizing with the tinny mechanical beeps and settling groans of the bulkheads. You churn like smog through his helmet. Ever present, the memory of you is constant— invasive. It’s suffocating him.

He’s been dealt plenty of injuries and contusions— he has the scars enough to prove it— but it’s this. It’s this that’s killing him. It’s you.

All of these paintings, life-like and lurid, and yet it is this wound - untended, uncauterized - that scalds most: the moment Din, that beskar apparition, slipped away from you. You were there, hip under the weight of his glove, and he simply

went, like fog.

He watched your face crest and fall—felt your heart, skipping nervous like a stone over a morning pond, little waves rippling lightly, lightly out and out until it puttered quiet and

sank.

He abandoned you there. He left you before you had the opportunity to convince Din that you wouldn't do the same to him. Because Din has learned this, his suit of armor a trudging reminder of the inherent fact: good things leave.

You’ll be gone soon. You’ll leave him—he’s taking you home and you’ll leave him. His son will leave him.

He’ll be alone again. He’ll have the Crest, he’ll have the Guild—he’ll have the life he once cast in stone for himself, the life he’s worn as proudly as the Mudhorn emblem he boasts on his pauldron. But that was then - before - and he can never find his way back to that now; now that he knows what he knows—of breakfast and bitter caf and laughter like church bells and warmth and goodness and you.

There is no part of this that comes easy.

There in the galley, lamp-lit iridescence caressing your countenance, you asked him once if he was scared of anything and he told you he wasn’t sure— not yet.

Din lied.

As a rule, he doesn’t make a habit out of dishonesty; it doesn’t typically suit him, he is blunted to a fault— earning allies and enemies alike with the very attribute—but he lied to you then. Maybe his fears are the same as everyone else’s, maybe they’re simple. Human.

Maybe he’s scared that you’ll unchain him from his armor, of his shortcomings and tragic flaws and see the pulpy heart of him—that you’ll look and look and look, and you will like nothing that you find there. That he’s just a man.

And perhaps, he’d rather remain unknown than risk the chance of being unlovable.

For there is a certain hollow you befriend in the aftershock of loss—there is an aperture loss gores you with. There are some holes time can never fill; they remain trenched, dug from rusted trowels— left to fester, left to ill.

Sometimes, in the surly vacuum of space, in those dulled moments in which he has nothing but to count the seconds as they tick clocklessly away, Din attempts to conjure the last word his mother gave to him. He didn’t know it then—he didn’t know it was intended as a gift, boxed and ribboned and bowed. He didn’t realize—a child, wide-eyed with naivety, drenched in fright—that he should cherish it. Remember it. Keep it safe.

No matter how hard he tries, how hard he strains, he can’t recall it. He practices the nightmared memory of it, transports himself into that war zone, dodging shrapnel and brimstone just to catch sight of her face— and he can see her lips moving, can feel the fan of the flames as his world is reduced to cinders, but he cannot hear her.

Was it goodbye? Was it I love you? Was it be safe? Was it hide? Hide hide hide for me. Be good and hide, kind boy—

It dogs him. The nothinged mumble, his silent passenger.

There is no part of this that comes easy.

He heard you. There in Valentia, the city buzzing cacophonously like an orchestra tuning their instruments, he overheard the Twi’lek translate for the older woman.

Family, she said. You have a beautiful family.

Din has never in his life considered forsaking his Creed— forgoing the thing that saved him, made him, honed him to tungsten, sharp as a blade.

But he did then.

It was a flash, something fickle and brief— like the flicker of a candle before it diffused to smoke— but in that nanosecond he saw himself ripping off his helmet. He saw himself going to you, pulling you close to his plated chest. He saw the surprise wash over you—the shock that bubbled to elation. He saw you smile, that crippling gorgeous thing, with his own naked eyes and—

And then suddenly you were there before him, snapping Din from his reverie, blanket snug to your chest, the child — his child— slung beside you. He wished he had an explanation, but before he could process his actions his hand was drawing itself to your body, tugged by some unseen force—robbed of his autonomy— and rapturously, he touched you. He felt you.

His knuckles grazed your arm—your warmth, radiating past the aged leather of his glove—and the wisdom that woman uttered, the plain truth only the ancient could learn— only a mother could know— rattled around his mind, unanchored and barreling.

Yearn for the past. Reclaim time.

Hold onto them hold onto them hold on—

Never let them go.

Ready? he asked you, arm resigned to his side, feigning monotony beneath the cover of his visor.

You threaded an even smile to your lips, as if Din were none the wiser— as if he hadn’t catalogued every lick of your expressions, every curve and bow and wrinkle as your emotions sung across your face. As if he didn’t know when you were lying. As if he didn’t know when you were falling apart.

Ready, you replied, swallowing past the disappointment welled in your throat.

Both your hearts broke then. Perfectly—the same.

This is the Way.

///

Din is gone over a week. It’s the longest he’s ever been away for a hunt—it’s the longest nine days of your kriffing life.

The ship feels vacant without him; she’s cumbersome, too cavernous for the likes of only you and his foundling. Her durasteel sidings yawn morose against the wind beating restless against her—her metal stretching like a lothcat in a patch of sun. The doors and hatches complain ajar and gripe shut, as if she’s recalcitrant to go about her standard operating procedures without Din’s presence. The old gal misses him, down to her steely bones and dual ion turbines, and in truth — and despite yourself— you suppose a small part of you feels the same, shares an inkling of that same loneliness.

The rituals and dog-eared routines you’d drawn comfort from are now rinsed in a forlorn wash.

The single bowl of food you prepare looks wrong without its twin beside it.

You scroll a finger over your display screen, flicking through various articles, the faint light from the holopad basking the contours of your face in a lonesome shade of inanimate blue.

Anything good you hear him ask, there in your inner ear— the memory of his voice leaving a nick among the many wrinkles of your brain.

You sigh, quietly— alone. Never.

Even Munch misses him, although he expresses it differently. He’s been a downright terror with Din gone. At first it was a vacation, a luxury retreat; you and the child gorged yourself on crackers and grava berries and dried bantha meat—mindful of sweeping up the crumbs on whichever surface you snacked. You giggled and ran amok and shared secrets in code only the two of you could decipher.

But one day grew to two, and two to three and three to four and by the fifth you were out of treats and your patience too had dwindled to short supply.

The child is special— unquestionably unique. And as much as you adore him, would lay down your life for him if it came to it, Maker he is uniquely qualified to send you round the bend twice over. He’s baffling, infuriating— just like his father. Of all the things he could have inherited from the man, of course he decided to latch on to his vexing penchant for mystery.

You lost him for half a day. He was somewhere aboard the Crest, of that you knew that for certain, but he managed to enact a stunt that could’ve puzzled even the most illustrious of illusionists with how quickly and effectively he vanished, seemingly out of thin air.

He emerged eventually for dinner, babbling wickedly. There was that, at least: you could always count on Munch to — well, munch.

Over a week of this— nine days, sixteen hours, and twenty-two minutes, to be exact… But who’s counting.

The sky glitches with lightning, sparking like a bulb in dreadful need of changing, and veins of violet skitter along the horizon, chased by the clapping hammer of thunder. Fat drops of rain trace down the transparisteel, the metalled drum of their pattering against the Crest lullabying your eyelids to a slumbered close. You drift, weightless, waxing and waning in and out of a reoccurring dream that always blurs to mere suggestion - to shadow - as soon as you wake.

The harsh sound stirs you—the ramp’s gears springing to life, signaling the Mandalorian’s return. Rapidly, you blink clear the slog of sleep from your eye, re-emerging from the forgotten depths of your subconscious and half-roused, you bound from the copilot’s chair. You rally from your stupor, instinct urging you to meet the bounty hunter by the entrance—some tittering, foolish part of you still so glad and girlish just to see him.

Hobbling down the ladder with veteraned coordination - one leg one arm one foot one hand - you hop the last two rungs to land catlike on the balls of your feet, heading towards the stern of the ship and—

You don’t make it three steps.

He’s there. Din is there— nine days later and finally, like a hallucination, he’s here— ominous and backlit by the glow seeping in from the galley. An obelisk, undaunted.

Your gut somersaults, flipping until it dizzies.

Knee-jerked and reflexive, the basest part of you demands you go to him, to cross the threshold separating you— the time and space and uncertainty dredged like a moat between you two. But instead of greeting him as you wish— two arms thrown around him, welcoming him home—back to the Crest, to the child, to you—you stand there, dumbstruck and wanting.

The passage of the corridor is like a strait. It's so narrow you can smell him— his carbon musk, his petrichored sweat—and it furls thick into your sinuses, fogging up your vision, clotting the faulty wiring of your mind. He’s brought the wet in with him, drip dropping from his hulking frame to splat puddled onto the deck.

plop

A beat ferments, hanging ripe from its branch as the tempest rages outside the sheltered hull of the ship. Distantly, thunder booms from above.

“Din— hi.”

“You’re up.” He doesn’t move from the archway. Stiffened, composed from granite, the man hardly breathes. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” you offer hastily—untruthfully.

Din scans you: your obviously tousled hair, the drowsy flush kissing your jaw, the tell-tale crinkle of your tunic. Your tongue darts out to skip over your lip and his lungs pull, aching beneath his ribs.

Maker, you’re pretty even when you lie.

“Go back to sleep,” he assures, but you hardly register it; it’s scarcely above a murmur by the time the words hum through his modulator.

“Can I make you some food? Can I—"

There’s a tarred shake of his helm, tiredly dissuading you. “No, you—you’ve done enough.”

“But you must be exhausted, Din. Let me help you,” you urge, sincerity shaping the lilt of your voice. “Please, I—” You falter. Vision finally adjusted in the dimmed hall, it is then that you spot it.

Your mouth runs dry.

He’s dappled in a violent scarlet, foreign red splatters contrasted against all that silvered grey, bleeding with the rainwater to roll sanguined down the rounded edges of his armor.

Blood. He’s covered in blood.

Something pitted—something vital— in you contracts; horror, prickling the fine hairs along your forearm. “Maker, what happened?”

Eyes gaping fearful, you skitter around his breastplate, his vambraces, the paneling of his flight suit, roving meticulously in search for the source of his injury. Thoughtless, consumed with only one concern - is he hurt? - your hand flies to his chest where it rests—solid. Fretting. “Stars, are you—”

He can see it—he can see you, always—how your gaze swells, laced with a surge of adrenaline, of care, and Din lays his broad palm flat over your knuckles, grabbing your frantic attention. “It’s not mine—hey, it’s not mine.”

Your shoulders deflate, relief visibly relaxing the rigidity in your spine, and for the first time in what feels like minutes you release the breath you’d fostered high behind your teeth.

He doesn’t know what overtakes him. Perhaps it’s your sleep swollen lips or the soft petal of your cheek— taunting Din, daring him to feel you again, as he did before— or perhaps it’s the all too apparent fact that you simply give a shit about him— despite everything he’s done, all of that which he has left unsaid. That you worry. That you care.

Puppeted, arm hoisted by some invisible strings of fate—those unseen threads of inevitability—he reaches for you. Din’s thumb roams the slope of your cheekbone, the buttered hide of his glove gliding over your skin. Something rattles flustered in your chest, and you must look pathetic— how your eyes bat at him and your mouth parts, breathy and demure.

“Dala.” He sounds pained when he says it, as if it’s poisoning him; the very syllables like hemlock dripping down his tongue—slowly gradually, ending his life— this life.

This life as he knows it.

You nuzzle into the cradle of his palm, encircling a hand around his wrist, urging him still. You both know he could break away from you without an ounce of strength squandered, but he doesn’t; he listens, he quiets for you. Enchanted, neither of you dare move— neither of you, willing to shatter the profound spell of intimacy you’ve stumbled onto.

He holds you like this, and you hold him to you. His hand on your cheek; yours over the birdcaged throb of his heart— burning - devouring - its entombed aril like the heart of a dying star.

“Where’d you go?” you whisper, heathered, into the heel of his hand. There is something broken in your cadence, like the chipped rim of a fragile cup, and it punctures him just there beneath his sternum.

Where’d you go?

Where’d you go before? When you left— where did you spirit away to?

Why didn’t you take me with you?

