#he's so big he could break spines like toothpicks | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jangofctts · 4 years ago

Text

Are You in Or Out?

Rated: Explicit

Word count: 11.5K yall I am SORRY

Warnings: good lord y'all here we GO-- smut, explicit language, violence and mentions of blood and gore, injuries, unprotected sex (don't be a dick, wrap that stick!), oral (m&f receiving), blindfolding, vaginal and anal fingering, vaginal and anal sex, double penetration, spit is used as lube but for the love of GOD doNT DO THAT, there are some dom vibes on Paz’s end

Summary: The job you’re on takes a turn for the worst--Paz comes to your rescue and you're brought to the Covert. There you meet Din Djarin. though during a good natured sparring session, you’re suddenly stuck between an age old rivalry that spirals out of hand. Hopefully an agreement can be met.

a/n: hey...how y’all doin....SO lemme explain you smthn. I said helmets must be OfF--giv me them LIPS BABEY so this is a slight AU in which mandos can see other mandos’ faces. ya get me? I also tHot that it would be nice and fun to set the timeline 5-6 years BEFORE the plot of the Mandalorian so we gots a younger din here. anyway, as always enjoy and I hope you like!!

Mistakes, mistakes, mistakes—

Some as little as burning your finger on the nozzle of a smoking blaster or tripping over your own shoelaces. Simple things. Mindless things.

Nothing that could ever compare to the catastrophic decision of picking up bounty hunting as a reliable source of income.

The little ones were easy—tax evaders and deserters of the Empire—most who’d yield and gladly follow without complaint just at the sight of your blaster pointed between their eyes. And the gag of it is—most of the time you never bothered to load the damn thing.

Reckless.

An invitation for disaster.

But skirting that precarious edge, one little slip up away from plunging head first into inevitable trouble is better than Bracca. Stars—anything is better than Bracca. There’s no glory in bounty hunting but there’s even less in ship scrapping. Abysmal pay in exchange for risking your life on rain slicked metal with only the Ibdis Maw to break your fall.

The guild you work for is considerate—scratch that. Greef Karga is considerate. Sure the flirting is a touch unbearable but it saves your ass in the long run. All easy money bounties set aside for you in exchange for a cheap drink, hollow laughs and sugar sweet smiles.

It’s enough credits to get by—more than plenty to rent a room and charter a ship.

But there’s only so many bounties to capture within the limits of the guild and oh so many people the empty blaster trick works on. And so the credits begin to thin; it gets too expensive to buy off a pilot and the debate over buying food or being able to pay for your room becomes more frequent than the scraprats that skitter inside the walls.

It’s suicide to snag a higher paying bounty because....well—these bounties shoot back.

Whatever.

Might as well die trying. Who knows, maybe you could score big time if you manage to pull this off.

Maybe.

-=-=-=-

You’re not sure who’s more surprised—Karga when you asked for the bounty or yourself when he actually gave it to you.

“Are you sure, kid? This could—“

“End in a fiery shitshow? Yeah—I figured that,” you sigh, swirling your drink with a little complimentary toothpick. “But I need the money.”

“Hah! You’ve got guts, girl.” He flashes you a smile and smooths down his mustache with his thumb and forefinger. “Tell you what. The last assignment was just taken but I’m sure if you run you could catch him. Work somethin’ out.”

Jumping from your seat, you throw on your coat and toss a couple credits onto the table to cover the drink. “What’s he look like?”

“Big fellow—Mandalorian. You’ll know when you see him.”

You shout your thanks over your shoulder and hightail outta there. The landing docks aren’t far, you can see them from here. It’s finding the guy that could pose a problem.

If he hasn’t already left, you bitterly think.

However, it seems the universe is on your side today. Karga was right. He is big. Stands out like a sore thumb against his ship that glitters dully in the overcast sky. Kinda like an oversized blueberry. A yellow and blue blueberry….not important—

“Hey! Hey, you!” You’re so close, just a couple yards away. You swear and hurry up your pace as he steps onto the loading ramp. “Big guy! Large...blue man?”

You trip over your own feet as he turns his head. Fuck—

No way are you gonna be able to bargain with this guy. Built like a fucking AT-AT and probably just as stubborn. After all, no one would ever be dumb enough to come between a Mandalorian and their quarry. You grimace, and suck in a breath—

Before a word even leaves your mouth he interrupts with a steady, unwavering;

“No.”

Your brows furrow. “I didn’t even say anything!”

“I know what you were going to ask,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “I work alone.”

Ok, then. You didn’t want to resort to begging, but you’re kinda running out of options here. You take a steadying breath and plant yourself at the bottom of the ramp. “C’mon man. Look—I’ll let you take seventy percent of the cut and I can—“

“You’ll let me?” He repeats, the staticky tone of his voice dropping into an edge more cutting than broken transparisteel. The metal platting on the ramp vibrates from the weight of his step to move closer; Stars it takes every fucking inch of willpower to hold your ground. “You’re lucky if I let you leave with your life. Get lost.”

Fuckfuckfuck—you should listen. You wanna fucking run for the hills and never look back in case he comes looking to purge your name from the kriffing galaxy. You clench your jaw and steel your nerves. Too bad—you’ve dug your heels so far into this empire of dirt and false bravado that your only way out is continuing to poke the sleeping bear until he snaps your spine or caves.

You have to crane your neck to glare into that dark strip of his vizor, seeing as he’s invited himself into your personal space. “No.”

“No?” He mocks, now toe to toe with your scuffed up boots.

Your teeth clench, a scalding flush burning through your cheeks and all the way down to your chest. He’s toying with you—finding amusement in your stubbornness and apparent lack of braincells for challenging him. “You don’t scare me.”

The man hums, a deep purr that rumbles through his entire ribcage as he raises his gloved hand. You curse yourself for flinching because surely he’s about to crush your skull like a fucking grape, but no. All he does is fix your rumbled collar then pat your cheek.

“I don’t need the extra baggage.”

“I’m not baggage,” you sneer, slapping his hand away. “I can handle myself.”

“With an empty blaster?” He points out, tipping his head to the side. “Your parlor tricks won’t do you any good on this job.”

“I’m a good shot!” You sputter, placing your hands over you hips and mustering up your best glare. “W-when I have ammo…”

“Right.”

Meeting Paz Vizsla, could have gone far better, to put it into the most simplest of words. Jagged and hard to settle into a routine around each other for the journey to Nar Shaddaa in a tiny, old, and cramped freighter ship. Most cycles you have to wedge yourself beside a cargo crate to sleep. In addition to that, how it’s able to break through the atmosphere let alone fly is beyond you—an entire mystery on its own.

At least you��re able to sit in the spare seat inside the cockpit—one of the only places available to stretch your legs. The only problem is that it’s also where Paz Vizsla likes to lurk (well, not lurk—it’s his ship and it’s where he can comfortably fit but—to each their own).

There’s a net of tension still woven between you—each interaction like tiptoeing over eggshells. Though, like all things, it becomes simpler. There’s not exactly any ongoing conversations—you don’t want to pry into a life you know nothing about—it’s not your business despite the cumulation of questions that linger in the back of your mind. You know when to take a hint—not every person is willing to indulge you about their livelihood, and surely not something as secretive and well guarded as the Mandalore.

Familiarity is what you want to call it. Comfortable with each other’s presence with small talk speckled in throughout the never-ending vastness of hyperspace. Compared to the infinite turmoil in your life, slippery footholds and uncertainty—Paz Vizsla is steady. In a way— predictable and safe in the confines of this ship.

You’d even go as far as to label him kind, a friend maybe—if you look past the grumpiness and rather poor taste in corny jokes. You know it’s stupid, no doubt stemming from the deep ache of loneliness that comes hand in hand with staking it out on your own in the galaxy; but you can’t help but wish that this could be a new normal. Not some once in a lifetime thing where you both part ways, fade into the recesses of memory and leave it at that.

If things go well—and rarely do they on a job—maybe you’d pluck up enough courage to ask him if you could stay. There’s no harm in it…right?

-=-=-=-

Well—the cynical part of you was right.

It did end up in a fiery shit show.

Turns out the stupid quarry you’d been tracking excelled in long range weaponry. A former marksman for the Empire to be exact. Guess that tidbit of information wasn’t pertinent. A need to know sorta thing, if you will.

You feel the molten bolt of plasma connect with your side before your ears pick up the sound of a weapon firing, like a crack of lighting in the empty alleyway. And before your body even connects with the duracrete, Paz is returning fire. A brilliant neon red against the hazy blur of shadowy buildings.

Kinda weird how knocking the back of your head hurts worse than the literal blaster wound burned into your side. Shock maybe. Or the heat from the plasma cauterized each veins and artery it tore through and ate away at flesh and nerves. Hm…

You’re sprawled in a wet pool of something—either your own blood or a puddle of stagnant gutter water and damn—you’re wearing your favorite shirt.

It doesn’t matter at this point…

You’re choking on your own air from the big ass hole blasted into your diaphragm, so to say things are looking grim is an understatement.

Nar Shaddaa isn’t your first choice to kick the can on, but hey—not everyone gets the luxury of dying on Naboo. And just as you’re ready to slip away into that sweet, sweet abyss, it seems your fellow armored friend has other plans.

The beskar is freezing against your cheek after he deadlifts you off the duracrete—you remember that plain as day. That and the hushed rumble of Paz’s voice insisting you save your dwindling supply of air instead of apologizing to him—or ordering you to stay alive for kriff’s sake. It’s impossible to argue with Paz—like trying to bite through durasteel, and while those beckoning tendrils of eternal slumber are mighty tempting, you cling to your life with all the strength you have left. After all, inconveniencing someone with a corpse is such a party foul to the highest degree.

The rest is muddled—like dredging up silt and clay in a murky river that just leaves you with a pounding headache between your eyes. It’s a terrible mess of pain and bouts of temporary consciousness, mistaken with fever dreams and yup—more pain. The only consistent is Paz—hovering nearby or settled beside you—through thick and thin as you heal.

There’s no solid reason your brain can conjure as to why he brought you to the Covert—it’d have been easier to just dump you at the nearest hospital and be done with it. You’re not his responsibility and you’re too afraid to ask what it means. Too many possibilities—too many answers you aren’t in the mood to face or untwist.

And so you leave it be, set aside for another time—which brings you to the present day…

You’re splayed over your little makeshift cot, feet propped up on a spare pillow as you scour through a cheesy Coruscanti gossip magazine. It’s years old—the only piece of entertainment you could find other than a weapon in the Covert. And seeing as a massive hole had been blasted through your ribcage, picking up the clever art of throwing vibroblades or shooting targets to pass the time was out of the question.

Even if you’d rather fall into a Sarlaac pit than stare at the wall for hours on end yet again—it hasn’t been all that bad. It’d taken weeks before you regained enough strength to sit up on your own, let alone walk—and walking is putting it lightly. It was more of a stiff legged shuffle better suited on a two hundred year old woman seconds from disintegrating into dust at the mere hint of a breeze.

Not to mention—your right lung was all but shredded. Ripped apart from the plasma bolt and miraculously reconstructed by a more than questionable bacta tank, hopeful thoughts and well wishes. To this very day you still sound like a broken air filter.

Eh.

Could be worse.

At least you aren’t dead.

Just another setback that adds on the growing pile of reasons why never to leave the Covert. Free food, free board and mild entertainment to top it off. Paz had stayed at your bedside for the most part while you recovered—stuck with babysitting your sorry ass until you regained a bit of mobility. The times Paz hadn’t been at your side to stave off the boredom, it was up to you to find your own fun.

Snooping is what Paz had labeled it—but you saw it more as an adventure. You met Din Djarin exploring (lost is what you actually were) in the dimly lit underbelly of Nevarro, after all. Yes, you may have scared the ever loving shit out of the poor guy and yes, he may have singed off your brows with a five foot jet of fucking fire—but hey. No one got hurt.

And you made a new friend. Sorta…Din is difficult to read, subtler in his soft spoken words and quiet demeanor. A bit like a skittish loth-cat at the start, but nowadays it’s not uncommon to find him lounging in the same space as you or hovering over your shoulder, awfully curious in whatever it is you choose to do. Like Paz, Din isn’t overly fond of sharing much information about himself but he never complains after you regale tales of your own vastly fascinating past. He seems interested enough—tilts his head a tick to the right when you speak to indicate that yes, he’s listening despite the unforgiving dark line of his visor.

There are others in the Covert too—some so elusive you have a hard time believing they exist. Shadows of what they once were before the rise of the Empire. And so, you count yourself lucky that you’d been introduced to two others—Aeris Fenn, a young man nearly as tall as a Wookie, and a woman named Ives Arrey; her armor a flashy green—damn near florescent in the light.

They’re nice enough company. Aeris is a chatterbox, his wit sharper than a blade but lacking in any forethought before he speaks. Ives is the far opposite—rolls each sentence in her mouth before she voices it, but in no way is she angelic. Maker—you’d bet your entire left asscheek she’s behind each bad decision and silly shenanigans Aeris sticks his nose into. He never learns—not after a harsh chiding or cuff around the helmet from Paz or the Armorer could dampen is childlike enthusiasm or steer him away from repeating the same mistake over and over.

Though if you read one more kriffing sentence of this garbage magazine you’re about to invite chaos himself to entertain you. Good thing too because just as you sit up to find the red armored Mandalorian—Paz rounds the corner and steps into your little broom closet that hardly passes for a room.

“Paz!” You greet, tossing the magazine over your shoulder. “Please tell me we’ll be doing something interesting or else I might start ripping my hair out. Or maybe commit a heinous crime—haven't decided yet.”

Paz grunts and shakes his head. “You’ll be doing neither. But today we’ll be sparing—hopefully that will curve your boredom.”

You scrunch up your face. “Sparring? Er, no thanks—I choose life.”

“You breathe funny since your injury,” he says, jabbing a finger between your ribs. “And all you’ve been doing lately is laying around.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you sneer, tucking your arms over your chest. “Didn’t realize I was supposed to be running laps with half a lung.”

“It’s like stretching a muscle, you need to gain your strength back.” He retorts. “This will be good for you.”

You groan and flop back into bed. “I don’t wanna. I was pretty much dead like three cycles ago—cut me some slack, man.”

There’s a brief silence as if he’s mulling over your words, but he’s stubborn. You crane your head to look at him as he says your name with a deep sigh attached to it.

“Truthfully, I’m surprised you’ve survived this long.” He says it quietly, fragile even, like he’s still expecting you to tip over and die on the spot. You very well might.

You huff. “Wow. Thanks, Paz.”

You feel his heavy stare through the helmet. “What happened to you that night was a mistake. It wasn’t preventable but the least I can do is teach you basic selfdefense.”

You gripe out your complaints but you know you’ve been beat—and well, a bit of your agreement is based on guilt.

Damn it.

-=-=-=-

It’s weird to see Paz without his heavy duty gear—like seeing him naked or a crab without a shell. The only piece he continues to wear is his helmet and padded gloves and under clothes, but it’s still weird. Strange enough that it shocks you tongue into remaining still instead of bitching about this.

He leads you to a wing of the Covert you’ve yet to discover and ushers you through the doorway. The floor is padded, a bit smaller than you expected and already occupied by none other than Aeris Fenn.

It’s a whole other kriffing shock to the head seeing him without the plates and layers of fabric and beskar too. The armor makes him bulkier—fuller and much more intimidating. Now, with only his black underclothes on, Aeris could be the spitting image of a sentient tree. Willowy limbs that stick out like branches as he stretches on the padded mat. He lazily swings his head around as you greet him, his face still covered by the black beskar painted with streaks of red.

“So you choose sparring over knife throwing?” Aeris snorts. “And to think I thought of you as a friend.”

“You think I chose to be here?” You say, grumpy and still upset at the choice of activity. Really, a brisk walk around the Covert would’ve been fine.

Aeris shrugs. “Ah, and I see you’ve roped in my favorite vod. Tch, he uses his fists instead of his words to teach. I wish you luck—you’ll need it.”

You open your mouth to retort but Paz beats you to it.

“Leave.”

“I’ve just arrived, actually,” Aeris scoffs, folding his torso over his other leg to stretch. “Perhaps you could reschedule. After all—our guest is quite free most days.”

Welp—you’re perfectly fine with that. Problem solved.

You spin on your heel and make a break for it but Paz snatches your wrist and pulls you back to his side. “Aeris.”

“Paz,” Aeris mocks, tipping his helmet to the side.

Paz exhales, a long, tired sound and grovels out another plea in clipped Mando’a. Aeris languidly stands and brushes off imaginary dust from the front of his pants. “Sorry, what was that? I don’t understand your accent.”

“Boy—“

“No, no, it’s alright.” Aeris sighs, waving his hand in a mopey display as if he were told that his birthday party were canceled for the fifth year in a row. “I’d have trouble speaking too if my enormously thick head were cooped up in that little bucket of yours all day.”

You wince.

In the time you’ve known Paz Vizsla, he’s never been one to launch into rash decisions fueled by anger—he lets it simmer and build like an oncoming storm over the ocean. Devastating once it reaches land.

Aeris bobs his head and inspects his black leather glove, picking at a loose thread on the inseam over the thumb. He clicks his tongue. “Or'dinii—you’re going to kill her.”

Your offended scoff is ignored as Paz steps forward; jutting his chin up to even out the few inches Aeris holds over the man. “You still haven’t learned to shut your mouth, boy.”

The tension surges and crackles like a volt of electricity through the air—unresolved and ready to ignite with the sparking embers of Paz’s growing irritation. It’s not a fight Aeris Fenn will win. He’s volatile and hotheaded—but his expertise is in long range weaponry. Precise, deadly and swift—not whatever this little pissing match is heading towards.

Aeris clicks his tongue as Paz digs a fist into the black fabric of his shirt. Paz yanks him forward, the metallic clink of their helmets colliding an unpleasant scrape that pierces your eardrums. Aeris snarls out sharpened words in Mando’a as his willowy fingers shoot up to curl beneath the lip of Paz’s helmet.

In the blink of an eye, Paz lifts Aeris up by his collar and launches him across the room like he weighs nothing more than a couple of down pillows. His helmet meets the wall with a resounding clank, chipping some of the red paint outlining the visor. Ouch.

Like a kicked dog, Aeris clambers to his feet, still dazed and swaying and for a fearful second you think he’ll retaliate. But with whatever braincells he happens to possess today—he instead spits out a venomous curse that even yourself would hesitate to repeat. He leaves without another word, bristling with rage.

Your flash Paz a questioning stare. “The hell was that about?”

Paz waves it away with an irritated grunt. “His heart is in the right place but he is young. Aeris doesn’t understand his place in the Covert yet and I doubt he will for years to come.”

You frown. “Poor guy…”

Paz mutters something under his breath. “Enough distractions. We’ve wasted enough time already.”

“Y’know…I think that’s enough excitement for today. I think I’ll be going now—“ Your last ditch attempt at weaseling out of this is quickly thwarted the moment you turn your back.

You wheeze as the heel of Paz’s palm shoves into your shoulder blade, the force of it sending you stumbling to the ground. “Paz—“

“Go on. Hit me,” he orders. You squeak, narrowly avoiding the well aimed kick that skims the top of your scalp.

You scramble to your feet, skirting out of range of the oncoming right hook. “So you attack me instead?”

“How do you expect to catch quarries who are bigger than you?” He presses. You hiss as the points of his knuckles dig into the meat of your shoulder.

You dance out of reach and rub your arm, a dull throb flaring up in the muscle. “I dunno—electrocute them?”

“Not if they take you by surprise.”

You screech as his knuckles skim your cheek. Adrenaline pierces you veins and you wildly throw a flaky punch that wouldn’t even impress a toddler. He catches your fist with ease, his entire hand dwarfing your clenched fingers. “You can do better than that.”

You snarl and struggle to rip your hand back. “I’m a scrapper. I don’t fight.”

“No,” he retorts. You fall onto your ass as he abruptly lets go of your hand. “You’re a bounty hunter.”

You roll your eyes. “Hardly��why can’t I just stay here?”

Although there’s nothing to see with that swatch of black covering his eyes, you can certainly feel the look he’s giving you. A deep sigh hisses through the vocoder. “You can stay here—“

A triumphant smile splits across your face—

“—but not without contributing where it’s due.”

You puff up your cheeks and let out a dismayed stream of air. “Booo—lame.”

He sighs again and helps you off the floor. “Even if you leave the Guild, what I’m teaching you is helpful.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say. “I’ll give you a call after I use your invaluable skills to beat up some thug.”

Paz ignores your comment and turns on his heel. “Let’s go through it again. This time use your front two knuckles instead of your whole fist.”

As your eyes land over the stretch of tight fighting fabric over his back an idea pops into your head. It’s a petty move but getting a punch in is fruitless—like trying to beat up a brick wall. You don’t fancy a broken hand and your knuckles are already bruised and swollen to the point where it’s hard to bend them.

And so, without any forethought and with a running head start, you launch yourself onto him, your arms coiling around his neck. It does the job—takes him by surprise and makes him tip to the right.

Aha! Yes!

Your reign of victory is short lived, however—

He latches onto your forearms strung around his neck and yanks. And much in the same way he threw Aeris like a sack of potatoes—you’re no different. For a short stretch of time that feels kriffing endless; you soar through the air, your directional whereabouts violently ripped out beneath you and equally nauseating in the same breath.

Why you ever agreed to this—you don’t know.

Your shoulder blade connects with the mat first, leaving behind a dull sting as you roll and tumble with uncontrollable momentum. Oh, yeah—you’ll feel that in the morning.

Groaning, you thank the Maker that your body eventually settles into a miserable little pile of limbs and pain. But, it seems whatever higher power that lingers in the edges of the galaxy hasn’t decided to put you out of your misery just yet.

A bulky shadow blocks out the dim lighting overhead, and for a brief anxiety ridden moment you’re afraid it’s Paz. You roll onto your back with a pathetic groan, a beg for mercy on the tip of your tongue—but as your eyes flutter open they’re met with an entirely different man.

Din Djarin looms over you, his head cocked to the side as you blink in dumbfounded bewilderment. Ah, hell—

You swallow, a furious heat bitting at your cheeks. “Uh…fine weather we’re having…”

“We’re inside,” he states with a brief glance up to the ceiling.

You purse your lips. “Huh.”

With a pensive hum he offers his hand, you sigh and roll over, accepting his gloved hand. He hoists you up easily and adjusts your rumpled collar. “You ok?”

“Pfft, yeah,” you groan, rubbing your throbbing shoulder. “Never better.”

The low grumble of your name is a cross between disbelief and irritation. Din jerks his head, his attention zeroing in on Paz. “Are you trying to kill her?”

“She isn’t made of glass.”

“She is still recovering—“

Normally you’d intervene, but their bickering is tiring and it gives you the excuse to lie down. By the time one of them caves you’ve counted exactly one hundred and twelve weird ceiling stains. They should get that checked out.

“Very well,” Paz snarls, cutting through your wandering thoughts. “You teach her.”

Din scoffs, his shoulders drawn tight as he stomps over to your splayed out self. “Get up.”

“Geez, fine,” you grumble, not in the mood to test his patience further. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Later he’ll no doubt apologize but right now? He has to prove a point. Din cuts right to it, moves in close to place your clenched fists in the right stance and nudges at your feet until they’re a bit wider than hip distance.

“You have to get in close with a bigger opponent,” he says, stepping into your space until your fists are close enough to touch his chest. “We don’t have much range here—easier to break our guard too.”

“Right. And how would you suggest I do that?”

“You’re always beating me at cards.” Din says, tipping his head to the side. “You have a clever mind. Use it.”

“But I always cheat.” You point out, dropping your guard to swat at a stray hair.

He catches your wrists and returns them to where they ought to be. “Quick enough to get away with it.”

You make a noise of uncertainty but do as you're told. Din takes a couple steps back and with a rough order you begin.

He’s faster than Paz—bats at your guard in quick bursts and steps away when you attempt to hit back. It’s a dance almost—somehow elegant in its brutality of bruises and flashes of pain as you move around one another. Compared to Din, Paz is almost clumsy but unpredictable. Din—despite the rapidness of his attacks and evasiveness, becomes predictable.

He steps to to left—you follow. He rocks onto his toes to jab his fist forward and that’s where you find a break. Punching Din’s helmet won’t do you any good but catching the juncture of his shoulder with your elbow is completely feasible. Too bad that you’re not the only one with a clever mind.

Din uses the momentum of your attack to catapult you to the ground—his own body rolling with you in order to capture you in a headlock of sorts. This sucks. After this you’ll never be setting foot in this Maker forsaken room again.

Din tightens his elbow that’s looped around your throat as you squirm and flail, trapped against his chest. He grunts as your elbow digs into his ribs but holds steady and snakes his free arm across your front, pinning your limbs to your body in an unbreakable vice. All mobility is cut off as his knee pushes between your thighs, locking your leg out into an uncomfortable and frankly quite awkward angle.

Inhaling a shaky breath, you arch as the crown of his helmet skims along the curve of your throat; the bite of beskar frigid and startling against your flushed skin. You can see his visor out of the corner of your eye; glittering and dark like the polished obsidian on Black Spire and endless like the greedy maw of a black hole.

Your breath hitches as he shifts and curls his head closer to your ear. His voice rumbles low and deep through his chest and vibrates against the delicate cartilage. “Yield.”

However much your pride wrestles with the sensible part of your brain, it’s all for naught as you jerk your head in defeat.

In retrospect you should’ve said something—used your voice or made some kinda sound because suddenly Din’s forearm digs alarmingly hard into your windpipe. He read the stuttered jerk of your head as another pitiful act of defiance but no. Nope.

Here you are—asphyxiating.

Not exactly what you had in mind, being strangled by a Mandalorian and all—but a chokehold where you could very well die was not it.

Fuzzy darkness begins to shade the corners of your vision, lightheadedness and a curious warmth that prickles down your spine settling low in your belly. A raspy gasp manages to slip through your blocked off airway, and stars why does this feel good?

“Din—”

Paz’s sharp bark is distant above the ringing in your ears and it all stops.

You gulp in air that burns your throat like refined fire whiskey—hunched over the mat as a large palm rubs soothing circles over your upper back. You cough and roll over, sounding like a dying animal run over by a speeder then hit with a spiked club to polish it off.

You’re quickly herded into Paz’s arms and pulled into his lap. Still wheezing and attempting to recover lost oxygen, whatever Din is trying to say translates into an indiscernible hum against the ringing in your ears.

“I’m fine,” you mutter, though neither of them care to listen. Like bristling wolves, snapping at each other’s heels.

“Apologize to her,” there’s not so much as a centimeter of room to argue. “Now.”

It’s nice of Paz you suppose—defending your honor and what not, but you’re not a vengeful person. It was an honest mistake and you want to explain that so Din quits looking like a kicked puppy, yet the sudden touch over your ankle stops you. All the times Din has initiated contact it’d been a friendly pat to your shoulder or ruffling you hair, and while touching your ankle isn’t exactly scandalous it’s certainly an odd place to put your hand on.

Your fingers clutch Paz’s shirt as you eye the man lingering at the bottom of your feet, his gloved thumb unconsciously rubbing patterns into the exposed skin between your boot and your pant leg. “Cyare—I’m sorry.”

You blink and lick your lips. Interesting. “I-I don’t know what that word means.”

His hand inches higher, resting on the swell of your calf. “Sweetheart…darling…loved one—“

There’s a shift—a dark undercurrent that none of you should be dipping your toes into. There’s a million and one things to say or do to sever this at the root, but are you going to? Nah.

Din’s thumb now rests over your knee, goosebumps following in his wake. “Should I keep going?”

It too hot—stuffy with both of their heavy stares locked on your flushed face. You squirm and glance up at Paz who only offers an impassive stare. Great.

“I can make it up to you,” Din continues, his hand stationary—a warm weight even through the fabric of your pants. “If you let me.”

Your mouth feels drier than the desert on Jakku. This…nothing good could come out of what Din is hinting at. This is uncharted territory—launching yourself into the great unknown without any idea of what’ll fester and grow if you agree.

It’s not like it hasn’t crossed your mind—it’s just…it’s never been both of them at the same time. These men are short-tempered, an open flame to jet fuel with deeply seated ire woven into the very fabric of their beings. You’ve barely scratched the surface on the inner workings of their mutual hostility, but you’re bright enough to question if this will make it worse. Tinder and brittle twigs feeding and enabling the hungry flames of rivalry to spiral and consume with chaotic brilliance of a dying star—

But, oh—

Isn’t it worth taking the risk?

You suck in a grounding breath and slowly extend your leg that Din touches, gingerly skimming the toe of your shoe along the inseam of his inner thigh. “H-how would you…make it up to me?”

Din preens at your answer and shuffles closer, lifting your legs so that they rest in his lap. Devotion drips off his words like a fine liquor as he toys with the laces on your boots. “Anything—say it and it’s yours.”

Sparks of molten heat race down your spine and metastasize in your lower belly, spreading through each vein and artery like a some sort of invasive ivy. You spare a look up at Paz as he shifts.

“Go ahead, girl,” Paz assures. “Answer him.”

It’s an unspoken, buzzing sort of thing like the static air before a storm, crackling and surging with pent up energy. You all know the implications of what’s to come—but it’s your words, quiet and steady that irons that nail into your coffin.

“Take me like you mean it.”

