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heyiwrotesomethings · 4 years ago

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Apologies

ShinoMitsu Week 2021 Day One: (Music, Seasons, Apologies) Honestly kind of seasons too a little bit.

A/N: WARNING: MANGA SPOILERS AHEAD. Writings without spoilers will begin on day four, come back then! This is probably the saddest thing I’ve ever written. Of course being me though, there is some comfort along with the hurt and a hopeful ending that will be pursued throughout the week. Hope you guys like it! Word Count: 4,280

Seriously, some major manga spoilers. Stop reading if you care! I’d hate to ruin someone’s day.

Shinobu rubbed her eyes against the harsh flash of light, blinking as the light faded into a much more manageable brightness reminiscent to that of a fair weathered day. She put a hand to her chest and took a deep breath, appreciating how easily the air rushed into her lungs without obstruction.

It was over, she had done it. With the help of Kanao and Inosuke, that demon would never eat another woman again. Shinobu was fine with being the bastard’s last meal since he had ended up choking on her in the end. Months of preparation had let up to this moment and she was grateful it hadn’t all been for nothing.

She had taken her time, ignoring the pull on her very soul. She wanted to make sure that the Demon Moon’s demise was certain. Now that he was gone, Shinobu found herself in a field of tall, green grass and wildflowers. Sakura trees were scattered around her in full bloom. Her demon slayer uniform had been replaced by an autumnal kimono that fit snugly over her body. The pattern was certainly a stark contrast to her surroundings, but she hardly minded.

The most prominent thoughts in Shinobu’s mind at the moment were related to why she was here, what was here? She felt like she was waiting for someone in this field. Her heart was heavy and her lungs felt tight. Rather than linger, she assumed it was some phantom pain left over from her final battle. She decided that she would walk to keep her mind off of it.

Each step seemed to make the very ground vibrate with energy that Shinobu could feel crawl up her skin in warm waves. She kept going and as she traveled, the scenery shifted around her.

She watched with parted lips as memories manifested around her, fading back behind her as she walked past, creating new ones beside her. If she stepped back, the older memories would rejuvenate and replay for her but she didn’t dwell long. She didn’t need any reminders of the life she left behind, she had squared away all of her business weeks ago while her body grew steadily more toxic. She had done what any person who knew they were going to die would do and took care to make sure she could pass on with no regrets.

Shinobu paused in front of one memory as muffled laughter caught her attention. It was a mundane memory of cooking with her pupils, joined by the Kamados and company. Something that they had done together several times. The smile that tugged at Shinobu’s lips was bittersweet. Yes, she had no regrets, but there was certainly a feeling of longing that she would have to learn to accept as a part of herself for however long she’d linger here.

Shinobu carried on as memories bad, pleasant and mundane came and went with no rhyme or reason to the order of their appearance. At some point she had allowed her mind to wander and the already muffled sounds devolved into white noise.

She wasn’t sure what she had expected from the afterlife, but it certainly wasn’t this. How long had she been here? Was she really expected to watch eighteen years worth of snippets from her own life? She had already lived it, it was short and painful but admittedly there was light in it too.

“Shinobu!”

She froze.

“Shinobu, doesn’t it look good? I can’t wait to try it, we did such a good job!”

“It does smell nice, doesn’t it?” Shinobu heard herself say.

She slowly turned towards the memory, she couldn’t stop herself even if she wanted to. Gods, she could never give up an opportunity to see that girl again, even if it was all in her mind.

There was Mitsuri in all her glory. The memory was of one of their baking adventures with some western recipe Mitsuri had learned.

Shinobu smiled wistfully, watching herself wipe flour from Mitsuri’s flushed cheeks before walking on, allowing the memory to dissipate.

Not long after the crack of a wooden sword snapped up her attention.

“Why are you making yourself weaker?”

Ah, Shinobu remembered that day all too well. Mitsuri had been neglecting herself and Obanai had asked Shinobu to check up on her. It was hard to see someone gifted with such strength try to throw it all away. She was glad she had been able to help Mitsuri grow to be more comfortable in her own skin and in a way, she helped Shinobu do the same.

Another step, another memory. This one stung a bit actually. She and Mitsuri had been walking through the estate gardens together while the taller girl shared her woes about not finding a man stronger than her to sweep her off her feet and marry her.

“You’re so pretty and mature, Shinobu. I bet you could get a husband—” Mitsuri snapped her fingers, “—like that! Have you ever thought about it, Shinobu?”

“Marriage is something I’ve never given much thought to.” Shinobu had said, focusing her attention on a small, white butterfly floating through the breeze.

“Really? No man has ever made your heart race before? Usually when I meet someone I like, I can’t help but picture what the wedding would be like.” Mitsuri gushed.

“Oh? Have you ever pictured one for us? You like me best, don’t you?” Shinobu teased.

Mitsuri froze for a beat before her skin lit up and her arms started flailing. Her words were tumbling over each other making them unintelligible. Shinobu managed a laugh, allowing the conversation to be pushed elsewhere. The far off look in her eyes seemingly going unnoticed by her companion.

Yes, Shinobu hadn’t put much thought into marriage. She had never really seen the appeal of the men her sister, and then Mitsuri, had occasionally gushed over, but the idea of finding someone you would want to spend the rest of your life with did sound nice.

“That was never an option,” Shinobu sighed to herself, “not for me. I hope you find someone who will treat you right when the fight is won, Mitsuri.”

She continued on, walking a bit faster. She hoped the end would come soon because the novelty of this little trip down memory lane had run dry long ago.

More memories manifested and dissolved only fast enough for Shinobu to see snippets. Kanae and herself moving Himejima-san’s boulder, taking in Kanao and the other girls, feeding her fish with Nezuko, training Tanjirou, Zenitsu and Inosuke, teasing Tomioka, cultivating poison with Tamayo, a moment with her mother and father, telling Kanao about her plan that would ultimately take her life.

It was exhausting. Shinobu just wanted to be done. She did not see reason to dwell on her life. She had no regrets. She had no unfinished business. She just wanted to move on already.

“Ah!”

Shinobu stumbled backwards as a fog grew before her, blocking her path. Before now, the visions had only ran parallel to her. The cloud swirled with light painted edges, glowing faintly until the memory surfaced. It couldn’t have been more than a week before and Shinobu’s throat felt dry as she watched herself choke back another dose of powdered wisteria seeds.

The petals would have been a relatively harmless alternative, but the toxic seeds promised a stronger reaction and she could gain more potency from one seed than hundreds of petals worth of tea. Shinobu had been careful with her dosing, but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t feel it’s affects on her body.

The image of Shinobu coughed, swallowing water in an attempt to soothe her burning mouth. She groaned softly, sitting back in her chair and gingerly cupping a hand over her stomach. She closed her eyes only for them to snap open at the sound of knocking at her office door.

“Shinobu, are you working hard in there? Can I come in?” Mitsuri had called from the other side.

Shinobu winced as she sat up, wiping sweat from her forehead. She took a deep breath and it scratched her throat unpleasantly but nonetheless, she fixed a smile on her face and called Mitsuri in.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything, but I saw, uh, Tamayo-san, was it? I was her and her assistant retiring for the day and I thought I’d get the chance to see you then.” Mitsuri said.

“You aren’t interrupting anything, I’m glad to see you,” Shinobu motioned for Mitsuri to make herself at home and she did so with a happy hum, sitting on top of the lab table Shinobu was sitting at. “Can I do something for you?”

“Well, there was one thing,” Mitsuri began sheepishly, lightly swinging her legs as she presented her hand to Shinobu knuckles up, “I grazed my hand during a round of Hashira training and I know I could patch it up myself, but you always do it better.”

Shinobu gingerly brought Mitsuri’s hand to her face to examine the superficial damage and nodded, “I can take care of this. One moment please.”

“Take all the time you need.”

Shinobu stood, hiding her pained expression by turning her head towards the medicine cabinet she kept in her office. She walked over to it, taking an antibacterial spray and some thin bandages before turning back towards Mitsuri, watching her with those bright pastel green eyes that reminded Shinobu of spring.

She stood before Mitsuri scooping up the damaged hand once more.

“This may sting a bit.” Shinobu warned quietly before spraying Mitsuri’s knuckles.

The older girl closed her eyes, the burning, prickly feeling causing her to whine. Shinobu chuckled good-naturedly bringing the hand closer to her face almost close enough to touch her lips. She blew a gentle, cooling breath of air over the knuckles.

“Does that feel better?” She asked.

“Yes, thank you,” Mitsuri blushed, looking down, “I’m sorry, that was childish of me.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Shinobu said seriously.

She finished wrapping Mitsuri’s hand and held it between her own. Shinobu looked up, a tired smile on her face.

“All done.”

“Shinobu, you look so tired. Are you well?” Mitsuri asked, looking concerned.

“I’m fine. The research I’m doing with Tamayo-san is just very involved and intricate.”

“I wish there was something I could do to help,” Mitsuri frowned.

“It refreshes me just to see you.” Shinobu had said without thinking. “Your vibrance warms me like the sun.”

“Really?” Mitsuri squeaked, her hands cupping her own cheeks as they bloomed pink.

Shinobu felt her own skin prickle as blood buzzed through her ears. She held firm though, even if she hadn’t planned to say something so... poetic, she did mean it. In fact, she had more she’d like to say. Ever since she had began her doses, she had become more and more aware of her mortality. The final fight was fast approaching.

“Really.” She replied simply.

“Aw, Shinobu!” Mitsuri launched herself into Shinobu’s arms, making Shinobu have to take several quick steps backwards to keep them both upright. “You’re making my heart go, ‘bwahh woo!’”

“Is that a good thing?” Shinobu giggled.

“Very!” Mitsuri nodded vigorously.

Mitsuri held Shinobu for a few minutes, humming and swaying. She really was like the sun. Shinobu could fall asleep standing up if it was in Mitsuri’s warm embrace.

Unexpectedly, Shinobu was lifted over Mitsuri’s shoulder causing her to release a surprised gasp. The position was uncomfortable for her stomach but it hardly registered in comparison to being carried by the taller girl.

“Mitsuri, what are you doing?”

“Taking you to bed. You’re so tired you almost fell asleep just then.”Mitsuri cooed.

“I can walk...”

“Let me be your legs for a little bit. It’s me paying you back for always helping me.”

Whatever methods Shinobu tried to use to coax Mitsuri to put her down proved futile. She simply strode through the halls humming and waving at any passerby she happened to see. Shinobu was embarrassed, but couldn’t bring herself to be angry. Not when Mitsuri was so genuinely happy.

Before long, they made it to Shinobu’s room. Mitsuri put her down and helped her get ready for bed. There was a part of Shinobu that disliked the treatment. It made her feel small and weak. There was another part of her however, that was desperate to keep Mitsuri close and if the older Hashira wanted to help her pick her sleep ware and brush her hair she would take it.

Before Mitsuri left, she even went as far as to tuck Shinobu in, stopping with her face close enough to Shinobu’s that she feared the Love Pillar could find every insecurity she ever held in her eyes. Mitsuri tucked back a swatch of Shinobu’s hair.

“Shinobu... sleep well, okay?” Mitsuri said after a moment.

“I will, thank you for bringing me here.” Shinobu nodded, her eyelids already drooping.

“Whenever you need.” Mitsuri smiled.

Before Mitsuri could leave Shinobu felt compelled to speak, to share that part of herself that she had been keeping from her friend.

“Mitsuri...” Shinobu paused, her throat clenched and sweat recollected on her brow. She was suddenly frightened.

“Yes?”

“... be safe.” Shinobu said instead, her heart ached at the sweet smile Mitsuri flashed her.

“I will. See you soon Shinobu.”

Then she left and the room was bathed in darkness.

Shinobu clutched at her kimono and fell to the otherworldly grass beneath her. Shinobu didn’t have any regrets. She refused to. What was the point of looking back on things she had no power to change? She didn’t want to be here anymore and the white noise of the memories around her only seemed to grow louder and louder until she couldn’t bottle it anymore and clutched her head tightly between her hands and screamed,

“Shut up!”

The sound dissipated.

“Enough!” Shinobu breathed raggedly.

Whatever sounds remained were carried off like whispers on the wind as if spooked by the Hashira’s sharp tone. Shinobu stayed glued to the ground, her hands migrating from her ears to cover her eyes instead as she tried to reign in her emotions. Why, she wasn’t sure. There wasn’t much reason to keep her feelings under wraps anymore, but one simply doesn’t swallow down their boiling blood for years and then stop, even in death apparently.

She fell onto her back, stretching out as best she could in the kimono she was wearing. She noticed for the first time that the sky was blank, just empty, uniform white that looked cold despite its brightness. It hardly matched rich greens of the tall grasses or the colorful wildflowers, the vibrant pink blossoms that fell from the trees.

After laying back for so long, Shinobu was beginning to think that this was it. She was destined to be stuck here forever. She sighed, there could be worse places. She felt a shiver roll through her body as the air changed suddenly, but she simply rolled to her side.

“...?”

Shinobu blinked, sitting up on her elbows to peer through the tall brush curiously. She thought she had heard something, but it sounded far off whatever it was. She shook her head and laid back down. It was probably just some remnants of her memories.

“...!”

Still indistinguishable, but louder. Shinobu’s brows creased and she forced herself to stand, looking for the source in earnest now.

A ways off, she thought she could see a figure in the sakura tree grove. She rubbed at her eyes. Her mind had to be playing tricks on her. No one else could possibly be here. Why would there be? Whatever it was, it seemed to turn in Shinobu’s direction and noticed her as well. Much like Shinobu, the entity didn’t seem to know what to think of her but appeared to be cautiously making its way towards her.

Shinobu decided to move forward as well to meet them halfway. She was already dead, what was the worst that could happen? As she got closer it became glaringly obvious who the figure was supposed to be. Even though she was still a ways off, Shinobu would recognize that watermelon toned hair anywhere.

Shinobu stopped moving. Trying to process what this meant. Some other way to torment her perhaps? When she had first arrived, she felt like she was waiting for someone and that feeling was slowly dwindling down the closer they got. It was a feeling that chilled Shinobu’s blood.

The figure must have noticed she had stopped moving because now they appeared to be running, running as best as they could in the flowery kimono they were sporting.

Shinobu felt an urge to run in the opposite direction but her feet stood frozen to the ground as the person got closer and closer until Shinobu could hear her yell,

“Shinobu! Oh my gods, Shinobu!”

Shinobu stared wide-eyed watching Mitsuri run up to her with tears glistening in her eyes, her cheeks wet and flushed from the excursion. Mitsuri was a beautiful vision Shinobu couldn’t take her eyes away from and then, Mitsuri tripped and fell to the ground with an audible, ‘oomph!’, disappearing into the tall grass.

Slowly, Shinobu’s brain started working again and her feet moved on their own accord until she was kneeling beside the other girl. Her hands hovered just above her, afraid to touch.

Mitsuri had no qualms about it however, and made quick work sitting up on her knees to embrace Shinobu tightly while tears continued to smear down her cheeks.

Slowly, Shinobu hugged back. She couldn’t help herself. Even if this was just some hallucination, she felt compelled to comfort her.

“Shinobu, I was so sad! I heard a crow report your death while I was fighting. I thought I’d never see you again and I felt really terrible.” Mitsuri cried, clutching tightly to Shinobu’s kimono. Afraid that if she let go, the younger girl would disappear.

What happened? What was this? Shinobu couldn’t understand. She shook her head, Mitsuri couldn’t truly be here. She was going to live on because she was strong. She was going to find love and get married like she always wanted. She wasn’t supposed to be here with her.

“You weren’t supposed to die.” Shinobu said aloud, her voice wavered slightly.

“And you were?” Mitsuri sniffled, another tear rolling over her cheek. “What happened Shinobu?”

“I... I faced the demon who killed my sister. He devoured me, but at a price. Kanao and Inosuke finished him off.”

“At a price, what do you mean Shinobu?”

Shinobu turned her head away, “I had been dosing my body with poison for months before the battle. It was the best way to assure my victory in the end.”

“You were planning that all this time. I knew something wasn’t right but I didn’t even try find out what was wrong,” Mitsuri wiped her nose with her sleeve.

“I hope you aren’t blaming yourself, I wouldn’t have told you even if you asked what I was up to. You had your own demons to fight.”

“But I wanted to be there for you! I remember how tired you looked the last time I got to see you. I thought we had more time, but then... Oyakata-sama and the explosion. I thought we had more time.” Mitsuri repeated through shaky breaths.

“Mitsuri...” Shinobu frowned. She had convinced herself years ago that she was on borrowed time, but Mitsuri had never seen it like that. Had it been cruel of her not to share her intentions?

“There was so much I wanted to do with you, so much I wanted to say that I didn’t even realize until I knew you were gone,” Mitsuri loudly sniffled again and Shinobu frowned into her shoulder, “I didn’t have time to mourn you properly, I had to keep fighting for everyone. I had to help fight Kibutsuji with everything I had so no one we lost died in vain.”

“You fought against Kibutsuji?” Shinobu asked, feeling a mixture of awe with a sting of, what, envy for making it that far? Sympathy for having to forge forward as comrades fell around her?

“I, uh, ripped his arms off actually.” Mitsuri exhaled a weak laugh at Shinobu’s expression. “It wasn’t enough, obviously, but after that it was... pretty much over for me.” Mitsuri sat back a bit, one hand over her chest while the other cupped her head. The wounds she sustained were gone, but their effects were still faintly felt.

Shinobu gently took hold of the hand Mitsuri held to her head, placing it on her lap with a comforting squeeze.

“You gave your all. You should be proud of yourself, I know I am.”

“Thank you,” Mitsuri wiped her eyes with her free hand. “We did it Shinobu, I was kind of already out of it by then, but Iguro-san told me we won, that Kibutsuji was defeated.”

“That’s... that’s really wonderful to hear. That’s honesty incredible news.” Shinobu smiled warmly whilst tears stung the corners of her eyes.

“I wish we could have seen it together, Shinobu. The world without demons.” Mitsuri kept a brave smile, but it was a watery one. She pulled her hand tentatively back up to her tear stained face, still holding Shinobu’s hand so it was cupped between her own hand and cheek, “I wish we could have done a lot of things together.” She confessed in a cracked whisper.

“Mitsuri?” Shinobu searched her face, trying to understand, but if the tightness in her chest was anything to go by, she already did.

“Shinobu, I love you! I love you a lot and I’m so upset that I didn’t tell you before. I’m so sorry!”

Shinobu simpered and brushed her captive thumb across Mitsuri’s cheek.

“You actually told me quite often how fond you were of me. You needn’t apologize, I always knew you looked upon me favorably.” Shinobu comforted. Mitsuri shook her head.

“I’m in love with you!” Mitsuri spoke with conviction, her pastel green eyes sprung fresh tears like a spring shower.

Shinobu’s lips parted in surprise.

“I wanted to tell you, really tell you, but I was so scared you wouldn’t like me at all anymore if I told you. I thought, the more time we spent together, maybe I’d find the courage to tell you... Oh, Shinobu,” Mitsuri reached her sleeve out to the other girl and gently wiped her face. Shinobu hadn’t realized she was crying.

Once she fully registered it, it was like a damn had burst.

As Shinobu’s breathing become more labored, erratic, Mitsuri pulled her to her chest and Shinobu clung tightly to her kimono. Years worth of anger and pain came in the form of hot tears. She couldn’t help but think of Kanae in her final moments, telling her to find love, to grow old and have a happy life. Even if she had tried to do what her sister had asked of her, it was always meant to end in tragedy.

“I love you too, so much. I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to tell you.”

“If I don’t need to apologize, then you shouldn’t either. It’s alright, it probably would have hurt more, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know, it still hurts pretty damn bad.” Shinobu replied with a shuddering laugh and Mitsuri gave a weak giggle of her own.

