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tofueggnoodles · 1 year

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Special Edition Drama (Volume 1 of the Reload Blast Anime BR/DVD): The Doll in the Empty House

Summary: The Ikkou stayed for the night in an abandoned house. Gojyo got spooked by a doll. (But he was not the one who got the bad ending this time :))

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Hakkai: How did it go?

Gojyo: It’s no good! I couldn’t find a single soul.

Goku: Same here.

Sanzo: So it’s a deserted village.

Hakkai: Yes. No-one seems to be living here anymore. It’s a good thing we managed to stock up at the previous village, but I’ve wanted to stay at a proper hotel tonight....

Goku: I wonder how long it’s been since the villagers went away. A bit of food was still left in one of the houses I went into just now.

Gojyo: Don’t tell me you ate that, monkey.

Goku: I didn’t eat it! Okay, I did, just a bit.

Gojyo: As I thought!

Sanzo: Don’t worry. There were times when this guy’s had a cold, but he’s never had an upset stomach. It’s pointless to trouble yourself about him.

Gojyo: Is that so.

Hakkai: The night’s getting late, so for now, let’s find a house to stay overnight in.

Gojyo: I thought it’d come to that, but is there really no other option?

Hakkai: We’ve been driving non-stop for a while, so I’d like to let Hakuryuu rest for a bit. Above all, nights around here can get chilly.

Sanzo: Let’s get going.

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Gojyo: What’s with this door? It’s not opening at all.

Sanzo: Goku.

Goku: Yeah. Gojyo, let me try.

Gojyo: Okay.

Goku: One, two–

Gojyo: Oh, it’s open now. As expected from our brute of a monkey!

Goku: Don’t call me a monkey!

Hakkai: Goku, you should be more gentle when opening the door.

Goku: Okie-dokie.

Gojyo: This is sure a creepy house, though. Whoa!

Sanzo: Hah? You’re just being fussy.

Gojyo: I’m not! Someone’s left a weird doll behind. Look there, on that shelf over there.

Hakkai: Oh, if that’s not a French doll.

Goku: French doll?

Hakkai: Also known as a bisque doll, it’s made of porcelain and shaped in the form of a little girl. This item seems to have been made by an exemplary manufacturer. Due to intense competition, mass production of these dolls has declined in recent years, so a piece of such high artistic quality seldom appears on the market.

Goku: Eh.... I don’t really get it, but in short, this is a rare doll?

Hakkai: Well, you can put it that way.

Gojyo: Isn’t it strange? Why is there a French doll in such a place?

Sanzo: How would I know? I’m going ahead.

Goku: Ah, Sanzo–

(A loud crash is heard.)

Gojyo: The door’s just closed of its own accord!

Goku: Maybe it’s just the wind.

Gojyo: No, the wind was not blowing that strongly when we were outside just now.

Hakkai: Perhaps the screws or something else in the door became loose when Goku forced it open.

(Gojyo mutters incoherently.)

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(The wind blows as they walk through the house.)

Gojyo: Hey Goku, doesn’t this house creep you out?

Goku: Eh? What’s supposed to be creepy about it?

Gojyo: Er, how should I put it.... Well, there’s the doll we saw just now.

Hakkai: Ah, that certainly bothers me.

Gojyo: Yeah, doesn’t it?

Hakkai: The overall style of this house is Tibetan, so that doll is the only thing that does not fit in at all with the rest of the interior. Perhaps it might have been put there as some sort of a highlight. In that case, it should have been dressed in an Asian costume to avoid making it look out of place.

Gojyo: That’s not it! Since I saw that doll, I’ve been getting the feeling that there seems to be something in the air, uh, like something’s about to appear. Is everything really okay with this house?

Hakkai: Based on the exterior appearance, this house is the sturdiest and seems to our best option at keeping out the cold. The doors and windows of the other houses are broken. Please bear with it.

Sanzo: If you dislike it so much, go sleep outside by yourself.

Gojyo: Why would I have to do that? Isn’t that the same as sending me out to my death? **

Hakkai: Ah, after the murder has occurred, everyone feels safer gathering together in one place. But, one person will say, “I can’t stand being in such a place anymore, so I’m going back to my own room!” and take a different action from everyone else. Later, this person will turn up dead – that’s the usual pattern.

Sanzo: That’s a typical plot element in suspense dramas.

Goku: Hakkai knows quite a lot about dramas, doesn’t he?

Hakkai: I started to watch them in order to have something to talk about with the neighbors and ended up getting addicted to them. It seems that the other day, they’ve just cornered the suspect at the top of the cliff in Noto Peninsula. [http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Noto_Peninsula]

Gojyo: Where’s this Noto Peninsula? Also, if anything, the current situation is more like a horror drama than a suspense drama!

Goku: You worry too much. Besides, even if anything were to appear, it’d be fine as long as Sanzo recites a prayer.

Hakkai: In case Sanzo’s prayer does not work, there’s still the salt I got at the previous village, so everything will be all right.

Sanzo: Hey!

Gojyo (mumbling indistinctly): Salt....

Goku: Anyway, let’s put down our stuff somewhere and eat. I’m hungry! I want dinner! Dinner!

Sanzo: You just had a steamed bun a short while ago.

Goku: That was snack.

Hakkai: It’d be great if I could boil some water too. I would’ve loved to have some hot tea to wash down the canned food we’ll be having for dinner.

(Something crashes and rattles loudly. Gojyo whimpers.)

Goku: Hurry up, Gojyo!

Gojyo: Y–yeah.

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Goku: Well, here we go – one, two, three, shoot! Ah, I lost!

Hakkai: This means Sanzo and I get the bed.

Sanzo: It’s settled, then.