The next few moments pass in a dizzying blur, a mess of anticipation as your shoes are yanked off, your pants following soon after and tossed into some unknown corner of the room. Paz helps you out of your shirt, a shiver wracking through your body from the chill, leaving you bare save for your underthings. Yet the warmth that seeps through his shirt and his hands that linger over your ribcage do a lovely job at making up for the cold.

Din shuffles closer and brings his fingers up to cup the side of your face, lowering his head to rest the crown of his helmet on your forehead. “Wanna touch you.”

Your breath hitches as Paz’s hands sweep up your torso, cupping and kneading your breasts. “Y-you already are touching me, Din."

Paz snorts as the rough leather of his gloves scrape over your skin and unhook your bindings. You hardly hear Din over your own whine as Paz rolls your hardened nipples between a forefinger and thumb.

“I want to feel you—without the gloves,” Din clarifies, fighting to keep your attention on him. “Will you let me?”

Maker that shouldn’t even be a question. You moan out your approval, delighted that both of them decide to slip off the padded fabric. Din touches your bare thigh the same moment Paz returns his hands to your tits and it’s exhilarating. The rasp of their bare palms against your flesh is addicting—something so foreign and warm compared to their usual armor and thick layered clothing.

You arch into Paz’s hand as it curls around the base of your throat, a tentative pressure but still heavy. “You’d let us do anything, wouldn’t you? Needy little thing.”

“Yes,” you croak, already debauched and falling apart at the seams. “Anything.”

You’re all too happy to fade away in the embrace of the larger man but the other participant is far from letting that slide. Din grabs your hand, guiding it towards the front of his trousers, the drawstrings already loose and easy to pull aside. He groans and twitches as your fingertips flirt along his navel, then curl over the waistband, tugging his pants the rest of the way down to pool around his knees.

You reach for the already impressive outline of his cock pressing against his boxers, but Paz cupping your cunt through your underwear just before you touch Din is distracting. You gasp and arch as Paz digs the heel of his palm against your clit, electrifying ecstasy zipping down your spine with each touch.

There’s a twinge of guilt after Din huffs and drags your limp wrist back to his cock, this time encouraging you to palm him by guiding your actions with his own hand until you lazily oblige. Din’s quiet grunts, gravely against the vocoder do nothing but throw more jet fuel to the fire inside your belly. The growing urge to actually touch him gnaws and corrodes the forefront of your brain. With a firm yank his boxers are quick to join his trousers and Maker—

Fuck—

Will he even fit?

Din is thick, rosy brown and flushed at the tip and beginning to curl towards his bellybutton. A bead of liquid shines at the tip, dribbling down the underside as he wraps his fist around the base of his length. He gives himself a languid stroke before he, once again, reminds your hand of what it’s supposed to be doing. Din is searing in your palm, molten and stiffening to hardened steel in your grip.

“You look so fuckin’ pretty like this,” Din hisses as his head rolls back onto his shoulders. “S-so pretty holding my cock.”

Your desperation tears at your insides, insatiable and Maker— you wanna taste him. You want to hear every little stuttered moan and feel each twitch of his hips as he claims your mouth as his own.

But before you’re able to ask Din if he’d be willing to fuck your throat, Paz grips your knee and slings your leg over his thigh, murmuring praise as he peels off your underwear. Paz’s hand snakes down to your pussy and runs two thick fingers through your already slick cunt, then delicately parts your folds.

It’s like a fucking bomb going off as his thumb grazes over your swollen clit. His forearm locks tight around your waist, keeping you in place as you arch and tremble. Paz is feather light and teasing, as he strokes over the little bundle of nerves in a painstakingly slow rhythm.

“Paz—“

He nudges your cheek with his helmet and chuckles. “You’re so sensitive, vaar’ika. Such lovely noises too.”

Paz trades in his light touches for using his two fingers instead. They form a relaxed ‘v’ shape, trapping your clit in between the digits as he massages in a steady up and down motion. You cry out, every nerve shocked and flooded with saccharine pleasure, shoving you so treacherously close to that precarious edge of release.

You have no fucking chance as a different set of fingers, leaner in length but just as bulky, carefully prod at your entrance. Din’s pointer finger slides into your cunt, quickly adding a second as your core clenches and stretches for him. The dual sensations over your clit and Din’s fingers steadily pumping and curling inside you send you hurling into that dazzling white-hot pleasure.

Throwing your head back, you cry out—a jumbled mess of their names or just nonsense— pleasure crackling out from your core and all the way down your legs. Your cunt tightens like a vice around Din’s digits, your legs twitching as your high dips into prickly overstimulation. You whine, and swat at Paz’s hand, Din pulling out his own fingers a moment later and wiping your wetness on the inside of your thigh.

Your head rests in the crook of Paz’s shoulder as your breath fans across the side of his helmet, fogging up the metal where the blue paint is chipped and scraped away. The shirt he wears smells a bit like sweat but the underlying scent of him is comforting—worn leather and something crisp, like fresh laundry. You don’t mean for the words to slip out—

You know better than that, but everything feels muddled and silly and, and, and—

“I wish I could kiss you.”

It’s like dousing ice cold water on a pile of smoldering coals. A silence, petrifying and like the inhale before jumping off a cliff and into a rocky sea, ensues. Stupid, stupid, stupid—

Paz shatters the fragile suspense with a rich laugh that burns away all the icy worry making itself a home in your ribcage. He moves his arm up, his fingers gripping your jaw to fix your gaze onto the other Mandalorian. “You want his mouth on you too?”

You whimper and nod, but it isn’t enough.

“Use your voice vaar’ika,” Paz hums, pressing the crown of his helmet against your cheek. “Tell us want you want.”

“I-fuck—” Paz’s fingertips sneak up your torso, rough callous catching deliciously on your skin. “I wan’t your mouth on me. B-both of you.”

Paz chuckles and releases his hold on your chin. “You’ll have to be blindfolded, sweet girl.”

Din scoffs, a harsh crackle through the vocoder. “Like she’d want to see your face anyway.”

“Please,” you mewl, turning your head to curl into Paz’s neck. It’s not ideal, but it’s a sacrifice you’re willing to make. “I don’t care. I need—“

“Patience, little one,” Paz purrs, rubbing up and down your bare sides in a soothing manner. All it does is stoke the flames. “You’ll get what you want.”

Paz shifts, reaching for your abandoned shirt and stars—

You can feel his cock, firmer then tempered durasteel and poking into your lower back. Oh, hell—these men are going to ruin you.

You’re nudged forward, your vision going dark once your shirt is securely tied around your head. The knot traps a few hairs that pull sharp against your scalp but the measly pain is worth it. Oh so worth it.

“Is it too tight?” You hear Din ask, concern lacing his gravely vocals.

You wave your hand in dismissal. “S’fine.”

“Cant see anything either, right?”

You squirm, your patience spreading thin. “Din, please.”

“Fine.” There’s no bite to his tone and under different circumstances you’d have more composure. Acknowledge that they’re putting their religion, their whole being into your hands—a fragile trust that could so easily be shattered.

Your ears pick up their subtle movements, their helmets landing onto the thin mat with soft thunks. With bated breath you wait for them to jump into action, seize every spare moment to taste your skin and breathe the same air. But—

“You need a haircut, vod.”

“And you need to shave.” Retorts Din with bitter indignation.

“It’s hardly even stubble.” He chortles. You giggle and twist away as he scrapes his prickly cheek up and down your neck. “Besides—she likes it.”

There’s another lull, and with the blindfold everything is amplified—the quick and quiet breathing of Din on your right and the slide of fabric against skin as Paz shifts. Your attention is captured by Din’s bare palm, warm and calloused like weathered leather left out in the afternoon sun. He caresses the outside of your thigh in smooth, longing strokes, enraptured by the softness of your skin. You whimper and let your leg fall open, exposing more of your thigh for his curious exploration.

The sudden touch on your cheek is jarring. You know Paz is there—it’s not an easy thing to forget the solid chest you’re leaning against but it’s hard to focus. Difficult to settle on one thought before it slips away like grains of sand between a clenched fist. Paz’s touch is heavier than Din’s, ambitious and greedy but…mindful. Even as his fingers spread along your jaw and drag you into a deep, mouthwatering kiss. It’s…stars—

There’s nothing that can describe this. No word that could ever hold a candle up to the way his lips, plush and soft, move against yours. His nose brushes against your cheek as he tilts his head and deepens the kiss, his warm tongue sliding against the seam of your bottom lip.

You whine and bury your hand into his hair as Paz groans, a low rumble in his throat. You wonder what color it is, but carding your fingers through the curls atop his head suffices for now.

Your curiosity is abruptly ended as Din’s hand snakes around your forearm. You’re forcibly yanked away, only to be met with another pair of lips. Din murmurs an apology at the sting of his teeth bumping into your upper lip, but the pain is hardly the first thing on your mind.

Din’s kiss is devouring—

Scalding and bright—the galaxy, a thousand suns, all there ever will be and all that ever was. The way his lips move against yours is a devastatingly sharp contrast to the steady, syrupy sweet kiss Paz offers. Desperate and eager to surround you in his own arms—steal away any lingering thought and replace it with him. Din Djarin—

You gasp as Din’s teeth nibble and pull on your bottom lip, only a moment before he surges closer, wrapping his hand around your jaw to hold it open as he licks deep into your mouth. Breaking for air, Din tangles his fingers into your hair at the base of your neck and yanks, baring the column of your throat. His travels down, the tender kisses morphing into teasing nips and lingering sucks that’ll turn into tender bruises in the morning.

Din hovers over your breasts, his heated breath and cooling saliva the catalyst to the goosebumps that rush over your skin. He lightly tugs on your nipple using his teeth, then plants a sweet kiss over your sternum.

“Can I taste you?” Din murmurs, his lips ghosting over your flesh. “Maker—wanna put my mouth on you.”

“Din—“ A different set of lips latching onto the juncture of your neck and hijacks your train of thought. Wipes your mind clean until Paz is the sole thing you can consciously focus on.

Paz laves his tongue over the shell of your ear and urges you to lean back against him once more. Your nose scrapes against his stubble as you tuck your head into the crook of his neck, his hips lazily rolling his hardened cock into your backside.

“Or…” Paz rumbles, capturing your hand and interlacing your fingers with his. You marvel at the sheer size of his palm—astounded still when he leads his and your hands to palm his cock. “I could give you this. Fuck your pretty little cunt until you’re screaming for me.”

It’s a punch to the gut. Why the fuck do you have to choose? You squirm as Din points his tongue over your nipple then sucks it into his mouth.

Working through the fog in your head, the answer is clearer than fucking crystal. Because who in their right mind would turn down a Mandalorian’s request to eat you out? Not you, that’s for sure. “Din—want your mouth.”

Din huffs in triumph and slips between your legs that part to accommodate his broad shoulders, leaving no patch of bare skin untouched and worshiped. You shiver as his tongue circles around your bellybutton then retreats. Din settles his head beside your knee and mouths a kiss there.

You whine his name and buck your hips, heart beating wildly in your ears. The teasing is unbearable and, stars—if he doesn’t start now—

He nibbles on the inside of your thigh, laving his warm tongue over each mark he leaves behind, buffering the sting of his teeth. Din snake his hands under your ass, hooking your knees over his shoulders as he heaves your cunt closer to his mouth. Din’s thumbs part your soaking pussy, his breath hot fanning over your cunt. His tongue his scalding—like liquid velvet as he dips the tip of his tongue from the base of your slit all the way up to your clit.

Din sucks on the little bundle of nerves, rolling his tongue until you’re crying out, molten pleasure zipping through you. He grunts as your fingers tangle into his hair—fuck. Fuck, you need more.

Arching into his mouth, all thoughts are obliterated; nothing but the warmth of his tongue, and his lips, devouring you as if he were a man seconds from death and you’re his saving grace. That frenzied desperation lingers on the edges of his movements like he’s afraid you’ll fade into smoke—but you’re not going anywhere. Not even a million credits could convince you to push Din’s head away.

He sinks two fingers into your clenching hole and curls his fingers, stroking and curling his fingertips to make you sing. Zeros in on that little spot that causes the involuntary twitches of your leg and wrenches embarrassing, high pitched mewls that fill the room. You’re careening towards your high, the sensitivity of your last orgasm amping up the influx of pleasure.

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

Your release unfurls through your body like sticky molasses—smoldering embers that seep into each limb until they’re heavier than lead. Fuck—it’s so hard to think and at this rate your brain is as good as gone.

You pay only a fraction of attention to Din as he kisses his way back up your body and lands a final one over your lips. His thumb grazes over your chin, his gravelly words of praise cutting through some of that foggy haze, how good you were, how fucking delicious you tasted when you came on his tongue. You taste your own arousal on his mouth as he noses your cheek and captures your lips in another kiss.

“Are you done?” Paz asks dryly, much too barbed to be thrown your way. You groan when Paz jostles your limp body as he hoists you back into his lap.

“Just starting, actually,” Din quips. “Why don’t you hand her back over? I’ve got some more things I wanna try.”

Paz scoffs and secures a heavy arm around your middle. “Greed will get you nowhere.”

“Neither will your arrogance.”

“Shut up—both of you,” you interrupt. Your voice is raw and choppy but it does the job. “Just fuck me already.”

For now their little spat is sidelined—it’s not worth ripping off that bandage of a temporary truce. There’s a chaste moment of quiet, like they’re considering tearing into each other’s throats instead, but with a touch to Paz’s thigh the standoff fizzles out.

“We need to work on your manners,” Paz suggests, curling his large, calloused hand around your neck in a loose hold. “I believe it’s please fuck me.”

Maybe if you weren’t practically a pile of brainless goo, you’d argue. See how far you can push—though this time you fold. “Please fuck me. P-please—I need it.”

Seemingly satisfied with your answer; Paz wedges a hand between your bodies to grip his cock and run the tip through your folds, soaked from you own wetness and Din’s saliva. The head of his member nudges at your entrance, and wether it’s his size or the fact you can’t see anything—you panic.

Your hand shoots out, nails harpooning into the meat of his forearm. “W-wait—you’re too b-big.”

Paz freezes and moves you up his lap and presses a kiss over you hairline. “We can stop. Just say—“

“N-no, I’m fine,” you assure, planting an apologetic peck on his stubbled jaw. Stopping is the last thing you want to do—it was just…overwhelming. A sensory overload testing the very fringes of your being. “Go slow?”

You feel his head bob in compliance as he moves you back to where you’re hovering over his cock. You relax this time, not as many alarm bells clanging through your head as your cunt flutters around the fat tip and then that glorious, first thick inch. Paz’s thumb bumps over your throbbing clit, coaxing your pussy to take him further.

“Yeah, that’s it vaar’ika,” he grunts, his breath fanning over your neck in quick pants. “Taking my cock so fucking well. So nice and pretty.”

Your pussy flutters, fresh waves of arousal hot and burning.You nearly keel over when Paz starts shallowly rocking his hips, easing your body the rest of the way down his length until the back of your thighs touch his. Maker—how the hell is he all the way inside? You can feel him in your fucking guts—

“See?” Paz purrs. He sucks a bruise into the meat of your shoulder and pushes his palm against your lower stomach, making the fit even tighter. “Fits fucking perfect.”

The noise your cunt makes pulling out and the debauched moan that filters through his vocal chords is obscene. If anyone where to walk by, well—it’s certainly not training that’s going on, for the better lack of words.

Paz holds true to his word—keeps his pace limited to deep, languid thrusts that brush up against something that makes your whole body shake—like strumming a golden chord molded to a musician’s fingers. Fuck—he’s doing all the work too. Lifting you by the swell of your hips and pulling you down onto his cock with a rough buck of his hips.

Abruptly, he slows to a gentle rocking—quick to lock you in place as you thrash and roll your hips. “Paz—n-no. Keep going. You n-need to—“

Paz silences your please with a wet, open mouthed kiss. “Our friend looks lonely. Why don’t you use that pretty mouth and suck his cock?”

Din.

You hear the man curse in Mando’a, probably some stab at Paz—

But with a pat to your outer thigh, you don’t need any more prompting—you’d give up your left hand to get a chance to suck him off. With the help of Paz, you’re eased onto your hands and knees, shocks of white-hot pleasure zipping through your core at the change of angle. Like this Paz is seated deeper inside, stabbing into each spot that makes you sing.

Fuck—your arms are shaking—only able to hold yourself up for half a click and then you’re sinking face first into the floor, ass in the air as he fucks into you. Paz clicks his tongue and wraps his arm around your front, pulling you back up from your slumped position.

“I told you to suck his cock, girl. Not take a nap.” Paz accentuates his words with heavy, well measured thrusts—the kind of force you know will leave your whole lower half throbbing and sore in the aftermath.

You whine as Paz grabs a hold of your jaw, digging into the tender joints until your mouth falls open. “Good. Keep it like that.”

Paz’s hand falls away, replaced by a softer touch. The pads of Din’s fingers hook under your chin, guiding and tempting you nearer to what rests between his legs, hot and heavy and large.

You feel the tip of his cock, flushed and pulsing, rest on your bottom lip. You lap up the beads of sticky precum with kitten licks that morph into suckling the entire head. Din grunts out your name and tangles his hand into your hair as you tongue at the ridged frenulum. He never forces you to swallow down more of him—lets you cradle the first few inches in the wet warmth of your mouth and languidly roll the pad of your tongue around him.

You want to take him deeper, let Din fuck your throat raw, but your jaw already aches. Your lips are pulled tight around his shaft, drool dribbling down your chin and landing on the mat below. You’re not sure if you could take more of him without the danger of your teeth catching or dislocating your jaw. So you manage like this—hollowing out your cheeks and and using the momentum of Paz’s thrusts to pleasure Din.

It’s frustrating—it must be each time you let his cock slip out of your mouth to breathe or the fact Din isn’t able to fucking fit his cock into your mouth. Annoying that you aren’t able to think properly to help him out a bit ore when that said brain is being fucked straight outta you, put through the wringer and then body slammed onto duracrete.

Din cups your cheek, strokes over your skin with his thumb and maneuvers himself out of your mouth. You whine and lean into his palm, his touch addictive like smoldering coals in the dead of winter.

“You want me there instead of him?” Din purrs, using the tips of his index and middle fingers to tilt your chin and drag you into an open mouthed kiss. “Fuck you like you deserve.”

The profane imagery of Din between your legs instead makes you clench tight. It only takes a couple seconds and a few more feverish kisses before you’re nodding to his request. Paz mutters a swear, hesitates, and reluctantly pulls out, leaving your cunt empty and aching with need.

Din, however, is speedy—quick to hoard you to himself and yank your legs over his hips so that you’re draped on his lap. He jumps straight to the point, no fancy maneuver or drawn out teasing—just grabs the base of his cock, slides the flushed tip between your folds and sinks into your cunt. Even after your pussy had been stretched and molded around Paz’s length, you struggle to take Din’s entire cock into your aching center. It’s easier than Paz but, Maker—not by much.

You whine, harpooning your fingernails into his shoulder once he bottoms out. Din snarls a curse and latches his teeth onto the juncture between your neck and shoulder, prickly pain shooting directly to your belly. “Fucking tight. H-how—fuck.”

There’s no time to adjust before Din sets a pace, harsh and desperate—his hands digging into the flesh of your ass for better leverage. Each roll of his hips borders erratic, taking his pleasure without thought—intent on reaching his own end before it could be yanked out from under him. Din’s staggered exhales below your ear are interlaced with subdued moans that start low in his ribcage then dip into a higher, airy pitch. A delicate sound you’ll guard closer to your chest than any secret you possess for the rest of your life—precious and yours.

Din turns his head to steal a kiss. “You feel fuck—fucking good. Wanna feel you cum around me. S-squeezed so fucking hard around my fingers—“

You choke out a groan and feel your arousal begin to drip down your thighs—hear the thrusts of his cock into your cunt become shamefully wetter. Heat sizzles down each vertebrae in your spine, burning up each and every cell with the brilliance of a wildfire. Stars, this is gonna destroy you.

Din’s hand sneaks between your bodies and rubs tight, little circles over you swollen clit. There’s no build up to your orgasm—just a blinding surge of blistering warmth that knocks you off your feet and steals away all the air left in your lungs. Your nails dig into Din’s back as you shake and grapple for a foothold in your own consciousness—the steady warmth of his body a much needed anchor for the madness that threatens to drown you.

“Good girl,” Din praises, pace faltering from just how tight your pussy squeezes and flutters around his cock. “S-such a fucking good girl for me.”

Regaining some semblance of control, you realize he’s still fucking going—still rock solid and throbbing, fucking you through the aftershocks of your release. Your arousal turns sharp, like rough cotton over a fresh sunburn as it dips into overstimulation. It’s not unpleasant but Din has to slow his hips to a delicate roll for you to recover.

In the time it takes to inhale, a different calloused hand kneads into your lower back then smoothes up your spine. A second later you feel the scrape of Paz’s stubble prick along your exposed shoulder as his tongue drags along your sweat dampened skin—all the way up the curve of your neck and ending at the shell of your ear.

You’re not sure if it’s intentional, but as Paz crowds closer the tip of his cock pokes at your other hole. With a surprised mewl, you tense and shy away—but he follows, molds his chest against your back to sandwhich you in. The hand gripping your bicep jumps to your neck and pulls your head against his shoulder.

Two of Paz’s fingers dip down the curve of your ass and brush along the puckered skin—far less jarring this time. “Do you want to be fucked here too?”

Maker—

You’re gonna fucking explode.

Stuffed to the brim already, it’s hard to imagine Paz cramming himself in along with Din. A little red light blares in some corner of your mind but it’s quickly soothed as Paz plants soft kisses over your cheek and jaw. You trust him—there’s no reason to think he’ll hurt you or push you to the point of pain.

You catch his mouth with a kiss and rock your hips back. “Y-yeah, ok. I trust you.”

You feel his smile curl against your cheek. “Don’t worry vaar’ika—I’ll take care of you.”

Paz strokes your bottom lip with his thumb and kisses the crown of your hairline as you sink into him. With his ring and middle finger, he pushes past the seam of your lips. “Suck.”

You obey, sealing your lips around his two digits and coating them in your saliva. Paz pulls them out with a pop and moves them between your legs, and with the added wetness dripping from your cunt, the first finger is easy enough. The second and third have you gasping as he scissors them and stretches your tight hole wider. You claw your nails into Din’s shirt—and he’s no better—Din’s own hands are clamping around your hips, struggling to keep still and biting back moans each time your cunt constricts.

Your hips begins to meet the thrusts of Paz’s fingers as your body familiarizes the feel of him there. It’s a deep thrill that rushes up through your spinal cord—much different from anything you’ve felt before.

“You like this, don’t you?” Paz goads, chuckling when you whine as he extracts his fingers. “I think you’re ready to take my cock, yeah?”

You shudder and nod, your voice no more than a squeak as it pilfers out. Paz strokes the top of your head and tips you forward into Din’s eager arms as Paz slicks up his length in a mix of precum and your dripping arousal. He touches the swell of you ass in warning, lines himself up with your hole and wedges the tip of his cock inside of you.

Involuntary tears dampen your makeshift blindfold as Paz buries himself deeper, his rumbling tone urging you to relax—relax even though your mind is drowning in an ocean of arousal and swirling emotions you have no hope to pin down and analyze. It’s for the best—thankful as Paz bottoms out that it wrenches you back to a feasible reality you’re able to manage.

“Shit—I-I’m gonna die—“ You sob, writhing at just how full you are. But there’s nowhere to fucking go—

“Easy,” Din breathes, and you wonder if he’s said it to keep his own head on his shoulders. “Easy.”

Din’s gravelly rasp cuts through the fog in your head, and stars—you sound like you’re fucking dying. Your wheezy breaths and lightheadedness would certainly suggest that—but no…no, you’re fine. Better than fine.

A rush so acute and devastating launches up your spine as Din’s patience cracks. He experimentally rolls his hips and that’s the end of it. You’re swallowed up in that riptide you fought so hard to avoid—fuck. You won’t be the same after this. How can you?

You can feel them both, separated by a thin wall as they sprint towards their own highs. You’re never once left empty—Din reaches the end of you as Paz pulls out and while there’s not exactly any finesse involves it’s the best fucking thing you’ve felt in your entire life. There’s no bickering—no teasing and you’re struck with an idea that makes you clench tight around both of them. You wouldn’t mind if this was the way they decided to settle scores or finally see eye to eye.

This time you can’t discern your high—just a constant overflow of ecstasy and dazzling arousal like an imploding supernova. You cry their names—sob and shake in their hold with such fervor that Paz traps you tighter between them to keep you still.

“Fuck—you get so fucking tight,” Paz growls, blunt nails digging into your hips. “And so fucking wet.”

His fingers touch the inside of your thigh and stars—he’s right. “I get to fuck your cunt next time—see how much you’ll drip for me.”

Even if the blindfold were off—there’d be nothing to see but a white wash of nothing. Blinded by pleasure and bursting at the seems.

Jealous, Din steals your breath away with a kiss, licking and nipping at your swollen lips until you whine his name. His jagged pants fan across your chin—chapped lips and patchy facial hair tickling across your bottom lip as you breath the same air.

Din whispers your name like a prayer, his fingers clutching tight around your thighs as his pace starts to flounder to choppy jerks. “Shit. I-I’m close—“

Your fingers twist into his hair. “Yeah—ok baby. Let go.”

Din’s teeth sink into the base of your throat and cums. His seed coats your insides—hot and copious and fucking shit—if there’s a next time you want him to cum in your mouth.

You don’t get time to relish Din’s stuttered gasps of your name, laced with praise and a show of a tender and bleeding heart before Paz is gathering up your hair in a tight fist and jerking your head up. “You—you want me to cum too? Say it.”

Without a breath of hesitation you beg for it, cry and arch into him. It does the trick—

Paz is loud—shouts a thunderous roar and buries his cock deep into your hole. Din is still recovering from the aftershocks of his release when Paz pulls out after what seems like ages pumping you full. His cock no longer there to plug you up, his cum begins to dribble out and mix with the mess between your legs. Your legs shake and you wobble--crying out as Din slips out, your body dreadfully empty and aching.

You're lowered to the mat by Din and if you weren't still trying to formulate words, you'd thank them. Lips dart over your cheeks and hairline, and for once nothing needs to be said. It’s nice...the radiating warmth from their bodies and the simmering flush through you body is something you could get used to. But you’re no stranger to the shifting tides of the future.

You shrug it off.

Your eyes are heavy and with one of them stroking your hair and the other your thigh, you drift to sleep. Later—later all unspoken things and disastrous words can be dealt with tomorrow. You must be dreaming when it’s said--careless and bold, but the words nestle into your heart and sprouts with fear.

“You love her, don't you?”

translation:

vaar’ika--pipsqueak

or’dinni--dumbass idiot

vod--brother/comrade

tag list:

@bobafctts @djxrxn @teaofpeach @corrupt-fvcker @nelba @datmando @ben-is-a-hoe @dreams-like-clockwork @aerynwrites @auty-ren @huliabitch @anxiety-riddled-mando @phoenixhalliwell @trippedmetaldetector

#happy SINday :)#pls accept some mando schlong #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #paz vizla x reader #paz vizsla x reader #paz vizla #paz vizsla #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #star wars #sw #fanfic #my writing #reader insert

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be-the-spark-flyboy · 4 years ago

Text

BAD IDEA (social media au)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Poe Dameron x reader

Warnings: swearing, slightly graphic description of injuries (no one gets injured guys it’s just my terrible writing)

Word count: 1100-ish

“Shit!” You whisper-shout a curse, feeling your hips bump into something solid in the dark, like the edge of a table. It really isn’t the best idea to go groping around in a stranger’s (kinda) house, drunk and alone. But your mouth feels drier than a desert and you need water. Where the hell is the kitchen?

It would be easier to find your way through the house if you’d just switch the lights on but you don’t feel like doing that. The sparsely lit interior is just scary to your drunk and confused brain. You are pretty sure you’re going to get ambushed by a demon and get dragged into the pits of hell. Maybe getting Rey is your best chance.

You turn around to return to your room and immediately collide into a dark figure with curly hair. Oh shit, demon! Your brain unhelpfully supplies. But before you could start screaming in terror, the dark figure hisses at you.

“What the fuck?”

Oh. You know this demon.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” you ask.

“I think I left the kitchen lights on, came to check,” Poe mumbles, gingerly rubbing the spot on his ribs where you had accidentally elbowed him.

“Speaking of, where the hell is the kitchen? This place is fucking huge,”

“It’s not that big,” he replies defensively, frowning. “You’re just on the wrong floor,”

You snort a laugh at his statement, “Yeah, you see, most of us don’t have that problem,”

The hardwood is cool under your bare feet as the two of you pad down the stairs, you know, the fancy kind with lights under the threads so you don’t fall in the dark and break your neck.

Lo and behold the kitchen lights are off. Poe throws his head back groaning.

“You thought wrong,” you deadpan, flipping the lights back on then immediately regretting it when it feels like someone was stabbing you in the eye with a toothpick. But you walk into the kitchen acting unbothered because, what was the saying? Never show your weakness to your enemies.

“Really? Didn’t notice,” he snaps back at you as you gratefully fill a glass with water.

Poe starts rummaging around in the refrigerator and you catch your first glimpse of him in the light. His hair is tousled, like he had just gotten out of bed, which makes sense since it was like three in the morning.