They sat quietly for awhile in each other’s embrace, letting the rustling of the grass fill the silence between them. They could feel it, something was pulling at them, exhausting them as they tried to hold onto each other as long as possible. Whatever this supernatural intervention was, it seemed to be coming to an end. Mitsuri spoke up again, sounding quite fatigued as she ran her hand through Shinobu’s hair.

“Shinobu, if we were reborn again in the world without demons, could we try being together the way we only dreamed to be?”

“Of course, I’d love nothing more.” Shinobu whispered, reaching up to cradle Mitsuri’s face once more. Her arms felt heavy like lead.

Mitsuri hadn’t the strength to keep herself upright and slowly sunk in the direction of Shinobu’s body until their foreheads met. Shinobu, unable to keep them both up, fell to her back with Mitsuri flat on top of her.

“I’m really tired,” Mitsuri’s eyes drooped. She snuggled her nose into Shinobu’s neck.

“Yes, it won’t be long now.” Shinobu wasn’t really sure what it was, but it felt familiar.

“Shinobu, could I give you a kiss before I go to sleep?”

“Yes, please.”

With a grunt of effort, Mitsuri rose herself up slightly on wobbly elbows and bumped noses with Shinobu who was fighting to keep her eyes open. With perhaps a bit more force than intended, Mitsuri’s lips met Shinobu’s.

The kiss was ever so soft and a tad salty. It was rather short, but filled with loving intent. Mitsuri’s arms gave out and she came back down over Shinobu with a light grunt, her forehead bumped against Shinobu’s cheek. With a bit of effort, Shinobu turned her head, resting another kiss over Mitsuri’s hair, the other girl could hardly make a sound but Shinobu could tell she was pleased with the small affection.

It could have been a trick of her blurred vision, but Shinobu swore the once blank sky was now bathed in blue, a large, bright sun shining over them.

Shinobu smiled and allowed her eyes to finally fall completely shut, confident that she and Mitsuri would find each other again and enjoy the product of their hard work and sacrifice in another life.

#shinomitsuweek2021 #shinomitsu #demon slayer #kny #shinobu kocho #shinobu kochou #mitsuri kanroji #manga spoilers #kny manga spoilers #demon slayer manga spoilers

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sunjaesol · 4 years ago

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i’m getting old, it makes me reckless

canon compliant juke | angst | title: when we were young // adele

The band ended their last song in a clash of instruments and vocals, roaring above the audience yelling the lyrics right back. It was the biggest venue yet, the arena stretching far and wide and holding more people than Julie could imagine. Her throat was aching, but it was all worth it. Every note savoured. Every lyric tasted till it staled on her tongue.

It was the gig before she left for college, leaving a whole lot more behind than this arena with the thousands of adoring strangers.

All four were drenched in sweat. Alex, with his hands red from an insanely elaborate three minute drum solo. Luke, with his callouses aching and slick, barely holding on to the strings. Reggie, no longer wearing his leather jacket and hair come undone. Julie, glitter on her cheeks mixed with the sweat and hair like a raging lion. They looked and felt maniacal. They played the concert of the year. The absolute euphoria they experienced wouldn’t be gone for a while, though her blush would quickly fade.

Now, she could still pretend Luke and her were still together. Now, even Alex and Reggie were kept in the dark from their long dreaded decision. Now, the idea that she stood on stage with the loves of her life was enough for a satisfied smile to bloom on her lips.

“Thank you!”, she bellowed into the mic. The audience didn’t stop. Screaming, whistling, asking for more. Encore, encore, encore! They were all out of songs though, having played their anthem again when they asked for it the first time. Covers seemed like a lackluster ending to the night, the band members shooting each other doubtful looks. The finality of it all ached her.

Luke’s gaze caught hers; troubled, unable to keep the sorrow at bay. Had this been any other concert, she would’ve kissed him backstage and remind him that feeling empty after giving it his all was normal. That she felt that too. She wouldn’t do that though. And she also had an inkling his expression wasn’t about that.

Words pushed themselves out of her throat before she thought about it. “I have something. It’s a cover though. Do you guys like covers?”

Another salvo of applause and shrieks, a sea of phones getting whipped out to capture every move. Reggie approached her with a slight frown.

“What’re you thinking, Julie?”

She moved away from the mic. “Is it alright if I do a solo cover?”

His casual nod caused nerves to coil in her stomach, only now realising what she did. What she was about to do to herself. The bassist made a sign at the boys to get off stage, Luke’s fingers ghosting her back (not entirely, never entirely, she has never truly felt the atoms of his hands touch her) and following the boys into the wings.

Curiosity buzzed around the concert hall, Julie making her way to the grand piano on the left of the stage and attaching her mic in the designated stand. When she looked into void, it instantly quieted down. Her timid voice was like a sharp thread slicing the air.

“This next song, uh…” Swallowing back the feeling of loss that simmered right beneath her skin, she took a deep breath. A needle could drop, so silent everyone heard her pained intake. “I’ve taught it myself a while ago. It’s quite melancholic, but I’ve always been a bit like that, I guess.”

Her feet found the pedals, fingers the well-loved keys. The lights were hot on her skin, yet a certain person’s stare felt more fiery than anything else.

Julie took another steadier breath. “Thank you once more for a beautiful night, LA. This is ‘When We Were Young’.”

The beginning notes caused another uproar from people recognising the song, lighters and phone flashlights flickering up one by one like stars. She sunk into the notes, let her hands find the familiar path as all she could think about was Luke. Every word would be laced with the memory of him.

He wasn’t gone, but he might as well had stolen her heart and vanished into the night with it.

With her eyes shut, the first lyrics uttered melodically from her lips.

Everybody loves the things you do From the way you talk, to the way you move

(A fifteen year old Julie watched as the crowd ate up Luke’s guitar solo, the riff an electrifying ensemble of unique sounds that shouldn��t work but somehow did. He played it for them, but his torso was twisted her way, like his body couldn’t decide who he preferred. Back then, Julie presumed it was the crowd, obviously. Music was everything for Luke. Music and nothing more. Sure, that included her and the boys, but she had accepted quickly on she’d never claim that top spot in his heart. And she was fine with that. It hurt a little, except then she’d remind herself of her own love for music and what a gift it was playing in a band like theirs. To be the name people sought out online.

Luke shot some winks to the first row, dropping to his knees to get him even closer to the fans. Alex caught her eye when she turned around, rolling his good-naturedly. Luke being Luke, it meant.

“It doesn’t inflate your ego, does it?”, she teased hours later, slumped on opposite sides of the couch.

He scoffed, a smile edging his lips. “Are you jealous?”

“It is-” she pulled herself upright, brown peering into the curious green. “-merely an observation.”

“An observation.” He mimicked her, all of a sudden not so far away. Their legs were brushing and if she leaned in, she could kiss him. His head tilted, never one to stop teasing. “Right.”

The high of a good performance made her say it. “Do you want me to be?”

When he kissed her, she expected his lips to be cold. Ghost-cold. Instead, they were warm and soft, like in her dreams, and he smiled when she kissed him back - also like in her dreams. It had been short, the way his nose brushed hers a promise for more.)

Everybody here is watching you 'Cause you feel like home, you're like a dream come true

(They quickly found an escape from the hysteria in Griffith Park. It was closeby Julie’s house and its sweeping nature left enough places for Julie and Luke to hide and be with each other without disturbances. It was a bit unorthodox for a teenage couple to burrow themselves in the forest, but she supposed she threw normality out the window the moment she decided she wanted to date a ghost.

Luke sighed, body dropping on the soft grass and pulling her with him. His beanie fell off, a pleased smile quirking on her lips as she raked a hand through his locks. It was always a cause for celebration whenever he got rid of the hat, the impending doom of baldness something she’d warn him about had he still been alive. Julie pushed the thought back. She couldn’t think that way. A finger curled around a soft strand of hair.

His nose pressed in her cheek, coaxing her closer until she snugly fit in the curve of his body. Lips moved against her skin. “Can I keep you here? Screw homework.”

Julie chuckled. Her meandering hand sloped to his chest, circling the soft fabric of his sweater. “Unfortunately, calculus and I have a date tonight.”

“You’re seeing someone else?”, he gasped. “Julie!”

“I know.” His laugh reverberated, the sound melting into her skin as she pushed herself impossibly close. Adding, her voice was muffled: “Very sneaky of me.”

Luke’s arms fully wrapped around her, humming contently at their new position of having her half-sprawled on top of him. If it wasn’t for the slight flush on his cheeks, she’d think he completely cool about this. It made her smile. He may act all tough sometimes, but he was just as new to this as she was.

She tapped against the red. “The macho is gone.”

He rolled his eyes, though it held a glimmer of fondness. It was for her, she giddily remembered. The way he faltered in quiet awe, soft and timid, was for her. Reaching to kiss him, the blaring declaration that he was home rang in her head.

She didn’t tell him that. Ever.)

But if by chance you're here alone Can I have a moment before I go? 'Cause I've been by myself all night long Hoping you're someone I used to know

(“Sixteen,” he bellowed. “Is there a song about being sixteen?!”

She laughed. “Ellie Goulding has one, I think. You wanna sing me a song about being sixteen-”

“Cause you are sixteen!” He hoisted himself on the grand piano, grinning at her from across the studio. She tried as best as she could to match it.

Birthdays have felt like taboo ever since the boys came into her life. She aged, they didn’t, and eventually they would have to disband. Eventually, everyone would notice how they were frozen in time. Eventually, she and Luke would be too far apart in ages.

Julie has dreaded her birthday since the first time her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him.

Sensing something was off, the frown replaced the grin. “You okay, Jules?”

“Yeah,” she dismissed, waving him off with an air of nonchalance. It was easy for her, something she became an expert in after her mom passed. “Just tired from school.”

He poofed in front of her, hands massaging into her shoulders. She couldn’t look at him. And then she said it anyway.

“Are you okay?”

The unsaid was clear, him stilling as his jaw locked in place. It was then that something cracked between them. Unnoticeable, like a small line in a ceramic cup. They were fine after, but never before had they stamped an expiration date on their relationship. Her simple question changed everything.

He coughed, struggling with the smile. It felt rehearsed. “Course,” he muttered. “I’m good.”)

You look like a movie You sound like a song My God, this reminds me of when we were young

(He breathed into the kiss like she himself gave him life, hot and open-mouthed and tongues caressing to feel more. Her arms were wrapped around his neck, legs straddling his waist in the safety of her bedroom. He left no space between them. Flush together, fingers pressing into her back, breaths and grins mingling when they parted for air. How she got him breathless, she wouldn’t ask. The fact that he did, was enough for her. He never felt like a ghost to her. Not before they started dating and certainly not now.

Each kiss was like music to her ears. Each touch alighting her skin with sparks of affection and need.

“God, I love you,” he whispered.

Her dazzling smile stretched against his jaw, halting in place. She giggled. “You love me?”

Their eyes met, his hooded from passion as he slowly tracked her face. “It’s not obvious?”

“It is.” A tender kiss brushed his lips, thumbs swiping his cheekbones with that boundless devotion she never wanted to let go of. It was the most blissful feeling in the world.

Julie uttered it right back. “I love you too.”)

Her voice exploded into an anguished belt, head rolling back as the lyrics flew into the sky. If she hit her notes, if she was making any sense, if the audience was worried - it didn’t matter. Julie needed this. This was her goodbye.

Let me photograph you in this light In case it is the last time that we might Be exactly like we were before we realised We were sad of getting old, it made us restless It was just like a movie It was just like a song

(Julie jumped on top of him in a sneak attack. Armed with her Polaroid camera, she swerved out the way from his grabby hands as she took shot after shot. Her laughing boyfriend snatched her by her side, fingers like spider tickling her until she relented with tears in her eyes. Strewn around them were the pictures, still processing.

“What’re you doing?”, he chuckled.

Julie plucked a Polaroid from her mattress and began waving it around. “You look so cute,” was her simple answer. His grin widened at that.

“Only now?”

“I wanted to capture you just like this. When-” When we’re like this, so goddamn happy and in love. “When you look all…” While Julie mimicked his face, Luke planted his hands on the mattress to pull himself up and give her a chaste kiss.

His smirk eradicated her previous thoughts. “Can’t make a silly face after I have sex with my beautiful girlfriend?”

She hummed, all mushy from his actions. “You can. That’s why I’m taking a picture.”

Luke kissed her again, letting that ‘silly face’ run free and craning his neck to watch the picture develop.

He cried when he didn’t appear. Another crack in the cup.)

I was so scared to face my fears Nobody told me that you'd be here

(An outsider looking into the Molina household would think there was funeral going on. An insider would be even more confused, as Julie Molina just got accepted into USC and rather felt like crying for three full days then celebrate with her friends.

It settled then. She’d go to college, like she always wanted, and have her life radically change once more - not like she wanted. The band was solid, she and Luke were solid. College would change everything. Alex assured her that it’d be fine, that minor adjustments wouldn’t ruin them, but Julie had her doubts.)

And I swear you’d moved overseas That's what you said, when you left me

(He hardly looked at her when she turned seventeen. She couldn’t blame him. Her doubts, fears stacking on top of one another at rapid pace, surged to the forefront. They were the same age. Tomorrow, she’d be 364 days closer to eighteen. Closer to being older, to surpassing him, to hitting their expiration date.

His troubled expression resolved a little later. Back to his bouncy, enthusiastic self, he showered her in kisses and dedicated all the songs at their gig in Raven’s Nest to her. The boys even sang her ‘Dancing Queen’ by ABBA, her appropriately dressed in sparkly flared trousers and matching top. Her fears were forgotten then. Later too, when she giggled as he pulled her into a laughing kiss, the glitter of her clothes staining his own.

Luke was so alive in that moment. Sweat brimming his forehead and buzzing with adrenaline and each kiss rougher than the next. He was real, real, real, real, real, real.

The lie brought her temporary comfort.)

Julie repeated the chorus, body trembling from all the memories hitting her at once. Soon, the numbing final strike would bring her ease. For her sake, for his, for the band. The refrain flowed through.

When we were young When we were young When we were young When we were young

(“What about ‘when we were young’?”, Julie proposed, blue pen pressed into her songbook. Luke sat next to her, slouched against the front of the couch as his eyes were fixed on the ceiling, mustering for the muses to gift them genius lyrics.

“When we were young?” He chuckled. “That’s a joke, right?”

She paused, pen clenching between her fingers as her head turned to look at him. “What?”

He caught her tone, straightening his back with a shrug. “Nothing.”

“No, why do you think that was a joke?”

They’ve been on edge ever since her dad bought her all the USC merch the online store offered. The sea of red draped across her room got him upset, once his favourite colour now his biggest enemy. It wasn’t like they were trying to hurt each other, but…

Julie didn’t know what to do anymore. Songwriting was their usual remedy and even that didn’t diffuse the tension. She wished her mom was here, for advice, except would she be able to give proper words of wisdom when a relationship with a ghost was unprecedented?

All she wanted was go back to the start, when flirtatious jabs were thrown around and they danced around each other. To kiss him for the first time again. She wanted to go back and then continue to go back every time they hit this point. To love him in a loop; to not age.

He sighed, scribbling an annotation in the margin. “Do you really want me to answer that, Jules?”

Her lips thinned. “No.”

She taught herself the song she was singing right now that night, after he and the boys went off with Willie to some obscure concert. When she woke up the next day, he apologised for his shitty behaviour. It became harder to let love lead when cracks met them at every corner.)

It's hard to admit that everything just takes me back To when you were there, to when you were there And a part of me keeps holding on just in case it hasn't gone

A choked breath caught the fragile note, barely audible for anyone but her.

‘Cause I still care, do you still care?

(“Jules, you’re going to college in a week. You’re gonna turn eighteen and you’re gonna meet other people and you will not wanna tell them you’re dating a hologram that doesn’t fucking age!”

The raging spiel left him in one breath, face red and tears spilling with each hitting word. His shouts were heavy and tinged with devastation. The studio, once a safe haven, was now a warzone. He’s been sitting on those ugly truths for a while, Julie realised, willing herself to not cry. They had the biggest gig of their lives in a few hours and she couldn’t fuck up her face.

Luke didn’t mean to do it either. Both were hyper-focused the day of a gig. Normally, at least. It was simply a cardboard box too many in her bedroom, another proud comment from Ray, another nostalgic remark from Reggie. The fears stacked up for him as well; she should’ve known he’d explode sooner than later.

Her quivering lip gulped back the nausea edging her throat. She couldn’t breath. “You don’t think I know that? I was just- I just-” A traitorous tear slipped out. “I was hoping we’d have more time. Why did it go so fast?” Why did our expiration date race us to the finish line?

Her boyfriend she loved with all her heart stood right in front of her, yet it felt like they were oceans apart.

Trembling hands slid up her arms to her shoulders, pulling her into a tight hug. Tearless sobs wracked her body, jaw slack in agony as his action was enough confirmation. This is the end, it meant. They have reached their last chapter. He made up his mind and she wasn’t allowed to change it.

If she did, they’d burn the band with them too.

“I’m sorry,” he cried, face wet with tears pressed into her neck. “I’m so sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.”

Julie gasped for air. “Don’t. Don’t apologise.”

He shook his head, blotched and with a look she never wanted to see again. “If I could change anything, it’s this, Julie. I want to be alive for you so badly - feeling it isn’t enough anymore. You deserve better.”

Furiously blinking, she felt moisture cling to her lashes. “I deserve you,” she warbled. “I love you.”

When he didn’t say it back right away, another tear smeared across her cheek. Her mouth shaped into a please, but he shook his head, shuddering with remorse. “You deserve to be loved out in the open, Julie. Not just in the dark.”

“Please, Luke,” it barely came out, pain squeezing her lungs. “Please. You’re real to me, you’ve always- it was never in the dark.”

He let go of her. The loss of contact made her freeze. His arms hung limp by his sides. Time, for one singular moment, stood still. Her wish came true. Why did it feel like he just disappeared right then and there? Julie bit her lip, waiting for it to happen. It didn’t, but she didn’t dare touching him in case the magic was lost. Luke seemed fearful too, his shivering breaths like knives on her ears. She left before he could say anything else.

Julie wailed and redid her make-up in the backseat of her car until it was time to go.)

The rough vibrato pinched her throat once more, pushing through for the final chorus.

We were sad of getting old, it made us restless Oh, I'm so mad I'm getting old, it makes me reckless

(The year prior, Julie plucked his maroon henley from her bedroom floor as Luke was sound asleep behind her. She shrugged it on and examined herself in the mirror. If she could have it all, she’d wish to never age, to never surpass seventeen and be with Luke forever.

If she could have even more, she’d wish to grow old with him. It was a scary thought to feel so confident about at sixteen, but Julie knew. She just knew. A gut feeling should always be allowed, her mom used to say. This was it.

Julie wished she could do this every day. Stealing his shirt and seeing it fray over time. She wanted stains and holes and fabric thinning from washing it so much. She wanted messy. She wanted real.

Crawling back in his embrace and placing a soft kiss on whatever skin she found that early in the morning, she wished for him to be real until she fell back asleep.)

It was just like a movie It was just like a song When we were young

The last note settled into arena like a heavy blanket, everyone watching with baited breath as the wrecked singer stumbled out of her seat and muttered another thank you. Her shaky smile didn’t waver while the deafening applause washed over her. It was when she reached the wings and noted the horrified looks of Reggie and Alex, that she realised Luke wasn’t with them.

“He just…” Alex’ foot swiped across the floor where Luke once stood, aghast. “He crossed over.”

They were always selfish loving one another. To fall, to love, to be in love. The inevitable never stopped being inevitable, and yet they trucked on. Maybe they had become cocky, thinking their hearts were stronger that they actually were. It was all too apparent now. Her heart wasn’t this spiritual thing. It wasn’t made of fairy dust and magical ghost powers. It was made of flesh and blood and it was bleeding.