Gojyo: Do I have to sleep on the floor again?.

Goku: I want the bed! I don’t want the futon!

Sanzo: Stop making a fuss. Just accept your loss – there’s nothing you can do about it.

Gojyo: This is the fifth time in a row I get to sleep on the floor! Once in a while, I’d like to sleep on a bed too– Well, never mind. I’m fine with the floor.

Goku: Eh? Why?

Gojyo: Er, well, the floor’s just fine.

Goku: Eh?!

Hakkai: Could it be that you’re bothered by what I said during dinner, Gojyo?

Sanzo: Are you referring to a common scenario in situations like this, in which one’s foot is seized by something while sleeping on the bed?

Gojyo: Don’t remind me of it when I’ve been trying my best to forget it!

Goku: But, if your foot might get seized by something under the bed, wouldn’t sleeping on the floor be more danger–

Hakkai (grabs Goku and silents him): Goku, if he were to realize that, it’d only lead to trouble, so for tonight, please just accompany him on the floor.

Goku: Okay, understood.

Sanzo: How foolish. I’m going to sleep now. (gets on the bed and starts to breath loudly)

Goku: That’s fast!

Hakkai: Shall we turn in too? Tomorrow, we’ll start moving early in the morning so that we can arrive at a town within the day.

Goku: How long would that take?

Hakkai: About half-a-day according to the map, but since the terrain has changed considerably, there’s no guarantee we’ll get there within half-a-day.

Goku: Ah, I want to have something aside from canned food for tomorrow’s meals.

Hakkai: Our diet’s ended up really unbalanced indeed.

Goku: I want to eat piping hot ramen, fried rice, meat buns, pot stickers, soup dumplings, fried noodles, spicy tofu with minced meat, stir-fried shrimp in chili sauce and pepper steak!

Hakkai: You’ll just make yourself unnecessarily hungry by thinking about them.

Goku (as his stomach rumbles): So it seems.

(Gojyo mumbles incoherently.)

Hakkai: What’s the matter, Gojyo? You’ve been quiet for a while.

Goku: If you’re feeling sleepy, why not just go to sleep like Sanzo did?

Gojyo: That’s not it. I’ve just been thinking for a bit.

Goku: About what?

Gojyo: Eh? Er, well, about that, er–

Hakkai: If it’s bothering you that much, I’ll just put this bag of salt under your pillow.

Goku: Oh, so you’re just feeling spooked.

Gojyo: Shut up! Hey, Hakkai, is salt really effective [against ghosts]?

Goku: Ah, I want to know too! How does it work, Hakkai?

Hakkai: Since ancient times, various theories have arisen regarding the use of salt as a charm against evil spirits. Its white color is seen as a symbol of purity and uprightness. Moreover, salt is known for its effectiveness in slowing down spoilage and decomposition. Because of these, the idea that salt is something that ghosts detests has taken root and become commonly accepted. Furthermore–

(He is interrupted by a couple of loud snores.)

Hakkai: Ah, good night.

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(The floorboards creak.)

Gojyo: Hmm? Hm-hmm? Hmm-hmm?! Oi, oi, oi, oi, oi, is this seriously happening? This must be ‘that’ thing! If I open my eyes, it’ll be over! I’ll just get my head under the pillow. ** Crap! Is it really time to use the salt? Ah.... something is getting into my futon!

(He tosses the bag of salt with a shout.)

Goku: Aw! What are you doing?

Gojyo: Eh? Monkey?

Goku (spits out the salt): What’s this? It’s salty! Don’t just throw a bag of salt at me all of a sudden!

Gojyo: You’re changing the subject!

Goku: All I did was come back after going for a pee. What a cowardly cockroach kappa! Idiot!

Gojyo: What did you just say?

Hakkai (wakes up and switches on the lamp): You’re noisy. What time do you think it is?

Goku: Gojyo suddenly threw the salt into my face!

Gojyo: That’s because you crawled into my futon all of a sudden!

Hakkai: Errr.... Goku?

Goku: Ah! That’s not it! I just got the spot wrong when I came back!

Gojyo: You’d have normally noticed that someone’s already sleeping in the futon [you’re trying to get into]! How spaced out could you get, you sleep-walking monkey!

Goku: It was dark, so that was an unavoidable mistake!

(A gunshot rings out. Gojyo and Goku whimper.)

Sanzo: Shall I silence you both once and for all?

Goku and Gojyo: S–sorry.

Hakkai: Isn’t it a good thing it wasn’t a ghost? Come now, let’s go back to sleep. If you make a racket again, there will be no guarantee on your lives.

Gojyo: Damn it! What a crappy ordeal!

Goku: That was my line, scaredy-cat kappa!

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(The floorboards creak. Again.)

Gojyo (half-awake): Is the stupid monkey going for a pee again? (drew his duvet over himself) Really, how many times does he have to go in the middle of the night? What an annoying monkey! (starts to snores)

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(The next morning, as they ride on Jeep....)

Goku: Ah! I had a good night’s sleep! As expected, it was much better than camping out.

Sanzo: So says someone who woke others up in the middle of the night.

Hakkai: Now, now. Gojyo, did you have a good sleep after that?

Gojyo: Yeah, I did. Anyway, you went for a pee again afterward, didn’t you, monkey? You should’ve just done your business in one go, you know.

Goku: Eh? But I went just once.

Gojyo: Hah? Then whose footsteps was it then?

Sanzo: Tch. Oi Goku, get me a pack of cigarettes!

Goku: Okay. Cigarettes, cigarettes.... (rummages in the storage behind) Hmm?

Hakkai: What’s the matter, Goku?

Goku: Hey, who put this doll in here?