He is dressed in a thin shirt and grey sweatpants which makes his ass look really g- STOP THINKING ABOUT HIS ASS JESUS CHRIST!

You internally berate yourself, face heating up as you drain your glass. Poe, oblivious to your internal monologue, crams a few pieces of chocolate into his mouth. His face is scrunched up against the harsh light.

Noticing your eyes on him, he pushes some of his midnight/early morning snack towards you. “Want some?”

To which you reply, or more like snap at him, “I don’t want your chocolate, Dameron,” Pretty lame uncalled for, but you are still in your how-dare-you-think-about-his-ass mode, and mad at yourself.

And then it starts.

Your flippant comment gets on Poe’s nerves in a way he wouldn’t normally let it. He blames it on the fact that he’s still a little tipsy from earlier on and you’re just so- urghh!!

He pushes himself off the counter before replying, “You just cannot be nice to people, can you?”

“I don’t feel obligated to be nice to pricks,” you slam the glass into the counter beside you, striding towards him.

“That’s rich coming from a jerk,”

“Says Pennywise the fucking clown,” you scoff.

“Please. Children run away screaming when they see you,” you’re almost nose to nose at this point, pushing into each other’s space, too stubborn to back away from a fight no matter how absolutely childish it was.

The last thing you remember thinking was, he has a nice mouth, even when its sneering at you.

You don’t know who moved first, but the next second, his mouth is on yours. It’s all teeth and tongue and your back slams against a wall, crushing your chest into his. You viciously yank at his hair, nails raking down his scalp, earning a growl from him.

His hands are behind your thighs, tugging you up against him, and you go willingly. Heat pools in your belly when he effortlessly hefts your legs around his waist in a surprising show of strength. You taste the sweetness of the chocolate on him and that somehow turns you on even more.

Poe is sure your nails are going to make crescent-shaped marks on his shoulder from how tightly you were holding onto him. He doesn’t care. A bolt of pleasure zaps down his spine when you pull on his curls, hard, almost losing his mind when you sink your teeth into his bottom lip. He doesn’t fucking care that he’s being entirely possessed by you.

Until a patter of tiny feet tear the two of you apart. Your breaths mingle in the space between you as you stay there frozen, staring at each other in disbelief. Your violent make out session evident from the spit slicked, swollen lips and hair messed up beyond recognition. You did not just-

Beebee rounds the corner into the kitchen, happily yipping at the sight of the two of you. Poe almost drops you in your hurry to get away from each other. You awkwardly clear your throat once your feet are firmly on the ground, “I- um, I’m gonna go back upstairs,” and you’re halfway outside the kitchen before even finishing your sentence.

Poe runs his hands down his face, groaning loudly. Beebee watches him inquisitively from her perch on the floor, her head cocked to one side.

“What the fuck,” Poe scoops Beebee up from the floor, “Sorry you had to see that, baby,” he sighs, carrying her back to his room.

Poe couldn’t help but notice how good of a kisser you are. Shit, why did he like that so much? Most importantly, what would’ve happened if they weren’t interrupted? And what the fuck did that mean?

Poe faceplants into his bed, Finn snoring in the bed beside him, unaware of his friend’s inner turmoil.

—-

“What took you so long,” Rey mumbles, startling you as you enter the room. Jessika is completely passed out beside her.

“I kinda got lost,” you whisper, joining the two on the bed.

Rey made a noncommittal sound before falling back asleep. Leaving you to curl into the thick blanket, hands still shaking from adrenaline.

---

A/n: Terrible writing with almost no proofreading is becoming my brand this is so shitty I’m sorry😂😂. And this was supposed to be a drabble oop

---

Series taglist (open):

@arkofblake, @really-bored-always, @writefightandflightclub

#bad idea poe dameron au #poe dameron #poe x reader #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron au

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eagesoldartblog · 4 years ago

Text

Heyooo I guess im posting fics to tumblr again- I hope you enjoy!!! Warning: detailed impalement, massive injuries, I mean MASSIVE, graphic descriptions of violence and near death experinces

Vivi’s Scar

“Hey Vivi,” She perks up, twisting her head away from her beach bag full of towels to Arthur, who was ... staring at her. He palms the back of his neck awkwardly, before pointing at her stomach, “so... sorry if this is weird but... what’s with the tattoo?”

“Tattoo?” Vivi says, raising an eyebrow, before she looks at her arms curiously, taking note of the small decals she dedicated to her two friends, “Which?”

“The one one your .. chest.”

“Huh?” Bewildered, Vivi looks down, before it hits her, “Ohh... I see what you mean.”

“Yea! I figured I - you know what, uh... what’s with it?” Arthur asks, brushing his hair back lamely and shifting on his feet as he comes closer to get a better look.

Vivi snickers, “it’s not a tattoo. It’s a scar.”

“... What?” Arthur lightly touches his own shoulder, which was scarred to hell and back itself, before looking at hers again.

“Yeah!” Vivi stretches her torso, and traces her finger down it, “don’t get me wrong, I get why you think that!”

It’s a large scar full of texture, appearing like a fat slithering snake was making a large S. The edges appeared white while the rest of the body became discolored, edging on gray. It starts around her belly button and then curves up her right breast. It was more than obvious now that she wore a bikini since it revealed the full extent of it. The thought made her grin a little bit. “I got it when I was a kid. Don’t remember how though, if I’m honest.”

“How do you not remember getting a scar?”

She shrugs, “My mom told me that I went missing one day, and when I came back, I had this wacky scar and some broken limbs. Fun stuff!” She laughs lightly, as if it wasn’t a big deal, before she returns to double checking the bag for the sunscreen.

Arthur appears around her shoulder, craning his neck to look at it. Vivi smirks, and grabs his wrist.

“Wanna touch it?”

“Ah-! I- huh?”

“I mean you keep staring at it! And I’ll tell you what, it does feel kinda weird.”

Arthur jerks his hand away and sputters, blushing lightly, “No-nonono, that’s- uh... it just looks like- I don’t know, a carving? Kinda like when you burn designs into wood.”

”Pyrography?” Lewis offers, peaking into the room with a cooler.

Arthur snaps his fingers and nods, “Yes! That. It looks... like that?”

Vivi snickers again, “well thank you for calling me a piece of art~”

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself.”

“How can I not?” Vivi bites her lip to avoid laughing more than she wanted to, “I know how much you two look at me~”

”Just as much as you look in the mirror?”

“Okay, fuck you, Lewis.”

The three laugh amongst themselves, Mystery couldn’t help but smile himself. Only for that smile to fade as he averts his gaze.

If only she knew.

The trees towered above her head, and the sweet earthy grass beckoned her in. Never willing to miss a chance on adventure, Vivi sprints through the canopy, with her trusty ‘sword’ in hand. It’s wooden bark has long since stripped away, but the stick was as sturdy as can be.

And to prove it, Vivi spots a spindly tree with a burl sticking out, and she wallops its side. The hefty crack vibrating through her arm and sending thrills down her back. How could it not?

Vivi was a strong, powerful warrior, taking after a legacy of even more powerful warriors. A long list of samurai, rōnin, onna-musha, and yokai hunters. At the very highest, one of the most well known and revered, Mushi Yukino.

Vivi’s heart flutters, her stomach twists, as she imagines the woman, surrounded by hundreds of monsters and serpents, in between her and the legendary kitsune who she dominated and harnessed. So strong and powerful, the kitsune had no choice but to submit. They had to join the yukino family and protect her descendants!

Vivi giggles, abandoning the beaten tree and leaping through another bush.

I’m going to be the next! Vivi laughs full heartedly, hooking her sword around a tree branch and swinging her feet as she lands. Taking off in a new direction.

As far away as possible from home. Okkasan and Otousan would be furious if they knew she went out this far. Vivi didn’t particularly care. It was her break from her studies, and her otousan let her have some time to play after a lengthy English lesson.

But why would she just play in the court, when she could train in her natural element?

A few mountains peak through the trees, and Vivi’s eyes crinkle as the scent of the caves and stones called to her. Only for her to dig her heel into the ground.

The mountain stands before her, tall and unyielding... She can’t climb! Not yet... Vivi gulps apprehensively, stomach souring as her hands become clammy around her sword. Baba told her time and time again to be wary in the forests.

Pay respect, and it will respect you. But by all means, don’t go on your own.

Vivi shudders lightly, eyebrows furrowing.

She’ll never become like the greatest monster Hunter of her family if she never learns to climb!

So...! She’ll just have to get over it!

Steeling herself, Vivi turns her head up and stares at the tree beside her.

It’s towering over her, with many branches sticking out from it. Surrounding the tree, was a few considerably smaller ones, with lush greens that nearly made it impossible to see through.

Perfect! She grins, and sets off through the bushes that also surround the tree. One bush was filled with many shiny scarlet berries.

Vivi paid it no mind. She’s seen weirder.

Not far off, a white rabbit watches. The fur along its back prickling, ears straight and alert, and the urge to thump and scream intense. It leaps after her.

Balancing her sword against the bark, Vivi stares at the tree and bites her lip. Beads of sweat were already beginning to trace her forehead, even if it was near freezing. There were a few bumps and ridges that jut out. Looking stable. Then again... it could easily drop her if she puts too much trust in it...

Oh well! Vivi sucks in her breath and grasps one of the ridges. Much to her delight, it’s easy to hold onto, and she hurriedly grabs the next.

It scratches her palms and fingers. They're going to be really mad at her when they see her sore palms. Vivi puffs, shooing the thought away as she hooks her foot along the bark and pushes herself up.

“I-I knew it! This isn’t so hard...!” Vivi hisses through her teeth, biceps trembling as she hangs there and traces her foot for a previous bump to stand on. Then again, and again, and Vivi could see the trees surrounding this one from a brand new angle the higher she got.

The rabbit runs faster. Squeaking now. Thumping their hind legs on the ground and jumping against the trees to leap faster and get to her quicker. Vivi doesn’t notice.

Vivi climbs another few steps, dragging her front against the harsh bark. It scraps against her harshly. Even if her sweater blocked her skin, pins and needles and a red rash undoubtedly began to form. Vivi shifts uncomfortably, eyebrows furrowing together.

Is it a poison tree? Is that a thing? Vivi gulps, the sweat along her forehead dampening her hair and her hands became slick with that same anxiety.

The higher and higher she got, the more the tree felt like it swayed. Vivi took a deep breath, and the tree seemed to breath with her, expanding outward until she was nearly hugging it. The hairs on the back of her neck began to stand. A gust of wind pushing past her. Vivi dared a look - and saw that she was now high in the air, above the other surrounding trees and bushes. A sense of terror grew in her stomach as her thoughts filled with the image and sensation of falling-!

“It’s fine... it’s fine...” she hums to herself, forcing her smile to stay put as she reaches for another ridge- one that’s curved and slanted in an odd way that she couldn’t describe at first.

Just keep climbing. Just keep climbing…

She felt... small. Her limbs start to ache. The air around her seemed to thicken and no matter how much she gasped, the air refused to fill her lungs. None was getting in.

Was something watching her?

”VIVI!”

Otousan? Gasping, Vivi’s entire body seizes up. Her grip on the tree began to wane, but Vivi twists her head around to peer at the ground. The… really far ground...

No one was there.. Maybe it was just her imagination...?

Ragged, Vivi slows her breathing, and looks back to her hands and the tree.

Only for the curved ridge she was preparing to latch onto pops open.

Vivi’s heart stops.

An eye. A deep hole like-eye with something red glowing behind the ridges- the eyelids.

Then several more eyes open. All the other bumps above her opening to reveal angry, intense eyes.

Vivi didn’t make a sound.

But that didn’t matter. A creaking, cracking whine fills her ears, all the branches moving like arms. She dares a look as something seems to move in front of her stomach.

The bark expands- bubbles- in front of her body. A branch shoots out.

Stabbing through her feeble skin. Stabbing past her spine and tearing through her torso like a toothpick. It keeps growing. Despite being impaled, it keeps growing. Sending Vivi out to dangle by her ribs around the wooden arm. Her eyes sting, feeling escaping her as she watches it all in shock.

The tree holds her at the branch's length. She could only stare in horror as the new branch’s base splinters and creaks. Cracking.

And it snaps off.

A scream fills the air as she and the branch fall.

It’s her own.

The trees spike past her like streamers and fireworks, and as Vivi suddenly slammed against something, they explode in an eruption of different light. All behind her own eyelids. Where tears stung and her body sat numbly.

Numb. For maybe a second. Before she tried to breathe and her lungs constricted around the branch lodged through her. The narrow, bloodsoaked tip had snapped on impact. Her body sagged down on the broken pieces. Shooting pins and needles in every muscle that wasn’t already screaming.

A slickness soaked her belly. Her arms. Vivi couldn’t move. Stuck with the large branch stabbed into her like a knife.

Her throat strains. Rips. She was still screaming. Even as her mouth filled with copper and blood.

Her vision goes dark. She didn’t stop crying.

The rabbit races over, a growl ripping from it’s too small body as a new form rips out of its fur. Large fluffy paws become vicious claws, and a pointed mouth of teeth snap threateningly as eight tails thrash out.

“You bastard!” Mystery barks, glaring at the tree mimic with fury burning in every part of him.

It’s many eyes blink as it unroots it’s many decoy trees, becoming sharp appendages. The scarlet berry bush shifting to his underbelly.

“What?” It hisses, “Angry because I caught your prey? You should know better than to claim what you haven’t properly snatched. This territory is free for all of us to hun-“

Mystery growls, a scream building in his throat. The mimic’s leaves recoil. Before it has the chance to flare out fully and unleash its storm of pine needles, -Mystery pounces.

Lunging past the barrage of needles, Mystery dives directly into the berry bush with jagged teeth. Digging his teeth in despite the horrified resound of screeching from the mimic. Mystery clamps his jaw on the one part that mattered most.

It’s heart.

Lurching back, mystery tears the heart from its roots. The mimic’s life force began to drain instantly into the soil, enriching it with blood. But Mystery doesn’t stop there. He clenches his teeth shut, and the fruity heart bursts down his throat, coating it in a sickly spicy flavor.

The mimic falls quiet, eyes shutting, and with nothing left to keep it up, the tree whines and creaks.

Crashing down, unrooting the earth where the roots sat.

Spitting, Mystery sends one final curse, before quiet sobbing takes hold of his heart.

Horrified, Mystery holds his breath and rushes to Vivi’s side.

The branch that impaled her was beginning to shrink and curl, but the gaping wound was immeasurable.

Guilt and pain overwhelms his mind. Several apologies drown his mind.

“No! Vivi my dear, can you hear me? Please if you can, hold on as long as possible.” He begs, scanning her small, frail body one more time.

The effects of her lineage were already taking effect. Ice particles flaking off her uncovered skin, and frost attempting to stop the flow of steaming blood. Vivi’s eyes were wide open, blackened and becoming blue. The last line of preserving herself, if she knew it or not.

Mystery grits his teeth, and a flicker of a memory fills his mind.

His only daughter.. It worked for her... Yes. Yes, perhaps this may work!

He swallows back the sickly bile, and Mystery twists his head around, teeth catching on one of his eight tails.

And just like the mimic’s heart- Mystery rips the tail from its socket. Despite the pain that already threatened to crumple him, he drapes it against Vivi’s chest.

Dropping his head low, he presses his muzzle to her head, and whispers.

”My dear, Vivi. I swore an oath to do everything I can to protect you. I know we are forbidden to meet, but I care for you like everyone that came previous. I will ensure your safety. That is a promise.”

Her irises begin to glow, deep icy pits shining with golden light.

”Allow me to grant you a second chance, abilities beyond your own. To heal, to hide, and to live. Allow me this, and I promise I’ll ensure you won’t need any more.”

He kisses her head. And her body glows.

Katsumi sweeps through the house within minutes, annoyance bubbling in her chest as she clenches her hand. In her grasp and tightly held against her chest, was her granddaughter’s scarf. In the process of being lengthened for her upcoming eleventh birthday.

And just like she feared. Vivi was nowhere to be found. Eyes and nose scrunching with a hate filled grimace, she marches back to the main entrance.

“Can’t believe this,” she croaks, imagining her son’s face when she undoubtedly wallops him. “Letting her run outside on her own...! Why do I bother helping him when he throws it so far to the wayside..!”

Her son and his wife, Clara, were out of the house and were searching.

Are they not aware of how she is? Always running amok and getting into trouble with the neighbors and disturbing the guardians and kami who linger.

She nearly growls as the sound of Clara’s wind chimes. The noise breaks her concentration and worsens her growing headache.

Where on earth was Yatamo? Have they really not found her yet-

There’s a knock at the door. Katsumi freezes, her eyes widening as spiritual energy flows into the home. A familiar one too.

You...

Gripping her staff, Katsumi moves quick and steady, and if she willed it, frost would fill the windows to show that he wasn’t welcome.

But the chance that he has Vivi... she can’t risk it.

Swallowing, Katsumi grabs the doorknob and opens it.

Her glare immediately gives way to horror.

An elderly man in a kimono and haori stood before her. With thin arms and even thinner cheeks. Despite the frail appearance, he cradled Vivi close to his chest, with nothing but sorrow in his face.

His tail peaks out from between his feet, and he bows solemnly.

“I apologize for this meeting, Katsumi.”

“What have you done to her?” Katsumi lunges forward and unhooks Vivi from his grasp. Vivi’s entire body was coated in blood, her skin cold and cracking. “What did you do to her-?” Katsumi demands again, tears welling in her eyes as she glares accusingly at him. The kitsune frowns, and stands straight.

“I swore an oath to protect my descendants-“

“She isn’t your descendant!” She says, stomping her foot against the ground and mustering all the hate she could. “I told you to leave, and never bother my family ever again. Now my mago is- why would you hurt her?”

“I didn’t. A mimic in the forests did, next to the mountains of Yamo-no-kami.” Katsumi‘s lips twitch, and she turns away from Mystery, instead examining Vivi’s body. Her torn clothing and her shallow breathing.

“You did something to her.”

“I had to, Katsumi, the mimic tore through her with the intent to kill. It was either this, or her life.”

Katsumi‘s shoulders begin to tremble, bitter tears slipping down her cheeks and onto Vivi’s neck.

“Leave... leave at once!”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want it to come to this.”

”Out!”

“As you wish.”

The wind chimes trill, and the man’s footsteps lightly tap the porch until he vanished from sight.

The chill from the wind seeped in, but Katsumi didn’t tear her eyes away from Vivi as she rushed to the infirmary. The one place she hoped she would never have to utilize. Never this soon.

“Vivi.. why did you let this happen...!” Katsumi asks, but it was more to herself than to Vivi, who slept unconcerned for the sob rising in her grandmother's throat.

Her body... hurts. It hurts a lot. She could hardly feel it, but what she could feel ached.

Vivi’s eyes were shut tightly, and every breath made her shudder. Only for her body to ache more and more.

There's murmuring around her, it’s... somewhat familiar... Okaasan and Otousan...

Maybe she just had a bad dream? Or.. something...

“Vivi, darling?” Okaasan says.

Crap. They caught her... swallowing thickly, Vivi cracks an eye open. It’s easier than she expects, because the only light is a flickering candle that’s.. somewhere around her. Okaasan and otousan are there, whispering to one another. Immediately to her left, baba is lightly stroking her hair.

“How are you feeling Vivi?” Otousan leans close, cupping her cheek. Breath hitching, Vivi recoils from the pain.

“Oh- I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

There’s a moment of silence, Vivi feels herself drifting in and out, laying her head back on the considerably more comfortable pillow than the... the ground.

“Vivi,” Grandma says, voice raspier than usual, “we need you to stay awake. Your Ojisan is coming to visit.”

“...Oji Fumi?”

“Yes.”

“...why?”

The adults pause and share a silent glance, before looking down at her sadly. “You got hurt today, and your arm, leg, and ribs are broken. He’s going to come and patch you up.”

“O...okay...”

It hurts.. a lot. But maybe Fumihito will bring her some candy...?

That would be nice.. the gummies are always nice...

The months have become chillier lately. Mystery sits on a tree branch, taking the form of a small bird, and he stares at the house quietly.

Since he brought Vivi home, almost none of the family members have left the house. Some have come and gone, many whom Mystery recognized, but Vivi hadn’t stepped outside once besides for a visit to a shrine. Where she hobbled around in crutches with her arm bound in bandages.

Mystery remembered wincing, but he knew she was bound to be hurt regardless. It’s fortunate that it was just a few broken bones... It was fortunate that they kept her inside to heal. Who knew what sort of thing she could have done had she had the freedom to leave...

Yip!

Perking up, Mystery hops in place. Tempted to fly and scan the area for any dastardly foxes who may come about...

No. That wouldn’t be the case. Mystery made sure that no creature dared to harass his family... perhaps he’s just imagining things-?

There’s two more yips, and then a howl.

His feathers ruffle as he launches himself into flight. Gliding toward the home urgently as the fox noises continued.

How is it possible- where is it coming from? Surely Katsumi wouldn’t allow a fox into the home, even if she was begged for it! So then-

Mystery lands on the roof, and quickly, he hops to the edge where the court yard was.

It was fairly sized, with a tree standing tall and filled with bird feeders and chimes. Decorations...

“-Yeah, I went to the Inari shrine for a blessing!”

Mystery would have gasped if he could, his eyes honing in on what was before him. Part of him wanted to pray it wasn’t real.

“...Is that really what you think? You’re weird!”

It was Vivi.

She was sitting in a chair, her crutches stacked awkwardly beside her, and her leg wrapped in a cast.

No.. that wasn’t supposed to happen!

Her hands were blackened, the nails sharp.

She had fox ears, and a large puffy tail that was a brilliant white color, much like his own...

And before her, a small spirit that resembles a cat sat. The two making small talk.

She never spoke to spirits before... what is the meaning of this? Mystery hops anxiously, coming closer. The tail- the ears, they had to be fake. Yes. Stage make up put on her so that way she can play even while stuck inside-

Her ear twitches on its own. Mystery’s heart stops. Vivi twists her head and their eyes meet.

For a second she looks surprised, only for a smile to come across her now fox-like face.

Mystery turned and flew away as quickly as he could, just as she started to wave to him.

What has he done?

#mystery skulls animated #Vivi yukino #mystery the dog #vivis family #mystery skulls headcannons #Eage fanfic #eage fic #violence tw #blood tw #near death experience #the horrifying fear ofur computer doing something while u try to format hh

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nightwingshero · 5 years ago

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Hold Me Down Chapter 2

Yasss! Not only did I find the original chapter, but it’s way better than it was before. I’m super happy for this one! @ja-crispea @chazz-anova @faithchel I thought it would be important for you to know what happened with Wren and her ice cream, because let’s be honest, that’s the true ship of this fic. There’s the twist, spoiler alert. Wren x Ice cream.

It was a hot day, hotter than what it had been for the past few days. I huffed as I made my ascent, my ponytail swayed, sweat gathering at the back of my neck and my shoes slapped against the ruined tile as I went. A small plastic bag in one hand, and a large brown bag cradled with my arm. I was eager to enjoy the rest of my day in my apartment, eating ice cream and wallowing in my self-pity before coming up with another score. My pride was still wounded from getting caught. It pissed me off even more when I had found a chip in my throwing knife. Fucking bastard.

I hated grocery shopping only due to the fact that I didn’t like being around people. Dutch often joked to us darkly that we were in the business of people. Just that most of the time, they ended up dead. He wasn’t wrong, and perhaps that was what twisted my stomach so much. Despite him taking me off the street and teaching me everything all he knew, creating who and what I was, I could never come to agree or appreciate his values. I didn’t like killing and cutting my emotions out was nearly impossible. I was his greatest failure but was far from his greatest disappointment. No, she would always hold that place.

I freeze when I come to my floor, eyeing the man leaning against the wall next to my apartment door that was cracked open. He had a hand in his pocket, the other fidgeting with the toothpick in his mouth as he looked at his shoes. I could tell that his dark tan suit was cheap, his longish dark hair swept back just a bit, and I couldn’t help wrinkling my nose in disgust from his demeanor. I could almost guarantee that he was showered in cheap cologne as he used his false confidence to throw his weight around and I crinkled my nose at the sight of his badge on his belt. Cops. My veins turn to ice as I eye it, fear twisting in my gut. I had been so careful. But I square my shoulders, because I know my rights well enough that he needed a warrant.

“Can I help you?” I asked, my voice curious and a bit annoyed. He wasn’t welcome here, not from a long shot, and I wanted him out of my space.

He looked up, his brown eyes sweeping over me before giving me a lopsided smirk. “Well, hey there.” He straightened, shifting his weight. I eyed his stubble and his hair was gelled and combed back half assed. I fought the urge to rip into him, I didn’t need a detective who believed he was nothing by a womanizer sniffing around me. “Wren Blake, right?”

“Who’s asking?” I replied, narrowing my eyes at him.

He just chuckled. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

“We?” I asked, glancing in my apartment. A woman stood taking pictures with her cell phone in gloved hands. Her dark hair was braided to the side and shined in the light my living room as she took pictures. His partner, I was sure. Her suit was crisp, the black blouse unbuttoned a bit to show off the golden cross around her neck. It’s fast, the way I take her in, but I was trained to be observant. One of the reasons I had survived as long as I have. But I’m tense as her dark eyes find mine, stern and professional. I narrowed my eyes at her. “Do you have a warrant? Because breaking and entering is illegal, Detective.”

“You bet your sweet ass we have a warrant.” The man cut in, taunting me with a smirk. “We’ve been keeping an eye on you, sweetheart. You think you could charm your way out of this?”

“Pratt.” His partner scolded before giving another glance around the apartment as she lowered the phone. She barley acknowledged the underlining threat as she turned and studied me. “Wren Marie Blake. You are wanted for assault, larceny, false pretenses, and I believe there’s a count against you for arson. There’s more, should I continue?” Her voice is confident, borderline cocky, but I don’t rise to the bait. “Wanted in many cities, at that. Word is you made quite the splash in Los Angeles. You’ve been busy.”

“And you didn’t answer my question.” I shot back, shift my weight to my other foot as I adjust the paper bag full of food. “Do you have a warrant?”

The woman took a step forward, her eyes drilling into mine. “You’ve got one helluva rep sheet, Blake.” She whipped a piece of paper out in front of me and I frowned. “And I’m going to need you to come with us.”

I sigh, glaring at the floor by her feet. Defeated, I sigh. “Fine, but can I at least put my food away? I have ice cream in here.”

I couldn’t tell you how long I waited in the interrogation room, but it felt like hours. The room was only lit by shitty fluorescent lighting that gave the room a more eerily feel. I could almost roll my eyes from the drama of it. I leaned back and crossed my arms. I knew they were doing this on purpose, a tactic I wasn’t exactly unfamiliar with. It didn’t really do any good, all things considered. If anything, it gave me time to prepare for whatever they were going to slap me with and asking for a lawyer was the card up my sleeve if this went south quickly. I was ready for every scenario.

The door opened, bringing my attention from my inner musings and to the four people that had graced me with their presence. Two of them were the same detectives I had seen earlier, Thing One and Thing Two. An older man stood next to them, to the side with big glasses and a weird mustache. I could take a guess that he was the Captain of the precinct, but I wasn’t for sure. The other man was pretty much bald, his hair cut tight against his head, and a goatee that almost had me laughing. His dark skin looked almost pale with the lighting of the room, especially with the cheap blue suit and white oxford shirt underneath. He held himself with an air of authority that put him on a pedestal. I groaned internally. I had a feeling I wasn’t going to get along with this man.

He slammed a file down on the metal table, watching me close for a reaction, and I raised a brow at him. It was apparent he had an air for dramatics. “I’m Special Agent Cameron Burke, this is Captain Whitehorse, and you’ve already had the pleasure of meeting Detective Pratt and Detective Hudson.” Ah. He was a fed. That explained so much. He leaned against the chair in front of me as he stared me down. “You see that? We have a whole file against you. You’re gonna go away for a long time.”

I just continued to stare at him, unimpressed. “Yeah. It’s a file. That was a little unnecessary, don’t you think? Things echo in here.”

He sneered. “You think this is funny? A game?”

“No, on the contrary, I find this rather irritating. What so-called evidence do you have against me?” I replied icily. I didn’t have the patience for this, I wanted the hell out of here. He smirked and flipped open the file, spreading pictures and documents across the table.

I kept my face neutral, still unimpressed, but my insides were panicked. I schooled my expression as I studied the black and white shots of me doing different jobs in different cities. Some in wigs, different outfits, and even one from last night before I had walked into the charity gala. I studied the bank statements from an offshore account before I looked at him. “What’s this supposed to prove? Other than the fact that you’re stalking me for no reason?”

Burke scoffed, a dark glint in his eyes. “We shook down one of your fences, Blake. I’m sure Victor Boshaw rings a bell?” He pushed a photo forward of the gruffy bearded man, and right there next to him, was me.

Victor “Sharky” Boshaw was a fence I had been using for a few years, first meeting in Montana. He was completely erratic an unorthodox, and definitely obnoxious. There wasn’t ever a boring moment with that idiot. But I could always depend on him to move whatever I brought him, and he always gave me a decent price. One of the few people in the market that didn’t screw me over, and as off-the-wall he was, he wasn’t snitch. Sharky always had my back, I knew better. He wouldn’t say a damn thing.

I glared at him. “You’re starting to sound like my father who is telling me its illegal to have friends.”