Luke’s never would.

The arena lights dimmed.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

@blush-and-books @willexx @bluefirewrites @ourstarscollided @sophiphi

#i'm sorry #juke #julie and the phantoms #jatp fanfiction #otp: i think we make each other better

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himbodjarin · 4 years ago

Text

LUNAR; CH8

18+ ONLY Series Content: Graphic descriptions of gore and smut. Din Djarin/Third Person POV. Chapter Word Count: 8263 (im sorry) Pairing: Din Djarin/F!Reader - no use “y/n”

The Mandalorian is a driven warrior — traversing the galaxy in search of the ancient Jedi — but everyone has their weaknesses, and he’s no different. The Bounty Hunter possessed three in fact. One he’s discovered—The Child. The remaining two, though, he wasn’t aware of their existence. At least, not until he meets a valorous Sharpshooter underneath a moonless night sky; then he’s plummeting down a dark mission of self-discovery, questioning his morals and his Creed while the moon taunts him, the phases of the satellite corresponding to his personal revelations. However, the Girl has a dark past that may come to inflict hardships on the Mandalorian and the Child; it's up to the Bounty Hunter to decide her fate.

Read on AO3 / Series Masterlist

CHAPTER EIGHT: BLUE MILK PANCAKES

Mando still can’t grasp it actually happened—that he’d been so fortunate to experience such a jaw-dropping night with the Girl, with no ulterior motives no less. Back in his youth, when he was naive and desperate, it wasn’t exactly infrequent for a fling to take advantage of him; spend a quick few minutes so that one may eliminate him in his distraction or gain intel on private matters. The Girl didn’t try that—didn’t want that. She sought to provide him with sweet relief and nothing more, not even her own relief.

He felt so fucking worshipped.

Mando is the first of them to wake in the early rise of the sun. He sits there for a moment, savouring the gleaming rays shining through the viewport to warm his beskar and, consequently, his rigid body underneath. The Crest is coated in a layer of ice, corroding the durasteel beneath and, accompanied by the packed snow resting atop, it’s refrigerating the inside of the spacecraft. Mando slips on the discarded glove from overnight—a warmth surfacing his cheeks upon the reminder of last night’s events—and supplies friction to either hand in the prospect it’ll produce warmth. It’s wishful thinking.

Granting him the opportunity to adjust to his surroundings, Mando stretches in his chair and virtually moans at the pulsations ranging through his limbs. It starts at his shoulders and travels through his core, nudging against the wound on his back and easing the tension out of his muscles, and reaches to the bottom of his toes which practically curl with delight.

Mando considers removing the helmet to rub his eyes—the crust in the corners a botheration—lift it a tad in the least, but he doesn’t get the chance. The Child coos beside him, his little arms reaching up for assistance.

“How did you get up here?” he asks, placing him on his knees. The Child doesn’t answer—why would he—and concentrates on balancing across the joints to tinker with deactivated buttons of the nav controls. “Where to, kid?” Mando scans the system’s database for a paragon planet to hunker down for a few days; spend some time with the kid—and the Girl, of course—before being ripped away from the semi-domestic life and continue on his unwritten path of planet-hopping.

There’s a planet not too far; small population, plenty of wilderness for the kid to explore, and there’s not much traffic that passes through. It’s good, perfect almost, and Mando is hesitant to accept the temptation. The Child’s head rotates to look at his guardian, his large green ears twitching curiously. He sighs and sets the coordinates for the planet despite his better judgement. It’s too fortunate; the last ‘safe’ planet they visited ended up in him protecting an entire village and the kid almost being killed. Although, he’s made a trustworthy ally who’ll assist if something were to go down. He glances behind him at the Girl, raking his brown eyes across her contorted body in the seat.

“Hang on, kid.” Mando lifts himself out of the pilot chair, leaving behind a monitoring toddler in his place, and kneels beside the Girl in the passengers. She’s sleeping peacefully and he doesn’t disturb her, despite the positioning she’s managed to get herself into. It’s unpleasant on his eyes and it couldn’t be comfortable. With a tremble in his back muscles, he reaches behind his neck and peels the cloak from his armour to drape it across her figure, relying on it to provide at least a small portion of warmth to her. She clasps the garment slightly and a smile surfaces his lips, his leathers coming up to brush a stroke across her cheek faintly—only lasting a second or two before detaching from her like an uncooperative magnet. Once she’s finally soothed back into position, Mando retrieves the safety belt from beside her and secures it across her waist before grudgingly tearing away from the Girl. “Looks like you’re with me.”

The Child squeals with enjoyment as the Mandalorian returns to his seat.

“Shh,” he instructs, glancing back to see the Girl motionless. He sighs with relief.

Mando joins the buckle’s latches together and wraps an arm around the Child to secure him against himself. The thrusters wake with a roar and quake the craft’s hull, the ion accelerator chamber thawing the thrusters nozzles of their icy barricade—shit, the ice. It’ll pose a threat, a handicap at the minimum if it doesn’t defrost soon enough. He cringes as the Crest whines against the glacier's dominance on his landing gear, but with the newly-maintenance thrusters, it’s no match against the craft. It rips from the ice and retracts to the hull’s underbelly, allowing Mando to manipulate the ship through the sky and out of the atmosphere; slabs of ice and snow descend to the ground beneath them.

The feeble bumpiness fades into a smooth flight and Mando activates the autopilot controls. “Not so bad, huh?” He disconnects the buckle from his belt and slips out of the chair, letting the Child sit in the warm leather. “Don’t go touching things—and don’t wake her up,” he quickly adds, noting the Child’s inquisitive staring as though he hadn’t genuinely noticed her earlier.

Mando sighs and hopes he’ll listen to his request just this once.

The Crest’s hold had been cleaned, just as the Girl promised to do, hardly even a speck of dust surfaced the floor. She’d been busy—and he had just been preoccupied with himself. Mando sighs to himself and browses through his reserved clothing. It mostly consists of bunking apparel—a couple of loose shirts and favourable pants—that he hadn’t had the opportunity to put to use since he fostered the Child. He’s expected—required to remain on the defensive at all times with the Guild breathing down his neck.

He sorts through the articles and grabs the spare flight suit, his only other. It would be ideal to purchase another, especially now with this one having been ripped, but it wasn’t a necessity presently. The fabric in his hands smells of dirt and grime, residue from the lake he attempted to clean it in all those weeks ago, but it’s better than his current—tattered, bloody, sweaty, and cum-stained. What a combination.

Perhaps he should invest in a refresher for his Crest. That way he wouldn’t be hunched over in the dark corners of the hold, stripping the beskar steel from his body for anybody to stumble across. It didn’t provide much assurance being within eyeshot of the cockpit ladder and with the lack of places to conceal himself, his hurried movements advanced. Then again the sheer thought of the Girl seeing him like this—and joining him—isn’t unpleasant; it would make the situation a whole lot less embarrassing.

He peels the last of his beskar from his body and stacks it against the wall, reorienting himself to slip out of his boots. It’s been a while since he last stood without any armour, excluding the helmet, and it feels refreshing in a way. But it doesn’t feel right.

Mando wasted no time in replacing the flight suit, smoothing the fabric out with his gloves and reapplying the ensemble of beskar; each patch of steel fitting snugly where it belongs. It’s slightly more bearable, not having to feel his own mess rubbing against him on the inside of the fabric, and he shoves the dirty flight suit in replace of the clean. He’ll get around to washing it when he has the time—or burn it by virtue of the rip across the arm.

Speaking of arms, the bacta patch on his bicep had aided the wound significantly and within the next day or two, it should be healed. The lesion on his back was a different story. It’s still sore, somewhat better with a night’s rest, but it’ll be a while before he’s out there firing blasters with that same authority. It could cause jeopardy if he’s not cautious.

The Razor Crest abruptly rumbles and falls into a fit of tremors, hurling the Mandalorian against the stationary carbonite pods with fury. “Shit,” he growls and grips his bicep, pleading he won’t bleed through the fresh clothes so soon. It pulses again and the engines’ whining travels through the ventilation, discharging a high-pitched shriek followed by a low hum of a whistle.

“Man-fuck, Mando!” the Girl beckons from upstairs. Mando is quick on his feet up the ladder, clinging desperately to the rungs upon another spasm. “I was sleeping a-and the kid…” She doesn’t need to finish for him to understand, for the Child is sitting underneath the nav panel with colourful cords in his hands; wire coverings peeled away to expose the electricity hazards sparking in his fists.

“Kid, no!” Mando scolds and snatches the cables from his stubborn claws. He babbles a complaint to his guardian as he’s being relocated far away from the electricity. He’s completely dismantled it—Mando will need to implement an entirely new wiring system for the navigation controls alone; a job he’s not suited for. He turns to the Girl for support.

“Don’t look at me,” she raises her hands defensively, “I only know bits and pieces.”

Innocently burbling besides the Mandalorian, the Child watches as leather gloves track across the navigation controls urgently. He’s unbothered by the predicament they’re in—just glad that his guardian had returned to the cockpit’s cabin, it appears. Mando groans in annoyance, fumbling with the nav and fighting against it’s constant glitching. “We’re in luck. There’s a planet on the way. Tatooine. Someone can help us there.”

“Yeah. Heard of it,” she mutters, regrettably, and he wonders what that is all about but it can wait. It wasn’t the time to sweat over the small details. “We’re not going to crash, are we?”

He contemplates, glancing over the system’s diagnosis and dismisses the electrical yammering it erupts. “Shouldn't—there’ll just be a lot of turbulence.”

That there is—turbulence and a great deal of it. There’s too much to maintain an uncoiled stomach throughout the remainder of the short flight and they’re both surprised when they’re successful in their landing, especially without the contents of their stomach having been dumped over themselves. Peli Motto—an innovative mechanic but a bit too communicatory for the Mandalorian’s preference—stands in her hangar with two greasy hands on her hips, eyes squinting through the viewport to gaze up at Mando. Better have my credits ready to go this time, he can already hear her say and he sighs. Credits he did have, but they weren’t exactly his, and there wasn’t much to spare.

“I’ll see to her,” Mando announces and retrieves the Child, “would you care to join?”

The Girl seems hesitant and peers out the viewport curiously. “Do you trust her?”

Mando takes another glance outside. Peli’s droids are nearing his ship to begin operations but with one stern look from the woman, they back away from the craft. “I do.”

The Girl sighs and peels herself from her seat, fiddling with the cloak that had been laid across her body earlier. “This, uh-”

“Clip it on for me,” he instructs and turns, waiting for familiar hands to run across his shoulders. It takes a moment and he considers retrieving it himself, but he’s patient and it pays off—her fingers playing with the neck covering to manipulate the cloak into place, her digits stroking against the back of his neck underneath all the thick fabric. It’s therapeutic somehow or other. He doesn’t quite understand it himself, but feeling the Girl’s pressure against him relaxes him; eases his eyes closed until all he wants to do is sleep, in her arms preferably and with his head on her chest—his head, not his helmet. Mando wants to press his ear against her flesh and listen to her heartbeat, her breathing, but most of all he just wants to be touched and to touch another.

The Girl smoothes her hands out across the cloak, running her palm down his back and ending just before it reaches the curve at the bottom. “There you go.” She smiles. Fuck, her smile. It makes him want to say something stupid, something embarrassing just to get the same reaction out of her; he wants to be the cause of that smile on her face. She adds, “Thank you.”

Mando twists to face her again, his head tilting. “What for?”

“Buckling me up and, uh, giving me the cloak,” she confesses, a timid hue of pink on her cheeks—she was blushing. “You could have given it to the kid or just kept it yourself, but… you didn’t. So, thank you.”

He swallows and reaches his hand up—for what, he doesn’t know. It’s not until his digits touch the soft padding of her cheek that he notices he’s making a move, his strokes transforming into uncertain shakes. The Girl’s blush deepens at the contact and she places her hand atop his, giving a quick squeeze of reassurance.

With that, his head is back to sorting through indecent thoughts and actions—but none are related to those they had been previously; they’re not obscene nor lustful. It’s his Creed that they’re unethical towards. He imagines the Girl reaching for his helmet, her slender fingers brushing against his chin as she does so, and lifts the steel to unmask the face that’s been sealed away for a long, long time. If she tried to do it right here, right now, he’s not positive whether he would stop her.

“We shouldn’t keep her waiting, it’ll be rude.”

She can wait, is what he wants to say, instead, he murmurs a simple, “Right.”

The Child appears satisfied in Peli’s arms, a large smile on his face as he glares up at the Mandalorian ahead of him. He’s receiving every ounce of attention he can muster out of the woman. “You telling me this little one did all that? Maybe if you gave him a little more attention he wouldn’t be tearing out your cables!”

“What do you mean?” Mando ponders. She runs a finger across the kid’s batwing ears and gestures behind him in the distance where the Girl preoccupies herself tending to their blasters. “What are you getting at?”

“Oh, come on! Do I have to spell it out for you? Are you that oblivious?” She sighs and soothes the Child, “You’ve found yourself another lifeform to harbour—probably spending an awful lot of time with her, aren’t ya?”

He’s not oblivious, not in the slightest; he’s just trying to avoid coming to terms with the thoughts in his head. However, he hadn’t noticed his lack of bonding with the Child and he mentally scolds himself. Of course, the kid wants attention, all kids do, and he’s probably becoming rather frustrated at the inadvertent neglect as a by-product of Mando’s fantasies.

“I ain’t saying ya shouldn’t indulge a little,” Peli chuckles and wags her hairless eyebrows at the visor, “I don’t blame ya for that. It must be hard adapting to having a girl like that on board your ship.”

Mando quietly sighs under his helmet but a blush lines his cheeks nonetheless. He’s relieved she can’t see it. He grumbles, “Get to the point.”

“Point is, you can’t ignore a child like that,” she explains, “he’s an impish little critter—smart, too. It wouldn’t surprise me if he did that on purpose to get your attention.”

“He’s costing me a lot of credits for attention.” Black-brown eyes observe the looming figure of beskar and Mando softens slightly. Peli watches with interest and returns the toddler to his arms. “The Girl-”

“She’ll be fine,” she assures, “if she wants to help, I’ll be sure to give her a real workout—don’t worry she won’t be too drained.”

The Mandalorian commits a final leer at the mechanic, enough to cause her to pull her lips tight into a smirk, and he returns to the Girl’s side to exchange his goodbyes, “I’m going to head into town and see if there are any jobs available.”

The Girl raises an eyebrow in question and pauses polishing the blasters, “I’m not coming with you?”

Does she want to come with him? The vocoder emits a hum of thought but ultimately he knows she should stay behind this time, “Peli reckons I should spend time with the kid. Shouldn’t take too long—I’ll just head in and grab the kid a meal, look around for intel… I’ll be back before it’s dark.”

She nods, understanding. “I’ll—just wait here then.”

Mando reciprocates her nod and hesitantly steps back, but the Girl’s fingers loop through his belt and draws him in close to her once again. He steadies himself with a hand on the dip of her waist, digits unconsciously poking into the flesh deeper, and he angles the helmet to her eye level in disarray.

The familiar weight of his blaster slips into position against his thigh but he doesn’t tear his eyes away to look, he doesn’t want to move at all. “Might need it,” she explains, her tone hushed, “it’s good to go.” She lightly taps the blaster with her free hand and he stiffens when her palm comes to rest atop it, the tips of her fingers brushing against the outside of his thigh.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” Her lips curl into a cunning grin and she tries to hide it by lifting herself onto her toes and breathing through the fabric surrounding his neck. Mando’s muscles flex involuntarily and the hand on her hip slinks a path to the curve of her back, where he fists a bundle of poncho fabric in his leathers. She whispers, “How’s your back feeling?”

“It’s - it’s better.”

She exhales softly and he swears he can feel it through the cloth, warming his jugular with her gleaming words, “So, you won’t be needing my help tonight?” Mando groans as she weakly pats the lesion deep underneath his cloak—it doesn’t hurt, more or less stings like a Droch crawling through his skin and draining his energy, but that was the Girl’s disposition more so than the wound’s sensitivity.

“Well,” Mando clears his throat and steps closer—if that’s even possible—so his lower-half is pressing against her waist, evoking a hitch of his own breath from the contact. She’s so soft against him. “I might need a hand…”

She chuckles into his neck, sending the vibrations from her throat into his and it makes a beeline to his heart. It vortexes around the organ, a current so strong it’d be fatal to terminate the stream. Not that he wanted to stop it. It’s such a pleasant feeling, the phantoms of sunshine-esque tendrils applying a pacifying pressure that feels like that of an embrace; warm hands clasping his heart and delivering delicate kisses across the muscle. He can almost sense the cushioning of lips against the pulsing organ.

“Ya know, I’ve got more than just hands.”

“Fuck,” he whispers, practically drooling at the mere suggestion—he’d be so sluggish to drag it out as long as possible, every single touch of his deliberate to commit all her curves, bumps, even bruises, to memory. Store it away for a gloomy day, like a breach in the clouds; sunbeams breaking through the overcast and introducing a warmth like none other.

Mando cranes his neck to the side slightly and she takes the invite to burrow deeper. The blood in his neck is hot and the air in his helmet sultry. He wants to do nothing but drag her back to the ship and lock themselves away for the remainder of the day, but the irritated child on his hip is starting to get antsy. Mando gasps, “Need to - to take the kid out.”

She hums her sympathy against his neck, “Take your time. I’ll be here.”

Well, time was indeed taken, or however the saying goes.

The Mandalorian had been forced into conversations all day courtesy of the Child; he just couldn’t seem to stop touching things or feeding on display products of each stall they’d pass. Mando’s entire vocabulary had been decreased to continuous sorry’s and kid, no! It doesn’t just end there. The Child was inquisitive of all his surroundings, particularly places Mando couldn’t fit himself—it made for some awkward dialogue between him and the kiosk attendants when he’d be on his hands and knees rummaging around for a loose alien baby.

“I’m not stealing!” He’d reassure but it’d have the opposite effect and turn heads, people eyeing him with curiosity; a Mandalorian, like that in folklore, frantically chasing a little green toddler with something half-alive dangling from its mouth. He’s made a fool out of himself enough for a day. The Child, on the other hand, is still persistent—giving him somewhat of the silent treatment until Mando bargains a promise of food.

The Child attentively watches his food in the arms of the server, streaks of steam and a tender fragrance wafting in his direction as it settles onto the table ahead. “Thank you,” Mando nods and leans back in his seat, unequipping a small bag of leftover credits he could spare for the day and sliding it across the wooden surface, “do you know of any employment opportunities?”

“Regrettably not, sir,” the waiter replies and exchanges final pleasantries before returning behind the buffet to assist an unruly patron.

Mando sighs and returns his guard to the Child—who grabs a spoonful of scalding liquid and squeals in delight—and chews on the inside of his lip in thought. Tatooine is just as detestable as the last time he was here—the hustle and bustle never-ending. One would think that the Mandalorian could blend in with such an immense and diverse population, but his outright existence drew attention to himself; it’s becoming a ritual each time he steps foot inside a cantina. People’s discussions quickly cease as they scrutinise the warrior upon his entrance, contemplating whether they could neutralize him and pry the beskar steel from his body to sell in the black market. Some have tried and failed, of course. In his youth, Mando thrived off the sensation. It was empowering to have others tremble in their skin at the sheer sight of a Mandalorian, but he’s matured and those days are long since dead. He’s travel-worn, too exhausted to concern himself with people’s thoughts regarding him, so long as they weren’t orchestrating his downfall.

“I ain’t never seen a thing like this before,” a disembodied voice mutters from behind the Mandalorian, the shoddy cantina lighting casting a shadow across their table. Mando doesn’t tear his attention from the Child but reaches for his blaster nonetheless, the leathers fiddling with the hilt in preparation. “Where’d you get it?”