Gojyo: Ah! It’s that doll!

Sanzo: Isn’t it the French doll?

Hakkai: It’s from the house we just left, isn’t it? There's no doubt about it, considering the rarity of such a work of art. By the way, I was not the one who put it on Jeep.

Goku: Me neither. Gojyo’s awfully scared of it, so it can’t be him either.

Hakkai: Then, was it Sanzo?

Sanzo: Why would I do that?

Hakkai: Indeed, why would you. In that case, then....

Gojyo: Eh? Then what? Are you saying that this thing followed us of its own accord? That’s impossible!

Goku: Could it be that the footsteps you heard in the middle of night....

Sanzo: That’s a plausible explanation.

Gojyo: Oi, oi, oi, oi, oi, oi!

Goku (jiggles the doll before Gojyo): “Don’t leave me behind!”

Gojyo: Stupid monkey! Don’t get that thing near me! (struggles to get away from Goku and the doll)

Hakkai (losing control of Jeep): Gojyo!

Sanzo: Oi! Stop struggling!

Gojyo: It’s not me! It’s the monkey!

Goku: I was just getting you acquainted with it for a bit. Here, here!

Gojyo: Didn’t I tell you to get it away from me, stupid monkey?

Goku: “Aw, how heartless of you!”

Gojyo: This blasted monkey! Getting carried away like that! Stop it already with that girly act!

Goku: “Come on–”

Hakkai: Please stop it, the two of you. Even under normal circumstances, this is the kind of road on which it’s easy to lose control of one’s vehicle.

Sanzo: Cut it out! Do you two want to get killed that badly?

Hakkai: Sanzo! If you stand up in this situation–

Sanzo: Mmmp!

Goku: Ah. Sanzo fell off.

Gojyo: Crap.

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(Round brackets): actions and sound effects. [Square brackets]: translator’s notes. Double asterisks **: Stuff I am not sure with. Suggestions for improvements and corrections are more than welcome.

#最遊記 #saiyuki drama cd #saiyuki #translation #cho hakkai #sha gojyo #genjo sanzo #son goku

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struungout · 1 year

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Story Universes

The first thing I’ll say about all this is that I do not have any of these stories actually written down and posted anywhere, so don’t ask me where you can read them. ;P They used to be all based in the roleplays I used to participate in with my former best friend, but since we’re not associating anymore and I have no drive to try opening myself to RPing with anyone else again, all this is just from my own personal daydreaming and whatnot.

While I’ve been tempted now and again to get some of these stories written out, I just don’t have the drive to deal with the writing process.

Anyway, this is a quick little list of the universes the characters most of my dolls represent exist in.

Ghosts & Things

It’s Yu Yu Hakusho meshed with Mob Psycho 100 primarily. Some references to characters from Bleach as well. Basically, if it’s an anime that deals in supernatural elements, it’s probably gonna be referenced in this universe…but it’s mostly YYH and MP100 because they’re the best ones.

Half the story revolves around my character Riyo as she exists in the YYH storyline, and then goes onward to hers and the boys’ lives as adults and parents into the MP100 storyline (which then centers more around Sachi; Riyo and Hiei’s daughter).

Bright Idea

This universe is basically a big amalgamation of a variety of series (primarily anime/manga) into one universe and the story is generally centered around my own characters (Naoko, Jin-ho, Nori, Amaya, etc). It’s generally pretty much a slice-of-life type of storyline with a lot of interpersonal relationship drama and whatnot. It primarily kicks off from when Naoko and Jin-ho are high schoolers and follows them through the creation of their band and on into their musical careers in their 20s and 30s.

Series involved in this universe include (but hardly limited to): Gravitation, NANA, My Hero Academia, Fruits Basket, BNA, DNAngel, Final Fantasy XV.

Tokyo Ghoul

I basically just follow along with the plot of the manga series, but with the addition of my own characters (Leyla, Capria, and Michelle) and the later part of the story changes up a bit with their presence.

Mass Effect

It’s just the original trilogy, but what if Shepard could smooch Joker. xD

Devil May Cry

Another “it’s just the games, but…”, and in this case it’s what if we knew who Nero’s mom was and it was my character Qianna?

(For future reference and in case I forget to update this later on, this description was written when we’d only gotten up to the 5th game out so we don’t officially know who Vergil fucked bahaha.)

Mononoke

Medicine Seller’s hijinks in the modern world, which includes running into my girl Amelia from time to time and seeing how their friendship progresses.

Arcane

The Netflix series, but Amelia gets to smooch Silco and then later on Viktor and she would die for Jinx because she’s chosen family.

The Witcher

What if Jaskier and Geralt had to put up with a second higher vampire in their adventures?

Final Fantasy VII

There’s yet another chick that thirsts after Cloud, but she thicc.

Cyberpunk 2077

Set in the story of the video game featuring my V (Vesper Sosa). Sometimes it keeps to the canon, but sometimes my imaginings include keeping Jackie Welles around.

Trigun

Set in either the manga version of the Trigun series, or the Trigun Stampede anime depending on my mood bahaha. Includes my CP2077 character Vesper (same design, but different character from CP2077) as a mercenary that ran with Knives until ideologies clashed and she crosses paths with Vash and crew now and again.

In this universe, Vesper is one of the first attempts at a plant-human hybrid (basically a prototype to Elendria), though in her case she wasn’t created and was human to begin with. In her case, she doesn’t have creation-esque abilities like Knives and Elendria, but her lifespan is much longer than the average human. Her reflexes and senses are also quicker/more powerful than they were originally (particularly her sight). She isn’t able to directly communicate with Plants, but she does have a sense for how they’re feeling in the moment. Her cybernetics are from back when she was still on Earth (needed her vocal chords rebuilt as well as her hands due to an accident).

