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no-droids · 4 years ago

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Beginner’s Luck

Part Twelve of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 14.6K

Warnings: 👀👀👀 SMUT. Oral sex (male receiving), cockwarming, sexual acts in public, the use of blasters and other canon-typical weaponry

A/N: Twas the night before Mando season 2, and all through the house—NO IM JUST KIDDING SDKSFKSVS anyways I am so sorry for not being here for basically all of last month but I could not miss this incredibly momentous occasion for anything. Merry season 2 my lovely baby yoditos

***

“Well,” a modulated voice gruffs expectantly from behind you, clearly tired of waiting. “Turn around, let me see.”

“No. I look ridiculous,” you sulk from the corner of the hull, refusing to do as he says. You thought this was stupid from the very beginning and openly told him so, but you’re also a complete pushover for him with just enough backbone to be frustrated when you inevitably give in. “And don’t you ‘sweet girl’ me, it’s not gonna work this time.”

“Sweet girl,” Din’s deep voice lulls through the helmet, raspy and soft.

Fucking fine, if he’s gonna twist your arm about it. You spin around with a deep frown and a chrome visor stares back at you as you waddle forwards, and you don’t even need to look at the kid cradled in his forearm to know he’s smiling toothily as you clunk and rattle. Once you’re standing directly in front of them both, you blow the stray hair out of your eyes and plant your hands on your hips, just waiting for the inevitable response.

Only, you don’t get practically any response at all from him. He stays perfectly still and says absolutely nothing, and though the baby’s mouth falls open with happiness and he reaches for you, he doesn’t make a sound either.

“I told you,” you grumble after a few moments of pained silence. “I look ridiculous.”

Still, nothing. You purse your lips, shifting from side to side uncomfortably, and eventually your suspicion grows and festers until it finally bursts forth. Oh for the love of Maker—

“I know you’re laughing under there,” you accuse with a growl. He doesn’t move a single muscle but you don’t buy it, not for a single fucking second.

Then suddenly the helmet glances away from you and stares purposefully at the wall of the hull as the kid starts giggling, and you knew it. You fucking knew he was laughing.

“You look great,” comes tightly through the modulator after a moment, and you pull your lip up into a snarl, vindicated in your findings but not happy about it.

“Is that how this is supposed to protect me?” You wave your arms, hearing them squeak and clank like you’re a droid that hasn’t been maintenanced in centuries. The rough metal jerks up and smacks your chin with the shoulder movement and you grimace. “Make the bad guys laugh themselves to death?”

“It's bad,” Din finally turns back to you and admits with zero shame, and your cheeks burn at how stupid you must look right now. “Way too big.”

“Too big?” You blink at him. “That’s your criticism?”

When he presented it to you, your first impression was some sort of brown paint—but no. It’s fucking… rust. It’s damaged and scraped up and it looks like it’s been through the ringer and back, and not in a way that gives it character. There’s almost a literal hole in the fucking chestpiece and it’s dented so much that it actually creates more than enough space for your breasts, what the fuck happened—?

“You’re telling me you went from this—” You ask pointedly, knocking your knuckles against the ill-fitting piece of metal and feeling it wobble against your chest, “—to that—” you tap the pristine, gleaming armor strapped to his body that easily costs more than probably quadruple your entire life, “—without any go-betweens? It’s missing one of the shoulders, Din.”

He ignores you, flipping the chestpiece over your head with his free hand and letting the metallic clatter of it meeting the floor behind you ring out through the hull. “I’d hoped at least something would fit,” comes his filtered sigh. “This planet isn’t nice.”

That sobers you up a bit, and you feel your heart thump painfully. “Are we on Corellia?” You ask without thinking.

“No,” he tells you immediately, quelling your panic while pulling off your one singular pauldron. “Tatooine.”

You’ve never heard of it, but from the grave undertone of his voice, you know the drill. Different setting, same kind of people. Smugglers, rogues, criminals—the type he’s used to being around and knows exactly what to expect out of them. You always feel safe when he’s with you, but when he leaves?

“Oh,” you say, because you don’t really have anything else. It’s quiet for a little bit, but then he continues on before you can come up with something to fill the sudden uncertainty on your end.

“I know someone here,” Din murmurs, bending his knees and sinking down to start undoing and pulling the shoddy thigh braces off your legs. “Someone… nice. It’ll be safe as long as nobody sees me leaving or coming back, and the kid would be happy to see her.”

Your eyebrows pull inwards, something… unfamiliar settling inside you. Din doesn’t have friends, he’s made it clear that he doesn’t really like anyone that he knows well enough to introduce you to. Even when he’s lowered himself in front of you and is technically undressing you, you feel a spark of… no, not jealousy, that’s crazy. But for real, who is he talking about?

“Why can’t me and the baby just lay low somewhere remote like normal?” You ask instead, but he shakes his head.

“No such thing,” he grunts, pulling off the other thigh brace. “Tuskans or Jawas will find you even in the middle of the Dune Sea.”

“I like Jawas,” you blurt, having had many positive experiences trading with the little creatures on Arvala-7, but his helmet immediately tilts up to pin you in place and you shut up, feeling the tangible unamusement radiating from the thin blade of the visor even when the kid starts giggling again. “I mean I… don’t like Jawas?”

Din sighs and rises back up to his full height, finally handing the baby over to you now that you’re not weighed down by that ridiculous getup anymore. “You can either stay with her while I get the quarry or run the risk of pirates finding you drifting above the atmosphere,” he reasons bluntly, not mincing words. “But it’s not a good idea to be stuck on the surface without protection, someone will find you.”

You bite your lip, hugging the kid closer to your chest for a second. “Okay, that’s fine,” you murmur quietly after a moment. “We can stay with your… friend.”

You clear your throat and move to let him pass by to get to the cockpit, except Din doesn’t take a single step. You blink up at him and after what feels like an eternity of no response, the helmet slowly tilts sideways at you and… oops.

Was that not subtle? You didn’t know what to call her, genuinely, that’s why you hesitated. You didn’t want to use the word acquaintance, it felt too detached for the fact that he said the kid would be happy to see her again. That’s what’s called a friend, right?

Maker, why are you being so weird about this?

Thankfully, you end up getting away with it. After a few painful seconds of looking at every single thing in the hull besides him and humming a song you make up on the spot, Din slowly walks past and disappears up into the cockpit. You take a deep breath and gently rub the baby’s ears between your fingers as the Crest powers up with a ferocious rumble beneath your feet.

***

It’s bright. Fuck, it’s so bright here. You hold the kid to your chest with one hand and shield your eyes with the other as the ramp slowly descends, dust immediately kicking up around it. Din’s palm is resting against your lower back and his thumb gently brushes back and forth, but your heart decides to drop the very moment his hand does, and as soon as the ramp clanks against the landing platform, he’s striding down into the blazing hot desert sun without you.

Something in your chest squeezes and whispers to you that he probably doesn’t want to touch you when he’s about to see an old friend again, so you wait a few seconds of space before descending down the ramp behind him, not really knowing how you feel right now. But you’ve barely taken a single step to follow when a woman’s voice screeches out from across a vast distance. “Oh no, no no no—don’t you even think about it!”

Din slows to a halt at the end of the ramp and gives whoever it is a small nod, nothing beyond it, and if you weren’t purposefully looking at him for cues right now, you’d probably miss the greeting entirely. You stand on your tippy-toes from behind his cape as a fiery little middle-aged lady in a mechanic’s jumpsuit marches up to him with an attitude that more than makes up for the height difference.

“You’re not allowed here anymore,” she pokes his chestplate brazenly with one hand and props the other on her hip, clearly not excited to see him. “Not after the ruckus you caused last time, no sir, not on my watch.”

“That won’t happen again,” he gruffs shortly, not providing a single thing beyond it, and you blink. What… what happened last time?

“It sure won’t!” The strange woman agrees shrilly, crossing her arms and widening her eyes until she looks a bit like she’s been out in the suns too long. “I’m still recovering, Mando!”

“I compensated you,” he reminds her, a quiet edge of frustration beginning to creep into his voice.

She suddenly narrows her expression at him, going from manic desert lady to sharp and discerning skeptic within a split second. “How much do you think my life is worth?”

Din takes forever to respond, seeming to either be choosing his words very carefully or grinding his teeth under the beskar in frustration. Probably both. “I brought my ki—”

“You bring trouble!” She bursts out, stomping her foot on the dusty landing platform and holding her ground. “I don’t care how cute your little one is, go park your ship on some other poor soul’s hangar bay!”

He doesn’t say anything back, staying completely silent while you stand there awkwardly and wait for his response, and it’s almost like you… forgot. How quiet Din can be, how unnervingly little he can choose to offer to conversations until he deems the information absolutely necessary to provide. He allows you to forget that reserved nature of his. He talks to you. He never used to at the beginning, but somewhere along the way it just became increasingly common to hear his voice, both with a high-pass filter and blissfully without. Now though, there’s just too long of a weirdly tense pause in the reunion for you to handle without doing something about it.

So you step out from behind him with the child in your arms, giving her an apologetic smile with as much friendliness as you can possibly put into an expression.

“Hello,” you greet her gently, musically, lifting the baby’s hand to give her a companionable three-fingered wave from the both of you while he coos. “I promise I’m not trouble, but he did bring me along this time.”

Din and the woman simultaneously turn to look at you; her like you’re just as strange and jarring of a sight to see on this planet as the tiny unnamed boy in your arms and him like your voice by itself is enough to loosen his shoulders. Though neither one of them ultimately respond to you, you can tell by the way his fists unclench that you’ve at least helped him relax, even if the frizzy-haired lazy otherwise ignores your introduction entirely.

“Now just what in Maker’s name are you doing with a poor little stowaway like that?” She faces him and pokes his armor again. “You runnin’ a charity out of that battered piece of junk you call a ship?”

“Three hundred credits to let them stay with you for a week,” he turns back to tell her, cutting directly to the chase. Alright, so you don’t really understand their relationship at all at this point. He said she was nice? And yet he’s already bribing her that handsomely?

“Five hundred,” she immediately shoots back, and your heart sinks. Fuck, there’s no way. There’s no way he would spend that much, you’re going to have to find somewhere else to stay.

But… he doesn’t respond. Which you now remember with a jolt of surprise, means confirmation. Not wasting words agreeing, he’d say something back to her if he had an issue. Maker, five hundred credits. You’re starting to wonder if he’s really able to make any money at all doing this, or if the job is just… fitting for him, so he continues to do it. He’s spending more and more credits on you every single time you turn around, and while you don’t feel great about it, you know Din well enough to know he’s stable and independent enough to make the decisions he wants to make.

So you just stand there and hold the baby to your chest, unsure of your place, while Din eventually turns around to face you.

Sometimes, if you’re being honest, you almost find yourself wanting to… do soft things with him that you know you shouldn’t while other people are around. Granted, he’s never told you not to, but the last thing you want to do is undermine his reputation by unintentionally revealing his gentler side. You want to give him a hug and maybe hand him the baby to say goodbye, but you don’t know if that’s how he wants to present himself to company right now. Unfortunately, that ends up translating into you just looking at him and awkwardly waiting to see what he does. Your feelings won’t be hurt if he just takes off without another word now that you know that that’s his intent—you promise, they weren’t hurt the first fifty or so times he’s done it. You understand him, it’s alright, he doesn’t need to—

But then he leans in and lowers his voice until only you can hear it.

“I’ll be back soon,” he tells you, and you feel warmth creep into your chest.

You understand him. Which is why you feel like you could almost burst with how much he didn’t have to say that but chose to do so anyway. You already have a solid time frame—a week—which is more information than you usually get, and it’s such a small thing. It’s insane; if you made a list, you’d have 1) talking to you, 2) knowing his first name, and 3) seeing a glimpse of his forehead as your top reasons why he might care just as much about you as you care for him. That’s insane.

He takes a second to reach a glove out and rub the baby’s ear as he makes his adorable little baby noises up at him, before the helmet tilts back up just slightly to look at you.

“Be safe,” he waits for you to whisper back.

And you think now is finally the time to go, right? Except he waits just a few precious seconds more, just holding there, silently. Maker, you don’t want to miss him, why is he doing this to you? You’re trying to play it cool, see-you-later’s have been commonplace between you for nearing a full year now, so why does it feel like now is the first time he truly doesn’t want to go?

You hold the kid with one hand and start to reach for him the split second he turns to walk away, and you quickly drop it as the dry wind snaps through his cape. He leaves and doesn’t look back.

Still, you watch him disappear, until eventually you’re reminded of your host’s presence with the tap of a wrench against your shoulder.

“Hope you know your way around a hyperdrive,” the woman says with a smirk. Maker, Din didn’t even give you her name, you’re going to have to ask. “Gotta repair at least two of ‘em by sundown.”

You catch the hefty tool with your free hand and turn to her. “Pre-Imperial or post? Never done a restoration, but I’m a quick learner.”

She blinks at you like that was probably the last thing she expected you to say, but you give her the same friendly smile from before and look towards the entrance of the hangar for the ships needing maintenance.

***

So Peli is… a character.

She’s quick and entertaining and whip-smart, but you worry that if she had a whip, she might actually use it. She’s nice—she is, but she damn near works you to the bone once you prove yourself capable. You don’t think she expected the extent of your practical knowledge of mechanics, she went into it assuming you were going to be useless and did a hard U-turn that very first night. You both worked together to fix two malfunctioning hyperdrives by sundown, just like she told you she needed, but then she looked vaguely surprised and nobody showed to pick up until two days later.

The second day is more hectic, and the third day is worse. You cradle the kid on your hip while you work one-handed, smudged grease all over your forehead and sweat sticking your hair to your neck. Using Peli’s sonic shower never leaves you feeling clean no matter how many times a day you find yourself wanting to wash the dust and grime from your body, the same way yours used to back on Arvala-7, and you immediately get why her dark hair seems so frizzy and dry whenever you step out of the stall and catch sight of the similar rat’s nest on your head in the small mirror. Hypersonic waves dry it out more than the blazing hot suns on this planet—you look the same exact way you’ve looked for decades and while you don’t mind hard work, you can’t stand the complete lack of water on this forsaken rock.

Din was right, though. She is nice, but in a way that she never wants anybody else to find out about. She cooks you food every night but expects you to clean the whole kitchen after, she lets you have free reign over the caf maker as long as you remember to make enough for her, and she allows you and the kid to pass out on the beat-up sofa in one of the secluded back rooms for the time being. On more than one occasion, when she assigns you chores that require two hands and a steady focus to complete, you overhear her babytalk behind the control panel as she bounces the kid in one arm and plays with his ears. It fills your chest with a quiet, subtle kind of warmth, and you understand why Din trusts her with him.

At least you stay busy—which, understatement. She works you so hard that eventually she starts handing you tasks that don’t really seem… pressing. Replacing the spherical joints on her three pit droids, hand-scrubbing the grime off the pots and pans she uses to cook the same two meals everyday, polishing the dusty windows overlooking the landing platform even though they’re caked over with dirt not even an hour later. You realize soon enough that she doesn’t have nearly the workload here as she claims, periodically catching her playing cards with the droids while you’re busting your ass doing chores once all the real work has clearly been accomplished, but you’re not upset. You like being busy, it’s how you’ve lived most of your life. However, at some point, you actually end up running out of things to do. After that, it’s like she has to actively look for tasks she still needs completed.

One morning you find her in the parked Crest, ripping open the guidance systems paneling and talking to herself. You sip your caf and watch silently from the landing bay, hair pulled up in a messy bun and the baby on your hip as the suns rise on your shoulders and she mutters, whole sheets of metal being tossed out from the insides of the Razor Crest.

You've also learned she responds incredibly well to the prospect of credits, so you don’t spend too much time wondering what her goal is—find something in the ship for you to fix and then charge Mando extra for the materials whenever he comes back.

Hilarious though, as if there’s anything in your ship that actually needs fixing.

You spin around with a sigh and walk back into the hangar, knowing today will probably be the first slow day in awhile.

***

A few hours later, you’re invited to play a game of Sabacc for the first time in your life.

There are so many rules—so many suits and names to keep track of, so many values to memorize, only to be forced to choose one card after every round to keep just in case the rest of them happen to shuffle at random, which occurs at least once or twice every game. There’s too much luck involved to figure out any sort of strategy; you feel like sometimes you’re hopelessly lost and end up winning anyways or you wager nearly your entire stack of bolts on a perfect hand and then you lose the entire thing regardless.

It’s an unpredictable nightmare. But it’s something to do, and you’ve learned that playing just as stupidly as you bet allows you to easily stay in the game. The baby sits in your lap and plays with one of your rusty metal gambling pieces while your leg bounces, and Peli grumbles under her breath once it appears you get ahead of her in winnings.

“Beginner’s luck,” she tells her favorite pit droid quietly, who focuses its singular eye at you in a way that somehow feels unfriendly and nods on a brand new swivel, courtesy of yours truly.

You don’t argue, because there’s no point. The whole fucking thing is luck, but there’s no point. You know enough about this game to know that you might give something away if you speak, so you keep your mouth shut and let her fill the void. You know how to stay silent, you’ve learned from the best. Wordlessly drawing a card from the deck and tucking it in between two others of the same value, you decide to trade one of your other cards at complete random and hope it all just works out.

“Ship looks like it’s brand spankin’ new on the inside,” Peli mutters into her mug out of nowhere, and you pause for a moment, before silently nodding at the offhanded comment and trying not to show how pleased you are by it. “Was falling apart the last time I saw it.”

You keep bouncing the kid on your knee and fan out the cards in front of you, hoping his big black eyes aren’t reflective enough to reveal your hand. “I have a lot of free time.”

“I can tell,” she acknowledges, crossing her legs and leaning back into her chair. Peli sets the mug down and sighs. “You’re a good mechanic. I’d offer you a job here, but something tells me you wouldn’t even consider it.”

Now, you do smile. But it’s a hidden one. A fond one. One you find impossible to fight when you’re reminded of him. You miss him and ache for him and all those collectively angsty things, yes—but mostly you’re just… able to find a bone-deep solace in even thinking about him. Your heart tightens, but it’s far less constricting than it is a comfort, a firm embrace. It surrounds you in its safety; Din’s mere existence is your protection, wrapping around you the same way the beskar protects him. Nothing can touch you. You’re safe, from all the things you used to fear and all the new things you’ve learned to fear.

No, you’d never consider it. This planet is too much like Arvala-7, just slightly more populated and dangerous. You love the baby. You love him. You’d never consider it.

“Don’t you get bored?” She asks you with a raised eyebrow, and your smile admittedly drops the slightest bit. “Just waiting around for him to come back?”

You don’t have to think about your answer. Of course you do. If you’re being honest, it does feel a bit like your life is split between worlds—one with him, and one without. Whenever he’s not here, you’re thinking about how much you want him to come back, and whenever he is here, you’re thinking about how much you don’t want him to go. You’ve never experienced anything like that before. There were a few local farmers scattered far across the arid landscape of the place you used to call home, and three of your neighbors all had kids around your age. So you experimented when you were younger, since you never had much else to do in your spare time, but you never loved any of them. You’d always go back home and continue to do chores, continue to look up at the sky and wonder what you were missing.

“Yes,” you admit quietly.

But what you don’t tell her is that in exchange, you get to see the galaxy. You get to have experiences you’ve only dreamed about, take care of the cutest little baby you’ve ever seen and become part of a family. You don’t know of anything you could want more. Adventure, companionship, pleasure, and fulfillment. Sure, you get restless, and sure, you don’t necessarily feel good about the fact that Din seems to be your driving force even when he’s away, but you know independence. You know what it means to live for yourself. You’ve done it long enough that you’ll never forget how to, you’ve experienced it more than enough to know you’re happy about throwing yourself off the cliff and falling into something different. As much as it’s new and terrifying, it’s better. Now you have other people to live for, too.

You marvel at the change—not just from a year ago, but from a handful of months ago. He used to terrify you. You used to keep your mouth purposefully shut around him because you were scared of overstaying your welcome and being dropped off somewhere equally as remote as the place you grew up. Never could you have imagined that the fiercest guardian the galaxy has ever seen would decide you’re also worth protecting.

No, you figure, you just need to… find something in addition. Something else to also commit to, give yourself something to do. You can practice the new self-defense maneuvers he taught you, that’s a good idea. But maybe you can also…

You eventually decide to prompt Peli in a change in conversation. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“What do you want now?” She takes another sip of her caf as if you’ve been bothering her about this all day long, and… well, it’s times like these that you wish you had a helmet, too, if only so you could roll your eyes.

“I’ve got a few pieces of rusted metal in the Crest,” you eventually tell her, careful with your phrasing and not sure how much you want to reveal. “They’re in bad shape, but I want to keep them. Could I use some of your tools here to hammer out some of the dents, dissolve whatever crud is on the surface? I saw you have a forge back there that’s barely been used, just need the metal hot enough to be pliable without sacrificing its integrity.”

She furrows her eyebrows at you. “But I still need your help with…”

You wait, but she’s got nothing and you both know it. Still, you keep a pointed silence and wait for it, wondering if this’ll actually work. This is what Din does, right? Just refuse to say anything and make the other person crumble under the crushing quiet? Miraculously, it proves to be successful—you watch her flounder for a response, her will wavering the longer you sit there and stare expectantly at her.

“Fine,” Peli finally acquiesces, and you grin. “But only if you win this round. What d’you got?”

You set down your cards to reveal your hand. A perfect twenty-three if you’ve been counting right, unbeatable unless she or any of the droids managed to get the same, and you know it didn’t happen as soon as she takes a few seconds for mental math and then scoffs.

“Beginner’s luck,” you tell her kindly, pushing all your winnings back over to her side of the table with one hand and scooping the kid up with the other, before turning around and heading towards the Crest in search of Din’s old armor.

***

It’s late afternoon on day five and you’re on your back on a creeper seat, sweat dripping down your neck as you reach up to fiddle with the engine of a T-16, a Skyhopper similar to one you built yourself on Arvala-7. They're not space-faring vehicles, they’re only capable of reaching the upper troposphere, but owning one allowed you to develop solid flight skills without ever truly being able to leave. Honestly, you don’t think you’ve ever despised a ship more.

You know you’ve got engine grease all over and you feel like you’re boiling in your own sweat, but you’re almost done. After this, you’ll be able to go back to working on your side project.

As soon as you’d been granted Peli’s direct permission to do so, you mixed the chemicals necessary to eat away at everything besides the basic structure underneath, and then spent all day yesterday manipulating the metal to better fit someone your size and shape. You slaved over the wickedly hot forge and developed a whole new muscle in your arm from hammering and reheating, hammering and reheating. You had to repair the way the chestpiece was tapered into a concave point by folding the thin metal back in on itself multiple times, strengthening it without flattening it back into its original shape too much, and then you ended up melting down some of the extra material from the needlessly large shoulder and thigh pieces to fill in the gaps.

Granted, you still have a ways to go on replacing the crushed magnetics box that was falling off the chestpiece and filing down the rough scrapes and sharp edges, but you’re now left with almost a full set of armor that’s a uniform dull silver in color and molds way better to your general figure than before. You’re not a blacksmith or armorer by any stretch of the imagination, but you’re good with your hands and did what you could in the time allotted. It looks better than you ever thought it would, and without access to Peli’s enormous collection of tools and machinery, you know it would’ve been better off in the trash.

Still, you have to finish this engine first before you can rip apart the control unit wiring on the armor to see how the whole set fits together and what else needs to be repaired. You’ve been working on it for a few hours before you hear the door to the hangar open. Yet, when you don’t immediately hear Peli’s voice calling out to you, or anyone else’s voice for that matter, your heart thuds in your chest with sudden excitement.

“You’re back early,” you tell the engine suspended over your head, knowing he must’ve already thrown the quarry into the Crest parked outside before coming to see you. Right on time, footsteps approach and then a boot carefully catches the flat platform between your legs, slowly rolling your seat out from under the ship until the rest of the sunlit hangar is revealed to you.

You know you must look a hot mess right now. Your hair is a disaster and there’s not a clean spot to be found on your body—sweat glistens and pools along every curve you have and you’re probably drenching the spare jumpsuit Peli let you borrow, but Maker, there he is. Every time you see him is like the first time all over again, except this time the Mandalorian is looming like a giant over you, the helmet tilted down and silently taking you in.

Instead of settling you, his daunting presence gets you hotter than dual suns in the sky ever could. Fuck, he hasn’t said a word to greet you, and yet you’re already wondering if you can entice him to shove you back under here and join you.

You slowly push yourself upright and he steps back just enough to allow it, but not an inch more than that. You have to crane your neck up to keep looking at him, and he stands close enough over you that you wouldn’t have to reach far at all if you wanted to touch him.

And it’s crazy to think that… you absolutely could touch him, if you wanted. He radiates danger, he hunts and tracks for his continued survival, he’s probably got fresh blood staining the dark fabric of his cape and he’s so fucking intimidating—and if you wanted to, you could touch him.

Maybe you can partially blame your sore muscles as to why you immediately drop your head back down, but mostly you just want to stare at a part of his body that happens to align perfectly at eye level. And fuck, nothing stops you from looking. He doesn’t help you up, but he also doesn’t move so you can haul yourself to your feet, either. He just holds perfectly still with his body standing tall over yours, content to stay exactly like this while your hand slowly reaches out to wrap around one of his ankles.

He’s so warm, his muscles flex strong under your palm as you let it drift upwards, biting your lip as you flick your gaze back up to the chrome visor and then down again to the apex of his thighs. Your other hand comes up to scale the beskar strapped to his leg and you roll yourself forward slightly, wondering if he’d let you…

The black fabric stretching over his crotch just barely touches your fingertips before his hand is suddenly whipping out and grabbing hold of your wrist.

You gasp and jerk your head up to look at him, somehow equally hoping that you’re both in trouble and not in it at the same time. Din’s abruptly chest raises with a large, labored inhale, as if he wasn’t breathing at all that entire time, as if he just now remembered the setting, the fact that he’s not alone on the Crest with you right now. Peli and the kid have to be somewhere in the hangar, you know that, but…

“We’re leaving tonight,” he breathes out through the modulator, and you have absolutely no fucking problem with that at all. “But… shit, but…”

“But…?” You prompt, wanting nothing more than to let your hands reach back up to his pants again, but you settle for slowly dragging one palm up his forearm as his grip on your wrist tightens.

“Fuck, I wanted to take you somewhere first,” he groans like your feather-soft touch is actually hurting him, his hands suddenly dropping yours and pushing you away to clench into fists at his sides. “Maker—why do you always f-fucking do this to me…”

You raise an eyebrow at him this time, the curiosity starting to mix with the heat simmering down low, the kind that you'd feel even on a frozen wasteland of a planet as long as you were with him. All at once, you decide to channel him and his trademarked silence, enthralled by the incredibly slim chance that it will work equally as well on its creator.

“…Distract me,” he finally growls out an answer to the question you never asked him, sounding frustrated with you for reasons you still haven’t figured out, and your mouth is drier than the desert outside. Oh stars, you feel… fucking powerful. “From everything,” he goes on, talking honestly and openly, more words given to you in thirty seconds than he’s probably offered to anyone all week long. “Fuck, I feel like I can barely do fucking anything anymore, I’m losing my fucking mind.”

Your heart slams in your chest, wondering if he possibly feels the exact same way about you as you feel about him. Missing you whenever he’s gone, dreading the moment he needs to leave again whenever he’s with you. The thought alone is enough to set off fireworks through your veins, pumping hope and excitement from your fingers to your toes.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe out, biting your lip in a way that doesn’t look or feel sorry at all.

“No, you’re not,” Din grunts, before reaching out and hauling you to your feet, and even if there wasn’t a flat seat under you with wheels, it’d still be awkward and uncoordinated as fuck. “Shit. I… I need to clean up. Grab your things, go tell…”

Din trails off after a second, suddenly sounding at a complete loss. You catch your footing and stare at him as he falters. “Uh. Go tell…” He gestures with a sense of finality to the control room, as if he’s actually successfully communicating with you by doing so. “Her. That we’re leaving tonight.”

“What?” You ask him, thoroughly fucking confused. “What are you saying right now?”