When he doesn’t reply, the figure shifts to come between him and the Child—a trandoshan with wide-set eyes and sharp pointed teeth, sneering at the man underneath the beskar. She’s got yellow-brown scaly skin and dons a protective piece underneath an unbuttoned shirt, with a hunting rifle across her back and a carbine strapped to her belt. She steals a chair from the closest table and swings it around to join the pair, placing her elbows on the table and looking back-and-forth between Mando and the Child.

“We’re looking to raise a youngling like this, maybe something a lil’ bit more competent than this one.” The Child’s green ears perk up at the stranger but just as quickly dismisses her, plunging the spoon into the womp rat stew for seconds or thirds—Mando wasn’t keeping track. She glances behind Mando and waves a hand and calls, “Bookoo, what d’ya think?”

Bookoo—a Wookiee decked with nothing more than a dual bandolier across his chest and a small satchel at his hip—appears into view, soaring over the accumulated individuals and extends a welcoming smile at Mando underneath the shaggy rug of his face. “Muawa, ur oh.”

“No? What, you think we’re gonna get anything better?”

Mando interrupts, tired of the banter, “He’s not going with you.”

“We have credits,” she taps the satchel on Bookoo’s hip, they clash against one another inside the leather.

“He’s not for sale.” Mando tears himself from his seat and shepherds the Child into his arms, ignoring the burbles and whines he emits as he tries to grab hold of the bowl. Mando turns for the exit, intently listening to the whispers of the pair behind him, but stops when called for.

“Uh-sir... Mandalorian, sir?” He turns on his heels and eyes the waiter who places two small packages stacked together atop the counter. “Your dessert, sir.”

The Trandoshan eyes the Mandalorian as he awkwardly balances the boxes in one arm and the Child in the other. She steps forwards once his hands are far from his blaster to make her claim, “I promised my group I’d bring back an apprentice, ya see? With a lil’ bit of training, that thing should be good to go. Ain’t that right, Bookoo?”

Bookoo steps back defensively, “Mu waa waa.”

“Stupid Wookiee,” she mutters and rises from her stool, her bare feet tapping against the cantina’s duracrete flooring. She places a claw on the counter in an attempt of intimidation, but she only sustains a pathetic reaction from the waiter. “What’s a Mandalorian need a child for anyways? You raising that thing to become one?”

“We’re done talking.”

“Aw, come on. We’re just having a small chat. No need to run for the dunes.”

The Mandalorian denies her the satisfaction of retaliation and continues outside. The familiar crunch of grit a welcoming sound through his filters—he never thought he’d be comforted by such a sound. The Trandoshan yells one last remark before he steers a corner, “If you change your mind, we’ll be here!”

He’s suspicious of their intentions—and uncertain whether they were tailing him—so he weaves through the night crowd, bumping and pushing the drunkards to and fro. Once he’s scampered plenty, and positive they hadn’t been stalking his footsteps, he returns to Peli’s hangar with a drowsy Child and now-cold dessert. Optimally, the kid will be tuckered out for the rest of the night but it was never a certainty—he just hopes he’ll give him some privacy for at least a few hours.

Peli wipes grease on a rag hanging from a belt hoop of her coveralls and offers Mando a smile, “I assume you got yourself a job?”

Mando shakes his head in defeat and delivers one of the takeaway boxes in her hands.

“What’s this?” She opens the box and her eyes practically light up with joy but it’s short-lived as she eyes him suspiciously, “Is this a bribe?”

“Just a nice gesture. I thought.”

“Hmm,” Peli hums and closes the box, nodding her head slightly. “Well, ‘bout that ship of yours… It’ll be two thousand.”

Two thousand. It’ll bleed their funds dry, but the Crest needs repairs. Without them, they’d be stranded here on Tatooine for the unforeseeable future—something Mando really couldn’t accommodate. There’s too much sand. Too many people. His calloused hands aren’t for sitting on; they’re created to work, and he won’t allow himself to leisure around a planet without performing some act.

The Girl won’t be pleased to hear he’s gone and spent a large sum of her earnings—not to mention how she’ll react when she ultimately comprehends she will be required to stay a little longer than expected. Mando feels his lips curling and he tries to smother it with reasoning; tries to tell himself he can’t keep her detained alongside him forever, but he’s obstinate and doesn’t take heed of his own advice. There’s a leap in his heart and a twisting in his stomach at the thought she’ll remain beside him for a little while longer—at least until he has the credits.

Perhaps the Child was onto something when he went and ripped all those wires out.

“That’s with a discount,” Peli adds.

“I should buy more of those.”

Peli scoffs at his jesting comment and tosses the takeaway parcel atop a flat surface. “The Girl. She’s good with her hands.”

If only she knew.

Something within the mechanic suggests that she does, in fact, know judging by the speculation written across her face; her squinted eyes waltzing his figure and her teeth chomping on the inside of her cheek to avoid voicing a sarcastic comment. The shield of beskar may disrupt his facial expressions—concealing them to only his cognisance—but his mannerisms are increasingly heightened to others and he’s gradually realising he’s not as proficient in masking them as he originally thought.

Mando swallows a thick lump in his throat and shifts his weight to one foot, his hip cocking out vaguely. “Is the maintenance finished?” he asks, shifting the topic to something he can reduce the awkwardness with.

Peli clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes, “Oh, you mean the replacement of the entire navigational controls? Yeah, did it all by myself in a matter of a few hours. No help from my droids. No, it’s not done! Do you know anything about spacecraft restoration?”

“I typically leave that in the hands of...professionals.” Mando chooses carefully. “When will it be ready?”

“Me and your Girl are done for the night.”

His Girl?

Mando’s cheeks flush mildly, a faint tint of pink lining across his nose accompanied by a heat tackling the inside of his visor. Those two little words sound exceptional as the settle surrounding him, fogging his head with the seven letters—seven letters that he couldn’t relate to. They don’t belong to him; wouldn’t belong to him.

But he lets himself fantasise they could—they are.

His Girl.

Mando’s lips ghost underneath the beskar, mouthing the words to himself as though to test the waters; dipping his toes in the substance and sampling the texture before sinking into it, letting it engulf him. He thinks of His Girl’s lips and how soft, how gentle, they looked. Her lips are the sandy borders of a beach—sand he wouldn’t mind if it were to wedge its way through his flight suit to abuse his body— and her tongue, her saliva, are the waters; refreshing but salty, leaving him thirsty for more.

Peli drags him out of his daydreaming without realising it, “But it should be up and running before the suns’ at its peaks. So you better have my credits ready! I’m not free labour, ya know.”

“Don’t worry,” he groans, “you’ll get the payment.”

She crosses her arms taut over her chest and squints at him suspiciously, probably wondering how he’s going to manage to pay her, but her determination fades into moderate compassion with a deep exhale. “All right, gimme the kid.”

“What? Why?”

Her earthy eyes flick up to the cockpit’s viewport and Mando twists his body to observe. The top of the Girl’s head can be seen from his perspective, her arms raised high above her in a stretch and then just as quickly disappears out of sight. Peli teasingly shoves Mando’s shoulder and laughs, “Go on, I’ll take the kid for the night. I’ll even do it for free; reimbursement for the dessert.”

She’s a blessing in disguise—who’s he to decline such a persuasive offer?

“Just-” Peli stabilises the weight in her arms, the Child placidly dozing off in one, “I better not be hearing all that, okay? If you wake either me or the kid up-”

“Thank you.”

She watches him, stunned, and then shakes her head and mutters something under her breath. Mando doesn’t even feel tempted to know what she’s whispering to herself, he only has one thought on his mind: His Girl.

The Mandalorian reunites with the Girl in the cockpit’s cabin. She’s sitting on the floor tinkering with loose cabling with a craned neck to accommodate for the low-rise control board. Mando’s unsure whether he’s delighted to see her down there or disappointed; something within him expecting her to be somewhere less uncomfortable, awaiting his return—it’s a selfish thought and a very hormonal one at that. He sighs to himself and sits in the passenger’s seat, his elbows leaning on his knees to peer over her shoulder. “I thought Peli said you were finished?” Mando queries.

“She’s finished. I’m not.”

Mando breathes her name, introducing it to the cramped cockpit and it’s stale air, and she pauses a moment to turn her head and look into the magnetising visor. Now he’s the one pausing. It’s comical how he’s so easily conquered by a single glance. She doesn’t look at him like that in holoplays—where her eyes gleam in the low light hanging above and her mouth twitches when she’s restraining a smile—so why does his heart flutter and his blood surge through his veins? Rather, her eyebrows are crinkled with discouragement on account of uncooperative cords and there’s a streak of oil across her forehead—she looks just as gorgeous as ever.

Mando’s voice softens as he talks to her, “Take a break. It can wait until morning.”

She dismisses his recommendation, “It’s fine, I can keep going.”

“Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should.”

“Quoting me to myself now, are we?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “You’re persuasive.” She chuckles some and he delves into the rumbles, enveloping himself in the bubbliness of it. “I brought food. You can have some if you stop working.”

She quirks an eyebrow and eyes the package in his leathers. “What is it?”

“Come here and look.”

“Are you having some?”

Mando contemplates, but he already knows his answer. “I’m not hungry,” he lies.

“Neither am I.” She deceitfully smiles and returns to her labours—it’s arduous, her fingers firmly twining the wires together and unravelling others apart to reconnect to a bundle loosely hanging underneath the panel.

The Mandalorian had completely forgotten how stubborn she can be, especially with his thoughts distorted by the events of last night; she had been so adaptable and willing to aid him. It’s ridiculous to think they’re the same person. Jaw clenching with defeat, Mando sighs heavily and fiddles with the takeaway box. It’s lid lifts from its fastenings to expose a small stack of fluffy cobalt-coloured pancakes. They’re slightly soggy from the absorbed condiments and stone-cold, having been outside for far too long, but they’re a Tatooine delicacy he had yet to try before.

Mando glances at the Girl and rips the pancake into sections, simultaneously watching her exhaust herself. She groans dramatically and readjusts her position, practically laying on her stomach with her torso hoisted by her elbows. It allows for her to maneuver underneath the control panels—and allows Mando to drag his eyes lower.

His leathers slide underneath the bottom of his helm and dislodge it from position, the beskar expelling a sharp hiss of air. He freezes at the reminder but the Girl doesn’t seem interested in the newly discovered noise; he continues, elevating the hindrance just above his mouth to slot in a slice of torn pancake.

They’re soft like her hands and he lets himself imagine they are—pretends the sweetness of the syrup is actually his cum on her fingers or, better yet, her own slick. He’s reluctant to even chew, not wanting to shred the impure fantasy he’s created upon himself, so he doesn’t. Mando sits there with the pancake in his mouth just holding it there, letting his tongue flatten underneath it and suck the syrup out to relish in the bittersweetness.

It’s only once he’s drained it of its flavour that he finally devours the cake in hunger. It’d been a while since he last ate, but he repeats the process with the other sections he had torn apart—struggling to contain his self-control as he savours the sweetness and imagery of the Girl writhing underneath him.

Mando plops the tips of his leathers in his mouth and absorbs the residual syrup before aligning his helmet in place yet again, his hunger reasonably quenched—his thirst for the Girl, not so much. It doesn’t help matters when she reaches for a cord and her poncho rides up, unmasking the curves of her backside and revealing a splinters-worth of skin above the hem of her pants. He indulges at the sight of taunting skin and licks a drop of syrup from his lips, imagining his head between her thighs lapping at something sweeter—tangier. Mando feels so fucking undignified around her like his honour has been squeezed out of an over-absorbed rag; dripping through the gaps in his fingers and there’s nothing he can do to catch it before it vaporises before his eyes hardly leaving a trace in its wake.

It’s wholly improper how his eyes attack her unclothed skin, obsessing over it like a glass of water in the outskirts of Tatooine. Now that he thinks about it, his mouth is significantly parched and he’s forced to bite his lip to avoid reaching out for the temptation. Still, he hungers to run his fingers across the bare flesh and explore her bumps and curves with his tongue, dragging it over her neck and feel the rumbles of her moans as he sucked on a pulsing vein. Her moans—what a magnificent sound that must be.

The unspoken promise between them plays with the dark crevices of his imagination.

I’ve got more than hands.

Mando’s unsure if she meant it; she hadn’t indicated anything to him since his return. Is she expecting him to make the first move? If so, that’s torturous in itself.

Coffee-coloured eyes battle against the azure cakes and he confronts a moral dilemma. He has an inclination to satisfy the building arousal in his pants but it doesn’t align with his traitorous voice, “Eat.”

The Girl glances over her shoulder and Lord, he could get used to that view especially with him atop of her. She reverts her gaze to the opened box in his lap. “I’m not-”

“I’ve had one,” he confesses and tilts the box to show a stack of three remainders, “two each, but you can have my other.”

“When did you… Did you take off your helmet? In front of me?”

“Behind you,” he corrects.

She doesn’t find the humour in the situation, though, which surprises Mando. “What - what about your Creed? Fuck, Mando. You can’t…”

His expression softens underneath the visor and he sinks to his knees on the ground so he’s eye-level with the Girl, clasping one of her hands in his leathers. “Don’t concern yourself with that. I didn’t remove it entirely, just enough to eat. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Not that big of a deal? Mando-”

Mando impolitely interrupts her by pushing a torn slab of blue through her parted lips—his digits lingering longer than necessary—and he chuckles at her shocked grimace.

She swallows and slaps his pauldron, “Rude!”

“Sit down and eat.”

The Girl conforms to his invitation and settles beside him, her back firmly planted against the durasteel wall of the cockpit. Mando awkwardly lowers to sit as well, the beskar clanking against the wall behind them but he doesn’t take any notice of it. It’d be like herding a group of Nexu—utterly impossible—if he tried to concentrate on anything but her thigh against his or her hand digging through the box on his lap.

She munches on a blue cake beside him and it takes everything in him to give her privacy and not drool over the sticky syrup running down her fingers. It’s like she can read him though, her unsoiled hand hooking two fingers on the underside of the helmet and dragging it to look at her. “What about you?”

“I’ve...had one.”

“One. I don’t want you passing out on me. Here, I’ll look away.”

Mando eyes the divided dessert between her fingers and the drop of golden syrup slowly making way to her third knuckle. She’s not looking at him and can’t identify whether he’s accepting her offer or not, but she doesn’t dare retract her hand; it just hovers in the air waiting for his leathers to grasp the food from her—they don’t. Something so much softer does, though.

Mando licks a long stripe along the underside of her fingers, tearing the pancake from her clutch with his tongue and reserving it in the cheek of his mouth for later—too preoccupied with the sugary concentrate coating her fingers. She tenses at the sensations. It’s overwhelming, consuming her thoughts and spitting them out in a pile of goo. It’s almost irresistible to not look at him, to not watch as he sucks on her fingers so fucking desperately, but she’s respectful of his Creed even if it kills her.

“Mando,” she whispers because it’s too quiet, too real.

His tongue is persistent, parting her fingers from each other and lapping at the syrup in the crevices of her knuckles. It’s so sweet and he moans around her fingers at the taste on the back of his tongue. Mando doesn’t concern himself with the potential of humiliation—he ought to look downright laughable right now—because she’s so sweet and soft in his mouth, far superior to the pancake he relished earlier. There’s a puny attempt to pull away on her behalf but with a firm grip on her wrist, she holds her position inside his mouth, especially when his teeth lock her digits in place, while her other hand finds the plate of thigh armour and hooks the fingers underneath.

“Shit,” she breathes and leans into him.

The Girl’s palm flattens against his chin and he stiffens his jaw, his movements slacking behind now that he’s focused on the warmth on his face. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched him so tenderly, no - he could but he didn’t want to; didn’t want to ruin the moment with the imagery of blaster fire and his mother’s last loving touch.

Her reassuring strokes against his cheeks with her free fingers urge him on and he sucked the final of the syrup from her digits before freeing them from his lips, placing a peck on the tips. Once the helmet is resealed, he finishes the neglected pancake in his mouth.

“You’re not as reserved as you act,” she chuckles, “where was that last night?”

Mando smiles. “Come here and let me show you.”

Where was all this confidence coming from?

He doesn’t care—he’s making a fucking move while he can.

The Girl contemplates him with a raised brow and a small smirk toying at her lips. It makes him want to know what she’s thinking—formulating—in that head of hers, but he’s not left in suspense for long. She braces a leg over his lap and straddles him, constricting her inner thighs against the outside of his and tilting his helmet back to look up at her.

Mando nearly stops breathing, his organs refusing to cooperate in unison with such an unknown weight atop of him. All that confidence from earlier completely obliterates with just one roll of her hips—maybe it wasn’t confidence but arrogance, he thinks. She’s devious, he can see the pleasure in her eyes at his unfolding below her.

“Are you looking at me?” she asks, a hand on either side of his helmet to steady his head.

He nods because he doesn’t trust himself not to whine if he opens his mouth.

She looks back at him and for a moment, just a second, he feels as though she can see him, and then she grinds down and sketches the outline of his stiffening cock below her heat—and fuck if it isn’t one of the friskiest things he’s ever beared witness to. There’s just something so unique about the eye contact when she’s unravelling him like a ball of yarn; he wants to gaze into her eyes without the guard ahead of him and break her apart. “F-fuck, you’re,”-she rolls her hips again, faster-“ah, you’re too - too good to me.”

“I know,” she quips.

Daunting. It’s so fucking daunting being so paralysed with arousal underneath the Girl, stripped down to an accumulated pile of whimpers and twitches as she takes her sweet time tormenting him—and he fucking enjoys every second of it. He’s fatigued from years of bounty hunting, years of being shot, stabbed, beaten, and it’s stimulating having somebody touch him so languidly and voluntarily care for him in such a way.

“Tell me what you want, Mando.”

He swallows.

It’s so fucking ironic. He’s never had more than a few thousand credits to his name at a time and yet, pinned below the Girl with her being so provocative, he feels like the richest man alive—because it couldn’t be luck; he’d never been so fortunate to as receiving a simple bounty commission, a beautiful girl extracting every drop of arousal out of him no less.

He moans her name and inches his fingers under her poncho, “Want - fuck, I need-”

Mando’s pleas are interrupted by a suspiciously familiar disembodied voice shouting, “Come on out and nobody gets hurt!” It’s a gruff, hoarse sound that oils the cogs in his mind. The Trandoshan. She must’ve followed him here…but he took precautions…

He can’t find it within himself to tear his hands away from the Girl to survey the threat outside, so she takes it upon herself to clamber off his lap leaving him cold and hard in his pants. Molten lava rises in his chest as he raises to his feet, staring out the viewport with such vengeance it almost surprises him. The Trandoshan firmly stands with Peli Motto beside her, the barrel of her carbine pressed against her temple, and the Child squirming in her adjacent limb.

“Shit!” he growls and slams a pair of closed fists against the nav controls. It whines upon impact and blips a malfunctioning screen at his outburst.

“Hey, calm down,” she soothes, a hand slipping into his.

“They have Peli! ...The kid.”

The Trandoshan leers at him through the viewport. “Leave that blaster of yours on the ship and get down ‘ere. No funny business either! I’ll fire a hole through her head otherwise. Then the Kid’s.” She accentuates her point by thrusting the barrel against Peli’s temple harder.

The Girl fishes his blaster out of his holster. “They haven’t seen me,” she explains. “I’ll wait until you get close enough to them but don’t try anything without me.”

It could work. It could fail. He didn’t have an alternative plan.

“Okay,” he agrees, understanding the moment between them is long gone.

With one final gawp outside, Mando pries himself away from the nav controls and heads downstairs, bare. It’s not as though he’s completely defenceless; the flamethrower in his vambraces had enough fuel to get him out of a pinch, the whipcord could serve a purpose if essential, and he still possessed his vibro-knife in his boot. None of that can compare to the comfort of a blaster in his hand though.