#singull’s dolls #my dolls: ghosts & things #my dolls: mass effect #my dolls: devil may cry #my dolls: arcane #my dolls: the witcher #my dolls: final fantasy vii #my dolls: mononoke #my dolls: bright idea #my dolls: tokyo ghoul #my dolls: trigun #my dolls: cyberpunk 2077

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yourtoradorasextendedwarranty · 1 year

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Shame

So here is a rough concept for me. Why the fuck are we telling people to be ashamed of their biological sex? No really I don’t get it. Why the ever loving shit does EVERYONE have to be trans?

I’m honestly concerned about it. Since when have men and women had to be always feminine or always masculine? We are quite literally telling people to be ashamed of their bodies all the time and promoting that very idea that if you are uncomfortable with your body EVER you are magically trans. Except here is an idea. Maybe learn science and psychology. Because if you did, you’d realize that more or less everyone experiences body dysphoria as they grow up. And if left along to live with it, and not just pushed to believe they are in the wrong body, they would grow out of it.

And frankly it bothers the hell out of me because we are teaching today’s youth to mutilated themselves. Both physically and chemically. And for what? Because if you don’t act “manly” enough you’re somehow a woman and if you don’t feel feminine all the time your either a woman or nothing at all. What is the point of it? It’s this really strange concept where we are telling 14y/o boys and girls to cut off body parts and chemically castrate themselves. There’s even been cases of girls coming out while detransitioning (while still a teen and after top surgery) asking if their breasts will grow back. If that’s not a wake up call for some of you it should be. It was a wake up call to me when I saw a friend of mine say they were going to grow a “t penis” as an autistic woman who wants to be a man who loves their “bottom bits” but hates the top. But also, wants to “grow a penis using t”. People don’t realize what all T does to you, the same way most people don’t know what Estrogen does to a male body. And you don’t GROW a penis. It’s not fucking magic. The clitoris might get a little bigger but it isn’t a penis. And you might gain muscle mass sure but you might also swell up like a balloon and develop hair loss. Meanwhile growing hair on your ass and back. Which is uncomfortable as FUCK. Ask any guy that deals with it. Because men tend to hate that about themselves. Especially strait men that have to deal with women that hate body hair. Who call it gross.

Moreover, I don’t agree with the general modern trans sentiment. “Oh well you act more like a boy, maybe you're a boy. Oh well don’t rush just ya know, cut your hair. OH IT LOOKS SO GREAT! SEE you look good as a boy. OH NO I’m not pushing you into it. I’m just saying don’t you hate parts of your body. It’s normal for trans people to have body hate. CLEARLY you are a boy”. It’s indoctrination. Plain and simple. Stop teaching men and women to hate their bodies. Stop telling men and women to have surgeries when they don’t need them. I’m sick of all of this. And stop saying “You can’t convince a cis person to be trans because it doesn’t work”. Because that’s dishonest as fuck. You can actually. More over when you do it from a super young age and EVERYONE affirms it. Right up until it doesn’t catch anymore then all the activists are nowhere to be found. Because once they have outlived their “ally” usefulness you abandon them. Right up until they speak out about falling through the cracks, or being fast tracked through the process. Then you just call them bigots, transphobes or traitors. And all the family and friends who ACTUALLY cared about them and might have warned them, are left to pick up the pieces. Assuming that they didn’t burn those bridges when they were in the process. Then they have to live however they ended up after the hormones. Even if it destroys their bodies.

More than that though. Stop hyper enforcing gender norms. Let a girl BE a girl and wear jeans. Let her have a pixie cut and still be feminine. Let a man wear a dress if he REALLY WANTS TO and still be a man. And stop trying to convince CHILDREN to transition or that they are trans. You are no better than sexual groomers. And certainly no better than people that turn their children into drag queens that strip in gay bars in front of grown men, Fake doing coke, and hanging on the leg of a naked man JUST because he’s a drag queen. I hate so much about modern “norms” because they are not normal. They are bastardizations of normal being used to harm people. Frankly speaking I’m done with it. If a person is trans they can be trans I don’t give a damn. But they should go through the therapy first for years. And if they therapist or a doctor tries to fast track them, they need to be fired and have any license or certifications removed. End of story.

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solardick · 5 days

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Здравствуйте versus привет.

Hello versus hi.

Formal versus informal.

Subject’s birth point on “classical/modern” Waite’s version of the high priestess versus my own variant. The bearer of language and structure.

“Formal” english is a meek point. It barely exists anymore. The more formal an english speaker is the queerer they sound.

May I? Versus. Can I? Proves the degeneration of language. Which isn’t a far off shoot considering the vast amount of imaginative corrections needed to be made between spelling and pronunciation, it comes built it. And predisposes the mass to live an untrue nature. If i worded all that the way i intented. A Bow’s bow. Cant tell the difference between what word means what the contextual fails to the bias.

Yeah. It must be Santa clause. Definitely.

Truth is here. One may easily change the devil card for satan. Uh, i mean santa.

Clause

The russian’s dont technically have a Santa. Its soemthing else. Which serves as a near point.

Its makes the man’s job alot easier considering he doesnt have to fly over and deliver presents to the largest country in the world.

But on track. The high priestess of waites variety, makes a luke warm connection to the biblical holy church of king David or who ever. Part of the old testement. Ehich is primarily the school of gard knocks. Without saying the BJ on the pillars are suppose to represent boaz and joaz or whatever. Like anyone cares. But, those familiar witb the tarot cards would agree. That thise pillars stand for the magician and the chariot. Too bad though that BJ stands for something completely different on the perverted side of society. No one is going to make a connection to the church based on a BJ.