“The woman,” he clarifies, clearing his throat. “The mechanic, with the… droids. Tell her I’ll pay her before we leave, but we’re g—”

“Peli?” You blurt, completely flabbergasted at this point. “Did you forget her name, Mando?”

“I…” he shakes his head slightly at you, like you should already know him better than that. “Never asked.”

“But you—?” You blink at him. “But you said she was your friend?”

“You said she was my friend,” he immediately points out, with—oh Maker, just biting accuracy. It wasn’t necessarily a jab or anything, but you still feel dizzy with how fucking spot on he is about it. Yikes, you absolutely did say that. You forgot.

“Oh…” you mumble, at a stunning loss for a response. “Ha. Oh. Yeah, huh.”

There’s too many beats of awkward silence after that, probably because he’s just so blown away by your way with words that he’s just attempting to analyze the wisdom. Stars, you’re making a complete fool of yourself in front of him, aren’t you?

“Were you jealous?” He suddenly asks, and you jerk upright, your heart kicking up to a gallop in your chest at the question.

“I’ll go tell Peli we’re leaving soon,” you quickly agree and go to scurry away in abrupt panic, but he catches your wrist and hauls you back before you can get far. You run into him with a gasp and immediately start to repeat your explanation for why you very suddenly need to depart, but the tips of Din’s fingers catch your chin and force you to look up at him.

“Hey,” he cuts your rambling short with a hushed murmur and the pad of his thumb brushes down your jaw. “Tell me the truth.”

You don’t have an answer that won’t be incriminating, and you don’t think you can get the delivery right on a lie, not to him and especially not when he’s got you so cornered. So you just keep completely silent and look up at him like a scolded child would. Innocent, wide-eyed and scared shitless about the unknown consequences of your actions.

His helmet slowly tilts as he studies you, watching you look up at him for help. His fingers gradually spread out across your jaw, flattening under the curve of your throat but so gentle, so careful that you’re almost worried he actually is mad.

“I’m sorry,” you immediately offer before he can say anything, your eyebrows pulling up in the middle. “I’m so sorry, it’s just—I just…”

His thumb carefully stretches up to brush your bottom lip, and you… Mind blank, no thoughts. Stars, you’ve got fucking nothing.

“I’ve got nothing,” you admit, giving up before you can even try. “There’s no reason. I was jealous. It’s stupid and I wasn’t going to say anything because I know it’s stupid, and I shouldn’t feel possessive over you but I do, and it’s stupid. I don’t want anyone else to know you the way I know you, and I’m really sorry if that makes you feel weird, I don’t want you to feel like you can’t have—”

Your chin lifts slightly with the gentlest movement of his hand and the subtle pressure is enough to cut your mindless oversharing off. Din’s voice lowers until it’s throaty and quiet.

“See that wall?” He asks, keeping the visor pinned to you while carefully turning his hand to the right, and your whole head easily follows the movement as he guides it. You have to blink your eyes into focus a few times, but then you immediately see what he’s talking about. It’s a partition separating the welding room from the rest of the hangar. He waits until you nod in the cradle of his palm, before leaning in and murmuring to you. “If we were alone, I’d take you around behind it and show you exactly how that makes me feel.”

You pull back from him with a startled gasp just as a voice calls out from the entrance of the hangar. “Well, look who finally decided to come back!”

Din slowly drops his arms and stares at you for just long enough to make you seriously worry that he’s going to say fuck it all and do it anyways, before finally turning around and greeting Peli with another silent nod.

She plants one hand on her hip once she’s standing right in front of him, cradling the kid on with her other arm, and you have to take a second to collect yourself now that you’re not at the direct center of his attention anymore. “Sure did take you long enough, didn’t it?”

“I’m two days early,” he grunts in his immediate defense, but it’s like she doesn’t hear him.

“You’re leaving soon I hope,” she drawls while handing the baby over to him, who makes an adorable little happy squeak at seeing his dad again. “You owe me five hundred credits.”

“It was five hundred for the full week,” he reminds her, and… he has a point. Though it was never part of the agreement, you wonder if she’ll be willing to accept less compensation for having the burden of your company be lifted early.

“Five days count as a full week, far as I’m concerned,” she shoots back, and your heart suddenly sinks when Din’s shoulders tighten and he doesn’t respond.

“Peli…” you sigh from behind him before you even realize you’ve spoken aloud.

Your host quickly sidesteps your bodyguard to eye you dubiously, and at the same time, you also jolt and wonder what your goal is here exactly. You’re ultimately just attempting to diffuse any tension sparking between them, you figure, knowing you’re probably the best mediator here. She looks at you up and down for a long time, hard and judging, before the baby babbles something wordlessly and she sighs.

“I suppose we can just call it even,” she finally huffs, turning back to him. “You’re lucky your girlfriend earned her keep, Mando.”

And then your jaw drops. Holy shit, is she serious? You assumed Peli valued credits above almost anything else, you never expected her to just… turn down the entire offer like that, so willingly. Clearly Din didn’t either, because you both just stand there for a moment in front of her in a baffled silence.

Also… girlfriend?

Is that what you are to him? Admittedly you haven’t talked to him about what to call your relationship, but then again, you’re a practical person and you never really saw a specific need to do so. You care about him, he cares about you—what else is important? You don’t need a title to recognize your value to him, and for some odd reason, calling yourself his “girlfriend” just feels like you’re a teenager again. If you were actually looking for a different word to use instead, you wouldn’t be able to find it, but you know that one just feels… not enough. Not old enough, not encompassing enough, not complex enough. It’s an elementary school version of what this is. And to refer to someone like Din as your boyfriend? Maker, just saying it aloud would probably make his eye twitch.

“Uh.” He stands there awkwardly, and you’re so blown away by both the sentiment and specific verbiage she used that you’re practically useless at this point. Shit, what’s beyond girlfriend, you wonder? Lover? No, not good enough. Partner? No. No, not wife, definitely fucking not— “Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Peli waves him away and spins around to leave, but not before throwing one final thing over her shoulder. “That ain’t an open invitation to come back, by the way.”

All of a sudden, you just can’t stop yourself from breaking out into a wide grin, tucking your chin in hopes that she won’t see it with her back turned and decide to pounce on the display of weakness. The three of you watch her stride out of the room and immediately bark an order at one of her droids to get back to work, who starts looking around in desperate search of something to do, and Din’s palm finds its usual place on your lower back as she disappears.

“What a nice lady,” you offer to him, and he gives you a wordless grumble in response.

***

So it’s a couple hours later and you think the kid might actually have the right idea this time.

You find yourself wishing you had a little hover pod of your own that followed Din around, one you could close the lid on and hide in while blaster fire whistles through the air around you like the baby is currently doing. You’re trying to listen to instructions—you’re trying, but there’s a lot going on here. Voices chatting, guns firing, targets being pinged, a lively little band playing in the cantina next door.

When Din first led you through Mos Eisley and inside this specific adobe hut, if you’re being completely honest, you had hoped for food. A comparatively large restaurant, perhaps? Peli didn’t starve you by any stretch of the imagination, but her dinners were the exact same every single night, and you’ve learned to thrive on new things. While you didn’t necessarily think he was going to take you on a… a date, or anything, you certainly didn’t expect him to take you to a shooting range.

Well. Now that you think about it, this might actually be a date.

Luckily you’re hidden away in the furthest firing partition from the door, but even without the near-constant barrage of gunfire to your left, the distractions are still plentiful. The kid actually reached down and pressed the button to close his crib himself as soon as the bright beams of plasma started zooming past and reflecting in his large black eyes, and oh how you wish that were you. You don’t necessarily feel like you’re in danger or anything, but you’ve also never seen so many guns in one place before and you’re worried you’re accidentally going to hurt someone else.

So far Din has taught you the fundamentals for any firearm—always keep the safety on until you’re ready to fire, never point at anything unless you’re a hundred percent willing to shoot it, yada yada yada—and also the safety fundamentals for blasters specifically. So, making sure there’s no leaks in the gas cylinder when you first load it, never letting a strong magnet get near the power pack, checking the surface of your target for deflection curves if you want to prevent a ricochet, or maybe in his case, inspire one. He’s taught you your stance, he’s taught you how to read your sights, now all that’s left is just to… shoot.

Your arms raise up in front of you and the metal feels too heavy and awkward in your hands, and you have to hold the handle in your left and creep your right index finger all the up the side of the barrel until you feel the indented safety switch. It clicks and you reset your grip to slowly ease your finger onto the trigger, staring down the sight, right at the bullseye. Din is standing directly behind you next to the kid’s tightly closed hovering pod, arms crossed and just waiting for you to pull it.

Come on beginner’s luck, come on beginner’s luck—

You fire, and… well. You don’t think you’ve ever seen a shot miss its target that spectacularly in your entire life. You’re almost surprised the beam of plasma didn’t somehow ricochet back into the booth you’re both standing in, that’s how spectacularly you missed.

“Try again.”

There’s no amusement in his voice, nothing mocking about it. Pure monotone under the helmet, as if he was just naturally expecting that to happen.

No, you think in frustration. You want to surprise him again, impress him with how quickly you can pick things up, turn him on like last time. You just fucking know that would get to him—seeing you easily hit the target dead center with his own blaster, you know that would get to him.

You adjust your aim and fire a few more times. Miss, miss, wild miss, miss. Fuck, so many distractions, plasma flying in the corner of your vision and an increasingly heavy gaze from behind you. Another miss, a miss, yeesh that’s a miss—

Alright, so you're just embarrassing yourself at this point.

“I think it’s broken,” you shrug in defeat, taking a second to find the safety switch and toggle it before going to set the gun down on the raised adobe platform separating the line of booths from the targets—but then Din suddenly snatches the blaster from your grip and extends his arm over your shoulder, firing off six rounds in rapid succession so wickedly fast that you jump backwards into his rock solid chest in surprise. He doesn’t give an inch under the collision and even wraps his forearm tight around your tummy as he hits the bullseye with such deadly accurate precision that even the char marks and the line of smoke left wafting from the target’s center are razor-thin.

“Works just fine,” he grunts, setting the weapon back down again before urging you forward a bit. “Go ahead, give it another shot.”

But you’re on a remarkable delay, just trying to process his sheer speed, how fluid and seamless the entire fucking motion was. Fucking Maker, blink and you’d miss the whole thing. He waited to grab the gun from you until you turned the safety on, but then… then how did he fire it so insanely fucking fast? That’s like five different things he had to do with one single hand within a split second…?

“I turned the safety on,” you blink down at the blaster, clearly just trying to process.

“Yeah,” he agrees blankly, as if he’s unsure as to what specifically you’re so stuck on right now.

“So how did you toggle so fas—?”

He picks it from the shelf gracefully and lightning quick—as if he just can’t help but go that speed around his weapon—and then he twists it on its side, flexing his wrist back until the barrel is pointed upwards and you can clearly see his index finger extend all the way up to the safety switch, flipping it up and down while his middle finger rests over the trigger guard.

“How in the f…?” You mutter, lifting your hand up next to his and positioning your fingers in the exact same L shape, only the tip of your index finger barely stretches an inch shy of the switch. “Psh,” you huff, dropping your arm back down again. “Design flaw.”

“For you,” he acknowledges, using the trigger guard to flip it back to its proper position in his hand like fucking spinning it like that is just the easiest and most natural way to handle the deadly weapon. “This gun was made for me, it’s a feature. Yours would be smaller and lighter, have the safety towards the back of the chamber instead of along the barrel.”

The words and the casual display of ability cause a rush of stirring excitement to burst forth inside you, suddenly giddy at the very thought.

“Wait,” you draw the word out with a grin, leaning back into him and gently nudging him with your elbow to make sure he knows you’re only mostly joking. “You gonna buy me a blaster, Mando? I did earn my keep this week, didn’t I?”

“Have to find one that fits a big enough sight first,” he mutters while setting the gun down on the table, and you scoff at him as his hands come to rest on your hips. They squeeze and try to guide you forwards once again. “Prove that you can at least hit the target with mine and we’ll see.”

“You only get to make fun of me if you give me a real answer,” you rule, planting your feet and refusing to budge.

“Okay, but we both know I’ll make fun of you anyways,” he sighs, and you have to dig your heels in and push back into him to keep yourself rooted to the spot.

“You’re not being a very encouraging teacher,” you accuse without trying to hide your grin. “In fact I feel very discouraged right now and I think that y—”

But then Din suddenly tips his helmet closer to your ear and lowers his voice, cutting you off. “Did you know that gifting someone a weapon is considered a proposal of marriage on Mandalore?”

Your smile quickly drops and you gasp, wholly startled at the implication and immediately trying to spin around to look at him. “Holy shit, are you serious?”

“No,” comes his modulated grunt, tightening his hold and keeping you firmly facing forwards. “Of course not. Pick up the gun.”

Okay.

Okay, so that one gets you.

You immediately start giggling, painfully aware that this isn’t the time or place for it, but that one actually fucking got you. Din easily guides and parks your gullible ass in front of the window carved out of dried mud before picking up the blaster himself and forcing you to hold it with your loose hands, grumbling under his breath.

Shit, okay, focus. Focus, you can do this. You clear the laughter from your throat and suddenly get deadly serious, staring your target down like it’s personally gone out of its way to ruin your entire life. The blaster feels cold in your palms but not when Din’s hands wrap warm and tight around the back of yours, letting you hold the gun how it’s most comfortable for you before gently settling his fingers down over yours. His chestpiece presses tight against your shoulder blades when he guides the gun up and out, and his arms are long enough to extend yours fully even though he’s behind you and still has some bend to his elbows. He uses his feet to kick your ankles apart until they’re shoulder-width and then you both carefully find the trigger together.

He’s quiet and slow about it and the whole thing is one giant fucking turn-on. Maker, chill out. Chill out, he’s teaching you how to shoot. This is important stuff, there are people around, chill out…

Din takes a moment to aim the barrel and his hold is so fucking steady, so unwavering and strong. You wonder if it’d be too obvious if you pushed your hips back a little, you might be able to feel his—

“Fire,” Din murmurs next to your ear, and you pull the trigger without a second thought.

The bright red plasma beam launches from the end of the blaster and hits the target dead center. You gasp, pulling the trigger again, and unsurprisingly, it’s another perfect shot.

He suddenly lets go of your arms and takes a small step back, but the second he removes his body from yours, the rounds start bouncing wildly off the edges of the target. Your eyebrows furrow and you try to emulate how you think the angle felt before, but you can’t find it anymore and you’re just failing spectacularly.

When you decide to pause for a second, Din steps up close behind you and wraps his arms around you once more. You can feel the exact moment he’s locked in his aim, and you fire wordlessly as soon as you know it’s going to hit. Bullseye, right on the nose.

This time, he lifts just his hands away from yours, staying perfectly still otherwise and you swear you don’t move a single fucking muscle in your entire body before pulling the trigger, but it still hits the far corner of the target.

“It’s broken,” you shrug once again, and Din drops his helmet to your shoulder with a sigh. “This gun was made for you, which means there’s obviously some mod you have installed that reads biometrics and ruins the shot no matter how good it—”

“Not even close, but that’s not a bad idea,” he tells you, watching you click the safety on and set the uncooperative blaster down. “I can’t figure out what you’re doing wrong. Are you just distracted?”

Uh, fuck yeah you are. So much is going on and more than that, he’s here and he’s just… fuck, you know what he meant when he said he felt like he was losing his mind. He’s your biggest distraction, all the time. He’s still standing so close to you and the baby is still isolated and tucked away in his hovering sphere, and you take a moment to think about it.

Yes, it’s… it’s possible that you may learn better by example than anything else.

“Can I watch you do it?” You ask him, and Din shrugs before reaching around you and quickly grabbing the blaster from its mud shelf. “Wait—” you tell him while he raises and extends his arm over your shoulder, and then you wiggle sideways as much as possible in the small booth to squeeze around behind him. He doesn’t say anything as you swap places with him and scoot up behind him, but you can tell by his body language that he’s confused. You wonder if he liked that position and watching you shoot his gun, even if you’re complete shit at it.

He stands in front of you for a second and you give him an encouraging, “Okay,” to let him know you’re ready, but then the helmet turns back to look at the target like he’s still unsure as to what you want specifically. You keep your mouth shut and let him figure it out. You meant what you said—you want to watch him shoot. You want to watch him where he’s infamous, watch him do what he’s best at and let completely loose in front of you.

As if it finally clicks for him, Din turns to face the target and suddenly throws the blaster into his left hand while reaching down and pushing a button hidden under the hollow platform with his right. You have to lean around his broad shoulders to watch the target slide backwards on its track easily triple the distance before squeaking and slamming to a stop. Din stretches his non-dominant hand out and subtly tilts his helmet before firing six times, easily hitting the bullseye with just as much accuracy as before, and you frown when you notice the only shots that have actually hit the target so far have all been dead center.

He sets the gun down and stands there for a second, staring across the range like it’s nothing at all to him and it’s… remarkable. Not that he’s a wicked shot, you’ve known that the second you laid eyes on his armor all those months ago. No, it’s just… you would think this is where he’d thrive, if anywhere. The entire place is full of smugglers, raiders, scavengers, mercenaries—occupations that define themselves by their grit. They’re talking as much as they’re shooting, conversing in languages you’ve never heard but suspect Din easily understands. But instead of fitting in, he’s just… there. He doesn’t look comfortable, but he also doesn’t look uncomfortable, either. He doesn’t look like he’s having any fun at all.

None of this is considered a hobby to him, you suddenly realize. It’s not fun because he’s too good at it. This is life. This is going back to school for the most basic fundamentals of a job he’s excelled at for decades—it’s not interesting, he’s gaining absolutely nothing from practicing.

You try to think of the last time you’ve seen him truly in his element. You think back on all the different settings—he looked out of place on Canto Bight, got into fights on Corellia, hated Coruscant, seemed stressed on Nevarro, and even on Naboo, even in the middle of paradise, he looked unsure if he actually deserved to be there with you. Now here on Tatooine, where he has real people that he trusts, where he’s surrounded by like-minded individuals shooting his favorite things in the world, it’s like he’s still not able to fully let go.

Is it just you, you wonder? Does he stand out more just because you’re the one looking?

No, you think. No. You have seen him relax. You’ve seen him laugh before, you’ve seen him be himself with you.

But… only with you. A hardened bounty hunter that much prefers the company of a young woman and an infant to literally anyone else in the galaxy.

Fuck. Why does that turn you on so fucking much? It’s the display of prowess, the sheer skill he’s developed, how fucking deadly he is—and how you’ve felt him use that trigger finger to trace slow circles around your clit. The Mandalorian standing with his blaster raised has probably been the last thing too many people have ever seen in their lifetimes, and yet watching from this angle just makes you feel protected, guarded, and… so fucking horny for him.

“Do it again,” you eventually murmur, touching both your palms to his back this time just to feel it. You want to feel him shoot, you want to feel his muscles move with it. You want to touch how mechanically he’s able to aim, you want to know if he’s loose or tense when he fires, you just want to… feel it.

Din grabs the gun and as he extends his arms out, you slide your hands up his back to rest under his shoulders. He’s so broad, he feels so warm and strong, and his trigger releases are so steady that nothing above his wrists move.

Shit, before he’s even finished setting the blaster back down again, you’re already scooting up behind him as close as possible and carefully slithering your arms around his waist, hugging your body tight to his back. Din stays completely still while your mouth presses against the fabric of his cape and your hands begin to slowly slide down his stomach.

He doesn’t say a damn thing, which makes it even hotter for some reason. There’s no warning he gives you, no low growl of your name or sweet girl being dragged through the modulator. He stays completely silent and holds there while blasters continue to fire from stalls to your left, and it gives you the thrill of your lifetime. Big strong man holding perfectly still for you to touch in the middle of a crowded room.

Your hand slips under his waistband and sink down low until you can trail your fingertips along his cock, hidden from sight beneath the edge of the clay shelf. The small sound you make at feeling it already firm and at attention for you gets lost in the noise of the shooting range, but you wrap your palm around it and give it a good, slow pull upwards, feeling Din’s back expand with a breath from the sensation.

“Do it again,” you whisper into his shoulder blade, slowly playing with his cock in his pants with one hand while keeping the other wrapped tight around his abdomen.

Din immediately snatches the blaster off the platform and fires it the very moment he takes aim, and you can feel his cock pulse in your palm as he lets off the shots. Dead center, as always, but he clunks the metal back down with a bit more force this time and then lingers his fingertips at the sloped edge of it for a second, as if he’s considering whether or not he should hold onto it.

You’re already wet between your legs, but it gets worse the longer he allows you to keep doing this. His skin is furnace-hot and he throbs for you, and you trail your thumb up to check—oh, Maker, he’s leaking for you, too. You drag the pad of your thumb over the tip and gently rub the wetness along the curve of his head, before easing back down to give the shaft another slow pull.

A quiet puff of air comes through the vocal filter, but that’s all you audibly get out of him. Still, it’s more than enough to fill you with a wicked heat and a desperate desire for more. So you bite your lip and glance around just to double-check that nobody else has wandered over behind you and the kid is still tucked away in his crib, probably passed out in the secluded darkness at this point. And then you barely take a split-second to consider it before your knees are bending and you’re slowly sinking down the length of his body.

Din is a fucking statue. He doesn’t do anything to allow your wiggling underneath the raised platform anymore than he widens his stance to prevent it. Once you’re on your knees in front of him in the dim isolation of your hiding spot though, he takes a single step forward and pins his waist to the hardened clay above your head, and a thrill skitters through you at being completely walled in on all four sides.

You reach up to hook your fingertips in his hem of his trousers and begin pulling them down, so tight and achy between your legs that you want to shove your hand down between them already. You don’t though, not yet, because you need two hands to be extra careful in getting his cock out. You don’t even want the fabric of his pants to touch it, you want your mouth to be the only sensation he knows here.

At the very last second, you decide to pull the waistband down far enough to let his balls rest outside the confining clothing, getting increasingly hotter at the thought that this isn’t going to be sneaky and dirty, even if you’re in public. Din’s wide stance and the floor-length cape hide you perfectly from any prying eyes behind his back, so it’s going to be soft and it’s going to be slow and he’s going to be comfortable while you go down on him.

Your mouth is already watering, so you bend down just slightly and lift your chin to gently drag your tongue along the smooth skin of his balls before anything else. Honestly—you don’t think he’s expecting you to go there first, because his whole body suddenly jerks at the velvet soft sensation between his legs and you let out a low hum in response. He can’t reach you down here unless he tries to, so you scoot your knees up a little bit and just decide to go for it. This way he won’t be able to get it confused, he won’t pull you out from under here halfway through when you suck on his balls before anything else. This is what you want from him, what’s right here in your mouth.

You switch to the other one and Din twitches with a filtered breath, the skin already tightening up and responding gorgeously under your tongue. His hand hovers somewhere near the raised platform above your head, fingers curling in his leather gloves and caught right between stopping you and letting you continue. While he allows it, you ease your way up and make it just tantalizing enough to make him ache without providing any real stimulation, slowly trailing your tongue up the length of his cock and pressing plush lips to the flared head.

Din exhales a shakily while you take your time, tasting the precum as his body produces it, just kissing and licking and purposefully refusing to touch him with anything besides your mouth. Without being able to see the rest of him from this angle, you're left to your own devices—you’re so gentle and soft about the pleasure that you start to separate the man from the throbbing erection you’re currently playing with. You begin to enjoy yourself without thinking too much about the struggle he must be withstanding right now, you moan softly against his heated skin even though you know you’re being a tease at the worst possible moment, but no matter how you decide to take your time with it, Din continues to allow it. He endures. Silent, perfectly still, until you eventually decide to wrap your lips around the head of his cock and flutter your tongue up underneath it.

But then he jumps and your eyes open when a deep, unkind voice from the stall to your left calls out, “Hey, Mando! Gonna fuckin’ shoot or just stand there, huh?”

You can hear his immediate frustration in the blaster scraping against the shelf over your head, and you moan softly around his cock the second you feel him tense and start firing. The smooth skin pulses on your tongue and you slide your fingers around the backs of his knees, opening your throat and slowly taking him deeper.

And, for a man that has repeatedly fired six perfect shots every single time he picks up his gun, he falters after just three this time.

The heat of your mouth must be too overwhelming. Too fucking good, too detrimental to his focus and composure to even perform the most basic tasks he typically excels at. Like a seasoned mathematician that suddenly struggles to count to ten, a renowned author that can’t recite their ABC’s—Mando can’t even fire a weapon right now and it’s all because of you.

He has to keep trying though, he has to make an actual effort now that you both know someone nearby is paying at least some sort of attention to his performance. The sound of more plasma arcing through the air over your head slowly disappears into the background in a way that it never could while you were the one firing—you’re completely hidden and safe down here, you can moan low in your throat while keeping your hands around his knees and begin to bob your head without another thought or worry whatsoever. Handling it is all on him. He just needs to stay quiet, be still, and shoot his gun. It should be the simplest thing in the galaxy for him, right?

Wrong. So wrong. You hear the way the bolts are pinging off the sides of the target now, you listen to him grunt and let off a few more shots that also sound like they miss. Your soft palate lifts and you’re practically drenching yourself at how wide he stretches your throat while you take him down as far as you can, and there’s a moment where you’re holding there and you think about doing something about the dull ache throbbing between your legs. But once you pull off him for air and automatically touch your drooling tongue to your palm, you decide this is what you want more.

Your slick hand wraps around his cock and starts to slowly jerk him off while your mouth moves down to attach to his balls once more, your touch gliding strong and wet along his entire length. Din almost doubles over into the platform, his hips stuttering up for the first time at the hard stimulation you’re finally giving him. His skin swells and tightens in your mouth—you can feel the tension locking his thighs down, you can hear the shots above you start to decrease in frequency, and you know he’s already close.

So you move back up to suck on the head of his cock again and slowly swirl your tongue around it, continuing to use your hand to pull steady and firm on the rest of his shaft, and you just close your eyes and wait for him to give you what you want. His firing soon stops altogether and you squeeze your finger between your thighs and press hard against your clit, just needing to relieve some of the ache. You keep doing that, you keep drawing circles with your tongue while slowly jerking the rest of him off into your mouth, and at some point, it all just becomes too much for him.

“Shit,” Din gasps, along with the sudden sound of metal skittering against the clay above you, and your eyes pop open in surprise. “Ah, sh—shhhhh—”

Maker, did he just drop his fucking gun?

You start to pull back, but then suddenly a trembling hand shoots down and clutches tight under your throat, hooking hard behind your jaw to make sure you stay right there.

His cock starts throbbing and he shudders, slamming his other palm on the shelf and cumming hard in your mouth. You’re already swallowing before he even gives you anything but Maker, you’re fucking desperate for it that your hand moves to curl your fingers against the exposed skin at his hips as if that’ll somehow help you get it sooner. The first taste of him comes as soon as you dig in and drag your nails down his flesh, and Din is helpless to do anything else besides clutch your jaw tight and gasp raggedly while emptying himself down your throat.

He shakes and shudders and you don’t spill a single drop, clutching his hips and pulling him close to keep him in your mouth, and as he slowly comes down from that plateau, you lick every inch of him clean. His fingers gradually lose their rigidity around your jaw and eventually, his fingers drop down to press gently against your throat while his hips pull back.

He slips from your mouth and you wipe the wetness from your chin, staring up at his cock wistfully and almost wanting to keep going. Is that fucked up, you wonder? What would he think?

He hasn’t moved yet, why isn’t he moving? Your job is clearly finished here, no matter what kind of way you may feel about that. The coast must not be clear, you have to assume. Perhaps someone is wandering around behind him, maybe he’s still being cautious about the nosy person next door—all you know is that you can tell he wants to move but he isn’t, which likely means he can’t. You know his cock must be so unbelievably sensitive right now, but he’s not easing his body back far enough away from the shelf to tuck it into his pants. He’s keeping it right in front of your face and expecting you to stay there until he deems it appropriate for you to get up.

The longer you wait for him to step back and let you out from under here, the more your need sparks and grows. What would he think? That you’re so desperate for his cock that you still want it in your mouth even when it’s soft and spent? Maker, he’d be fucking right on the money.

At some point, you can’t stop yourself. You lean back up to slowly take his soft cock back in your mouth, and Din nearly spasms while you slip your hand under your waistband and widen your knees.