The Child and Peli Motto’s safety is his priority, so he’ll comply with the Girl’s strategy and get as close to the Trandoshan as possible. He’ll use brute force if necessary.

They’ve relocated to an open region in the hangar where it’ll be near impossible to shield everybody if a blaster fight ensues. Preferably, it won’t come to that. The Trandoshan flexes her finger against the trigger when Peli fidgets with her hands beside her. Mando vaguely shakes his head in her direction and examines the Child’s wellbeing in the yellow-brown scaly arms.

“I’m here.” He raises his hands to demonstrate his compliance, “Let them go and we’ll talk.”

She sneers at him, laughs. “No.” The blaster reels back and whips Peli over the head, knocking her unconscious in a piled heap on the ground. Mando moves forwards, his fists tightening with each step. “Hold it right there.” The Child whines against the cold barrel pressing into his wrinkled forehead. Mando stops hastily, his eyebrows twitching with rage.

“What do you want?”

“I’ve already told you.”

“What do you need a child for?”

She smiles hauntingly, her sharp teeth locking together through her open-mouthed grin. “We don’t need one, but this one’s got a pricey bounty on its head,”—she aims for the flesh above his heart plate—“as do you.”

Guild members. Just his luck they’d be situated on Tatooine at the same time as he is.

The Mandalorian’s visor tilts to the Child in her arms, his eyes narrowing on the outstretched green claw. The kid’s eyes shut and his forehead wrinkles as he desperately tries to concentrate on something, and then it clicks in Mando’s head. His powers. The Child hadn’t used them since they took down the Mudhorn and Mando was beginning to think they had vanished, but they mustn’t have—he’s too focused on the air ahead of him.

The Trandoshan hasn’t noticed his fidgeting and Mando takes it upon himself to keep the barrel focused on him by stepping forwards, providing the Child time to figure out his abilities. “You won’t leave here alive,” he taunts.

She seems unfazed by his remarks, too confident in her plans. “Ah, what do we have here?” The Trandoshan asks curiously, peering over the Mandalorian’s figure and he whips his head to follow. The Girl is subdued in the arms of the acquainted Bookoo, who must’ve been anticipating resistance and remained obscured from their sight.

The Girl fights against his grip but he’s far too strong for her to overpower and she limps in defeat, glancing up behind her at the Wookiee; eyes enlarging and her mouth falling agape underneath the face-covering she donned for the occasion.

Then—the last thing the Mandalorian expects to hear—the Trandoshan exclaims her name in a greeting, “It’s been a while!”

_______________________________

“Muawa, ur oh” - no, thank you “Mu waa waa” - please leave me alone

A/N: Good lord I am so sorry for an 8k chapter, I really didn’t want to split it into two. However, with this one being so long the next might not be out until the middle of next week (if I can manage to actually concentrate for long enough to write). Let me know how you enjoyed it and if you want to be added to the taglist! PS I’m running of gifs...please help...what do yall search for such hd gifs?

taglist: @ohhersheybars, @greatcircle79

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writtenbynick · 3 years ago

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The Very Pretty Girl From The Studio

A few years ago I was teaching yoga classes out of a local studio, open to anyone that would like to attend. I had stopped working at the local gym recently, and did more private sessions for fitness, but mostly did yoga out of the studio (I have certifications in both fields). Mostly the clients were women in their 40′s or older, generally really nice people, but it was pretty rare that any of them were more than moderately attractive. That made it all the more noticeable when a really, really cute girl came in to try class one day.

She said that a family member of hers had come in and liked one of the classes, so she wanted to come try a class as well. I definitely lucked out that she happened to try mine. The best way to describe her appearance was to imagine a very “All-American cheerleader” type. She had the biggest brown eyes you could possibly imagine, amazing lips that were naturally very “pouty” for lack of a better term… long blonde hair, often done up in some sort of ponytail (the fancier-than-normal kind), or pulled back with little clips. She was maybe 5′3 at most, very petite, seemed to always be wearing pink or baby blue, and since it was yoga class she’d usually be wearing yoga pants. Almost always black yoga pants. They hugged her ass and legs so snugly, and she had a hell of an hourglass figure for them to work with. The “eyeball test” told me that her breasts were a medium C cup or so. She was pretty much the epitome of a girly-girl, and I mean that in the best of ways.

Over the next several months she returned to class very regularly. I learned that she was 23, in college to become a kindergarten teacher, and that she had a 2 year old daughter. We talked about plenty of things, but it was always pretty innocuous subject matter. Since I was at work, I wasn’t going to say anything that could be interpreted as inappropriate, or just lacking in tact.

I often made facebook posts about classes and the studio schedule, but she wasn’t on any social media, and asked if she could text me about classes. I was happy to share my number with her (but, to be fair, this was pretty normal for a fair amount of clients). She also attended classes with a few other teachers, but told me that she loved the details that I provided during class, and that it really helped her feel things in the poses that she never got from other teachers. I definitely have a “devil-in-the-details” mentality when I’m trying to instruct, so I really appreciated that it helped her get the most out of each class, and each pose.

Eventually, her college schedule changed, so she wasn’t able to attend my morning classes any longer (unless her classes weren’t in session for the day, for whatever reason). I still got the odd text from her, here and there, but not terribly regularly. And then one day she messaged me asking about my schedule, for fitness, for yoga, group sessions, private sessions… you name it, she was asking about it. I gave her the info she asked for, and she picked a group session, asking if she could attend, and ask me some questions after. I said that would be fine, and that I’d be happy to answer whatever she’d like afterward.

The session she decided to come along to was actually an outdoor class that took place after a hike. It was a really nice summer day, and she was in her standard girly-girl fitness attire. My group hiked up to our designated yoga spot, a little less than a half hour path up the side of a mountain if you pushed the pace (like going up the stairs the whole time). We got up to the top, did our yoga class, and she made it a point to stick with me when we walked back down.

We chatted about all sorts of things, and then at the bottom of the mountain, she said “can I ask you something? did you ever think about asking me out when I was coming to all those classes?”. I grinned, and told her “think about it - yes… but I was always at work, and didn’t want to be out of line”. I’m also about a decade older than her, and didn’t know if that was going to be appealing to her or not. She smiled, and told me that she liked that I was older, and that it made sense that I didn’t want to be out of line at work. She assured me that I’m a really good yoga teacher, but she also liked to come see me at the studio because she was attracted to me. She moved in close to me, put her arms around me, and leaned in for a very sweet kiss.

We had a few dates after that, usually going out to eat, and having very enjoyable discussions. Very early on I noticed that she took every chance to make physical contact… she’d playfully bump into me with her hips, lean onto my shoulder… put her hands on my hands, forearms, or even my chest. I really liked that she was the touchy-feely type, but without being overly clingy. She had very soft skin, and we often sat together and just talked… and I would run my fingertips over the skin on the back of her hands and wrists, her neck, her cheek… and we kissed quite a bit, deeply and passionately… her lips… oh man… those beautifully pouty lips…

And then, one evening after a date we found ourselves with some alone time. We’d only had a few dates so far, and she was pretty quick to say “we can’t have sex unless you brought condoms, I’m not on the pill”. I told her that since we hadn’t had that kind of discussion yet, I didn’t bring any, but that was ok, I didn’t have that kind of expectation.

Fast-forward about 20 minutes… we had been kissing, and groping, she was straddling my lap… my hands were entangled in her hair, my lips on her neck, her head tossing backward with gasps and moans of pleasure, her arms wrapped around me, and she started to grind up and down, up and down, up and down… she pulled away and looked me right in the eyes and said “I NEED YOU TO FUCK ME”.

I reminded her that we couldn’t do that, and I could see that she was almost oblivious to the world around us at that moment.. “Don’t worry” I said, and started to unbutton her jeans. She started feverishly tearing them off, revealing a pink thong that just barely covered her… I dove in, pressing my mouth into her inner thigh, licking and nibbling, and dragging my tongue over her thong to the other side so I could repeat all of these motions again… I felt the muscles in her legs tighten up, and then I pressed my lips down on top of the pink material… the pressure made her let out an “oooooohhhhh” that was music to my ears…

I gazed up in the direction of her face, and her eyes were closed… her hands were laying on her chest, motionless, other than the heaving caused by her deep breathing. I pulled the pink material to one side and began to lick her, long slow strokes upward, again and again… I could feel her getting wetter by the instant. God, I love knowing how much pleasure a woman is feeling as I take my time and explore just what buttons to push… while one hand held the thong to the side and pressed my fingers into her thigh, the other hand started to manipulate her lips… the wetness and the build up had already been enough that her lips were more than ready to reveal more of her… I moved my fingers upward slightly, drawing her skin away from me slightly, revealing her clit.

My tongue pressed down flatly, and firmly, and slowly I dragged my tongue toward her clit… as soon as I made contact, I increased the pressure, and she let out an even louder “OOOOOHHHHHHHH”. I firmed up my grip, and started to move my tongue forward and backward, and then used just the very tip of my tongue to move over her clit, over and over, changing directions with every movement. She bucked so hard I thought she was going to come out of her skin. “OOOHHHH, OOHHHHHH… MMMM….. OOOOOHHHHHHH”. She was cumming, her hands gripped onto the muscles at the base of my neck, and I felt her hips press into my mouth. She held on for a moment or so while I kept applying pressure, and little by little, I felt her start to relax…

She let her body lay back again slowly, and I slowed what I was doing as well… but I didn’t stop…She kept moaning, and breathing, and her body had these little spasms that told me she had more in her, and I’m not one to back away unless a job is truly finished. I kept swirling my tongue slowly, and then moved my hand to take the place of my mouth… I lifted my head, and saw that she was again laying back with her eyes closed, one hand moved up to her face, her skin was flushed, and there was a slight layer of sweat on her skin… I moved my hands away, pulled the thong off of her and tossed it aside, and slid my finger over her lips once more, just the tiniest amount between her lips rather than on the outside… she again let out an “mmmmmmm” as I began to press my finger inside of her… “ohhhh, fuckkkk”… and then started to motion my finger upward and downward on her lips, almost like the movements of a painter’s brush… she let out a bit of a shiver every time my arm motioned upward… I brought my mouth back to her clit, and again licked, and pressed, and pinched with my lips…

For a second time, I could feel her body reacting… I knew what to pay attention to this time, and using my mouth I started to repeat the movements that got her there the first time, but this time it was in addition to my finger, which had started to press further into her, and then move its way forward and backward, forward and backward… The moans… fuck, I’m a sucker for a vocal woman… She started to react more strongly, I could tell she liked the inward-outward movement of my finger, and coupled with my lips and tongue pressing into her, she was starting to build up again… I continued, and began to quicken the pace and could feel her hips pressing into my face… momentarily, I slowed down and added a second finger, and again she let out an “ooohhhhh, oooohhhhh, yessssss, mmmmmmm”… I sped up again, my two fingers moving inward and outward, inward and outward, and my tongue swirling over clit again and again… her muscles tightened again and her body curled upward, her hands on the back of my neck this time… “OOOOOHHHHHHHH GODDDDD”, her nails clutched into me, and she started letting out short, sharp gasps and her body started to move in rapid shivers.

Once more, her body started to soften and she relaxed her muscles back to a laying position. Her moans became softer as well, but more continuous this time… I kept moving my fingers and tongue, slowly and softly… I was very much enjoying the “afterglow” of her second orgasm, I’m sure I had a wry, satisfied smile on my face which was still between her thighs… my fingers were still inside her, and I realized they hadn’t done all they could do… with my palm facing upward I began to curl those two fingers (my middle and ring fingers) with the pads of my fingertips pressing into the inside wall, I could feel the raised surface of her G-spot… the instant I touched it she let out another long moan, and her hands twitched. She looked down at me with her mouth and her big brown eyes opened wide, seemingly in disbelief.

I moved my face away from her pussy, I could feel the devilish smirk on my face, a reaction to how expressive she was, how evident the intensity of her pleasure had become. She grabbed my face and kissed me passionately. I always get turned on when a woman tastes herself on my lips, and she was ALL IN. Not just kissing me, but licking my lips, and my face, her hands moving and guiding my face, her fingernails gently pressing into my beard. Fuck, this was turning me on… but I wasn’t done with her… I moved my thumb to her clit, and pulled my fingers more firmly into her G-spot. Her body heaved powerfully, for a moment I was afraid her head would crash into mine, but she turned her face, her cheek pressed against mine and her fingers grasped me tightly once more. “mmmmmmMMMMMMMMM”…. “OHHHHH….. OHHH OHHH OHHH”, she was getting louder and louder, her body became frantic, the more I pressed into her G-spot and clit the more she lost control, her legs shook, her hands held on for dear life, she leaned into me, and I felt her body shiver even more strongly than before. “OOOOOHHHHH GOODDDDDDDD….. FUCKKKKKKK”.

She orgasmed again, and it was a thing of beauty. I could tell her mind was completely free from any thoughts that didn’t have to do with the sensations she was feeling. She writhed and moaned and just when I thought her body would soften, she continued to escalate, almost to the point that even I was surprised. And then she pulled her face away, looked me in the eye, and kissed me again. The kind of kiss that means to engulf a person. There was a different energy about her now, and her movements were different… she adjusted her body to move away from mine slightly, as soon as my fingers were no longer inside her, she dropped onto her knees in front of me, and took my fingers into her mouth, her eyes locked with mine. She sucked them strongly, then took them out of her mouth and licked them up and down, and it seemed like she hardly blinked as she did so.

This got me INCREDIBLY worked up. And she was as worked up as I could possibly fathom. She clawed at my jeans and hurriedly undid my belt. She couldn’t get rid of my jeans fast enough to meet the pace she wanted to move at. Very quickly drawing my boxer briefs down to my knees, she took my cock into her mouth and started to move forward and backward as fast as she could. Those perfect lips of her looked so fucking good wrapped around my cock. I was incredibly hard, and this felt amazingly satisfying. Those big brown eyes looked up at me, and she opened her mouth a little wider. I could see her teeth as she tried to take me a little deeper. She paused and then backed off a bit, and then repeated this, probably four or five times, and then gagged strongly, taking me out of her mouth and stroking instead while she took in a highly needed deep breath.

I can’t quite put into words the expression on her face. She knew exactly what she was doing, and was singularly focused, but also seemed almost vacant. Again she took my cock into her mouth, as deep as she could go, I could feel her tongue trying to move forward underneath my shaft, and then relax a tiny bit, drawing me slightly deeper. I was inside her throat as far as it seemed I could go, and she gagged once again. She was going to continually try to take more and more, gagging every time, and pulling away with a smile on her face.

She pulled away for air periodically, sliding her very petite hands up and down the length of my cock. “You’ve got a REALLY BIG DICK”. She grabbed it tightly, just gazing at it, visually taking it in for a moment. She licked at the veins on one side, and commented that my dick was roughly the same thickness as her wrist, and then took it into her mouth once more, pulling away with a loud popping sound, and repeating this several times, and then taking another deep breath and going down as deep as she could once again.

This time she backed up a little bit, and did something I didn’t expect at all… she stayed in place, took my hands in hers, and placed my hands on the back of her head. She stayed there motionless for a second or two, and then her eyes looked up at mine, her eyebrows raised and lowered quickly, just once. I held her head in place, and started to raise my hips, and lower them again, somewhat gently. I could feel that I was colliding with the back of her throat, and took my time going slowly. She put her hands on my thighs and backed away, looked at me and said “do you want me to suck it, or do you want to fuck my mouth? I love being facefucked… and choked, and you can call me whatever you want… I get off on that…”

I could feel that same grin on my face… I enjoy many aspects of the back and forth that sexuality has to offer… I’ve described it at times the same way that vampire in the movies isn’t allowed to enter your home unless invited… I won’t be overly rough or dominant until I know it’s welcomed and desired… but once I’m given permission, I won’t hold back…

I stood up, grabbing a handful of her hair and started to walk toward the wall… she crawled on her hands and knees, and kneeled in front of me with her back toward the wall. I positioned my cock right in front of her face, and moved forward until it made contact with her lips. “Open your mouth”. She did so, with a smile. “Good girl”. I ran one hand over her cheek, and then slid my cock forward into her mouth. Slowly at first, I moved my hips forward and backward, checking to see how far I could go each time. And then a little faster. And then a little deeper. And then she gagged, gasping for air, leaving a strand of saliva dangling from the head of my cock all the way to her lips.

Right back at it, I pushed her onto my cock once more… she grabbed the back of my thighs with both hands, and pulled herself as far as she could go. Her mouth was so wet, she was drooling all over as I held her head and fucked her mouth. Realizing how much drool there was, she lifted her shirt up over her tits, her spit landing on her cleavage and bra. She put her hands on my thighs again, and took me into her throat. I pressed my hips forward rapidly and repeatedly, and she gagged again. The wet sounds from her mouth were unreal, this was so nasty, so sloppy… “am I being a good little slut? tell me…’ she asked me. “You’re such a dirty slut, on you knees for my cock, aren’t you?”. “I’m a whore, and I want you to RUIN my little throat with your cock” she replied, smiling immensely… Goddamn, she had always looked so sweet and innocent to me, and now to know how dirty she could be… the best of both worlds, I was loving it.

I let go of any thoughts of holding back, and started to not just move my hips, but to really fuck her mouth and throat. She gagged again and again as I thrust my cock into her mouth. I held her head in place, and bucked my hips, her spit spilled from her mouth onto her tits, she let out a slight vocalization that could be heard intermittently as my cock moved in and out of her face. “Fuck, your little slutty mouth feels so good”, she moaned again in delight. Her right hand came up to my left, which I took to her throat, grabbing on with just a little bit of pressure. She moaned even more. I started to push even deeper into her throat. There was roughly an inch and a half left that she couldn’t take… Her eyes opened up widely, and I felt her hold on for as long as she could before she pulled back a bit with a loud gasp. Her eyes were starting to water, which I might not have noticed if it didn’t leave a little teardrop line from her eyeliner.

She immediately got right back to it. “I’m going to cum down your throat”, I let her know… I kept going at a feverish pace, and could feel my cock begin to throb. Thrust after thrust, I was getting closer and closer. Her moaning and gagging, the strings of spit, those big brown eyes, and her perfect lips… and how incredibly slutty she secretly was… I felt myself coming to climax, and continuing to buck my hips, I unloaded shot after shot of cum right into her throat. Unsurprisingly, she gagged again, but this time she looked like she had totally glazed over, entranced in what was happening, incredibly present in the moment, but completely removed from reality at the same time.

She stayed on her knees, staring at my cock, her hands on my legs, her breathing frantic… she was still recuperating from everything that had just taken place, and she coughed for a brief second… and then again… I realized that she had the hiccups, and each hiccup was ending with something of a cough… I wasn’t sure if it from the erratic breathing or the pounding her throat had taken, but either way she was soooo very satisfied with herself… “you have a really, really big dick, and FUCK, you came a LOT” she repeated… It sounded so good coming from those perfect little blowjob lips of hers…

#me #mine #self #nick #story #my story #memory #my memory #memories #my memories #true story #sexy #hot #yoga studio

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crimsonheart01 · 4 years ago

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The Jackpot Question (Fred Weasley x Female!Reader)

A/N: I love Fred so much that I couldn’t write just one for him! Here’s another Freddie for y’all.

Prompt: 18. “Wanna go skating in Central Park?”

Word Count: 1.5K Words

Playlist: What’re You Doing New Years Eve? - Nancy Wilson [Spotify] [YouTube]

Warnings: Some alcohol consumption, but nothing but fluff, fluff and more fluff!

“But in case, I stand one little chance Here comes the jackpot question in advance What are you doing New Year’s? New Year’s Eve?” What’re You Doing New Year’s Eve? – Nancy Wilson

Fred found her with her back leaning against the railing while she stared up and the dancing sugarplums, and they had enchanted all over the ceiling. He eyed the empty champagne flute hanging in her hand, and he smiled. With a swift twirl of his wand, he had it refilling and, in turn, subtly alerting her to his presence. He paused on the top step, taking his time to appreciate her standing there. He watched as a smile spread across her lips with the filling of her glass.