A sick wave rots his stomach. He couldn’t answer you then, not when you were wobbly and coltish beneath him—Din can barely answer you now. His digits twine into your hair, cupping the arc of your neck. The gesture is not unkind. It is delicate— urgent, too—and the following hush you share speaks tomes for the both of you, the sob of his leathered fist admitting what he cannot utter.

I couldn’t. I couldn’t.

Maker, if you could see him. See how his face folds for you, grief lined into the shallow grooves that mark him. The cycles of it— how they bend him into something contorted. Something in need - I need you I need you I need - something ugly, he thinks. Leftover. Hidden. Hide hide hide hi—

You turn, pressing a kiss into the rough of his palm. It’s a soft thing— trepid and cautious—too worried you might frighten him away to offer anything more than a chaste brush of your lips—too worried you’ll send him scurrying back into the cratered unknown he crawled out from.

But he doesn’t.

Din doesn’t turn tail and run, he stands firm—weaving his hand further into your scalp, guiding you closer to him with a throaty sound. The forehead of his helm sinks to yours, and through its filter you discern the tremor of Din’s breathing, made fuzzy by the tinny modulator.

This is nothing like before. Din was hot blooded and vicious then, possessed by the infernal likes of some great beast, but he has since been tamed, if only momentarily—coaxed into a certain meekness by the frail ache of his heart—by the grace of your kind mouth, kissing his gun-worn glove.

He groans your name, mumbled and brassy. The two of you so close, so merged, that if it weren’t for his helmet, you’d feel the tickle of the syllables as they sweep over your face. Din repeats himself, repentant—praying for forgiveness on the cross of your name—your kiss, a benediction.

Again, he calls you. I’m sorry.

Again, you kiss him. There is nothing to forgive.

Again. Again.

With a flutter of bravado, you sling a lumbered arm over the span of his neck, notching yourself into his chest, an interlocking piece finding it’s match. Din’s forearm comes to coil around your waist, wide hand spanning the small of your back, and if possible, gathers you nearer— a growl emanating somewhere from under his beskar.

“Tell me to stop,” he breathes, bullet riddled—grating—warring with the countless shards of himself he has yet to reconcile; but his body betrays his intentions as Din’s grasp finds itself lower, filling his fingers with the plush of your ass. “Tell me, please.”

Arousal rushes to pool in your depths—at the proximity of him, the hungered way at which he paws you—and it’s a reaction you feel mimicked by the iron rod straining against Din’s flight suit, pressing into your thigh. You shake your head, gaze colored earnest, and you shift, applying a grind of your hips against him in response.

Din lets out a defeated groan; weak to you, a fabled Mandalorian warrior brought to trembling knees by the guile of a good woman. And suddenly, like striking a match in a room swarmed with gas, you are incendiary.

He’s everywhere— groping and kneading your arms, your ass, your neck and waist. You are malleable beneath him, sculpted like wet clay under his eager touch—as if he is committing your form to memory; the fervor of his grip, reclaiming time.

He hooks a hand under the crease of your knee, yanking you to the column of his armor, sealing your bodies together. Gyrating your hips against him, your clit yearns against his thick outline as you dig into the cowl draped over his shoulders.

Sliding his hand down your backside, he presses his palm into your clothed heat from behind, pads of his fingers insistent as you saddle your spine into his touch, granting him better access. His cock brays, straining beneath his many layers, and a withered moan breaches past your lips.

“Gods, Din.”

Din. He can’t stand that—his name, lush in your wet mouth—and without ceremony, drops your leg from where he’d glued it to his hip. Like a beggar, impoverished and need-stricken, he begins to fight with your clothing, half tempted to rip the damn things off you, leaving you tattered; he’d happily buy you a new wardrobe if it meant having you as he’s wanted for these long months—naked and vulnerable and his.

Your tunic and pants come off in a flurry, your underwear too, discarded hastily in some forgotten corner—and with a hand on your chest, he walks you backwards until your bare ass connects with the durasteel, a jagged inhale tearing through you at the chill. A question knits your brows to meet as Din paces away from you, increasing his distance.

“What are you-”

He interrupts you with a groan. “Just - gedet’ye - just let me—”

His gaze drips like wax down your body—eyes dressing over your clavicle, the supple weight of your breasts, the gorgeous dusting of hair at your mound, the sweet press of your thighs as you clench them together, your pretty knees, your pretty ankles, your pretty feet, pigeoned inward nervously.

Pretty pretty pretty—fuck, all of you. So fucking pretty.

With the cock of his chin, his gaze returns to the heave of your breasts—tracing over your nipples pebbling in the everpresent draft of the Razor Crest— and you rile under him, heart stammering loud—so loud you’re convinced he can hear it with the aid of his helm. And Maker above, the way you’re fucking staring at him—all hooded lids and flushed cheeks. Din wants to fucking ravish you.

Dismantle you.

Pick you apart bit by bit until you’ve come undone completely.

And as if slogging through gravity itself, movements prowled, he steps to you. Din finds your hips, running the whisper of his gloves along the slopes of your sides; a master of patience, commanding time to his will, he crawls up your skin

slow

deliberate.

You’re all but helpless to the shiver that traverses the planes of your body, zipping along your synapses like the fault lines of a quaking planet—cracking you open, exposing your molten core. You’re not proud of the noise you make when he cups your breasts. Starved, you whine as he takes you into his hands, pinching and groping until you’re pert and sore and you drive your pelvis into him, rutting yourself against his frame like some flea ridden slum-mutt in the prime of her heat.

Din seethes, mumbling in Mando’a—spitting curses you can’t pretend to comprehend, but that blot warmth along your cheekbones at the oaky depravity of which he utters them.

He seals over your mound, blood pumping at your seam, bundle of nerves pulsing steady against the heel of his hand. Immobile, he waits, hovering stagnant and teasing before his lust to feel you outweighs his desire to make you be good and wait—and parting through your curls, he kisses the tips of his orange gloves into your honeyed cunt.

It’s dirty. He’s dirty, he’s fucking filthy—covered in foreign blood and alien soil—and you feel depraved, unclean. Powerful. You feel, perhaps, as the Maker intended—wild and without shame, to roam his gateless garden and sully the soles of your feet.

You feel raw. Din Djarin sands you raw.

The pump of his wrist is merciless, pistoning in and out in shallow thrusts, knuckles angled to prod at that spot— that piece of primordial heaven sequestered at the channel of your cunt—and he keeps discovering it over and over again with a sharp shooter’s precision—zeroing in on his mark and releasing the trigger. Dead eyed.

You grab greedily at his bulge, at his cock begging for regard beneath the protective fabric covering him, and you squeeze the best you can. The angle is awkward and unweildy and it’s not nearly enough for either of you, but it conveys your intention well enough.

Can I have this? Will you give this to me?

Din growls his reply, leaving your pussy to fumble with the waist of his trousers, fidgeting over the pesky buttons—the final of the flimsy holdouts separating you and the tempered steel hanging solid between his legs. It bobs free from his pants, ruddied tip straining and pining for you, and without spending another moment idle, he rediscovers the warmth of your naked body— molding himself to your form, his grip once more finding the pit of your knee and bracing it to his side.

He ruts the underside of his shaft through your slick folds, his blunt head nudging at the swollen cleft of your center—each pitch of Din’s hips sending bolts of pleasure crackling through your core. He’s stifling a string of moans while he does it, while he undulates against you, the sighs and gasps digitized to near silence as he coats his cock in your gloss—and not for the first time do you find yourself considering how fucking colossal Din is. How fucking virile and engulfing, like blaster smoke and tabacco and cedar. Like coaled smog from a cremulator. Like giving life, like taking it away— like mercy. Vengeance.

Din swipes your standing leg up to match the other in a fluid motion, effectively levitating you off the ground with only his palms secured beneath your hamstrings and your strangled hold around his neck to suspend you.

“Tell me to stop and I will.” He’s practically begging you now, anguish wrecking through the timber of his voice—grasping blindly for an excuse not to lose himself in you completely, not to bury his primal drives and fears into the chasm of your sex.

You’ll leave him you’ll leave him he’s terrified you’ll leave him

“I-I don’t want you to stop— I want this. Din, I want you, I missed you. I miss you.” You miss him. He’s right here, cock streaking through your middle and still, you miss him. You’ll never stop missing him—wanting him. An unscratchable itch at the median of your back, burning for his affection, for his touch.

He releases a husked sound at that, as if hearing it from you hurts— your words, purpling a bruise into the bloody beat of his heart—and like a dipping sun sinking below the crust of a darkening planet, the last of Din’s resolve fades to utter black as he finally - finally - buries himself into where you weep for him.

Oh Maker. Fuck, fuck—

You muffle a relieved cry, forehead collapsing to the slope of his shoulder. Your walls shutter, blinking and gasping around his cock as he rolls up into you, lips pulling taut around his girth with each drag through your cunt. Din fucks you slurred and languid—his pace, sweltering like a summer fever—heavy, punitive. Smothering and thick. You can feel every vein, every silken ridge, as he notches himself inch by inch— the cant of his hips meditated, aiming to melt you open with each wave.

Stuffed to the hilt inside you, he rakes in a ragged breath, calming the race of his bloodstream drumming percussive in his ears.

It occurs to you then that he might be trying to be careful with you, curled around him like this, crushed up against the bulkhead. You think he might be treating you as a jeweler would handle a rarified gem— gentle and tip-toed, afraid of letting you clatter to the counter, of scuffing your facets— devaluing you.

But you don’t want that. You don’t want cautious or considerate or any of those awfully pious things. You want to be owned. Devoured. You don’t want to feel anything else but him. You want him to need you so terribly, so primally, he bleeds. You want to forget your own damn name and replace the memory of it with his—just his, to sit besot like liquor on your tongue. Din Din Din.

“Fuck me— please - please - fuck me harder Din.” Fuck me like you need to. Fuck me like you want me— please just tell me you want me. Tell me I’m wanted. Tell me I’m worth this.

You can see the deliberation span over his mask, the light glinting off the steel there hesitant, wary. Are you sure?

“Fuck me.” I want this. I want you.

He wants to give this to you somewhere soft— somewhere you deserve. With a feathered mattress and molted down pillows and gauzy curtains billowing in a sea breeze as light dapples prismed patterns on your dewy skin. He wants to give this to you somewhere beautiful—perhaps on that planet you once probed him about - Adega - with its red trees and warm nights and friendly natives you’d cherish and keep aloft in your breast.

He wants you to feel safe. Adored.

But what he wants and what he needs are two vastly different things—two opposing extremes at odds with the other. Because he needs to fuck you here— it has to be here. Needs to score your backside with metaled bites from the Crest’s unforgiving interior; needs you crumpled and sloppy, panting out his name to echo shamelessly into the deviled bowels of his gunship.

He needs you charred for him. Scorched earth.

And with your panted pleas, lilting addictive and irresistible, he is all but helpless to deny you— to deny himself. Relenting, resolved, his voice bottoms out.

“I-I’m gonna fucking ruin you.”

He fucks you frenzied. The snap of his hips drives you into the wall; he lifts you off his cock just to spear you on it once more, fucking up up up into you, unleashing all his strength— his neglected need—into the grail of your womb. The salted slaps of skin are loud enough to make a lecher blush. It’s a chorus of beskar rattling, wet and ugly and Maker, he’s splitting you open and all you can do is mewl.

You screw your eyes shut, lost to oblivion—crown of your head shoved back, jugular bared for him like prey before the slaughter.

“No.” Leveraging his mass against you, Din clasps at the nape of your neck to command your focus, forcing your chin. “No, look at me,” he orders, brutal and sinewed and there’s desperation there. Din needs you looking at him — seeing him— the embrace of your gaze like a life raft, tethering him here, grounding him to this plane of existence, the one where he has found salvation—if only fleeting, if only like hourglassed sand sifting through his fingers—within the temple of your body. Struggling and led-lidded, you pry your lashes apart, shivering as you drink in the punishing expression leering across his visor; and as you always do, you peer past the murky T there, meeting his eyes camouflaged in their sockets behind it.