Its the tora or rota. Or whatever BS. The circle of “life” go around and come around the BJ. Getting sick of it yet. Well too bad.

Curiosity abound. What is the difference between C, see and sea? How to spell the letter C? Speaking of meekness. I beleive this is here.

Wholy mother of mary. Damned girl. Dont stop now.

But, oh well, my ass is going to keep me up all night again. I don’t want to be alive anymore. Right in the “erogenous” zone. Never goes away. Always gassy. Always sensitive. Always swollen.i dotn think im going to work again inwamt a fucken ciggarette. Diet doens tfuxken matter. Just life fucken with me since my first memeory.nothing to learn except being raped by existance. Doems tmatter if im an asshole or a savoir. Its always the same. Welcome to life man. Here a staircase. Push. Been that way ever since. For experience. Im hoing start smoking again pop a couple pills maybe ill sleep. And no one to talk to excspt degenerates criminals, foreigners that dont speak english and fags. The only thing i did different today was buy a couple snokes off some fucken cocksucker asshole that talks crap all the time. Like most of them. Probaly drugging me again as usual. Been beeing drugged since forever. Its apart of their warcraft. Been super nice to me today too. Even offered coffee. But fuck you. Last time its fucked me up. Side wffect aof the pills the guesswork doctors gave me. Are. No operating machinery and Psychosis.

Suicide is the only sin god doesnt forgive. No fuck cause you fucken dead. Wait another half hour see if the pills work and if not. Save the rest for when i get wasted and hang myself. Being muscle relaxants or some shit. The fuck if i know. Back to

Tv.

Pills worked. Mostly. Just felt warm. And now my vission is a little blurry. Doubled the dose he gave me. So 20ml is just a little too little. Last time i took a dose he gave me. It didnt do anything. I dont want ot go to work anymore. I want ot go bsck to being wnemployed and and suicidal. Less stress that way.

Oh well guess ill never know what it feels like not being abused.

Oh gid sent me a rabbit. Still dont knwo what thise mean. A croh flew past earlier.

Want people to quit smoking? How about you make them illegal and stop fucken manufacturing thr fucken things. Maybe we do need a fucken dictatorship. Anout the jobs the jobs. Fuck the job hiw many fucken immagrant do y’all invite over here and they go straight to welfare. Fuck your bs.

I fucken hate this continent. I can eat an wntire large bag of doritos and have no symtoms. Had chicken and homey yestweday. No symptoms. Had so again the next day. Was up all night. . If its at the end of the GI track. Then it can take up to 36 hours to reach that point. But apparently it can take on 15 mins to 4 hours. At leat i grt my proteins worth with a litter of yogurt everyday.

So i checked my hororscope for my birthday next year. Spyche return. And eros. Pluto sqaure pluto. Neptune sayrts in aries. Mean. Wonder if its a comming out celebration. Oh, there goes a croh. Ita ganna be a shitty day

Anyway. Excuse the insanity and despair. So for the rabbit portent. Or omen. It’s attached to lost and found. Easter bunny. This coupled to the crohs. Lost ans found something negative. But also dor the positive. For the rabbit. Seems to be. A neutral character. But, this is going off a single happening. And will need to be looked into to see if it’s a constant. Like that of the croh.

…uh. He told me his name was BJ.

I cant do it man. I cant look at an image of a woman with nig bold letters saying B J and keep a straight face.

Though inget it. It was definatally a magician chariot converstion. Empowering and all. Can’t say that it didn’t wake me a bit. Even though ive heard it all before. My own priestess. Has innocense written all over her. With a power of a logos looking over her. The magician to the empress or the emperor. As number 4. Nature and rule. Its akin to my gamma card being connected to the star. But i dont like callingnit the star. Its misleading. As there is no wish. Its retirbution. Because the falling star as it is sometimes depicted as. Is a moment to wish. A moment in the future to come. But asnit plays out. It is that moment of the future being breed from temperance. The eight pointed star is the connecting clue to the justice card. And is the calm and quiet of the night from upheaval and unease. It being a woman. Suits it perfectly.

As temperanve is a balancing of Accounts of something that shouldnt be. Waite’s version shits all over these connections. Replaces the eight pointed star connection to strength instead. Mother nature wrestling a lion roar to caressing it. Not my experience.

… ghost busters: frozen empire?

Is this to say that the summer is going to be mild and cool. As aquaman: the lost kingdom, was to the unnaturally warm winter? So, jo “intense heat this summer? The preview looked like some horrible acting. But ant-man. Isnt a greta actor anyway. Funny but. Not very good. I dont know if i should order books. I never read them. They just sit there. But i like having a library. University edition of english grammar. And the evolution of the russian language. Which is pricy. But, tarot books are inadequate and unreliable.

And what happened to my symptoms? Severe again last night. Popped a couple pills fell asleep. Instead of binging anime. Woke up the next morning and all but gone except for the very mild by comparison. Didn’t do anything different even ate a large bag of Doritos. The Polypropylene and thermoplastic resins are delicious.

Whichc must be why when people have a hard time saying something, or looking for the roght word. Most people will comenin a correct them or say “ja, i get ehat you mean.” But, i havent even pooped yet.

Erin on attack on titan finally found the ocean. The ocean and the perils within and withon. Not so different from the perils on the night. Which works as a star card. And the letter V the russian war machine placed upon their naval fleets.

Wow, women are particularly pretty today. Told you V stands for vagina.

What? They’re objects. Blame the english language.