Taking her time, she lifted the flute to her mouth and took a long sip before casting a sideways glance over at him. She winked at him, and he chuckled. Running his hand on the opposite bannister, he stepped up towards her, he raised his glass to hers, and she inclined hers so that they made a small clink as they connected.

“You certainly outdid yourself this year, Freddie.” She complimented.

Their gazes met, and he held out his other hand to her. She accepted his offer and laid her free hand in his. He clasped his fingers around hers and squeezed.

He grinned, “High praise coming from you, my wallflower.”

She laughed and pushed away from the railing and into him. He readjusted to tuck her into his side. Together they both looked down at the remaining guests. The party had started to wind down now that the new year was officially upon them. She closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of being wrapped up close to her favourite twin. Fred seemed to be one of the only people who understood her need for quiet socializing.

She loved a good party, she loved a good prank, but she preferred to experience them from the sidelines. Being the centre of attention was never where she wanted to be. Thus, why she spent the majority of her evening up here on the walkway. She got to experience the whole party but at a distance where she wasn’t being pulled in several directions and conversations.

“Thank you for coming out,” Fred murmured into her ear after draining the rest of his champagne.

Turning into him, she pressed a kiss to his cheek, “Thanks for inviting me.”

His grip on her tightened at her affection and tone, signalling her that he wasn’t ready to let the night end. He stepped around her, lining her against the railing while keeping a tight hold on her hips. He nuzzled into her neck, breathing in the smell of her perfume.

“I don’t want to say goodbye yet,” He murmured against her skin.

She shivered as his breath cascaded down the column of her neck. She waved her hand to vanish both their drinks and wrapped both her hands around his shoulders. She ducked her head down to rest against the side of his.

“Oi, Gred!” A similar voice came from below them, calling them out of their intimate moment. Shifting slightly, they both looked down to find George smirking up at the two of them, “Angie and I are closing up the shop.”

Neither of them had noticed that everyone had filed out, gone home, except for them.

Fred nodded and called back, “Alright, Forge.”

Angie winked up at the two of them as George wrapped an arm around her shoulders, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” George sing-songed, as he retreated through the back door with Angie, tucked snugly into his side.

“That’s not saying much!” Fred hollered back, causing all four of them to laugh.

George and Angie’s laughter faded, leaving it only him and her chuckling under their breath. Fred stroked one hand across her hip and then down the inside of her arm before lacing his fingers together with hers. Following his lead, they took the stairs down back into the central part of the shop. Fred was casting numerous spells and charms in their wake, shutting everything down.

As they walked towards the front of the shop, Fred locked up and put up the corresponding wards to keep everything safe. He turned to begin leading her to the back, where they’d inevitably part ways, but she wasn’t ready to say goodbye either. She wanted to spend more than the first few minutes of the new year with him.

She tugged back on his hand, causing him to glance at her over his shoulder. She smirked at him, her teeth biting down on her lower lip. She’d just had a perfect idea.

He raised his eyebrows at her, “I know that look. What do you have up your sleeve?”

“If you could go back in time, and experience tonight all over again, what would you differently?” She asked, baiting him.

He turned around to face her fully and pouted in thought. After a long moment, he shrugged, “I don’t think I’d change a thing. I got to ring in the new year with my friends, my family, and you.”

His voice softened as he spoke of her and her heartbeat wildly in her chest. She gripped his hand tighter and pulled him closer, their noses only a centimetre apart. She could hear as he swallowed at their close proximity, but she didn’t falter.

“Tonight was wonderous, but if there was one thing I’d change,” She murmured, “It would be to spend more time with you. The two of us.”

He nodded, understanding what she was getting at. Or at least what he thought she was getting at. He didn’t want to be too hopeful. This was their first official date, after all. It didn’t matter that he’d been head over heels with her for the better part of a year.

“Ok,” He breathed, “How do you suppose we adjust the evening? Are you hiding a time-turner under that dress of yours?”

She let out a huff of laughter and shook her head, “No, but wanna go skating in Central Park?”

He did a double-take, leaning back as he took in her expression. He couldn’t figure out if she was joking or not. She laughed at the incredulous look on his face, and that’s when he realized she wasn’t taking the mickey.

“International apparition is illegal,” He responded before thinking.

Her eyebrows shot up at his response, and she pushed back away from him. He frowned on the loss of her warmth, but she didn’t stray too far.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” She waved one hand as she spoke, hitting him with a playful glare, “I thought I was talking to one of the infamous Weasley Twins.”

It wasn’t often that he found himself rivalled for mischief, and even then, it was almost always George. He opened his mouth to respond, although he was still unsure how but she cut him off.

“Who knew that something as insignificant as the law would stop Fred Weasley, a war hero, from enjoying the little things in life.”

This time he scoffed, challenged. He reached out for her, curling her into his arms.

“If skating in Central Park is what you want to do, then skating in Central Park is what we’ll do.”

Without any hesitation, he set the final wards of the shop up, concentrated on their destination and spun on his heel. Illegal transportation be damned.

They popped up in the brush of Central Park, thankfully shrouded by the trees and the darkness of the evening. With a round of laughter, the two of them transfigured their outfits to something more fitting to the snowy winter night of New York City.

Wrapping her gloved hand around one of his, she pulled him out of their hiding place and began trotting down towards the path. He tripped over his feet to catch up, only to knock into her gently when she stopped to ask for directions. The older couple who spotted the two of them smiled as they watched them run off in the direction of the skating rink.

Together they explored the foreign city. Skating, drinking hot chocolate and mulled wine, then finding themselves smack dab in the middle of the second celebration of the new year. They stood hand in hand, staring up at the vast, illuminated ball. Everyone around them gearing up for the inevitable countdown. Snow began to fall again, this time in large fluffy flakes. She looked up to admire it as it came down.

Caught up in the moment, she turned to Fred beside her and smiled over at him. The ten-second countdown had started around them, but this wasn’t their first time. They’d already done this earlier in the evening.

“Happy New Year, Fred,” She whispered.

Fred beamed at her, brushing a few snowflakes out of her hair, “Happy New Year.”

The city around them erupted into chaos, but neither of them cared about it. They stood in the center of Times Square, caught up in each other. If you asked them who instigated the embrace, neither of them could say for sure. All that they knew was that within a moment, they were kissing accompanied by whistles, hollering and clapping.

Celebrating two new years consecutively, together. A tradition they would continue for the years to follow.

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley imagines #harry potter imagines #harry potter imagine #12 days of ficmas 2020 #holiday prompts

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fandom-collective-writers · 4 years ago

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His Shining Star (Taki Kozaki x MC)

Fandom: Voltage (Kings of Paradise)

Pairing: Taki Kozaki x MC (Female)

Warning: NSFW Smut

Requested by: Anonymous

Written by: @voltage-vixen

“This is nice,” MC breathed a peaceful sigh, grabbing ahold of Taki’s hand. “I know this isn’t exactly what you had in store for us, but thanks for humoring me. I had a wonderful time this evening, and the night only keeps getting better thanks to you, Taki.”

The stars glistened in the dusk sky above them as the couple leisurely paced the dimly lit boardwalk. Tonight, Taki and MC had been in attendance of one of Yosuke’s networking parties. After a few hours of mingling, Shun shot Taki a knowing wink, and generously distracted the event on goers, granting Taki with a chance to whisk MC away from the liveliness. Latching their hands together, the duo joined in laughter at what must have been a comical sight to witness-MC hitching the dress up to her side to run, and Taki carrying her heels as they trotted down the staircase all for the chance to slip away undetected.

When they finally broke free from the venue, Taki reached for his phone to summon the limo. Instead he was stopped by MC when she rested her hand on his wrist, wondering if they could walk home together. Taki was more than aware that the forecast called for scattered rainstorms on this cloudy night, yet his resolve crumbled away when he saw the glint of hope flash in the pools of her bright eyes. Nodding his agreement, a blush creeped onto the real estate tycoon’s face just as MC broke into a gleaming smile. One could practically feel the giddiness from the effects of his decision radiating from her. Determined to hide his embarrassment from her, Taki decided to press his luck and poke fun at MC’s freshly overeager demeanor.

“You never cease to be amused by the smallest things in life,” Taki mocked, stifling back a laugh at the scowl aligning across MC’s face. “Although that trait is a very ‘you’ one, and I can’t say I would expect anything less from your poor person mind.”

“Zip it!” MC playfully rebutted. Reaching out to swat Taki, her attempt was foiled when he enveloped her snugly in the nook of his chest.

“Are you going to make me?” he challenged, wrapping his arms around MC to keep her from squirming away.

“Is that a proposition?” she retorted.

Leaning in to press their foreheads together, the distance that was once between them was no longer. They were so close; MC could nearly melt from the heat emanating off Taki’s body. Caught captive in the sultry gaze of his eyes, MC was drawn into the inviting part of Taki’s lips. His taste, his scent, and his warmth consumed every fiber of her being. Soon she found herself swooning into his embrace. The tender kisses Taki grazed upon her lips were no longer enough. Clutching her fingers around the trademark red and navy-blue tie around his neck, MC gave it a firm tug until-

BOOM!

A sudden clasp of thunder jolted a startled MC from Taki’s arms. Rain drops trickled from the sky, proceeding to fall as the downpour grew heavier. Taki swiftly removed his jacket and threw it over MC’s head to cover her before shouting instructions to start running down the boardwalk. Holding onto her hand to ensure she didn’t trip; Taki reached into his pocket and used his phone to order the chauffeur to meet them nearby.

The limousine arrived shortly after the call, and Taki wasted no time ushering MC into the shelter of the vehicle. Once safely inside, MC tried to salvage her dress by wringing the fabric out, and Taki raised the partition separating them from the driver. Turning his attention over to MC, panic arose within Taki when he noticed her drenched appearance.

“Are you alright?” Taki fussed, frowning when he felt how clammy and cool her skin was to his touch. The frown on Taki’s face deepened as his fingers trailed along the material of her dampened gown. “This is soaking wet! Take it off right this instant!” Gripping onto the strapless neckline, Taki tugged the front of MC’s dress downwards, almost exposing the bareness of her chest.

“Taki!” she hissed, quickly rushing to cover herself and protect her decency. “Have you completely lost your mind?! Wet or not, I don’t want to be naked when the driver is only right on the other side of the partition!”

“You don’t have to worry about the driver,” Taki declared, reaching over to reassuringly brush the side of her cheek. “He knows better than to disturb us.”

“Taki, I-”

“What if you get sick? Of course, I would be there to nurse you back to health, but seeing you ill would be upsetting to me.”

Taki leaned back into the seat and crossed his arms over his chest. The arch of his brow furrowed, while he incoherently muttered what MC assumed to be discontent under the sound of his breath.

Is Taki pouting?!

Curious, MC inched closer. Her mind was whirling in wonderment at how the soaked Taki was able to manage pulling off looking both boyish and charming, yet deliciously sexy as the drenched suit tightly clung to the defined contours of his body.

“Taki?” she called out to him. Seeming to still be preoccupied in his own thoughts, he failed to respond back. Biting down on her lip to suppress the fit of giggles at how adorable he was acting, MC stretched out to touch him, but was caught off guard and shrieked when Taki suddenly caught ahold of her wrist.

“Gotcha!” Taki boasted, flipping her over and pinning MC against the seat. Refusing to release her from his grasp, his arm snaked around her and teasingly toyed with the dress’s zipper. “Last chance-either you be a good girl and comply on your own, or else I’ll have no other choice, but to take matters into my own hands.”

“Then do it,” MC dared, bending her head back onto the seat. “Do your worst to me, Taki.”

Taki’s eyes widened, astonished by the task she was demanding of him. Never had he anticipated that MC would be this willing to venture into such daring exhibitions. His hand rested on her thigh; fingers caressing the softness of MC’s skin, dying to reacquaint himself with the familiarity of her curves, Taki’s sense of willpower was slowly dissolving. Her body’s intent surely held the same motive considering how the coolness transformed into a blistering heat. Both Taki and MC were overcome with the rush of déjà vu, recollecting the encounter on the boardwalk from earlier. Sensations of their lingering passions evoked in this present moment.

I want to take MC here and now, consequences be damned. But did she really mean what she said?

Caught between his urges of ravaging MC right there and then, to wanting to respect her comfort in case she didn’t want to partake, Taki hesitantly glanced up at the woman in question. Relief flooded him when she gave a knowing nod and squirmed her body underneath him in a fit of impatience. Both of them wanted-no needed the other.

“Do your worst to me,” MC repeated, urging Taki to have his way with her.

Any shred of self-doubt on Taki’s end was gone after hearing MC’s declaration. Releasing his grip on her wrist, Taki pressed his body against hers, slinking the dampened dress down from her curves. MC joined in on the undressing, tearing off the wet suit coat, and madly unfastening the buttons of the dress shirt keeping her from feeling all Taki had to offer.

“Taki,” MC moaned, her body writhing to the electric of Taki’s hands roaming, leaving no trace of her untouched. “Don’t hold back. Give me more. More.”

With the final pieces of clothing discarded, Taki pushed MC down onto the seat, lying flat on her back as his knee nudged her thighs apart. Aligning his hips at her entrance, MC’s heart exploded when their bodies finally joined as one. MC felt him-all of him, as he thrusted deeper into her, each movement more frenzied than the last. Tremoring from the pleasure, MC clamped her eyes shut, only to feel Taki stroke the side of her face.

“Don’t keep your eyes closed,” Taki whispered. MC opened her eyes, blushing at being basked in all his loving affections. “Don’t hide anything from me. Let me see every part of you, because there’s not a part that I don’t adore.”

Touched by Taki’s sentiment, tears streamed from MC’s eyes. His lips kissed away at her falling tears, nuzzling her nose to showing assurance that he was there by her side. Each rock of Taki’s hips brought them closer and closer to the edge, their breath sounds heavy as their desperation escalated. Taki’s cock hardened when MC’s walls clenched around him, soon delivering them both a high of ecstasy. MC’s nails dug into Taki’s back during the jolts that flowed through her veins upon reaching her peak.

Once she regained a bit more of her composure, Taki helped MC sit back up, swiping away the bangs that were stuck from the sweat on her forehead behind the crook of her ear. Letting out a big exhale, MC leaned her head against the chilly window to cool down. Taki’s large hand was rubbing her back, and she was instantly soothed, sleep nearly claiming her. A shimmering glint from outside caught her attention, causing MC to sit back up in excitement.

“Look, the rain has cleared up,” MC observed, rolling down the window to better observe the sky. “We can finally see the stars!”

The stars were magnificent, but couldn’t even begin to compete with the natural beauty of MC. While MC was admiring the view in the nighttime sky, Taki hugged her from behind, and rested his chin on the top of her head.

No matter how many days, months, or years would ever pass, there’s one fact that Taki was certain that would never change-MC was his shining star. No matter where the path of destiny would lead them, she would be the constant light in his life, guiding him, supporting him, and eternally loving him.

His shining star, forever his, always ever after.

#kings of paradise #taki kozaki #kings of paradise fanfic #kings of paradise smut #taki kozaki smut #kop fanfic #voltage inc #voltage fanfic #love 365 #taki kozaki fanfic #voltage smut

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land-of-classpects-and-analysis · 4 years ago

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Mage of Rage

Have you ever gone out shopping for new clothes? Perhaps the ones you already have don’t fit you anymore, your aesthetic taste has changed, or maybe you just want to expand your wardrobe. The idea may sound fun, but finding that proper size can be so frustrating, no? Sometimes something is too snug and it feels like plastic wrap has been coiled around you, or maybe it’s too small and you can’t fit your legs in the pants or your head through the hole. Maybe it’s too big as you feel that skirt, the one you could have sworn would fit just right, fall to the ground and lay at your ankles, or the rim of the shirt reaches past your knees and covers the entirety of your hands. It can be frustrating, embarrassing, and sometimes downright rage-inducing to repeat this same trial and error over and over again, experiencing more and more discomfort as the hours fly by and the pile of discarded clothes grows. People watch, and you hate it. You want to go home but you refuse to leave until you find the size that fits you best. Now you may be wondering, what does this have to do with being a Mage of Rage? A fair question, and one with an answer that is quite simple. Rather than the clothes being clothes, replace them with something such as false truths, promises, morals, rules, expectations; boxes that society attempts to push us into and keep us locked away in. Think of all the boxes you have shoved into and have broken.

Does it feel like an ugly Christmas sweater, one that brings embarrassment and is so heavy it threatens to bring you to your knees and drown you in your own sweat? What about a pair of jeans that promises to be the right - no. The perfect size, and yet no matter how much you struggle, you cannot get the jeans on. And everyone is watching, waiting, critiquing you and what you are doing. The clothes don’t fit you, though. They know, though. Who, exactly? Everyone. Society itself knows you do not fit into the uniform that is so clean, pure, and perfect. It knows, and it hates you for it - putting you under a constant gaze of scrutiny. It hates you, so you hate it in return for creating a uniform and a box that does not fit everyone. You don’t just hate society, but you hate everyone that so blindly chooses to follow it and oh-so perfectly fits into the clothes and boxes. You are a Mage of Rage, and rather than constantly fret and worry over the best ways to contort and distort and ruin yourself so that you may fit snugly in these clothes and within that box - that coffin - you instead choose to dedicate yourself to a life of finding other instances of this Rage and how you may hone it as a means of liberation, revolution, and above all else, pure anarchy. Today is a beautiful day, and you are a Mage of Rage.

From the day we are born to the day we die, there will always be a constant, looming threat of judgement from our fellow people. Very few people are so bold as to even dare step out of the factory line that usher us through life, checking off all the boxes of perfect expectations. The Mage of Rage is one of those few to not only think of pulling off such a risky move, but they’ll do it in a way that is unmistakably an act of spite and rebellion. However, the Mage of Rage would need that extra shove to bring them to such a conclusion that this is the way they wish to live - alienated, judged, and to the most dedicated and extreme, outright hated and despised. Whether this be a personal shove wherein they come to the realization that they will never, ever fit into such tightly woven and uncomfortably shaped boxes and clothes, or they witness some of their own people begin to whisper about a world outside of these factory lines and walls; a world where everyone is their own person and there is no hatred, no judgement, no fear. All the Mage of Rage needs is a good enough spark to ignite their own passion and fury against the system they have been placed within.

While their passive counterpart may start out ignorant and take a much longer time to come around to the truth, the Mage of Rage is made well aware of these injustices and society’s false promises from a much earlier age. They are willing to put more thought into the inequalities surrounding them, to question and sometimes even challenge authority, as well as, for the especially daring ones, bring about a little chaos of their own. There are a few ways as to how the Mage of Rage may first acquire the bitter taste of reality and that, in the eyes of authority and society, not everyone is created nor should be treated as equal, all of these most likely occurring when the Mage of Rage is quite young. Ranging from being bullied and having no adult care that they are victim, while someone who experienced the same bullying is coddled and cared for, being known as the “weird” classmate that no one ever understands or even the “good in class, but could do with participating/speaking more” student, to getting in trouble for no reason other than something they did looked “suspicious” despite it being the same thing another child did. Whether it be from their own pondering and observations or another person, most likely an adult that has had similar struggles to them, the Mage of Rage would receive the beginning of their journey at a rather crucial and defining point in their life and development.