“There you are. There you are, my pretty thing - hnng—” He silences himself with a hoarse moan, the sensation of you clenching firm around him, gripping Din like a man would a rope, dangling some feet above the ground, hiccuping him to stutter. “T-That’s it, dala—fuck, y-your pussy is so godsdamn tight.”

You go boneless at the praise—at how he tongues out those fond epithets, vehement and covetous and brined in sincerity—and your breathing quickens as you soak the coarse weave of Din’s flight suit, chafing your clit to shambles with each bow of his starved sex.

You’re close. Stars, you’re so kriffing close—reach out and touch it and you’re there, a promise fulfilled dancing at your fingertips—and you almost tell him; you wish you could - don’t stop don’t stop please right there Din - but you’ve lost your voice, vocal chords stricken with tension. More than that, you’ve lost the wedge of your brain that recognizes articulation all together. Speech itself. You’re wasted. You’re shattered. You’re being fucked within an inch of your sorry life.

Nimbled, without a word of warning, Din relocates— grappling under the plats of your thighs and bracing you featherlight to his chest—negligible in comparison to the ton of armor he dons cycle after cycle, weightless when compared to that of his Creed, hanging like a yoke around his gullet. You yip in surprise and scramble around him, calves digging into his back, forearms clamped around his shoulders—his cock remaining delved within your pussy with each footfall.

Four long strides and he’s reached his destination: a large crate, stranded just outside the hallway leading to the galley. Stooping at the waist, he lowers you down with astonishing ease until you’re flush on your back, knees flanking his frame. You heave a sigh, petulant and wanting, when he slips from you mid-adjustment, a lewd squelch accompanying the movement. It is to the fervor of your clawing, desperate nails scratching down metal - please please please - that he glides back into you with one deft sweep, a satisfied gasp tumbling loose from him.

He looms over you now— Din, a tower unyielding—thrusting into you rough and hard and perfect. He’s filling you in undiscovered places long gone unrealized, nooks you didn’t know you had—the length of him completing you, making you whole.

“Tell me to stop,” he pants, orange pads of his gloves dimpling your hips.

With a tremor of your chin, you moan—broken and chirping. “Don’t - please - please don’t - shit - don't stop—” Your prayers convulse, dying in your throat, sentence cut short as he circles his thumb over your clit, catching at your slippery bud. Ever the marksman, he’s debilitatingly attentive to you, the hide of his glove snagging against your cleft, and combined with the steady rock of his dick shredding you open, you’re all but defenseless to the dawning of your release, crawling closer and closer and—

“Din,” you pant, ”Din Din Din, I think I—I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna, oh Maker—”

The muscles in your stomach seize, a twisted expression cramping your brow. You scamper to his arms, reaching out for something - anything - a parcel of real estate to clutch onto while you unravel. You’re grappling with his pauldrons, the pulsepoint at your wrist humming over the symbol welded to his shoulder, and you mage into starlight. You’re fizzing. You’re blind. You’re atomic and phasing in and out of realities and you burn— a meteor hurtling through the upper atmosphere crashing crashing crashing and—

Language exhausted, all there is left for you to do is cry, the evidence of your orgasm ricocheting like a hail of gunfire against the Razor Crest walls.

“That’s a good girl, that’s a good girl for me—f-fuck." It’s like taking a jab to his solar plexus, how you cinch around him— the corset of your walls milking his cock until he’s shaking, stumbling. The drive of his pelvis has gone erratic, the throbbing bloom gnashing its teeth in his gut—that rabid thing desperate to be released, uncaged—teeters on the identical ledge you’d just leapt from.

“Tell me to stop - please - tell me to, tell me to stop—” You’re all eyes. Your whole face, swallowed by the sweet, glassy orbs notched below the quiver of your forehead, and you’re looking at him like he could hang the damn moon and it’s too much— it’s too much too much he can’t levee this raging need— and with a hurried gasp he pulls out of your heat to tug at his slicked cock— panting ragged as he gushes onto your stomach, your legs, your pretty pussy made pink and puffy with abuse.

His breathing is labored; you can see it in the mountainous rise and fall of his chest plate as his strokes slow, his other hand digging into your flesh, indenting you. He exhales, scraping clean the fissure between his lungs, and Din tips his head, angling it backwards— granting you a rare sliver of the stubbled swath along his neck. The sightly patch, treasured behind his silvered grotto, shouldn’t be the thing that plays upon your heartstrings like one would pluck a harp— not after he’s burrowed himself inside you, not after he’s carved you to his likeness— but it does. You’re butterflied and cherry blossomed and you grin— not so much on your lips but in your soul, and there is a purring warmth that’s radiating like candle flame from the anima alive beneath your breasts and—

And then, suddenly — like time, like memory— he is gone.

He leaves you. Mirrored, he does as he did that night—laying a squeeze into the meat of your hip, he transpires to atoms, dissipating round the unknown bend of a corner and you’re alone again—alone, with only the citric bile steeping in your insides to accompany you, threatening to rise up your windpipe.

No. No no nonono—

Din’s presence, a beacon in the moonless night, disappears— leaving you orphaned and moored and mortified. He’s done it again— he’s left you, he keeps leaving you— and it renders you sick; viscerally, you’re angered and ill and green-washed with naivety.

Fool you once, shame on them. Fool you twice, and what in Maker’s name did you expect? A declaration? An about-face? As if a Mandalorian could let the beskar from his blood. As if Din could reanimate the cadaver of his past—could slip into that old snakeskin he’d shed cycles before.

It paralyzes you. Immobile, you are chambered flat on your back in the resin of your embarrassment, bereft of your vision as you stare sightless into the steel. You’ve separated—your mind and your body disjointed like oil and water, and you don’t hear it. You don’t hear the tread of Din’s feet, you don’t register his aura, Illuminous in the archway; you don’t see the stray towel fisted in his grip, you don’t feel the clench of a frozen hand around your heart as he does his. For he sees you there—a tick in your jaw; eyes distanced, fogged—and he knows he’s done this to you. The scarring of how he derelicted you then tarnishing the new-leaf flesh of the present.

He steps towards you, closer now, and your alerted gaze pins to him. A surprised expression makes a home there, astoundment freckling your face— and although he hasn’t earned the right, it strikes him bullseyed between his plated ribs because it hurts— the obvious shock of him returning for you hurts. Din is not a good man— not all of him. Sometimes, you and all your heaven-lit gleam, you make him forget that.

But sometimes, you make him remember.

And Maker, if you don’t look good like this. Streaked with his seed, creamy white pearling the maps of your body, the shine of it catching in the cannistered shafts of filtered light.

There’s a word for this—for you, for how you look, splayed and painted with his cum—with him. It puffs up like petals would, there in the square of his center. He’s never said it. His mouth doesn’t know the feel of it, his lips don’t know its shape. It’s scribed in Mando’a, and as native as the language is to him—as fundamental as Basic, if not more so—the word itself is foreign. Gawky. The thought of it alone hobbles through his mind on foaled legs. Din keeps this word barred, its essence clinging to the iron partitions of his skull, its perfume clouding his senses, his better judgement, his confounded rationality dangling precarious by a string.

Beautiful. Mesh’la.

You shift under his watchful eye, knees steepling mousy, and gingerly, he prizes the two apart and you let him.

You let him you let him of course you let him.

Din runs a damp cloth up your seam, up those hypersensitive folds, towards the expanse of flesh leading to your belly, and you hiss—a startled chill icing through your body.

“It’s cold,” he informs you, well after the fact, and you chortle a note in response. He continues to lave you clean, the drag of the material smoothing over your stippled planes and it’s intimate—how he takes you under his care, how he unmakes his mess.

Your heart, silly flustered thing it is, it tells you the act feels worshipful—reverent, maybe—but your head convinces you to look away, to cower, to do anything but address the blaze left in the wake of the rag he’s swiping over you. It’s too much. You feel vase-like— fragile and dainty, for the bounty hunter to either fill with wildflowers or crush under the heel of his boot— and it’s too unbearable. Bringing a hand to your sweat-sheened face, you shadow your eyes, ostriching shyly— if I can’t see him, he can’t see me.

A clipped tone escapes his helmet and it’s a sound you can’t place— it’s short, a blip—and you presume he’ll remain mum until he speaks. “You don’t have to hide from me.”

You don’t have to hide from me. I don’t want you to hide from me.

You nearly whimper at that. There’s something endearing and bronzed about how he says it, something torn, too—and you peak through the curtain of your fingers to watch him perform his ministrations. Almost begrudginly, you remove your hand from it’s shelf, resting it on the swell of your breast while he passes the cloth along your inner thighs, erasing the sticky traces of himself. There’s a quiet pause, a moment of distilled nothing before—

“I didn’t think you were coming back,” you admit, small.

He soothes his thumb into the crook of your hip, voice blunt with guilt. “I know.”

Sighing, you nod a little thing, a half-gesture, practically creeping under the Mandalorian's radar undetectable. Thunder shouts, lightning cracks— the bombastic storm outside apathetic to the lull within. Din clears his throat, rasping. “Was that okay?”

You resist the temptation to snort. Din is such a juxtaposition—one you don’t imagine you’ll tire from any time soon. He’s dangerous and protective and clever and strong and kind, despite his best efforts to snuff his compassion to ash like the butt of a dead cigarette. Lifting your palm from its perch, you extend to him, measuredly sliding your fingers against the crate— stretching stretching until he meets you, dubious and toddling like a child’s first steps, orange-dipped digits touching nude flesh. Your everbright grin brightens all the more— bewitching, back-breaking—as you entwine your hands to mesh.

“More than okay,” you say coyly. “Was that-was that good for you?”

Din huffs out an airy chuckle rich with disbelief, like he can’t fathom you’re even asking him—like you’d even have to ask at all. “That was—that was good. Very good,” he confesses gruffly, never a man for poetry, breathlessness still apparent in the bleed of his vocoder. “Even better than I imagined.”

A feline grin unfurls your lips, boldly quirking the droll corners of your mouth. “You imagine this often, Mando?”

Smirking wry and devastating, Din ushers you up by your woven hands, your body pliable and easy to his will; uprighted, his hips slot between your pretty knees, and he expertly twists your arm behind your back, snaring it there. Spine swooped, breasts brushing against his beskar, your nipples pebble cold. “Don’t let it go to your head, dala,” he gravels, visor tilted down at your dwarfed form, tenting you.

“Well," you tease lightly, "I’ll try my best.”

And you look at each other with all the tender awkwardness of two people standing on the edge of a brave new unknown.

Nervous, girlish, you smile.

Fluttering, pussy-drunk, he smiles back.

///

Nested in the pronged branch of a tall tree spindling up from the graveled soil, Din— a man, a boy too— reclines supine against the bark. His feet dangle like they did then, back when he wasn’t so afraid, and the air is dusted with a rosy haze as dusk settles upon the tired day.

The sun sets. The world twinkles a midnight blue, winking starshine as she spins.

Somewhere, behind him, his mother calls him home for supper.

tags: @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @pedros-mustache @miranhas-art @djarrex @djarinsbeskar @bookloverfilmoholic @keeper0fthestars @misguidedandbeguiled @bookishofalder @helmet-comes-off @grumpymuffinmama @niiight-dreamerrrr @spideysimpossiblegirl @janebby @greatcircle79 @gracie7209 @thatonedindjarinfan @altered-delta @email2ash @stevie75 @shegatsby @onebrownoneblue @uniquebiscuitmongerdonkey @severinsnape @kirsteng42 @justanothersadperson93 @mrsbentalmadge @radiowallet @librariantothejedi @whataperfectwasteoftime @babydarkstar @punkremus @mandobloggin @alma-rt1 @not-the-droids @pedrostories @kylieann0716 @jk7789

#King of Cups #din djarin x reader #din djarin x fem!reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x ofc #din djarin #the mandalorian #mando x you #mando x reader #mando x fem!reader #din djarin fanfic #din Djarin smut #the mandalorian fanfic #star wars fandom

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ptergwen · 3 years

Text

only you and me

w/c: 6.7k

warnings: angst, mentions of weed, and some swearing

summary: whenever peter tries to tell you how he feels, harry gets in the way

a/n: ahhhh hi my loves! my mini writing break is over :,) life has been just a mess for me and i’ve been way more critical than usual about my work but i’m doing a little better and ready to get back into everything! this helped me a lot so i’m excited to share it with y’all <3 it’s also my first time writing harry osborn so lmk how i did lmaooofwfjj but yeah pls enjoy

“dude, she’s right there! just tell her!” ned whisper yells to peter, elbowing him for emphasis. they’re hidden behind a wall to watch you at your locker. you’re grabbing books while betty rants to you and mj rolls her eyes. “not now. she looks... busy,” peter gulps, gaze trailing down your body. he always finds excuses to put off telling you how he feels.

or rather, excuses find him. something comes up every time he gets the courage to do it. he has no idea why he’s so scared because he’s pretty sure you like him back. pretty sure. there are a few reasons why you might not. also, plenty why you might. you stay up late texting most nights, and you’ve even flirted a couple of times. it never fails to make peter blush. he trips over his words whenever he tries to flirt back.

he’s had feelings for you since the first time you two hung out alone. none of your other friends could make it, but you happily took him up on his offer to come over. you grinned through his whole apartment tour, asked about may and what she does. when peter showed you his room, you even complimented his movie posters, much to his surprise.