You don’t do anything spectacular to it—you’re not that cruel—but you do hold him on the heat of your tongue and keep him there, fluttering your eyes closed as your finger finally touches your clit. Air puffs shakily through your nostrils and you think Din is actually shaking harder than you are, his body fighting oversensitivity while yours starts the race towards bliss. He doesn’t stop you but it also feels like he’s purposefully trying not to, like everything in him is rebelling against the wet heat of your mouth but knowing you’re only doing this because you’re so painfully turned on. You’re doing this because you need it, in spite of the electric shocks of wicked sensation it seems to be inspiring in him.

Your finger speeds up and you start gently sucking on the warm, giving flesh, and his hand trembles as it grabs at your hair. Fuck, you don’t care if he thinks you’re desperate—you want him to recognize it, you want him to know exactly how much you love his cock—

That thought sends a dark thrill down your spine and pleasure burns bright and needy where you’re still rubbing your clit, dropping your hips and rolling them forwards against your hand. And oh, your only lament is that you wish he was the one doing this. You wish Din was building your pleasure instead of letting you use his body in search of your own, you wish it was his hand working between your legs and about to shove you over that ledge, but then again. Something about this whole fucking scene is just so… undignified. Debased. And you’re getting off on it, quicker than you ever thought possible.

When you cum, you’re good and you don’t make a single sound when you cum. You squeeze your eyes shut and your entire body jolts with every single shattering wave of ecstasy, and Din tugs a handful of your hair and slowly rocks his hips once, twice, fucking your mouth while you endure wildfire burning through your veins. By the time you finish convulsing on the fucking floor of a Tatooinian gun range, you know you can go for another and probably get it equally as quick as that one, but Din is already pulling his cock out of your mouth and shoving it back into his pants. You’re like jelly as your elbow is immediately caught in his arm and you’re hauled up from your hiding spot, dazed and disoriented.

The chrome visor stares you down and you want to shrink in on yourself, thinking he’s going to take your happy ass back to the Crest. You should be in trouble, you know you should be in trouble. Leaving the recesses of your dark cubby and coming face to face with your surroundings brings a brand new clarity to light—you totally should not have done any of that. He was trying to teach you, for Maker’s sake. He was taking the time to show you the valuable knowledge he’s gained regarding weaponry and self-defense. Fuck, you even told him on Naboo that you wanted to shoot a gun, and he brought you here to do just that.

Except then he just spins you around and picks up the blaster from the adobe ledge in front of you, placing it firmly in your hands.

“Okay,” he pants quietly next to your ear, breathing hard and shallow through the helmet. “Now you should be able to focus, right?”

Fuck… Fuck, is he serious? You can barely hold the damn thing, you’re shaking so hard. How does this work again? What does this do?

“Wh-What?” You croak—fuck, your voice is gone. “I… I can’t—”

“Try,” he encourages, helping your comparatively tiny hands flip off the safety but other than that, stepping back and leaving you to it. Completely and hopelessly lost, you weakly twist around to watch him stand next to the kid’s closed metallic shield. “Hit the target,” Din reiterates with a nod, trying to catch his breath. “You can do it.”

You look back out with unfocused eyes to see it still all the way on the far end of its track, and there’s just absolutely no fucking way. “I… can’t.”

“Hit the target and we can go home,” he tells you, and while you don’t exactly know what home is anymore, something tells you it’s somewhere in hyperspace. A resting baby, a metal floor, a pitch black hull, and your cheek pressed against a warm chest.

It sounds… wonderful.

Inspiring a newfound kind of desire in you, you lift your arms as best you can and work so, so hard to keep them steady. The target is in your sights and you do your absolute best—fuck, you really do, but you pull the trigger and the shot sadly bounces off the edge.

You drop your hands, already defeated and drained. “I can’t.”

“Hit the target and I’ll buy you a blaster,” he ups the ante, and you instantly lift your dead arms again. Fuck, come on, come on, you can do this.

You shoot. Nope. So you shoot again. And then you shoot again, and again, minutely adjusting your wrists purely based on where the bright red plasma is landing and ignoring the scope entirely.

“A nice one,” he continues over the pew pew pew of you just continuing to fucking miss, fucking miserably, over and over again. “Expensive. Hand-crafted, one of a kind…”

Miss, miss, miss, and—no. Just, no. There’s only so much glaring failure you can take before you snap. You finally stop shooting and growl in frustration, going to slam the metal down on its resting place. “Mando, I ca—”

“Hit the target and I’ll marry you,” he says quietly, and you freeze just before impact.

… What? N… No…

Miraculously, you somehow manage to calmly switch the safety on and set the blaster down before turning back to see the helmet staring at you, unmoving.

You… you know it must just be a joke, right? Just a stupid extension to the one he made earlier, it must be. You blink dumbly at him and flick your gaze between the visor and two large black eyes staring at you from the crib, wondering if you glitched or if you’re just hallucinating.

“Uh…” you hear yourself say, even though you’ve got absolutely nothing, but Din doesn’t offer anything else to fill in the gaps of your startled misunderstanding. If you didn’t have such a wild fucking reaction to the words, you'd probably wonder if he actually said them or not—that’s how much he gives away. Silent, so unbelievably silent when you’re begging him to give you at least something. Is he messing with you again? Is he just that confident that you’re going to fail?

It takes forever for you to turn back around and face the target, but you eventually do when he refuses to elaborate. Your heart slams in your chest and you wonder what you’re doing even attempting this.

The moment you lift your trembling arms is the moment you know your heart is pounding too fast—your finger twitches with the wild rush of blood flow and you end up pulling the trigger way before you’re ready. You fire before you’ve checked your sights, you fire before you’ve taken any sort of aim whatsoever, you fire spontaneously enough to surprise even yourself and it—

—it hits dead center.

Your stomach drops and a jolt of some rabid feeling punches through you, you have no idea what it is. You whip around so fast that you get dizzy, seeing him standing there, completely still.

“That was just beginner’s luck,” you quickly reassure him, suddenly feeling faint. Holy shit, holy shit, what the fuck just happened? “Listen—hey, no, listen, I can’t get it again,” you explain shrilly to the utterly dead silence from him. “Look, watch this, double or nothing.”

You spin back around, well aware that absolutely nothing about what you just said or what just happened made any fucking sense at all. Beginner’s luck when you’ve been consistently awful at this, telling him repeatedly to listen when you’re very, very fucking aware he hasn’t said anything, double or nothing on a literal proposal as if double marriage is something that actually exists?

No. Shut up. Don’t even think that word, don’t think about fucking anything. Fire, fire without thinking, just lift the gun and pull the trigger—

You do, and oh. Oh, no.

“Uh?!” Your voice comes out on a squeak, now in a complete fucking panic. What the fuck? No fucking way. Perfect, perfect, the odds are fucking astronomical—another deadly accurate shot. “Ah, um, okay, scratch everything I said—th-third time’s a charm?”

Wide-eyed and having absolutely no clue what you’re doing at this point, you fail to see Din slowly turn his helmet down and to the right as he stands behind you. You go to lift your arms and pull the trigger, but then he suddenly reaches out lightning-quick and bumps your elbow upwards at the very last second.

The abrupt push causes your shot to be angled off course spectacularly and you can’t do anything but look up and gasp in horror, worried it’s going to ricochet off the ceiling and land somewhere this building isn’t architecturally designed to absorb. There’s just enough time to wildly wonder why the fuck he did that—

—but then, like pure magic before your eyes… the beam of plasma adjusts itself in midair.

It fucking bends. Across the length of your entire firing lane, it curves in a downward trajectory and hits the target with absolutely impossible physics.

Your jaw fucking drops and you whip your body around in dumb shock to see Din staring hard at the closed shield next to him.

… that’s not closed.

The baby tilts his head at you and coos happily, one ear tipping up while the other tips down, and you’re completely blown away. Not only at the entirely unexpected demon-power display, but what specifically he was hoping to get out of it. You’re still stuck, blinking down at the adorable little goof with abilities you’ll never understand.

Only, a hand suddenly grabs yours and drags you back to yourself.

“We need to leave,” Din says quietly, switching the lid shut on the hovering crib and pushing it towards the booth’s exit while tugging you along behind him. “I don’t know how many people saw that, we need to leave.”

Sure enough, voices in the next partition over start picking up, likely the only ones in here who had a good enough angle to watch the physically unthinkable shot somehow meet its target, and your adrenaline quickly begins pumping while you keep your head down and power-walk your ass to the door. You don’t know the kind of consequences that could potentially arise from others witnessing the kid’s literal sorcery, but you know you’d rather not take the chance. The voices start growing louder as you three make your quick escape, beginning to ask others around them if they just saw that, but you’re already out of the rectangular adobe structure and long gone by the time anybody steps out of their panels to hear the uproarious accusations of cheating beginning to fly.

***

Stay tuned for the next part!

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin #din djarin x you #star wars #fanfic #reader insert #no-droids

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whisperlullaby · 4 years ago

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Just Say It And I’m Yours-Ch.1

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: Language, stalking ish themes

Words: 1490

Summary: Steve is considering retiring from being Captain America. He doesn’t remember why he took the shield or what it means for him anymore. Then he met you.

A/N: First and foremost I am SO SORRY FOR BEING SO SHIT AT SUMMARIES. I just don’t want to give anything away. Second, this is my first series! So like, comment, reblog, let me know you want to see more of this. This story is going to start in Steve’s perspective and switch to the readers. I’ll let you guys know when the POV is shifting so no worries. So, this first chapter is told through Steve. Third, if I missed any warnings please let me know. Last but most CERTAINTLY not least, a very VERY special thanks to @river-soul for reading through this and assuring me it was a good first chapter. I am so grateful for you. Let me know what you think! (Gif by @navybrat817 )

“Steve, she's getting married tomorrow,” Bucky solemnly states as he puts a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “If you’re going to do something you better do it soon.”

“I know Buck, but what could I say to her? I haven’t been able to tell her how I feel about her for years.” Steve looked out over the lake, his eyes pricking with tears. “She made her decision.”

“You’re an idiot. You’ve been in love with her since you first saw her. If you don’t tell her, she’s going to make the biggest mistake of her life. We both know that,” Bucky sighed, raking a hand over his face. “I know she loves you. You need to talk to her. She can’t marry him Steve, you know the second she does she’ll be gone forever. The person you knew reduced to, whatever this shell of a person is.”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck and looked down where the water was gently lapping against the shore. After a few moments, he heard Bucky make his way back to the lodge. As the small waves ebbed and flowed against the shallow shore Steve thought about you and how he was an absolute coward back when you were a big part of his life.

One and a half years ago

Steve was sketching at Marine Park in Brooklyn during golden hour when everything seemed to glow. He needed a break from his Captain America responsibilities and every time he put his charcoal to the paper everything seemed to melt away. The world was vastly different since he came out of the ice and he felt his heart swell thinking about all the fights he had to endure in order to restore some semblance of peace in the universe. He was happy that he had his best friend back, cleared of the mind control Hydra put in him and he made so many new friends and a family in The Avengers. Yet, as he drew out the skyline on the thick white paper, he couldn’t help but feel like he was still missing something. He knew he needed a break from his duties to figure it out constantly being pulled into a fight was a great distraction, but he knew he needed to figure out what brought meaning to his life. The decision to take time off gnawed at Steve like a dog to a bone, who was he if he wasn’t Captain America?

Steve heard you before he saw you, picking up the fierce tone you were using made him glad he wasn’t on the receiving end of your reprimand. Steve looked up to see you wedged in between a woman and her dog and a man probably twice your size towering over you, trying to be intimidating. The fact you stepped forward refusing to back down made Steve smile, oddly fond of your bravery. The commotion you were making drew a small crowd and Steve felt a strange pull to join the group to be close to you.

“Who the fuck do you think you are? Following this poor woman around like a stalker,” You yelled, poking your finger in his chest. “Did you think she was being coy when she told you to stop following her? Was that some deranged invitation to keep on top of her the rest of the world is unaware of?”

Steve could tell that you were not about to back down as you protected the other woman. The fire in your eyes was something Steve was familiar with in himself before he went into the ice. He noticed the man ball his hands into fists and before you could react he had pulled back to hit you. Steve jumped in and caught the punch, inches from your face.

“You’re gonna want to walk away pal before you make things worse for yourself.”

Steve’s voice was low in warning. When he glanced over at you, you looked up at him almost offended that he had stepped in. Before Steve could say anything you returned your gaze to the other man and swiftly kneed him in the balls.

“Stop following women you fucking asshole,” you admonished as the man crumpled to the ground in pain. “I know you probably have a hard time listening to women when they say no because there is just a bunch of empty space where your brain is supposed to be, but maybe take this as a warning.”

Steve watched you slack jawed as you flagged down a police officer to give a statement to. He observed you as you spoke with the other woman, who was visibly shaken by the incident, with such genuine concern and kindness. He couldn’t stop looking at you as you soothed her with gentle touches and quiet whispers. Steve waited for his turn to speak with the officers regarding the incident, after which the man was taken into custody. When Steve turned around you were walking towards him.

“Umm thanks for catching the punch,” you said with a shrug. “I could have taken him though.”

Steve let out a soft chuckle.

“Well I wouldn’t be much of a superhero if I stood around and let a civilian get clocked for defending someone.”

You cocked your eyebrow at him and crossed your arms.

“Yeah but you’re not in the suit, which means you’re off duty. Either way I’m grateful, I have a job interview tomorrow and can’t really show up with a black eye. It wouldn’t really say ‘hire me I’m even tempered and have a keen ability to moderate conflict in a calm respectful manner.’ ”

Steve smiled, letting out a sigh as he cast his eyes to the ground.

“Oh sweetheart I’m always on duty, comes with the territory.”

He looked up to see you watching him with kindness and understanding.

“I’m sure that must be a very heavy burden to carry,” You sighed. “I hope you can take a vacation or something soon. It looks like you might need one.”

To say Steve was enamored by you would be the understatement of the century. In the brief time he had spent with you, he had noticed that you were fierce, kind, honest, compassionate, and absolutely stunning. He found himself physically having to shake his head to keep from staring at you.

“I’m Steve,” he blurted out. “I feel like you already know that though. It was really nice of you to say that. Sometimes I only see myself as Captain America, no vacation days in sight.”

Steve chuckled as you rolled your eyes at him.

“Y/N, and I mean it. You shouldn’t feel like you’re always on duty.”

You pointed your finger at his chest.

“Besides, I’m a tough girl, I can handle myself. You should trust people a bit more Rogers.”

You gave Steve a cheeky grin and started walking away.

Steve scrambled to follow you, not ready to have your conversation end.

“So, job interview? What do you do?”

Steve easily kept your stride. When you chuckled Steve swore his heart skipped a beat.

“Would you believe I’m a victim advocate? I have an interview with the state prosecutor. I make sure anyone who has experienced trauma of any sort is represented and protected during court cases and criminal trials,” you stated proudly.

“After what I just witnessed, I would have been more surprised if you told me you were an accountant.” Steve joked. “Would it be okay if I walked you wherever you’re going? I know you can handle yourself but I’d like to make sure you don’t leave a trail of broken men in your wake.”

You snorted out laughter.

“Yeah wouldn’t want to get put away for attacking more skeezy men. That sounds great Captain, thank you.”

Steve smiled and kept asking you questions on your walk. He had this need to know everything he could about you since you blew into his life like a sunshower. When Steve got you back to your apartment the sun was just setting.

“Well Rogers, it’s been an interesting day,” you say, nonchalantly fiddling with your keys.

“I’ll say, I didn’t think my day would consist of watching someone stand up for another woman who almost got punched, then kneeing the guy in the balls.”

Steve smiled.

“I am pleasantly surprised with the way my day turned out,” he told you.

“Well there’s a lot more where that came from if you stick with me Cap.”

You smirked at Steve grabbing his sketchbook.

“Here’s my number, if you ever need a little extra adventure in your life, call me,” you said.

With that you turned the key in the lock and pushed yourself inside the apartment. Steve was left to stand staring at your closed door. He didn’t know what force drove you into his life but knowing you for those few hours made him feel more alive than he had in years.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #marvel fic #marvel #captain america x reader

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kuroopaisen · 4 years ago

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tiny love || 13

➵ as tooru’s younger sister, falling in love with iwaizumi hajime is easy. your feelings aren’t ignored, either. this time, you both decided to tell your brother the truth.

warnings: f!reader

wc: 2.8k

m.list | ch. 12 ↞ ch. 13 ↠ ch. 14

Tooru’s beaming face stared up at you from your phone as you get through to voicemail for the seventh time today.

He smiled at you from the walls, a whole range of Tooru of all different ages – all Tooru’s who hadn’t shouted at you for sleeping with his best friend.

You’d come to your room in the hopes that it might bring you some comfort. Stupid decision, really. There was so much of him here, grinning at you from your walls, from your desk. You hadn’t even realised how many damn photos you had of him until today. And he’s in everything; photos with your friends, photos with your family, nice shots of Miyagi that he’s managed to ruin with half his forehead.

God, if Tooru wouldn’t forgive you for this…

No. He’d have to.

Your brother was going to hear you out, and he wasn’t going to speak over or belittle you. He had to recognise you as an independent adult.

You hadn’t told Iwaizumi you were planning on doing this. He’d bore enough of Tooru’s rage today. And besides, this was a conversation you wanted – no, needed – to have on your own.

If only your stupid brother would answer his damn phone.

What’s the bet he’s practicing his serves with all the aggression he’d cultivated in high school? Or maybe he was just watching his own phone ring, staring at it with derision as your name glowed on his screen. Or maybe he wasn’t doing anything, simply passed out on his bed, tuckered out from all the rage.

You took a deep breath as your thumb hovered over the call button. One last try. Just one.

The phone rung once more. You were starting to get sick of the sound – the same number of trills, the same mechanical rhythm.

One more time. If he didn’t pick up now, then—

“What do you want?” Tooru’s voice was sharp, with far more aggression than necessary.

“I need to speak with you,” you said, as much confidence in your voice as you could muster.

“Go away,” Tooru hissed.

“No!”

You didn’t mean to shout. It just came out of you, as if it had been dog rattling at the gates, begging to be let out for the hunt.

“You’re not going to run away from this, Tooru!” You could already feel the corners of your eyes burning, your throat starting to constrict, that awful knot in your stomach reforming.

You didn’t want to do this. But you had to.

Tooru said nothing in response. But the white noise coming through the receiver let you know that he hadn’t hung up.

“What is your problem?”

It was a plea more than a question.

“My best friend is fooling around with my sister,” he hissed.

“Look,” you breathed, your chest so tight it felt like was going to crack your ribs, “you don’t get to dictate who I do and don’t date.”

“That’s my best friend.” Tooru didn’t miss a beat. But part of you is relieved to hear that he still referred to Hajime that way. Maybe all was not lost.

“I know,” you replied, clenching your fist in your lap. “I don’t see what the problem is.”

Tooru scoffed. Every petty argument you’d had over the years comes back to you – Tooru’s dismissive, obnoxious tone, the ache of not being listened to, the frustration at being treated like a little kid.

“What if you break up?” Tooru said, as condescending as if he was explaining how the sun rose and fell. “What if something goes wrong?”

“We’re adults, Tooru,” you rolled your eyes despite the circumstances. “We’re not going to be petty about it if that happens.”

And we’ve already managed to let you live a cushy life after a breakup, you thought to yourself. Though you knew better than to tell Tooru that.

“An adult wouldn’t go behind her brother’s back,” he seethed.

It was really all about him, huh? Your relationship, how much you and Iwaizumi cared about each other… Tooru wasn’t even thinking about that. It was just his perspective, his wants, his needs.

It’s just like it was back in high school. The only difference is that this time, Tooru was articulating these thoughts. Knowing the assumptions, you made all that time ago, in your hormonal, addled teenage brains…

“Look,” you snapped. “I’m sick of losing to you.” They’re words you should’ve said ages ago. Or maybe you shouldn’t have said them at all.

But they were out now, no longer a dirty little secret held close to your chest for who knew how long.

You weren’t just talking about Iwaizumi, either. You’d always felt second to Tooru – second to his fire, second to his passions. Always second over the finish line. Always second best. Always less important.

Fuck, you’d even moved halfway across the world just to live up to his ‘legacy’. How were you supposed to just go to a Japanese university after Tooru had moved to fucking Argentina? No, you’d wanted to prove yourself. To show that you, too, were worth something.

But even after all of that, you’re still just ‘Tooru’s little sister.’

And poor Iwaizumi was all this converged; poor Iwaizumi, stuck between two hearts and shackled by his sense of propriety.

Iwaizumi, who could easily be part of both of you, weaved through both your souls by calloused hands.

“I’m not losing him again just because you don’t like the idea of us being in a relationship.”

Maybe it was an irresponsible thing to say. There’s too much truth in it, too many years of bitterness stored and cultivated in your gut.

But too much has already been said. Nothing could be taken back. And if life wasn’t going to let you have anything of your own, anything you could be proud of, then you sure as hell weren’t letting it take Iwaizumi away from you, too.

You jerked the phone away from your ear and jabbed the ‘END CALL’ icon with more force than necessary.

That… could’ve gone better. Did you even achieve anything? Or had you just added to the clusterfuck? But there was nothing to be done now.

Hajime said he’d stick by you this time. That meant there was no backing out now. Not that you wanted to – not after all of this.

✧ ✧ ✧

I’ll go for a run, Hajime had thought. It’ll help calm me down.

Wrong.

He’d made the stupid mistake of bringing his phone with him.

Oikawa’s unique ringtone blared in his pocket; a little jingle of Oikawa singing ‘Iwa-chan!’ Oikawa had created it one day in their final year of high school when Iwaizumi was taking a toilet break.

Iwaizumi had never had the heart to change it, irritating as it was.

Slowing to a stop, he slipped his phone out of his pocket and brought it to his ear reluctantly.

But this was a new kind of reticence. This isn’t the everyday annoyance he’d felt in high school whenever Oikawa stroked his own ego, or when Oikawa refused to do the bare minimum of looking after himself.

This was something else entirely. Something Iwaizumi loathed.

“Hello?” He answered gruffly, voice terse with both anxiety and exertion.

“What the fuck is going on, dude?”

Cutting right to the chase, then.

“We told you,” Iwaizumi swallowed. “We’re dating.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Oikawa snapped.

“What do you mean, then?” Iwaizumi bit back his temper.

Shouting at Oikawa wouldn’t get him anywhere. That’d just make everything worse; and he didn’t want to do that to you or your brother.

Oikawa was silent for a moment – quiet enough for Iwaizumi to check the connection.

“She said ‘again,’” Tooru murmured.

Iwaizumi didn’t have the space in his heart to get mad at you. Not after years of keeping your feelings locked in your heart, trying to do the right thing by your brother, trying to make all of this work despite the discomfort it brought you.

He took a deep breath. “This isn’t the first time something’s happened.”

A confession. One he should’ve made years ago.

But God, did his soul feel lighter for it.

“Wait, what?” The tone of Oikawa’s voice was unplaceable.

“I kissed her at the beginning of our third year.” The words were out before he could doubt them. Now wasn’t the time to be delicate, to be cautious. If Oikawa was going to respond like this, then you both have to return in full force.

“What the fuck?” Oikawa’s an emotional guy. But those three words had more rage and vitriol in them than Iwaizumi had ever heard before.

“She wasn’t exactly subtle about the fact something was happening,” Iwaizumi grumbled. Looking back on it, he really had been cold. You’d just been reaching out to him, hoping that he’d give you the affirmation you craved. He’d avoided you in the hopes that you’d forget all about it.

God, it had all been very ‘teenage’. Part of him felt like he couldn’t blame either of you for that – you were teenagers at the time, after all – but another part of his heart couldn’t quite forgive himself for what he did.

To you, and to Tooru.

“Was this before summer break?” Oikawa spoke after a long moment, a quietude in his voice that even Iwaizumi wasn’t familiar with.

Iwaizumi swallowed roughly. “Yeah.”

Another silence. But this time, it’s hostile. It felt like the silence before a huge wave crashed, the air thrumming with the tension of what was about to come. It didn’t feel like Oikawa was about to shout; no, it’d be worse than that.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” There’s hurt in Oikawa’s voice, but not the same kind of before.

“Because I knew you’d be mad,” Iwaizumi admitted. And I was scared.

“That’s no excuse.”

It never was.

“I know,” Iwiazumi sighed. “I was a coward.”

“What, so you decided that you’d just go behind my back now?” Oikawa scoffed.

“I didn’t plan for this to happen,” Iwaizumi said, biting back a snarl.

“This didn’t cross your mind at all when I asked you to live with her?”

Iwaizumi remembered that conversation well. The doubt, the fear, the apprehension. He hadn’t wanted to do it – didn’t want to put himself in that situation again. But Tooru had been persistent; kept talking about how someone needed to keep an eye on you.

“I decided to share an apartment with her for you, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi said, voice surprisingly firm and steady. “Because you were the one who wanted me to keep an eye on her.”

“But—”

“I care about her,” Iwaizumi swallowed. “This isn’t all about you.”

“I never said it was ‘all about me,’” Oikawa fumed, “you guys just obviously didn’t think about me at all.”

Iwaizumi took a deep breath, the knot in his forehead getting deeper. Ignorance must be bliss. But Oikawa had no right to think like that, no right to make such accusations.

“We both put you first, you know?” Iwaizumi said, voice tight. “I dumped her in high school because of you. And I bet that she moved in with me because you asked her to.”

“What, so this is my fault?” He sounded bewildered more than anything else.

“Of course not,” Iwaizumi huffed, “but don’t think for a second that nobody in this ever gave a shit about you and your feelings.”

“Well you could’ve asked me—”

“It’s not just about you!”

Iwaizumi didn’t mean to shout. It just came out of you, as if it had been dog rattling at the gates, begging to be let out for the hunt.

He didn’t mean to repeat himself, either. Oh well.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. Some sweat still lingered on his forehead – a damp reminder that a few minutes ago, he’d been on a run. To relieve tension.

Funny, that.

“Look, I know I should’ve told you about it in high school,” he mumbled. “And I shouldn’t have kept it a secret for so long. But you don’t have a right to say that we can and can’t be together.”

Their words he didn’t know he had, solid and strong and steady.

“We’re not doing this to spite you, Oikawa,” he said. “I know she’d want your approval more than anything. But your feelings aren’t going to stop any of this from happening.”

Oikawa was silent. Iwaizumi didn’t need to see him to know the look on his face; pouty, with all the air of a petulant child despite his age.

“Why do you even have such a problem with it, anyway?”

It’s the question. The one that all this mess boiled down to. Part of Iwaizumi felt betrayed; did Oikawa not trust him? Did he not deem him ‘worthy’ of his little sister?

But another part of him understood the anxiety. That’s why he asked gently, with as little antagonism as possible.

It was hard. Much harder than he’d anticipated. But it was necessary.

“That’s my little sister. And you’re… you’re my best friend. If you two broke up, where does that leave me? And I’m sure that neither of you would rely on me if you did break up, and—”

“Why are you so certain we’ll break up?” Iwaizumi nearly laughed.

“It could happen!” Oikawa whined. “Nothing’s set in stone!”

“Exactly,” Iwaizumi nodded. “So, there’s no reason for you to be so concerned about whether or not we’ll break up. It’s just as likely that we won’t.”

Another silence.

“What, are you planning to marry her or something?”

Iwaizumi’s cheeks flared and his stomach swelled. “Wh—I—Don’t get ahead of yourself!”

“Oh my God… you’re planning on marrying my sister…”

“I didn’t say that!”

“But you implied it.”

“No, I didn’t!”

Of course Oikawa would jump to conclusions like this. Shittykawa and—

“Do you love her?”

Iwaizumi was struck dumb by the question.

Does he love you? Well, yes. There’s a space in his heart specifically carved out for you, in your shape. Honestly, it’s been there so long he’s not sure if it could ever go away. Not truly.

But he wasn’t sure if that’s what Oikawa was asking. He meant love in a distinctly romantic way; the sort of love they show in movies and play on the radio. The sort of love that specifically drove romantic relationships.

Somehow, that’s what made him nervous. Iwaizumi knew he loved you – saying it out loud, to your brother of all people, was an entirely different ball game. Different meanings, different layers of love, and you intersecting all of them.

