hey y’all!! here’s a little panic attack comfort during sex drabble with our favorite winged man :’^)
sfw, mostly
warnings: descriptions of panic attacks, dissociation, asking to stop during sex and that be respected
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“W-wait,” Your voice broke in your throat, the words nearly sticking to the back of your tongue. “Stop, stop, please.”
He hadn’t done anything wrong, no.
You’d just gotten scared.
Your stomach dropped so hard and fast that you needed it all to stop as quickly as possible.
You didn’t need to beg Keigo to stop touching you, you knew that, right? With the way he immediately drew away (why did that fucking hurt so much?) and looked at you with wide, concerned eyes, wings drooping.
He was listening, he wasn’t hurting you.
Keigo did exactly what he was supposed to do.
Then why were you so scared?
You didn’t want to think about why.
So you stopped.
Numbed up, faded out.
It wasn’t really in your will, the way existence got fuzzy, and Keigo’s words, if he was speaking any at all, you couldn’t really tell, had no meaning.
You were just scared, naked, and terrified.
“Dove, you’re okay, everything’s okay,” Keigo’s words had a practiced slowness to them as he moved off your lap. The lack of contact, despite not wanting to be touched, burned.
Rejection.
The feeling only added to the brine at the backs of your eyes.
The soup that was your skull was spinning faster and harsher, words and horrors spilling over its rim and drowning you without thought. There wasn’t sense to it, just the pain in your chest and fear, fear, fear—
Something cold pressed against your cheek, clammy and wet.
You jumped, pulled from your haze for just a moment to hear Keigo speak, “Hey, dove, you’re here, you’re okay.”
You clung onto the sound of his voice, shaking hands following to cup around his own that held a cold washcloth to your face. The cold, uncomfortable sensation tethered you, just enough.
No words came up from your throat when you opened your mouth to speak, the world almost crashing in on you once more. Panic was just inches away—
Ground yourself while you’re lucid, you reminded yourself.
Pulling up a leg, you tucked your forehead against your knee, the cold shifting from your cheek to the back of your neck.
And you counted.
You breathed.
But it was hard.
Endlessly, you were grateful for Keigo’s heat against your side as he rubbed little circles at the base of your skull. He kept speaking, affirmations, and affections and reminders you needed to hear, though they didn’t all register.
...
“I’ve got you.”
“You’re right here.”
...
“Big breaths, dove.”
“You’re doing so well.”
...
“I love you—”
“You’re safe.”
Keigo’s voice washed through your raw psyche, the sentiments felt instead of just heard.
You physically stuttered, clutching at your chest as the tightness and pain of it became so much more difficult when you were back to your senses.
“F-fuck,” Your swore under your breath, shifting your weight into Keigo’s side. “S-sorry, love.”
Keigo pressed a firm kiss against your hair, a simple way of shushing you, “You don’t need to be sorry. You know I’ve got you.”
“I know you do,” The words slipped from your lips wobbly and cold as you pressed yourself into him. “You better not let go, I-I’ll kick your ass.”
“Very convincing,” Keigo chuckled under his breath, squeezing. “I’ll never let go of you, you know, not unless you want me to.”
“A-and I don’t,” You buried your face into the crook of his neck, folding yourself into him.
You felt the weight of his wing and the lightness of a sheet drape over you a moment later. Keigo arm settled across your lower back, pulling you close as could be.
You were grateful, endlessly, for the kindness Keigo showed you in these moments. The shaking of your body was dulled, but the lingerings of your fears still felt sharp.
Keigo hushed and held to you as he could, his stubble scratching your forehead with each grounding his. Even little coos chirped from the back of his throat, something avian and instinctual that you found absolutely adorable, if not comforting.
You curled into him, trying to bring him impossibly closer. Feeling the heat of him against you cut through all of little pains and mental aches as you settled your hands at the base of his wings.
Both of you were equally vulnerable like this, the heat of the moment passed and something much more calm needed.
Keigo always seemed to know what you needed in these moments.
Here's a smol Hisoka piece I wrote while I was in the hospital waiting room. Not edited.
Pairing: Hisoka x Fem!Reader
Angst, Implied NSFW, Fluff if you squint
Word Count: 734
Warnings: Blood mention, Hisoka being a horny bastard
Part 2, Part 3
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It was bad this time.
Blood dripped down his arms as he picked the lock to your house and pushed his way in, leaving a bloody smeared handprint on the pristine white of your front door.
Your relationship was... an odd one. He had taken refuge in your house after a fight that left him a little worse for wear, but the smile that split across his face indicated he wasn't anywhere close to feeling the pain just yet.
He didn't realize someone was home.
You had jumped out of your skin when you saw the beaten and bloodied man lounging on your couch with the eerie smile on his face, the bloodlust oozing from him making you want to turn and run out of your home as fast as possible.
But you didn’t.
Instead you looked over his injuries and treated them as best as you could, despite shaking from the pure presence that this man emitted. He was intrigued that you didn't scream that a stranger was in your house. That you didn't call the authorities and try to have him removed. Instead you patched him up as best as you could, and offered him a place to stay while he recovered.