“really? you don’t think they’re, like, dorky?”

“no, peter. your interests aren’t dorky. everyone likes what they like.”

and, he liked you. he knew it from that point on. you’d know it too if the universe wouldn’t keep stopping him from saying that.

“she’s so...” peter pauses for a second. him and ned watch you pull betty in by her shoulders as if you’re going to kiss her. she dodges you, mj pushing her back, all three of you giggling about it before you grab betty’s hands and give her words of encouragement. “cool,” peter finishes, turning back to ned. “i mean, how she puts herself out there like that.”

“what’s stopping you from doing the same thing?” ned points out with a knowing smile that peter returns. you make it look so easy. whenever you’re comfortable around people, you can let go of any doubts you have. you stop worrying about what they might think and instead do what you want. it’s inspiring to peter, and heart warming getting to be one of the people you’re fully you with.

he wishes he could apply your wisdom himself.

peter shakes his head, staring down at the floor. “oh, you know. anxiety, fear of rejection. that fun stuff.” “so, yourself,” ned concludes, clapping peter’s backpack so hard it makes him stumble forward. betty and mj wave goodbye to you before heading to their first class. you’re still getting your things together at your locker. this is peter’s moment.

“come on, dude! y/n’s not busy anymore. you got this.” ned keeps his hand on peter’s back, adding on, “it’s been a year already.” “half a year,” peter corrects him in a mumble. he’s liked you for a really long time. “ok, i’m going. wish me luck.” he takes a deep breath and focuses in on you. “aw, dude. you don’t need it.” ned gives him one last pat on the back. “good luck, though.” “thanks, man. see you in trig.”

right as peter starts heading over, harry comes up behind you and covers your eyes. you squeal, jumping up and turning to him, laughing as you playfully hit at his chest. he brings you into a hug where your face is buried in his sweater and probably inhaling his super strong, super expensive cologne.

that’s what’s stopping peter, harry freaking osborn. his own friend.

peter quickly loses the tiny bit of confidence ned gave him. he figures it might be better to hold off on his confession and get an early start to class. unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like that’s going to happen. harry has already spotted him and calls him over.

“hey, pete! come give us some love, eh?” harry beams, an arm slung around your shoulders and you smiling up at him. you direct your smile to peter when he slumps his way to your locker. his lips pull into a barely noticeable frown. you notice. “there’s my guy. why so down, sunshine?” harry offers his fist for a fist bump. peter gives it to him, eyes staying on you.

harry osborn. where to begin with such a specimen? he’s the perfect combination of everything you’d want in a guy. he gets good grades, he’s a star player on on the basketball team, nice to everyone and makes you laugh, popular yet fits right into your small group.

he was friends with you before the popular thing. what kicked it off was him making varsity basketball while only being a sophomore. yep, he’s unreal. since then, he’s been balancing his cool life and also hanging with “the nerds,” as he likes to call you. he got his own feelings for you along the way. peter can tell.

he’ll give you rides home, compliment how you look, basically act like your boyfriend without really being it. it absolutely infuriates peter because he doesn’t compare to harry in the slightest. if he were you and had the choice between himself or harry, he would pick harry.

it’s been a factor in why he hasn’t come clean about how he feels yet. he’s not trying to create a love triangle that he doesn’t stand a chance surviving in.

“for real, peter. you good?” you ask him, eyebrows knitted together in concern. “fine,” peter lies and musters up a smile. “i’m just tired. didn’t sleep too good last night.” you’re only more concerned now. this has been happening to him a lot lately. you search for his eyes. “again?”

“aw, man. you need something for it?” harry punches peter’s shoulder and lowers his voice. “i know this kid who-“ “harry, stop.” your words are serious, tone lighthearted. you throw your head back on his arm. “do you really know a kid?” “i’m not telling you,” he says in an overly happy voice, you humming the same way. peter feels like he’s third wheeling.

“i was telling pete.” harry looks at him expectantly, peter’s mouth dropping open while he thinks of what to say. harry likes to mess around. this is a different level, though. “no thanks. i- i shouldn’t. i’m-“ “relax, i don’t know a kid,” harry chuckles and points at peter. “your face right now.” it’s completely flushed. you knock into harry’s side.

“ok, well literally no one laughed. you’re scaring him,” you tell harry sternly. peter tugs tight on one of his backpack straps. he doesn’t feel like he’s third wheeling you two now. he feels like your kid. he’ll never let ned mettle in his love life ever again if this is where it gets him. “he knows i’m kidding, y/n/n. right?” harry checks with peter. you make a face at him that says you aren’t convinced.

he switches his arm from you to peter, drawing him into his side. “look, pete. i’m sorry. the only kid i know who’s selling is chocolates for his band trip.” you’re satisfied with that, grinning at both of them. peter forces a laugh and nods. “no worries, man. i gotta get to class.” “good boy,” harry lets him go. “bye, pete. we’ll see you at lunch,” you remind him. he gives you a tight lipped smile. “see you, y/n/n.”

you and harry continue practically spooning each other as soon as peter is out of sight.

what the hell is going on?

peter is back to being grumpy, plopping down in his seat next to ned. their teacher has the lesson plan pulled up on the smart board. ned looks from it to peter, almost jumping in his seat. “oh, you’re back already? how’d it go?” “it didn’t go,” peter huffs, copying down the aim. he’s only doing it so he doesn’t have to look ned in the eyes while telling him he bailed. again.

“you didn’t do it?” ned repeats, peter writing something about pi and a unit circle in his notebook. he bites the inside of his cheek. “you have to do it at some point,” ned sighs out and picks up his pencil. even he’s getting tired of this, and ned never gets tired of a good friends to lovers moment. “i think she likes harry,” peter says under his breath. “huh?” ned gasps.

peter doesn’t feel like explaining the extremely awkward moment he just finished living. although, it wouldn’t hurt to get a second opinion. “y/n. he came over, and they kept hugging and whatever.” “they always do that,” ned almost scoffs, their trigonometry teacher moving to stand in front of the class. “yeah, but he had his arm around her the whole time we-“

the bell rings and cuts their conversation short. peter struggles to label the unit circle they learn about when his mind is filled to its capacity with images of you and harry all over each other. it’s not daydreaming. this is a nightmare. maybe, he actually will be having sleep problems.

peter’s morning is relatively decent after that. he gets to do an experiment with mj in chemistry, and she lets him take the lead for once. spanish is easy, health is okay, then he has a free period, then it’s lunch. things can only go downhill from here.

he thinks about hiding in the library until it’s over, but it’s the thought of harry eating your face that gets him to drag himself to the cafeteria.

flash is at the head of your table talking to harry when peter gets there. great, now he can’t eat his soggy chicken fingers in peace. “sounds dope. let’s go on the-“ flash stops saying what he was saying and nods at peter. “penis parker, you’re late.” peter takes his seat on your left, harry on your right. you glance over at him to make sure he’s okay. he acts like he doesn’t care, peeling open his milk carton.

“just text me later, man. get outta here,” harry dismisses flash, the two of them doing a bro handshake before he leaves. he’s well aware of his and peter’s history. he keeps them separate for the obvious reasons. peter appreciates it because saying no to flash is nearly impossible. he shouldn’t be so mad at harry, should he? he’s a good friend.

harry’s arm snakes around your waist and brings you closer to him. never mind.

“who’s up for sushi later?” he asks the table, everyone agreeing and saying how awesome that sounds. everyone except peter. you tap his shoulder with a small smile. “what about you, peter? you coming?” he realizes you’re all waiting for him to respond and puts down his milk. “uh, i can’t. homework,” he lamely answers.

“dude, we have homework, too. just do it a little later,” ned suggests, betty laying her head on his shoulder. you share a look with her, your eyes wide and a grin on your lips. that must have been what you were talking about this morning. she asked for boy advice. ned advice. why can’t this crap work out for peter?

“i really can’t. sorry, guys,” peter half heartedly apologizes.

he misses the disappointment that crosses your features because he’s pouting at his lunch again.

“homework, huh?” mj tests him, squinting as she takes a sip of apple juice. harry nudges peter’s side with two fingers. “you still mad about the sleeping thing?” “sleeping thing? what sleeping thing?” betty wonders while ned rests his head against hers. a quiet laugh slips out of you as you lean in to tell her.

“peter said he couldn’t sleep last night, so harry offered him...” you mime rolling a joint. “i said no,” peter clarifies, rolling his eyes at the inevitable teasing he’s about to get. none of you have even smoked besides harry. you’re being annoying about it. “of course you did,” mj sighs and kicks her feet up on the table. “unrelated to what y/n just said... harry, i have insomnia.”

everyone bursts into laughter at that, betty shoving her side and you pulling harry by his torso as he pretends to go into his backpack. peter wants nothing to do with any of this. he usually enjoys joking around with the group, even if it’s at his expense because it’s from a place of love.

today feels like you’re straight up making fun of him. harry might as well invite flash to join in.

“alright, alright, alright. enough of the weed talk,” harry decides, you removing your arms from him and grabbing your coffee. “you’re such a bad influence.” your voice drips with sarcasm. you bend the straw and take a sip while scooting closer to peter. “you really can’t come later? i feel like i’ve barely seen you today.” that’s on harry. “i wish i could, y/n/n,” peter exhales. “i’ll text you later, okay?”

you don’t get to answer because mj tugs on your arm, distracting you from peter. she explains how she has to do an art project on what it means to be a woman and needs help brainstorming ideas. you’re full of them, offering up an interesting perspective for her to use. peter smiles to himself as he listens in. you find a new way to impress him every day.

he should tell you that.

“hey, y/n?” “listen to her! you’re seriously my idol,” betty gushes, so loudly you don’t hear peter. not a single thing has gone in his favor at this table. he gives up.

peter locks himself in his room when he gets home from his overall terrible day. he does homework like he said he would, only taking a break for dinner, giving one word replies to may’s questions about school. he’d much rather be having sushi with you. he would’ve gone if the others didn’t.

after dinner, it’s back to grumbling and scribbling down answers. there’s a knock at peter’s door around ten o’clock, which he assumes is may saying goodnight. “i’ll be done in a few minutes, may! love you.” “it’s y/n,” you reply, the smile clear in your voice. his eyes go comically wide. that’s the last thing he expected to hear. “oh. uh, come in.”

you’re holding a small takeout bag, shutting the door behind you and walking over to his desk. you meet his twinkling eyes in the dim light that hits off his walls. from his open window, you faintly hear cars as they rush by and honk their horns in the distance, accompanied by a fresh breeze. it’s cozy, safe. it’s peter.

“hey. what’re you doing here?” peter questions, leaving his pencil in his binder and shutting it. you shake around the plastic bag. “i saved you a roll.” he bites back a smile, getting up from his chair. “may let me in. she was really chill about it,” you continue and hold out the sushi for him. “it’s a california roll. i wasn’t sure what you wanted, and everyone likes those.”

peter lets his smile spread out and takes the bag from you. “thanks, y/n/n. i was honestly hoping one of you would have leftovers.” you laugh softly, peter setting the bag down on his desk. he scratches the back of his neck. “did you guys have fun?” “yeah. i missed you, though.” you clasp your hands behind your back. “everyone did.”