But its monday now. Pains back. And why move away. Looks like the condition is permanent. And if i do. Ill just be forced out of where ever i land ahyway. Its a life theme. Been that way since my first memory. Seems to dissapear mostly on saterdays. I get born, tied to a higjlt toxic relationship to some plutonic fucken cocksycker that treats me like shit. Enjoying the feeling of superiority over me. Litterally. And i get tossed around from place to place for ither peoples convinience. 39 years and counting nothings changed and it has nothing to do with me. . The entire fucken plabet may burn. And i font give a fuck.

#tarot #tarotblr #qwerty #jcuzen #russian #english

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twilightguardian · 1 year

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X-Men Comic Journey/Fake Geek Reads Comics

Issues 1-10 (November 10th 1963-March 10th, 1965)

I don’t know why I’m doing this.

Well, I do. I’m a fake geek girl and I need to not be fake shit anymore. But I don’t know why I started now when for years I’ve been thinking of getting into comics and just never have. But when I get into something, I go hard. I doubt that it’s really novel or unheard of to have read the old issues or whatever. I suppose I wanted to document my journey as I go along. Voice my thoughts.

Also hey, it took them a whole year to even get 8 issues out. Now I don’t feel quite as bad for my own comic’s lack of progress!

I’ve been a fan of the X-Men since I was little, having a kid’s channel continuously on or flipping between the channels and would occasionally catch the 90′s X-Men cartoon. Rogue (hated Gambit, she was too good for him in my mind) was my favourite character, but I also liked Cyclops. I also have fond memories of X-Men Evolution and the live action movies. But I only ever consumed visual media of the series, and for a long time knew that the comics ran much longer. I heard tales of the kinds of storylines going on in them, how crazy they got and how you pretty much have to follow the series to understand them. Why not start at the beginning?

I had already watched Atop the Fourth Wall’s episode of the first 1963 issue, but I read it anyways and it’s... interesting.

From the first few pages I can already tell there’s going to be some growing pains for me; things I need to get used to. I grew up primarily reading manga, you see. It’s pretty minimalist most of the time with the dialogue barring certain exposition or explanations, and a lot of the time the art is flowing. The words keep to itself, for the most part, allowing the pictures to tell the story. Of course, that’s modern manga to 50-year-old American comic books. Still, this is the kind of cultural shift I have to deal with.

We meet the main cast of characters. Professor X, Iceman, Beast, THE Angel, and Cyclops, also known as Charles Xavier, Bobby Drake, Hank McCoy, Warren Worthington the Third (I’m sorry for your name dude), and... Slim? Summers. Wow, okay. So these characters aren’t quite who I know them as, for sure. Especially poor Hank.

Hank looks relatively normal, which is something I’m not used to since I’m more naturalized to his more blue, fuzzy appearance. Really, the only thing different about him is his large Hobbit feet and thick, stout build. His intellect is missing and while being rather polite overall, still gives off a sense of brutishness likely reminiscent of a gorilla.

Scott isn’t really a thing. Instead, he’s referred to as Slim, and he jokes around with the other three.

Bobby is supposed to be a younger teenager, while it’s presumed that the others are older. He has no interest in gazing at the new recruit, Jean Gray. Apparently these days Bobby is gay in the comics, though I doubt that’s the actual explanation in the first issue and not just... showing the general teenage immaturity of this otherwise 30-year-old looking cartoon doodle. His immaturity is further elaborated on both in dialogue several times and his general demeanor. He’s also depicted as just some human-shaped mass of loose snow.

None of them really have any defined personality to speak of. They’re all rough-housy boys who (aside from the child) all topple over each other for the new (female) recruit to pay them notice.

Jean herself is what I’d expect for a female character written in the day. Generic pretty and someone whom all the menfolk get stupid about and into fashion. Also, her powers are made so that she doesn’t have to do physical activity because that’s unladylike.

This is also the first appearance of Magneto and whoo-boy. He’s nothing but your typical moustache-twirling villain. Ouch. He doesn’t so much hate humans because they’re dicks, but more he’s the dick who thinks that evolution is a step-laddar and humanity is the old thing that needs to make way for the new hotness known as “superior”. Because that’s not pretentious or anything.

It’s kind of eye-rolling if you even have any passing actual knowledge of evolution. Personally, I wouldn’t treat humans as a separate species, but I mention this because I know this is a running theme to this day. Creatures are classified as separate species when they are no longer to produce viable offspring with each other. The genetic differences become so great, the genes can no longer intermingle. It’s like saying your child has autism, or they were born with red hair while yours and your husbands’ hair is blonde. They’re suddenly a different species of human being!

Magneto is just fucking racist and so far in the comic there’s literally no reason for it other than he’s an evil dick. Especially not when, as we see, there’s a rather Fantastic Four-ish feel to the X-Men. They’re ‘public figures’ as a superhero group. They’re also rather well liked. The whole mutant persecution thing actually doesn’t even show hints of showing up until at least issue 5.

Whenever I talk about this, I get a lot of apologetics, which frustrates the hell out of me. ‘Oh, it’s the 60′s, what do you expect?’

I expect a modern-day grasp of how writing and storytelling works. I don’t care that silly things like the gang having a Journey to the Center of the Earth episodic moment. I don’t care that they have prat falls and their actual fight scenes are lacklustre and boring. I’m talking about consistency and other quite basic writing things that just aren’t there. Writing didn’t get perfected in the 21st century or even 20 years later. I am reading a comic from the 60′s. I’m expecting a bit of silliness. I expect also at least some decent storytelling and not... making shit up on the fly.

#xmen #x-men #marvel #comics #well I wrote this in 2017 and never continued it because I got distracted #so I guess here have my ramblings about my first experience with the 60's comics #I read a lot further than what I wrote about #I'm not changing anything because I don't remember context

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deepestfancloud · 2 years

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The Priest Part 1

Pairing: Drew Starkey x Reader. Reading from his POV.