God, he’s got it bad.

He swallowed roughly, clenching his fist at his side. “It’s too early to say, but…”

“But?”

“I… I think I could.”

“God, you’re taking this too seriously…”

“I’m taking this too seriously!? You’re the one who—”

“’It’s too early to say but… I think I could,’” Oikawa parroted in his best Iwaizumi impression. Iwaizumi would’ve given it a six out of ten at best; he’s pretty sure his voice wasn’t that deep.

“You’re a piece of shit,” Iwaizumi grumbled.

“As you like to remind me,” Oikawa hummed in a sing-song voice.

It was strange. Talking in those voices. Saying those words.

It was almost like things were normal.

“Anyway,” Oikawa cleared his throat, snapping Iwaizumi out of his disorientation. “I’ve got to get back to practice. So…”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi nodded. “Good luck. But don’t overwork yourself.”

Oikawa chuckled with a tsk. “Now, now, Iwa, I’m not the boy I was in high school.”

Iwaizumi could only hope that was really the case.

✧ ✧ ✧

“Hey.”

You were sprawled out on the couch, staring at the living room ceiling. You’d quickly deemed your bedroom far too precarious of a place to be, but that didn’t leave you with much.

And you couldn’t even call Amaya – she’d be (or, at least, should be) asleep right now.

But Iwaizumi was back, appearing in the front home with his hair all ruffled and his cheeks flushed. Of course he made coming back from a run look good. It’s really not fair.

You sat up, offering him a weak smile.

He returned it gently, making a direct beeline for you.

“Did you have a good run?” You asked.

“Mm.”

You blinked at him.

Iwaizumi looked at you with a certain cautiousness. “He called me.”

Shit.

Tooru must’ve… you must’ve said something that…

“How did it go?” You asked. No point jumping to conclusions.

“I don’t know,” Iwaizumi sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It could’ve gone worse?”

You don’t know what to do with that knowledge. “That’s… good?”

Iwaizumi chuckled, shaking his head.

It was nice, seeing him smile. It felt like he hadn’t done that all day.

“Are you okay?” He asked, a big hand coming to caress your cheek.

You leant into it, pouting. “No.”

He sighed, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Anything I could do to make it better?”

You pondered it for a moment. “You could make us lunch?”

He smiled. “If that’s what you want.”

#iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi x you #iwaizumi hajime x you #iwaizumi hajime scenario #What Are Tags #tiny love #also can you believe i didn't make you guys wait for all eternity for this chapter? exquisite

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feferipeixes · 3 years ago

Text

Child I Will Hurt You

One of the weirdest things to Alcor about being a father was how automatically Toby trusted him.

Which really freaked him out because he didn’t feel he should be trusted to raise a child. After all, he was practically still a child himself.

(See the most updated version on AO3!)

===

The thing that scared Alcor the most about raising Toby was how fully the boy trusted him.

He’d experienced and marveled at that kind of trust before. When Mabel found him after that fateful day in 2012 and threw herself at him, sobbing with relief that he wasn’t gone after all, he felt it. When Stan took him and Mabel into his home a few years later, patted him on the back and said “It’s no problem, kid”, he felt it. When he warned Mabel that he shouldn’t be trusted with the triplets’ true names and Mabel shouted him right out of his self-flagellation, he felt it.

The first day he brought Toby home after finding him alone and shivering on the street, he felt something very different.

Panic.

Panic over who the child in front of him truly was underneath that thin layer of flesh. Panic over what would happen if he didn’t stop whatever Bill was planning. Panic as he remembered Weirdmageddon over and over again in complete, horrific detail.

“Listen kid,” he said, floating a few feet off the ground so he could better tower over the child, “no funny business, okay? You hear me in there, Bill?”

Toby only cocked his head, scraggly and unwashed golden locks tumbling away from his face to reveal his scarred eye. He still wore the half-scared half-curious look he’d had when he’d first caught the demon’s attention, but there was something else bubbling up. Something that tasted suspiciously like trust.

It really freaked Alcor out because he didn’t feel he should be trusted to raise a child. Trust was something you gave to adults who knew what they were doing, after all, and he was practically still a child himself.

Alcor grimaced, and lowered onto his knees so he could look the boy directly in the eyes. “I mean it. I’m watching you. I’ll know if anything bad happens.”

To his surprise, Toby smiled at that. “You can make the bad things stop?”

“Yes,” Alcor replied, his voice cracking like it hadn’t in centuries because he was already messing this up, he was sure of it. “N-no getting into trouble. Not on my watch.”

The boy’s face lit up, trust shining brilliant from both eyes, and before Alcor could tell what was happening, Toby had reached up and hugged him around the neck.

And the demon remembered

Bill’s little pipe cleaner hands iron-clad around his neck,

Squeezing the life out of him,

Blue fire rushing all over his body,

Over and into his soul,

Screaming until there was no more breath left in him,

And the little boy’s smile radiated such trust and hope that Alcor was left completely speechless.

“Thank you,” Toby squeaked, and Alcor felt it.

---

“Oh stars, I can’t do this, I can’t do this!” Alcor was in his human disguise, head in hands, elbows resting on the counter, rambling like the world was ending. “I’m way in over my head. Raising a child? Me? I mean I looked after Mabel’s triplets but this is so different…”

“...Sir?” The cashier’s hand hovered over Alcor’s head, unsure whether it was appropriate or comforting to actually pat him. “Are you alright?”

“No!” he fumed, lashing out and knocking over some of his groceries. “I have a six year old at home and he trusts me to look after him and keep him safe! How could this possibly have happened?”

“Uh…” The cashier peered behind the man to the customers in line, most of whom looked some degree of disgruntled or confused. She gave them a little wave to indicate that they should probably move to a different register, and then turned back to the man who appeared to be hyperventilating now. “Do you have a partner? Anyone who’s helping you?”

“Of course not, I’m alone, I’ve got no friends,” he moaned. “There’s no one who I trust enough to foist Toby off to. The poor boy has such bad karma -- he needs me to protect him from that or he’ll get eaten alive!”

“Well… it sounds like you’ve got the right instincts at least. You want to keep him safe.”

“That’s just it! I don’t!” Alcor picked his head up and the cashier saw streaks of a strange yellow liquid running down his face. “Everything I’m doing for him is just stuff I picked up from watching my sister raise her kids! I don’t have any kind of adulting instincts -- none at all! I transcended when I was fucking twelve and that’s where I’ll be stuck until the end of time. I’m just a pointless child! I’ve got too much power and no actual ability to help anyone!”

The cashier sighed and -- after the man nodded to say it was alright -- put her hand on his shoulder. “Listen, man, all of that stuff sounds normal.” (Except for the parts that made no sense to her at all but she opted to ignore them.) “No one knows how to raise a kid, and no one ever feels like they’ve grown up. You learn it as you go. Trust me, my kids ran me ragged and I had no idea what I was doing. But they turned out alright. So will yours.”

Alcor’s voice began to wobble, and he pressed gloved hands to his temples. “But he won’t! I’m developmentally frozen. I’m not capable of learning anything! Seriously, what kind of adult buys this much candy?”

She glanced at his cart, which indeed was half filled with Giddy Cowboys and Sneakers bars. “That is a lot,” she admitted. “I would not advise giving your kid that much candy.”

“What? No.” Alcor stopped sniffling and pulled a face like he’d just smelled poo. “That’s for me. I’m buying all these vegetables and milk and chicken for Toby. He’s a growing kid, he needs to eat healthy, get all those food groups in, you know. I’m not stupid. But I am childish for liking candy so much that I’d eat this much of it in a week! I mean, seriously! Oh stars, I’m hopeless!”

The cashier lifted an eyebrow and removed her hand. “You eat all of this… in a week?”

“I know, I know, I’m ridiculous!”

“That’s not what I meant,” the cashier cut in, before he could start gibbering again. “I’m just worried about your teeth. Your… teeth…” She trailed off as the man suddenly yawned, exposing two rows of jagged knives that could sink into her flesh in an instant. “Your, um, your- your-”

Alcor pulled a mirror out of seemingly nowhere and started picking at his teeth. “What, do I have something in them?”

The cashier’s eyes widened even more as the man’s gloves came off. “My… what pointy claws you have…”

“Thank- wait.” Alcor froze, one long blackened nail still pressed into his gum. “Wait a minute. Pointy. Sharp. Cutting and slicing and ripping open oh stars!”

“Um- um- um-” the cashier tried to say, but with every word she felt like she was shrinking until she’d be swallowed up by her clothes. “Slicing?”

Alcor shook his head furiously, and this time his fist was positively trembling when it came down onto the counter. “I haven’t child proofed the knife drawer in the kitchen!”

He flipped his hat off of his head and pulled out a wad of cash, which he then thrust into the cashier’s hands just as her lights went out. Before anyone else could react, he vanished into thin air, taking his groceries and the shopping cart with him.

“I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before,” Alcor grumbled as he zeroed in on the offending drawer. He pulled it open and there they were -- obscene, dangerous implements that he was a wicked and cruel caretaker to have potentially exposed his child to. He couldn’t stop imagining what might’ve happened if Toby had tried to pull open the drawer and it had fallen on him -- couldn’t stop thinking about his little boy sticking his adorable hand in and receiving cuts and lacerations and awful, awful sobbing filling the house…

With a snap, child locks were in place. Alcor tested them out by trying to pull the drawer open -- and it took a few tries before even he was able to. Sighing with relief, he leaned against the counter and slid down to the floor. His feet bumped up against the shopping cart sitting in the middle of the kitchen, overflowing with Reece’s Mugs and Chortle Taffy and Quasarbursts.

He couldn’t do this. He was too irresponsible.

Alcor dug a hand into the cart and pulled out a candy bar. He sank his teeth into it, enjoyed the rush of sweetness that was almost as good as flesh and bone. Slowly he began to unclench his muscles -- even though his form was imaginary, the cramps shooting throughout his body still hurt. He slid down the counter a little further, almost letting his head touch the floor -- and then he noticed it.

The stairs.

Bolting upright, Alcor let the candy bar fall from his hand. The stairs. How hadn’t he thought about that before? What if Toby fell down and tumbled into the banister and lost his other eye? What if what if what if?

Not a minute later, the demon was wrestling with child safety gates, somehow struggling even with all of his considerable power just to get them to attach to the wall. At one point he tipped his jaw back and used his tongue to line the edges with spit, which then solidified like glue. The stairs had to be safe. He couldn’t risk Toby getting hurt.

And with that thought came even more thoughts that sent Alcor racing through the house. What if Toby slipped in the bathtub? What if Toby climbed on top of the fridge and couldn’t get down? What if Bill slammed his arm in a drawer again and again and again and again until it was full of forks and then he poured soda into his eyes and laughed like a maniac while Dipper drowned in the vast emptiness of the Mindscape???

Alcor stiffened. He set down the intricate contraption he’d been building to keep Toby safe from wild animals in the backyard. And he looked into the mirror.

What was he doing?

This was Bill’s soul he was fretting over. It was always him, on the inside, and he’d known it from the very first day he’d seen the boy. He knew what was lurking beneath the surface, what kind of monster slept in that innocent form waiting until one day he could reach out and traumatize his father once more. Reach out and steal his beating heart, and laugh, and live, and die, and laugh, and live, and die, in a way he’d never be able to again.

A chill passed through Alcor’s body. Something had to be wrong with him, because he knew what Toby was and he’d spent the entire week worrying about the boy. Why did he care so much?

Quietly, he crept down the hall, and peered into the bedroom on the right. There he was -- the beast himself -- sleeping soundly in a bed decorated with race cars and rocket ships. A few more steps, and Alcor could see how small he looked, how even in his sleep he seemed so broken. And the demonic instincts that had rushed through Alcor since the day he’d gone up in flames were quelled, because every fiber of his being told him he needed to protect this child.

He rested a hand on the boy’s forehead, and watched him dream about running around in a field of grass, playing catch with his new father.

---

Thus started a new routine. A demon, trying day-to-day to take care of a small child. Playing grown up even though he felt so utterly unprepared for what he was doing. But Alcor’s life didn’t stop when he became a parent.

Neither did any of his other regular obligations.

“Oh, you’re asking for it now!” Alcor roared, jumping to his feet. “I’m gonna run you through with my sword! Die die die die!”

The dungeon master -- Damien -- peered over his half-rimmed glasses at the demon and smirked. “Not gonna work, I’m afraid. The slime beast’s armor is too thick to be pierced by a sword such as your own.”

Alcor gaped with disbelief. “Whaaat? I call foul play! You let Anushka do it!”

“Anushka’s sword has a fire enchantment on it. Slime armor is weak to heat.”

“Also, I said die five times,” Anushka added with a shit-eating grin on her face, jabbing Alcor in the side with her elbow. “Die die die die die!”

Alcor snorted and dropped back into his chair. “Well, you got me there.” He looked at the other players, disappointment rolling over into amusement. “Can I change my move or am I locked in?”

Damien shrugged. “Go for it. I don’t think you’ll be able to beat it this turn though, and you’ve only got one hit point remaining.”

Nat leaned over and whispered in his ear. “Yo, I’ve got an idea. You should defend this turn and try to survive the slime’s attack, and then on my turn I can fire enchant your sword.”

“Huh. Maybe…” He patted his head to get the spittle out of his ear, and surveyed the map of the dungeon they were in. Then he sat bolt upright in his seat, a large exclamation mark appearing over his head. “Damien. How many sword actions do I get this turn?”

Damien rolled a die. “Two.”

“Yessss. Okay. First, I lunge at the slime again! But with the blunt end of my sword so it gets knocked back.”

Damien rolled another die. “Yep. That works. Are you gonna use your free movement to approach it again?”

Alcor shook his head. “Nope. I’m gonna throw my sword -”

“Your sword doesn’t have enough piercing damage to make a difference from that distance, I’m afraid.”

The room’s dim lighting glinted off of razor sharp teeth. “- at the cable holding up the chandelier.”

Anushka and Nat dropped their pencils, and looked straight up, momentarily forgetting that they were not actually in the dungeon they were traversing. “You what?”

Damien rolled a die again, and sucked in a sharp breath. “Alright. The chandelier falls onto the slime beast before it can react. It quickly catches on fire, leaving it too weak to attack. Congrats!”

Beaming, Alcor scribbled some numbers on his character sheet. “Heck yeah. No slime beast is strong enough to get one past the Dreambender.”

“You’re so creative, Al,” Nat said. “Seriously, wow. I never would’ve thought of that.”

He wove off the compliment. “Naw, I’m just basically a large child. Being silly and immature is what they’re good at.”

Looking up over his dungeon master partition, Damien furrowed his brow. “Why do you say you’re immature -”

There was a ringing in Alcor’s head -- a tug on a bond -- and he held up his hand. “Wait, hold that thought. Speaking of children, my kid’s calling me. I’m gonna have to leave early this week.” He stood up, and did a dramatic bow. “I’ll see ya all next week! Don’t lose my summoning circle!”

Toby -- lying flat on the floor of the Mystery Shack -- perked up at the sight of his adoptive father walking through the door. Tyrone looked about as human as they come -- a man in his mid-thirties with soft brown eyes, no wings, and feet that always touched the ground. He opened his arms and Toby came running to hug him.

Right away there was that trust again, that total trust that Alcor still couldn’t believe he deserved. How could someone like him -- someone who’d just spent two hours playing a tabletop role playing game and laughing about memes -- be trusted to take care of a child?

Gingerly, he took Toby into his arms and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “How are you doing?”

“I’m boooooooored!” Toby whined. “Can we play a game? I wanna play pretend!”

Chuckling, Alcor put Toby down and then sat beside him on the floor. “Sure thing, kid. You know, I’m pretty good at playing games like that. I was playing one with my friends earlier today.”

Toby’s jaw dropped. “Whoaaaaa! You have friends?”

A vein bulged in Alcor’s forehead. “Of course I- never mind. What’s the game, kid? What are we pretending?”

Toby jumped up and started pacing in a circle. “I wanna make up a story! It’s gonna be great! I’ll be the hero and you’ll be the bad guy -- an evil king who wants to kill all of the good people in the land! Is… is that okay?”

There was a mirror mounted on the wall behind where Toby had been sitting. Without the boy in his way, Alcor found his gaze fixed on it. He could see Toby gesturing as he walked and he could see the nostalgic decorations hanging on the wall of the Shack. But there was no Tyrone to speak of.

It took a moment for him to realize that Toby was talking to him. “What? Oh yeah. Of course, kid. I’ll be the bad guy.” He took a deep breath, discarding the voice in his head that furiously objected to him being the villain to Bill’s hero. “What’s my motivation?”

Toby cocked his head. “Moti- what?”

“What’s my backstory? Why am I evil?”

The boy continued to stare at him with a blank look on his face. “You’re evil cause you’re the bad guy and bad guys are evil!”

“That’s kinda boring- never mind.” Alcor grimaced and looked back at the mirror. “So you’re the hero, eh? How are you going to defeat me? What’s the hero good at?”

“Everything!!!!” Toby squealed, and his reflection grabbed onto something invisible. “The hero is the good guy so I should always win and I’ll have all of the magic and the biggest swords ever!”

Alcor shifted so that Toby was hanging onto his shoulders rather than around his middle. “Everything? But if the hero always wins, what’s the point?”

“The good guy always has to win!” the boy chirped, squeezing tight around Alcor’s neck. “Always!”

Oh my stars this is so boring, Alcor thought. How fricking uninventive is Bill’s soul? Children are supposed to be good at being silly and creative. I guess all Bill’s soul can think about is being powerful again.

A figure stepped into the room on the other side of the mirror. It was short -- looked to be about 12 years old -- and had clawed hands, bat wings sprouting from its hips, and a fancy suit that looked out of place for someone so young. Alcor’s jaw dropped as he watched the figure pick up Toby’s reflection, pat him on the back, and then stare directly out of the mirror at the demon.

“This is a game for children,” the figure said in a low growl.

“What?” Alcor yelped.

Toby giggled at the interruption. “I said that all the evil people should die because they’re mean! No one should ever do a bad thing!“

“This is what children are like. They see in black-and-white because they know nothing about how the world works.” Cold, black eyes bored into Alcor’s skull. “Have you forgotten what that’s like?”

“B-but I’m silly,” Alcor stammered, sweat starting to drip down his face. “I’m irresponsible. I love playing games and coming up with interesting stories. Those are childish things for someone as old as me to be doing.”

“Dad?” Toby asked. “What are you saying? I can’t hear you.”

The figure sneered, baring two sets of sharp teeth uncomfortably close to Toby’s head. “Whoever told you that must’ve really hated the idea of growing up.” Toby stirred, and it spent a moment cradling him so he’d calm down. Then those eyes -- now bright and full of gold -- flicked back at the demon. “Who said it? Was it you?”

Alcor gasped and fell over. Toby shrieked as he suddenly found himself tumbling to the ground, and the sound broke Alcor right out of his trance. Quick as a whistle, he pirouetted and caught the boy in his arms, pulling him close to his chest in a tight hug.

“Oh no, oh Toby, are you alright?” he fretted. “Did you get hurt?”

“I’m okay!” Toby squeaked, his face pressed against Alcor’s collarbone. Alcor loosened up on his hug, and took in Toby’s smile. “That was fun! You always catch me! That’s how I know you’re really a good guy.”

“I’m a good guy?” Alcor gulped, and glanced back at the mirror. This time he saw himself, in his present human disguise, holding Toby close, and looking so, so utterly responsible. It freaked him out.

“...Dad?” Toby asked, brow crumpled. “Daaaaad what are you thinking?”

“I think…” Alcor sighed, and gave his son a little kiss on the forehead. “I think it’s time you got some friends your own age.”

---

From that day on, things were a little different.

Alcor bought a house in the physical plane, because a memory of a shack in the Mindscape was no place to raise a child.

“Dad?”

He doctored forms and documents so it not only looked like a certain Tyrone Pines actually existed, but also that he and his adopted son Tobias Pines were legal residents of a sleepy town in the middle of Washington. This let Toby attend school with kids his own age.

“What is it, Toby?”

He went to the library on the weekly to check out parenting books, having long exhausted the meager supply of advice his omniscience had to offer -- as it turned out, parenting was very much a learn-as-you-go experience with few absolute truths to guide you.

“What’s a demon?”

Alcor froze, his hand halfway in the process of turning a page in his book. He started to turn his head around to look at the boy, and remembered just in time to turn his body around with it.

“Where did you hear that?” Alcor asked carefully.

Toby kept his head down, opting to study his father’s shoes instead of his face. “I, um...”

There it was again, that emotion bubbling up inside of Alcor, that instinctual distrust he couldn’t help but feel for the soul who had once taken everything from him. It was all he could do not to jump up and yell “Aha! Caught you red-handed, Bill! I knew you were in there all along!”

He got out of his chair and knelt in front of the child, using a finger to gently raise the boy’s head so they could see eye-to-eye. “You can tell me,” he said softly. “It’s okay.”

Alcor saw Toby reach into that pure, automatic trust he had for the monster who was raising him. The boy gulped, and squared his shoulders.

“Um... Devon’s dad said it to Devon.”

Alcor blinked. “Is that so? Devon, the kid in your class who asked you to play baseball with him?”

Toby nodded. “H-he was asking me again, and I know you said I wasn’t allowed to, but he started showing me anyway. He got his bat and swinged it and it looked really cool. Then his dad yelled at him and said ‘Devon, you little demon, cut that out right now!’“

Alcor could only stare, mouth agape, in response. Toby started to tremble as he continued speaking. “Then Devon’s dad took the baseball bat and Devon got really sad and I didn’t know what it means but it looked bad and I don’t want to be a little demon and I’m really really sorry I said I wanted to play baseball I don’t want to be a demon I don’t I don’t -”

He cut off with a squeak as his father took him into his arms and hugged him tight.

Alcor was a being with access to more power and magic than almost anything else in the universe. He could level mountains, he could turn cities inside out, he could institute universal basic income on the moon with a snap of his fingers.

But when he held Toby in his arms, when he saw the awestruck look on the boy’s face when he played the violin for him, when he listened to Toby babble excitedly about whatever he’d learned in school that day, Alcor felt powerful.

All of his magic crumbled beneath the obscene power granted to him by way of this child’s trust in him. He had the power to protect this child, to support and encourage him to grow up to be the best person he could be. He could also betray Toby’s trust so, so easily.

He could punish his son for no reason if he needed an emotional pick-me-up. He could disregard the boy’s concerns and laugh in his face. He could even raise his voice just a little too much, caught in a moment of frustration, and leave Toby wincing in distress -- an ephemeral moment in Alcor’s life but an upsetting and formative moment in Toby’s which could forever mar their relationship.

That would be childish. That would be immature of him.

Alcor had killed reams of cultists, had bestowed disturbing curses on people who’d only sort of deserved it, had terraformed the western coast of the United States in a fit of rage. He’d done a lot of horrible things with his magic, but.

This power, this power he had to shape Toby’s life.

This power horrified him.

“You’re not a demon,” Alcor said, (and it felt so unfair to be saying that to him of all people -- so cruel and dirty that he wanted to scream until his hair fell out. But he didn’t.)

“Don’t cry,” (even though no one had held him when he cried that day in 2012, because he’d simply slipped through their fingers, and he wanted to repay that favor. But he didn’t.)

“Daddy’s here,” he whispered, before kissing Toby’s tears away. “You’re not in trouble.”

The words came so naturally, as if he knew exactly what he was doing. As if he had the experience to understand what was upsetting his son, and the power to make it better. As if he had the maturity to push past his own conflicted feelings, because he was an adult, and this was a little child.

He set Toby down, and kneeled to meet his eyes. In that moment, he felt tall. Sort of grown up.

Toby sniffled. “You’d never yell at me? Even if I do something wrong?”

Alcor thought once again back to the day he’d seen Bill Cipher on the side of the road. Thought about the furious, vengeful part of him that enjoyed the boy’s suffering because that’s what he deserved. Remarked on how the universe had served him up his greatest enemy in the most vulnerable form possible, giving him the opportunity to take Toby’s trust and do unspeakable things to him.

“Sure thing, kiddo,” he said, ruffling the boy’s hair. “I promise.”

Remembered how he’d instead chosen love.

---

It was a dark and stormy night that found Alcor wandering the streets of a mostly-abandoned city.

He’d been summoned -- it always started with a summons -- and he’d been angry. It didn’t even matter what had made him angry, because there were so many things these days that people absolutely would not stop doing no matter how much he screamed and threatened and threw flaming balls of plasma into their twisted places of worship. They never learned. And neither did he.

Alcor couldn’t stand how many people had to die because of him. How many people were killed in his name. How many lives he’d taken with his own hands because he couldn’t seem to stop, like an immature brat who throws tantrums when things don’t go his way. He wondered if he could ever change, or if he was just stuck this way.

It was deep in these thoughts that the demon heard a little noise. A squeak, barely audible over the rain. He dismissed it at first, because his grand thoughts were more important than the world around him, and right after a bad summons was the perfect time for self-hatred. It felt good -- it was one of the only things that still did. He considered burning the entire city to the ground. Maybe that’d feel even better.

Something told him that it wouldn’t.

He heard the squeak again, his eyes darting over to a heap of trash bags between two buildings, and that’s when he saw him. A little boy with golden hair, no older than six. He was dressed in rags. He looked like he hadn’t seen a scrap of food in days. The left side of his face had been eaten away by flame, leaving it patchy and discolored.

Alcor had seen right through Bill’s disguise, of course. There wasn’t a meatsuit pitiable enough to blot out the sins his soul had committed. Perhaps that was why he had been abandoned on the side of the street to begin with -- karma was finally catching up with him. Alcor wanted to laugh, but he couldn’t. Something strange was going on inside of him. Some sort of instinct buried within him -- not one tipped with blood and claws, but one that creaked and groaned under centuries of exertion.

It was this feeling that prompted him to gather up the child in his arms. He felt how fast the boy’s heart was beating; saw in his past how much he’d been hurt without an adult to protect him. He knew that feeling well.

“It’s okay,” he murmured as Toby began to fuss. “Things will be better now. I’ll protect you. I might only be a child myself, but I promise I’ll protect you.”

One year later, one year of introspection, growth, and unbroken promises later, he had to admit he’d been wrong.

(AO3 link)

#gravity falls #transcendence au #dipper pines #alcor the dreambender #toby pines #tobias pines #fic #my stuff

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haruroki · 3 years ago

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Mafia Todoroki Pt 1

Synopsis: Growing up as the heir to the second-most deadly mafia in all of Japan has certainly taken a toll on Shoto, but with his best friend; a girl by the name of Yukine, they will take the position of mafia boss.

Pairings: Todoroki Shoto X OC [Haruki Yukine]

Warnings: swearing, blood, gore, weapons; daggers, poison, guns, character death, kidnapping, lots of killing

Word Count: 4.4K

Note: my requests are open so if you want to request a specific character I'm more than happy to do so! Please note that English is not my first language, so if you see any mistakes please don't hesitate to point them out. Also this was written at 2 am so I apologize if this doesn't make much sense. Enjoy!

Pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5

Todoroki Enji was a lot of things: evil, crazy, a risk taker and one of the worst men to walk this earth. He also happened to be the head of the second most dangerous mafia in the world. However, his reign was coming to an end and his youngest son would soon take his place.

The double doors of the Todoroki manor swung open. Its oak wood doors scraped against the polished marble floor. Enji walked swiftly with a little girl in tow. He guessed she was five, the same age as his son but she was much smaller so he could have been wrong about her age.

Yukine had been captured by one of the rival gangs. Her whole family had been taken hostage and killed before her very eyes. Her innocence had been taken from her and her soul had been tainted at such a young age. After storming the rival mafia's headquarters, Enji accidentally ended up saving the poor girl. The sole survivor of the Haruki family.

Enji should have left her there. Maybe the police would have rescued her and taken her to an orphanage. But there was something about her, that look in her eyes. The look of revenge, even though she was just five at the time and had no clue what she was feeling, Enji took her back to his house. He told himself he wasn't doing it for the little girl but for his son who looked lonely and wanted a companion.