“i feel bad i didn’t go. just... things felt off today,” peter admits the real reason he stayed home, you letting out a breath. “it was harry, wasn’t it? god, he was being so weird.” your arms drop back to your sides. “there’s a difference between playing around and actually upsetting people.” by people, you mean peter. no one else seemed too bothered by him. “i’m sorry, peter. i tried to make him stop.”

“no, you don’t have to apologize,” peter assures you sweetly, grabbing one of your hands. “it’s not your fault, okay? he probably didn’t realize what he was doing. the jokes landed.” he’s referring to ned, mj, and betty finding harry’s comments hilarious. you lace your fingers with peter’s and frown. “this isn’t like him. maybe he’s stressed about a game.” your gaze drifts off to the side, what you see getting you to perk up.

“is that new?” you ask peter, leading him by his hand over to a poster he put up recently. it’s for 13 going on 30. you showed it to him a couple of weeks ago, and he clearly liked it a lot. any movie that makes it to peter’s wall is a special one. “mhm. i got it literally right after you went home the night we watched,” he chuckles and looks over at you while you study the poster.

you turn to face peter again, keeping your hand tight in his. “were you gonna tell me something earlier? at lunch?” he’s confused for a second, then he remembers your ideas for mj’s art project. the fact that you cared enough to bring it up after all these hours makes his stomach do summersaults in the best way. he shrugs and gives you a smile.

“the stuff you were saying about femininity and how there are so many ways to define it,” peter starts, you grinning back at him, at how he took an interest in what you were saying. “you’re so smart, y/n. you make me wanna be better.” a light pink dusts his cheeks. “peter, you’re a feminist?” you coo, joking but genuinely wondering at the same time. he squeezes your hand. “duh.”

“i thought so,” you nod, taking in the rest of what he said. “you think i’m smart? i trust you because you’re way smarter.” peter pffts in response. “i’m only good at, like, physics. you’re good at things that really matter. smart in that way.” you’re feeling your own face get hot. you swing yours and peter’s hands back and forth. “why are you the nicest person ever?”

the answer to that, may, peeks her head into the room. “hey, kids. it’s getting late.” she notices your intertwined hands and shoots peter a smirk. “i thought you were a cool aunt,” he teases, you sadly letting go of him. “she is. thanks for having me over so late,” you tell may on your way to the door. “oh, stop it. you can come over any time.” she puts a hand on your arm. “thank you so much,” you murmur back.

you walk backwards to the doorway, may leaving you two to say your goodbyes. “wanna hang out only you and me? on friday maybe?” that should make up for everything earlier. “yeah, of course. friday is perfect,” peter agrees and bounces on his feet as excitement takes over him. “thanks again for the sushi.”

“no problem. goodnight.” it’s taking every last bit of power in you to not freak out. “night. text me when you get home.” he presses his tongue into his cheek. you slowly pull the door shut. “ok, i will. bye!” it closes, leaving peter skipping across his room to his bed on one side and you doing a little happy dance on the other.

the next day at school, everything is back to normal. honestly, better than normal. your hangout with peter is tomorrow, and he’s planning on telling he likes you then. he already talked it over with ned. he’s relieved it’s finally happening, especially since him and betty have their own thing. she’ll be taking up most of his free time from here.

your group is spending lunch outside today, lounging across a picnic table, surrounded by trees and the shining sun in a bright blue sky. mj sits on the table and has her feet on the bench, which would usually bug peter to no end. he doesn’t mind this time because it takes up enough room that harry has to sit with ned and betty instead of you. you lean into peter’s side and stab a piece of lettuce from your salad.

“it’s so nice out,” betty sighs, ripping off half her cookie and giving it to ned. “we should ditch.” “oh my god, you sound like harry,” you groan between bites of salad. peter lets out a breathy laugh, you looping your arm through his. he grins down at where you’re linked. harry crosses his own arms over his chest. “she wishes.” betty only nods because her mouth is full of m&m’s.

“nah, seriously. i’d take us out somewhere, but i have practice after school.” he speaks quieter than he normally does, less confident. your theory about him having basketball drama was right. “what did we tell you? talk about the sports shit with your sports friends,” mj complains, sitting back on her hands. she glances at harry over her shoulder and catches ned mouthing you can’t say that.

sitting criss cross, she spins around to face harry, unenthusiastically saying, “what i meant was, you sound upset. what’s wrong?” harry gets into it right away, like he’s been waiting for someone to ask. “coach says there might be a scout at the next game. it’s a really good opportunity even though i don’t have to worry about... college yet.” the word makes him cringe.

“oh, damn. that’s a big deal. scary,” mj snorts, turning back to you and peter. her behavior makes ned internally face palm. “that’s awesome, dude. you’re gonna play amazing like always.” he gives harry a high five, who smiles nervously in response. he’s never nervous. “thanks, bro. you guys wanna come and watch?” he’s never invited you to one of his games before either.

this isn’t a group of friends that likes to spend their weekends in bleachers while angry teens shout around them.

“definitely. we’ll be there to support you, harry,” betty answers for everyone, ned pecking her cheek in satisfaction. mj cusses to herself before replying. “if i absolutely must, sure.” only you and peter haven’t said anything yet. he’s been chewing his lower lip, and you your salad. harry looks between you two hopefully. it’s more so at you, which peter doesn’t like.

“y/n? pete? it would help a lot, i’m serious.” he taps his fingers on the table until one of you speaks up. you’re the one who does. “i’ll go. this is pretty huge, right? congrats.” you reach across the table and squeeze his shoulder while simultaneously tightening your arm around peter’s. he takes that as a cue. “i’ll go, too. happy for you, man.”

though peter isn’t currently in the best place with harry, he should show his support by showing up. it can’t be too bad since the rest of you will be there.

a loud, long chuckle leaves harry as he hops up from his bench and comes to yours and peter’s. he bends over and wraps both of you in a hug from behind at the same time. his arms are around each of your shoulders, holding you so close his cheeks are squished against either of your heads. you giggle at that, peter finding himself laughing along and reaching back to ruffle harry’s hair.

staying mad at him is one of the world’s greatest challenges.

“you’re saints, both of you. my angels.” he kisses the back of your head, then lays one right on peter’s cheek, leaving him blushing red and grinning. “what about the rest of us? i never go to shit like this,” mj huffs and seems genuinely offended. harry wiggles his eyebrows. “you want a kiss?” his offer gets her flustered, which she can’t manage to hide. that’s a first.

“shut up. i’m just saying... never mind.” mj glares at you and peter, ned and betty making kissing noises behind her. “someone change the subject.” peter steps in. “when’s the game, harry?” he asks, harry snapping and waving his finger. “tomorrow! cancel your plans, kiddos.” “like we had any,” betty retorts.

some of you did. that was going to be peter’s hangout with you.

ned smiles sympathetically at peter before betty is getting his attention. you‘re unfazed and rambling to harry how proud you are of him.

did last night mean nothing? was it an empty gesture? were you only doing it out of guilt? peter must have read your visit wrong. he’s been wrong the whole time he’s liked you. you don’t like him back, you pity him. harry is who you’re really interested in.

may always says he should trust his instincts.

peter pulls his arm from yours suddenly, swinging his backpack onto his shoulders. you’re taken back because it’s so out of no where. you stop talking to harry so you can figure out his deal. “where are you going?” “bell’s gonna ring,” peter mumbles and picks up his lunch tray. he heads to the garbage can without another word or goodbye to anyone.

“i’m gonna go check on him,” you tell harry, already getting up from the bench. “you do that,” he acknowledges and calls mj’s name again.

peter tosses his mostly untouched food in the trash, seeing you make your way over from the corner of his eye. he tries to speed walk inside so he doesn’t have to talk to you. you’re too quick, cornering him between the door and brick wall.

“we still have ten minutes,” you state, worry flashing across your face. he’s avoiding you. well, attempting to. “what’s wrong?” peter gulps before saying anything. “my next class is on the other side of the-“ “no,” you cut him off. “what’s really wrong?”

he doesn’t feel like having this discussion. it’s bad enough he came to the realization his feelings are one sided. must he break that down for you so soon?

you toy with your sleeve while you speak because peter doesn’t. “i thought you and harry were fine again. i mean, he kissed you.” peter clenches his jaw so hard he can imagine the sound of it cracking. “it’s not about harry.” “what, then? what the fuck happened?” your sleeves are now balled in your fists. you hate it when peter does this angsty routine.

he keeps his voice low and calm so he doesn’t come off as jealous or hurt. he’s both of those things. “the game is tomorrow. friday. when we were supposed to hang out.” you meet peter’s eyes with nothing but remorse in yours. “i... i forgot,” is all you have to say.

you feel awful. he’s had a tough couple of days, and you fell through on your promise to cheer him up.

“clearly,” peter remarks, voice sharp. the way you’re looking at him makes him think he won’t like what’s coming. “peter, we have to go,” you almost whine. “i’m really sorry, i am, but this is a big night for harry. he needs us there.” peter stays silent. you’re twisting the knife deeper into him with every word. “i wouldn’t be cancelling if this wasn’t important.”

now you’re cancelling?

you reach for peter’s hand, but he shoves it into his pocket. that stings for you and him. “please, peter. we’ll hang out at the game, i swear.” this is the last chance you’ve got, so you pile it on. “harry won’t even be there, technically. he’ll... he’ll be on the court.” peter hadn’t thought about that. he lets himself unclench, starting to see the appeal. you add one more thing to lighten the mood and persuade him.

“i’ll buy you popcorn, all you can eat.” it’s that easy. cracking a smile, peter accepts. he’ll deal with his unresolved, unreciprocated feelings after he stuffs his face, courtesy of you. “you better. i’m gonna need it for this long ass game.” your face lights up, grabbing his wrist in both hands.

“so, you’ll come?” “i’ll be there,” he confirms. you throw your arms around his neck. he laughs into the hug and holds you by your middle. “i promise this’ll be the first and last game we ever go to,” you say and mean it. harry is lucky you’re even suffering through this a first time. “thank god,” peter exhales, resting his chin on your head.

that interaction leaves peter confused as hell. you’re crushing his mind and soul one minute, then hugging him the next. you were making him feel so special lasts night, and treating harry the same way today. it’s so jumbled that he isn’t sure if he’s in the friend zone or something more zone.

there are a ton of mixed signals coming his way, and he sucks at reading people as is.

he can’t take another second of this. he’d rather you come out and say you like harry already because it’s torture. knowing you don’t want him in that way would at least eliminate the possibility of anything happening between you two, and allow him to stop driving himself insane.

he’d be able to stop taking it out on harry, too.

the hold you have on peter, that you’re oblivious to, rules his every thought and decision. he’s constantly analyzing what you say to him, debating whether or not your affection is simply platonic. it’s been half a year of this madness, the night of harry’s game blurring every line so much more.

your group arrives a bit early to find seats and hype harry up before he plays. peter gets there after all of you because he’s not exactly in a rush to watch sweaty guys be aggressive. there’s only one upside, which is spending the night with you... and everyone else.

he steps into the gym that’s filling up fast with family members, friends, and the college scout harry was talking about. midtown has a different feeling to it at night. the smell of pencils is oddly stronger, and it’s a lot less intimidating.

cheerleaders are huddled in a circle while the team supervisor has them run their chants. the “leading official,” who peter thought was called a referee, takes his place off to the side. coaches give their players last minute instructions, players fool around with each other, a lot is going on.

peter scans the room for you, and grins a toothy grin when you catch his eyes. you’re sitting by yourself in one of the middle bleachers, only a bag of skinny pop in your lap. you return the smile once you spot him and wave him over.

“i don’t know why, but i thought they’d have an actual concession stand,” you explain the lack of fresh, buttery popcorn as peter takes a seat next to you. he catches the prepackaged bag you toss him. “it’s just a snack table.” “works either way,” peter hums and pokes the bag. “i’m not sure skinny pop is all i can eat, though.” “it’s good!” you defend the snack you chose for him.