Author’s note/ Summery: There are many rules a priest can’t break. A priest cannot marry. A priest cannot abandon his flock. A priest cannot harm the sacred trust his parish has put in him. Rules that seem obvious. Rules that I remember as I knot my cincture. Rules that I vow to live by as I pull on my chasuble and adjust my stole. I’ve always been good at following rules. Until Y/N came. Several months ago, I broke my vow of celibacy on the altar of my own church, and God help me, I would do it again. I am a priest and this is my confession.

Warning: Dirty talk in the church. Y/N being a filthy girl and making Father Starkey hard while confessing her sins.

Someone cleared their throat. A woman.

“I, uh. I’ve never done this before.” Her voice was low and beguiling, the aural rendering of moonlight.

“Ah.” I smiled. “A newbie.”

That earned me a small laugh. “Yes, I guess I am. I’ve only ever seen this in the movies. Is this where I say, ‘Forgive me Father, for I have sinned?’”

“Close. First, we make the sign of the cross. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit…” I could hear her echoing the words with me. “Now you tell me how long it’s been since your last confession, which was—”

“Never,” she finished for me.

She sounded young, but not too young. My age, if not a little younger. And her voice carried the accent-less rush of the city, not the leisurely twang I sometimes heard out here. “I, um. I saw the church while I was at the winery across the street. And I wanted to—well, I have some things that are bothering me. I’ve never been particularly religious, but I thought maybe…” She trailed off for a minute and then abruptly inhaled. “This was stupid. I should go.” I heard her stand.

“Stop,” I said and then was shocked at myself. I never gave orders like that. Well, not anymore.

Focus.

She sat, and I could hear her fidgeting with her purse.

“You aren’t stupid,” I said, my voice gentler. “This isn’t a contract. This isn’t you promising to come to Mass every week for the rest of your life. This is a moment that you can be heard. By me…by God…maybe even by yourself. You came in here because you were looking for that moment, and I can give it to you. So please. Stay.”

She took a breath. I waited.

“I never meant to end up at the club,” she finally said, her voice going low. “I thought maybe I’d find a small nonprofit to work at or maybe I’d do something prosaic, like waiting tables. But I heard from a bartender that there was a club hidden somewhere in this city—private, exclusive, discreet. And they were looking for girls. Girls who looked expensive.”

“Girls like you?”

Y/N wasn’t offended. She laughed that throaty laugh, the laugh that kindled a low heat in my belly every time I heard it. “Yes, girls like me. WASP-y girls. The kind that rich people like. And you know what? It was perfect. I got to dance—I hadn’t danced anywhere other than a gala for so long. It was, all told, a fairly classy place. A mandatory $500 coat check. $750 for a table, $1000 for a private dance. No patron-initiated touching. A two-drink maximum. It catered to a very specific clientele, and so I found myself stripping for the same men who would have employed me, married me, donated to my pet charities, in another life. I loved it.”

“You loved it?”

Filthy girl.

The thought came out of nowhere, unbidden but refusing to leave, whispering itself over and over again in my mind. Dirty, filthy girl.

She turned those hazel eyes back to me. “Is that wrong? Is that a sin? No, don’t answer, I don’t really want to know.”

“Why did you like it?” I was asking merely out of a counselor’s curiosity, of course. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Why would I mind? “She adjusted herself, the shorts exposing more of those firm legs. Dancer’s legs. “I liked how it felt. Having men watch me with hooded eyes, wanting me and only me—not my education or my pedigree or my family’s connections. But even more than that, on this raw, primal level, I loved the way the men responded to my body. I loved that I made them hard.”

I loved that I made them hard.

I nearly choked, my mind fracturing into twin minds—one determined to see this meeting through with grace and compassion and the other determined to let her know how hard she made me.

She was oblivious to my internal struggle. “I loved that they would become almost wild with the need to touch me, so wild that they would offer me astounding sums of money to come home with them, to leave the club and become their mistress. But I never accepted. Even though many of them were handsome, even though I wasn’t in a place where I could pretend money was no object. But something about it was antithetical to my very nature, and I couldn’t imagine accepting any of those offers. Isn’t that a ridiculous notion? A stripper insisting on preserving her virtue?”

She didn’t seem to expect an answer and kept going. “The sad thing was that I was actually starved for sex while I was turning down all these offers. I’m sure you know the feeling, Father, like the slightest breeze is enough to send you over the edge, like your skin itself is combustible.”

God, did I know that feeling. I was feeling it right now. I offered her a weak smile, which she returned.

“I was so combustible, Father Starkey. I would get wet watching the men stroking themselves through their custom-tailored trousers. In the private rooms, I’d pull my thong to the side and let them watch as I brought myself off. They liked that, they liked it when I teased myself and rubbed myself and rode my hand until I shuddered and sighed.”

I realized my hands were gripping the arms of the chair very hard now, and I tried to flush out all the images her words were conjuring, but I couldn’t and she continued on, oblivious to my sudden discomfort, innocently secure in the mistaken notion that I was simply an input for information, an output for advice, and not a twenty-eight-year-old man.

“But it wasn’t the same, getting myself off,” she said. “I wanted to be fucked, fucked and used. I wanted to be filled with someone’s dick, I wanted to have fingers in my mouth and in my cunt. In my ass.” She took a breath.

I, on the other hand, couldn’t breathe.

“What’s that sin called? I know it has to be one. Is it just lust…or is it something worse? What kind of prayer should I pray for that one? And what if I don’t feel bad about what I’ve done, the things I wanted to do? Even now, even after what happened last month, I still want it. I still feel lonely, I still want to be fucked. Which is confusing as hell because I have no idea about anything else I want out of my life.”