Which led to your relationship now.
He would come in bloodied. You'd patch him up. He would leave.
You'd never get any notice as to when he would arrive, but you never complained.
Something he was thankful for, now that Machi refused to treat him anymore.
"Hello, darling" He rasped, stumbling into your living room. You glanced up from the book in your lap and gasped loudly.
He was covered in blood. Scratches and bruises littered his arms, and a long diagonal gash from his right shoulder to the lower ribs on his left side were the first injuries that caught your attention.
"Hisoka, are you fucking insane???" You all but screeched, jumping up from your seat and moving towards him. A deep chuckle left him as he watched your frantic movements, "So happy to see you too, doll."
You sat him down and knelt in front of him to assess the damage, but with the amount of blood soaking through his clothes, it was difficult to tell.
"You need to take off your shirt, I can't help you with it still on."
A smirk spread across his face as he stared at you through half-lidded eyes, "Only if you buy me dinner first, my dear". You rolled your eyes and stood, and making your way towards your bathroom for your first aid kit.
"Now, Hisoka."
He gave a wry smile to himself before he began to peal off the clothing, the partially dried blood making the fabric stick to his skin.
What a shame, he liked this outfit.
You returned swiftly with the kit in one hand, and a bowl with warm water and a cloth in the other, eyes widening when you finally got a good look at the gash on his chest.
“Jesus christ...” you whispered, placing the bowel on the floor as you knelt in front of him once again, “What the hell did you get yourself into this time?”
“Hmmm~ nothing too out of the ordinary” he held back the groan that wanted to make its way out of his throat as you dragged the cloth down his torso, “I was hired to dispose of someone, they put up the most wonderful fight.”
You shook your head, rinsing the cloth before going back to clean the gash, “I still don’t understand why you won’t just go to a hospital for these wounds.” Each drag of the cloth revealed more of the laceration to you. He would need stitches for sure, no doubt in your mind, and you weren’t equipped to handle that level of care. The chortle that left him gave way to a breathy moan when you slid the cloth down the length of the cut, his hand grabbing your wrist and pulling you towards him; making you fall awkwardly on his lap with a startled gasp.
“Plenty of reasons, my dear, but the main one being you.”
You craned your neck up to look at him with a glare, annoyed at his teasing disposition at a time like this. You all but cursed the mischievous look in his eyes.
“Hisoka-”
“Yes, darling?”
Damn him.
“That better be your cards digging into my ribs”
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Part 2, Part 3
Tag List: @prettycutebunny, @luesi @my-child-gaara @mynameseri @trash-writings @shorkbrian
Mama keida we would be BLESSED with a lil peepin’ tom of the next chaoter
hERE YOU GO YALL tis uNDER THE CUT
Thing For Trouble (part five of the Being No One Going Nowhere series) (boba fett x fem!reader x din djarin)
word count: 430 give or take
The next cherry you bring up to your lips is intercepted as Boba’s hand clamps around your wrist and redirected into his own mouth. You don’t find it in you to be grumpy about the stolen treat when Boba’s tongue slides over your sticky fingers. Still holding your wrist captive, he sucks the tip of your thumb into the warm heat of his mouth and curls his tongue around the digit. Your index finger is given the same treatment before your hand is returned. The beginnings of arousal spark to life below your belly, and fuck—that shouldn’t have been so…so…hot.
Din’s smoky baritone fades into background noise as the entirety of your attention zero’s in on Boba’s mouth. You purse your lips and suck in a shaky breath, then return your hand to the bowl to fish out another fruit. You don’t need any guidance this time around as you bring the cherry to his mouth—the crimson juice spilling down your palm and part of your arm as his teeth pierce the fragile skin. You breath catches as Boba dips his head, catching the bead of liquid running down your arm with the tip of his tongue, then swiping s a slow trail up, and over the lines of your palm. He plants a careful kiss here, then breaks away.
Before you have the chance to reach for another one, Boba plucks a cherry from the bowl and rests it against the seam of your lisp, inviting you to partake in this little game he’s created. A wicked smirk curls over his mouth as you accept—the tart flavor of the fruit spilling over your tastebuds as you chew and swallow. A little wine escapes you as his leather-clad thumb rolls over your bottom lip, bushes past the barrier of your teeth and seats the digit into your mouth—all the way down to the third knuckle.
You hardly notice the moment Din’s voice tapers off into silence—much too enraptured with the taste of leather and the smooth feel of it over your tongue. You gag slightly when Boba’s thumb reaches the back of your throat, then retreats just as slow. The string of saliva that still connects the digit to your wet mouth, drips over your chin and part of your lip, eliciting a jagged, echoey breath that crackles through Din’s vocoder.
Boba grins—something that better belongs on a sneering jackal just about to pounce on unsuspecting prey with needle sharp talons than his face. His eyes drift up to address his guest. “Do you see something you like, Mand’alor?”