The Mage of Rage is most likely someone who could fall into the fashion of living under the idea of “It’s every man for himself”, especially if they are so often ostracized by their peers and people in general. One of the biggest things that marks a Mage of Rage is how outward they are about their opinions and beliefs, as well, especially if it means getting to spit into the faces of those who believe to be better than them. They are not someone who quietly sits by and allows for false truths and harmful ideologies to be spread around, and if they witness such a thing in person, then there is barely anything that will stop them from bringing about justified chaos. Due to how they act, though, they often don’t try to spend much time looking to form any relationships with people, especially if they may have differing views to the Mage of Rage. However, for them to actively reach out and help another person is often a great sign of trust and respect from the Mage of Rage, but don’t expect a spontaneous love to spark from them because of this. Oftentimes they will try to keep up the mindset that they don’t need anyone, and that they can survive in the world on their own - even if that is not entirely true. To become so aware of the sickening blind obedience surrounding one’s self could become grating on even the most patient of souls, and while some Mages of Rage may have more patience than others of their Classpect, there is most definitely one thing certain: if the Mage of Rage has fallen silent, chances are that they have reached their limit and breaking point.

While this may sound like a Mage of Rage that has come quite far in their journey, one would be sorely mistaken to hear that this is most likely what a young (though not entirely in regards to age) Mage of Rage would act like. Rage-bound are bringers of chaos, after all, and as such strive to bring about as much doubt, confusion, and terror that they can in their wake, if only to those they deem to be ignorant and unworthy of peace. The biggest challenge for the Mage of Rage is to not only survive gaining the knowledge of Rage, or gaining knowledge through it, but to also not allow their Aspect to devour their morality. Which is to say that, while they can see and know all the joy that comes from destroying the base of a corrupt and immoral society, they must learn patience in order to avoid ruining their cause and credibility by lashing out at foes at the most inappropriate of moments. This is one of the biggest sources of struggle for the Mage of Rage, with the source of their suffering being quite obvious to anyone who has ever known a Mage of Rage. The journey for the Mage of Rage, no matter the branch of knowledge they walk upon, is one of loneliness, doubt, and hostility. Let’s finally observe how these branches grow and may splinter off from each other, all while remembering that they all grow from the same tree - the same idea.

There are the Mages of Rage who choose, or are drawn, to journey down the path of gaining knowledge of Rage. They are the ones who have experienced the nature of their Aspect firsthand, but only in a brief and passing moment. Within that moment, something clicked, sparked, or shifted in their minds that brought upon a feeling - a hunger - that they must seek out more examples and situations attached to their Aspect. These Mages of Rage are ones who have very little fear when it comes to adventure. If anything, they see it as a type of thrill-seeking joyous occasion, even if the hunt for Rage leads them to some not-so-friendly groups, individuals, or places. The Mage of Rage does not care, though, so long as they are careful not to become too entangled in whatever uprising or revolution is brewing around them. With the way the Mage of Rage works and travels, it would be dishonest to say that they would remain unrecognizable to the eyes of those around them. No, they most definitely would gain a reputation of sorts, though what that reputation is truly depends on who is being questioned about it.

Some may say the Mage of Rage is a no-good omen of destruction and anarchy - the broken and beaten husk of a town or organization left in their wake. Others may claim that the Mage of Rage is that of a sign, a blessing, perhaps even a gift, showing that freedom from the shackles of society is soon to come, and the feast upon those who have brought so many people oppression will arrive very shortly. Even if the Mage of Rage were to be made aware of these rumors and opinions about them, they would not care nor see the connection. Any good that comes of the Mage of Rage’s journey is all by coincidence because, as they would most likely say, “[they’re] just looking for opportunities, answers, chaotic fun, and knowledge”. Wherever the Mage of Rage finds themself to be, it is not because they are there to free people or stop an organization, but rather so they can simply gain a better understanding of how truly deep and far-out the roots of their tree are woven beneath the surface. It’s not that the Mage of Rage lacks empathy or sympathy, but rather they know deep down those feelings will only prevent them from making any progress in their journey. They crave immediate action and have the need to constantly be on the go - they rarely stay in one place for long. However, it is this impatience that so often brings them to make more enemies than friends, and as to be expected, the biggest growing obstacle for these Mages of Rage is that, if they are not careful, then they may fall victim to following the path of a Martyr before their journey is anywhere near finished. It is up to them to learn to take their time and be patient, get crafty, and perhaps find a few allies, even if their overall image is presented like that of a monster that stalks the lonely villages at night.

As for the Mages of Rage who so follow the path of gaining knowledge through Rage? Suffice to say, they are quite the chaotic bunch, and not exactly in the most pleasant way. While the former Mages of Rage simply seek out places filled to the brim with chaos, injustice, and in general in need of being liberated, these Mages of Rage are those who thought it would be quicker to gain knowledge and wisdom by allowing Rage to consume them. There is always a chance for redemption for many people, but there are so few Mages of Rage who choose this path that show any promise of climbing out from this hole. They are some of the most morally bankrupt of the Mages, seeing everything and everyone as a tank filled with knowledge that must be cracked open through whatever Rage-filled means possible. While some spread rumors that the former Mages of Rage are omens of chaos or saviors through destruction, most of the latter Mages of Rage are rotten down to their very core. In a way, these Mages of Rage are truly their Classpect at its most extreme and worst. If the Mage of Rage wishes to gain knowledge, then it would be wise to try and avoid them until their hunger has subsided if you want to avoid ending up in their crosshairs.

In the eyes of these Mages of Rage, the more chaos they bring into everyone’s and their own life, the better. They are someone who is not only ready and willing to set ablaze an entire forest in order to grow back something new and more pure, at least within their own vision and definition of such things, but if they find that some people are just as tainted as the forest, chances are that they will make sure those people go down with the rest of those woods. One of the most dangerous things about these Mages of Rage is that no one who knows them can say for certain when they will get these strong cravings for knowledge, which causes many people in the Mage’s life to be almost constantly on edge. However, no matter how cautious they believe themselves to be, very few people are ever capable of avoiding becoming a target for feeding, one way or another. Since Rage-bound are often stubborn in changing their opinions on things, these Mages are often the most stubborn of them all - believing their way to be the correct and purest one, and that anyone who dares challenge them is in for a world of pain, torment, and fear. When the Mage of Rage makes an enemy, it is never certain when they will strike. Perhaps they never will, and instead quietly relish in the fear and anxiety that comes off of their foe; anxiety and fear that gives only more knowledge to feed off of.

Whether the Mage of Rage presents themself to be a benevolent entity, simply appearing in places that need their help the most and acting upon such things, or they are a person deprived of morals and kindness, instead succumbing to their own anger, guilt, and hatred for the sake of knowledge, there is one thing for certain. The Mage of Rage may not seem like the most active threat, especially those who follow the path of gaining knowledge of their Aspect, but do not be fooled. They are still a Rage-bound at heart, and everyone knows how truly capricious they can be at times - especially if they want to play a little dirty. However, they can also be an important ally to have, if only for more inner-group and personal problems than anything else. They could easily be able to sniff out someone who poses a threat to the group, whether it be that person’s own rage, doubt, or fear. As such, they are the best person to put on the job for playing mediator, either between two friends who are having a disagreement or an entire dispute and rift happening within the group. It would be up to the Mage of Rage to discover the roots of these problems and address them appropriately, but that would be the biggest gamble of them all. Only the Mage of Rage knows for certain what plague of bitterness has infected their people, and who it has exactly infected. Considering the fluctuating moods of Mages in general, and then to add on the unpredictable and chaotic nature of Rage-bound, the Mage of Rage could become the best mediator within a group but also be the cause for its downfall - if they so choose to play such a nasty hand.

The Mage of Rage is one who is not afraid to play favorites, and if someone they particularly like turns out to be the cause of a problem or pose a threat to the group, then who is to say whether they will truly “snitch” on their friend for everyone else. After all, what has anyone else done for them? What are the benefits to tattling on someone who actually listens to them and believes the words that they are saying? To a particularly nasty Mage of Rage, there are none. After all, if they truly love to gain knowledge through Rage, they are someone who would rather leave everyone in states of paranoia and mistrust until it tears everyone apart. It would be unwise to not have at least one person keep an eye on the Mage of Rage at almost all times. However, not all Mages of Rage pose such large threats to a group’s integrity, tranquility, and honesty. For the Mages of Rage who have managed to acquire the skill of patience, they can prove themselves to be extremely valuable to the team. With their capability to gain knowledge of Rage, specifically of destruction, they could play an important part in creating large game plans for the team and securing victory with ease. They could pinpoint all of the easiest ways to attack an enemy and smite it. As their power of knowledge grows, so does their capability to take down their opponents swiftly and cleanly, unless they wish for it to be messy. The Mage of Rage is one who saw the truth of the world around them, and after breaking free of the shackles and tossing away the clothes forced upon them, they have found the robes and garbs that best fit them and show who they truly are. The Mage of Rage is someone who can either be someone’s savior, or their reaper. All that truly matters in that judgement is whether they deem you as a blind fool or a pitiful victim to the system. Remember, when the Mage of Rage is quiet, that is when peace has been eliminated from within their mind.

#Mage #Mage of Rage #Homestuck #Hiveswap #Mage of Rage Analysis #Rage Aspect #Oculus October #Rage

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jjk-biased · 4 years ago

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FATE'S GAMES SPECIAL

*not canon or part of the storyline, sorry 😔✋🏽

smau masterlist

content that didn't make the cut:

— chapter 25 alt end:

𝗶𝗳 𝗱𝗮𝗻𝗶𝗲𝗹 𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝗲 𝗮 𝗴𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝗯𝗿𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗲𝗻𝗱

“Daniel Y/L/N,” you gritted out.

“Long time no see, sister.”

The fucking nerve of this guy to even have the face to meet you. He somehow still upheld a small smile, which made you more livid.

“Why are you here?”

“To make amends. Is that too bad?” He shrugged lightly, too casual for your liking.

This was the asshole that had caused you a lot of years of suffering. He was the reason you had to shed blood, sweat, and tears to simply finish your degree in college. He was the root of your problems, the cause of why you had trust issues.

Mainly, he was the reason why the only people you could call your family was the seven best friends who took you in.

“You lost that chance years ago, Daniel!”

You tried your best not to let the anger within you take the wheel. If it did, you were sure you had to leave Seoul with a case of murder stained in your records.

“I’m leaving,” You murmured, snatching Jungkook’s hand and storming off to God knows where.

He followed you wherever you went though. No matter how many turns you took, he was hot on your tail. It took so much in you not to break Jungkook’s hand from the frustration you felt.

“Just give me a chance to explain, sister,” He pleaded.

You finally heard the desperation leak in his tone. Giving up, though not letting your guard down, you allowed it. You gave him yet another chance to redeem himself.

With reluctance, Jungkook left you to talk to Daniel. After reading his last message and texting Hoseok, you closed your phone.

Let’s relive the years of anguish, you sarcastically cheered internally.

“Don’t call me sister. That title died with you three when you moved to America without even so much as telling me,” You breathed out, tears trying their best not to fall from your eyes.

Daniel visibly flinched at that jab. He was a shitty brother after all.

“I… I didn’t mean for it to happen…”

“What a shitty excuse. You didn’t mean for it to happen? What bullshit is that?”

“I never thought they’d take it too far,” He whispered, unable to keep eye contact with you. If he did, he would see how much pain he had caused you.

You chuckled rather sarcastically.

“Yet they did. And you never did anything, did you Dani?” You sneered, the nickname that left your mouth didn’t feel as warm as it did.

Growing up with a traditional family wasn’t something you both could escape from. Your parents had a love-less marriage, meant only to expand whatever business they had.

As first-born, Daniel was expected of a lot of things. Intelligence, charm, and any other business-related characteristic that should help them prosper. But he wasn’t any of those things. He didn’t take interest in the entire idea. Instead of stocks and investments, he wanted modelling. Instead of maths, he wanted fashion.

Neither your mother nor father were having it.

So while he was forced to sacrifice his childhood for your parents, you had the freedom to exercise yours.

He’d be gifted with various accountancy and business related textbooks and would watch as you played with your toys and dolls. He never had those.

Your parents didn’t pay mind to your hobbies. They didn’t mind that you often geeked out at every video game you loved. They were too focused on making Daniel the CEO he will be.

He was angry. He was envious.

But he would be lying if he said he didn’t love you.

You were an empath at heart and would often cheer him up when the pressure was too much. He could still remember when you discovered him breaking down after a certain scolding happened— you dropped everything to rush to his side and say “It’s okay, Dani. I’m here for you.”

The memory of the countless cupcakes you had attempted to make just to make him smile was still etched in his mind. They weren’t the best tasting cupcakes out there, but they were made by you. And it made everything okay.

However, every thread snaps when it reaches its breaking point.

He had reached his— his envy became far too strong than the care had for you.

It was supposed to be a light remark so their parents could give him some sort of leeway in life. But the anger rushed out of his mouth and he couldn’t stop the word-vomit from pouring out.

He watched your parents’ treatment change and had to witness you take the burnt for him. You were now the one they had criticized at every twitch of a finger. They suddenly turned against you, angry at how you “wasted” your life with videogames.

He regretted every single thing he had said.

Perhaps it’s too late now.

“I had no power over them, you know that,” he muttered, taking your silence after he had explained everything as a cue to speak.

“You know… I never really minded them moving to America. But even you left me, Dani,” you croaked out.

“I’m sorry.”

“I became broke when I entered college. I had to work different jobs and eventually stick with the career I have.”

“I’m sorry,” He whispered once again, hands clasped tightly.

“I had no one else to rely on for a few years until my friends showed up,” You sighed.

“I’m sorry.”

It seemed more like a mantra by now. While it wasn’t enough to compensate for each day you had to go by without anyone else, it eased your heart a little bit.

He had also mentioned that he was sent by his parents to fix whatever you two had for the sake of the company. Your fame would bring them benefits, they said. Your brother ignored whatever ulterior motive they had initially planned, and took this chance to finally own up to the shittiest fuck up he had done.

You were thankful for the honesty, sensing that he was true to his word.

“I can’t forgive you immediately, you know,” You reminded, fiddling your thumbs out of anxiety.

“I know. I don’t mind waiting.”

Your brother had finally returned to you.

Jungkook stood beside you as you two waved your brother goodbye. He insisted on holding your hand when you two bid Daniel adieu.

With a heavy sigh, you turned to Jungkook, who had been patiently waiting for you and Daniel to talk it out.

“I’m so—”

He cut you off by tightly engulfing you in his arms. Jungkook softly patted your head as he brought you closer with his other hand.

“I’m glad you’re okay, pumpkin,” Jungkook said ever so gently, resting his chin on your head.

Turning red at his gesture, you allowed yourself to melt in his arms and returned the hug by wrapping your arms around his waist.

“Thank you, kook. I can’t tell you that enough,” You murmured, feeling warm from his gentleness.

He had sadly broken up the hug soon after. It was the first time you’d seen his ears become red but you didn’t point it out.

Clearing his throat, he once again took your hand in his and led you to wherever the others were. He said you might get lost if he didn’t clutch one hand and it would be hard to find you because you were vertically inclined.

If everyone else heard his excuse, they’d definitely say Sure Jan.

You didn’t mind though, actually liking the feeling of his large hands encasing yours.

And if you did mind, you couldn’t actually speak. After all, Daniel decided to leave you with a few parting words that made you embarrassed and rattled.

“You seem to have a crush on your guard dog, N/N.”

Ah you should’ve smacked him when you had the chance. You? Have a crush on Him??? How ab...surd…

You honestly didn’t know anymore. But Jungkook’s hand in yours, you were certain that everything will now turn out fine.

Jungkook’s only problem now was how he’d be able to find the courage to say what he wanted to say earlier.

I like you, Y/N.

But he was content with whatever you two are now, your hands snugly fit with his.

*note: the reason i didn't chose this path is because it seems illogical. don't you think?

i mean,,, it won't be easy to forgive Daniel for what he had done,,, so i made him the bad guy ;-;) but it gets better in the end i swear!

also another reason was i really wasn't happy with how it turned out ;-;) seemed too rushed for them to make amends doesn't it?

this post is part of my special milestone event!

and another fate's game bonus is a q&a with the characters!! (but no one sent in asks throughout the week so it's still open) so if you have questions for the characters, send asks!!

taglist: @armymaknae @rjsmochii @chogiyeol-utopia @deolly @liitlefaiiery @patpus @br0ther-s @tyraparker @ancailinaerach @tae165 @cherrycolababie @nininek12 @atulipandarose @hannahdinse8 @hereforaus @thewariestofheads @thia-aep @diorhobii @seungcheoluwu @mipetronella @callmesenpaix @jungshookmeup @yoongisabby @parkchaeyoung1997 @alpaca1612 @bangtan-serendipity @karissassirak @fullsunkook @salty-for-suga @cholychi @smolbeaniejimin @netflix-batman-sleep @snickerdoodleeee @faeriegukkie @kpop4mysoul @crazylittlemay @theneighborhoodfangirl @ughtear @youurkryptonite @lovelyseomin @pureshinso @kawaiimusiccollection @aviwasabi21

permanent tag: @luvinseokjinnie @97faerie @amoreguk @bbyjoonies @borednia @tanumiki @taescake

#lin's special event #fate's games special #unused content #bts x reader #bts #bts social media au #jungkook x female reader #jungkook x reader #fate's games

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donatello-writes · 5 years ago

Text

Not Quite Human - Part IV

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

Mystified by your date's bizarre actions, you wandered about your apartment, racking your brain as to where you'd gone wrong. Overthinking was your specialty, and you feared that perhaps you moved too fast, making him feel uncomfortable. Mortification painted your face as you hoped that wasn't the reason. Noticing Noodle sniffing around excitedly by the couch, you walked over to see what he was so interested in. Kneeling down for a closer look, you found a few pale green flecks dotting your carpet. They were lightly iridescent with a rough texture, almost like the skin of a snake. "...Are these...Scales?"

The sound of labored breath, laden with guilt, echoed through the otherwise silent midnight alleyways of New York city. Donatello felt like a fugitive fleeing from the scene of a crime as he darted from rooftop to rooftop, further distancing himself from you. The crisp October air burned his throat, but not as badly as the words left unsaid. He failed to have the courage to finally come clean about what he actually was: a mutant. The fear that surrounded him admitting his truth to you was paralyzing, knowing the outcome would most likely result in him never seeing you again. There was no chance that someone as perfect as you would want to be with a freakish reject like him. Beauty and the Beast is a lovely story, but things like that never happened in real life.

Engrossed in thought, he was unprepared when his two-toed feet split through the small converse shoes, causing him to lose footing and tumble across the next rooftop. As he laid face-first on the cold and unforgiving concrete, he vowed to replace the shoes he'd destroyed, they were Mikey's after all. The human-turtle hybrid moved to get up, only to remain on the ground when a sharp pain shot down his back. He involuntarily coiled into a ball in preparation for the worst part of the change. The smooth skin on his back began to crawl before hardening as it reformed into his carapace.

Wincing, the Donatello hugged his own body for comfort. To distract himself from the pain, he focused on the sound of the sweatshirt slowly tearing apart as it surrendered to his expanding form. He felt terrible for destroying your belonging, but due to the intense stress of the moment, he was unable to remove it in time. It wasn't long before his shell triumphantly burst through the clothing, regaining it's rightful place on his back. The mutant breathed a sigh of relief, it was all over. Removing his glasses, and retrieving his mask from his pants pocket, he tied it back onto his face. Surveying his surroundings, he located a nearby manhole and quickly slipped down into it.

Staggering through the sewer tunnels, vision doubled, Donatello struggled to even keep himself upright. Sewage splashed up onto his bare legs with each heavy step that he took. What little material that remained of his tattered jeans clung to his larger mutant form snugly, making movement difficult. This wasn't good. For the first time, he actually felt woozy following his change. Why are the after effects so adverse this time? He thought, mind swiftly consumed by worry. Thankfully, the journey wasn't long, and the lights of the lair soon illuminated his path.