His face burned as he shoved the chair out of his way, slamming his hands on the table. I jumped as he growled at me. “I’ve had it with your bullshit!” I pursed my lips as his eyes pinned me down. “Look, I’ve been onto you, watching you for a few years now. I know you have ties that you try to hide. I’ve been trying to pin down Dutch and that entire organization.”

I paled immediately, swallowing as I felt my body become weightless. That wasn’t expected. “What?” I breathed out and he smirked.

“That’s right, princess. I know all about that.” He slowly straightened, crossing his arms as he began to circle me. “Taking teenagers off the streets, kids that have no future or have been victims of tragedy. Training them young is key, isn’t it? Teaching how to steal, trick, and to read people. Running cons…but it gets a bit darker than that, doesn’t it? That’s just tip of the iceberg.”

I clench my teeth as flashbacks hit me. The abandoned factory had lighting much like this room. It was always cold in that damn place, and the memory sent a chill down my spine. I hated that building. I hated the way that I had looked up to him as a father figure as he put a knife in my hand, and a gun next. Hand-to-hand combat, knife throwing, shooting…the real operation was far darker than stealing diamonds from a plastered elite.

He grabbed the back of my chair leaning to talk in my ear, the smell of his hot coffee breath fanned across my face. “Training future hitmen and assassins in the underground is definitely something the FBI is interested in taking down. I’ve tracked your every step; I have eyes and ears everywhere. Sounds like a certain someone is pretty upset that their perfect little protégé turned her back on them.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. How the hell had he found out? My palms became sweaty, my heart racing as thoughts flew through my mind. I wanted to scream out of frustration, but I knew I couldn’t. That stupid male detective, Pratt, wouldn’t stop smirking and I was ready to claw his face off. My pride was shot to hell and I was pissed that he had known.

“It would be…such a shame if someone were to leak your position to them, wouldn’t it?”

Pure dread settled in as anger raged through my veins. I clenched my fists tightly. “What’s your point?” I hissed. Burke moved again, walking away with a sickening swagger.

“Well, despite the fact that we’re hunting down Dutch and his posse, it occurs to me that well…it seems a bit pointless to use you to track him down with you being defective.” I flinched at his word choice when he finally turned back to me. “The DA believes he has a bigger issue than what us feds have going on, being less concerned for the bigger picture. I’m sure you’ve heard of the Seed family by now?” I furrowed my brow as I looked at him. “I’ll take that as a yes, then. Perfect. That makes this easier.”

“What do they have to do anything? What’s your point?”

Hudson stepped forward with another file, placing it down like a normal human being. “Joseph Seed is at the head of a major crime family, as you know.” Flipping the file open, she placed four pictures in front of me, pointing as she went. “His brother Jacob is in charge of security and running guns. He’s involved with underground fighting rings and training their personnel. His military background helps him out, obviously.” His beard was gruffer than Sharky’s, but his red hair was to the side, with a tight cut on the side. Scars littered his face, almost like burn marks. She would recognize those anywhere. “Then there’s the little sister. The little angel. We don’t have much detail on her, but as far as I know, she seems to be the one recruiting. She’s also their loan shark, so to speak. She also helps set up deals for this one,” she lands on a picture of a man I’m all too familiar with. “In particular. And he is hard to tie down. John is their lawyer, and he’s a damn good one. Knows how to read people like the back of his hand. He’s known for extortion, blackmail, and a few others. He has a lot of important people in his back pocket, making him practically untouchable. And as scary and dangerous as Jacob is, John is the one to look out for. He is known for cutting into people as punishment and is merciless.”

“Grade A psycho.” Pratt muttered with a twist of his mouth and his eyes cast downward.

“The point is, if I had to choose, he’s going to be the most dangerous to you.” Hudson continued, and I looked up at her confused. They hadn’t known about what happened a couple nights ago, did they?

“What do you mean?” I asked. “What the fuck do I have to be worried about? That sounds like your problem.” I replied with a snarky tone, and Hudson glared at me with her jaw ticking.

“Its your problem,” Finally, the Captain spoke and stepped forward a bit. He tried to seem confident, but there was a weariness that I couldn’t exactly place. “Because you’re going to be working with them.”

I stared at him as I let it sink in, and turned my gaze to the fed. “What?” I whispered harshly.

Burke seemed to be enjoying this a little too much as he grinned like the damn Cheshire cat. “We’re going to use those skills of yours to our advantage, since you’re here with your hands tied and off Dutch’s radar. You’re going in as a double agent for us. You’ll be feeding us intel as you spy on the family and help us take them down by providing incriminating evidence that will put them away for life. Things that even the baby brother can’t weasel out of.”

“Are you fucking insane?” I breathed out, eyes wide. “You want me to be a mole? Do you know how hard it is to get into a family like that? And assuming that, by some fucking miracle, I do…you know what they do to people like that? Do you have any fucking idea what they would do to me? They would kill me after making an example of me, you know they would!” I snapped. Frustration was so close to turning to tears as I shifted in the metal chair, but I quickly blinked them away.

“Then I suggest not getting caught.” Burke sneered. “But you would die for a greater cause, Blake. Maybe that makes you feel better.”

“And if I say no?”

He leaned forward slowly, menacingly, and got in my face. “You’re either with us or against us. You either do this…or you go to prison. From my position, it doesn’t seem like you have much of a choice. But what do you say? You in or are you out?”

I walked quickly in the Georgia night, anger and determination fueling every step. I stopped only to light a cigarette, inhaling and savoring the burn in my lungs. I was nothing but a bundle of nerves. They had told me the family would be at the club tonight, celebrating something, but their intel was good. My mind reeled, trying to come up with a plan that could even work. I hadn’t told Burke that John and I had already met, making this nearly impossible. I contemplated approaching him, admitting what was happening, and then getting the hell out of dodge. But the feds were following my every move now, and there was no guarantee John would let me walk away from that meeting alive.

I was going to do this my way, at my pace, and on my own. I had insisted. A dead informant wasn’t exactly beneficial. They laid down the ground rules with check ins and all that. I wasn’t allowed to leave town, let alone the state. I had to stay where they could keep an eye on me at all times. Something told me that Burke had a control issue.

I looked at the half-smoked cigarette before throwing it on the concrete, smashing it with my heel. My black dress hugged my curves tightly, the plunging neckline just subtle enough to keep the classy look. I kept my hair down again, curled just a bit. I pulled it up a bit, adjusting the top so my boobs weren’t spilling out. I sometimes loved this side of it, dressing up in cute, and even sexy, outfits. Sometimes I absolutely hated it, and tonight was one of those nights. I had planned to take it easy for a while, but after the loving conversation with the officers earlier, I had a change of heart. Apparently.

All it took for the bouncer to let me in was a bat of my lashes and coy smile, which I dropped the second I crossed the threshold. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but a dark lounge wasn’t it. Not that I complained at all, considering that I’ve had a rough day so far. I took the dimmed lights, the neon accents creating an ambiance of something I couldn’t quite describe. But it was as if I had stepping into a completely different world. I could get lost to the music playing through the speakers as a group of people danced.

Making my way to the bar, I motioned for the bartender as I folded my hands in my lap with my clutch. I smile brightly at the younger man. Blonde, curly hair with bright eyes, and maybe just a little too eager. I lean forward just a tad, a small smile on my lips. “Martini, dry with extra olives.”

He gave a quick nod before hastily getting everything together, but I paid him no mind. I searched, my eyes scanning face after face, desperate for the target. Detective Hudson had sworn they would be here, no doubt in her mind. Well, good for her. That didn’t ease my doubt one bit. Then again that she had to say could, I felt like I was being fed to the wolves. I hated every bit of it. The bartender returned, placing the glass down gently. I knew he was waiting to engage, but I just grabbed it and kept my attention on the crowd. I wasn’t here for social hour. I was here to watch. And so, I did, taking a sip of my drink.

I spot the sister first. A perfect white short dress with sleeves, her hair falling in waves and her ankles are crossed, ever the lady. Then the rest came into view, my heart pounding hard. A red-haired woman sat with her, holding her hand. They had mentioned that there were significant others, spouses, involved, and as I find Joseph Seed, I see his blonde wife with him. His hair is long, pulled back into a bun, and even though it was late at night and inside, he wore yellow aviators. Just like he had in the photo.

“I believe,” a voice called from behind me, and I freeze for only a second as he placed his hand on the bar behind me, his breath ruffling my hair as spoke in my ear. “I told you the next time I saw you, I would kill you.”

I take another drink as he moved from me, circling around with his eyes on me before taking the seat next to mine. Finally, I found my tongue and spine. “I think it was ‘if I catch you doing this again, I won’t hesitate to kill you’. If I remember correctly.”

John gave a charming smile, but it didn’t meet his eyes. “You think you’re clever.”

“No, I know I’m clever.” I scoffed, taking another sip, my eyes falling on his family again. I finally see his other brother, Jacob, standing with his arms crossed in his grey shirt.

“How cute.” he taunted. I opened my mouth to say something, but that’s when I see her. It takes all the years of my training to maintain my composure, because there was nothing I would love to do than to let the glass in my hand shatter against the floor. Rowan.

She looked the same, just a few more years older. Her dark hair was still long and wavy, her bright smile hadn’t changed a bit. It’s a shock that I can’t really shake, because she’s there, after all these years. I had thought she died, someone finally hunted her down. That’s what Dutch led us, me, to believe. To prove and show what happened if you turned your back on the family. And yet, here we both were, survivors of the dark world Dutch had brought us in.

I feel a hand on my knee the second her dark eyes catch mine and move away, not even hesitating as she looked around the room and the hand squeezed, bringing my attention to the company I was keeping. “I warned you about coming near my family.”

I turned to him with a glare. “You threatened me with your family’s name, and if I’m being honest here, I’m getting tired of it, Johnny.” I sneered, shoving his hand off my knee. I grabbed the toothpick out of my drink, angrily eating the olives. I glanced over again, but she continued to laugh in that dark green dress, like she hadn’t seen a blast from her past. As if she didn’t know me at all. It stung, but I couldn’t tell if her noticing me was a good thing or not. She would blow the whole thing before I could even get started.

John’s mouth twisted and I felt my stomach sink in dread at the realization of what I had just done. Rowan was just one issue, but I completely forgot the one sitting with me. “Better be careful, sweetheart. You’re playing with fire and you’ve been warned already.”

“And you owe me a new knife, Johnny. They are custom made and expensive, and due to your carelessness, the one has a chip in it. Where shall I send the bill?”

“You’re not as charming as you think you are, darling.” He leaned in with a sneer, his eyes promising danger. “And my patience is running very thin with it.”

I leaned forward, my nose crinkling unimpressed. “And you’re not nearly as scary as you believe you are. Now, if you don’t mind, run and get the big bad brother. I’m above dealing with the baby, Johnny Boy.”

His hand flew back to my leg, squeezing and digging his fingers hard into the meat of my leg. My back straightened as I clenched my teeth from the mix of pain and something else. I kept my composure the best I could, but I never hated John Seed more than I did in this moment. Pure loathing like venom on my tongue for the way he always found the upper hand.

“Would you like another, miss?”

I turned to see the young bartender smiling at me, his eyes wandering down before meeting my eyes again. “No.” John replied, throwing the guy a charming smile. “She’s just leaving.”

“Cool. Well, it’s on the house.” He said, throwing me a wink. I gave a fake smile as he walked away.

“It most certainly is not on the house.” John snapped. “I’m not paying for your drink.”

I raised a brow at him. “Oh, the big-time lawyer owns a bar and can’t afford to buy a lady a drink?”

“It’s a lounge.” He growled at me. “And you are not a lady.”

I smirked, my hand finding its way back into my clutch. Grabbing what I was looking for, I quickly press the tip of my knife against his inner thigh. He stiffened, and my burgundy lips curved even more. “Now, I think that you should know a few things about me, darling.” I leaned, my lips finding his ear to whisper. “I don’t like it when men feel the need to put their hands on me without my permission, no matter how big they think they are. And when they do, well…I’m very skilled with knives, John. I’m sure you can use your imagination. Now, if you don’t mind.” He slowly removed his hand, and as he did, I shifted, rising from the barstool. “Thank you. You’re such a dear. Here’s to hoping our next meeting is as lovely as this one.”

“You should hope we don’t meet again, sweetheart. Because I’m not going to be so kind anymore.” He breathed out, his voice ice. I placed a kiss on his cheek.

“If this was you call being kind, then I look forward to seeing the big bad wolf. I don’t mind playing rough. Just make sure you can take it as well as you can dish it.”

I move away before he can register and react. My heart was hammering in my chest, shocked by what I had just done and cursing myself. I was supposed to get in and win them over, and instead I was antagonizing the youngest and one of the most crucial members of that damn family. The one that I needed to watch out for even before any of this happened. And no one knew. I made the decision to keep it to myself out of fear. If they thought I couldn’t do it, I would’ve been done for. I needed to play along until I could find a way out of this damn mess.

I took a turn, a block away from the lounge, and I started to relax. The fear of him coming after me melted away with each step. Passing a dark alley, I slowed to light a cigarette for good measure. A hand slapped my cigarette and lighter out of my hands, and another grabbed a fistful of hair, painfully yanking it back. Fear pierced its way into my chest as I tried to fight back, a black bag being shoved over my head. I screamed, punching and kicking blindly. I suddenly felt sharp pain at the base of my neck, and I dropped to the ground.

`The bag got yanked off harshly, and I squinted from the bright light. It took me a moment to adjust, and then I was finally able to take in my surroundings. I was in a mansion, that was obvious. Marble floors with weird ass designs that rich people swore made them look classier. That was a fucking lie. There was a double staircase wrapping around the room, and directly across from me, the double doors were open and gave me a good view of their pool area at night as thin white curtains danced in the evening breeze.

I go to move, but find my wrists and ankles were duct taped to the chair I was sitting in. It was then that I finally took account for the bulky men in black, standing around quietly with their hands clasped behind their backs. “Well, look who decided to wake up!” A loud and obnoxious southern voice pierced my eardrums, making me cringe. An overweight older gentleman began to make his way towards me, a cane in his hand. He wore just a polo and tan dress pants. I made a face at his sleazy appearance, the slicked back hair and stupid mustache. “It’s about damn time. We have some business to discuss.”

I sighed heavily, a sneer on my lips. “Oh, you got to be kidding me.” He stopped his advance for a moment, glaring at me. But I didn’t care. Tossing all caution to the wind, my anger got the best of me. “I’m not in the fucking mood for any of you. Do you know what kind of day I’ve had? Seriously? What is this? Some backwash hillbilly mob family from the fucking Georgia swamps? Is this what I’ve come to? Which one is the jackass?” I snapped.

His mouth twisted, and he moved faster than I had given him credit for. The sting of my face and the blood that filled my mouth was the only way I registered him hitting me. I spit out blood on his floor, some running down my chin as I slowly gave him a death glare. “Now I have your attention. Damn women.” He turned to the side, eyeing an older blonde in a red dress. She pursed her lips as she held her head high. “None of you listen. It’s why they should never do a damn man’s job. But here we are.”

“Who the fuck are you and what do you want?” I growled.

He scoffed. “Hurk Drubman Sr. I own one of the biggest marinas in Atlanta, selling sailboats. Also give those damn Seeds a run for their money when it comes to smuggling and gun dealing.”

“Haven’t been giving them much of a run, darlin’.” The blonde mocked with a smirk. He muttered something before turning back to me.

“I heard that you’re gonna help those damn feds take ‘em down. That true?”

I just stared at him, my face twisting in shock at the absurdity of the situation. “Where the fuck did you hear that?” I asked, completely exasperated.

“John fucking Seed isn’t the one with ties in the fucking police department.” I frowned, but he didn’t give me time to process that. “Either way, they’re undermining my slave trade, beating my gun deals—”

“Your…what?” I asked, hoping I heard him wrong.

His sick smile grew wider. “Slave trade, girlie. Sex trafficking. Its what’s making most of my money with that damn family taking the most of our business. And if you’re a good girl, you won’t have to worry about it.” A shiver went down my spine as I tried to wriggle in my restraints, but he paid me no mind. “Now, I know you cut a deal with those pigs downtown, but don’t worry about that. What I need you to do, is spy on them and get me information that will help my business grow.”

I sighed, giving up and glaring at the old man. “Are you serious? You expect me to play the Seeds and the feds? What the hell is wrong with this city?” I breathed out. “You’re insane. I would be lucky to even get close—”

“You got pretty close tonight.” He snarked back. “Left a pretty little mark on little Johnny’s check, my men say.” He walked, a cane in his hand as he limped forward. “We can do this the easy way, which is you agreeing and being a good little girl, doing what she’s told. Or, we could do this the hard way. I torture you, force you to agree, and if that doesn’t work…well, I could sell you or kill you. We could flip on it, make it a surprise.”

I forced the bile back down as my stomach twisted. I glanced to my right, catching the eyes of the old woman. She held a frown, glaring at her husband. When her eyes caught mine, she gave the slightest smile and nod, almost reassuring. “Well, let’s assume I say yes and do this, what do you plan on doing? You have the feds on my ass, and if your men aren’t totally blind, they would know that John and I aren’t exactly friendly. I don’t know what you expect.”

“I would like you to learn the ins and outs. Nothing too different than what you’re already doin’. Except you’re gonna give the information to me, frame the family, and take them down from the inside, while I get all their business.”

I made a face. “Oh, you’ve been watching way too many movies. There’s no fucking way—”

The end of the cane was pressed against my throat, cutting me off completely as I gagged. “There is a fucking way.” He leaned in closer, the cane pressing harder. I fidgeted, trying to catch my breath. “And I know something the feds don’t. That tonight hasn’t been your first run-in with John. They know you went to that stupid charity gala, but they have no clue what happened. Johnny can be handsy, can’t he? Especially when he finds out you’re workin’ a job on his turf.”

Stepping back, he finally removed the cane. I took a greedy breath of air. “Then you know that it’s going to be impossible. He hates me. And I would take him ignoring my personal space over this. He isn’t the one that has kidnapped me and tied me to a goddamn chair.”

Hurk laughed, with a shake of his head. “Not yet, he hasn’t. You think is bad, sweetheart? Oh, you’re not that smart, are you? Johnny would have you in the dark with knives digging into that pretty skin of yours, and he would be more than happy to do the honors. And he’s done it to men who have done less than what you’ve done already. People don’t get a second warning from the Seeds. You have, and I’m goin’ to use that.”

I rolled my eyes. “The fact is that I’m on some seriously thin ice with that man, and I won’t be able to get away with whatever it is you have planned. He won’t let me anywhere near that family.”

“You’re going to do this, and I don’t care what you have to do to do it. Become one of his coked-up buddies he keeps around, for all I fucking care. If you value your life, you’ll do this.”

Silence fell between us as I stared at the shiny floor. I weighed my options, not that I had many, and I couldn’t find a way to get out of this one. It just went from bad to worse in less than 24 hours, and I couldn’t believe the amount of trouble I had brought upon myself from going to one damn gala. Swallowing my pride was bitter, but I did it anyway. “Fine.” I bit out. “Whatever. I’ll help you steal the business and take the family down.”

A twist of guilt settled in the pit of my stomach as Hurk smiled. “Perfect! I’m so glad we could see eye to eye. I look forward to our business relationship, Blake.”

“And what do I get out of this?” I asked with a roll of my eyes.

“Hmm…well, how about you don’t go to prison? That you’ll get to leave Atlanta? I think that seems fair, don’t you?”

No. “Sure.” Not in the fucking slightest.

He gave a nod to his men. “Get her out of here. I’m done.”

I opened my mouth to say something, but only a strangled shout of surprise escaped at the black bag returned, blinding me once more.

They had dragged me out of the damn house and thrown me into a van, fully restrained. I had no idea where we were going, but it wasn’t a smooth ride. It’s when we stop do they finally pull the damn bag off and cut my restraints. The bulky man grabbed me while the other slide the door open with more force than necessary, and the shoved me out before speeding away.

I hit the concrete hard, my palms and knees immediately getting scraped. I grunted in frustration as I sat on the sidewalk, yanking my heels off. My body was exhausted, muscles screaming at me with bruises forming on my leg. There were angry red lines on my wrists, complimenting the tattoos on my wrists. I wanted nothing more than a cigarette, and I cursed, realizing that they never returned the clutch purse I had. Anger swelled in me and I fought to keep the tears at bay. I had smoked more in the last few days than I had in months. I had quit, but the new stress was threatening to give me the habit again, and I was more than pissed that I couldn’t indulge in this moment.

Snatching my feels off the ground, I stood and walked into my apartment building. I longed for my bed, and I was set and determined to do absolutely nothing tomorrow. I could practically hear my ice cream calling for me.

The stairs were harder to take than they were this morning, and I hated every step I took with a fiery passion. This night, this whole day, had been nothing but a clusterfuck, and I didn’t know how all this shit could happen in 24 hours. Arrested, manhandled twice, threatening and being threatened, finding a new way to piss off the youngest Seed, being kidnapped, hit, blackmailed…what the fuck could happen next? I was done with the bullshit. I could put a smile on my face, figuratively, and agree to help Drubman so I could get the fuck out of there. I could off both parties while I made arrangements. I was getting the fuck out of dodge while I could, while I was still breathing.

Coming to the floor, it was like déjà vu. I froze seeing the door to my apartment wide open and dread settled heavily in the pit of my stomach. I rushed forward, my hands resting on the doorframe as I looked around.

The door had clearly been kicked in, the frame busted and a small dent in the cheap door. I swallowed as I took in the busted coffee table, torn up and flipped couch and chair. My TV was on and flickering, the screen cracked as the static filled the room. I stepped in cautiously, watching my bare feet so not to step in the broken glass of the table and some of my vases. Water, rocks, and flowers littered the floor. Down the hall, I could see my bed flipped on its side with the bedding ripped to shreds, the feathers from the comforter and pillows blanketing everything like freshly fallen snow.

The kitchen wasn’t spared, with cabinets thrown open, and broken glasses and plate along the counter tops and floor. My fridge and freezer were left ajar as food had been strewn, almost shoved, from its place. My face twisted and I clenched my fist at the site of melted ice cream on the tile. The wall against my counter bar held my busted landline and a note with my knives embedded in the wall to hang it. The same knives that was in my clutch.

I stepped forward and read the note, each line fueling my anger more and more. A threat, clear as day, from my most humble hosts this evening. My hand fell to my side as I look around hopelessly. It was a message within itself. The note was just a cherry on top. Whatever the Drubmans had planned, they were serious, and they wanted to make it clear. I did get some relief when I spotted my clutch on my small kitchen table, my cell phone falling out.

Grabbing it with shaking hands, I send a quick text, trying hard to focus on the keyboard. We need to meet asap. Tomorrow afternoon good?

I only waited a few more minutes before I received the confirmation text, and I fall to my knees, clinging the phone to my chest as I run my hand through my hair. The shaking becomes worse and I let out a sob as the tears break through. I can’t help the panic attack, there’s nothing for me cling to in order to keep me from the spiral. It’s a mixture of rage, helplessness, and stress. I didn’t ask for any of this. I wanted a better life, and I tried to stay in my lane the best I could, keeping my head down. And in less than a week, I had the threat of a rival crime family and the feds breathing down my neck. And worst of all, the potential of Dutch finding me was too close for comfort. Everything I had built, all the work I had done over the years, would come tumbling down around me. And I didn’t even have the chance to process of Rowan being alive. I needed to leave, get out of Atlanta as fast as I could, and never look back.

#deputy wren blake #wren blake #john seed #wren x john #ice cream #wren x ice cream #mafia au #Far Cry 5 #far cry fic #my writing

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scholar-thief · 5 years ago

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[ RP LOG ]

Momori hunts for dodos and eggs with Njorthrbiartr “Biartr” Hjallr and Caelrin Morra.

Snippets of OOC chat in italics + blockquotes, for flavor. You can assume many actions were due to just, so many bad rolls. So many bad rolls.

@s-udarshana @vysaldhe

Momori) australia is like a high level zone irl (Momori) everythings so dangeorus!!!!! (Momori) kangaroos like, are cute on an abstract level. but then you see one in real life, and how it has an 8 pack and is JACKED and (Biartr) they are so JACKED LMAO OMG … (Momori) my mind is racing w/ thoughts of australia. who knows what I'll write I'm a loose cannon now (Biartr) oh god kalsdfhjsd

Momori - In the wild, wind-torn lands of Abalathia’s Spine, two adventurers find themselves yalms away from vicious “Gastronis” birds. These hefty, feather-covered spheres of mass prowl the lands, searching for delicacies hidden away beneath the soil, their legs powerful enough to go from 0 to 60 in a blink of the eye. As such, they made difficult prey for the local knights, not that many wanted to go toe to toe with what were basically legs attached to a ball anyway.

Momori spots a particularly JACKED one. How that looks on a goddamn sphere is...up to you. She points at it. “Shall we start?”

Biartr | When being told about the anatomy of these birds, and observing them from the sky, Biartr hadn't guessed that they'd be so...large. On all accounts, really. Most notably, she was rather concerned by the state of their legs, canting her head to the side to get a better look. "I'll admit I have my reservations," Biartr admitted, shifting from one leg to another as she squinted slightly. "I mean I can see why the wish to eat them, at the very least."

Caelrin: "--huh. Thought I saw some folks lackin' plate strollin' about here. Strangers two, but I've seen you 'round the ship before."

Biartr was glad to quit staring at the strange...muscular legs of the gastornis, brushing loose strands of hair from her features. "Ah?" Her head canted to the side once more in thought. "The same to you -- Ah, Biartr." She gestured briefly to herself.

Momori: “Each bird is enough to feed a camp for days. How many did we have to hunt again? Ten?” Momori tilted her head slightly, not looking forward to both hunting /and/ hauling back a literal mountain of birdflesh. She then looked towards the newcomer and gave a small wave. “Hello there. I’m Momori.”

Caelrin | Sure enough - the stranger is a vaguely familiar one, a Hyur seen about camp and ship - though perhaps a brute of scarred muscle was a bit more apt in description. Dull golden eyes shed themselves keen against the features of the lalafell and viera, affable and yet observing all the while - a placid, warm smile upon tarnished features all the same. "Biartr an' Momori, then. Well met. Caelrin, Caelrin Morra. Fist of Rhalgr - Monk of Ala Mhigo."

Caelrin: "...iffin I didn't know any better, I'd say it sounds as if you two plan t' hunt."

Momori simply points at the strange ballbirds over yonder. “Ten of them, and their eggs. We were given rotten cabbages by the merchants, and hope to show goodwill by helping them with some hunting.”

Biartr inclined her head before affirming his suspicions with a short but firm nod, her golden gaze looming down only briefly. "We were unfortunate enough to strike a deal with a rather," Her shoulders rolled up and down languidly. "...Demanding trader."

Caelrin: ".....demanding trader. You two look savvy an' fierce enough to set to the hunt then, that's for certain. What stalls your intent? Waitin' for folks?"

Biartr looked towards the birds gathering, and finally back to the hyur with a slight grimace. Her voice lowered, perhaps she thought the birds could hear her. "...I've heard stories of sky pirates getting gutted from the power of their legs alone. Haven't ever seen one this...low down, admittedly."

Momori looks at the dodo’s fearsome, powerful legs, then looks back at Caelrin and Biartr. “Could go in, knives out. Maybe get punted off this plane of existence. Perhaps we could lay a trap for them instead?”

Caelrin | Of all answers to be given to such a question - given the slow, gentle rise of the brow upon Caelrin's countenance, it's clear enough to see *that* wasn't what he'd been expecting. A glance to her, and then, to Momori, before looking to the Gastornis in the distance. He's thinking. "....can't be any worse than a kick from a horse, fable or otherwise. Then again - one ain't three. Trap seems a bit too much - they ain't exactly big game."

Caelrin: "How about this - i get their attention, take the hits for you, while you two skewer as you please."

Momori: “Sounds like a lovely plan!” She gives Caelrin a pat on the back. If he was willing to bear the brunt of attacks from a herd of birds, then she would be first to jump on the idea.

Momori offers a moment of silence to Caelrin.

Biartr chewed slightly on her bottom lip, leveraging her height to her tip toes to get a look at the birds just beyong Caelrin. "They do have claws. Horses don't have claws." She had a point, at least -- and her gaze finally dropped, as did her height. "I'm not sure I could just watch you get beat pathetically by a Gastornis..." She squinted at Momori's answer, before gracing him with a rather pathetically confused look. "If I am outnumbered, then so be it."

Caelrin just sort of......stares. Rather than give into the ego of a lesser man under such scrutiny - Biartr's compassion, even if confused, earns a wry, warm smile delivered to her in mixture of reassurance and knowing. "I'm planning on it. Reckon you know not of th' faith, then - best you see it practice firsthand than me chewing your ear off with our ways. Trust me - I've taken far worse."

Caelrin: "But, iffin it puts you at ease - 's take it one at a time. Best we get the eggs first; these creatures might have materal instincts. Raid their nests, some'll come calling. Two birds with.....two eggs, I reckon."

Momori: “Oh, I’m sure ole’ Cael will be alright. Look at all the scars on ‘im! Birds will be no problem.” Momori then turns to look for a couple of birds to start with, and sees a pair nested by a tree on the top of a cliff. “Shall we?”