“i’m kidding! you’re right, it’s kind of addicting.” he puts it by his feet for now and gives you a half smile. “you’re welcome,” you deadpan in a playful tone. “thanks.” he narrows his eyes. “where’s everyone else?” “right,” you twist around and gesture to the bleacher above you. mj is gloomily seated near the back. ned and betty are a few behind you.

“i told them to find their own seats so we can sit together, alone.” you look over at peter and move ever so slightly closer. “welcome to our friday hangout. just the two of us.” “aw, you didn’t have to do that,” peter laughs out, his knee bumping yours. “but, i’m happy you did.” he goes to put an arm around you, then harry comes racing up the stairs.

just the two of you didn’t last so long.

“y/n, i’m freaking out,” harry announces, zooming through your row to get over to you. he stops once he’s standing in front of peter and shakes him by his shoulder. “hey, pete. you made it.” “yup,” peter replies, pressing his lips together. you wince at his reaction, then quirk an eyebrow at harry. “you’re freaking out? why?”

harry sits down between you and peter, blissfully unaware of the moment he interrupted.

“i found the scout. he’s fucking terrifying as fuck. this super ripped guy, looks like he’d rather be anywhere else,” he talks quietly, like the man will hear him. “he’s not the only one,” peter says to himself, kicking around his bag of popcorn to pass time. you ignore him and grimace.

“shit. wait, how do you know it’s him? did they tell you?” you’re not sure how these things go. harry casually shrugs a shoulder. “dude has a clipboard. seems legit to me.” he gives you a cocky smile. “he’s also in the row before mj. that’s how i noticed. um...” his back now facing peter, he whispers something in your ear that makes you giggle.

peter’s face scrunches up as the spark of anger the past few days have lit reignites itself.

when harry pulls away, you motion for him to come closer with your index finger, cupping your hand around his ear and speaking into it.

nope, no more. peter is entirely about to explode. you cancelled your plans so you can force him to watch basketball, you sweet talk him so he’ll let it go, and you’re running right back to harry after all of that? what the hell does that mean?

peter stands up from his seat. “y/n, we need to talk,” he demands, you moving away from harry to respond. “ok, gimme a minute. we’re-“ “no, we need to talk now.” you don’t have time to refute because he’s taking your arm and dragging you away. harry squints at you in utter confusion.

“um, have a good game! we’ll talk later,” you call back to him, walking with peter even though you have no idea what his issue is and aren’t a fan of how he’s acting.

he releases you once you’re in the hallway. you make a point of harshly yanking your arm back, a scowl painting your lips. “jesus, peter. i was having a conversation.” “do you like harry?” peter blurts out. you’re so shocked at his abruptness that you don’t give him much to work with, only, “what?” “do you like harry?” he asks you again, this time less accusing and more curious.

“do i like...” you’re too aware of the seemingly hundreds of people surrounding you to answer comfortably. “can we talk about this somewhere else?” “sure,” peter nods, letting you lead the way since he did to get out here. you two go down the hall and choose the first room you see, which happens to be the custodian’s closet. it’s thankfully unlocked.

things were tense between you and peter on the way over, and it’s physically mirrored when you step into the room, air thick and smelling of lemon cleaning supplies. you tug on the string hanging down to turn on the light. it casts a faded glow, leaving you in mostly darkness. you sort of like it. this feels more intimate, which is fitting for what you’re both about to say.

neither one of you knows where to begin. peter’s question is ringing in the back of your mind, and you could touch on that, but there’s more to it than a simple yes or no. you don’t have to worry about it because peter gets his words out first.

“i think harry likes you, and i think you like him back,” peter restarts, already sounding deflated by what he came up with. “he doesn’t, and i don’t.” you take a step towards him. “he likes mj.” it’s peter’s turn to be shocked. the hint of a smile sets on your lips. “that’s what we were talking about. harry asked if he should take her to dinner after the game, and i said yes.”

this is going better than he expected.

“mj is the one who likes him, not me,” you reiterate and watch some life enter peter again, a tiny bit. he’s coming around, and he wants to believe you. his trust issues don’t. “but, you’re so... touchy with each other. the hugging the other day?” he mentions. you tilt your head to the side in amusement. “friends can’t hug?”

to be fair, you hugged peter yesterday. that’s a point rightfully shut down.

“he calls you pretty,” peter tries, raising both eyebrows. you have to laugh at this one. “you call may pretty.”

obviously, peter’s analysis skills could use some serious improvements. it sounds like he had the right idea, wrong person. your relationship with harry is platonic. hell, he’s crushing on a whole different person. this actually opens up the possibility of you liking peter in the romantic way, of him being in the something more zone. he had it backwards.

in case peter isn’t convinced yet, and because you really want to, you use one more trick to prove to him you don’t like harry.

“do me and harry do this?” your lips speak for you, colliding with peter’s unexpectedly yet easily. he feels like he’s floating, like he’s in some sort of magical wonderland until it hits him that this is real, and he should probably kiss you back. he does so softly and tangles his fingers in your locks. his hand supports the back of your head as the kiss goes on.

you push forward so your bodies are almost fused together, the closest you can be while you hold his jaw. peter breaks the kiss for a short breather, going back in without more than a moment passing. this one is feverish, his free arm looping around your lower back, hand resting on the small of it. you let out a giggle against his swollen lips and stroke your thumb over his jawline.

he’s been waiting to do this for the longest time, but he doesn’t have to tell you that. it shows in how eager he was to reciprocate, his shyness blossoming into passion. you feel yourself melting under his touch, the kiss eventually becoming a series of short pecks. peter gives you the final one. his pink lips form a grin when you pull apart. your hands stay on each other, not in a rush to go anywhere.

“woah, i like you so much,” peter laughs out. the words roll off his tongue naturally. “you know i like you,” you drawl, smiling at him, a full body smile while you caress his skin. he winds both arms around you and dips his head down to steal another kiss. you’re loving what’s happening. however, you don’t feel like making out while dirty brooms stare at you. you should take this back home.

“wanna get out of here? i do,” you suggest, voice muffled from his lips. they detach from yours and brush your cheek gently. peter makes a funny face. “hm, i thought we had to come. harry needs us,” he says what you did yesterday, earning a groan back. “you’re joking.” “i’m not. what kind of friends would we be, ditching him like that?”

he’s going to end you one day.

“yeah, no. i have no idea how basketball works, and i’d like to keep it that way,” peter drops the act, pressing his fingers into your sides. “i’ve been so mean to harry. i was...” “a dick?” you finish for him. it’s more of a statement than a question. to soften the blow, you rub his cheek with the tips of your fingers. “yup. he’s gonna think i hate him or something if we don’t stay.” his formerly smiley face is frowning.

“harry of all people will understand after we tell him our reasons,” you reassure him, nudging under his chin with your nose. “besides, he has other things to worry about. mj, the scout. it’s fine.” peter considers it, ultimately giving in to you like he always does, resting his forehead on yours. “i guess so. less distractions for him, yeah.” “exactly. that’s what i wanna hear.”

having his approval, you unwind yourself from him and head to the door. his fingers wrap around your wrist gently. “what about my popcorn?” a giggle escapes your lips. “you’re still on that?” “you said all i can eat!” his voice comes out high pitched, adorably high pitched.

“fine. i might have those bags you put in the microwave.” you smile when his fingers lock with yours, peter kissing the side of your head.

“even better. let’s go home.”

#peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker smut #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine

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starshipsofstarlord · 3 years

Text

Stuck in 1903

Part Two

Masterlist

Summary: Damon and Bonnie had come to your rescue, or so you thought, but it is Kai’s every intention to get close to you again

Pairing: Kai Parker x reader

Warnings: angst, smidge of fluff, mentions of smut, mentions of death, mentions of murder, bad friendships, mentions of poison, swearing

Word Count: 2052

Find Part One Here

divider by @firefly-graphics

If the Other Side continued to exist, then you would be there rather than this subordinate prison world which had been designed for one bad witch. Kai's own kind feared him, you had experienced him mentally draining your energy, he was a chore to put up with, but he could do much more than that, you had learnt from Bonnie. He fed off magic, physically stealing it from bodies and items that harboured any of it, which had poisoned his mind to hunt for power. Your friends had informed you that he had murdered his siblings, well some of them anyway, and had attempted to do so to more of them. And now you knew, with supporting evidence, never to trust Malakai Parker.

Without Damon and Bonnie you had to resort to fending for yourself, which was not at all difficult since this version of Mystic Falls that you were trapped in was quite literally a ghost town. The forever enveloping silence was torture, though the method of ignorance had not been designed for you; it was all for Kai, and that unsettled you. There was one more thing that you had been dreading - the possibility that you could not escape from the remote isolation without the aid of the guest starring siphon himself. This hell was built to contain him for eternity, but now there was magic that he could use to his own advantage nearby.

Your cheek rested upon the side of your hand, mushing the flesh whilst your elbow was poised upon the countertop of the kitchen island in the Salvatore house. All of your concentration validated your deep thoughts, of which you were broken from as a plate was placed directly in front of you, a pancake decorated with chocolate chips and syrup to form a smiley face. Damon was the culprit as he threw a tea towel over his shoulder, expectedly looking at you.

"I'm not hungry." You informed the vampire, who simply frowned at your lack of an appetite. "I ate yesterday, which was technically today." Beneath the table, you crossed your ankles, as you earnt a sigh from your well aged friend; he clearly was not impressed by your behaviour. But you didn't know what he had expected from you, you had been trapped here for longer than you could remember, and alone until you had discovered the man that had been outcast by his own family. At the time you had not known of his murderous tendencies, and had wanted nothing more than to get away from him, and you wouldn't like to admit it but you even missed him a little.

He was annoying and cocky, and withheld crucial information from you, though there was something that contradicted that all. Whenever any one of your friends had suffered the fate of death, they were always attempted to be brought back to life against the natural order of things. It made you wonder and doubt a little if they had even tried to resurrect you. In this separated reality, there was no jurisdiction so that you could know, though each time that either Damon or Bonnie looked at you, you could swear that there was guilt written in their gazes.

"Look I knew being stuck here with Kai must have fucked you up-" he should have bit his lip, his assumptions were anything but correct. And that was proven as you defensively darted out of your seat and jabbed your finger in his face, making him pivot his jaw back. There were many things that were 'fucked up', and supposing that you were one of them because you had died after sacrificing yourself to ensure that they all continued to live just didn't settle right with you. The context of the morbid situation did not help with condoning any reassurance at all, in fact, it gave a spine to your lack of faith in him and the others in the first place. Out of everyone, it was inherently worse to be here with Damon, all he had cared about was his precious Elena as well as himself, and after existing for well over a century, that was insurance that he was never going to change.

"It wasn't him who did that to me, it was roaming this damned place by myself, I had no one. And as crazy as it sounds, I think spending time with the notorious Malakai Parker helped me keep what was to spare of my sanity. If I'm not wrong, I may even say that I've found more being here than dealing with the bullshit y'all cause back home." Perhaps your words were a tad harsh, if Bonnie were in the room you were sure that she'd have a somewhat understanding of what you were saying. Though she was not, and thus you had to deal with the harshness of her best friend all by your lonesome. And it seemed that you had rattled him, apparently he couldn't handle the truth.

"Then why don't you run back to the sociopath? When we discovered that you were here, we found the pair of you attached to the hip anyways. And with him inside of you, I'd never seen you so darn happy, better here with him than tempting me to drink bleach from the way that you constantly complained when you were alive; I swear you were worse than Donovan." It was on your mind's own command for you to take a step back, and away from the toxin that Damon had so cruelly spat at you. Ans the way that he compared you to Matt made you angry; it was though he were ignoring that there were valid reasons for the blond to be the way that he was - after all, the monster before you had practically killed his sister. A laugh renegaded out from your mouth as you realised that you had been right all along, none of them cared. You were just a burden that stopped them from having a perfect life together. If this were a book, then this would be the beginning to your villain arc, and ironically enough Damon saw himself as one of the good guys. Now that was utterly ridiculous after every reckless thing that he had ever done!

"Have it your way then bloodsucker." All along, you should have trusted your guy, and from now on you knew that you would listen to it. And strangely enough, it was calling you to Kai, maybe it was because he was your last resort to escaping this imprisonment that had been meant for him alone. Turning on your heel, you heard Damon flop the towel down on the side and sigh, though you continued to walk, appeasing your better judgement elsewhere. "Wait." He tried to convince you to stay, belatedly understanding the mistake that he had made, but it was no use, you were already on your journey of getting as far away as possible from him.