He'd been isolated from his siblings two months ago and it wasn't going well so far. His son demanded to see his older siblings and mother to spend time with them but Enji vehemently refused every single time. Then his son stopped eating, not completely, but just enough to keep him alive. Worried for his son's sake, Enji hoped this girl would become his friend and he would shape them both to be his perfect successors.

A month later Yukine had finally adjusted more or less to her new home and the situation at hand. One morning, Enji swung the door open to her bedroom and carried a sleeping Yukine all the way to an outhouse. She awoke tied up to a chair with ropes binding her hands and legs to the wooden flimsy looking chair. It creaked under her weight.

A projector with Enji's brought Yukine out of her initial shock. She'd been happy in the month since she had arrived. Yukine received good food and clothes and even an extravagant room right next to Shoto's.

She'd learned all about the youngest and the rest of the family. Yukine and Shoto hit it off instantly, they became best friends in such a short time and Shoto shared every secret with her and she did the same. She learned about the mafia life and today was her first day of training. Enji's projection instructed her to break out of her bonds and find her way back to the house.

Yukine spotted a nail file near her foot, she assumed this was what she had to use to escape. Yukine tipped the chair over and she fell onto the dusty floor, she managed to transfer the nail file to her hand and began sawing through her ropes. It took her roughly three hours just to escape from the ropes, another fifteen minutes to find her way out of the abandoned and one more hour to return back to her home.

She finally returned just as the sun began to set. Yukine burst through the double doors, her chest heaving and hair sticking to her forehead slicked with sweat. Shoto immediately rushed to her side to help her out, dressing any wounds and applying lotion to the rope burns on her wrists and ankles.

Those two had grown close. Yukine was treated equally to Shoto, given the same food, comfortable clothes and everything else. Unfortunately, that also meant undergoing the same harsh training as him.

But that was sixteen years ago, Shoto had finally reached the age of succession, twenty-one. All his father had to do was sign a few documents transferring everything over to his name and then Shoto would finally be the head of the second most powerful mafia in Japan.

Shoto sat in his father's study, a large mahogany table in front of him with a couple of unsigned documents and papers strewn over the top of the surface. He'd slowly started bringing about changes in the study starting with the way the table was decorated. He hated how his father ran the mafia, Shoto was determined to bring changes, he had his own morals. Of course, he was going to maintain its ruthless reputation.

He leaned back in the black leather chair, pinching the bridge of his nose as a mild headache started to form. "Yuki." Shoto said.

Yukine emerged from the shadows of their father's study. She stood behind his desk right next to him. Her lips pulled into a thin line as she listened intently to Shoto's orders. After all, she was to serve him now, she was his best weapon in his arsenal.

"It's time. I expect you know what to do." He never looked up at her and she never looked at him. He just knew she was there always listening in, hidden somewhere in the shadows.

"Yes, sir." Yukine responded. Shoto nodded, she took it as her dismissal and Yukine left the room.

Night rolled around and Shoto was restless. He moved around in bed waiting for Yukine to come to his room and tell him how her mission went. But he knew she had to be careful and take time, this was their father they were targeting after all. He taught them every trick in the book but Yukine had developed her own skill set by accompanying the father and son on missions.

Yukine crawled through the attic of their manor. Her body pressed against the floor and white hair tied up into a high ponytail so she could focus on her mission at hand. She felt around the floor looking for a specific tile, once her fingers grazed over the loose tile she removed it. A small gap revealed the man that had taken her in sixteen years ago sleeping soundlessly.

Both Shoto and Yukine harbored strong feelings of hate and loathing for the old man. Especially with the way they had been treated growing up. Even in their teen years Yukine would witness Enji hurting Shoto for simple mistakes, mistakes that could easily be overlooked because the outcome was the same nonetheless. But it never satisfied Enji, even Yukine went through the same treatment for mistakes in killing. They both swore to get back at him one day. And tonight was that day.

Shoto was destined to fill his father's place. Already grown up into a fine mafia boss and Yukine grew up to be an excellent assassin. The best in the entire mafia, no one was a match for her and she took pride in that.

Yukine slipped a thin string through the crack in the roof. The string was practically invisible to the naked eye and even if Enji woke up it would be impossible for him to spot her in the darkness. Yukine has learnt about most plants, which were best for healing and of course which could be used as poison. Yukine pulled out a tiny glass vial containing a yellow liquid.

The string hovered above Enji's parted lips as he slept peacefully. Yukine used a plastic dropper and added the liquid to the string. She was well versed on the world's deadliest poisons and her current choice was nightshade, one of the seven deadliest plants in the entire world. Of course, she had diluted the liquid enough for its effects to occur but not enough to kill Enji. The drop of nightshade slipped in between his lips and Enji's eyes flew open.

Her poison manifested its effects in seconds and Enji was unable to move a muscle. He wouldn't be able to move unless he received the antidote and only Yukine had it and knew how to make it. She slipped the loose tile back into place and hurried to Shoto's room.

She slipped inside his room. Shoto was lying in bed as Yukine sat on the edge. He didn't feel the change in the weight of the bed but he knew she was there, like she always was. "It has been done."

Shoto sat up in bed. "Excellent." He left his room with Yukine by his side. Unfortunately, there would be a few obstacles in their way preventing them from reaching their goal. The first one being their father's right hand.

Kido had been working with Enji for years ever since he rose to power. He was very loyal to Enji and would support any decision he made even if Shoto opposed it. Yukine's protective instincts kicked in, she'd been raised to always protect Shoto. Yukine unsheathed a blade she had attached to her thigh. It took one powerful strike for her to pin Kido to the wall. Her blade pierced his shoulder and lodged itself into the wall behind him. Shoto's hand muffled his screams but it wasn't enough.

"Finish this quickly." Shoto instructed Yukine, he knew she always carried a weapon on her body. Yukine even slept with a knife under her pillow.

She nodded just as Shoto left her side. Yukine plucked the blade out of his body and watched Kido fall to his knees holding his bleeding shoulder. Yukine stood over his body trapped between his legs. She reached down, arms wrapped around his neck and she violently jerked his head to the side. His neck snapped in an odd direction still her hold and his mouth hung open in an O shape. Yukine's face betrayed no emotion.

'One down.' She wiped her blade over her black shorts. The blood smeared and hid itself in the dark color. Yukine was dressed specifically for her special mission, being a betrayal, she was prepared for the worst and would protect Shoto until his dying breath. Even if it meant having to slaughter the people she worked with.

Yukine donned a full black outfit, including a black crop top and shorts. She wore a black military utility belt with various pouches carrying all her necessities. Her thighs had multiple sheaths attached to them each holding one of her treasure knives. Yukine's wrists had maroon-colored gauntlets wrapped around each of them. Kido was loyal to a fault with Enji and Yukine was the same with Shoto.

She stepped over Kido's body, his cold dead eyes and gaping mouth stared at her retreating figure.

Kido's muffled screams had alerted some of the nearby guards. Enji's room was the only heavily guarded room in the manor aside from the Todoroki family vault. A grunt caught her attention and Yukine broke into a sprint. She rushed through the halls only to be cornered by a small group of men.

"Haruki. I didn't expect this from you." One of them said. From what she could see there were roughly seven of them, all taller than her and bulkier. But she had been specially trained to take down those twice or thrice her size.

It took her seconds to assess her surroundings and her opponents. Her only goal at the moment was to return to Shoto's side.

A man charged at her and Yukine pulled out her knife in a flash, she flung it at the man and he slumped to the ground with her knife protruding from his chest. The small group gaped at their fallen comrade but when they turned to Yukine with seething fury she was gone like a ghost.

Yukine appeared behind one of the other men, she tugged on his blond hair and split his throat open in one swift movement. He too slumped against the floor, blood gushing out of his neck. His hands clamped down on the wound trying to stop the bleeding but his attempts proved futile and soon his eyes lost their life.

"You bitch!" Another screamed. He sprinted towards her, Yukine saw it coming and ducked out of the way. Mafia members who lost themselves to emotions were always predictable and easy to read. Yukine on the other hand had full control over her emotions, keeping them locked away and making her unpredictable.

Just as the man who had run at her turned around, Yukine pressed her hand against his chest firmly. A blade shot out of her gauntlet, piercing his chest. Her gauntlets were programmed to spring out blades upon contact and her blades had been drenched in belladonna. Even a small nick of her enemy's skin would kill them.

Yukine spun around and landed a kick to another's face knocking him unconscious. Her arm sliced through the air as her gauntlet's blade sprung to life. It grazed another's neck and he was rendered unconscious. Slowly the poison would spread and eventually kill him. She grabbed a fistful of his green hair and buried her knife in his gut for good measure.

Another man with midnight blue hair charged at her, she easily jumped over him using his shoulders as a springboard. The man spun around confused and Yukine dug her knife into his stomach. She pulled it out and the man started leaking blood everywhere. The last one looked absolutely terrified. A short girl had single handedly killed all six of his comrades.

He tried to run away. He knew he had no chance fighting her. She was Shoto's best weapon just how Enji raised her to be. Yukine unsheathed another dagger hidden inside the black combat boots she wore. With one eye closed, she took aim and threw the dagger at the fleeing man. The silver dagger soared through the air and buried itself in his back with its black hilt protruding from it.

She was left alone surrounded in a pool of blood at her feet. Yukine collected all the daggers she had flung or that had buried themselves in the men's bodies. She couldn't afford to lose them, of course she could always buy new ones and Shoto would be more than happy to buy them but she loved the ones she had.

Once all her daggers were back in her possession, Yukine walked away in search of Shoto leaving bloody footprints in her wake. Eventually, she found Shoto after having to strike down a few other guards. He too had killed a few other men. She watched him snap another's neck the same way she had done earlier before he stood back up.

"You, okay?" A stupid question really, Yukine was the best of the best but she appreciated his concern. Yukine nodded once and they walked into Enji's room.

The tall old man still lay completely still in bed. His eyes wide and lips parted, he'd been listening to everything. The fights, the grunts as his children killed his own men and how they spoke to each other. Never in his entire life did he think they would betray him and make an attempt at his life. However, with the way he treated them he should have seen it coming.

Shoto sat at the edge of his father's bed holding onto a black folder while Yukine hovered nearby. She stayed near the door in case someone else tried to protect their boss. She would strike them down. Shoto lifted his father into a sitting position and the old man had a better view of the two betrayers.

Just as Yukine positioned herself near the door someone burst inside. Another man wearing a full white outfit. He held a knife in his hand too, his eyes fell on Yukine and he charged at her. Yukine stepped to the side, her hands clamped down on the base of his neck and his wrist. With that she pulled him forward and twisted the knife out of his hand. She used her body to pin him down and pulled out her own dagger.

She lifted it but the man was faster than her. He grabbed her hand, stopping her dagger mere inches from his face. Annoyed, Yukine pulled out another dagger strapped to her thigh and tried to stab with that. Her other hand had been blocked too. Shoto on the other hand, left the fighting to Yukine while he tried to converse with his father.

He threw the folder in his father's lap, papers escaped its dark clutches, Shoto wiped at the blood pooling at the corner of his mouth. Someone must have punched him pretty hard.

"Sign these if you want to live. You know Yuki is the only one who can cure you." Enji couldn't move any part of his body except his eyes which shifted between Yukine and Shoto. Soon his fingers began to twitch and he started regaining feeling in his right hand.

Yukine's annoyance changed to frustration. She would not allow this man to live and hurt her pride as the best assassin in the Todoroki mafia. Yukine struck him with a punch to the face before she pushed herself off him. Yukine made eye contact with Enji before she wiped at the blood splattered across her face.

Thinking Yukine had given up on him, he turned to the side holding his cheek. But his eyes found Yukine's. A mischievous glint in them. Yukine kicked the man in his stomach, a sharp pain seared through his body before he could register what had happened. His hand came down on his stomach and when he pulled it away, he saw it covered in a thick layer of red sticky blood.

Confused, he scanned Yukine trying to figure out what had happened and sure enough he found his answer. Because he noticed a bloody dagger emerging from the toes of Yukine's boot. Just how many daggers did she carry with her?

The man bled out on the floor. Shoto joined Yukine's side holding the same black folder he had arrived with. "Give it to him." Shoto said as he flipped through the papers checking if everything had been signed.

Yukine reached for her utility belt and extracted another glass vial containing a clear liquid. The antidote. She tossed it at Enji and the vial landed on the bed next to his hand. The two youngest members of the family watched their old man struggle to reach for the clear liquid with amusement shining in their eyes. Yukine always understood Shoto's orders, his orders were rarely ever simply, they usually held a hidden meaning that she always caught and executed.

Just like right now.

Yukine reached for her hair, it still held its position on top of her head, tied together by a Kanzashi hair stick. She pulled the kanzashi free, her white hair fell past her waist as she twirled the hair stick in between her fingers. Yukine flicked the hair stick and it changed into a thin blade. She flung the butterfly knife at Enji and it dug its home in his neck.

They left the room leaving a trail of bodies in their wake. The manor was extensive and his siblings and mother lived in a different wing of the manor.

"Come now, Yuki. The night is far from over." Shoto had a small smile on his face, one that would lead to nothing good. But Yukine would follow him to the depths of hell if that's where he would take her.

Without uttering a word Yukine followed him outside to the roof of the house. She already knew what was coming next but still awaited orders. The cold air nipped at their skin; their cheeks turned a soft shade of pink in the winter air.

Shoto glanced over the side of the manor. There were two levels of the outside of the house, both stationed guards. Those guards were like Kido, loyal to Enji. "Take those three out. I'll deal with the ones below you." Yukine was already leaning over the edge of the manor.

"At once." She whispered under her breath loud enough for Shoto to hear her. The unsuspecting guards beneath her talked to each other as they wandered around their post. Yukine flipped off the side of the building, she wasn't that far up and mastered the ability of sticking a landing safely like a cat.

The moment she landed Yukine broke out into action. She ran at the three guards with daggers extended from her gauntlets. She kicked and slashed her way through them. Yukine landed a punch on a man's chest and her blade dug through his flesh before Yukine pulled it back out harshly.

Yukine's blades retracted back into her gauntlets. Once she confirmed the men had been killed, she turned to face the sky. Shoto peered off the edge and Yukine gave him a silent thumbs up. He nodded once and disappeared from view.

She saw him again on the level below him. Yukine heard him speaking to the guards normally. He was a master manipulator and excelled at deception.

"Father says you guys can take five now." Shoto calmly stated. The two guards he was talking to exchange a look before they pounced Shoto. They knew Enji never gave them a break without a reason, and on the off chance he did Enji would tell them himself.

"How annoying. I thought that would work." He sighed softly. Shoto easily dodged the guards’ attacks as they swung at him. The fight was over in an instant. One guard had been tossed over the side of the building with a sickening crack echoing into the night. Shoto pulled out a revolver from the back of his pocket, he aimed it at the other guard and fired. The bullet dug a hole between the guard's eyes.

Shoto called for Yukine again. She leaped down the side of the manor and landed next to Shoto in a catlike position before she straightened herself. "You called?"

"Stay here. Guards must be on their way; the gunshots will have attracted them. I'll distract them. Our men will replace them soon." Yukine nodded and Shoto left her again. She eyed one of the guns perched on the side of the wall, her fingers ran across the sleek wood.

Yukine is a weapons specialist. She knows how to work most weapons, although, she greatly prefers her daggers she was accustomed to guns as well. Enji would always tell her to never bring a knife to a gun fight. Her response was always the same, "I can if I'm fast enough." In turn, his response was the same too, a slap across her face.

'Why am I remembering him now of all times?' Yukine scolded herself. In order to distract herself she plucked the gun off the wall and began toying with it, she adjusted its settings, loading and unloading bullets as well as locking and unlocking the safety of the gun.

In the distance she heard shouting. Shoto was right, the firing attracted more guards and she saw him emerge from the main doors to the manor. Yukine lowered herself into position. She lay flat against the dusty ground; he'd stolen rifle propped up under her chin. She peered into the scope and began adjusting the rifle to her liking while Shoto carried on a casual conversation.

"Sorry to alarm you all. I was just practicing my aim." He shrugged, everyone knew how hard Shoto worked and how he'd sometimes stay up to practice. "I promise, I would never fire unintentionally."

Yukine's eyes widened, he'd put emphasis on the word fire --a secret signal, and without hesitation Yukine pulled the trigger. The bullet whizzed through the air and struck the man closest to Shoto. His blood splattered across Shoto's face. Headshot.

With that chaos ensued. The remaining men all either stepped back trying to search for the source of the attack or tried to flee the scene. Shoto pulled out a pistol he had previously used and fired continuous shots at each of the fleeing members. Shoto didn't need cowards in his mafia, he only wanted those who were willing to follow him no matter what. And to achieve that he would kill those who fled.

Shoto handled the ones who ran away and Yukine took care of the ones who stayed behind searching for her or who tried to attack Shoto. The fight didn't last long. Although, they were severely outnumbered, the guards lacked any weapons. It was almost laughable, running towards gunshots unarmed. How stupid could they be? That's why they needed to be replaced.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. Shoto ceased fire to attend the call while Yukine continued to shoot at the oncoming guards. Each bullet struck their heads or hearts, some were shot in the stomach and left to bleed to death. By the time Shoto ended the call, all of the so called "brave guards" had been shot.

An army truck rolled its way up to the manor. As soon as it stopped a bunch of men leaped out holding guns and knives, they were the people Shoto had selected as replacements. He'd been planning this with Yukine for months behind his father's back. Everything would be perfect.

Shoto gave out instructions and appointed each man his position. Now that the fight was over, Yukine stared up at the moon before she returned to Shoto's room where she would wait for him.

Yukine discarded her dirty clothes and left her weapons under the bed. She turned on the hot water and took a well-deserved shower. The water at her feet turned pink as the blood washed down her body. She washed the dirt and blood out of her nails and hair until she was fully white again. Feeling refreshed, Yukine emerged from the bathroom in black lingerie to find Shoto standing in the middle of the room.

"You did great." His hand ruffled the top of her damp head. Shoto walked over to the side of the bed, Yukine grabbed one of his black turtlenecks and pulled it over her body. It was long enough to cover most of her thighs.

"What's that?" She sat next to him, her head leaning on his shoulder. They stared at the white envelope with a red wax seal in Shoto's hand.

He opened the letter and scanned the contents of the letter. They'd both had a long night and they were both tired so Shoto pulled Yukine down next to him. "What was that letter? What does it mean?" She tried asking him again. If he didn't reply then she'd drop it.

"It means our work isn't over yet. Go to sleep, we have a long day ahead of us."

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the-lady-writes-what · 4 years ago

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21. Hizashi Yamada and Shouta Aizawa

Theme: Fox spirits/gods

Kinks: Threesome, double penetration, biting, marking, praise kink, oral (receiving), breeding kink (if you squint), polyamory/polyandry

Sorry this is a little late. My brain was like, I know I said I was going to make these short one-shots but how about we make them bigger?

(The gif has nothing to do with the story, obvi)

Masterlist

You climbed up the many steps leading to the shrine. This was your last resort. The humiliation induced by your vicious ex-boyfriend still left gashes in your heart. Your curse was that you fall in love too quickly and are blind to all faults until it's too late. Your most recent misadventure in love had been so cunning, so cruel that you wasted three years of your life with a man who was, in the words of your best friends, a massive cunt. Manipulative, emotionally abusive, but the cherry on top was the rumor he spread about you having an S.T.D. you'd gotten while cheating on him. Mind you, he was the one with the sexually transmitted disease. You were spared because you hadn't slept with him in recent months. The sting was a deadly blow to your self-confidence and trust in men.

After months of battling depression and anxiety, your aunt suggested a remote village trip and visit this exact shrine. Upon arrival, you were acutely aware of all the women either paired off or visibly pregnant. You noticed this at arrival. It was small at first—a lot of couples paired off, two by two like swans. Then, when you approached the marketplace and asked for directions, you noticed how the shopkeeper was pregnant, along with her sister and sister-in-law. There weren't many single men or single women as far as you could tell. Even a male couple looked happy.

You wanted to burn this town to ashes.

It was insulting, really. You came all this way just to have happiness and love shoved in your face while you, the miserable wretch, were forced to pine. You tried not to scowl as happy couples passed you by. Keeping your eyes focused ahead of you was all you could do to avoid knocking the smiles off their faces. Now, here you were, mounting the steps to a shrine shrouded by pines and red maples. Leaves rustled on the steps, which drew your attention. Fallen leaves littered the stairs and the shrine's sacred grounds, but that seemed awfully unauspicious. Was there no groundskeeper, no shrine maiden, no priest to clear them away? As you reached half-way up the hill, you noticed the smell in the air. Not a bad smell, but it was pervasive all around. The scent invaded your senses. It smelled a lot like jasmine and patchouli. You didn't think much of it and thought it was just someone burning incense at the shrine.

Two masculine figures lounged in the garden. One looked indifferent while the other moped. The latter was blonde; it matched the protruding fox ears on his head and the fluffy, swishing tail patting his thigh. He rested his head on the lap of the former, who appeared much like him except his hair, ears, and tail were black as ink. This one wore an indifferent expression. He looked out into the garden as he made a mental list of all the things he had to do around the shrine. Weeds had encroached where they weren't wanted during the summer and now choked the garden. Fall arrived early this year and made the trees shed their leaves too soon. The steps, as well as the grounds and roof, were covered in maple leaves. The inside needed moping, shining, dusting, and replacing oil lamps. There was still the matter of the hole in the sanctuary's ceiling that needed mending. But was there any human around to do it? No. The last priest died over fifty years ago. Shouta, the black fox, and Hizashi, the blonde fox, had been left alone to answer the whims of pilgrims.

It was almost thankless work. Ensuring happy marriages, love matches, and fertility was hard work when one was forced to clean their own shrine. As long as they were tied to this spot, Hizashi and Shouta had no other choice. The only thing more embarrassing than a shrine-god having to clean up his own shrine was a homeless one.

"I'm starting to miss the old man," said Hizashi. "He was so much fun to drink with. At least he had a sense of humor. Unlike the other fuddy-duddies, they tried to send us."

A few months after the last priest's death, his congregation tried to settle another to take his place. The successor was stern and took his job too seriously for Hizashi's liking. 'He's too dull,' Hizashi used to complain. Shouta wasn't much of a fan either, but it was more due to Hizashi's constant sighs and complaints that drove him to chase the priest away. Shouta ensured that no other settled down for too long. As far as the pair was concerned, the priest who died fifty years ago was their last worthy priest.

"It's so boring and lonely up here. There's no one to play with," Hizashi complained.

Shouta rolled his eyes. Hizashi was in one of his moods again. Boredom took a toll more on him than his 'co-worker' and sometimes lover. It was easy to get bored of making love for fifty-odd years while still working a thankless job. Only occasionally did some old lady or grateful newlywed came to offer incense and drop a donation. Whenever there was money, even a scrap, either Shouta or Hizashi would venture down the hill to mingle with the humans for a little bit. Men or women often flirted with them, but they couldn't decide on a partner they could both enjoy. Instead, everyone was declined.

"Maybe we could call up Nemuri and see what she's up to?" Hizashi suggested.

Shouta gave a flat answer. "No."

Hizashi pouted and went back to his pouting.

"You're no fun," said Hizashi.

"I know." Shouta petted Hizashi's ears to placate him.

Suddenly, a shudder rippled through both of them. They looked at one another. A smile quickly spread across Hizashi's face.

"We have a visitor!" He jumped up at once and dusted himself off.

"We have visitors all the time," said Shouta, but this was a lie. Visitors became fewer after the summer once pilgrims got their desire.

"But did you feel that, Shouta? A poor, miserable, broken-hearted young woman just crossed the path of our statues, and she's heading this way. Don't you feel it? Oh, the poor dear?"

The shrine-gods knew the hearts of all those who entered. It was their specialty to work in all the matters of the heart and the bedroom. Sniffing out broken hearts was a talent they both shared, but Hizashi was the more sensitive one. A fractured heart held an aura that most humans couldn't detect by sensing it alone. Sometimes it was a trifling matter. This time, however, Hizashi felt far more significant pain. Betrayal called out to him like a widow. He hadn't even seen the woman's face but could smell her despair, hate, and ache from miles away. She needed help.

Shouta felt it too. He pitied the human and wondered what brought her to that state. His curiosity was peaked, which didn't happen very often, if at all. Her presence was a sad one, and it threatened to taint the whole shrine with her negativity. Negativity drew hungry ghosts and pesky imps like moths to a flame. All of that meant more work for him. Aside from wanting to protect what little dignity his shrine had left, it was his duty to help this miserable wretch.

"Can we introduce ourselves, Shouta?" Hizashi's bright green eyes twinkled with mischief, hope, and something else Shouta could not easily define.

Shouta weighed the pros and cons in his head. By the time he came to a decision, he could hear the woman walking into the courtyard. Her voice was carried on the autumn wind. She was curious too, likely wondering why a shrine was seemingly left abandoned and in disarray. It would be rude to let her go forlorn after a trek up the hill.

You passed under the second torii gates and a second pair of fox statues. There were no lion-dogs as you saw in most other shrines, but this one had a strong love for foxes apparently. You looked at the water in the pavilion used for ceremonial purification. You cringed at the slightly brackish water and used very little to purify your hands. As soon as you got to the nearest restroom, you were going to scrub your hands raw. Walking down the narrow path leading to the inner sanctuary, you kept noticing very odd things. The shrine was in massive disrepair with cracks, debris, and brackish water. It wasn't a complete eyesore, but something did not feel right. There was not a soul you could find; loneliness pervaded every inch of the place. You pulled your jacket tighter around yourself as you walked on. You found the spot where wishers and pilgrims wrote their prayers on wooden plaques to hang them up. While there were plenty of rustling in the wind, they weren't very many. You scrawled your desire for a loving partner, happiness, and to forget the man who wounded you so deeply.

You hung the plaque alongside the three dozen blowing in the wind. You went further ahead to pay your respect at the small public shrines built on the side of the shrine's complex. There were only two buildings. One foot across, seven feet long, and six feet tall, they were impressively big for small shrines. These were the only buildings uncovered by leaves and pines branches. You marveled briefly at their pristine appearance. In your bag, you brought along the incense your aunt prescribed. You retrieved two sticks of carnation incense and dipped the stick end in the bowl of sand. You lit the incense, clapped your hands twice, and said a prayer. You did this twice at both shrines.

You turned your back to face going all the way down the hill again when you spotted something at the corner of your eye. At first, it seemed like your mind was playing tricks on you. Out of the corner, you thought you saw a ball of glowing blue light flicker in the window of the main shrine. The main shrine was off to limits to everyone but the priests and shrine maidens. This was where the kami, the god, was housed and worshipped by the clergy. You turned to see if what you saw had really been there. Another flash of blue flickered in the window and then another. You swallowed hard, but curiosity pinched at you. You wanted to know. With a quick glance around, you wandered over to the main shrine.

You cut over the grass and walked into the oratory. There were no voices or footsteps other than your own. You called out to anyone who would be listening, yet no one answer was given. Your voice carried down the halls. However, just because no one answered, it didn't exclude the idea altogether that no one listened. The hair on the back of your neck stood on end as you drew closer to what you assumed was the forbidden connecting hall that led into the inner sanctuary, which was supposed to be off-limits to the public. As far as you could tell, no one was around to stop you or tell you no.

You took a deep breath and crossed the threshold. Your heart pounded inside your chest. The halls were so dark you had to grope around just to find a wall. You tried to turn around and head out only to get yourself more lost. It was as if you were stuck in a maze. Every direction looked the same, and turning around seemed to make matters worse.

In desperation, you called out, "Hello?"

Still no answer. You trekked further in the hopes of running into someone, anyone, and get them to show you the way out. You hoped that they had a flashlight on hand. You would barely make out your hand in front of your face if you held it up.

Another flash of blue had you whirling on your face. You whipped your head in that direction. Shivers ran down your spine as you felt a pair of eyes bore a hole into the back of your head. It didn't feel like something glaring at you, but the sensation frightened you nevertheless. You took off in the direction of the blue flash. Yet another appeared up ahead, further along than the previous. You started running after it. More appeared, and each grew more distinct in shape and color than the last. You managed to get close enough to hear the hiss and flicker of its fire. You stared at a ball of blue flames with its tongue licking the air. It disappeared into nothingness and reappear off in a different direction.