Biartr: "I have an idea for the eggs," Biartr interjected, raising a bone horn that was affixed to her waist. "It's entirely possible that I could ride my endymion and pick up the eggs from their nests one, or two at a time. We can fly and drop them off to a safe point."

Caelrin: ".....hrm. Hit-and-run tactics. If you reckon you an' your companion can be swift an' deft enough to do so, I see no reason for you to not try. More likely to spot nests from th' air than the ground anyways. Reckon you can handle that, while Momori an' I start setting to the birds."

Biartr: "Easily enough," She affirmed with a short nod, taking a step back to press her lips to her horn. Somewhere along the mass of tents, skirting one of the sky-islands came a purple-feathered beat. A little larger than the average endymion and of course, characterised by the muscular single foot -- swooping down to just behind the trio.

Momori takes one look at the beast and chuckles. “Gods, the size of that thing...I thought the dodos were big, but this could probably hunt them without breaking a sweat. But I’m keen on seeing Caelrin in action.”

Caelrin watches the creature with a particular interest - eyes of a man who, though having seen such beasts domesticated before, didn't quite expect to see one like this. Seems he knows well enough to keep his distance - it's no pet. With a nod, he glances to the lalafell, fists rising to clash knuckles with one another in solidarity. There's an audible *thud*, as if he'd just punched a shield. "Aye, no time to waste. Burning daylight."

Momori - The closer she got, the more...hesitant she felt. She couldn’t see beyond the chest of the bird. It looked like some awful, heaving bushel of orange feathers propped up on two legs the size of a lalafell each. Momori pulled out her two daggers...and waited for Biartr and Caelrin to give some kind of signal.

Caelrin , for one, doesn't seem daunted all that much - either by truthful discourse of having seen far worse, or merely by virtue of a firm shell of bravado. Regardless - a glance is sent in Momori's way, watching her produce her daggers before eyes train upon the bird once more - studying it, as if discerning where to strike first. He had to be humane about it....right?

Biartr | It hadn't taken long for the Veena to be seen and somewhat heard overhead. The only noise being that of the thunderous clap of the endymion's wings. The first nest that would be her target would be one teetering just on the edge of the isles. For the most part, the gastornis surrounded it seemed happily nesting until she had gone near -- at least it was a welcome distraction away from the other two.

(Momori) just start.... stabbing with me toothpicks?!? (Caelrin) KEK (Caelrin) also - are we rolling to attacks these or is it just. freeform killin (Biartr) Tenderise the meat and you'll be doing them a favour at the very least (Momori) oh man. if people play pokemon (Momori) fighting type is bad against flying right? (Momori) HHA (Caelrin) do you think these things fly (Biartr) dfjghdkfg (Biartr) and i don't mind rolls or free form, it *would* be funny to add a random element to it (Momori) if doduo is flying then ????????? (Caelrin) yeah i'm cool either way, i just wanna know before i have caelrin start things off (Caelrin) cool with it* (Momori) I'll roll, because RNG is fun :D (but will just use it as a rough guide of how things go)

Caelrin: ".....ah, hells with it," grunts the monk. Fists angle down and behind to the ground, and a low stance is taken before aether, in vicious jets, erupt and clash to produce force that sends Caelrin violently into the air before the gastorinis - only for him to aim to crash down upon it with a powerful axe kick.

Biartr | The endymion takes the first swoop down towards the nest, its powerful leg aiming to grab at the egg. Unfortunately for the bird, egg and Veena at once - its leg is perhaps a little /too/ powerful and during the lifting process, it manages to crush the egg rather carelessly. From overhead, a barrage of cursing can be heard.

Momori - While the birds are distracted by Biartr and Caelrin, Momori dashes in, daggers drawn. She mounts the back of one of the birds and becomes a whirlwind of stabs, but the whole attack is more akin to a kitten desperately trying to cause damage to a much larger foe. The bird pays more attention to the chaos Caelrin is causing.

Caelrin | With the first bird having assumedly been easily dispatched - Caelrin gets into it, now that the herd has sufficiently been aggroed. The monk is deft and fluid in his motions, focusing upon the next closest bird - it's almost comically how easily he fells it, a vicious aethercharged hook to his beak, leaving neon-violet aether in its wake, puts it down as if he were knocking out a drunkard.

Biartr | For the second round, the endymion swoops in to grab the next egg within the nest. A change of tactics, it seemed, throwing the egg up towards Biartr. The Veena manages to catch it, quite perfectly before it quite literally explodes in her grasp, leaving her covered in egg-toplasm.

Momori - Meanwhile, the dodo Momori is riding squawks! Once, then twice! It then dashes off, Momori hanging for dear life on its back, her screams growing faint as it gets further and further away. The speed is eventually too much and she tumbles off, disappearing into the tall grass.

Momori: "..............................." She gets up, the whole front of her covered in mud and tuffs of grass.

(Biartr) Benny hill theme music intesifies (Biartr) intensifies** (Momori) I need the playdead emote after all this (Momori) haha benny hill theme music BLARES and destroys headphone users

Caelrin | Two birds down - and yet, despite being so focused, Caelrin is much too occupied in the witnessing of Momori tumbling down and out over the dirt that the focus drops for just a second. Not even a chance is had for him to accost the third bird, just watching as it rears back - only to peck him in the chest! Certainly doesn't draw blood, but the force of it produces a tough grunt and a backstep.

Biartr | This time, third time lucky? Right? Wrong. Biartr and her endymion swoop down a third time, only to be met by a rather territorial gastornis. The endymion's muscular claw picks up the would-be attacker as opposed to the egg. It's at least something that could be used to a form of advantage, and Biartr directs the bird higher, where it would drop the gastornis from a great height. It plummets to the isle not far from the duo, dead upon impact.

Momori tosses a dagger at one of the Gastornis, and the blade flies straight and true. It buries itself deep in the neck of the bird, ending its life swiftly. She wipes the mud from her eyes, steps over, and wretches the dagger out from the corpse without batting a lash. That was more like it - now, who’s next?

Caelrin | Who's next? The poor gastornis that's just pecked Caelrin square in the chest. With a clashing of fists and a grunt, the aether within, a sickly, violent, violet aether stokes, swelling muscle and shading over flesh and flaring like neon within veins. With particular speed a force, he seizes the bird by the literal beak with a single hand, heaving and throwing it down into the ground like a hulk would a trickster god.

Biartr had many an excuse for this situation. Namely, the fact that she didn't half-drown her head in a vat of ceruleum. Now that her endymion was finished trashing an entire nest, she ground both of their progress to a halt and stepped off the bird in the middle of the peninsula. Both of her hands dipped into the bright blue paint in a contained on her belt - and she practically painted her entire face blue with ceruleum. The woman now smelling like an engine room, and possibly glow in the dark.

Momori - Some dodos surround Caelrin, pecking and dodging. Others run around in dumb circles, kicking up dust and adding to the overall chaotic ENTROPY of the whole ordeal. Under the cover of mud and grass, Momori leaps deftly into the air and lands on the top of another bird, blades sinking down on where she stands. Another one down. The sight of something purple catches her eye, and she witnesses Caelrin go hulk on a Gastornis. Weird? Something to ask about later? Yes.

Caelrin | With the poor bird left in a small, feather-lined crater - now it was time to adapt and fight against one's surroundings. Peck and dodge as they may, combat aqgainst beasts was a specialty of Caelrin's, and pecks are weaved through or land uselessly against powerful arms or iron-like muscle. Another bird bites the dust with retaliation, as a streaking overhead fist hammers down firmly upon its cranium - followed with an audible *crunch*.

Biartr | The somewhat lost-looking Viera had now a certain fierceness about her, if you could see her once more in the sky. She had stood herself on the back of the endymion, who had swooped towards the second nest, grabbing the egg neatly within its clutches. It leant towards the side with its swoop, allowing the Veena to pick up an egg within her grasp too. The two flying briefly off to deposit the eggs within Cloudtop.

Momori slides under a bird, dragging her blade through as she moves between its legs. As it collapses, she quickly turns back and gives it another good stab near the neck, as to end its suffering quickly. How many was that now? Seven?

(Momori) cromch (Momori) god that sound. I'm thinking of that video where someone bites a banana horizontally and it makes just, the worst sound (Biartr) N O (Caelrin) HELLO? (Momori) IS. IS THAT THE SOUND?? (Caelrin) IDK WHAT YOU MEAN (Momori) here I will show you (Biartr) im trying to find the video dkfgdf (Caelrin) wow i REALLY HATE THIS (Caelrin) but no not quite the sound (Momori) that cronch sound is burned in my memory (Biartr) perhaps just speed it up a bit to 2x (Biartr) and that's the sound (Biartr) anyway im going to eat my keyboard (Momori) ahaha PLS

Biartr | Its perhaps not the sun for Biartr and her endymion. The purple-feathered 'friend' comes into contact with the third nest and only a horrid 'squelch' can be heard as the two overzealously destroy all of the eggs and the single inhabitant within it into a mushed pulp.

Caelrin | Seven, eight - frankly, Caelrin stopped counting after the second. His focus remains firmly upon seeing the herd cleared and brought to rest, even that which was eternal. Despite this, the assault continues from the last few present, and Caelrin endures with the same defense and speed he had at first - though the birds are starting to pelt a little more fiercly. Maybe avenging their fallen brethren - or all those eggs. He's handling it well, though.

(Momori) so. so many eggs exploded (Momori) f (Biartr) Biartr out here looking like boo boo the fool (Caelrin) should've put on clown makeup (Biartr) peels off her flesh to reveal a full clown suit with make up (Momori) dfjsldjfkls jfSDJFSDKJ

Momori hears something behind her, and she whips her head around. The motion is too fast though, and her hair slaps right onto her eyes. Momentarily blinded, something hits her on the back and sends her flying through the air, right towards Caelrin.

Caelrin | Momori may have despaired - but rest assured, with a monk on the team, she's in good hands. Literally; she's been *caught*, a reactionary movement made to preserve himself and her. With a huff, he promptly tosses her like a football to the nearest bird to continue the attack, while he occupies himself with another satisfying crunch of a gastornis cranium.

Momori - The bird catches Momori.

Biartr | Despite being out of practice for the traditional 'hunt' that Biartr was accustomed too, perhaps she was getting back into the hang of it. Somewhat, at least. Once more, the Veena and her mount swoop down into a nest and carry off two eggs back towards the Camp. There is an air of chaos to it, as the gastornis attempt to trample (read: follow) the egg-snatchers.

Momori - Lalafell under wing, the bird sprints to its nest and slam dunks Momori into it. Touchdown! Momori is just, done. She lets it happen. Dead inside eyes gaze to the sky.

Caelrin | Nevermind. She *isn't* in good hands, for she is now in a nest. Unfortunately, the said bird finds itself sideways and slackened as a vicious dropkick is loosed into its flank - seeing it skid along and through dirt and rock to its death in retaliation. Not quite a slam dunk, but - it's a goal. Goal. Goal. GOOOOOOALASSOOOOOOOOO

Biartr | It's not a great time. It's an awful time. The next set of nests Biartr and her endymion race for are the ones precariously teetering on the edge. Except, now they're not on the edge and are dropping into the clouds below. Ooft.

(Biartr) Roblox oof. (Caelrin) do the eggs also explode mid-fall (Momori) HAHHA (Biartr) :pensiveclown: (Biartr) we'll go with no and see if we can salvage it with a /good/ roll. (Caelrin) also actually how many birds have we killed (Caelrin) is it like....8 or 9 (Momori) I think 10?? or 9. But we can round up (Caelrin) 9.7 birds > Biartr literally rolls a 1 (Momori) OH My god!!!! (Biartr) BYE (Momori) this is MOMENTUOUS (Biartr) im laughing so hard rn (Caelrin) : ) (Caelrin) the endymion releases an egg - it explodes as soon as it's out (Biartr) ????

Momori sits up in the nest, in time to see a bird crash into a rock. Absolute chaos. She looks up, eyes searching for Biartr and her companion. Something in her gut tells her that she better be watching.

Biartr | Biartr's concern for Calerin getting gutted by a muscle-leg flightless bird was misplaced. Especially now that she was somewhat over-hulked on the mix of ceruleum and paint on her face. Her endymion flies off, for now, but Biartr appeared to have been dropped amongst the piles of birds. Or moreso, thrown - her body skidding through the mud in a dirty, yolky, blue-faced mess. Nice job.

(Biartr) ah I also don't have /playdeadon this character (Momori) splot (Caelrin) roblox death sound (Caelrin) also who's Calerin (Biartr) hello darkness my old friend (Momori) long lost twin (Momori) evil dark twin (Caelrin) Calerin Moarr (Biartr) his more attractive sister (Biartr) biartr: overjuiced on paint. me: overjuiced on coffee (Caelrin) LMAO (Caelrin) aight one last roll since i think this bird be the last yeah? (Momori) sounds good!! (Biartr) :) (Biartr) biartr is gonna have to just end up being "Look guys I am actually really cool okay please beliEvE ME"

Momori silently stares at Biartr, gaze flat and serious. But seconds later, she bursts into a laughter so powerful she topples over on the floor. A bird comes over and sits on top of her as if she were an egg, and the sound of laughter is muffled by several layers of feather.

Caelrin | Biartr's concern for Caelrin getting gutted by a muscle-leg flightless bird may have been misplaced, certainly; after all, given all the carnage on the ground, as well as the beaten and slain birds with crushed heads and perforated necks, it's clear the two are handling themselves well. One bird left - and that is all it takes for Caelrin to lose focus long enough to watch Biartr faceplant into the dirt and mud. Nice job. Instinct has him rushing to move to her - but he takes his eyes off his prey long enough for the very same bird that sits on Momori to kick the monk squarely in the stomach, raking as well. A flash of red and a few ilms driven back. Okay, yeah - it's got a kick.

Biartr merely stares flat-out, looking at the sky - the only movement is the heavy rise and fall of her chest. For a moment she moves the spear off her back, throwing it towards the duo in a hope she'd at least skewer a bird, only for the spear to fall short and plant into the ground shy of the target near Cael.

(Caelrin) ......does the tail of the spear have a sharp end too (Biartr) it does! just shorter than the usual (Caelrin) e x e c u t i o n t i m e.

Momori can’t hear what’s happening. What’s going on? In the warm darkness she’s trapped under, she fumbles about, hands searching for her daggers..which she doesn’t find. No, the bird seems to tell her. It is egg time. Time to be egg.

Caelrin | Momori will not be egg. Not today - not this time. Like being birthed from the womb for a second time, the lalafell is thrown into the world of light and air as the bird is quite *literally* pulled off of her and lifted into the air with bared teeth and a low snarl. He's clearly fed up with all of this - and tempers his frustrations accordingly with due justice. Biartr's spear is just nearby, waiting like a pole - and just like that, the monk slams the bird upon its tail-end with force.

Caelrin | Skewered - unfortunately, not a good kebob. Still raw and feathered.

Biartr continues to lie deathly still amongst the grass and bird corpses. There is likely a thought process of if she lays there still and long enough, she'll be forgotten about. The Veena is hoping, at least.

Caelrin: "--Biartr!" calls the monk, who's patting down his front with gauntlets as that peculiar violet aura begins to fade, drifting away with particles bleeding into the wind. Sorry - you're still here. "You alright over there?"

Momori doesn’t say. A word. She picks up her daggers.Then, a bird. Wordlessly starts making a pile of their bodies. She additionally steps over to Biartr, and waves a hand over her eyes. “...Shall we carry you back as well?”

Biartr continues to stare at the clouds overhead. She is plain-faced and taking a deep breath. "You can leave me here." There's a half-smile, though her brows are in knots and speak an otherwise rather frustrating story.

Momori cracks a mud-caked smile at Biartr. “This was certainly.......exciting.....Let us not speak of this in detail.”

Caelrin: "........I'll keep me lips locked an' shut real tight," the monk remarks, having moved over to join the two - considerably less dirt-coated as the two of them.

Caelrin: "Did good work either way, methinks. 's ten birds, and.....however many eggs you got before you...took your fall."

Biartr continues to lay flat-out, though her gaze at least lifts to dead-stare at the two of them. "Four eggs." She paused, gesturing to herself. "Five if I'm put over the campfire."

Caelrin: "Be a real cruel merchant indeed if he decided to accept scrambled Viera on top of all we're to recover."

Momori nods. “At least the merchants will be pleased. And no one is injured, though our egos find themselves devastated. Nothing a little merry-making can’t fix.”

Biartr: "I've had more flattering moments, admittedly." She sighed, pushing herself to her feet, a hand wiping away the mixture of egg and paint near her eyes.

Momori: “I’ll go carry over all the birds, and wash off. See you back at camp?” She gives a small wave, and busies herself with bird delivery.

Biartr: "Of course, thanks for keeping up the bargain."

Caelrin | "....merry-making to be had indeed, after all of this chaos," the monk chuckles, canting his head all the while as a glance is sent back over the shoulder to observe the handwork. With Momori's bidding, he offers a nod and parting wave. "--aye, be safe. See you back at camp."

#momori mori #Njorthrbiartr Hjallr #Caelrin Morra #ff14 rp logs #im sad the chat log filter i had removed all the dice rolls D:>#heartless AU

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stereksecretsanta · 5 years ago

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Merry Christmas, @michicant123!

Read on AO3

*****

Gnome Sweet Gnome

“No.”

“No!?”

“This is absolutely ridiculous.”

“Ohohoho, really . This is ridiculous, but the fact that you have been turned into a younger version of yourself again isn’t?”

“ Stiles , I’m a werewolf. I have a higher body temperature, therefore I don’t exactly need to be ‘bundled’ up.”

“Nice of you to completely ignore the fact that you’ve managed to get yourself into this kind of predicament again . And besides, I’m not about to go around town and have the good people of Beacon Hills thinking that I’m some kind of a child abuser .”

Derek frowns, but begrudgingly relents to Stiles’ fretting.

As Stiles tightens his childhood snowflake scarf around the grumpy boy, he reflects upon how exactly he ended up in this situation.

An hour earlier...

“It’s going to be fine . Derek is staying behind with you--”

“ With me, Scott?” Stiles scoffs incredulously, as he flops onto his bed, paying little attention to the freshly printed research notes being crushed beneath his weight. “We both know that he’s going to be skulking around town, scaring the crap outta anyone that gives him a passing glance because he has no control over his glares.”

“Dude, you’re nuts. I’ve seen Derek be all not glare-y plenty of times, especially with you. Besides, he wanted to stay behind.”

Stiles rolls his eyes at those words, “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I know. Just take care of that feral wendigo as soon as you can, I’m still not over our Die Hard movie marathon being so rudely interrupted.”

Scott chuckles good naturedly, but the audio of the phone call turns patchy, breaking the warm laughter into staticy pieces.

“Hey, buddy, I think you guys are going through shitty service area.” Stiles raises his voice in an attempt to get his parting message through, “Stay safe, kick some feral wendigo ass, I’ll be-- we’ll be totally fine.”

A broken thank you and half of what Stiles assumes was going to be a loving and brotherly parting message is the last thing he hears when the line goes dead. He stares at his now silent phone, pouting childishly at the fact that him and Derek were the line of defense for Beacon Hills while Scott and the rest of his pack went off to go deal with a feral wendigo that tore its way through the neighboring town.

It drew dangerously close to Beacon Hills, but inevitably didn’t tread onto Scott’s territory. Unfortunately, the feral wendigo showed no signs in slowing its killing spree. And Scott, being the overly generous true Alpha he was, insisted upon hunting down the wendigo before any others were unnecessarily killed.

Fortunately, things in Beacon Hills were actually rather calm for once. As this thought flits across Stiles’ mind, he reaches his arm out to knock on the side of his wooden bedframe three times. He never expected to be of the superstitious type, but when you deal with the supernatural on a daily basis, it’s only natural for certain superstitions to follow.

Anyways, things in Beacon Hills are rather calm for once. College is out for Winter break, meaning that Scott and him have been participating in much needed gaming, binging, and general bro time. Albeit being back in Beacon Hills doesn’t permit much time to enjoy such things, as in between the gaming and the binging just this past week they’ve had to deal with a whole ensemble of supernatural creatures.

A bunyip with a rather terrible sense of direction, skeevy gnomes, and apparently dryads (which, honestly, Stiles shouldn’t have been all that surprised by their existence). Just to name a few.

“Who knows, maybe Derek will sniff out some havoc-wreaking, supernatural creature during his patrol.” Stiles mumbles to himself. “Just a small thing to help the time pass faster…”

The doorbell rings and Stiles sits up with a start. He looks at the time on his phone with a frown, it reads 3:24 pm. His dad is still at work, Derek is still on patrol (even if he was done or found something he would have helped himself to the graciously unlocked and slightly cracked open window and just invited himself in as usual), and Scott along with the rest of the pack were on the trail of the north-bound wendigo.

Carefully and cautiously, with years of supernaturally honed wariness, Stiles carefully peers out his window to take a surreptitious glance at whoever was on the doorstep… a kid? Before Stiles can even process what he’s looking at, the kid looks up directly at Stiles and locks eyes. Stiles stumbles backwards from the window in shock and trips over his gnome research notes that were neatly stacked on the floor.

“What the shit ?” Stiles hisses under his breath as his mind tries to make sense of the kid at the house’s doorstep. A ghoul? No, no, that doesn’t make sense, a ghoul wouldn’t politely knock. Scared child of a mysterious origin? That’s the most likely… those clothes are obnoxiously huge for such a small kid…

A young but irritated voice travels up through the cracked window, “Just open the damn door, Stiles.”

“Can’t you just use your werewolf powers to break the door dow-oh my God !?” Stiles rushes back over to the window and pulls it all the way open, he leans out and looks at the kid with disbelief, “No. Fucking. Way .”

Sure enough, standing on the front doorstep of Stiles’ home was a very displeased, ruffled, and tiny Derek Hale. There was something off-putting about seeing a young (what was he, seven!? ) child standing with crossed arms and a glare that would make anyone's skin crawl if not for the fact that the person delivering the glare was a child .

“ Yes way. Now, let me in . Unless you want your door to be accidentally turned into toothpicks.” The threats coming from such an adorable baby face, somehow made them seem simultaneously more and less intimidating.

Stiles splutters and quickly makes his way downstairs. He pulls open the front door after taking a couple steadying breaths to reveal some three odd feet of pure irritation.

“Wh-What even happened ?” Stiles quickly steps away from the doorway as the enraged child pushes his way into the Stilinski abode. “Wait a sec, are you even Derek? The Derek I know would have Nightcrawler-ed his way up into my room without a second thought… Oh crap, I’m going to die now, aren’t I?”

The child gives Stiles an unimpressed and a well-practiced glare. That alone makes the anxious feeling that was starting to creep up his spine back off quickly.

“Last time I checked, Nightcrawler teleports and werewolves do no such thing.” Derek frowns up at Stiles’ dumbstruck, and now relieved face.

“Oh thank god, you are Derek…” Stiles splutters once more as he attempts to make sense of the scene before him, “W-th-w-how…? I reiterate, what happened?”

Derek turns with a growl and starts to head up the stairs, comically stumbling on the clothes that are Derek’s size, roughly 20 years too soon. Stiles closes his eyes and shakes his head in an effort to see if this was just some sort of elaborate hallucination. But young Derek is still there when he reopens his eyes. So he closes the front door and moves to follow Derek up the stairs.

“Uh...Der…?” Stiles speaks hesitantly, keeping his distance from the angry child.

“What do you think happened, Stiles?” Derek snaps as he reaches the second landing.

“I literally have no idea, hence the question. I thought you were mellowing out in your old age, guess I was wrong.” Stiles leans against the banister, “Though to be fair, you being a child might be a contributing factor to your classic Derek Hale grumpiness™. But no matter what age you are, you have a knack for being the most frustrating person I’ve ever had to deal with.”

Stiles chuckles to himself and looks up at Derek, awaiting an equally scathing remark, only to find Derek’s wide, hazel eyes focused on the ground, his small lower lip quivering just the slightest bit. Stiles is taken aback by this amount of sincerity upon Derek’s face, it’s so uncharacteristic but he can’t help but feel absolutely awful about his jabs.

“Uh…” Stiles struggles to find the words, which is par for the course when dealing with Derek in regards to anything other than snark and sarcasm.

“You’re right,” Derek’s voice is soft and so young sounding, Stiles stills at this, “I shouldn’t have expected you to just automatically know what went wrong.”

“Derek I…” But whatever moment of sincerity that managed to exist between the two of them was quickly forgotten as Derek finally returned Stiles’ earlier snark with a comment of his own.

“But I assumed that as our resident researcher and navigator of the bestiary, that you would have a grasp on exactly what could have caused this without me having to hold your hand through everything.” Derek turns and walks to Stiles’ room, calling over his shoulder, “I guess you’re growing senile in your old age.”

“H-hey! You’re older than me!” Stiles follows.

“Not right now, I’m not. As you have made sure to point out.” Derek frowns at the papers strewn about the room, “How the hell do you find anything in this mess?”

“I’ve told you before, I have a system of organized chaos, step off.”

“Right…” Derek responds dubiously. With a roll of his eyes, he goes over to Stiles’ wardrobe and starts rifling through the contents.

“Why yes, Derek. Please, help yourself to my clothes.” Stiles sorts through his recent research notes, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You know, I realize that I may not be as buff as you when you’re all regular Derek sized, but I think my clothes will still be too big for you. Unless you decide to wear a pair of my boxers as shorts…”

He hears Derek grunt in affirmative as he grabs the gnome notes that he so unceremoniously kicked out of the carefully organized pile on his floor. As he shuffles the pages together, he flips through them gently. There’s pages on gnome diets, their underground culture, how to visit them, how to appease them, et cetera.

“So I’m going to have to admit my ignorance here. Other than that thing that you know who was trying to accomplish, I have no idea why or how this is happening…” Stiles turns to look at Derek, who is now wearing a pair of Stiles’ egg printed boxers and an incredibly loose, threadbare tank top that he didn’t even realize he still had. “You’re gonna have to give me something to work with… so I can… crack this case.”

Derek blinks, no appreciation for Stiles’ joke making abilities.

“Forget you, that was hilarious. Throw me a bone.” He stops with faux consideration, “I guess I should be the one throwing you a bone though.”

At the lack of a reaction, Stiles withers and pouts, slumping against his windowsill.

“Are you done?”

Stiles nods silently.

“Okay, so I was on patrol, as we agreed.”

“Mm-hm?”

“And while I was on patrol, I…” Derek hesitates before continuing carefully. “Noticed something strange, and next thing I know, I’m suddenly in the body of my six year old self again.”

Stiles stares at Derek as he says this, his body language is strangely guarded and Stiles frowns. “I personally think you look closer to seven or eight, but that’s beside the point. Derek, that is possibly the least helpful thing you could have told me. Could you give me a place, smell, or description to work with? Literally anything helpful at all?”

“City park. Near the library.” Derek grits out the words as if the confession of that helpful information was physically painful.

“Now we’re getting somewhere.” Stiles stands and moves to his whiteboard, he spins it around to reveal a map of Beacon Hills. “Okay…” He pores over the map and sees that a sealed entrance to the old subway is located near the back of the library.

“Was this near the Eastern or Western part of the park?”

“Uh… east.”

“Hm…” Sure enough, the underground entrance meets up with about where Derek reticently described. He starts to mentally list the various supernatural creatures that like to make their home in the underground area. “So… why didn’t you just help yourself into my room as you usually do? You never answered.” Stiles says conversationally.

“I...I couldn’t.”

“What was that?”

“I said, I couldn’t.”

Stiles turns away from the board to gawk at Derek. “What do you mean, you couldn’t ? Derek, do you not have your werewolfiness right now?”

“No. I mean I don’t not have it. But I don’t have the fine-tuned control that my adult body does.” Derek looks down at his small palms, “If I try to use my werewolf abilities in anyway, I have no way of gauging the strength behind my actions right now.”

“Exactly how strong can a werewolf child be?” Stiles laughs weakly.

“Let me put it this way. I tried to run here on my hands and feet, because that’s usually faster for me. Rather than running, I accidentally destroyed part of the asphalt on the ground.” Derek slumps onto the ground, “I can’t control it right now.”

“Okay, fair enough.” Stiles turns back to the board and writes down a list of the underground dwelling creatures. “Did you catch a whiff of any of these before this happened to you?”

“I...might have noticed a gnome.”

“Oh man, really? I don’t want to have to deal with them again so soon.” Stiles goes over to his freshly organized pile of gnome notes, he flips through them to the sections on how to visit and appease them. “Please tell me you didn’t do anything stupid to piss them off?”

“Your confidence in me is astounding.”

“You haven’t given me much to work with, can you blame me?”

Derek levels him with a classic glare and stare. “I didn’t do anything to piss them off.”

“You sure you didn’t accidentally kick a gnome puppy or something? Destroy any gnome gardens?” Stiles grins, “Did you kill Gnomeo and Juliet?”

“Alright, clearly you’re not going to help. I’ll wait until everyone else is back.” Derek moves to leave the room.

“Wait wait wait, sorry. This is just… ridiculous.” Stiles flips through his notes to the visitation pages. There are illustrations of jewel toned beetles amongst the steps of how to enter a gnome’s underground city. “Hm? You know I was initially joking about stepping on gnome stuff but…” Stiles takes a closer look at the descriptions under the beetles. “Do you remember maybe accidentally stepping on this ?”