The fatigued terrapin stumbled back into the lair, breathing still strained. Wobbling legs that had been threatening instability the entire jaunt home, finally gave out, and he collapsed like a newborn baby deer. Normally he would have rested before returning home, but he wasn't thinking clearly in his agitated state. Alarmed by the less than graceful entrance, his brothers rushed to his aid. Leonardo was the first at his side, followed closely by the others.

"Donnie, what happened? Where's all of your tech?" the leader in blue questioned.

"I...was attacked by foot soldiers...They ambushed me, I barely escaped...They took everything, but thankfully I awoke before they could do anything else." He lied again, something he abhorred, but had been doing a surprising amount of lately. Mikey tried his best not to react, knowing full well that his older brother's story was likely untrue.

Somehow the genius managed to convince his brethren that he was fine, and stole away to his laboratory. How was he going to explain this to you? After leaving without so much as a goodbye out the bathroom window of your high rise apartment unit. That, in and of itself, would be quite difficult to explain without telling you the truth. Worst part of all being the very moment at which he departed. The two of you were getting rather intimate, and if not for his pesky changing form, he would have stayed. The last thing he wanted you to think was that he wasn't interested in you that way. As if any of that even mattered at this point. Once you saw his true form, that flame of desire would surely die.

Clearly his homemade ooze was unstable, it's effectiveness dwindling with each use. Time was a cruel mistress and refused Donatello any leeway. There was a limit to how many more times he'd be able to turn human, and honestly, he wasn't sure how much much more of it he could take. The formula was still incomplete. There was a key ingredient missing, and he couldn't figure out what.

***************************************

Back at your apartment, you collected the cluster of scales discovered after Donatello's bizarre and hasty departure. Digging a microscope out of the closet and unboxing the device, you carefully set it up. Slipping the scales between slides and under the lens, you examined them. Following some tests, the scales were identified as being of the common North American box turtle. Perhaps Donatello has a pet turtle? It was just odd, as turtles usually shed similarly to snakes, in large sloughs rather than individual scales.

As with most cases where you were in need of immediate answers, you turned to the internet. While navigating the seemingly unending information on box turtles, you happened upon a video. It was an excerpt from a nature documentary explaining their mating habits. The narrator prattled on in his proper English accent about how the males emit what was described as a churr, followed by footage of a male box turtle making an extremely familiar sound. Immediately recognizing it, you sat at your desk for a moment, completely stunned. It was almost identical to the sound you'd heard coming from Donatello.

This new bit of intrigue encouraged further investigation. With the few supplies that you had, you assembled everything needed to conduct a rudimentary DNA test. Running into your laundry room, you retrieved his signature flannel shirt. Upon careful inspection of the garment, you managed to find a hair that you could use for analysis. You placed the hair besides the scales under the lens and had a look. Moving your eye from the microscope, you gasped. Somehow, the structural appearance of each seemed to almost match.

"But that would mean...There's no way."

The tools required to conduct a proper test were not at your disposal, so you were quick to doubt the accuracy of the results. If your hypothesis was correct, Donatello would easily fit the description of those beings you'd heard about on the news. Considering the strides in genetic research that had occurred within the past decade, the existence of such a genetic marvel wasn't completely ludicrous. However, one fact remained: all of this was nothing but speculation until proven. This realization brought your wild theorizing to a halt.

Perhaps a goodnight's sleep would help to clear your restless mind.

Merely an hour or so after your head hit the pillow, a ruckus reverberated down the alley outside of your apartment, stirring you from fitful slumber. Understandably irked by the rude awakening, you grumbled and rolled over in your bed. The sound of a familiar voice among the others swiftly quelled your annoyance, prompting you to venture out of bed and over to the window.

"Donnie...?"

The name came out in the form of a whisper as you gazed skyward to the origin of the commotion. It was difficult to make out detail in the veil of night, but what you could see were four humanoid silhouettes on the rooftop of a neighboring building. The longer you stared, the more you came to realize that these figures weren't human. They had what appeared to be shells on their backs...turtles? Your eyes were drawn to one of them, specifically. The one who appeared to be decorated with various pieces of electronic equipment.

Why do I feel like I know him somehow?

Further investigation was in order. Clumsily stepping through the window, you made your way out onto the fire escape. Still hazy from sleep, little attention was paid to your footing. One misstep was all it took to send you over the rail with a yelp. Thanks to quick reflexes, you managed to grab onto it, leaving you dangling from a dangerous height.

Fingers losing grip with every passing second, it wasn't long before you finally began to fall. Knowing ground impact was immanent, you shut your eyes tight. But instead of hitting the hard pavement, you found yourself being whisked upward. Someone had caught you. Rough, scaly arms surrounded you, holding on tight and trembling ever so slightly. He didn't speak, but he didn't need to, his expression spoke volumes. Jaw dropped, releasing ragged breath, and eyes visibly ravaged by worry from behind his...tortoise shell glasses. This realization came too late, however, as you made the mistake of looking down. Dizziness assaulted your vision and the world swiftly went dark.

Once he climbed your fire escape, his tension eased to see that you had fallen unconscious. That eliminated any awkward questions that he couldn't answer. His voice was too recognizable to you. It could give him away or, at the very least, cause suspicion.

Gently, he laid you down onto the bed. Bringing the covers over you, he then lovingly tucked you in. He couldn't resist resting a hand softly on your cheek. So warm against his cold palm, a reminder of how different you were. It was easy to forget at times while waltzing around in human skin.

Just as he turned to leave, you shifted in your bed and mumbled, "Donnie..." He shuddered at the sound of his own name. Peering over his shoulder, a sigh of relief left him to see that you were still out cold.

It was just a coincidence, he told himself.

***************************************

Awakening with a start, you were bewildered to find yourself in bed. "B-but...impossible."

Throwing off the covers, you ran back to the window, gazing up to find the mysterious creatures had long since vanished. Before falling you could have sworn that you heard Donatello, but it all happened so quickly that you started to doubt yourself. With your crack theory regarding the nerdy lad all but consuming your thoughts as of late, you weren't all that surprised.

It was just a dream...right?

The next day, he called. Despite him being the one who initiated the conversation, you were the first to begin.

“Donnie! About yesterday...If I made you feel uncomfortable at any point, I am so, so sorry.”

“No! That wasn’t it at all! I called to apologize to you.” there was a momentary pause as he collected his thoughts before continuing, “I’ve never been with another person in that way and I just got a bit...overwhelmed.”

Though you maintained that jumping out a window was not the best choice, you understood. Nerves can make a person do crazy things.“Well, if that ever happens again, can you promise me one thing?”

“Of course, anything.”

“Next time, please use the front door.” snorts and laughter came from the other end as he agreed to your terms. After a bit of talking, the two of you made plans to meet up. Excitedly stuffing all of your necessities into your backpack, you immediately headed out.

***************************************

"You forgot something the other night." with a broad smile you then handed over the flannel shirt, neatly folded and cleaned. The scent of lavender and vanilla laundry detergent clung to the material, filling the air with it's pleasant aroma. "It seems as though you're determined to have me keep this."

Noticing a curious purple rag poking out of his pants pocket, you swiped it for further investigation. It looked so familiar, but you couldn't place where you'd seen it before. He jerked after feeling the item leave his pocket and turned to you. Gears were already turning in his head, preparing his answer to whatever you were about to say.

Upon further examination of the brilliantly colored cloth, you came to discover two specifically cut holes in it. Additionally, there were designs up and down both sides. One appeared to be Japanese kanji and the other...*an icon of a turtle*. That was it! The terrapin rescuer of your dreams was wearing a mask almost identical to this one.

"Is this a...mask?"

Without missing a beat, Donatello replied, "Yes, because I'm secretly a crime fighting superhero by night." He said, laughing a bit louder than necessary.

"You did mention that you work at night...The pieces of the Donnie puzzle are finally coming together." with a wry smirk, you played along with his comical hypothetical. As he reached out to reclaim his possession, you swiftly tied to onto your face.

Puckering your lips goofily, you then requested his opinion, "How do I look?" adding to the humorous display with hands on both hips and a sassy rolling of the shoulders.

"I'm not going to lie...you look good in purple. Unfortunately, now I will have to kill you because you know my secret identity. It's such a shame too...I was really starting to like you, we had a good run." as the two of you exchanged a laugh, he wrapped his arms around you; using this as a distraction to remove the mask. "Now, are we just going to fool around or are we going on a date?"

***************************************

Within the next few months, when Donatello wasn't working on the ooze formula, he was out with you. The more time that you spent together, the more he couldn't help but worry about telling you the truth. He was leaving a crucial fact out of the equation: that he wasn't exactly human...Well, not completely. Guilt ate away at his delicate conscience, his anxiety surrounding the matter only worsening with each passing day. The night that you shared together was a close call. It was only a matter of time before it somehow surfaced whether planned or unexpected. Not wanting circumstances to come to the latter, he resolved to tell you on his own terms. It was just a matter of finding the right time.

Going over the plans for the evening in his head, Donatello gathered everything he needed for the night. Dinner, a movie, and a walk through the park. That would allow more than enough time to return to your apartment, and for him to confess to you before the ooze's effectiveness wore off. Without the visual, his story would be hard to believe. A much as it pained him to think of you watching his gruesome shift in form, it needed to be done.

With a heavy sigh, he headed away from the lair and deep into the sewers to take the ooze. Following his change, he donned a Queen t-shirt and squirmed uncomfortably while fitting his suspenders over his shoulders. It felt strange wearing his usual cargo pants. Not only were they ill-fitting on his smaller human body, but they also served to mark the end. The end of being human, the end of being normal, the end of being...with you.

The final touch: his purple flannel over shirt. It would undoubtedly be torn apart when he reverted back, and he couldn't think of a better way to get rid of it. He couldn't keep the article of clothing after all that it came to stand for. The outfit was far from fashionable, but at that point in time, he was in need of functionality. He didn't bother to remove his goggles, there was no point, she'd already seen them. Bedsides, it'd be far better to be prepared in case anything happened.

***************************************

"Nice suspenders, you're really playing up the hot nerd look, huh?" You joked.

Making a point to adjust his glasses he replied, "You know you like it."

Shooting him a smirk, you grabbed hold of his suspenders and pulled him into a kiss. "Oh, I definitely do...And I surrender, the nerdy allure is too much for me to handle! Have mercy!" You both chuckled as you made your way to the restaurant.

Hopping seamlessly from dinner to movie, the date was just as normal as any other. However, once you left the theater and headed off to your next destination, Donatello leaned in and whispered, "I don't mean to alarm you, but...It appears that we have chaperones accompanying our date. They're undoubtedly looking for revenge after what I did to them before." He concluded, and you breathed a sigh of relief. He still didn't know that they were after you, specifically.

After a series of twists, turns, and misdirections that would make even the Scooby Doo gang dizzy, it seemed you had thrown the ruffians off your trail. The detour had taken a decent chunk of time, and by now it was already dark. Given how far you both were from her apartment, he was forced to find a secluded place where there'd be no threat of him being seen as he transformed.

A rooftop.

Taking your hand in his, he led you up a nearby fire escape. You didn't question it, figuring this was still part of your evading the current threat. Once the two of you reached the top, stared up at the sky wistfully before turning to you. Gazing deep into your eyes, he wasn't sure where to begin. After everything that had transpired that night, his time frame was limited. Within the hour, the effects of the ooze would cease and his true appearance revealed.

Noticing his unease, you wrapped your arms around him. The tips of your fingers traced up and down the back of his neck, sending shivers down his spine. You followed with a delicate touch of the lips. He savored every kiss that you granted him, knowing this would all come to an end once you knew what he really was...a monster...those words still echoed in Donatello's head from that terrible night at the Police station. His analytical brain made sense of the situation, he'd rationalized long ago that what those police had said came from a place of ignorance; however, knowing that fact didn't make their words hurt any less.

"Y/N...I...I haven't been myself lately." He began, words slow and heavy.

Puffing a chuckle, you replied, "It's okay, it happens to the best of us."

"No. You don't understand, I-I'm not hu--"

Angry shouts cut Donatello off from his confession. The Purple Dragons who had been following the two of you earlier had managed to locate you once more. Effortlessly scooping you up into his arms, your beau made a mad dash for the fire escape. While descending the stairs, your phone wriggled free from your pocket and plummeted down to the concrete below. You let out an involuntary shriek as it did so.

"S-sorry, I'll get you a new one!" He promised as you finally reached the bottom. Without hesitation, he then bolted down the alleyway with impressive speed. You looked back to see a few new thugs had joined the chase and were not far behind. The change was upon him, and in a panic, he hastened his pace. He was paying little attention to navigation, but thankfully you were. Recognizing the area, you shouted at Donatello to stop. Unfortunately, the warning came too late, he'd already turned to face a dead end.

Pain finally gripped him and he froze, allowing the pursuers to catch up. Nestled in his arms, you could feel his muscles twitching incessantly, begging to regain their proper form. Surveying his surroundings, there were no fire escapes, no windows, nothing to grab onto to make a getaway. The only thing in this alley was a faulty streetlight that flickered weakly, offering an eerie lighting to the already tense situation.

***************************************

Your piercing screech echoed down the streets, making it's way to the ears of a certain leader in blue. Out with only two of his brothers, he couldn't ignore such an apparent cry of distress. Following the sound, they came to find only the Purple Dragons all converging on one point. Clearly they were up to nothing good, so they silently followed from the rooftops. Eventually coming upon the objects of the chase: a young, unassuming couple.

Raphael tilted his head, perplexed, as he concentrated his gaze on the stranger below, "Hey, doesn't that guy look kinda familiah?" He inquired, nudging his little brother.

"Nope, nope...Haven't seen that dude before in my life." Michelangelo straightened up, trying his best not to seem suspicious. Knowing it was Donatello, and concerned for his safety, the orange masked turtle added, "Should we go down there and help them?" He then looked to his older brethren for guidance. Both of them traded glances before surveying the scene below one more time. The heroic young man was poised to fight off his attackers, and he didn't appear to be a stranger to combat, judging from his solid fighting stance, and the fierce expression on his face.

Leonardo shook his head decisively, "No, if it's not absolutely necessary for us to intervene, we won't. We are not going to risk being seen over a small skirmish." the leader had spoken, and he directed his younger team members to follow him away from the stand-off. Not but a second later, the human man prepared to dish our the much deserved beating that his assailants were begging for.

This was a dead end in every sense of the phrase. Standing between you and the enemy, Donatello held his place firmly. He would do anything it took to ensure your safety. As if some otherworldly force were at work in his favor, just as the miscreants prepared for attack, the streetlight cut out. Scant beams of moonlight streamed in from between the lofty buildings and offered little light to the scene. Low gasps and groans of displeasure came from the Purple Dragons, but not him. He was completely at home in the shadows.

Drawing in a deep breath, Donatello began fighting off the group, and defend you. They all rushed at him, despite their limited vision, and the game was set. Maneuvering through the group with calculated grace, he easily evaded the flurry of fists and weapons. His strikes were deliberate, without a hint of hesitation. There was no time for flourishes like the last fight, this time he was all business. Admittedly, he was putting on a bit of a show to impress you the last time he faced off against these thugs.

Leonardo motioned for his brothers to follow him away from the scene, and the both nodded. Turning back to catch one last glimpse of the show, Raphael's eyes widened. He recognized those fighting movements instantly, they were exactly the same as what he and his brothers learned from Master Splinter. "Guys. Check out this nerd's moves."

Well aware that his shift in form was upon him, Donatello was forced to ignore it, and focus on the fight. Scales began to replace skin, and the sound of tearing fabric rang out into the quieted night. His darkened form appeared to be growing, but that couldn't be possible. A single flash from the streetlight gave you a glimpse of your heroic beau, half-turned. It was only for a split second, but enough.

The two oldest brothers watched in disbelief as this gangly human man slowly took the familiar shape of their brother, far too stunned by what their eyes were beholding to take action. Michelangelo shifted uncomfortably, being privy to the secret, trying to pretend like he was equally as surprised. The leader was speechless, not entirely sure of what he had just witnessed. While beside him, the red brute showed the most visible reaction. A myriad of emotions swept over the red masked turtle's face--shock, fear, and disgust, before finally settling on his usual: anger.

As the transformation persisted, so did Donatello's attackers. He wanted to double over, but couldn't let up his defense for a second. All that he could do was grit his teeth, and tolerate the pain as he continued fending off the assault. There were far too many enemies for him to be concerned with his change at this point in time. Meanwhile, his practically blind assailants were oblivious to his shifting form.

It wasn't until he took down the last of his opponents, and reached for your hand, that he finally came crashing back down to reality from his adrenaline high. His three-pronged, green, scaly hand was outstretched before him, mere inches away from yours. At which point, the streetlight finally decided to remain on, shining brightly down on the newly turned mutant like a spotlight. The otherworldly force was not so benevolent after all.

The orange and red masked brothers were prepared to jump down and interrupt, but Leonardo quickly stopped them. "No...we're not needed here." He stated, knowing this was time that you and Donatello needed alone. The wise leader was able to read the situation effortlessly. Putting the disappointment that he was feeling on the back burner, he chose empathy. Knowing that his sibling was already stressed, he didn't want to compound that by getting involved at this moment.

"Whut??? Didja not see our brother just--" the burly terrapin readied his argument, but was swiftly silenced by the head of the team. "Enough, we're not interfering. We can discuss this with Donnie later, but right now...They need to be alone."

Coming to the realization that you had just witnessed him transform for the first time, Donatello's eyes grew wide with horror and he quickly withdrew his hand. He wished this had happened under better circumstances, but these were the cards that he was dealt. Dread flashed over his features as you stared back at him, transfixed. The expression on your face appeared almost identical to the one in his nightmare. Anxiety at it's peak, he backed away like a frightened animal and absconded without saying a word. There was nothing to be said, his monstrous form spoke for itself, telling the story of his deceit.

The mutant's departure was so swift that he didn't hear your plea for him to stay. By the time you'd found words, he had already disappeared into the night. You stood there, surrounded by fallen enemies, and the many tattered pieces of his flannel shirt that laid strewn about the alley. Kneeling down, one by one you carefully collected the pieces of material. After retrieving every last shred, you stepped over the unconscious men and slowly made your way home in a daze.

Once he had returned to the lair, Donatello shut himself away in his room, head reeling from what had just occurred. The look of fear on your face replayed endlessly in his head as if it were a video on loop. He didn't expect you to accept him like this, he was an abomination of both nature and science. He only wanted for you to be able to lead a normal life, and he was unable to give you that. Knowing this fact made his heart ache.

Surely you wouldn't want to see him again, he concluded pessimistically. Not after watching someone you thought was human horrifically transform into a monster before your very eyes. Someone you trusted...and maybe even...loved? He quickly erased that possibility from his mind, you'd never return your affection for him like this...as a mutant. You loved the human Donatello, and that was the reality of the situation.

You returned to your apartment, utterly dumbfounded by the recent events. From your brief infiltration of Dr. Stockman's laboratory, you knew that he made unbelievable breakthroughs in genetic engineering. Though you were not privy to the specifics of his work, rumors flew within the scientific community that he'd found a way to modify human and animal DNA with his miraculous purple serum. You didn't believe these insane claims, it was something like that seemed unachievable. Despite the fact that you'd been hired to purloin said formula, you still weren't convinced of it's effectiveness. Was Donatello really a human-animal hybrid? Even though you'd witnessed him change into his half-animal form right in front of you, if was still difficult to swallow.

"He's...incredible."

...to be continued.

Tagged a few folks who asked to be:

@ali-on-reverie @fullvoidmoon @notaliteraltoad

#aaand it's done #I sure hope it was worth the wait #cause I don't feel like it was #*dies*#I struggled with this part for some reason I'm sorry guys #I'm just happy that I finished it #bayverse tmnt #tmnt fan fic #tmnt x reader #donatello x reader #tmnt 2016 #tmnt 2014 #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #fan fiction #my writing #don's quill pen #not quite human

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