You found it hovering in front of a set of shoji doors. It disappeared once more. Lights flickered behind the rice paper. You pried your fingers against the seams and pushed the door open. Lamps lined the walls. They burned with pale blue and white flames behind their screens. You approached with caution and gripped your bag straps tight.

Wooden floors creaked beneath your feet. You mentally cursed yourself for dragging your shoes inside the holy place, but the longer you glanced around the room, the more it seemed that this was not an ordinary shrine. The room had a lower portion accessible by three steps, and a red mat covered much of the space. A shrine rested on the floor on the other side. In each of the four corners was a vase that held carnation flowers. Somehow, all the flowers were in perfect condition and thrived in the forgotten space. You stepped carefully towards the shrine when you felt something behind you.

You looked over your shoulder. Not something, but someone and just a someone but someones. It wasn't the fact that you finally met another person at the shrine or that they were men that gave you alarm. It was the ears sticking out on top of their heads, the tails swishing back and forth behind them, and the regal manner in which they bore themselves. The one in a black yukata folded his arms across his chest and looked quite serious, probably because you were trespassing. The other man wore a red yukata, but he appeared far more friendly than his companion. He smiled broadly at you as if you hadn't just broken one of the most sacred, unspoken rules about behavior at a shrine. You swallowed hard and bowed from the waist.

"I am so sorry for intruding, sirs. I-I didn't mean to intrude…I got lost and couldn't find my way out. I'll leave immediately if you just show me the way. I promise I'll never come back and disturb another shrine so long as I live!"

"Easy there, little sparrow. No need to get riled up," said the friendlier one.

Slowly, you raised yourself up. You looked at them again, still bewildered by their ears and tail. They were either the strangest priests you were likely to ever come across, or they were—

"What business do you have here?" Asked the more somber fellow.

"I-I" You choked on your words. "I had a boyfriend who did rotten things to me. I was hoping to, to, um, to…" Your voice trailed off.

You were too distracted by the fox ears on their heads. They looked too real to be fake, but how was that possible?

The blonde one snapped his fingers.

"My eyes are down here, love," he chuckled.

Your cheeks darkened with embarrassment. "Please, if you could just tell me how to get out of here, I'll leave you alone."

Your first instinct would be to bolt for the door. When you glanced behind them, the doors had been shut when you remember having left them open. Were these demons standing in front of you? Is that why the shrine seemed so empty?

"Leaving so soon? But you haven't even heard our proposal yet?" Said the blonde.

Your brows furrowed. "P-Proposal?"

The black-haired fox-eared man slipped something out of his yukata sleeve. It was your wood plaque you left hanging outside. His ebony eyes gleaned over your wish and read it aloud.

"I don't know who will answer this, but I want to find true love, a life partner who will never stick a knife in me and twist. A man, or frankly anyone who will love and care for me. Please bring me happiness and make me forget about the man who abused me for three years. Is this your wish, Y/N?"

Your face drained of color. "How do you know my name?"

"We have our methods. I'm Hizashi. The dour one is Shouta. It's lovely to meet you."

"W-what are you?" You ventured to ask.

"We're the shrine gods. It's been lonely up here for a while now. The priests haven't been to our liking for the last fifty years, so we're forced to take care of the place ourselves, which is rather insulting if you think about it," said Hizashi.

"And…what are you the gods of?"

"Love, fertility, happy marriages, love-matches, all that fun stuff," answered Hizashi.

"Are you the reason why every other woman I met in town is pregnant?"

Hizashi answered, "Of course. We've been blessing this region with successful pregnancies for centuries. There hasn't been but a handful of miscarriages in all these years thanks to us."

"We're not the cause of the pregnancies if that's what that face is for, Y/N. We just ensure that the infant comes to term and reduce sterility in men and women," said Shouta, who had apparently been studying your face very closely.

Your blush darkened.

"Otherwise, this town would be full of half-fox spirits roaming around, wouldn't it?" Hizashi laughed.

"Okay…" You thought for a moment about what you were going to say next. This was all too surreal, but this was better than feeling miserable. "But what do you want from me?"

Hizashi and Shouta exchanged looks. A soft smile crept upon Shouta's face.

"We'll grant you your wish. On a few conditions," Shouta began. "As you can tell, our shrine is in dire need of—what do you humans call it nowadays? T.L.C.?"

"Tender love and care?" You said.

"Yes. That. Our shrine has been in disrepair for some time, but as much as the villagers enjoy making offerings, they aren't too keen on cleaning it. As you can imagine, it's rather embarrassing cleaning up your own shrine," Shouta continued.

"So, what you're saying is that you'll get me a decent boyfriend if I clean your house?"

"We can do better than, little sparrow," said Hizashi.

You felt his eyes wander your body. You couldn't help but shiver. Out of fear or anticipation, you couldn't tell at this point. You might have been hallucinating for all you knew.

"How would you like to be the wife of a god?" Hizashi laughed again. "Or two?"

"W-Wife? I just wanted a boyfriend who loved me. I don't remember asking for polyandry. Besides, why would you tie yourselves to someone human and mortal."

"We can cross that bridge when we come to it," said Hizashi.

"What do you say? Help us repair the shrine, and you'll have something better than a boyfriend. It sounds like a good deal, doesn't it?" Asked Shouta.

"Yeah," you said incredulously. "A little too good to be true. What's the catch?"

"You would have to live here and 'maintain' the shrine's cleanliness and reputation. We could get someone to teach you to perform the kagura dance. Learn a few things that would make you useful around the shrine and to the villagers. A shrine maiden, for all intents and purposes."

That did even things out. You weren't tied to your apartment, especially since it still had the ghosts of your past boyfriends lingering in there. You didn't go to college, and you hated your job. Becoming basically a shrine maiden and marry a pair of fox-gods seemed like a step-up from your hum-drum life.

"Hypothetically, if I agreed to all that, how would we go about making it official? Are we to have a big wedding? Does Ōkuninushi* have to be involved? Is there supposed to be a ceremony we have to follow?" The questions tumbled out of your mouth one by one in your unusual state of mind.

"So many questions. To answer all of them in one go, here it is. All you have to do is enjoy yourself," said Hizashi.

Before you could ask what he meant, Hizashi closed the gap between you. His mouth was suddenly on yours, and his hands settled on your backpack's straps. Your load was unburdened by your shoulders. Hizashi's hands ran through your hair, holding your head hostage. You heard Shouta's footsteps come along beside you. He worked your shoes off your feet and your socks as well. When he arose, Shouta's hands found your waist. He snatched your head away from Hizashi to kiss you himself. From there on out, it was a frenzy of hands, mouths, and tongues teasing you.

The first thing to go was clothes. Hizashi and Shouta worked together to get rid of the annoying layers that kept them from feeling up more of your skin. Your autumn outfit suited the chilly weather outside but was ill-fitted for their current needs. Their hands peeled off each layer of clothing until you wore nothing but your bra and panties. Somewhere between removing each item of clothing, one of them summoned an extra-large tatami mat out of thin air. You landed softly on the sleeping mat, cradled between them. Their kimonos were disposed of in the same manner as your modern clothes, with one exception. They were both utterly naked underneath their yukatas. Your blush spread down to the top of your chest at the mere sight of their hardening members.

"You look so pretty blushing like that, Y/N," said Hizashi.

He took his place between your legs. Hizashi playfully snapped the hem of your panties. He seemed to enjoy your small yelp as the elastic snapped against your skin. Shouta sat on his knees and pulled your back flush against his chest. He unclipped your bra and tossed it aside. Hizashi pulled at your underwear until the fabric tore. You opened your mouth in protest, but all the words stopped in your throat to make room for the moan. Shouta palmed your breasts and tweaked your nipples into stiff peaks. Your ruined panties were forgotten as soon as Hizashi settled one of your legs over his shoulder, and he ran his long tongue along your slit.

"It's been a while since we've laid with a woman. You'll have to forgive us if we're a bit rusty," said Hizashi.

Hizashi ran his tongue along your slit again and hummed at your taste. His tongue dove between your folds and pinched your clit. Meanwhile, Shouta kept at his administrations to your chest and kissing your shoulders. You arched your back when you felt the tiniest pinprick of sharp teeth graze your skin. Shouta smirked at you and gave you a nice look at the fangs he had. Hizashi had the same situation going on. You could feel his teeth carefully caress your sensitive bits.

"Do you like my teeth, Y/N?" Asked Shouta.

You bit your lower lip and nodded.

"Then you're really going to like this." Shouta lowered his head to the spot where your neck met your shoulders.

He bit down, but not hard enough to draw blood. His hands continued to tease you while his mouth and teeth left dozens of love bites all over your neck. Hizashi pulled his head up from between your legs. He watched for a moment how your face twisted in ecstasy as Shouta marked your lovely skin. It didn't take long for the idea to get in his head that he should do the same. Hizashi brought his teeth against your inner thigh and nipped. He repeated the process over and over until both of your legs bore his teeth marks and hickies. You squirmed for them. Heat traveled in two directions, to your head and your lower belly. Hizashi resumed his task of fucking you with his tongue and added two fingers to help him in this endeavor. Soft squelches from you gushing over him was enough to make you never want to leave.

"You're so pliable, and your breasts are breathtaking," Shouta sighed next to your skin. "Are you about to cum, Y/N?"

You bucked your hips to the rhythm of Hizashi eating you out. Slowly, you nodded. Your fingers clutched Hizashi's head, mindful of his ears.

"Then," Shouta whispered the next part in your ear. "Cum."

Hizashi worked faster, pumping and licking your cunt. You grabbed for Shouta as pleasure ripped down your spine. Hizashi and Shouta shoved you face-first down the precipice. Your walls clenched tight around Hizashi's fingers and tongue while your jaws hung open. No one else could make you moan as loud as you did. And likely, nobody else ever will.

When Hizashi came up for air, his mouth and chin were drenched your essence. He leaned up, but instead of kissing you, he planted his lips on Shouta's. In turn, Shouta licked Hizashi's mouth to get a taste of you for himself while he was at. Shouta reached down and played with your clit while making-out with Hizashi briefly. You felt their members stand proudly against your body, and your inner walls clenched at the thought of one or both filling you to the brim.

Shouta and Hizashi kissed one more time. Hizashi peeled you off of Shouta just long enough for the latter to stretch out on his back. You were turned around. Shouta gestured with a 'come-hither' crook of his finger, and you crawled towards him. His hands grabbed your hips, made you straddle him, and pressed the blunt head of his cock against your slippery, wet cunt.

"Are you ready?" He asked. It was child's play holding you up like that with his cock more than ready to impale you.

You nodded your head. Shouta slowly, carefully pulled you down on his cock. It stretched you open again. You sank down on him until you were fully seated. You tried not to let your eyes roll into the back of your head. Shouta then grabbed your shoulders and pulled you down. Hizashi was right behind you, fisting his cock. He wasn't as big, but he was just as long. Hizashi placed his other hand on the small of your back. You felt his cock probe the area where Shouta was already preoccupied. Something clicked in your head. Shouta grabbed and clutched your hands. Beads of sweat ran down the side of your face while Hizashi brushed his cuck against your cunt.

"Look at me," said Shouta. "Look at me. You're going to be fine. We'll make you feel so good."

"So very good," Hizashi cooed.

You tightened your grip on Shouta's hands. You stared at his face as Hizashi pushed forward, stuffing you close to the point of damage. You were well-lubed up to take both of them, but in practice, this was your first time having two men fill you at the same time. Inch by careful inch, Hizashi pushed into your cunt. When he was fully seated, he let out a long sigh.

"I can feel both of you against, and it feels so good." Hizashi shuddered.

"Can you move?" Shouta asked Hizashi.

"Give me a minute."

You were given a few minutes reprieve, and in that time, you felt your lower belly swell. You felt them stretch you to impossible measures. Though tears stained your cheeks, you never felt more pleasure. The mixture of both pleasure and pain blurred the lines. It wasn't long before you were being pushed and pulled in either direction, their cocks fucking you deep.

Wet skin slapped against skin. The men you were sandwiched between grunted and moaned your praises at your ability to take them both so deep. There weren't any words you could say with any cohesion. Words became meaningless when being fucked into oblivion. Hizashi and Shouta worked in tandem. When one pulled out, the other plowed right in. Both cocks kissed your cervix as they drove themselves, and each other, wildly into your cunt. You felt fluids rush between your legs that mingled with your sweat. You squeezed Shouta's hands and buried your face in his chest.

Higher, higher, and higher still, you were flying. You bit Shouta's chest as their cocks thrust in and out. Your brain turned into mush at this point. All you cared about was getting fucked on their cocks forever. Little else mattered beyond that.

"I'm close," said Shouta.

"M-Me too," said Hizashi.

"Then let's finish it."

Without another word, they started to drive faster than before, and you thought it was impossible. Shouta returned your bruising grip and rammed upwards to meet Hizashi's downward thrust. They both moved quickly and headed towards coming undone inside you. You felt it too. Your walls spasmed and fluttered around both their cocks, though the stretch made it hard to tell. They shifted into an erratic pace rather than a smooth move. Their cocks drove harder into your cunt. Animalistic grunts filled the room as both Shouta and Hizashi slammed home. You screamed your climax just at the same time they did. You kept screaming while ropes of cum warmed your belly. You were moaning into Shouta's chest as you felt buckets of their seed filled your womb. There was nothing for you to wonder about why they were the gods of fertility and pregnancy.

Hizashi pulled all the out first. He massaged your shoulders while Shouta lifted your hips off him. Hizashi's long fingers dabbed some of the cum dripping down your thighs and pushed it back inside your weeping pussy.

"You gotta keep it in, ya, little sparrow. You want to be a good wife to your husbands, don't you?" Hizashi cooed.

*Ōkuninushi- mentioned in both the Kojiki and Nihon Shoki as the god of nation-building, agriculture, business, medicine, love, marriage, and fortune

#kinktober #kinktober week #my hero academia fanfiction #kinktober my hero academia edition #reader fic #hizashi yamada #present mic #presentation michael #present mic x reader #shouta aizawa #aizawa #eraserhead #eraserhead x reader #erasermic #erasermic x reader #poly #I'm also sorry it's ridiculously long

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giorno-plays-piano · 4 years ago

Text

Cry Little Sister

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, verbal threats, gaslighting, both reader and Peter are high school students, kinda slight incestuous undertones (the characters aren't related, though).

Words: 2214.

Summary: Your adopted older brother is not as nice as he seems, but no one is willing to believe you.

P.S. And yep, I used one of my favourite citations from Grishaverse in the end of this story. Hope you enjoy!

__________

"Peter, sweetheart, I knew you'd make it!" Your mother had clasped her hands together while your father patted Peter's shoulder. "The best test results in the whole class! My goodness, we need to celebrate it!"

You smiled at them tiredly, seeing the faces of your parents practically glowing. True, Peter was a damn smart guy. You had never achieved such high results despite all those nights you spent studying, while he didn't care much about it at all, it seemed. You hadn't seen him with a book yet.

"I'm gonna bake an apple pie for you." A smile of your mother made you feel bitter, and you averted your eyes, missing an odd look your older adopted brother sent you.

Half a year ago he finally came to live with your family once your parents finished gathering all the papers and waited for almost a year to receive "the call". You remembered how you had jumped happily in the living room along with your mom, believing it was finally over. Well, maybe it was over for Peter, but for you it was only a beginning. You could hardly imagine the sweet skinny guy who you considered very shy and bashful would change so drastically.

It started very subtle. First, Peter was trying to be helpful, assisting you when you did the housework - he was actually way better at cooking and cleaning than you and easily got praised by your mom. You were truly thankful to him for his help, especially since it was easier to get to know him while working together. It was then when you first spotted the odd looks he was sending you when he thought you didn't see. There was something... uneasy lingering in his gaze. You couldn't quite put your finger on it, but sometimes Peter made you shiver with the way he spoke or touched you discreetly. It was strange. Of course, the boy didn't do or tell you something that would make you worried, but you just couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. You blamed it on the fact you couldn't get accustomed to a new life with an adopted brother yet. Surely, it wasn't supposed to be easy?

But the more you spent time together, the stronger that feeling got. Despite Peter becoming a part of your family as easily as if he had always been your parents' son, you were wary of his sudden urges to touch you and always keep you in his sight. At first you thought he was just touch starved and needed human warmth. Maybe for Peter it was just easier to come to you rather than your parents since you were almost the same age as him. But then... one day you saw him going through your things and taking one of your lipsticks from your makeup bag. You suddenly remembered losing a lip gloss two weeks ago.

Trying to voice your concerns, you talked to your mom who was so insensitive she went to speak with Peter right away. Of course, he said it wasn't true and you had probably misunderstood him since he only wanted to borrow a pen. He even showed his table and wardrobe to demonstrate he didn't hide anything.

From that time Peter had changed. He didn't hide his unhealthy behavior from you anymore, and he was scaring you with the things he had done, keeping an eye on you when you were around and stalking you if you were not, never staying far away aside from the time he had to be in class.

Of course, he sensed that you were becoming resteless, less and less eager to spend time with him, blaming it on lots of homework or sudden meetings with friends. You weren't blind to his frightening affection - if you could call his feelings like that. Why was he doing it? Despite spending only several months living with you, your parents loved him dearly, paying him twice more attention than you. You had never protested against it, knowing a poor soul like him who didn't have his own family needed all the help he could get now. But this... this wasn't alright. This wasn't a feeling siblings should have for each other. Did Peter consider you one? Did you truly consider him your older brother? You weren't sure. Nevertheless, it still didn't feel right.

Carefully, you attempted to talk to your father about it, vagualy wording your concerns and giving him little details - sure, you didn't like how Peter was behaving, but he didn't deserve to be banished from your family and sent back. You still believed something could be done to set everything right. Maybe the boy just didn't realize things were not supposed to work this way in a family. However, your father laughed it all off. He said little girls like you were thinking too much of themselves lately, claiming the whole world was obsessed with them. Peter simply tried to be a good brother and look out for you.

You had never felt more humiliated in your entire life.

Dropping all attempts to bring Peter's unhealthy behaviour to your parents' attention, you decided there was just one thing to do - separate yourself from him completely.

No more doing the housework together, no more chats in the kitchen in the morning, no more having lunch together at school, no more cuddles in the evening. You kept yourself as busy as you could - in the morning you did jogging, at school you spent time with your friends, in the evening you were taking your books and doing your homework in the park, at your friend's place or anywhere convenient. Even though Peter tried following you, you had started to change places all of a sudden to keep him away from you.

This was when he had enough of you distancing yourself.

Suddenly, Peter fighted for affection of your parents with such ferocity as if you tried to strip him of their love. His gradea were suddenly way better than yours - he claimed he had finally felt safe in his new home and could spent his energy elsewhere. The way he behaved was even more sweet than before. On the other hand, strange things started happening to you: once your mother found your expensive satin blouse torn and blamed it on you and your carelessness; the other time the chicken you cooked was so salty it ended in a trash bin; your friend received threats coming from your phone number, though you had never ever sent anything like that to her.

It was easy to guess who was doing this to you, but Peter never admitted it out loud. Talking to your parents was worthless, too, as in their eyes the boy was a pure blessing. How could you blame him for things you did to catch their attention?

Shit. You knew something was wrong with Peter, but you could hardly imagine to what extent he could go to have his way. It was unbelievable a boy like him could manipulate people so easily, wrapping them around his finger. Why was he doing it? Everyone already loved him. Everyone but you.

"Y/N!" Your mother's sharp voice broke the silence, and you hurried downstares, finding your mom near the washing machine with a wet black sock in her hands. "Are you out of your mind?! Did you put your black socks in there when I said to bring your WHITE clothes?!"

"But I didn't!" You gawked at her, knowing perfectly you only brought her what she asked you to. "I swear I didn't!"

"Oh yes, of course, it's Peter who went through your dirty clothes to incriminate you, dear." She sneered at you. "You have to come up with a new excuse, this is getting old. Look what you've done, my white jeans are ruined!"

"Please, mom, I-"

"Go to your room. I don't want to see or hear you." She snapped, tossing the sock to the floor as you stared at her in horror. She had never been so irritated like in the past month when your "slip-ups" were happening more and more often.

Racing upstairs, you pressed your hand to your mouth, trying not to cry. Why was he still doing it to you? Why did Peter want everything to be like he wished? Why did your parents never believe you? It was you who was their true daugther, for God's sake!

Locking the door, you fell down on your bed, burying your head in your soft pillow. It started to become unbearable. Why was this all happening? Despite your growing hate towards Peter, you couldn't say that he was ugly and unpleasant. He was easy on the eyes and could be really nice to people around him, and it made Peter quite popular among the girls at school. Why on Earth didn't he set his eyes on anyone other than you? There were plenty of girls who'd be willing to date him and give him as much attention as he wanted.

You wiped away your angry tears with your pillow, biting on your lower lip. It was unfair, and you weren't going to give in to him just because Peter wanted to play with you like a spoiled child. You'd find a way to prove you weren't guilty of all those things he wanted to pin on you, you just needed to gather yourself and think properly.

Suddenly, you heard someone knocking on your window and rushed to it immediately: your room was on the third floor. Seeing Peter sitting on the bench of a tree, you gasped in shock. You opened the window right away, praying for him to stay still.

"Are you out of your mind?" You whispered in horror, holding out your hand to him. "What are you doing there?!"

He smiled at you like nothing was happening, taking your arm and crawling towards your window. In the next moment he was already inside your room, grinning like a kid and shutting the window behind himself. You furrowed your brows, your heart racing. Peter was insane!

"What if you slipped?" You asked him furiously. "Are you mad? Do you want to die?!"

"No, but you wouldn't let me in your room unless I came in the window." He admitted carelessly and smiled, reaching out to you and enveloping you in a hug. "I'm glad you don't want me to fall."

"You're out of your mind, brother." You grunted, trying to push him away, but his grip was only becoming stronger. "What are you doing? Let me go, please."

"But I want a hug from you. Is it so bad?"

You clenched your teeth, watching him angrily. "You just made my mom scream at me for that stupid sock. You think you deserve a hug?"

"I only did it because you're stubborn. It's your fault I had come to this, Y/N." His sickly sweet smile made you nauseated as you put your hands on his chest in attempt to keep him away. "Come on, why have you been acting so cold? I just want to be a part of your family."

"Are you serious?"

Your eyes could burn a hole in his face as you stared at him, getting more and more angry with his behaviour and trying to blame you for his own actions.

"This isn't like it should be in a family, Peter. We're siblings now. Siblings don't do it... l-like that." You felt your face growing hot as you became deeply embarrassed, knowing how your words could be interpreted.

"But we're not siblings, are we?" He tilted his head to the side, narrowing his dark eyes at you and smiling widely.

You growled in irritation, still unable to get rid of him holding you like a doll in his hands.

"If you don't want me to be your sister, what family are you talking about, then?"

"We'll, it's not the only family I can have with you, right?"

You stilled, unsure you understood what Peter meant as he chuckled with content, watching you getting more and more confused while he gently caressed your back. What other family he could possibly mean?

It took you a few seconds to realize he was talking about marriage between you two.

Your eyes popped out of its sockets. Was he fucking serious? That kind of family? No, he should have been out of his mind completely. He definitely had to see a psychiatrist or something!

"You're joking, aren't you?" You muttered, shocked. "You can't be serious!"

"But I am, sister." Peter's sweet smile was slowly turning sinister as he leaned closer to you, dropping a kiss to your temple as you shivered against him, wanting nothing but get away. "And you better stop with that silly attitude of yours if you don't want me to get real angry."

"And what are you going to do if I don't? What if I will tell everyone about this?"

He smirked, touching your forehead with his and closing his eyes for a second.

"I see you still don't understand." Peter whispered to you, watching you getting more and more nervous. “I will strip away all that you know, all that you love, until you have no one but me.”

___________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki @helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin @void-hoechlin @abyssaint @heeeyitskay @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @rosalynshields @brattycherubwrites @sllooney @angrythingstarlight

#peter parker #dark peter parker #peter parker x reader #dark peter parker x reader #spider-man #yandere #tom holland

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zakthefiend · 3 years ago

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The Shadow of the Night

(Happy Birthday @pebster! I hope this adds to the celebration very well! Damn it’s been awhile since I’ve done one of these hasn’t it? Life gets in the way, new hyperfixations, Tumblr constantly killing itself, same old and same old. Well I feel like I’ve written a lot from other sources so why not return to my first MMORPG with a bang! Tyrande VS Sylvanas! Night Warrior vs Banshee Queen! Personally I didn’t much care for the cinematic, looked nice but I’ve long since given up on Blizzard actually doing good with their characters. That aside, my personal thoughts on WoW deserves it’s own separate post and shouldn’t be here where I gift an old muse and friend of mine something she’s probably been wanting for a long time. So without further adieu, I hope you enjoy!)

Ciradel lunges forward with her moon blades ready, her Elven weapons focused on their mark and their serrated edges threatened to rend the Banshee’s neck wide open! Suddenly she feels a shadow over take her chest before a sudden force smashed into her chest and sent her hurdling back! Her back slams into the ground, the force shaking her to her very core as she tried to pull herself back up. The Warden could barely catch her breath from such an attack yet willed herself back on her feet. Her fellow wardens were trapped in the midst of battle with the Jailer’s forces, and only she could delay Sylvanas from completing her ritual at that moment.

“Damn it!” She curses, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth quickly as she coughed some up in her helmet. Her hands rested over her chest and felt the overall damage. A cracked breastplate would explain why some of her ribs feel almost like dust now. Ciradel tried to regain focus, focusing on her stance again before drawing her moon blade again. Her breathing was ragged but as a Warden of Elune she must fulfill her duty before death!

Sylvanas simply took a glance at her before refocusing on the ritual once more, her attentions better spent on something far more important than Elune’s attack dog.

The Warden tried to move but found herself stumbling too much and ultimately fell to her knees. She tears off her helmet and coughs loudly while sucking in as much air as she could. Her hands gripped the grass beneath her and watched it slowly change colors from teal to black and grey. She felt the plants wither in her gauntlets and further inspection shows it all but ash in her hands. The sight of it, the smell of death that now permeated the air, it flashed images of her home before her eyes. The devastation brought on by the War of Thorn and the burning of Teldrassil ran before her very eyes. The faint screams and dying flames filling her minds and dulling her hearing before ultimately succumbing to the crushing weight of despair upon her shoulders.

“Poor lost soldier...” Sylvanas says, lowering herself to the ground and standing over Ciradel with a slight smirk on her face. “So hard you have fought for kin and nation, to stand for Elune only to watch her leave you to your fate. It reminds me so much of an old life I once had.”

Ciradel looks up, but not with a face of fear or intense grief, she stares up defiantly to Sylvanas. Tears running down her cheek as her blood stained teeth gritted as she stares into the Banshee Queen’s scarlet eyes. “I do not fear you, banshee! Kill me and raise my body if you wish, but my mind and soul belongs to the Kaldorei! I will not forsake my people as you have yours!”

That smirk faded, and a dark look overcame the Banshee’s face before drawing her bow. “Then die braver than most, Warden.”

Ciradel prepared for the arrow to make it’s mark, and muttered her prayers before feeling something yank her from her armor collar with such a sheer force of speed that she had thought it teleportation! She quickly gathers herself and the situation, seeing the Banshee Queen almost yards away from where she originally was only centimeters from here the arrow was pointed at her head!

Then, she saw her.

High Priestess of Elune: Tyrande Whisperwind.

The woman who brought back the Night Warriors to the Night Elves after their darkest hour, the one to have stood against Azshara when she sought to bring Sargeras to the world, and the woman who lead the Night Elves through the many wars and battles Azeroth has had over countless centuries. She stood over Ciradel, almost a towering presence now with the powers of the Night Warrior changed her appearance more now. A moon hovered above her head like a halo, as the markings she had received from her transformation now dazzled like stars upon a night sky, and runes of azure blue glowed across her arms and legs as she held her glaive in her other hand.

She let go of the warden, and gave it a wave and suddenly Ciradel felt her body completely healed of all it’s wounds! She looks up to Tyrande, whose black eyes stared at Sylvanas with a hatred rivaled only by Maev’s loathing of Illidan and of the Xaxa’s himself!