He turns the book towards Derek and points at the emerald beetle illustration. Beneath it reads the words “ used to shrink non-gnome creatures into a size that allows visitation into a gnome city, typically used for land negotiations and trading ”.

Derek’s eyes widen in recognition, but he quickly shrugs, floundering slightly, “M-maybe, I’m not sure.”

“ Dude , you should have said something sooner, Jesus.”

“Don’t call me dude.” Derek huffs and averts his gaze. But there’s gotta be something more to this.

Stiles rolls his eyes, “Whatever, c’mon we need to get you back to the gnome-man lands, they have these ruby beetles to reverse the effect of the emerald beetles.”

“Okay, let’s go.”

“Whoa whoa whoa, I’m not having you leave the house dressed in my boxers and a tank top that looks like it’s going to fall apart any second.”

“Stiles, it doesn’t matter.”

“What, are you gonna just walk there, while holding a bag of your adult clothing? Hoping that not a single concerned citizen stops you along the way?”

“I can use the woods.” Derek speaks with finality.

“Well the entrance to Gnome Town is in the basement of the library, which you will have to walk through to reach.” Stiles crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow defiantly, “You wanna try that again?”

“I can break into the library.”

“It’s freezing outside, and there will be plenty of patrons in the library today.” Stiles moves to his closet, “Try again, buddy.”

Derek’s cheeks redden with indignation, “And what are you exactly trying to suggest?”

With a grin, Stiles pulls down a cardboard box from the top shelf of his closet. He opens it to reveal child-sized clothing. He tosses a random graphic tee at Derek’s dumbfounded face and rummages deeper into the box. He plucks his matching snowflake patterned hat and scarf from the side of the box and digs some more. He withdraws some blue striped sweats aaand… from the depths of the box he unearths a bright red and tree-patterned winter sweater.

He holds all the items aloft with a huge grin splitting his face.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Nope! Bundle up sourwolf! Don’t worry, I’ll turn away.”

Stiles lays the clothes on the bed and turns around with a smirk. He hears Derek mumbling curses under his breath, but he also hears the shifting of fabric. Stiles’ eyes rove his closet and he frowns thoughtfully. He doesn’t have any kid shoes that his father deemed important enough to keep for future use. He then recalls a pair of yellow rain boots that sat long forgotten in the garage.

Derek grits out an “I’m done” and Stiles turns around to see little Derek bundled up in his old clothing. And if he were to be asked candidly, Stiles would have said that Derek looked absolutely adorable. Thankfully no one was there to question him.

“Hey, what about the hat and scarf?”

“What about shoes ?”

“Thank you for reminding me! C’mon.” Stiles grabs the hat and scarf from his bed. He also grabs the adult Derek clothes that were carefully folded on the edge of his bed and flies down the stairs.

Derek follows and forces out a small, “Thank you. I can actually walk without tripping over myself now.”

“Aww, you’re welcome. Glad to be of service.” Stiles puts the clothes on the kitchen table and opens the door leading into the garage. Sure enough, the pair of yellow rain boots are still there under the rake and years of debris. He shakes various bug carcasses out of the boots and presents them to Derek with a flourish.

“Your shoes, my liege.”

“Shut up.” But Derek takes the shoes and pulls them on. “ Now can we go?”

“Tsk tsk, you gotta put the hat and scarf on.”

“No.”

“No!?”

“This is absolutely ridiculous.”

“Ohohoho, really . This is ridiculous, but the fact that you have been turned into a younger version of yourself again isn’t?”

“ Stiles , I’m a werewolf. I have a higher body temperature, therefore I don’t exactly need to be ‘bundled’ up.”

Stiles pulls on the hat and holds the scarf out to Derek. He relents and lets Stiles wind the scarf around his neck, eyebrows furrowed in frustration.

“There we go, that wasn’t that hard, was it?”

“Whatever, can we go sometime today?”

“Yeah yeah, lemme grab my keys and wallet.” Stiles grabs those as well as a plastic bag for Derek’s clothes.

The drive across town to the library is awkward.

Stiles knows that Derek is still omitting something about his encounter earlier, and he’s pretty sure that Derek knows that he knows. He frets at a few stoplights, trying to find the right words to figure out why Derek was being so cagey about this whole encounter.

Stiles thought that they were past this pettiness, they’ve worked together for many years at this point, and he even tentatively considered them to be friends. But this evasiveness and unwillingness to be open about things was just like the early days of their… well, it wasn’t even an acquaintanceship, they barely tolerated each other.

“I can hear you thinking.”

“Well I wasn’t aware that this beetle granted you mind reading powers, unless you had mind reading powers as a kid and lost that ability with age.”

“No, I mean…” Derek sighs and looks out the side window. He twists his fingers into the fabric of the sweater. “I know that I’ve been weirdly unspecific about this whole thing.”

“Ha! Yeah, you think?” Stiles scoffs.

“It’s because I wanted to make sure that you weren’t affected.”

“Affected? By a beetle that you accidentally stepped on on the other side of town?” Stiles snorts, “Derek, c’mon. I thought we were past this.”

“We are , it’s just... I didn’t step on the beetle on accident.” He trails off into whisper at the end of the sentence, but Stiles heard clear enough.

“What do you mean it wasn’t on accident?” Stiles blinks, trying to make sense of the new information, “Your super sniffer should have told you that that beetle was magical, right? You should’ve known that stepping on some random magical being would have had some sort of consequence!”

“I knew that it was something.” Derek slumps in his seat and grumbles.

“ Something ? Derek, just tell me, stop this omission bullshit.” Stiles says with irritation.

“It smelled like one of the nogitsune’s flies to me. Which worried me.” Derek huffs, “There you go.”

Stiles stills at that. Even with what Derek just said, he still notices the strange amount of apprehension around the words. “And?”

“And what else? Do you want me to tell you how it made me worried about you? How scared I was about you getting hurt again? What do you want me to say, Stiles?” Derek’s voice raises in volume and he turns towards Stiles full bodily.

Stiles swallows the lump in his throat and pulls over to park. He blinks and shakes his head, trying to process what Derek just said. He turns his head towards Derek. Derek’s face is red and blotchy, his eyes are huge and have tears beading at the corners. His lower lip is quivering as his eyebrows stay aggressively furrowed.

“Well!?” A couple of the tears escape and stream down his round cheeks.

Combined with the teary eyed child in his car and his brain’s gears finally working, Stiles is astonished by his revelation.

“Oh my god, you care about me.”

“Wh-w- YES ! I thought that was obvious!” Derek responds emphatically.

“No, you really care about me. Scott said that you wanted to stay behind, and that you’re not ‘glarey’ around me.” Stiles rests his forehead against his steering wheel, “Oh sweet Jesus.”

“Stiles, I’m so sorry.” Derek speaks carefully, “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same. I’m sorry for putting you in an awkward position.”

Derek sighs, “Now that I know, I can work on getting over you. I’d like if we could still be friends, despite this.”

“Oh my god, you’re so dumb.” Stiles takes a shuddering breath, “Did I say at any moment, that I didn’t feel the same?” Derek’s eyes widen at this. Stiles continues speaking and mumbling his thoughts under his breath, “I’m going to kill Scott. There’s probably not even a real feral wendigo is there?”

He stops suddenly, and grabs the plastic bag of clothes as well as a single chocolate gold coin from his cup holder. “Nope, I’m not having this conversation with you while you look like a third grader. C’mon.”

Derek blinks as Stiles owlishly, and hastily wipes the drying tears from his face. Stiles slides out of the car and goes around to open the door for Derek. Derek hops down and meekly tugs at the edge of the sweater, Stiles locks the car and holds out his free hand. Derek looks up at Stiles and smiles tentatively.

This isn’t exactly how Stiles imagined holding hands with Derek this holiday season, but it was still nice in a strange way.

The two of them enter the library and nod at the employees at the circulation desk. Stiles guides Derek through the stacks to the back of the building to the once carefully sealed door leading to the basement. He nudges the door open with his hip after making sure there were no onlookers, and the two of them descend into the dark depths of the library.

They carefully navigate the dark and dusty stacks of the basement and find the sealed entrance to the old subway platform. Or at least that’s how it appeared, Derek and Stiles pass through the disguised archway and enter a warmly lit platform. Standing before them were four gnome guards wearing what looked like armor made out of reptilian skin seated around a small table playing some sort of card game.

The gnomes look up from the table at the sound of Stiles and Derek entering the vestibule.

"Ey wouldja look at dis, dose humans are back." The gnome seated facing them calls out.

"Aye, I see dem." Says the gnome to his left.

"Dat were one seems to 'ave used an emerald beetle. But he didn't pass through here, right?" Says the one to his right. The fourth gnome nods silently in agreement.

The first gnome stands and grins with broken teeth, "Dey prolly need demselves a ruby beetle, amiright?"

Stiles takes this moment to speak, "Yes, yes that's why we're here. It seems as though an emerald beetle wandered off, and my friend here stepped on it."

"A were shoulda been able to whiff out oneuva our beetles." The left one speaks with an incredulous tone.

"Yes, he did, but he mistook it for another kinda magic. Easy mistake to make. Now could we get one of those ruby beetles to go, or is it dine-in only?"

"Stiles..." Derek hisses under his breath, his hand tightening around Stiles' infinitesimally.

The first gnome steps around the table and waddles towards them. "Sure sure, dats an easy mistake. But mistakes come at a price..." The gnome grins and holds out an empty palm.

"Show me the beetle first."

"Show me whatcha gon' give me for da beetle."

Stiles pulls the chocolate gold coin and a pair of clear red plastic dice from his pocket, while simultaneously the gnome buries his hand into his pocket and withdraws a closed fist.

“This is so dumb.” Derek whispers to Stiles.

“Shut up .” Stiles whispers back.

The gnome to the right pipes up, “On dee count a three…”

Stiles maintains eye contact with the first gnome as the right gnome counts down, “One… two… three !”

In the leather covered palm of the gnome lay a glittering and bright red beetle. In Stiles’ hand lay the chocolate gold coin and the red dice from the Scott’s game of Aggravation that he happened to have stowed away in his pocket.

The gnome’s eyes glitter at the sight of Stiles’ offering. “Dose are some lovely lookin’ dice you’ve got dere, you sure you wanna part with such a lovely item?”

Stiles falters, but quickly nods, “Oh I know, I will miss them so much. They’re really so lovely, aren’t they, Derek?” Derek nods dumbly, “Now then, if I give you these beloved dice, and my golden coin here, will that be enough for the ruby beetle?”

The main gnome turns back to the other three and they snicker conspiratorially. “Ye, take the damned beetle. Gimme dose dice already!”

Stiles gives the gnomes a withering smile as they trade. The gnomes cackle with glee as the main gnome returns to the table with his spoils.

“Let’s get outta here, Derek…” Stiles leads the two of them back into the library basement, the echoes of the gnomes cackling and the clattering of sound of the dice upon the table follows them.

Derek steps out of the bathroom sheepishly holding the plastic bag of clothes out to Stiles. “I think my shoes should be around the back of the building still…”

“Dude, why didn’t you tell me to go grab them while you were doing your beetle mumbo jumbo, presto change-o?”

Derek reflexively responds with a “Don’t call me dude.” But then he coughs awkwardly, “I… I didn’t want you too far away.”

“Aww… you’re such a sap.” Stiles takes the plastic bag from Derek’s outstretched hand, and takes the now empty hand into his opposite one.

“Let’s go get your shoes. I’m pretty sure the cafe has a no shoes, no shirt, no service policy.”

“Cafe?”

“Well, yeah. I’m not waiting a moment longer to take you out on a date. If you’ll have me of course.” Stiles hesitates for a split second as Derek’s silence draws out. “Der?”

Derek blinks, but a gentle, sincere smile works its way across his face. “Of course.”

Stiles returns the smile with a sincere one of his own. A mischievous glint enters his eyes, “By the way… did I mention what an adorable kid you made?”

“ Stiles …”

“ So cute. I should’ve taken pictures when I had the chance!”

“Nevermind, this was a terrible idea. I’m going home.”

“Wait, Derek!”

“This is a library, Stiles. Please keep your voice down.”

“ Derek… ”

“Nope. Stop following me.”

“C’mon, lemme treat you.”

“ No .”

“But baby it’s cold outside!”

“I’m done here.”

#Michicant123 #stereksanta19 #*fics19 #*art19 #*gifts19

35 notes · View notes

caffeinatedtimdrake · 6 years ago

Note

congratz on the 200! Please could you do Dickyboy x female reader with the prompts 42.“You look…” “Beautiful, I know. Can we move on?”, 57.“You love her don’t you?” “Was it that obvious?”, and 59.“I was just kind of hoping that you’d, y’know…. fall in love with me.”? Thank you so so much

2.1k of our darling Dick Grayson feeling flustered because he’s got a big fat crush on the reader. I hope you like it!!

42.“You look…” “Beautiful, I know. Can we move on?”

57.“You love her don’t you?” “Was it that obvious?”

59.“I was just kind of hoping that you’d, y’know…. fall in love with me.”

Artemis watches you spin in several circles, arms angled awkwardly over your shoulders, attempting to zip up your dress, before you promptly collapse on the bed with an exasperated shriek.

She clears her throat, eyebrow arched. “You know, I could…help you.”

You grimace.

“The magic word is please.” She informs you, standing up and striding over to you. The emerald gown flows off of her elegant, wiry frame, gentle against her curves and pulling the pretty olive tone from her skin.

You feel like a hot mess next to her, bunching your hair up so she can tug the zipper up against your spine. She pats your shoulder reassuringly and you sulk, letting your hair drop and your shoulders sag.

“Thank you,” You grumble.

“What’s got you down in the dumps? We’re going to eat fancy little appetizers and drink fruity things and there will be no shortage of eye candy. This banquet is going to be a little slice of heaven.” She smirks when she sees you flush. “But eye candy doesn’t matter to you, though. You’re holding out for one charming Richard Grayson, hm?”

You turn away from her, marching stiffly toward the bathroom to finish applying a delicate layer of mascara. “Am not!”

That was a lie. You were absolutely enthralled at the prospect of ogling at Dick in a flattering tux and hearing his boisterous laughter. You weren’t overly fond of fancy banquets and pretentious small talk and perilous high heels, yet they were integrated heavily into your graduate school experience – but maybe that only happens when you receive a Wayne Enterprises scholarship to one of the most prestigious law schools on the coast and are required to fraternize at fundraising galas filled to the brim with Gotham’s most elite.

“You look beautiful, Y/N. He’s going to drool.”

The compliment makes you outrageously self-conscious, even though it comes from one of your closest companions. Your hands are cold as you press them against your heated cheeks. It even makes you a little bashful to look in the mirror, face adorned with a little more makeup than usual and a simple hairdo. It makes you nervous to be so dolled up. You like simplicity and predictability, comfortably situated in a defined schedule. You are grounded yet flexible, entrenched in routine but adaptable to the changes thrown at you in the form of revised deadlines and additional papers. You know your aspirations and what you wanted from life and you know your limits.

But you don’t know how to function properly in front of Dick Grayson.

This fact is calamitous considering you must collaborate with him often, working out of a public attorney office down the street from the police station to exchange information addressing both criminals and victims. Professionalism usually comes easily to you, polite handshakes and appropriate jokes, but when Dick pops into the office with a file of information and your favorite espresso, you almost always stutter and fall over – even if you’re already seated.

But being around Dick has developed into an unfortunate borderline addiction. Something about his emphatic energy and cloying compassion and aquamarine eyes leaves you wanting more and more each time he utters your name. You thought you’d been inconspicuous about the moon eyes and dreamy sighs until one afternoon a few months ago when Artemis asked if you’d made out with him in the custodial closet yet. When you sputtered a horrified denial of such a thing, she had casually shrugged and demanded an invitation to the wedding someday.

“Pinky promise me you’ll say at least five words to him tonight.”

You wrinkle your nose at her, and she huffs.

“It’s not impossible, Y/N! And you must know he loves talking to you. He practically melts when you smile at him. I’ve seen it!”

You emerge from the bathroom to dig around in your closet for a pair of shoes. You tug out your cutest, most painful pair of pumps. “I don’t like breaking promises. And I would definitely break that promise. And do you think I’d break my ankle if I wore these?”

Artemis squints. “Potentially. But they make your legs look hot. And if you break an ankle, Dick can just carry you around.”

You groan and drop the shoes.

She launches herself off the couch and comes to stand in front of you, grinning. “C’mon, let’s practice.” Her voice drops and octave. “Hey, Y/N, glad to see you here. How’s your night going?”

You snort and shrug. “Oh. It’s going alright. I was just kind of hoping that you’d, y’know…fall in love with me and father my firstborn. No big deal.”

Artemis fixes you with a serious look but her mouth twitches in amusement. “That can be arranged.” She manages to maintain the deep voice before erupting into giggles – and it’s contagious.

You lean over to wrench your foot into the heel. “One step at a time.”

The penthouse is like a dream, decorated with string lights and gold streamers and southern magnolias in a way that’s both cozy and sophisticated. Wide glass doors open to reveal a large balcony, more flowers wound around stone and matte iron, sweetening the summer evening breeze. Above the murmur of conversation, a quaint orchestra plays near the entrance beneath a sign that welcomes guests to the gala, raising money for organizations that help people formerly incarcerated for non-violent offenses find stability.

“B really went all out for this, huh?” Jason muses, swirling a glass of red wine.

“It’s the last big benefit before summer begins and things get too crazy. He might as well have.” Dick shrugs and thanks a waiter for some sort of cute-looking pastry on a toothpick.

“I wonder if we’ll double the donation amounts this year. Actually, I bet Steph we would because there are two dozen more checkbooks in this room than last year.” Tim declares.

Damian arches an eyebrow. “Does it qualify as dehumanizing to refer to people as checkbooks?”

“Only if they hear you.” Jason replies, stealing a slice of pineapple off of Damian’s plate.

The boys have taken momentary refuge from socializing in a corner near the balcony doors, hovering over a shared plate of appetizers with complicated names.

And then you walk in, downright radiant, and Dick nearly chokes on a shrimp.

He keels over, coughing and wheezing, and Jason tentatively pats his back, offering him his glass. Seeing as water is not an immediate often and you look so good, he’s going to have a conniption, Dick takes several large gulps from Jason’s glass.

Damian watches him curiously. “Might I ask why you nearly hacked up a lung?”

“It’s more like he nearly hacked up his heart. The pretty girl he’s been enamored with for ages just walked in.” Tim grins.

Dick wants to deny it, but his voice is tight, and he’s beyond flustered – plus, it’s the undeniable truth. He’s been besotted for months.

“I’ll bet…a cat…that Dick makes a move by the end of this evening.”

Tim holds up his hands in defense. “There’s no need to bet. It’s going to happen.”

Jason grins at Dick, who appears rather overwhelmed. “Pinky promise.”

You find it incredibly difficult to resist searching for Dick when you enter the penthouse – so difficult, in fact, that you fail and end up ogling at every dark-haired man that pops into your field of vision. When you finally spot him, across the room looking decidedly mouthwatering in a navy tuxedo, you blush violently, and Artemis knows instantly about your discovery.

“You are beautiful, Y/N. Inside and out. And he knows it. Just go talk to him! Take a drink over to him! Then let him take you home.”

She’s informed you of her perception of your beauty at least twenty times since the car ride here and you were about to lose it. “Absolutely not!”

She taps the top of her wrist, referring to a nonexistent watch. “The clock is ticking, Y/N.”

You glower and shove a crab cake into your mouth.

The clock doesn’t have to tick for long before you find yourself an arm’s length away from Dick Grayson at the dinner buffet.

He looks impossibly more stunning this close up, glancing at you coquettishly through his lashes in a way that nearly makes you stumble face first into the pasta.

“Enjoying the evening so far I hope?”

You nod dumbly, hoping he doesn’t see the way your hands shake when you pluck a piece of bread from the pile. “It’s lovely. Are you?” You peek up at him shyly, throat constricting that charming smile.

“You are,” He says softly, pausing with a pair of salad tongs in his right hand. A sharp jab in the rib from Jason and the panicked expression across your face ground him immediately – and by that he means he comes crashing back to earth in a big, frantic, fiery explosion.

Dick clears his throat forcefully, but his voice still cracks a little. “I – oh god, um why did I – w-what I mean to say is that yes, y-you are right, it is lovely.”

You’re so flustered, you can only look at him with wide eyes and a parted mouth, so he promptly bids you goodbye and books it back to the table.

Artemis nudges you along and laughs in a low tone, one that makes your jaw tic.

“You’re beautiful, he’s beautiful, and you’ll have beautiful babies. I’m thinking the color scheme of the wedding should be Caribbean blue – like the color of his eyes, you know?”

You know. Too well.

Jason cackles and recounts the dinner fiasco to the table while Dick tensely stabs some steamed carrots, face flaming.

“You love her, don’t you?” Tim quirks an eyebrow.

“I don’t – she just – oh, for god’s sake.” Dick exhales deeply in exasperation, deflating like a tired balloon, and then recoils a little. “Was it that obvious?”

Jason snorts. “She said less than five words and you gawked at her like she was infinitely better than sliced bread. Or any type of breakfast cereal.”

Damian tilts his head inquisitively. “Is that what the romantic variation of love does to a young man?”

“Among other things.” Jason smirks.

“Hm. Interesting.”

Dick eats the rest of his dinner half-heartedly, pushing around seasoned vegetables and steak cooked to perfection.

“I think you should go talk to Y/N.” Jason tells Dick earnestly.

Dick winces. “I don’t want to make a fool out of myself. I really like her.”

“She spent ninety percent of the last half-hour glancing in your direction. I think that maybe she really likes you, too.” Tim offers.

“She’s at the dessert table. Go tell her how you really like chocolate cake. And her face.” Jason nods in your direction and Dick drags his gaze from his brother over to you a little too eagerly.

You’re intensely studying the array of frosted cake pops, features pulled into a darling frown.

Dick pushes out his chair and stands abruptly. “I’m going to do it.”

“He’s going to do it!” The boys cheer.

“I’m going to die.”

The boys boo him.

“Been there, done that. And let me tell you, there are no cute girls.”

Dick takes that with a grain of salt and wishes his legs were a little shorter, so he had more time to prepare. But nothing can prepare him for the alluring curve of your neck and shoulders that he wants to kiss and the scent of your perfume that leaves him cotton-mouthed and the endearing little tendrils falling out of your hairdo that he wants to twirl around his fingers.

He comes to a stop, just lingering on the edge of your space.

He fumbles over his words for several painful moments before, “You look…”

You stiffen and bristle, expecting to glare agitatedly at Artemis. “Beautiful, I know. Can we move on?”

And then you turn around to see Dick Grayson, aqua eyes blown wider than the moon, rosy hue blossoming rapidly across the apples of his cheeks.

You audibly gasp and proceed to flail your arms frantically. “Oh no. OH NO. I didn’t mean you! I thought you were – oh, fuck, I messed up – why is this happening? I’m s-so sorry, Dick! I didn’t know it was going to –”

His mouth slides up into a bemused smile, teasing and tender. “I’m glad you know you look good, Y/N.”

Your mouth snaps shut, and you think you probably look like a steaming tomato, but you’re enchanted by that mouth and that low voice, so you can’t help but lean into his space.

Dick’s gaze flits up to the ceiling. “B-but I don’t think I can really move on. I’ve been stuck on you for, like, a really long time.”

“Good.” You breathe. “Let’s stay stuck. Together.”

He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, leaving his fingers against the side of your neck for a moment too long, bringing a new wave of bashfulness to the surface of your skin. “That can be arranged.”

#oh this was about 1k longer than i thought it would be #but bashful dick grayson is just. such a good concept #dick grayson #nightwing #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson x reader #nightwing imagine #nightwing x reader #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #young justice #teen titans #dc #fluff #prompts #you look beautiful #bruce wayne

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starculler · 5 years ago

Text

For You, Anything

This was one of the last things I wrote in 2019, and now I can put it up since the event’s over. I want to expand on it eventually, but I still like how it came out.

Read it on AO3

Shouta’s heart hammered a painful rhythm against his chest, bile burning in his throat as he watched Present Mic thrash in the villain’s grip. His eyes darted back to his battered students, to the other pros with their own classes to protect, to the scant few villains left standing after the ambush, and back. Back across the beach, to the shallow, lapping waves and foam moving to and fro across the soaked sand, where the villain stood. Big. Tall. Menacing with a strength enhancing quirk and Present Mic’s throat in his hands as if it were no more than a toothpick.

Duty and logic dictated that he stay put. That he defend his students and assist his colleagues to take down what villains still remained. He clenched his jaw, ground his teeth, hands balled into tight, shaking fists. The pins-and-needles feeling in his legs slammed into the forefront of his mind, a numbing static that once would have, once, sent him crashing to his knees. He watched Present Mic － Hizashi, his friend, his colleague, his － kick out, scream stuck and strangled in his throat as the villain’s fingers squeezed and

“Stay with Vlad King’s class,” he threw over his shoulder, feet already digging forward into the loose sand underfoot. “And do what you’re told!”

He pushed hard against the sand, slogging forward as easily as if he were running through mud, deaf to any complaints his students or colleagues may have voiced. He tuned all of it out, eyes trained on his friend’s face, gasping-reaching-begging for air that wouldn’t come. Couldn’t come. Shouta growled, a low and guttural noise, hand pulled up to his capture weapon, and pushed harder. Faster. More and more and more until his legs burned with the effort.

The villain’s eyes skirted over the newest surge of shallow water and foam over the shore, sliding up to meet Shouta’s with a kind of manic glee that set him on edge. A pit formed in his stomach, a yawning hole that threatened to rip him apart from the inside out. The villain grinned. Hizashi scrabbled weakly at their wrist. Shouta’s eyes widened and he scrambled to activate his quirk between the sea-spray and sand, but he wasn’t fast enough.

One second.

Two.

Three.

His eyes burned with the activation of his quirk. The villain dropped Hizashi into the shallows, the tide’s ebb and flow nudging him forward and back at the villain’s feet. Threatening to drag him out to sea the longer he remained there. Unmoving. Limp.

Dead.

Too late. Too slow. Too incompetent. Shouta bared his teeth, felt the pinch of something sharp against his cheek, and lunged. The world tilted. Blurred. Sped past too fast for him to register what, exactly was happening. His hands fisted in fabric. Nails raked over skin. His knuckles split. His eyes ached. Icy water soaked his clothes, burning like fire on his skin. He pushed. Shoved. Bit and struggled against the body thrashing in the water alongside him until there was stillness. Silence except for the sharp, skull-splitting ring in his ears and his own heavy, harsh panting.

The iron taste of blood lingered on his tongue as he trembled in the shallow water, shoving the unconscious villain away and further up the shore before turning. Hizashi’s body lay, half sunk in the surf, barely a few feet from him. All he had to do was move. Just. Move.

“－zashi.” His voice faltered and cracked, hardly audible between the ringing in his ears and the ocean’s distant roar. “Hizashi,” he tried again, clawing his way slowly forward, voice still so small and broken. So unlike him.

His arms ached and the static, buzzing feeling in his legs worsened enough that he doubted he’d be able to stand even if he wanted to, but it didn’t matter. Only him. Hizashi. Present Mic. His friend. His－

“My name’s Yamada Hizashi. What’s yours?” The blond kid says, too loud for Shouta’s sensitive ears. He flinches, ducking half of his face back into the water with a brief glare. “Oops.” Yamda has the decency to look sorry, softening his voice enough that Shouta feels comfortable coming back up, scarlet scales catching in the fading afternoon light as he claws his way up and partly onto the rock Yamada is leaning on.

“Aizawa. Aizawa Shouta,” he says, still not quite liking the way the sounds come out around his fangs. It’s not right, not really, but it's better than before. More accurate a counterpart to the sounds that make up his actual name. He spent hours practicing, listening to the humans passing by on the beach and, of course, to Yamada who never seems to shut up.

“Nice to meet ya!” Yamada’s grin is bright, nearly blinding, and Shouta finds himself transfixed.

“Yeah,” Shouta murmurs and, for the first time, wonders what it’d be like to follow this boy out onto land. To be smiled at like this forever.

Shouta’s nails hooked into Hizashi’s sea-soaked leather jacket, pulling him further up the bank until the spikes on his jacket's shoulders snagged on muck and sand and seaweed. Desperation clawed at Shouta’s throat as he struggled to free his friend’s body from where it had gotten stuck, but it was no use. Burning, icy water pushed up through his sleeves as he kneeled there, sand shifting with every pull and push of the tide.

He knew, somewhere beyond the numbness, horror, and ringing in his ears, that he should get up. Get out of the water and off the beach. That his life depended on his ability to avoid the ocean like the plague. But he couldn’t. He was stuck. Cast adrift in the sudden surge of grief and bile and blood. Because what was the point?

What was the point when the reason he’d left his home behind was gone?

His aunt’s white, blank-eyed stare sends shivers down his spine. For a long while she does nothing. Says nothing. Her long, coiling, tattered and scarred tail-fin shifts along the seafloor, pulling up clouds of sand that block out what little light reaches her lair. Shouta’s eyes strain to see her, alabaster skin and scales illuminated only by the softly glowing patterns trailing down the length of her body.

“Is this truly what you desire?” she asks, thin lips peeling back to reveal rows of needle-thin fangs.