The Mystic Grill, it remained to be familiar in your eyes as you entered. It was empty and void of drunken assholes and narcissists that you had wasted too much time on. The only person that you missed in the modern alternative was Matt Donovan, he was the only person that didn't treat you as though you were invisible or a nuisance. You wondered how he was coping with your absence, knowing him, he was probably relieved that Damon was gone. But you weren't, because he was here with you instead. Trailing your fingertips over the counter of the bar, out of the corner of your eye you saw a lonely glass of bourbon that was sat there as though it were lamenting you with mockery. You tried to hold your sentimental sob inside, but it was practically impossible. It tore through your body, bellowing out from your mouth as you stifled and fought through your tears.

A hand caressed the landscape of your back causing you to jump and flinch from the unexpected contact. One thing that you had learnt from evading and eventually experiencing the qualms of death, was that you could never be too careful. For no more than a second you had predicted that the intruder to your pity party was Damon, that he had followed you as you tried to distance yourself from him, but alas it was not, instead of being greeted by a fretless vampire, you were condemned by the sight of a powerless witch, of whom had purposely interjected your moment of cracked emotion and wore a brave smile for you. Wiping your eyes with the back of your sleeves, you couldn't help but snap at him. "If you're here to finish what we started then tough luck Parker, you've been here long enough and you have two hands, figure something else out."

His tongue darted out to swipe at his own bottom lip, as he raised his hand, showcasing his offering to you. "I was only going to see if you wanted a pork rind, you look like you could use one." Sighing, you dug your hand into the pungent packet that was littered with dust and crumbs, retrieving a few treats for yourself as you placed them in your mouth. "And now should be when the poison kicks in..." With your hand, you gave him a little shove as you tolled your eyes at his homicidal comedy. "Come on, that was funny! I'm funny!"

"If you say so, there's not very many people around to give you an honest opinion." It was true, the only other human like lifeforms impartially close by were Damon and Bonnie, and well, you weren't going to scurry back to them anytime soon. "And if you had poisoned me, then you would know that I would be fine and dandy in not so long, It wouldn't make a difference if that wasn't the case either, I mean I'm already dead, what could be worse than that?" Kai looked at you with shock; he didn't know that about you, that you had actually suffered a final breath. Now he thought about it, the grand scheme of things he didn't know much about you in general, though he was prepared to learn. He had often found death to be fulfilling, satisfying even, but he'd never thought about its victims being so beautiful. Yet here you were before him, by chance the one force that could motivate and help him find a way out of this jarring hole of reaping misery.

"You're here, that's all that matters." As soon as those words fled from his lips he realised exactly what he had said, and a blush framed his features. "I um - that wasn't what I - you know, yeah..." He scratched the back of his neck as you shook your head at this new side that you were seeing of Malakai. His parents called him Malakai, of course he was going to become a killer, but right now you saw nothing more than an embarrassed boy whose skin had flushed as an affect of his own words. From your experience, everyone was either the killer or the killed - you two were one of each. Like ying and yang, you fit perfectly, it was a balanced divide that was settled on whichever rhythm played out in the air. And to correspond with that thought you walked over to the jukebox, a song beginning to play which made Kai want to cover his ears. "I hate this song." He told you; he really did, if he could murder it, he would without a doubt.

"Then don't listen, just dance with me." You extended your hands out to him, to which he begrudgingly reached for. And as he snapped his eyes open, he realised that was all a memory, and that goddamn song was still playing. All he could think about was you, he had seen how upset you had been to die, and yet you were gone again, and it was all down to your so called friends. One was standing before him as he sat in chains, imprisoned against a chair. "Are you here to punish me?" He asked Bonnie, wanting nothing more than shut his eyes and see your face again.

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danses-with-dogmeat · 3 years

Note

I'm feeling a little melancholy at the moment, how would Hancock comfort/cheer up a lady sole survivor who is feeling down in the dumps? This can be a headcanon or a drabble, whichever your muse wishes to write and it's a romantic Hancock who's pining for the sole. Both have low self-esteem and sole is shy. Thank you in advance!

Thank you so much for the ask, anon! I love this prompt, and I think I’m going to do headcannons for all the companions based on it at some point, but for now, here is a drabble! Hopefully this is the kinda thing you were looking for, I think I might’ve gotten a little carried away, but I hope you enjoy!

Hancock surveyed his bar, looking over the patrons, and back up to Magnolia as she began her rendition of Frank Sinatra’s “Strangers in the Night,” and the ghoul's smokey gaze once again fell to the seat in the corner of the Third Rail.

She was there, nursing an iced beverage in her hand; the amber liquid appearing to be whiskey.

"Tell me Fahrenheit, do people drink whiskey when they're happy?" He turned to the redhead lounging on the couch beside him.

"Depends how much." She stared ahead, absentmindedly swirling the gin and tonic in her hand.

"Three or four glasses in the last hour." He said. She followed his gaze to where it rested, rolling her eyes at him.

"You've been staring at her for the past hour? Tell me, why haven’t you gone over there yet? I know you enjoy a healthy dose of masochism every once in a while, but the self-induced suffering seems pretty constant whenever she’s involved.” Fahrenheit gestured with her glass towards the corner by the bar, where Sole was seated, already close to being finished with her beverage.

“Always so quick to judge. Sole’s a popular gal, I thought she might be waiting for someone. If that was the case, then who am I to-”

“Ugh, if you don’t get your ass over there and talk to her, I’m locking you out of the State House.” Hancock’s hat tipped forward as his gaze migrated to the floor of the bar.

Fahrenheit shifted to sit up from her lounging position. “Alright, what the hell is it with this chick? It’s like she turns you into that kid on the radio. All scared and awkward.”

“I know. Listen, I don’t know what it is either. She’s just… different. I actually give a shit about what she thinks of me, you know? And I don’t wanna lose her as a friend because I was coming onto her too strong.”

“I think you’re just being a pussy about having real feelings for someone.”

“Shit, red, that’s cold. Even for you.” At that, Hancock pushed his hat back to its correct position on his head and stood, rolling his shoulders as he prepared to face the person he had “real” feelings for.

“Fine,” he turned to glance back at Fahrenheit one more time, “You win. But if this goes south, I’m holding you responsible.” He turned and started towards the bar.

“And what it if it goes north?” Fahrenheit called after him, uttering a soft chuckle as he walked away.

Hancock noticed Sole’s eyes fall on him as he approached the bar and tried not to be too obvious as he ordered another whiskey on ice for her, and one for himself. He was still coming off a mentats high, but he needed something to take the edge off. Grabbing the drinks, he turned deliberately to her.

“How you holdin’ up, sister? You looked a little low there.” He gestured at her now empty glass, reaching out to hand her the new drink.

“Oh, yeah. Thanks.” She said, smiling weakly at him as she took it.

“That seat taken?”

She looked to her left and shook her head.

“All yours, if you want.”

“Course I do, who wouldn’t wanna sit next to a lovely little thing like you?” She let out a feeble chuckle at his words, and the ridge above his eyes knitted together as he noticed the lack of light behind her eyes as she stared down at the floor.

He took a swig of his whiskey, draining half of his glass in one gulp. Sole looked over and drew her own glass to her lips, grimacing slightly at the bite of the whiskey. The two sat in silence for a bit, listening as Magnolia’s song came to an end and the conversations around the bar grew to a dull roar.

“Sorry I’m not better company, Hancock.” She uttered quietly.

“Nonsense. I could sit silently beside you all night, and you’d still be better company than half the commonwealth. But hey, if you wanna talk about it, I know it doesn’t look like it, but I got two good ears over here.” She laughed a little more genuinely at that, and Hancock felt a little flutter in his chest.

“Thanks, but really it’s- Okay, it’s just… nothing.”

“Hmm. Yeah, seems like it. Real convincing there, sister.” She finally looked up to meet his gaze. “C’mon, Sole,” he whispered softly, “it’s okay, you can tell me. After all I done, you think I’m in any position to judge you?” Sole looked away and downed her drink, before placing her fifth empty glass on the table beside the others. He drained the remainder of his own beverage in response, hoping the gesture might help settle her nerves a bit.

Sole took a deep, shaky breath.

“It’s not… something.” She stopped, looking at him with desperation behind her eyes, willing him to understand without her having to say it. Hancock was many, many things, and he would become almost anything if it meant pleasing Sole, but he wasn’t a mind reader. Instead, he smiled at her and nodded for her to continue.

“It’s… God, it’s just everything. I don’t know what’s happening to me. I used to feel like I had made it so far. When I saw the world after leaving that vault, I just, I don’t know, I just adapted. I moved on and I survived. Even when I learned that 200 years had passed, and I realized that everyone I ever knew was dead, I persisted. I pushed through. I was sad, of course, but at least I could function. Then, when I found out about Shaun and the Institute, when I saw him and... and he was older than me, when I found out how he felt about me, the way he saw me as nothing more than an experiment, I just…” Tears glistened at the corners of her eyes, punctuating the end of her sentence. No words were needed now, he understood. He wanted to reach out to her, to pull her into his arms and hold her tight, to let her know she wasn’t alone, that he was here for her, and would be as long as he was living. Instead, he reached a scarred hand towards her own that rested on the arm of her chair. She shuddered slightly as his fingers made contact with the back of her hand, and he was afraid she would pull away. But she just dropped her gaze to watch as he settled his hand atop hers, his thumb gently stroking over her knuckles.

“I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re goin’ through, Sole.” He said, his dark eyes meeting hers, “But no matter what, I’m here for you. Anything you need, it’s yours, you hear?” She sniffled slightly, and Hancock thought he heard a soft “thanks,” but he couldn’t be sure.

“You remember the day we met?” He said, his thumb still brushing softly over her hand.

“How could I forget? You killed a guy.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I sure did, heh.”

“What was his name again?” She asked him, a little bit of life returning to her strained voice.

“Finn.”

“Oh yeah, I remember now.”

“Yeah, real jackass, he was.” Sole grinned at that, and Hancock's eyes lit up, reveling in the fact that his words managed to bring a smile to her face, meager as it may be, it beat tears any day.

“You remember why I killed him?” He asked her.

“Cuz he was a jackass?” The ghoul chuckled at that, his hand squeezing hers ever so slightly.

“Close, but that’s not all of it. He was a jackass to you, sweetheart. And that didn’t sit right with me, even then.” Her eyes met his as she began to understand where he was going with this.

“But lemme tell you something, how I cared then? Shit’s nothing compared to how I care now.” He whispered the last sentence, leaning in closer to her. Hancock willed himself to say more, to tell her how much he cared for her, tell her everything he would do for her, he wanted to make a move to hold her hand tighter, or to lean into her even further, to eliminate the gap between them altogether, but he was paralyzed by her unbroken gaze.

“You mean it?” She whispered so softly, he almost didn’t hear it over the buzz of the bar.

“You kiddin’? Every damn word. And just for the record, there’s nothing wrong with the way you’re feeling right now, Sole. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met, and if anybody else went through the shit that you have, they wouldn’t have made it through day one. But you? You haven’t just survived out here, you’ve made a difference. You didn’t have to, background like yours, you coulda become a fuckin raider or crime boss or some shit and I wouldn’t have blamed you, but no. Here you go, one-upping everyone else who thought they had a tragic backstory and becoming the best damn person in the Commonwealth. Really ruins it for the rest of us rabble, you know.” Sole’s eyebrows creased together and her eyes began to glisten again as tears threatened to spill over. Shit. What did I say? Hancock’s heart pounded in his chest as he tried desperately to think of a way to undo whatever he just did. That feeling soon vanished as Sole fell forward, arms draping around Hancock’s shoulders, as she buried her head into the crook of his neck. He released the breath he had been holding and brought his own arms around to envelop her, squeezing tightly as warmth spread through the expanse of his chest.

“Thank you.” She whispered softly. And Hancock was sure he’d heard it this time.