��Go.” She said to Ciradel, treating it less like a demand and more like something she was supposed to do, “Aid the others with repelling these deathless mongrels from these lands. Sylvanas is mine to rend justice upon.”

The Warden looked between the two, feeling these two near demigods were about to engage had her prepared to leave. She stood up quick and looked to Tyrande a final time. “Shaha lor’ma, Tyrande. Elune-Adore, an Andu-Falah-Dor!” Ciradel fled the scene to return to the other Wardens at the battle, leaving those two alone to their battle.

(Darnassian: ”Thank you, Tyrande. Elune be with you, and let the balance be restored!”)

______________________________________________________________

The tension in the air was thick enough to cut it with an axe, the two Elves who walked the path of vengeance were faced to face once more. Their previous fight back on Azeroth, where Tyrande had caught up to Sylvanas was interrupted and left unfinished until now. The peerless void filled eyes glared towards Sylvanas, returning the stare with a scowl as the memory of their last fight still burned in her mind.

“So. You found me once again. Did you wish for an award of some kind?” Sylvanas starts, opening her hands and closing them around twin shortswords of Quel’dorei design now warped to reflecting her darker attire now.

Tyrande took out her other Glaive from behind her, and did not hesitate with her answer. “Your head.”

Sylvanas nodded, removing her cloak and tossing it aside and shaked her head free of her cowl before smugly responding to her hunter: “Then come and try.”

Tyrande lunged forward, slamming her galives against Sylavanas’s blades and used her weight to swing the other blade at the banshee’s arm. Sylvanas quickly ducked beneath the swing and pulled her blades down with her and moved in to stab Tyrande in her gut but watched her swing herself out of the way for another slash to the Banshee Queen!

The two Elves were caught in a dance of blades and swords, each moving to a different tune and song of battle and war. Tyrande heard and felt the drums of the Kaldorei beat and boom as thunder inside her mind as she swung and spun herself with the weight of her blades and body against Sylvanas. The Banshee however felt the solemn sounds of a lute strummed and played louder and quicker within her, her parry’s and dodges and counters constantly keeping the other on their toes the entire fight. Neither dared to use their magic for this fight, as this was an almost ritualistic tradition that both Elven women of their races held close to their heart. With every swing that cuts the Banshee, the Priestess felt a stab to the exposed flesh of her armor. With every missed slash of the short swords came the near death experience of the magical glaives coming towards her neck. While the music within them played to different tones and themes, it was the same song that began to control their movements in an almost entranced way.

It ultimately ended when Sylvanas pierced Tyrande’s midsection with her blades, watching the woman drop her weapons from over her head to the ground. It was over.

Sylvanas won.

That is, until Tyrande gripped her fists together and swung a hammerfist across the Quel’dorei’s face! Sylvanas immediately stumbled backwards from the sheer force of the swing before forced to stop when Tyrande stomped her foot down on top of hers and swung a right hook across her face! She pulled her arms up to guard her face from the next punch, but felt an uppercut to her gut nearly shook her entire armor!

Sylvanas forced her foot free, and quickly side stepped the next punch and quickly backed away from the Night Elf to formulate a counter. Unfortunately Tyrande was on top of her the entire time and refused to give her a moment of rest. The next swing slammed into a tree and the bark practically exploded off from the force of the punch! Her knuckles bloodied from the swing, she gritted her teeth towards Sylvanas who used her new powers to bind Tyrande in shadowy chains long enough to catch her breath. In that moment, she realized that the Night Elf still had her swords firmly implanted into her gut! Before anything else could be discovered, a beam of light blasted down from the sky and blasted the Banshee onto the ground! She rolled onto her knees, snapping her fingers as the swords faded away and her bow was summoned into her hands. She quickly took pot shots at Tyrande, who now dashed to grab her Glaives from the ground. She was quick enough to dodge most of the arrows but felt one firmly implanted itself into her shoulder! She let out a quick groan before rolling for her weapons and quickly wielded them to block the next volley of arrows and slashed one in half before charging at her once more.

Sylvanas quickly realized the position she’d be in again if Tyrande was to close the gap again, and transformed into her banshee form to fly out of reach! Just as she turned to fire a shot at the Night Warrior, she saw Tyrande had blasted herself at Sylvanas with a mighty leap and slammed herself into the other Elf and the two came crashing back down to the ground below!

The air around them swirled with a blackish blue dust cloud, before it revealed Tyrande having impaled Sylvanas in her shoulders. Tyrande pinning her as the markings slowly faded, having expended much of her power to healing the stab wounds in her gut and that powerful leap. She kept herself over the Banshee by kneeling over her midrift. The Quel’dorei groaned in pain as she struggled to fight the Night Warrior off her body.

Tyrande leaned close to the pained expression of Sylvanas with a calm fury over her face, before speaking to her in a cold tone: “For Teldrassil, and Elune’s mercy be upon you.”

She pulled her glaive’s out from Sylvanas’s Shoulders, and impaled her in the chest with her weapons! The Banshee cried out, her hands trying to pull the blades out of her body while cutting her hands on the harsh steel of the blades. This pain forcing her to remember her final moments alive at the hands of Arthas all those years ago, forcing a boiling rage to swell within her at being reminded of such a hated memory. Her head rolled back as the pain shot through her body, her eyes burning with fury and pain as she looked back at the one who had done this to her.

In her eyes, she saw no joy nor satisfaction in this act. There was no pleasure in this act of vengeance. No glee or pride found in the Priestess’s eyes. Instead, she saw only pity. She almost saw a hint of regret behind her cold glare, as if she wished she didn’t have to end this life.

Sylvanas breathed heavily, her breathing ragged as she looked at the Night Warrior who kept the blades embedded into her body. She smirked up to the woman, feeling her blood escaping from her mouth.

“I... I suppose this is wh... where you take my head then? Well go on. Your trophy need only a swipe to claim. Ash karath, Tyrande Whisperwind.”

(Darnassian: “Do it, Tyrande Whisperwind.”)

Tyrande pulls a glaive out from her chest, and raised it over her shoulder. She looked down and took a deep breath, “Selama Ashal’anore.”

(Thalassian: “Justice for our people.”)

Just as she swung down, just before her blade could meet the banshee’s neck, she was interrupted by the Jailer’s minions and slammed off Sylvanas. She was pulled away, as the invading forces retreated and left Tyrande behind. She tossed her Glaive at them, but missed as they were too out of range for her. She watched them get further and further away, her breathing quickening as her anger soon boiled over, and she released a blood curdling scream as loud as she could that echoed across the realm!

Tyrande had won, but failed to finish off Sylvanas this time.

(Author’s note: I know, I know, I know, this is a shitty ending. Look we all want Tyrande to put down Sylvanas after all the shit that had happened between them. Hell, I’m hoping they duke it out and the cinematic gets the animation of Saurfang V Sylvanas! But for now, until we get to see where the story goes, she gotta stay alive. Still, I hope you still enjoyed this fic and hope you have a wonderful birthday Pebs.)

#pebster #pebe-art #pebsterino #Tyrande #Tyrande Whisperwind #Lady Sylvanas #Sylvanas #Sylvanas Windrunner #world of warcraft #WoW #Shadowlands #World of Warcraft Shadowlands #not my art #my writing #canon characters #Ciradel #not my character #zakthefiend

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creativeashproductions · 4 years ago

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A Distant Dream V // Luke Patterson

Summary: In 1994 seventeen-year-old Luke Patterson had once again tried to ask out the girl that held his heart. With the belief he would see the younger Mercer girl the next morning he decides to wait confess his feelings. Only to have soft music bewitched the reader into an antique wardrobe with lots of history.

Warnings: Swearing, angst, heartbreak, fluff, talk of death and fluff.

Words: 4.4k

A/N: We’ve come to the end of the Distant Dream mini-series. I truly enjoyed writing this with my whole heart. @merceret I told you I’d use Lucy’s Cordial somewhere in the series. All parts are located in the linked masterlist.

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Masterlist

The massive changes between the ’90s and 2021 slowly but surely started no longer seemed startling as it had been at first. Carlos had helped you assimilate to homeschooling once he’d admitted he knew about the boys. Ray was still kept in the dark.

2020 ended on a high note. Mostly. With the years in Narnia providing you with the knowledge you flew through schooling. Then you took a job as a waitress at a coffee shop, one similar to the shop the band performed in. The downside to the end of the year was for the band.

Despite performing at the Orpheum, the band hadn’t received as much traction as Luke had desired. They were a step closer to the dream but not as far as the entire band had wished. During Julie’s Christmas break, Luke had overworked the band with little breaks.

“Hide me.” Julie hissed from behind the counter of Ancient Grounds. The Puerto Rican musician escaped the studio to have lunch with you.

Unfortunately, Julie failed to see that without the entire band together, Luke would go to what makes him just as happy. You. That’s precisely what happened as Luke walked in through the entrance of the coffee shop.

“He’s still pushing more practice?” You asked, stacking the clean mugs on the shelf with complete focus. How odd it is to go from being Queen to working in a city as a waitress.

“I love him like a brother, but I feel like my fingers are gonna fall off from playing the piano constantly.” Julie sighed, sliding down the counter to sit on the floor hidden from the approaching guitarist and from your manager.

“Hey!” Luke grinned once his hands fell on the counter to lean over on the balls of his feet. His lips pressed against your right cheek before he fell back onto his feet.

Not a single soul in the half-full Ancient Grounds batted an eye to your awkward stance when Luke kissed you. Not since the boys had become tangible and visible to the general public when they wanted.

“Look to decide to grace me with his presence.” You teased. Your foot nudged Julie in her thigh to urge her to crawl to the end of the counter.

“I have no clue where Julie is. Reggie dipped to join Ray in his errands, and Alex is somewhere.” Luke shrugged, stepping aside when an older gentleman dropped a tip in the jar before leaving.

“Pick a number.” You told the male with one of your dimples on display.

“Eleven,” Luke responded, bouncing on the balls of his feet at the regular game you played together.

Each visit, you’d split a dessert from the menu with Luke along with his favourite mug of tea and your drink of choice; even he knew he didn’t need caffeine with his energy. That was Luke’s favourite thing of being brought half alive from the golden glow they’d received. You were sure Reggie had cried upon eating your Tia’s best recipe.

“Nanaimo Bar Cheesecake. A limited-edition from our Worldwide Treat menu. It’s Canada’s month.”

Luke followed to the counter’s end, where the sweets were kept on a glass viewing shelf. With careful movements, you slid a perfect triangle of the cheesecake onto a beautiful plate. The half-ghost retrieved it to your favourite spot in the garden patio. Julie used the time to sneak out the door with Luke’s back to her.

“What is a Nanaimo Bar?” Luke questioned upon you joining him at the iron-wrought table. One teacup accompanied by a teapot with Luke’s tea and a mug of your drink on an emerald tray.

“It’s a no-bake dessert. The base is a chocolate graham cracker and coconut base with the middle layer a cream filling. The top layer is a thin layer of semi-sweet chocolate.”

Luken nodded, “Ancient Grounds loves cheesecakes.”

“Addie adores inventing new versions of cheesecake. Her best is the Creamsicle Cheesecake during the summer. A staple on the menu.” You responded with a twinkle in your eye. You may not look like the Queen you once were, but you were just as invested in learning about people as you’d done with the Narnians.

“What’s your favourite dessert?” Luke questioned.

“I’m pretty partial to the chocolate cookies Addie makes.” You grinned, leaning closer to the male across from you. You hesitated in continuing, “In Narnia, the pastry chef Cair Paravel employed always had these gorgeous desserts with Edmund in mind. Turkish Delights with a secret ingredient.”

Luke’s smile grew as you talked about the other home you had. A place you rarely spoke about now. You hadn’t even returned to the basement to see the wardrobe like you had before.

“I wish I could have seen Cair Paravel. It always sounds so magical when you talk about it.” Luke’s tone was wistful paired with the twinkle of his hazel eyes.

“It’s a breathtaking place. Everything is lively in Narnia, and after the Witch was defeated, we ruled peacefully for the most part.” Your e/c eyes unfocused on your surroundings to recall all the wonderful times spent in Narnia.

The times you shared a table with Mr. and Mrs. Beaver in their home over the years snacking on the homemade jams. To the times you listened to Mr. Tumnus playing everchanging lullabies on his flute. Even walking the beaches with Lucy in hopes of catching sight of Aslan again. Of gossiping with Susan over the many suitors that came for her hand.

“If you could do it all over again knowing the outcome, would you still do it?” Luke questioned with a tilt of his head. He’d shed the flannel jacket as the sun rose higher in the sky.

You nodded, “Absolutely. The Pevensies were some of the greatest friends one could ever hope to have.”

As usual, Peter wasn’t spoken of in light of the ache that resonated in your heart and the awkwardness Luke felt. A poor choice of avoiding your once husband instead of communicating on the topic.

“Have you ever thought of trying to find them?”

“No point. Peter would be ninety-seven now as the oldest, and Lucy would be eighty-nine. If I recall, it was 1940 for them when we went to Narnia. It’s possible Peter may have joined the war in ’42 when he was eighteen, so who knows if he lived.” Luke was surprised by the nonchalant reaction to the potentially grim outlook on your former in-laws.

However, Luke knew the truth, that you greatly missed the four people who became family during your disappearance. You could fool Julie and Reggie, but you could never fool Alex or Luke no matter how much you tried.

“I’ll see you at home? My break ended.” You swiftly cut off any more talking of your former life. Luke merely watched as you stacked the dirty dishes, only leaving Luke’s cup and teapot.

“I should get back. Julie’s most likely back in the garage from sneaking back.” Luke’s hand pushed through his messy curtain of brunette hair. His words revealing that he’d known Julie had been in Ancient Grounds the entire time.

“How’d-”

“When she sits on the floor, she taps the heel of her shoe on the floor. Same rhythm.” Luke smirked as he chugged the last of the tea, “Don’t tell her. I like when she fights a smug smile with that certain light in her eyes.”

The brotherly role Luke had taken on with the Molina girl was heartwarming, to say the least. Sometimes Julie would begrudgingly ask for advice about her feelings for Nick to Luke’s amusement. He adored being able to tease her.

“I’ll see you later.”

The boy dropped the correct change for the tea on his way out the door into the bright sunlight. Like clockwork, he’d turn into the alley to become intangible to poof back to the studio.

The rest of the day passed by like a breeze in the coffee shop with the late lunch rush and then the dinner rush the busiest time. Jess gave you a ride home in her truck as usual with a promise of a cupcake of Julie’s as payment.

“Did you see him?”

The sudden voice startled you so much your hand couldn’t help but grasp at empty air by your side. Alex screeched as you swung to face him on the Molina driveway.

“Alex! Good Aslan, you startled me.”

“...were you reaching for a sword?” Alex questioned, appalled by your reaction. Your e/c eyes rolled in response.

“Isn’t the saying old habits die hard?” You prodded the baby blue of Alex’s long sleeve shirt. One of the shirts you’d often stolen from him, “And no. I didn’t see Willie.”

Your heart clenched as soon as Alex’s shoulders dropped in defeat once more at the absence of the skater. It had been months now with little sightings of the skater you had yet to meet. The boys kept your presence on the down-low to avoid Caleb’s interest.

“I hope he’s okay,” Alex muttered under his breath. The elder Mercer began gnawing his lower lip in worry.

Gently you interlaced your hand with his hand, his deft fingers playing with the braided bracelets on your wrist. The bracelets had been a Christmas gift from Julie and Flynn with the colours of the sunrise. It grounded Alex more often than not.

“You told me the Club travels around the world. Maybe Caleb’s not in America; maybe his ego needs to recover from his loss.” You shrugged, tugging the teenager into the house. Ray barely waved from his work computer.

Ray Molina had welcomed Alex, Reggie and Luke into the family when he met them in person the day after the Orpheum performance. He’d accepted that Alex was your older brother and had been in Switzerland for boarding school. He understood that Luke and Reggie came as a package deal with Alex, so the boys had worked to clean out the basement.

A few visits to second-hand doors brought furniture for the basement renovated into the boys’ shared suite. Alex still spent most nights in your room; he still feared you'd disappear from his life again.

“I hope you’re right.” Alex muttered in false hope that something would go his way for once, “Oh! The band received an invitation to some underground music festival in England during spring break. We’re hoping to convince Ray and Julie’s aunt to let us go.”

And you could see the band practices would be growing for that breakthrough with the band. And you were correct in your guess merely hours after going to sleep.

At five in the damn morning, Luke burst into your attic bedroom to drag your less than enthusiastic brother from his sleep. You bet your ass you hit the teen in the face with your pillow, which meant you had to crawl out of bed to retrieve the pillow.

“Asshole!” Alex exclaimed as Luke roughly poofed both of them to the studio. Julie swaying sleepily in her sweater and pyjama pants, waiting for the two.

Spring Break 2021 (March 26-April 2)

The youngest member of the tourists proudly displayed her smile, catching sight of the bed and breakfast in the English countryside. Julie had been floored when Ray had given his permission to the foreign festival.

Ray couldn’t hide his excitement for the band, plus all-expense paid, receiving the invite via a relatively small record company.

“First birthday back together,” Luke spoke from your side. Hands intertwined together in the cool wind of England. His arms were covered by his flannel coat in the unfavourable weather of the day.

You hummed, “Never thought I’d be celebrating my seventeenth birthday in England during 2021. Besides, I’ve already been seventeen.”

“I always knew I’d bring you to all the countries in the world.” Luke’s tone was matter of fact, staring at the stage being built under a woman’s guidance in her mid-30s.

The bed and breakfast had a lovely history your tour guide Martin had enthusiastically told on the train ride from the city.

The man with spry greying hair pointed towards the old train station providing facts that interested most of the group. Luke’s arm tossed over your shoulder focused on the songbook, a new one, open in lap. Luke and you had slowly but surely evolved from shy brushes of skin to holding hands and then Luke’s arm over your shoulder. Chaste kisses on cheeks while you reassimilated into the dating world.

“In 1940, this train station deployed countless trains filled with evacuating children away from London during the Blitz. Filled with returning soldiers, mothers sending children to safety and children were torn from all they knew. Each child had a tag to identify them.” Martin explained intently, speaking to the group his organization had assigned him to.

“Where did they go?” Reggie curled into the travel blanket he’d bought specifically for the trip.

“Anywhere safe for them and where they could be cared for.”

“This route is one of many the evacuations used. The bed and breakfast we’re heading to holds a great history as well. It was once the Manor of Professor Digory Kirke during his life and passed down through generations throug-”

Martin’s story faded into the black abyss as sleep took you over by the soothing motion of the train and Luke’s warmth. Luke met the gaze of Alex. The two guys shared a sweet smile solely for the relaxed features of the younger Mercer.

“This is just another step in our journey for Julie and the Phantoms.” Your words warmed Luke Luke when he noticed you cemented your position in his life. You saw yourself in the future of Julie and the Phantoms as a faithful supporter and friend.

“Luke Patterson, correct? I’m Eva.” Your eyes widened, meeting the eyes that reminded you of someone. Just on the tip of your tongue, “My wife Diana will be a few minutes. We’re still getting the stage put together.”

“It’s so nice to meet you. How many people are you expecting?” Luke questioned the older woman. His mind snapped into business mode for the band.

“This is our fourth year putting on the festival at this location. This is the first year we added a wild card option for fans to vote on. Your band rocketed ahead of the other bands.” Eva explained, keeping her eyes on the woman you dubbed as Diana. The pure love in Eva’s eyes is a call to the yearning in your chest.

“I thought a recor-”

“Technically, yes, a record company flew you out. Diana started a small record label a few years back. Cair Oom Records. She’s the first person in both our families to step into a non-traditional career.” Eva explained to the now interesting young couple.

Luke was interested in the record label’s history, whereas you focused on the label’s name. Cair Oom. A call to your Narnia days you remembered.

“Cair Oom?” You interrupted the conversation in pure curiosity. Your eyes drinking in the features of Eva, her freckles and brown eyes mirroring a person from your past.

“The label name?” Eva continued once you nodded in response, “It’s from a childhood story my family passed down. Diana was close to my great-aunt before we moved out here to run the bed and breakfast.”

“Of a dream of a dream. Spare Oom.” It was whispered in the breeze straight in your ear of a voice you vividly recalled—the disembodied voice with the same freckles as Eva but with chocolate brown hair instead of strawberry blonde.

“Y/N? You coming?” Luke’s concerned hazel eyes bore into your distant ones wandering the hills of the property. You hadn’t even noticed Eva leaving towards the Manor.

Your e/c eyes search for the owner of the youthful voice but come up empty. The only people you saw included your group with the odd workers setting up under Diana’s supervision.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Luke stepped right up in front of you, “You’ve been out of it since Eva mentioned the record label.”

“I’m fine. I’ll be right back.” You mumbled, following the woman up the path. Luke stared lost as you disappeared into the door. Eva entered.

The woman stood outside a door within the home, “I never knew what she meant. Not until I saw you Y/N.”

Your foot stumbled back when Eva turned with a soft smile you vividly recalled on a certain Pevensie. Eva unlocked the door to a room with only a picture hung on the wall.

“Narnia.” You breathed, stepping right up to the detailed painting of Cair Paravel. Your fingers tracing the beautiful frame holding it up.

“Correct. My Great-Aunt, in her adult life, adored painting in her past time. It was rare she told Narnian stories, but my mother loved them so much she told them to me as a child.

“Who’s your-”

“My name is Lucy Eva Baker. I was named after my other Great-Aunt, but I prefer going by Eva.” Eva’s words pulled a deep gasp from your throat. Tears building as the truth settled in the room.

Eva shared the same smile and brown eyes as Edmund Pevensie did, even the mature aura wrapped around her. The maturity Edmund had grown into during the fifteen years in Narnia. Without a shadow of a doubt, Eva Baker was the granddaughter of your former brother-in-law.

“Your-”

“Edmund’s granddaughter.” Eva finished with a sympathetic smile, “You featured heavily in each story. I always knew Narnia wasn’t merely a story.”

And then the conversation stuttered when you finally noticed Eva spoke mostly of learning of everything by her mom and Susan. Not a mention passed Edmund being her granddad. A piece of your heart broke, and it seemed the older woman saw it happen.

“W-what happened to…” You couldn’t even choke the question out in the room. Eva’s hand reached out to grasp yours in her own hand.

“I can’t tell you much as that reason that will become clear but in 1949 just shortly before my mom was born there was an accident. Grandpa Edmund and Peter were waiting for the train at the station. The train wrecked, killing the train occupants and many people in the station.” Eva was quick to catch you as a piercing grief-stricken scream exploded in the room.

In the Manor’s tea room, the band and Ray enjoyed a genuine tea time with Diana. Ray and Diana traded stories of their young sons while Reggie restrained himself to savour the food. English tea time begging for genuine manners.

Luke raised his cup to lips before it dropped to the saucer upon an exploding anguished wail from upstairs. Thankfully the cup didn’t break as the American guitarist sprung himself in the direction of the wails—Alex hot on his heels with a call to his friends.

Your screaming drowned out the furious stomps of feet racing in the halls of the Manor to the entrance of the room. Luke’s heart shattered at the pure anguish coating your broken features. Alex roughly pushed his way to tug you into his arms.

Alex’s large hand cupped the back of your head while he rocked you in his arms, “Shh. Let it out.”

“No!” You screamed into Alex’s shoulder. You couldn’t acknowledge Luke’s comforting hand on your shoulder, “N-no.”

“I got you. I’m here. I’ll always be here.” Alex murmured in your ear so softly you almost didn’t catch what he said. Luke dropped to his knees by your side. The three teens unaware as Eva excused herself for your privacy. Eva had watched her great-aunt Susan break every time she spoke of her late siblings.

Seconds passed or maybe years as it seemed to happen to you. But soon, you simply rested against Alex staring at Susan’s painting. Barely blinking in the room causing you suffering. You barely responded to anyone as you battled the grief. You faded in and out of daydreams as the bands performed. Days mixed together. Time didn’t exist to you. You were aware enough when Julie and Ray invited you to shop in London.

To everyone, including your surprise, you agreed. The three half ghosts joining in fear you’d shatter again. Eva and Diana held hands watching the car disappear in the distance carrying a group of musicians. An echo of Eva’s words replacing in the back of your mind.

“Three of five drink at high tide. Four of nine and five of nine stand apart by time. A drop of Valiant’s potion will begin the time once before frozen.”

“Are they-”

“Yes.” Eva spoke before her wife could finish the sentence, “She’ll be returning to Narnia. Decades separating her from the Pevensie siblings.”

Eva was correct. At the station, the location was painful as it was Lucy, Peter and Edmund’s last place they’d been alive. Ray disappeared to use the restroom, leaving the five teenagers to wait for the adult.

“Ouch!” You exclaimed, rubbing a spot on your arm with a grimace. Your eyes glaring at your tall older brother, “Don’t pinch me!”

Alex shook his head, “I didn’t pinch you!”

“Luke!” Reggie squealed, jumping away from the guitarist with a pout on his full lips. The bassist rubbing his stinging cheek, “These cheeks are reserved for my Grannie!”

Luke scoffed at his friend, “Why would I risk the chance of you biting off my finger Reginald?”

“We have bigger problems than whose pinching us! I’m losing my damn mind! First three himbos fall out of nowhere, then a girl trips out a magic wardrobe and now this!” Julie snapped, staring at their environment in the train station tunnel, “I need to be committed!”

You watched breathlessly as a strong gale storm literally tore pieces of the train and the walls of the station apart. Through the train windows, you watched as a bright blue sky increasingly grew. The colour is so clear and vivid in only one place you knew.

The train blew by. The wall behind you changed into stone—the floor into the sand.

“What the fuck?” Alex demanded, twirling around on the new scenery of a beach in what was supposed to be a train station. The poor male kept being thrown off-kilter since the alley in 1995.

You knew deep in your heart where you were. Especially when four people of different heights stood with their backs to you. One individual, the shortest, turns upon feeling eyes on her back. And at the same time, you spoke.

“Lucy!”

“Y/N!”

The two girls ran straight into each other’s arms sobbing in elation and relief at finally seeing each other after a long year apart. The seven additional people who joined the duo collapsed on the ground. Alex cleared his throat.

“Y/N? Are you going to intro-”

“That’s Queen Y/N.” Peter snapped towards the stranger with a pink sweater on. Peter could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen a man wear pink.

“That’s my sister.” Alex snapped, standing at his full six-foot height, pinning a glare on the other teenager. Peter scoffed in response. His face faltering upon finding your hand encased in a male shorter than the blonde.

Without a shadow of a doubt, Peter knew this man was the unseen third person that filled every conversation and room between Peter and Y/N. Peter was very much aware that you weren’t in love with him. He lived with the knowledge for a decade, pretending it was he that you deeply loved. Seeing the person holding your heart hurt.

“This is my brother Alex Mercer and our friends Julie Molina, Reggie Peters and my...this is Luke Patterson.” You gestured to each of them; the Puerto Rican musician shell shocked. Julie now knew why that talking lion you spoke of sounded familiar. Narnia had seen one other visitor years before Julie was born.

Rose Molina’s bedtime stories for her children involved a lion named Aslan and a magical wardrobe made from a special tree. Julie recalled the feeling Narnia birthed if in the world as Rose described it.

“Mercer as in...?” Edmund trailed off slowly.

“My horse. Yes. I guess subconsciously, I still remembered where I came from.”

“These are my friends Susan, Edmund, Lucy and...Peter.” You softly spoke of the eldest Pevensie. His blue eyes sadly meeting yours.

A fondness growing at the sight but a pain blossoming at the heartbreak in his features. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see Peter had put two and two together on who Luke was to you. And while Peter desired to fight for you, he knew it was a lost cause; time cruelly separated you outside the world of Narnia. You both deserved happiness, so with great pain, Peter let you go.

“C’mon!” Lucy shouted, racing out of the cave on the bright sunny beach. The rest hot on the heels of the youngest member of the conjoined group. As you all goofed around on the beach, you told the Pevensie family all about Julie and the boys.

“Welcome to Narnia, my love.” You murmured to the boy that held your heart in his gentle hands. Luke Patterson beamed. He finally got the girl of his dreams and visited the place you hold dear.