The fins framing her face flare when he nods, her glow growing suddenly brighter before dimming back down into something less blinding. His own scarlet scales catch the pale light of her glow as she looms closer, his darker patterns just starting to peak through. She reaches out a clawed hand, bigger than he is long, and runs a delicate thumb over his face and hair as she lets out an affectionate, chittering, coo.

“You would lose all of this, nephew. Your scales. Your magic. Me.” Her voice stirs a current just above his head and he’s momentarily glad for her hand at his back, keeping him steady. Still.

“I know,” he says, serious. She blinks once. Twice. And then she nods, scooping him up in the palm of her hand as she moves.

“The price for my magic is steep, but we shall see what these old scales of mine can do.”

“Eraser.” Shouta startled at Midnight’s voice. He hadn’t noticed her approach until she was there, standing in the shallow, pooling water at her ankles, shoes discarded further back. He didn’t look up when she laid a hand on his shoulder, voice carefully composed. Neutral as she said, “ We have to move him. We have to…”

He heard the way her voice cracked. Felt her fingers squeeze the damp fabric of his shirt. He didn’t answer, still clinging to his friend. Still sitting in the water, letting the tide pull at Hizashi’s hair and clothes. Hoping that somehow, someway, this was a dream. A nightmare. Any moment now he would shoot up in bed, fumble for his phone and find Hizashi, alive and well, on the other end of the line.

His eyes burned with unshed tears. His body shivered in the cold. His head pounded and his chest felt hollowed out, but still he refused to move. Midnight － Kayama － lingered a moment more before pulling back with one final squeeze of his shoulder.

“I’m going to help Kan with the students,” she said, the implication that she’d return going unsaid.

“Please,” he croaked, the first sound he'd made since reaching Hizashi, and she paused. “Please,” he whispered again, but the plea was not for her ears. He pressed the palm of his hand into the sand and begged, knowing that it was wrong. Knowing he was further breaking the contract he'd made, but hoping she'd answer.

His answer came in the form of a spark in his fingertips. A jolt of electricity skittering over his skin. The touch of deep-sea magic was unforgettable, old and cold and turbulent. It sent shivers down his spine and fire through the nerves in his hand. He hissed at the pain, but didn’t move. His eyes, still stinging, tracked over the suddenly still waters and found a ripple of movement out in the distance.

He stood, fast and sudden, unsteady on his feet. He didn’t think as the ringing in his ears pitched up into a shriek, horrible and melodious all at once. It called him forward, urging him on. Just a step. A reach. A plunge down into the sea. Into the depths. Into her arms.

His aunt’s song was as terrifying as it was familiar. A siren’s call unique to the leviathan sea-witch living on the ocean’s floor. A song she’d begun teaching him before he’d asked her to let him follow the loud-mouthed blond boy up onto shore.

His mouth and body moved faster than he could think.

“Save him! I’ll pay any price just,” his voice hitched and broke, left him choking on a sob. “Just save him. Please, I can’t lose anyone else. Please.”

It takes him nearly a year to find Yamada again, but by then he has legs and dreams of being a hero and the last remnants of his magic concentrated in a burning, scarlet gaze that can stop humans from activating their quirks. He’s a second year at U.A. and Yamada doesn’t recognize him, but they make friends regardless. They’re a trio with another boy in their class who picked up the kitten when Shouta hesitated and for a while he’s happy.

Then, they’re a duo again and the rain stings his skin as they stand in front of the rubble and mourn. It’s the first time he regrets coming up to shore, but Yamada stands by his side and he thinks maybe that’s enough. They push themselves after that, and Shouta is never quite so close. He wonders if, even without his song, a siren can still bring death to humans. He wonders if, maybe, he called Shirakumo to his death so he keeps himself at just enough of a distance because humans are fragile and maybe, just maybe, Yamada will be safer if he just watches from a little further away.

But Yamada doesn’t give him space and soon enough they’re working together at UA and Shouta thinks it’s okay. It’s okay to stay close because this is him. This is the boy he left his world behind for, whether he knows it or not. And Shouta will do anything to keep this human safe.

“Any price, nephew?” Shouta’s breath caught when he heard his aunt’s voice carried in on the breeze. He saw the top of her head in the distance, hair spread out like foam on the water’s surface, her blank eyes staring at him. Through him.

“Any,” he said, voice like steel. He didn’t look away. Didn’t look back. Not at Hizashi. Not at his colleagues or students, frozen on the beach where his aunt’s magic kept them suspended. She had never liked human eyes on her, and the alternative to the collective migraines they’ll experience afterward is having them drowned, so any protest he could have made died before it touched his tongue.

She blinked once before disappearing back under the water, and Shouta could do nothing but hold his breath as he waited. When she surfaced again, it was closer. She washed up as close to him on the shore as she cared to, towering over him much as she’d done the first time he’d struck a deal with her. His spine stiffened under her gaze, forcing his to any place except her face. The patterns and scars on her skin and scales, he noticed, were starker under direct sunlight compared to the way they looked in her lair in the ocean’s murky depths. He wondered, briefly, if his own would have looked like hers.

The shells and bones strung about her neck and chest rattled noisily as she moved, shifting to lean on one arm while the other drew up close to him. Her claws skittered lightly over his frame, pushing through a few locks of his hair, dripping wet and clinging to his skin, before coming up under his chin to tip it back. When his eyes met hers once more, she grinned her needle-toothed smile.

“I am pleased to see you well, present circumstances aside. But you have not broken your pact with me merely for a visit, have you?” She waited until Shouta shook his head before continuing. “Is that him?” she asked, gaze flitting over to Hizashi’s body. “The human you gave up everything to follow?”

“Yes,” he said, voice wavering only slightly.

“You wish to revive him.” It wasn’t a question, but

“Yes.”

“You love him,” she said, voice soft. Almost a whisper.

“I－” He hesitated, the words stuck in his throat. His aunt shifted, tail slapping the water as she pushed in closer.

“Very well.”

As she had done often when he was young, she scooped him up into her palm and pulled him out of the water, close to her face. No longer bracing herself on one arm, she plucked two pearls from her hair with her free hand, so tiny that she held them in the crook of one curled claw before depositing them in the palm of his hand.

“Soak one pearl in your blood and the other in his for two days and two nights, then gift him the one soaked in your blood while you keep the one soaked in his. Wear them for two weeks to let the magic take root, and be sure not to remove them even a minute beforehand or my spell won’t take. Do you understand?” Shouta nodded, clutching the pair of pearls close to his chest.

“Thank you,” he breathed as she curled one of her fingers to caress his cheek with her knuckle. She hummed in response before drawing his attention back with a throaty click.

“If you follow my instructions, it will bind your life to his. Your price will be paid in the years you lose as a result and the blood you sacrifice when you soak your pearl. You will live a human’s life now, more so than you were before. You will age as they do rather than as you were meant to. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“And,” she started and Shouta felt dread curdle in his gut. “You will return here, to this beach once the spell has set after the two weeks have passed.” Her skin was cold where it pressed against his face, the edge of her knuckle brushing just under his right eye. “The remaining price and the consequences you are due for breaking your contract by setting foot in the ocean will be paid in the partial loss of your remaining magic.”

Shouta paled as soon as the words left her mouth. He dragged one hand up to touch his eye, jaw clenched as understanding flooded through him. He would lose it. One eye, half of what little magic he still had － the source of what the humans called his quirk － in exchange for Hizashi’s life. It was unnerving. Terrifying, but.

“I understand. I’ll－I’ll come back.”

She smiled once more, tilting her head forward enough to press the juncture between eyes and mouth, where her nose would have been had she been human, against his side. Her affectionate nuzzling was brief, giving him only enough time to press his own forehead against her clammy skin before she pulled back and set him down, back into the burning water. He moved back toward the shore, relieved when the surf lapped at his ankles rather than his knees, some the pain fading with the tide even if the numbing-static side effect of being too close to the ocean remained.

He watched his aunt lean forward, mouth so close to Hizashi’s body that she could have snapped him up between her jaws as easily as if he were food. Her breath puffed out over Hizashi’s face, into his mouth and expanding his chest before pulling it out and breathing more back in. She repeated the process three times before finally drawing back, sliding down along the shallows and back into the ocean’s embrace, sparing Shouta one last glance before sinking down.

Life resumed on the beach the moment the last of her dim glow faded under the tide, and Hizashi breathed. Shouta shoved the pair of pearls still in his palm into a pocket, set his jaw, and got to work dragging Hizashi higher up onto dry sand, calling out to Kan and Kayama as he did.

Grim determination settled in his chest. In his limbs, muscles, all the way down to his bones. There was no way in hell Shouta was going to lose him now. Not after this. He would not lose another friend.

#bnha #aizawa shouta #yamada hizashi #erasermic #boku no hero academia #angst #angst with a hopeful ending #death #death isn't permanent #mermaid au #siren au #my fanfic

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queenofcats17 · 5 years ago

Note

Hi there! I hope you’re having a lovely holiday! If you have the time/energy (I know the season can be draining for some), I have a prompt for Hell’s Studio AU: Sammy slowly shrinks over the course of a few days due to an ink incident (he refuses to acknowledge it) until he can’t even drink his coffee without falling in—ofc everyone thinks he’s adorable and Sammy is very upset + is ready to fight the entire world. All Susie has to do is hold him back with a finger or two amdjd.

Than you so much! I don’t have all that much scheduled this holiday season, so I’m happy to complete this prompt. Although, I did get a lot of prompts all at once, so I apologize that this took a bit.

This is going to be really funny.

———————————————————————

Sammy was shrinking.

It had started out small. Sammy had woken up one morning to find his pants were a little long. He hadn’t thought much of it at first. But then he’d had trouble reaching something in the sheet music closet that had never given him any trouble before. Sammy had never been the tallest, but he’d been tall enough to reach that one shelf just fine.

“Maybe you’re shrinking in your old age,” Wally joked upon seeing Sammy’s struggle.

“Shut up, Franks,” Sammy growled, smacking the back of Wally’s head.

“It’s all that hunching over your desk.” Susie clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “I keep telling you, it’s going to warp your spine.”

Loathe as he was to concede that he was destroying his back, he was more willing to admit that might be the truth than humor Wally’s outrageous theory that he was somehow shrinking. Nothing out of the ordinary, he told himself. Then he scheduled an appointment with a chiropractor.

The next few days, though, things began to pick up. People were literally able to see Sammy getting smaller. Sammy tried to pretend nothing was happening, snapping at everyone who dared bring it up.

“You’re being ridiculous.” He kept saying. “Everything is fine.”

But it became rather difficult to deny that something was going on when he found himself literally swimming in his clothes and nearly drowning in ink puddles more than once, which somehow seemed to speed up this shrinking.

It ended with Sammy standing at a little over six inches tall. Naturally, Sammy was furious about this. How on Earth was he supposed to get work done when he was the size of a doll?! He couldn’t hold his conductor’s baton, nor a pen. Nevermind the fact that he couldn’t reach his desk or podium. And so he went to the person he was certain was both responsible and could put things right.

“Fix this, Joey!” He demanded, standing on a pile of books so that he could properly threaten Joey. His threats lacked much bite given that he was, again, six inches tall. Joey was trying to keep a straight face but was finding it rather difficult. Especially since he’d had to sit and watch while Susie assembled the stack of books for her six-inch tall boyfriend.

“I’ll do my very best to figure this out.” Joey’s lips were twitching with the effort it took to keep himself from bursting out laughing.

“You’d better!” Sammy growled. “I can’t work like this!” He also rather resented the fact that he now had to wear doll clothes, brought in by a helpful intern.

“It’s not so bad,” Susie said, picking him up. “You could use a break. You’re always working yourself so hard.” She patted his head with one finger.

“I’d prefer if I were to get a break, it wouldn’t be because of something like this,” he grumbled. Susie, in his opinion, had been having a bit too much fun with this whole thing. She’d taken quite a lot of joy in dressing him up in tiny handmade suits and taking as many pictures as he would allow.

“It won’t be for that long. I’m sure Joey will get this figured out,” Susie reassured him, putting him into her breast pocket. She’d worn a shirt with a pocket on it for this express purpose. As cute as she found Sammy like this, she was also rather worried she’d end up losing him and wanted to keep him close by at all times.

“I’ll do my very best.” Joey agreed, his expression becoming more serious. “We can’t have our music director stay six inches tall forever.”

“Good.” Sammy settled more comfortably into Susie’s pocket. “Take me to the band room. I need to conduct today’s piece.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Susie asked even as she was already walking to the band room. “They might not be able to see you. Not to mention, you can’t hold your baton like this.”

“I’ll figure something out.” Sammy waved dismissively. “I can’t let this interfere with my job!”

To his credit, he made a valiant effort. He had Susie stack a few books on his conductor’s podium and got on top of them to conduct, using a toothpick as a baton. Susie had been right that many of the band members had a hard time seeing him. Thankfully the first chairs could see Sammy well enough to lead the others. However, the recording was continually derailed as various musicians kept breaking into giggles at the sight of doll-sized Sammy Lawrence conducting with a toothpick.

Sammy, upon realizing that they were all laughing at him, went on one of his famous tirades toward them. The effect of this was lessened by Susie picking him up by the back of his shirt and putting him back into her pocket where his yelling was severely muffled by the fabric.

“This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me.” He proclaimed when lunch break rolled around.

He was sitting on the table, eating pieces he’d torn off of the sandwich Susie had packed for him. It was regular person-sized, so it would likely last him all day. He’d tried to drink his coffee as normal, but had fallen in and had been forced to change his clothes.

“You gotta admit, you look pretty cute,” Wally said. He’d decided to sit with Susie and Sammy that day, mostly because he found Sammy’s predicament hilarious

“I don’t want to be cute,” Sammy snapped, leveling him with a glare. “I am a grown man and I would very much like to be treated with respect.” Each word was short and clipped, betraying just how fed up Sammy was with the situation.

“Don’t be rude.” Susie chided him, poking him with one finger.

“I can be as rude as I want.” Sammy folded his arms. “I’ve had a miserable last few days and I’m still currently miserable.”

“You’re always miserable.” Wally snorted.

“Not true. I’m always surly. There’s a difference.” Sammy corrected him coolly.

Wally just shrugged and went back to his sandwich. Deprived of someone to snipe at, Sammy looked back at his massive sandwich. He really hoped he could go back to normal soon. Susie had set up a doll bed for him at home, but he didn’t particularly want to sleep in it. He doubted it would be comfortable.

“Joey will get this figure out soon,” Susie reassured him, sensing his change in mood.

“I hope so.” Sammy sighed dramatically, laying back on the table.

“He will. I know so.” Susie nodded definitively, a big smile on her face. Sammy watched her for a moment, feeling a smile of his own creeping onto his features. Perhaps this was what it was like for mortals to behold gods. There almost seemed to be a halo around her head cast by the lightbulbs on the ceiling.

Well, maybe this wasn’t too bad. At least he still had her.

#bendy and the ink machine #hell's studio au #fanfiction #sammy lawrence #susie campbell #wally franks #joey drew

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brieannakeogh · 6 years ago

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I’m Not Her- Ch 3

I’m Not Her- Bucky Barnes x Reader. Bucky can’t stop a girl getting killed in a robbery gone wrong, but what happens when he sees her all over the place.

Previous Chapter / Master List

Warnings: Some fluff and funny is all this chapter is.

Chapter 3

The walk home takes a little longer than normal, taking your time, your mind more on the long haired soldier than the direction you’re going. You really had appreciated his candor, even if you could tell it was still fresh and painful in his mind. Although, you think he looked a little lighter as he walked away. It still puzzled you that your sister would sacrifice herself for someone else, not that she was a bad person, just rational and logical, and to have a smile while doing it? You shook your head. His story seemed to bring more questions than answers, but you were relieved that she hadn’t been alone. For months the thought of her bleeding out on the cold floor, alone and in pain, haunted your every thought, you’ve never been so glad to be wrong.

Bucky was amazed at how light he felt walking down the sidewalk. Each step coming easy, where even this morning he had to fight his own body just to put one foot in front of the other. You had given him that. The peace that came with being told it wasn’t his fault. That he had done his best. Your smile so like the one that use to haunt him.

Steve had noticed the difference when he came in the next morning for the briefing on the last mission. Bucky’s movements more fluid and sure, instead of dragging, effort taking up the simplest of tasks. “Ya got a spring in your step there Buck. Anyone you want to tell me about?” Steve asks.

“Actually, yeah.” He smiles softly. Steve’s eyes go wide, he had been joking, not expecting that response. “I met my mystery girl yesterday.”

“Mystery girl?”

“The one I had been seeing everywhere, that made you think I was crazy. The one that looked like...ya know.”

Steve sat down in shock at the large conference table. Either his friend had gone totally off the bin or something else was going on. He licked his lips. “Ok?”

“Twin.” Bucky smirked.

“What?” The blond’s eyebrows crinkled in the middle.

“She had a twin.” Bucky sat beside him. “That’s who I was seeing everywhere. She lives in my neighborhood.”

The breath Steve was holding rushed out of him. His best friend wasn’t unstable, he wasn’t crazy, she fucking had a twin. His face hurt from the bright smile on his face. “That’s great Buck!” He clapped him on the shoulder. “That still doesn’t explain the good mood this morning. You didn’t really think you were crazy did you?”

“I was starting to.” He chuckled. “But no, we talked yesterday. I told her...well, just about everything. She wanted to know how it all went down. Her acceptance lifted this weight off my chest. I feel like I can take a full breath in.” He looked down and shook his head, hiding his face in his hair. “I hadn’t felt like this since ya found me, gave me another purpose besides killing the good guys.”

“Yeah we just kill the bad guys around here. Makes for more paperwork however.” Steve smirks. “You going to see her again?”

Bucky shakes his head. “I don’t know. I gave her my number if she needs anything. She didn’t seem like the type to use it, said she’s good staying out of trouble.” He chuckled. “I don’t believe her for a second. I mean, I’m an ex-assassin super soldier that she dragged into an empty lot to talk to her about her dead sister. Trouble probably finds her.”

“Did you get her number?”

“Why would I get her number? I only gave her mine in case she needs help.” His face pinched up in confusion.

“Of course you did.” Steve smirks sarcastically.

“Knock it off punk!” Bucky playfully shoves his friend’s shoulder.

“Jerk.” A smile on Steve’s face as he stands up, walking out of the conference room.

Bucky blushes thinking he had messed up by not getting her number.

Two weeks pass by before you see Bucky again. He’s sitting in the little bakery shop you met him in front of last time. Large cup of coffee on the table in front of him and big size-of-your-head muffin on a plate beside it, hadn’t been touched yet.

The door chimes as you go in, but he doesn’t look up. Grabbing a napkin from the counter, you head to his table, plucking the muffin up and breaking off half of the top as you sit. He watches in complete shock as his muffin leaves the table. When his eyes turn to you, you probably should have been scared of the murderous rage that greets you, but you just smile wider. The fire cooling in his eyes as he registers it’s you, tension in his shoulders relaxing and calmly slides the knife he pulled back in his boot.

“Hello to you too. Why are you desecrating my muffin?”

You shrug. “I gave you half of my cruller. I’m only taking a quarter of your muffin, you should be grateful.” Popping a piece you stole into your mouth. “So what are you up to today?” Breaking off another chunk of your quarter and chewing around it.

“I was having a calm breakfast before a crazy person stole part of my muffin.” He replied, pulling the rest of the muffin closer to him for protection.

Your head tilts. “Thought you were the one everyone thought was crazy?”

He snorts. “You up and proved yourself to be real, so woohoo for no hallucinations for me. You on the other hand, took food from a literal murderer who can kill you in about 36 ways right now. Wait make that 37, there is a toothpick on that table.”

Following his sight, you see a toothpick on the table next to the one you are at. “A toothpick? You’re threatening me with a toothpick?”

“Sure am, Doll.”

“If these are prison food fight rules, than I have to warn you. I’m packin’.”

He leans in closer, smirk on his lips, voice dropping low. “Oh yeah? Whatcha got Darlin’?”

You pull open your jean jacket and reach into the inside pocket, going slow like a standoff. Quickly unholstering a spork. It’s still in the plastic and you point it at him.

“What the fuck is that?” He pulls back.

“It’s a spork. You’ve never seen a spork?!?” He shakes his head no. “Come on now Buck! It’s the 21st century, everyone needs a fork and spoon combo!”

“I don’t even know what to say about this, I think you win.” He lifts his hands in surrender.

“Darn tootin.” You tell him, sliding your spork back into your jacket pocket.

“Mind me asking why you have cutlery in your clothes?”

“You never know where there could be a food emergency. Also it has nothing to do with the fact that they gave me two with my parfait this morning.”

“If you already had breakfast this morning, why are you stealing bits of my muffin?” He tries to snatch the rest that was in your hand, but you just pop the large piece left, in your mouth.

“Whacagonnadonow?” Chewing around the wad of muffin.

He threw a napkin at your face. “Close your mouth, what would your mother say if she could see you?”

You swallow. “I don’t know but if I saw her walking into the shop I would let out a blood curdling scream and not let her anywhere near my brains.” He just looks at you, puzzled. “Because she would be a zombie?”

“Oh!” His eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, sorry.”

You shrug. “It’s ok. Happened a while ago. She was sick for a long time, and now she’s not.”

He nods understanding. “Stevie’s mom was like that too. Better to not be suffern’.”

“Who knew I would have something in common with The Cap?” He could tell the tone is supposed to be humorous but it’s forced.

“You mean that you’re not from the ‘40s with super strength and agility, and wear a big ol’ American flag on your chest?” He smirks, playing along.

“Can’t say that I do.” You chuckle.

The atmosphere at the table goes awkward. Can’t really go back to playful banter after death talk, so you decide to get going. “I should get the coffee I came for.” You tell him standing up from your seat. “I’ll see you around Bucky.” You go to walk past him, so you can get in line, but a firm grip on your wrist stops you. He lets go as soon as he’s seen he’s got your attention.

“Instead of on accident, maybe we can meet on purpose next time?” He cringes inside. He knows he use to be good at this, but now wanted to recoil from how lame he sounded. “I know you’ve got my number but maybe I can…?”

You blink down dumbly at the ex-assassin. Was he really asking for your number? What would that even mean? It’s not like he isn’t handsome, he’s actually freaking gorgeous now that some of the dark circles have faded and the stress doesn’t seem to be killing him, but this was the man that saw your sister die. Saving him was her final act. Did that make it more or less wrong?

“Ok.” You flipped your palm up to take his phone but he just looked puzzled. “You’re phone? I’ll put my number in.”

“Yes, right.” He hands it to you with a look of relief. How embarrassing would it be for someone to find out, the first time back asking a girl out, he was rejected?

After typing in your number, you hand the fancy phone back and pop in line, hoping it will move quickly. Today you actually had a real job interview. There was a small local art gallery that needed an assistant curator and with your background in restoration, even if you didn’t graduate, made you perfect for the job. If you hadn’t found something soon, ramen was going to be your greatest nutritional source for the foreseeable future.

Bucky watched as you grabbed your coffee and hustled out of the shop, throwing him a smile and a wave as you passed the window. When you are out of sight, he picks up his phone and stares at your number, a small smile on his face. The smile drops as your sister’s face, eyes sightless and unblinking, flashes in his head. Guilt crawls up his spine and tightens in his chest. Was this a good idea? Steve thinks so, he should know. Bucky picks up the rest of his muffin and dumps it in the trash, appetite gone. He really needs a second opinion.

Next Chapter

Guess what guys!!! I actually wrote some yesterday so next week will actually be another chapter of Dog Days of Summer!! Woot!

For some reason I’ve been having a mental block with writing but apparently pressure and procrastination was the key lol. Hope everyone has a good V-day!

@katykyll, @avengersrulez1536, @ultrafreespirit, @wantingtobekorra, @i-had-a-life-once, @ghostssss, @babybeluuga, @bodhi-black, @kanupps06, @hatterripper31, @grandloser, @reniescarlett, @kjidhzyx, @normanreedus5150, @ilovethings-somuch, @spiderman-2013, @bloodyvalentine93, @xx-raven, @passionghost, @prettybubblesintheair, @averyrogers83, @stevieang, @albinotigerpython, @ria132love, @whom-the-fack, @paintballkid711, @lilypalmer1987, @the-strandedgypsy, @serenaphoenix81, @theonelittleone, @spidey-babe-parker, @stanclub

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x plus size reader #plus sized reader #marvel fanfiction #I'm not her

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ill-skillsgard · 6 years ago

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Dirty Demons, Part 1 - Axel Cluney/Zeitgeist

Title: Dirty Demons

Description: It's nice to have a companion on the road to total self-destruction - a continuation of Sweet Demons

Warning: 18+ for sex/language/violence/drugs/kinks of all sorts etc.

A/N: You should definitely read Sweet before Dirty!