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sunshineandcybertronians · 3 years

Text

Make Your Choice - Megatron x reader x Starscream (TFP)

Word count: 2,621 Warnings: angst, conflicting feelings, major character death A/n: Finished this in one day 9/21/19 at 11:01 PM (holy heck, that was a long time ago). I read pages 140-144 in Transformers Exodus. I never thought I’d write something that’s even slightly Megatron x reader, but here I am. But this oneshot turned out good.

"Where is he?" You searched the dark corridor of Nemesis for a friend.

As a Decepticon you served under Megatron, and Starscream at times. You were lucky enough to be close to both of them. Although Decepticons would never admit to having friends, you called them this secretly.

You were kind to everyone, even those you didn't know. It hurt you to think of anyone in pain. The majority of the Decepticons knew this, and it was miraculously pardoned thus you were given tasks that required no violence. Perhaps it was your soft words and consideration that made this so, finding a soft spot in the seemingly merciless Megatron. Starscream also respected this when he was in control for about three years.

It was very possible someone would question why you were a Decepticon with your nature being closer to an Autobot. This had occurred to you before, but you hoped to change the Decepticons. If everyone who was good left the Decepticons, there would be no chance of changing it to good in the future. Plus, most of your friends were on that side.

You looked through a doorway, he wasn't there either. "Where are you, Starscream?" You whispered to yourself. Well, you said friend earlier, but recently your feelings for him were becoming a little... different.

Since you finished some work sooner than you presumed, you now had free time that you intended to spend it with Starscream. Upon coming to a T in the halls, you paused to think of a plan. Snapping your fingers, you rushed in the direction of the medbay, to not waste another second of your time. Maybe Knockout knew where he was. Out of everyone he was the second closest to the second in command. While jogging, you remembered when you first started to develop feely for him.

Despite the fact you were kind-sparked, this didn't mean that you were not immune to frustration. At the point of time Megatron had just left on his journey through space, Starscream attacked a vehicon because he was dissatisfied with their lack of progress. For no good reason, out of anger.

"Hey!" You had barked at him, startling both him and the vehicons. "Don't do that. They did nothing to you."

He examined you with his red optics. A snarl and an un-amused expression decorated his faceplate as his tilted his helm back. Releasing the vehicon whilst shoving him away, he shifted his attention to you. He approached you, in attempt to intimidate you.

Your held your ground.

"And I believe you should be reminded of your place. You are a subordinate, who doesn't even have the fuel tank to draw energon. You don't tell me what to do."

"No! You listen!" When his servos flinched, you stepped forward to grab them to prevent him from attacking you. You shoved your faceplate near his, with barely any space apart. "They're on the same side as you. Don't hurt people for no reason. It's not nice." After your anger faded, you realized how close your face was. Energon rushed through you.

He smirked, which didn't help your flustered look. "Are you blushing, little femme?"

"No!" You stepped away.

You thought a little more and decided you wanted to clear something up before you left. "But you are a good leader. You just need to avoid letting your anger get the best of you. If you make emotional decisions, you might mess up your chance to succeed, like I know you can."

Shock filled his expression, his optics widening and eyebrows lifting at the thought you actually believed in him. He quickly regained his senses. "You mean like you did just now?" He showed teeth while displaying the irony.

You pursed your lips and averted your gaze to the ground. "Yes. Just like that," you mumbled.

And strangely enough, after that you had become very good friends with him and would have many conversations with him. Knockout would occasionally tease you for it.

Another example was before leaving Cybertron, when Megatron first learned of Dark Energon (unbeknownst to you and Megatron at the time, Starscream already knew of it long before and was attempting to learn more). He privately admitted to you, something you found shocking at the time, that he knew it was unwise to use the Dark Energon due to its unknown and most likely dangerous properties. Yet he felt it necessary to end the war. He, the gladiator, was tired of fighting. It nearly melted your spark and made you want to hug him in order to make him feel better. Then he said that maybe he would finally defeat the "treacherous Optimus Prime," which then caused you to want to call him an idiot since you knew Optimus never betrayed Megatron.

You had mixed emotions like that. If you wanted someone to be the best version of themselves and to be their friend, their flaws and evil mistakes made you upset for that same reason. This mostly fell under your emotions about Megatron or Starscream.

Your thoughts were put to an end when you reached your destination. Without missing a beat, you opened the door and marched right in.

"(Y/n)! Did you need repairs?" Knockout picked up one of the tools he was organizing.

"Hey, Knockout! No. I was wondering if you knew where Starscream was," you explained.

He chuckled, his finish reflecting what little light there was in the room. "Of course you came here to ask where your boyfriend was."

You stiffened. "He's not my boyfriend, we're just friends."

"You could've fooled me." The mech lifted his optic ridge, clearly not convinced.

"Do you know where he is?" You cut to the point again, wanting to leave the awkward conversation.

"I may," he answered wistfully, "but you may have to give me some more buffing solution as payment."

"But I just gave you some yesterday. In fact, I think you almost always get it from me, and I never ask for anything in return. By the time I get you more I'll have to go back to work."

"Just joking. He's heading to the energon supplies to check inventory." Knockout didn't even give you a glance as he picked up a buffer in the corner and spun the correct pad onto it. "Make sure you remember to propose to him."

"Knockout," you drew out his name in annoyance, almost out the door.

"Just kidding."

You rolled your eyes, mentally forgave him, and bolted to the direction of the energon stock. The clanging of your pedes hitting the floor slowed and came to a halt when the entrance was just on your right.

"Starscream?" You stuck your helm in and searched. Finally, your optics locked onto the thin seeker, with sharp features and expressive wings. He looked to you with surprise, his long digit hovering over the control panel that contained information on how much energon there was, how much was used in the previous month, and the chart of how much energon was found compared to other points throughout time on Earth.

"(Y/n)? Aren't you supposed to be organizing files right now?" He inquired.

"I was done early." You hopped into the room as the door slid closed behind you. It was now dark, except for the illumination from the energon. The way it dimly shown on him and cast shadows on the edges of his figure made him look even more attractive. You shifted and swatted away the thoughts in your head.

"So, what are you up to?"

"Nothing much," he groaned, waving his servo. "I was simply accessing the inventory to find if we had enough and needed to lower rations."

"Hmm. From what I read in reports, it's getting harder to find energon, but we found a good stock recently."

"Yes. I saw that on the chart." He nodded to the glowing screen.

Before you could stop yourself, you began admiring his wings. Then your gaze shifted to a part that wasn't quite as smooth as the rest.

"What's that scratch on your wing?" You exclaimed when you finally noticed it.

He bit his lip, looked to it, and shrugged. "I flew too low and my wing got clipped by a tree."

Studying the scrapes, you delicately traced your fingers on it. He winced in pain and reached to shove it away, but stopped when you flinched away on your own after seeing his reaction.

Letting, your servo fall softly onto the undamaged surface. His wings relaxed in please and a smile crept onto his face. You gently rubbed the spot below it and held his jaw with your other servo. He seemed to melt at your touch and closed his optics. His arms snaked their way around your waist.

His optics flickered open again and stared at you with an emotion you had never seen present in them before... love. Without thinking or even considering the consequences of it, you began to close the distance between your lips and his. However you were cut off when light filled the room coming from the door.

You both turned your heads to see who it was. The expectation was that it was just a vehicon, however it was anyone but a simple minion. It was Megatron himself.

You both stepped back. What was he doing there? He was probably either looking for you or Starscream. You passed some vehicons on the way, so he could have definitely inquired where you were from them, if you were indeed the one he was seeking to find.

When he noticed you and Starscream together, and not just that, but that you were having... erm, a moment, his face twisted from a hurt shocked to anger.

"What have we here?" He marched in, servos behind his back. The door closed, blocking the light once more. You weren't exactly sure why he was so furious, he had never been that mad at you before.

"Well," Starscream stumbled on his words and shrunk back. "You see-"

"Trying to steal yet another thing from me!" He exploded at the seeker. He took the second in command's neck in his hand and held him in the air.

"Megatron! What are you doing?!" It made no sense, why he was just suddenly deciding to kill Starscream. Had he tried to kill him recently? What did he mean 'steal'?

"What are you... Talking... About?" Starscream gasped with his legs dangling.

"(Y/n)," he turned to you. You flinched back, yet noticed how his voice was softer. "Be my sparkmate."

This thoroughly confused you and sent a chill through your frame. "What?! No."

A mix of despair, anger, and desperation showed on his faceplate.

Deciding to elaborate you started carefully, "Why? I thought we were just friends. I thought of us as just friends." You had nothing against him. You cared about him, but never thought of it in a different way. Perhaps you could have explained more, although in your baffled state, you couldn't get out much.

"Those years in space," the leader of the Decepticons began, "it was so lonely I once thought I would lose my mind. The only two things that kept me going and what made me able to live after every near-death experience are my desire to extinguish Optimus and to be with you. You somehow make everything better and chase away darkness and solitude." A blade launched from above his hand and he aimed it for the dangling Cybertronian in his hand. "I want you to always be by my side. Be my sparkmate, or Starscream dies."

You couldn't believe it, well, maybe you could considering how violent he was and how many other times he came close to killing Starscream. The Decepticon leader had even expressed fear you'd leave him for someone else before. Yet, you had assumed that it was platonic and never guessed this would happen.

"Please," you pleaded, "Don't terminate him. I know you have kindness in your spark, and it is not weakness, it is a virtue. Please. Starscream has always been useful to you. For me?" You held your servos together, your sad optics sparkled.

This seemed to make him consider, as he started to reflect your sadness then shook it away. Replaced with anger of how greatly you cared for his second in command that seemed to undermine everything he did. "No. Only if you become my sparkmate."

The seeker decided to take matters into his own servos and aimed the red missile on his arm while distracted. Megatron noticed and tore it and the other off and let then drop to the floor with Starscream wailing in pain.

You shook your head in horror, still in disbelief of what was happening. "Why are you doi-"

"I CAN'T LOSE YOU TO STARSCREAM!" He raised the sword. "And now he won't keep you from me anymore!"

"NO!" You screamed. Panic surged through you. This couldn't happen, you couldn't lose Starscream. You just couldn't. You didn't want him to die. If he were to die, you would never see or talk to him again, and it was something you could never afford.

Without thinking, you lunged forward and converted your servo to a blade. Only focusing on saving Starscream, you slashed at the one threatening his well-being.

Then time slowed. Your optics widened. You stumbled back with energon stained on the sharp edge. Megatron opened his mouth, yet nothing came out as his grip loosened and he fell to the ground. His helm nearly falling off of his body, with almost all severed off. Your mouth hung open watching the glowing blue liquid puddle onto the floor, seeming to form a lake. He gave the saddest look you've ever seen, making you want to scream as he seemed to stare right into your spark, before his scarlet optics flickered and the life faded from them.

Then the gravity of what you did. You stared at the blade, then your dead friend.

"NO! What am I doing? Why did I want to hurt you?!" You screamed. Switching back to your hand, feeling the energon drip into your parts, as you ran forward and held Megatron. You answered your own questioned, "It was to save Starscream, but why did you make me do that?! I didn't wanna hurt you. I'm supposed to be a friend, be nice. I just wanna... wanted to be your friend." You changed the word since Megatron was now no more. You wrapped your armed around him in a hug. Overcome by grief. Then anger resurfaced.

"Stupid head! Why do you have to be like this? Why do you have to be an evil overlord? I wanted to be friends. I care about you!" Then you sank back into sadness.

With a sigh, you attempt to pull yourself together. He was set to the side and you stood up, energon dripping off of you.

This whole time, Starscream, who had crawled away when he was first released, watched you. He really had no idea what to do or how to help you. All he knew was that you probably needed to be left alone at that moment, thus he stood there. Although he was flattered that you, as a pacifist, would kill to save him, he hated that you were unhappy. He waited until a few nanoklicks after you stood in silence.

"All hail Starscream?" He hesitantly questioned, his wings giving a shrug. He clearly didn't want to bother you in such an emotional state, although still desired to know if he'd be leading the Decepticons.

With a small smile creeping to your lips, you nodded while trying to move on from what happened. "Yes. All hail Starscream."

#megatron x reader #starscream x reader #megatron x reader x starscream #tfp x reader #TFP #Transformers Prime #Starscream #Megatron #angst #tw death

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