The fun aspect of being in Narnia with both of your family came to a halt when you discovered the ruins. Cair Paravel had become a pile of broken stone and sadness. Not a single Narnian in the distance nor the Beavers or Mr. Tumnus.

“What?”

Julie and the boys’ presence became static in the background while the former Narnia royalty pursued through the ruins. They found the chessboard and the gifts Father Christmas gave them during the Winter Revolution.

Something clicked within Lucy as she almost robotically walked to each half-dead boy with her Cordial in hand. The room went silent as Lucy fed each phantom a drop of the medicinal potion. As soon as Alex closed his mouth, all three boys were enveloped in a blinding silver light.

And the true magic happened. For the first time in twenty-six years, three hearts began pumping blood. A previously frozen clock began beating to the sound of those hearts. The magic of Queen Lucy’s Cordial finished what Julie had started; the three formerly half head phantoms became living humans once more.

What a magical place the world of Narnia is.

(Above is the teacup and pot Luke uses in the Ancient Grounds coffee shop!)

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minjoonalist · 4 years ago

Text

Buzzkill | Ksj. 18+

Pairing: Boss!Seokjin x Driver!Reader

Rating: Mature

Genre: Request, PWP

Word: 6k

Discription: In which your boss has a consistent streak of being the biggest wet blanket.

Warnings: soft dom!Jin, sub!reader, penetration, fingering, unprotected sex they have sex on a stolen car, cursing, explicit wording, slight degradation, Quickie

A/N: so this is request I received and decided to turn it into a mini fic for a cute little bean, I’m sorry took a second but I do hope you enjoy it sweetie! 😘

———

There was nothing more thrilling than the violent purr of the engine surrounding your senses, the harsh wind whipping through your hair, the exhilarating sound of power that brought you and your crew mates through the dark silent streets of an unknown neighborhood and especially the pride that came with knowing everyone would end up praising you for your extraordinary skills as a getaway driver. You’d only known them for about three weeks, but that was plenty of enough time to showcase your abilities and impress them. They would compliment you, lifting your ego for the complicated turns and cheering you on for the risky maneuvers that allowed all of you to get off scot free with more than five hundred thousand dollars...you loved it, every single part of it.

It was moments like this where Jimin snaps his hands to applaud your fearless energy, Hoseok, the personified can of sunshine boosts you for whipping the fast car in front of a massive truck as a means to shake the three police cars chasing you down the highway. The kid, known as Jungkook- widening his eyes in amazement and slight fear once that same truck misses all of you by a hair as you exited fast lane.

It was a thrill and one you found yourself living off of recently.

The adrenaline and rush of everything you had done, bringing life to the boring, mundane one you’d use to live before. How you were just some pretty accountant by day, kissing the asses of rich old men with too much privilege on their hands- but only to turn around and take care of it for them by night time...in other words you were robbing them blind and just the thought alone always had you grinning ear to ear, even while you turned the unharmed vehicle into the hidden garage that your crew mates owned. It was fun, yet rewarding every time and nothing anyone did could ever ruin that-

“That was dumb.”

“Excuse me?”You balk.

All too quickly, the rush of your misdeed had drained away from your body and suddenly the air had gone incredibly still. The three men currently residing in the back of the car, pauses just as perplexed as you were in the driver’s seat- your eyes glued to the platinum blonde male staring you down in the passenger.

Arms crossed, his pearly teeth nibbling on a silver lip ring- Jin, otherwise known as Kim Seokjin and your boss, meets you with an unimpressed gaze “You heard what I said, that was stupid and reckless.” He continues, voice devoid of any kindness as well as having irritation enter those black irises.

You shake your head, blinking a couple of times just to make sure you’re understanding him and maybe you weren’t in some dream. “I’m confused...what are you talking about?” your voice lifts slightly with outrage while you turned the key in the ignition to shut the car off.

Jin’s face only hardens “Don’t make me repeat myself, that bull crap stunt you pulled back there could’ve nearly killed us. We were lucky that truck driver only hesitated from hearing the police sirens just before that exit...like I said, dumb.” The tense outburst between all of you, was enough to throw the entire atmosphere and stun you all into silence.

Well all except Hoseok, as the optimistic member, he suddenly reaches forward to pat Jin on the shoulder from the back “Hey man, She was great back there- Lighten up.”

“Yeah Hyung, the important thing is that we’re all alive and we each have a hundred thousand dollars in our pockets without anyone catching on.” Jungkook decides to chime in as well, peering around for confirmation- which he does receive. “There's no telling what could have happened if she didn’t.”

You on the other hand didn’t reply to the hurtful insult of the soured male beside you and neither did Jimin, Too busy trying to cope with the foreign reaction of your driving skills and that you were being scolded for actually doing your Job. As you sat there listening to the both of them defend your honor, you’d hoped some of it might have gotten to the quiet grouch raining in on your thrill, but instead it only increased his anger. Which only caused Seokjin to turn his attention to the three men in the back.

He sends an expectant look to Hoseok “I’m sorry...do you and Jimin not have money in the back of this car to go count?” He presses harshly “Instead of worrying about the brat, I suggest you tend to your duties.” Seokjin snaps his fingers, causing the dark haired male to flinch and send you all a beaten look before backing down. Within the next few seconds Hoseok opens his back seat door, getting out grumpily and causing a chain for Jimin to follow him. They both walk around to the back of the car, both of them coming into your vision on the rearview mirror. You catch sight of Jimin, a short wink coming from him with two hits to the closed trunk signaling you to pop it open.

Immediately, you oblige.

Meanwhile Jin turns around to Jungkook, the poor kid’s Adam Apple bobbing up and down as your boss looks at him sternly. “Well?”

“Um, I-I should probably help them?” He says a bit unsure, his pitiful posture within the middle seat, making your soft spot for him ache.

His knees knocked together, rough hands rubbing nervously across his muscular thighs- which makes you wonder how he could possibly be so wrecked from one man and yet keep a calm composure when facing the lethal obstacles of obtaining glorious amounts of money. Nonetheless, you don't have much time to process before the kid is scurrying out of his seat, doing the same as his friends and opening the back seat’s door to let himself out-leaving the both of you inside with silence.

“...Well that was uncalled for.” You finally mumble after a few seconds go by.

From beside you, Seokjin Sighs tiredly- almost ruefully before completely ignoring you. The skip in your heart beat from the situation only serves to remind you of how much adrenaline you still had running through your system.

Just like that, Seokjin had immediately ruined the mood like always and if that weren't enough to have you fuming from the buzzkill, then what he said next did him no Justice. “Aw the brat can’t handle criticism all of a sudden?”

Your face turns sour “I can when that person isn’t being a dick.”

“It's never stopped you before.”He scoffs “ Pointing out a selfish move like that doesn’t make me the bad guy Kiddo, unfortunately for you, you have a hard time seeing that fault.”

Your anger spikes, watching as he rests his head back. Even more now that the adrenaline in you had become noticeable and part of you wondered if he was riling you up on purpose.

It wouldn't be the first time…Seokjin had pissed you off plenty of times before in-fact the man had been giving you a hard time since the first day you began. You couldn’t recall a single memory where you and your boss had a pleasant conversation with each other, not when you brought him the damaged and stolen vehicle of your ex to his garage and especially not when you had to explain the wreckage it’d received after you crashed it in an impromptu street race after your break up.

Now that you were thinking about it, you remembered how you even managed to land the job in the first place…Right, because maybe it didn’t help that your ex happened to be very good customer of the garage owner and that if it weren’t for him- you’d be facing a few years behind bars at the moment. Agreeing to never tell the poor soul the whereabouts of his precious child unless you agreed to work a few jobs for him.

Before then, he’d already been aware of your talent, hearing about it constantly from his babbling friend and always dreading the long convos of another man bragging about his girlfriend, who ‘knows how to drive a stick shift in more ways than one’. You grimaced from the crude comment when Jin had mentioned it to you and it’d been a pleasure knowing he wouldn't be able to say it anymore, Although the man himself had no problem bringing it up just to toy with you on the matter.

So yeah you kind of owed it to him, especially when he’d taken the liberty to fix the car up for you...but still...It doesn’t mean he gets to be an ass right now.

“You’re right Jin, It's not like I'm risking my life too,” The man rolls his eyes as soon as you speak “-Or that I managed to lose three police cars and a helicopter that nearly caught us from a misdirection you gave prior.” You huff out from your nose, your face turning so red Seokjin could've sworn he’d seen steam coming from your ears.

He then hears it before he sees it, the sound of an opening car door and shuffling coming from his side, only to see you clamber out of your seat angrily and turn his way. “You know what, forget it, we got the money... If you think what I did was selfish, fine, but I’m done, I did what you asked and I got us the hell out of there. So do us all a favor and take that damn stick out of your ass for once.” You snap at the older man, not giving him a chance to reply before slamming the car door in his face and also not noticing the way he shamelessly eyes you from his seat.

From behind the car, all three men freeze from your sudden outburst- their shocked expressions morphing while seeing someone so calm suddenly go-off on the most intimidating person here. You clear your throat from the awkward air surrounding you…maybe now would be a good time to leave. You think to yourself, your feeting shifting to turn away until one final sound of a slammed car door stops you as well.

Seokjin steps out, his own aura turning for the worst, but he doesn't plan to take it out on the others. No in-fact even as the three quickly move into action from seeing him appear as well, he doesn’t spare them glance when his eyes ignite on fire from your words. Seokjin’s nostrils flare, inked arms flexing at his sides under a light pink button down and the back of his neck gone completely red, bringing the tiniest bit of fear in you, that you’d gone too far.

Oh and you did.

“Jungkook.” The air practically vibrates with the bass of Seokjin’s voice. The younger stops in between Hoseok and Jimin, eyes widened with curiosity of hearing his name.

“Y-Yes?” he answers quickly.

Seokjin glances at him, an honest emotion written on his face- giving you whiplash from the sudden change of character. “Go home. It's late and the last thing I need is for your older brother to jump down my throat about where you’ve been. Tell Namjoon I’ll be making your drop Tomorrow morning.” He says with finalty. Namjoon...That name itself was enough to punch you in the gut and had it not been for the crippling rush plaguing your body- you’d be feeling quite nauseous at the mention of your ex-boyfriend.

At first Jungkook makes no effort to move completely bewildered by the sudden order “I...but-”

Jimin gives him a light shove to break his trance. “Go, before you piss him off even more -we got it from here.” he whispers but not low enough that you couldn’t catch it from your side of the car.

Jungkook, looks around to all of you for the last time tonight, muttering a silent confirmation before slowly backing off and heading in the opposite direction. No doubt heading out to his own car. After that is done Seokjin barks the simple orders to the two others “Count and leave.” Insisting how late it is for them as well and if he saw them again tonight- they’ll have more to worry about than whether or not they make it home.

Unlike Jungkook, the both of them agree with no hesitation, grabbing what was left in the trunk and heading off somewhere deeper into the garage without so much as glancing your way or saying goodnight. A strange way to act, considering they were always the first ones to do so and with that- you couldn’t stop the sinking foreboding in the pit of your stomach.

Oh.

Finally Seokjin comes back to you, expression blank and yet you could still feel the cold chill draping down your spine from the look- A strange mix of adrenaline with the beginnings of a newfound lust rising in your abdomen from the wolfish gaze he sends your way. Across from his side of the car, He snaps his fingers once again and points to you. “Come here.” He doesn’t question and neither do you, your body on autopilot as your slow footsteps reaches his ears. Each step felt non-existent as if you were walking into a trap and it was too late to turn back. You swallow, frowning up at the tense man staring at you while you walk around the car. Once close enough, you stop a few feet away from him, the butterflies in your stomach sending alarms to your head that you had found yourself in this situation with Seokjin.

Strange how it quickly turned to excitement.

He gives you a once over, narrowed eyes zoning in specifically on how far you’d allowed yourself space. He suddenly meets your eyes “Do you like pissing me off?” The male could only ask, crossing his arms together- your own eyes flickering to the tattooed biceps bulging out from the action.

You swallow in your very dry throat. “I could ask you the same thing, you’ve grown quite the record.”

He arches a brow, face hardening from the reply and he suddenly takes a step forward, beginning to circle opposite of the car and towards you. “ I’m not trying to be an ass, y/n.” He starts cautiously.

“You’ve been an ass since the first day we met,” You sputter in disbelief watching him take another slow step. “admit it you don’t like me because you think I broke your friend’s heart. Good news, it's the other way around.” You point out wearily, subconsciously taking a step back of your own towards the hood of the car.

It was no secret how bad of a break up you and your ex had and if anyone knew, it was definitely Jungkook. The constant bickering and fighting between you and his older brother, the poor thing had to have heard every horrible word you both spat at each other within their home and there was no surprise that even he wanted you to end it. Truth be told, you both were wrong, a bad match to put it lightly and the biggest problem seemed to be how easy it was for Namjoon to wear his heart on his sleeve. He was too jealous, too demanding, too sensitive and It's probably why anyone would think you were the one who hurt him, that definitely wasn’t the case.

Seokjin’s Features turn down in confusion, before a sly grin breaks across his face, a reaction you weren't expecting and his brows furrowing in as if the words you were speaking are absolute gibberish. “Is that what you think? That's... Interesting.” he ponders out loud, amusement clear as ever in his voice. “I mean you’re wrong, but you’re right I don’t like you.”

Your face goes flat, from where you stand Seokjin has gotten significantly closer- your entire body on high alert as your boss begins to tower over you. He tilts his head, your instincts screaming at you to run away and yet you don’t move a single inch- your heart pounding in your chest. “Your mouth and narcissistic tendencies piss me off to no end, but you can drive so Namjoon was right about that and If I actually gave a shit about your past relationship- I wouldn’t constantly find myself wanting to fuck a brat against his car at this moment.” He shrugs while bringing himself even closer, those sinful eyes swirling with a much darker intention.

“I-I what?”

Your entire nervous system jolts from the confession, the electrifying mixture of arousal strumming through you more than ever as the visual had gone to your head. It’s not like you’ve never thought of it before, After all you’d be lying to say you weren’t attracted to him- he was insanely gorgeous. However the problem came whenever Seokjin would go out of his way to comment negatively to you or for instance dismiss your every attempt whenever you tried to have a decent conversation with him.

But now that was different, So much that part of you couldn’t comprehend the sudden force of his lips crashing down on yours. A surprised yelp leaving your body from the soft plush fiercely molding against your mouth, accompanied with the searing cold of his silver lip ring. The kiss is completely unexpected and yet for some reason hot licks of arousal pool around within your stomach easily. You breathe deeply into him, two long arms coming to wrap tightly within the curve of your waist and Seokjin’s hand snakes slightly under the warmth of your shirt, resting at the small of your back.

All over, the butterflies you were feeling had gone completely haywire, your body being pressed firmly into his hard chest and on instinct your own hands had braced themselves onto his broad shoulders.

He groans, a startling vibration that has you rubbing your thighs together, managing to catch his attention in the process and Seokjin can’t help but to run his tongue across the bottom seam of your lips. It feels as if your body had naturally melted into him, the dominance in his kiss leaving you breathless and your head had begun to spin as he moves to suck on your bottom lip- wanting entry so bad he had even sank his teeth to elicit a moan from your end.

“Damn I’ve wanted to do that for a while now.” His husky chuckle has you keening into him, the hands on your back roaming up further, when he lifts you more into him. By now Seokjin had managed to slip in completely, the wet muscle maneuvering in every way it pleased, taking over completely and tasting you to the fullest.

At some point you’d managed to get completely lost in Seokjin, all your previous thoughts vanishing within his embrace and slowly you could feel your panties dampening from his touch- a violent shiver racking down your spine once his cold fingertips grazes all the way up on your heating skin. Your back arches, the thick bulge of his erection digging into your abdomen and you nearly grow goosebumps everywhere. Without noticing, your boss had managed to back you up against the car, a muscular thigh parting itself between your legs and rutting up into you, causing you to shiver pleasurably into his hold.

With his lips continuing their attack on yours, you’re still reminded of the silver ring digging into you, your own impulse to latch onto it, teeth tugging slightly to push a faint gasp from him. He feels an immediate twitch in his pants, his own arousal getting to his head and He suddenly parts- “Fuck okay.” You hear him breath, panting as the air finally makes its way back into your lungs and it doesn’t dawn on you what exactly just happened. Perhaps it could have been from the adrenaline running through your system or maybe that it’s been a while since you’ve been with anyone except Namjoon- but slowly you felt yourself slipping away, your fucked out gaze meeting Seokjin’s feral one and you held no ounce of regret.

“Lets try not tugging on that.” He suddenly gives a dry laugh, but there's no denying the deep lust residing in it.

“S-Sorry, we probably should have stopped sooner.” he hears you breathe in response, your eyes clouded with a long gone emotion and there was nothing more he wanted than to bend you over and fuck you mercilessly.

He’s wanted that for a while now, often finding himself wondering what it would be like to have the prideful little vixen rendered helpless under his touch. He wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t like you, but damn if you didn’t turn the man on beyond what would even make sense. To him, you were infuriating and at the same time a forbidden fruit to be eaten. How you’d come to the conclusion he disliked you because of Namjoon he wouldn’t understand, but what he does know is that you were a wild card and one his friend thought could be tamed. He was wrong, and Seokjin could tell the second you brought in the poor scrapped vehicle without an ounce of guilt.

“You’re not sorry.” he whispers lower than ever, catching you by surprise. “If anything you’re the opposite...you’re practically grinding yourself on me.”

Your hands dig nervously into the cloth of his shirt, an untamable throbbing striking you between your thighs proving the truth behind his statement. As if completely drawn to him, all you do was wish his lips were back on yours- your eyes switching repeatedly to stare up at him and that's when you feel it, a movement so slow and torturous it nearly had your knees buckling.

Somehow without being noticed, His hand had begun to move from behind your back, coming around between the both of you and landing at the front of your jeans. He suddenly pops the button open, your zipper being tugged down afterwards and Seokjin watches you cautiously as he slips his hand in and over your clothed heat. His lips part at the feel, your slick wetness drenching the frail material on his hand. “And quite frankly, you’re a terrible liar...aren’t you kiddo?”

You whimper pitifully rutting yourself down onto his hand, enjoying the pressure of his fingers gliding over your slit and rubbing teasing circles around your clit.

“...please.” you find yourself saying to him, your hands clutching him tighter.

“Please? That's new, but I don’t know what you’re asking for.” He frowns, applying more pressure between your folds and then switching to pull your underwear aside. You gasp at the new pleasure, your pussy becoming more and more sensitive to his touch and it was foreign to suddenly feel this way for him, at this point you didn’t care.

“Jin just fuck me already.” You groan, two of his fingers sliding downwards and deeper into your folds, stopping right at your entrance before one sinks in and then the other. Your body tenses, pressing yourself closer to him and he smirks wickedly-wanting to hear exactly those words coming from your mouth.

Seokjin suddenly leans down, bringing his lips close against your ear “That's no way to speak to your boss- If you really want my cock, you’re gonna have to be nicer about it...So let's try again hm?” You gasp, feeling the slow thrusts of his slender digits before he curls them inside. He hums slowly, soft lips caressing over your earlobe and trailing down more to place a soft kiss on your neck. “What are you asking for y/n?” Seokjin tries once more, licking and nibbling on the soft flesh while fucking his fingers a little harder into you.

This time your knees really do buckle, a soft mewl coming deep from within your chest and you don’t hesitate to breathe out what you wanted. “Jin please I need you to fuck me.”

He hums out again, this time as if to think more on the decision...as if he was actually going to change his mind. “Now?”

“ Y-Yes.” He hears your reply, so soft and desperate almost able to rub off on him in the process.

“Right here?” By now you could hear the smile on his lips, which was strange since you’d actually never seen one on him. The idea makes you roll your eyes while muttering another yes, but you bite your lip immediately afterwards- your stomach swirling with warmth from the new action.

It doesn’t last long however, in the next second Seokjin was slipping his hand away from you, placing one last kiss at the bottom of your neck before pulling back with hunger swirling fierce in his eyes. “You know, you sound a lot hotter when you beg.” He teases watching your face screw up into one of your famous glares.

“Fuck o-” You’re being moved before you could finish. He grabs your waist, twisting it with enough force to have you turning away from him and presses your front towards the car.

“Bend.” He grunts when you take too long to catch on.

You yelp in again in surprise, a huge palm pushing towards the middle of your back and suddenly you’re doing just as he says- bending forward over the warm hood of the car. Your ass pushed back towards his front and unable to see anything he was doing. Your body trembles from the new position, feeling Seokjin’s hands run soothingly down your sides towards the back of your ass- giving it a harsh squeeze. “Good little brat.”

Bent away from him, you silently await the moment his fingers would then latch onto the band of your pants and undies. You bite your lip, the cold air rushing around the heated flesh of your ass, his knuckles grazing your hips as he tugs them down to the middle of your thighs. Your pussy clenches to the praise he gives you, wetness seeping out and down your exposed core while also making Seokjin groan out from the sight. He takes in another breath- mouth watering to your drenched core and wanting so badly to taste you in the moment, but there just wasn’t enough time.

“Jin hurry.” you whimper, feeling a single finger glide up your slit once again- taking the opportunity to sway your ass in front him, inviting him.

“Fuck, ” He swallows, his own hands flying for his zipper and you can hear as he undoes himself behind you.

Part of you wondered just for a second if he’d happened to have any protection on him- realizing how you both were out in the open and-“O-Oh.” You suddenly hiss into the silent air.

Seokjin, grips himself at the base of his dick and presses into one side of your cheek to spread you out for him. Thank god he’d prepped you before, your heart racing in your chest as the warm mushroom tip presses into you, gliding up and down your bare core. Eventually when it’s coated enough he stops just outside your entrance, pressing himself in and begins to sink himself slowly into your tight walls.

Hissing again, you gasp at the unbelievable stretch of his girth, your pussy slowly taking him in and molding around him almost to a point where it was slightly uncomfortable- however despite his nature, Seokjin is gentle about it. He rocks himself in, giving you time to adjust to the size of him and there was no denying the gradually growing pleasure that was beginning to take over your body.

“Yes…” you gasp out breathlessly, hands bracing under your body once you feel him reach deep inside you, able to touch the special area of nerves that made up your g-spot...you start to become restless.

“Fuck you’re so tight, I need to move.” His voice comes out strained, grip on your hips tightening a bit more, you simply whimper in return while pushing yourself back onto him fully. In unison, the both of you groan out in pleasure, his slow rocking stuttering from the action.

Seokjin, Takes in a breath- pulling himself slowly out of your heat and snaps his hips back into you. He does this again, pulling back and thrusting into you a bit harder before setting a comfortable pace. With another cry coming from you, it almost takes everything in him not to lose control, his slower thrusts giving you enough to get off and still you need more.

Oh yeah it's definitely the adrenaline.

You whimper, voice cracking as his length hits your g-spot over again. “More...p-please” you try biting your lip.

Seokjin hears you, the untamable emotion riding in his chest fluttering from the request. His hand leaves your hip to bury itself in the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair to pull you up to him. You cry out, his grip twisting in your hair to turn your face towards him. When you do, your breathing stops, dark eyes lit with so passion in them you nearly melt right there.

“Do you want me to fuck you harder brat? Is that what you’re asking?” His deep and breathless voice vibrates on your back. Without thinking you’re nodding your head frantically, a desperate need is filling your eyes that has Seokjin’s will to hold back snapping in half.

Immediately he slams his lips back onto yours, the grip in your hair becoming painful as he pulls out to ram himself back into you. Your hands reach back, managing to latch onto his thighs and you can't help loud cries you set free into his kiss. Seokjin moans too, loving the feel of your body shaking under him and he slowly feels his own resolve. He suddenly breaks the kiss, knowing he wouldn’t be able to last much longer and Seokjin lets you fall forward again, suddenly taking a rougher turn to make you reach your release.

With a deeper snap of his hips, the delicious stretch of his cock begins to turn your legs to jelly, a louder moan falling past your lips and into the night air as another one of his powerful thrusts jerks your body forward. Your torso falls even more, the warmth from the hood caressing your chest and easily you were met with your fucked out reflection. Teary eyes, wild hair and a sweaty face twisted into ecstasy- you shut your eyes before the predicament could truly set in.

How the hell did you get here? Letting Seokjin fuck your brains out in such an open space and loving the thrill of it. His fingers deep within your hair, pulling and tugging you back towards him as he drills himself in and out of you repeatedly, bringing your awaiting orgasm closer and faster than ever, your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“Such a good little slut, Who would've thought you’d be so whipped for my dick.” You hear him growl from behind you, a large hand connecting harshly with the soft skin of your ass. A tiny shriek is ripped from your throat and you then let out a tiny sob as your walls quivered around him from the action. He chuckles darkly, gripping harder onto your hips as he picks up the pace and begins to pound harder into you- loving every sexy ass moan that leaves your mouth every time he thrusts into you. “Oh the brat likes that? Do you like when I talk to you like a cock loving slut? You don’t want me to call you princess or baby girl?”

Your mouth parts in protest “I-...f-fuck Seokjin shut u-up, yes!” You cry out, As your nerves begin to prickle with the beginnings of your release- your sweaty hands squeaking up against the hood as they try to grab anything to anchor you down and before you know it- he's pressing down harder into your back, his other hand leaving your hair to come and rub frenzied circles around your clit.

“Oh shit, fuck you just gushed around me. I bet you’re going cum.” He pants, thrusts becoming relentless and overwhelming. “ Fuck, fuck yes- keep taking me just like that...wanna cum in this tight little pussy. Do you want to cum on my dick? W-wanna be a good little slut and let me cum in whats mine?”

“Yes J-Jin, Fuck yes!” By now you felt as if your body was going limp, your loud cries turning into drawled out moans and it could be accompanied by his grunts of pleasure as well as the connecting of his hips to your sore ass.

He swallows a fevered moan of his own “Then cum, show me who this pussy belongs to.”

You grow more butterflies in your stomach, hearing him call you his so suddenly when the guy had barely acknowledged you before. It was confusing to say the least, but all the while so fucking hot and you didn’t have the time to truly comprehend it- instead you allowed the pleasure to consume you. The strong feeling of intense warmth abruptly overtaking your body, your toes curling inside your shoes, a sharp squeak escaping your lips and Seokjin could feel your body stiffen under him as your legs shook sporadically from your powerful orgasm.

Seokjin growls out a guttural moan, His sloppy thrusts tipping him over once he feels your walls clenched tightly around him- bringing his orgasm on so suddenly, the next thing he knew, Seokjin was suddenly collapsing heavily over your back with a curse. “Shit!”

You pant trying to ride out your high, hips continuing to rock against him even as his cock swells in you. Sudden spurts of hot cum drench your walls and manages to trigger the aftershocks of your own release.

“Um wow.” You breath out, after staying in your position for a few minutes, both of you trying to catch your breath. Seokjin’s chest could be felt rising and falling heavily onto your back, his length softening within you and it was then then that you finally heard him speak.

“He was right.” Jin mumbles out into the now silent garage, making you frown in confusion.

“Who was?”

Seokjin presses his forehead into your back, his mouth twitching to hide a smile even though you couldn’t see him and his silence probably should have been a red flag for you, however you don’t press any further. Its until the small vibrations of his chuckles and the feel of his chest shaking behind you has you curious as why the man would say such a random statement after sex.

“Namjoon…” Seokjin is full on laughing and before you know it, he's lifting off of you and sliding himself out while making you hiss. Once the joke registers, you find yourself rolling your eyes and you're lifting yourself up as well, wincing from the stickiness between your thighs and that you would need to hurry home fast so you could clean up.

Watching him put himself together, you start to do the same- reaching for your pants to pull them up and you’re sending him a disgusted look while fastening your button “Don't Seokjin, please don’t say it.” You say as you then run your hand up to fix your hair.

Already done, he steps closer to you - sending you a devilish grin that you’d never seen before, the look shocking you in the process and you don’t understand why you were still feeling the strange flutter in your stomach, your adrenaline long gone. Suddenly he pulls you closer, a hand tipping under your chin to have you look up at him and then...

“you really do know how to drive a stick shift in more ways than one.” He whispers dreamily before cackling in an unattractive manner and you don’t think you’ve ever wanted to punch someone more.

“I regret having sex with you.”

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