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Through my visor, I could see the sky melt from light blue to indigo and orange and then fall deeply into a captivating shade of dark purple. Pinholes from the stars began to soak through with every mile I put behind me. The sun sank into the sandy mountains taking all of the light with it. I blasted my high beam light to fan out over the road before me when it got too dark for me to see out of my visor. I looked down and saw my fuel was getting concerningly low. My hands were numb, my stomach was growling and my eyes were aching to shut. I only had a few more kilometers to go before I made it to my next destination. Once telephone posts started popping up I knew I was drawing nearer. The odd house appeared around the road bends and soon an aura of white incandescence from the nearing town grew larger on the horizon. The last place I had stopped at gave me a lead to follow and I had wasted no time in jumping on my bike and ripping down a highway that would take me further South. So far, my wild goose chase had taken me to nearly every corner of the country and every time I consulted with someone that I was told would have answers I was sent back the way I came. The clubhouse I pulled up to was almost an exact replica of every other clubhouse I had been to within the last month. It was a rectangular structure with blacked out windows, rows of choppers and a few flashy little crotch-rockets parked out front. Club crests were painted on every surface possible, including the front double doors. Squawking eagles entangled with hissing cobras in a battle royale, the boldface namesake flying on banners, broken arrows with red flights and chipped arrowheads; the crest of the Dirty Four Thousand Motorcycle Club. When I walked through the front doors almost every single pair of eyes set on me immediately. My cut and patches were enough confirmation that I belonged there and when I saw a stool open up at the bar I quickly took the seat and nodded at the female bartender who had nodded at me first. "Wow, little lady. You're far from home," she remarked. "That amount is true," I agreed. "What're you having tonight?" "Whiskey, please. I wouldn't mind something to eat if you have it," I said. "Well, Buddy is our wannabe-chef but, to be honest, he doesn't make anything even half stomachable. But I can probably rustle you up something if you don't mind the wait." I shook my head solemnly, "I have nowhere to be." "And I assume you want to talk to Roy? He should be down any minute." "Thanks very much." The bartender poured me a deep measure of whiskey into a cup and slid it over the bar to me. She was pretty, as most barmaids were but this one's looks were punctuated by a right eye that had seen the meat of someone's fist and recently. I grimaced when she turned away and looked around the bar as if I would find the motherfucker that hit her. I know it was wrong of me to assume but it was all too common for me to meet the women behind the motor clubs that marveled over me having my own bike, my own shop and essentially and rightfully, my own MC. I wasn't some old rider's bitch or even a Waxer Wife. I was my own woman and most people knew that I had the power to sick a thousand bikers on whoever crossed me wrong. It made me feel bad for the bartender that she probably didn't know the dynamism that was to not be tied down to what was essentially a servant's post. But not everyone was born the heir to one of the most famous motorcycle clubs in the Western hemisphere. It felt bitter to think of it that way and tasted even worse when I had to say it. My intention had been to fall so far off the grid that people stopped remembering me as Al's daughter; heir to the Motor City Sweet Demons Motorcycle Club and began forgetting me. However, life had a funny way of turning around and delivering a blow to the face harder than what the bartender was probably used to. I never wanted to wear a cut. Hell, I didn't want to even be a patch-holder but it came with the territory and had afforded me some luxuries that maybe I wouldn't have had on the road without them. One had but to look at my top rocker and see where I was from. The number thirteen was stitched so boldly into my jacket that people passing by in their cars and trucks honked at me and waved. Respect was given without initiation from men double my age and people generally tended to stay the fuck away from me unless I approached them. It was a gift and a curse; the title that my father had left to me. I was a superhero and a demon. Feared and revered as he liked to put it. I thought it was all kinds of stupid. I wasn't packing heat or anything and if somebody wanted to fight me he or she very well could and the chances of them winning would depend on their stature. But it all came down to the pull I had with other charters and fellow clubs. I could call a dozen numbers and have somebody permanently silenced within a week if I chose. Luckily, nothing had ever come down to that. No, I mostly kept to myself as I always had and interacted with people only when necessary. I hated the questions; the non-stop interviews and spotlights people pushed on me had started to wear me down already and I had only been on the road for a couple of months. Everywhere I went people asked about my dad or the Sweet Demons or the club or the shop. I had the same answers for them all. But when Roy, the President of the Dirty Four Thousand came stomping down the stairs I straightened my spine with respect and raised my glass to him when he spotted me. Roy was one of the scariest human beings on the surface of the planet. His right eye sported a crooked blueish-grey scar through the iris and that only added to his overall permanent look of displeasure. He had a long peppery beard reaching down to his barrel of a chest that separated into two neatly woven braids and a bald headful of tattoos that coiled around his head like a witch's blackened fingers. He stood nearly seven feet tall and weighed as much as five of me easily. When he smiled one could see flashes of two gold incisors which he had a gruesome story for involving two men, a rusty icepick and a little too much whiskey. He had told the story once back at home on a Thirteenth and I had been much too young to be subjected to it. "Angel, daughter of Al, heiress to the Motor City Sweet Demons title of President!" Roy boomed. "Hello, Roy." I greeted him plainly. His bold introduction drew everyone's attention to me once again and then a murmur of whispers floated up from covered mouths. I hated that. Being talked about was not something I was particularly fond of but again... It came with the territory. "Last time I saw you, you were playing in a sandbox with your toys. Now, look at you! All grown up with a club of your own!" He exclaimed. "Legally it is mine but you sort of have to be there to run it," I stated. "It don't matter. Blood is blood and... I am so sorry to hear about Big Al. His passing has left a mark in all of us. We all paid our respects when the news came around," Roy condoled. "Thanks, Roy. I appreciate it. Dad's riding the highways of Hell, no doubt." "He was a good man. A great man. Head on him as sharp as a pin. What a pioneer," Roy shook his large tattooed head. "I'm sure he would say the same about you," I continued. "Let's have a drink in his honor. Stella, another drink for Angel and give me the same," he snapped his immense fingers at the bartender. "Certainly," she smiled and nodded. "Now, what brings the heiress of the Motor City Sweet Demons through my doors today? You sure have wandered off," he said in a fatherly way that really did remind me of my dad. "I'm looking for somebody," I said before sipping my drink. "Who might that be?" I set my drink down on the bar and turned the glass a couple times until I was satisfied with its placement. This was the part I hated the most. "I'm looking for my mom." Roy drew back only slightly, "Shit, Angel. Your mom? Huh... God, I don't think I've seen her since... Fuck. It's been a few years." "I was told if I needed anybody found that I should come to you. I know it's a long shot and honestly, I don't even know if she's still alive. I haven't seen the bitch in over fifteen years." "Nobody dies without me hearing about it," Roy assured me. "I guess that's why you're the man!" I said and tipped glasses with him. "I can dig around, see what comes up but you may not like what I find or don't find." His tone was laced with the warning that I had heard a hundred times over. "Honestly Roy, it's not going to break my heart. I have no expectations. I just need to find her if I can." Roy looked into his glass and sloshed the remaining mouthful of whiskey around before dumping it down his throat. "Sometimes people don't want to be found though, kid." I nodded because I knew he was absolutely right. "That's why I came to the leader of the Four Thousand. They say four thousand men have eight thousand eyes." "Give or take!" Roy winked at me with his scarred eye. We laughed together as our drinks were replenished. I was already starting to feel a little woozy since I hadn't eaten all day. The timing of my stomach growling was met by Stella the bartender bringing me out a basket of fries and a sandwich skewered together with a toothpick and topped with an olive. I politely thanked her and started shoving fries into my face to quell the whining of my whiskey-filled stomach. "How long have you been on the road for, kid?" "Weeks now." "Who's running the club back home?" He asked. "Braun is. You remember him, don't you? The lanky, funny-looking guy that used to hang around. Landed an apprenticeship with my Dad," I explained. "I remember the kid. You trust your club to him?" I sighed, "it still doesn't feel like mine, y'know? It will always be my dad's club. But... I do trust Braun. His loyalty is unshakeable." "As long as business is being taken care of." "One hundred percent." Roy and I tipped glasses once more and he downed the rest of his whiskey while I gingerly sipped mine. "Well, kiddo. There's a suite upstairs that you're welcome to. Stella will give you the key. It's the last door down the hallway. Tomorrow we'll get to work looking for your ma." "Thanks, Roy. You're not as bad as you look," I teased. "That's what they say," he shifted his immense weight off the barstool and patted me on the back. As tired as I was, I was in no rush to take the room key and go upstairs. I finished my fries, which in my neglect had gone cold. More whiskey was offered to me but I declined as I was already starting to feel the effects of both glasses I had shared with Roy. There were riders and club members that recognized the Motor City rocker on the back of my vest and had come up to me to offer more condolences in regards to my father. The longer I stayed on that bar stool the more depressed I started to feel and that was when I decided to call it a night. I was sick of being reminded of my Dad and I was tired of remembering why I was on my journey to begin with. I stepped out of the club's swinging double doors with the huge eagle and snake crest on it to get my bag from out of my custom leather pannier. The air was fresh despite the exhaust fumes from all of the bikes coming in and out and I exhaled heavily as I locked up my bags and pocketed my keys. The road was making me weary and even just gazing down the stretch of highway in front of me made me hesitant to get back on it. My father would be proud of me, though. That's all that mattered. If he could see me on the road riding my own custom chopper that I had built myself, it would have brought a tear to his eye. That was the only thing driving me to do what I was doing. The room that had been offered to me was exactly the way one might assume the room of a motorcycle clubhouse to look like. The walls had been painted black and above the double bed was a stolen roadsign that had gray donut-shaped holes blown into it- the results of multiple gunshots. There was a cheap simple lamp, a small tube television atop an empty wooden dresser with brass handles and a small desk and matching chair. Not only that but the walls were pinned with posters of bikini models that had no business being on the motorcycles they were bent over. I wasn't bothered by the choice of décor as I had seen the interior of more motorcycle clubs than I had of real homes. it would have been more appalling had I walked in to find a modern interior design. I inched open the wooden dresser and dumped my bag in haphazardly with no real regard of what was mixed in with what. I had a couple of clean shirts and two pairs of jeans that regularly cycled back and forth as my riding attire. The only bras that I had were pilled and had seen better days. I had a few pairs of comfortable underwear that I had brought with me; nothing fancy or lacey. While on the road you had to make sure your clothes were practical and not riding up your ass. To be honest, all of my clothes could have withstood a wash but I hadn't thought to ask if the club came equipped with a washer and dryer. Wedged into the bottom of my bag were two towels that I pulled out and brought into the bathroom only after having locked the room door. I didn't want to risk a drunk biker stumbling in and stealing the bed that I had been loaned. Not that I had any qualms with sleeping on a floor but my aching back and tense shoulders needed a soft surface for the night. That and a hot shower. There was nothing available in the way of shampoo and conditioner but there was a half-used bar of soap with what I hoped and prayed it was just a black beard hair stuck in the center of it. I silently patted myself on the back for thinking to bring all of my own toiletries. It was another thing one could assume wouldn't be widely available in the rooms of a club and I had planned well ahead in anticipation of that. The shower wasn't in the cleanest condition it could be in but when I took off my clothes and stepped under the hot running water I didn't much care if the bottom of the plastic shower curtain had spots of mold on it. Soapy scum stains clouded the faucet and there was a distinct smell of bleach that bubbled up from the drain- strange because it didn't look like anything had been cleaned recently. I closed my eyes and let the hard water beat me between the shoulder blades and soak through my greasy hair that head stayed matted down from being underneath a helmet for hours and hours. It felt so good to run my fingernails over my itchy scalp and dredge up the dirt that had no doubt collected there. I relished the scent of my shampoo as I worked it through my strands, feeling instantly better when I stepped back underneath the showerhead to rinse it out. I pooled a dollop of conditioner in my cupped palm and ran it through my hair as well, leaving it there to help smooth out some of the tangles that had formed from neglect. The walls of the club must have been thin because I could hear a ruckus erupting from down the hall. Knocking on doors, the loud voices of people yelling in protest. At one point it sounded like someone had launched a bowling ball down the hall and it had struck the door of the room I occupied. I shrugged it off, attributing it all to that obnoxiously carefree biker lifestyle that I had reluctantly been roped into. I stayed in the heat of the shower for as long as I could until my fingers and the bottoms of my feet started wrinkling and then some. I was impressed the water hadn't started to run cold and by the time I turned the faucet off with a rusty squeal of resistance and stepped out onto the cool tile floor. The entire room was steamy and I could hardly see in front of me. I opened the bathroom door just an inch to start letting some of the steam out and so I could make use of the mirror to see just how heavy the bags under my eyes had gotten. One of my towels I used to wrap up my hair and the other I swaddled around my body before I squeezed a generous amount of toothpaste on my well-used toothbrush. I closed my eyes and scrubbed away at my teeth, relishing the feeling of taking the strain of my corneas. I couldn't recall a time that I had ever been so desperate to hit the sack in a bed that didn't belong to me. Usually, when faced with the option of sleeping in a strange place, I opted to stay up for as long as I could due to the many anxieties that came with laying your body down on a mattress with a questionable history. That night I didn't care at all and actually looked forward to the moment I could get off my feet and sleep for more than a few hours. But my life had a really fucking good way of throwing me detrimental curve-balls. I had gathered up all of my toiletries and stashed them away in a little travel bag I had since college and took my hair out of the towel so it could begin to air dry. The steam of my shower had mostly escaped and I could breathe deeply through my nose again. I left all of my things on the counter of the bathroom and stepped out into the cooler air of the dank bedroom. "Hello, Angel." An unearthly yelp ripped from my throat as I was greeted by a voice that slid out as smoothly as it did abruptly. As soon as my brain registered where the voice had come from I felt my heart clench like a fist in my chest. A wash of adrenaline flooded and I felt a warm buzz in my cheeks from the result of the scare that had been put into me. My arms shot up to cross over my chest even though I was covered with a towel. I could feel my feet go numb as I gazed upon a face I hadn't seen in over two years; a face I had convinced myself that I would never see again. Sitting on the edge of the bed, a cocky grin on, with the faded purple bruising of a former black-eye and more shitty tattoos than the last time I saw him was Axel fucking Cluney. "How the flying fuck did you-? W-what are you doing here? Get the fuck out!" Axel stood up and I was immediately reminded of his height and the squareness of his broad shoulders. His arms still dangled somewhat awkwardly despite the cocksureness he had in his clothing taste and the way he held his chin up. He spread those long arms, palms up as if questioning why I wasn't bounding into them or something. "What? You're not happy to see me?" "No! Get the FUCK out! Who are you? Who the fuck do you think you are!?" "Hey, hey, come on now. Do you know how long I rode to find you? Fuck! You would think it might be easy to find a sexy little firecracker riding around on a fucking bubblegum pink bike, but it isn't!" He laughed. "You're fucking dead to me. Leave. Now." "Angel-" "Stop calling me that!" "Well, that's your name, isn't it?" "I just had a funeral for the only person who was ever allowed to call me that and you weren't the fuck there, you fucking prick!" Axel held up his hands, shrinking back so his hipbones shifted forward. He was wearing one of his shirts that weren't real shirts. I could see all the way up his ribs to his armpits. He still had on his riding gloves. When I gazed down his body I remarked his black jeans and green boots. Stupid green boots. "Ange- Angelica-" "Don't even say my name at all! Just... Go back from wherever it was you came." "You're not even letting me speak-" "'Cause I don't want to hear your voice! I don't want to see you at all!" "Listen to me... I have a very good reason why I didn't come back- couldn't come back," he claimed. "You missed his funeral. Me? I couldn't give a fuck that you didn't come back for me but you missed his send-off. Everyone was there. Everyone. All the Demons were there except you and when I asked Max about you he refused to say anything!" "Max didn't know where I was anyway. Nobody did. Fuck, I don't even hardly remember the last two years myself." "Must be nice!" "No!" Axel defended. "It wasn't fucking nice! Okay? That's what I'm trying to tell you! Where I was... I couldn't go anywhere. I couldn't leave. I had to be where I was. Trust me, when I heard about your Dad I... I fucking died a little inside. I am so sorry that I missed his send-off. You have to understand... If I could have been there, I would have. If I could have come to see you I would have! God, I fucking missed you." I was starting to shiver from my nerves combined with the air cooling my exposed skin. He could see the way the hair on my arms stood up and he sighed. "Sorry for breaking in like this. I guess I could have knocked." My laugh came out as a blurt and I looked over at the door that he had somehow picked open. "What if I had been sleeping? Have you just been busting down doors looking for me?" I asked him. He scratched the back of his head before running his hands over the stubble on his jawline and chin, "yeah, pretty much. When I got to the Port I walked into your house and got to see little Braun!" "Oh." "Yeah. That went exactly how I'm sure you're imagining it." Braun had on numerous occasions told me how much he absolutely loathed Axel and how he was glad that he hadn't come back for any of the Friday the Thirteenth rallies. Even after my dad's funeral, Braun brought up the fact that not exactly all of the Sweet Demons had made it to the celebration of life and that anyone that was a true friend would have been there no matter what. Again, I knew he was happy that Axel hadn't made his grand appearance then. It seemed that the more my hopes of seeing Axel again diminished, the stronger Braun's feelings got for me. Although he knew that I would never be interested in him, he still harbored some dashed optimism that one day I would come around and start to warm up to him and with Axel seemingly permanently out of the picture, he acted as though it were an inevitability. The faith he had in it was astonishing, I had to give him that. "How did that go?" I pried. "He was half in the bag when I pulled up. Started yelling at me about how if you had been there, you would have told him to hit me for you. So he tried to take a swing at me. I had to remind him about what happened last time he tried to fight me." I clutched the damp towel around my body and felt a shiver rattle up my spinal column again. "Yeah, well, I guess you do have an unfair advantage over everyone." "Not everyone," he told me. "I think the fact that you spew black acid from your throat kind of puts you in a league of your own." Axel shook his head at me. "No... Angel... Angelica, sorry. You don't even know half of what the fuck exists out there. I didn't know until I was there." I scoffed, "well, isn't that nice that you got to travel the world?" "It was only South America." "You didn't tan well." "I know. I wasn't allowed in the sun. I had to live in a fucking barn almost. Couldn't go anywhere at all." I shifted my weight back and forth on my bare feet. I eyed the bed behind him and the lingering thought of how badly I had wanted to go to sleep rang a tiny bell in my head. "Why?" I asked with a tired sigh. "Why don't you get in your PJs and I'll tell you more about it." "You're being quite presumptuous. I guess you didn't spend any time in a barn to help fix your arrogance." "No," Axel said with a smirk. "If anything, it's only gotten worse." I tried not to smirk back at him but it was hard when I noticed his eyes wandering down to my chest over and over again until he gave up and settled for staring at me blatantly. "Why didn't you call or anything? You didn't even send postcards like you said you would," I said quietly. He took two steps closer to me and reached out to touch my shoulders before realizing his gloves were still on. I watched as he peeled them off his enormous hands and wadded them away into the back pocket of his jeans. "I wanted to. There weren't any phones where I went and they made me get rid of all my stuff. Well... They made me temporarily surrender all belongings. No phone, no nothing." "Who are they?" I pressed him. "I'll tell you all about that shit after you get into some clothes!" He exclaimed. "Oh... Axel, telling me to put on clothes? What did they do to you down there?" I joked. Axel took another long step in my direction as he cast out a look that had desire written all over it in the form of his lips curling into an evil little grin, complete with those dimples and green eyes flashing. "Pardon my niceties but I figured now wasn't the best time to let on that I've been thinking about ripping that towel away from you. Fuck... I mean, I wanted to go into that bathroom while you were showering just to catch you naked but... Well, everyone has seen Psycho and I figured freaking you out this way would be less cruel." "Thanks, I really appreciate that. Good thing you settled for picking the fucking lock and waiting for me on the bed like a creep." "It was either that or like I said." "You couldn't have just knocked on the door like a sane person would?" "Where's the fun in that?" He got so close to me I could practically feel his breath fanning over my face. I took a step back from him though. "I'm going to get changed." "Would you... Fuck. Would you mind if I just hopped in that shower real quick too? I'm afraid to admit how long it has been since I've seen clean water." He was smeared with dirt and motor oil. Black smudges like chevrons climbed up his long arms and his hair was greased back involuntarily. The strange thing was, he didn't smell unpleasant. The scent coming off of him reminded me of a time when my dad was still alive. His familiar scent filled me with shadows of the past like us standing in my bedroom staring at each other the weekend we first met. "Go ahead, I guess. You're going to do what you want anyway." "Thanks. Won't be long," he said. I took the opportunity to change into a t-shirt and a pair of shorts that I had been wearing to bed for years. Exhausted yawns kept coming up from the back of my throat and before Axel stepped out of the bathroom with my pink towel wrapped around his waist, I was already under the covers and leaning up against the faux leather headboard with the fuzzy black Harley Davidson blanket pulled up over my lap. I watched as he made his way over to a backpack he had left in the corner of the room. He pulled out a pair of sweatpants and watched me out of the corner of his eye watching him unravel the towel from around his hips. Axel had put on a little bit of weight and he had no unease about being naked in front of me. His body was lean with muscle and I caught a glimpse of his manhood before he stuck his feet into the legs of his sweatpants and pulled them up over his thighs and hips. Truth be told, even with the bruising around his eye and the addition of more tattoos on his pale white skin, he was looking better than I recalled. I remembered how he had been so skinny that I could see his ribs shifting when he breathed but now he looked fattened up like wherever he went had at least fed him well. "What are you staring at?" He asked as he approached the foot of the bed. I was eye-level with his crotch and the way his grey sweatpants clung to his hips left little to be imagined, not that I needed a reminder of what he looked like naked. His cock made an appearance in the form of a thick outline beneath the fabric and I prickled when I remembered just how big he was when he was when he was fully erect. It was difficult to admit to myself the heartbreaking disappointment I had silently suffered the first year that Axel didn't show up on the Thirteenth. I had gotten myself so psyched to see him pull up in front of my house on his acid green bike. The months that went by I had occupied myself with thoughts of him as I worked with my Dad to get my own bike on the road. I wanted to show Axel all the hard work I had poured into it because of him but when he never brought up the tail of the demon procession, I felt my excitement fade into confusion and plunge into gripping sadness. He never showed up and my plans to have the best Friday the Thirteenth weekend were torn to shreds. My heartstrings were mangled. I couldn't bring myself to leave my room and when I had had enough of waiting I asked Max why he wasn't there. The response I got from the President of the Sweet Demons was less than satisfactory. I was told to forget about him and just have a nice time to which I agreed but secretly I knew that I would be doing no such thing. Not with him missing. "Angel... You just going to sit there staring at my dick?" Shaking my head, I looked up at him and tried to hide a smile. "I... Sorry. I didn't mean to. I'm tired." "So am I." Without a further exchange of words, Axel turned off the lamp and crawled into the bed beside me to get under the same covers I was using. I followed his lead and laid down too. There was about a foot of space between us that remained untouched for a couple of minutes until one of us decided to sack up and close it. Axel shifted towards me and touched my hip. "The only thing I want more than sleep right now is that pussy," he whispered. "God, I've been thinking about putting my cock in that tight little slit for so long but I can't possibly do you the way I want to right now. Not yet." "You so boldly assume I'm going to just lay back and let you fuck me again after all this time?" "Yes. Not right now but... Yes. You will. When we wake up in the morning I promise you that I'm going to fuck you and you're going to let it happen. Not only that but you're going to like it." Axel did not know how to beat around the bush. He said what he meant and it had turned out to be true. By the time morning rolled around, after a solid five hours of sleep, I woke up feeling needier than I ever had before in my life and he was right there for me to curl into. I reached down and ran my flattened palm over the crotch of his sweatpants and looked down to watch him harden. His eyes were closed but he moaned all the same and smiled, "see? I told you." Admitting to myself that I missed him tasted bad in my throat so I never said it out loud. However, it was as true as it always had been. I was so happy to open my eyes and see him laying there beside me. It was the first time I truly felt safe on my journey across the country. Axel rolled over onto his back and quietly enjoyed the feeling of me palming his cock through his pants. He pushed down the blanket so he could look down and watch me stroke his shaft over the fabric. It elated me each second he grew harder, his breath cutting shorter, abdomen clenching and flexing. "Oh, fuck, mommy. Yes. Love it when you touch me and get me all hard," he purred. "Mm-hmm, I know you do, dirty boy." "Yes, I'm so dirty. I think about my mommy touching me all the time. Oh, fuck," he stared down his body as I pulled the front of his sweatpants away so I could grip his shaft completely. "Yeah... Touch me. Play with that filthy boy cock." I hummed as a thrill of arousal bubbled in my chest and careened down my torso to explode between my legs. Axel turned his face to me and begged a kiss and without a moment of hesitation I gladly pressed my lips to his. In the back of my mind, I had so many questions but I chose to ignore them in those heated moments. Kissing him tasted good and the moment his tongue touched mine I reveled in the sweetness of his saliva. My grip tightened around his cock and he flinched away with a soft gasp, settling back down once I began massaging up and down the length of it, paying special attention to the ridge of the head before dropping down to lightly squeeze his balls. "Oh! I'm a fucking bad boy, mommy. Oh my GOD, am I a bad boy." Axel shook his head like he was coming out of a trance and quickly flipped onto his side to face me. His hand dove into my shorts, seeking out the best place for him to rest the tip of his index finger on and once he found it I groaned. He gasped as if he had found something that he had hidden away long ago and had just unearthed again. "Oh my," He purred, dragging the tip of his finger down to dip into my warmth. "Did I ever miss this gorgeous little pussy." He took his hand out of my underwear only so he could push my shorts down my hips. I helped him along the way by kicking them off and letting my knees fall apart so he had better access to me. His eyes went wandering and he also pulled the blanket back so he could turn his gaze softly between my legs. "Fuck... Can I just? Mmm, let me, please? I want to say hello." I nodded my head and soon he was shuffling down the bed, lifting one of my legs up so he could duck under it and get really close to my opening. The way he stared at my pussy before gently rubbing over it with his thumb was enough to make my spine curl. His green eyes landed back on my face and he smiled before letting his tongue loll out of his mouth to lick tantalizingly slow from my wettened hole to my clit and back down again. The hot breath that aerated from his mouth only added to the joyous sensation. "My God, you taste sweet. Looks so good too. Oh, mommy... Did you miss me? Did you miss me the way I missed you?" Axel began lapping at me feverishly, alternating between that and gently sucking at the part of me responsible for allowing this all to happen in the first place. I knew that I shouldn't have let him win me over so easily but I couldn't deny myself the pleasure of having his face between my legs again. Especially when he looked up at me with feigned innocence and had no real idea of what he was doing to me internally. It was all so very devious, the way he could seduce me but I'm sure he would have said the same about me. Not once did I pause and think about the past when he had made it a big deal that he wouldn't go anywhere near me with his mouth unless I begged him too. I couldn't help but wonder what inside of him had changed. Why did he suddenly have no inhibitions when it came to the unknown curse that had been bestowed on him? Whatever had happened, I was happy that he had gained solace from the self-consciousness I had known him to have. Otherwise, I wouldn't have been able to watch him flick his tongue over my pussy lips and suck gentle little circles over my clit with those luscious lips of his. The more I moaned the more finesse he put into eating me out. He hooked his thumbs under my knees and pushed me back so I could see exactly what he was doing. "Oh yeah, you like watching me eat that pussy, don't you, mommy? Mmm, feels so good, doesn't it? How would you like it if I just pushed my whole fucking tongue inside of that wet little cunt? Huh? You think you would like that too?" I nodded vigorously and sighed when he forced himself inside of me to clean up all the juice he was helping make. The only time he pulled away was to drop a long string of spit onto my clit before smacking it firmly using the tips of his four fingers. He smiled as I squealed and continued spanking me, moving down my thighs and even pushing me further back so he could smack my ass. "Fuck, baby! You get my cock so fucking hard," He pulled the waistband of his sweatpants further down and proved that he was, indeed, hard enough to stand at attention before he inched up to me. "I want inside that pussy, please." "Yes, bad boy. Give me that cock." The intrusion was as girthy and fulfilling as I had remembered. Axel had no shortcomings when it came to what was between his legs and as he spread me apart with every inch of his length I couldn't help but arch and moan. Every ridge of his cock I could feel pumping and pulsing with blood. His eyes rolled hard and when he looked back down at me he smiled, "I'm gonna fucking wreck this cunt." Axel snapped his hips into me once with brute force and the headboard came off the wall and slammed back into it with the motion. After the first thrust, he started to laugh a little. He dipped down low and kissed me again as his rocking started to pick up speed. It wasn't long before he lifted me up and tossed me onto my stomach, pressing his hand down on my back so that I would arch up for him. "Look at this sweet pussy just making a big fucking mess for me. Oh, God. All that gorgeous pussy juice, just for me." He angled into me harshly and soon laid his torso over my back so he could hang onto my hair and whisper in my ear. "Last time I checked, you liked getting filled up with cum. Don't tell me that's changed at all, has it?" "No!" "Good, because guess what? I'm going to fill that cunt up so full of my cum you're gonna feel it leaking out of you for days. Yeah. That's right, mommy. You excited?" "Do it, baby. Come inside of me." He squeezed me in his arms tight and never moved from his position over top of me. "Tell me. Come on. Help me come. Tell me how much you want all my dirty boy cum." I twisted my head around so I could kiss him and bite his bottom lip. "Go on, baby. Blow that fucking load inside for me. Right inside mommy's pussy. You can do it." Once again, Axel wasn't satisfied with the position and lifted me up, swapping our places so that I was on top of him. He nodded happily as I tossed my hair over my shoulder and pushed myself up with my palms on his chest. "I want to watch you fuck my cock. Come on, do it for me." From the position, I could see all of the ways his expression changed from helpless, to controlling, to frantic. He reached up and clamped onto my breasts, giving one a little smack as I rode him. The slick sounds of his cock jamming into me mixed with the vibrations of him moaning filled the room and became the soundtrack to my life. Looking down at Axel beneath me, lips glistening with moisture and eyes rolling in pleasure, it felt like something I had dreamed about in recent times; an image I conjured for myself to fill the void that he left when he didn't come back. "Spit in my mouth," Axel hissed. "Hit me. Hit me in the face, baby. Come on... Do it. Slap me." I sucked up all the saliva I could muster from the corners of my mouth and let it fall from my pursed lips, onto his eager tongue. He gripped one of my wrists and rose it to his face and forced me to slap him until I started doing it by myself. "Yes, hit me! Fucking slap me hard. I'm so bad, you know I deserve it!" His aggression transferred onto me and I arced my elbow up and slapped him across the face as hard as I could and when the blow landed I felt a distinct twinge in his whole body. His eyes all but disappeared for a moment before rolling back down to stare up at me again. "Oh, FUCK! I missed you. I missed you, mommy. I missed when you used to ride my cock and let me come inside of you." "I'm here, baby." "Help me come. Please. Fuck me." I didn't need the encouragements but the way filth poured from his mouth was heady and caused me all sorts of emotions that I didn't know I was capable of. I was elated to see him and to know that he wasn't a dead body in a foreign land. We had only spent a weekend together and that was it. It wasn't like we were long-lost lovers yet I couldn't help but feel like I had lost him anyway. Seeing his gorgeous, beat up face again brought back a memory of when I had no real worries. Since my life had gone to shit, our reunion felt like a blessing I didn't know I needed until he was tilting up from the bed, taking my body with him as I coaxed him to come. The first time, he came with a kind of drama that was mostly reserved for the end of an X-rated film. There was no way that if anyone else was occupying the top floor of the clubhouse that they didn't hear Axel coming violently. He acted as if he had never come in his life and all of his built-up fluids came crashing through a floodgate. It was a string of non-stop cries for his mommy and moans that sounded like the sweetest melody ever written. His heavy panting came next and I rose and fell on his body as he convulsed and tried to catch his breath. The time it took for him to cool down was scarce and it wasn't long until he was staring back up at me with evil thoughts dancing around in his head. He pulled me down onto him and flipped me onto the bed, pulling his still-leaking cock out of me so he could admire his seed dribbling out of my pussy. "Mm. Mm-hmm. That's where my cum belongs. Right up in that nice little warm cunt. I hope you're on the pill because I just dumped a truckload of babies inside of you, sweetheart." I smirked at him, "don't you think it's a little late to be bringing that up?" Axel shrugged his bare shoulders carelessly and said, "Oops?" We laid in the bed a little while longer just breathing and letting our hearts settle. He began to stroke my skin with kindness and love in his eyes and it was strange to feel that kind of emotion directed at me and have it not bother me. "I really did miss you, you know that? I wanted to see you. I did." "I missed you too. I thought I would never see you again," I admitted. He sighed, "what would you have done?" "What do you mean?" "I mean," he reiterated. "What would you have done if I had never come back?" Blind-sided by his question, I withdrew from his touch, "I don't... I don't know. I don't want to think about that." Axel smiled, satisfied with my answer and pulled me closer to him so he could stroke his fingers through my hair. "Fuck, I missed you, Angel. And I miss everyone else. I miss the guys. I miss... Civilization." "Where did you go?" I pressed him. "It's really hard to explain," he dismissed. "No, no. No, no, no! Don't do this again," I warned. "Don't do that!" "Do what?" "Don't withhold the truth from me when I ask you about things. If you're going to be like that then I don't want this." "This? What do you mean?" I withdrew from him further, a glare heavy on my brow. "Us. I don't want to be involved if you're just going to play the whole mystery-card game. I'm done with that." "Angel... Just... be quiet. I will tell you about everything, I promise. But not right now. Come on... I'm starving. Let's get on our bikes and go get something to eat. We have time. Nothing but time." I inched back into his arms but not without a hint of skepticism. He was right, after all. We did have nothing but time or at least, I did. I had dedicated my life to the long, hard road and expelled all responsibility I had or upheaved it onto others so I could do what I set out to do. It was in my blood to act selfishly.

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