Despite everything, I still wanted to respond to her last sentence, the ultimate motivation for her being here in this office. I wanted to take her hand and give her soft intimations of wisdom, but fuck, nothing about me was soft right now.

Her words.

Her fucking words.

It had been bad enough listening to her talk about working at that club, but then when she’d described touching herself, coaxing her pussy into orgasm, and I had imagined myself as one of those hungry businessman watching it, offering everything in my wallet just to see that glistening cunt pulse with pleasure. I bet I could see it now if I wanted. I could stand her against the wall and yank down those shorts, kick her legs open so that she would be exposed to me…

There was no earthly way I could last another minute in this meeting.

God must have heard my unspoken prayer because her phone chimed then, a businesslike little tone, and she fished it out of her bag. “I’m so sorry,” she mouthed as she answered the call.

I indicated that it was okay, trying to solve the bigger problem of how to stand up without revealing what her words had done to me.

She ended the call quickly. “I’m sorry,” she apologized again. “Some work stuff has come up and—”

I held up a hand. “Don’t worry about it. I have a parish meeting coming up soon anyway.” That was a lie. The only meeting that was about to happen was between my hand and my dick. But probably not good form to tell a hopeful convert that. (I made a mental note to ask forgiveness for that lie as well as what I was about to do.)

“I, ah, I hope to see you soon though.”

She gave me a gorgeous smile as she stood and grabbed her bag. “Me too. Bye, Father.”

I couldn’t even wait until I was sure she was out of the church. As soon as Y/N left, I got up and locked the door, taking the time only to move over to my desk so I could brace one hand on the surface as I fumbled with my belt.

There wasn’t time to feel guilty or question my motives or for anything remotely resembling thought. I didn’t even pull my slacks down any farther than it took to free my dick, and then I was jacking myself hard and fast, nothing in my mind but release.

I tried to think of someone else—anyone else—other than the woman who had come to me seeking God’s forgiveness and reassurance. But my mind kept wandering back to her, imagining her at the club, but moving for me and only for me, pulling her thong aside to show me the thing I most wanted.

Christ help me.

I felt it building, taut electricity in my pelvis, and I was thrusting into my hand now, wishing I was fucking Y/N —her mouth or her cunt or her ass, I didn’t care—and then I shot all over my desk, pulsing and spurting and imagining that each and every drop of myself was being spilled onto her skin.

My hand stilled and my breathing slowed and reality came crashing back down. Here I was, dick in hand, cum all over my liturgical desk calendar, and a picture of St. Augustine looking at me reproachfully from the wall.

Shit.

Numb, I zipped up my jeans and tore off the top sheet of the calendar and threw it away, the crinkling of the thick paper loud and almost accusatory, and fuck, what the hell had I done?

I sat in the chair and stared at St. Augustine.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what it’s like,” I mumbled. I braced my elbows on the desk and ground the heels of my palms into my eyes.

Y/N was not going to go away. She lived here. She was going to come back, and I had no doubt that we’d only scratched the surface of her “carnal” confessions. And I would have to listen to it without getting aroused like a teenage boy. More than listen, I would have to respond with grace and empathy and compassion when all I would be able to think about was that mouth.

Stars were now dancing behind my eyelids but I didn’t move my hands. I didn’t want to see this office right now or St. Augustine. I didn’t want to see the newly ragged edges of my calendar or my newly filled wastebasket.

I wanted to pray in complete darkness. I wanted nothing in between my thoughts and God, in between this woman and my vocation. I wanted everything but my sin and these starbursts in my eyes stripped away.

I’m sorry, I prayed. I’m so sorry.

I was sorry that I’d betrayed the trust of one of God’s flock. I was sorry that I’d betrayed the holiness of this place and this vocation by lusting after someone seeking solace and guidance. I was sorry that I hadn’t even controlled my desire long enough to step into a cold shower or go for a run or any of the other tricks I’d learned over the past three years to stifle my urges.

Mostly…

Mostly, I’m sorry that I’m not sorry.

Dammit, I wasn’t sorry at all.

#drew #drew starkey #Outer Banks #rafe x you #outer banks imagine #rafe #rafe fic #rafe imagine #rafe x reader #rafe smut #rafe cameron #rafe cameron outer banks #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #obx smut

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neopuppy · 3 years

Text

Dive Into You: Part 4.(M)

Preview: “What brings you into confession today?”

Pastor Lee’s voice sounds through the small wooden booth around you. Uncomfortably shifting in your seat when the reality of confessing your sins to the one who brought them into this world settles.

“Pastor… what does the bible say about pre-marital sex with two brothers?”

“At the same time?!” Pastor Lee spits out abruptly, gagging on his words.

“Separately Pastor!”

Pairing: brothers Jeno/Haechan x female reader

Word Count: 4k

Genre: pwp, church boys AU, smut, love triangle, brothers nohyuck, a little angsty

Warning: sacrilegious themes, explicit language, master manipulator Haechan, innocent Jeno, corruption, cheating, religious innuendos

Smut Warning: dry humping, fingering, in public setting

Intro—>

Part 1–>

Part 2–>

Part 3–>

“Oh my gosh goodness, that woman is old enough to be his mother!” Your mother gasps, hand over her chest. Haechan strutting into mass with, quite frankly a woman old enough to be his mother. Scantily clad in a tight skimpy hardly there dress. Arm securely draped around her waist. Your jaw falls open following where he leads her into a pew. Both Mark and Jeno sharing looks, back and forth between you and Haechan. Mumbling whispers erupting throughout the crowd of church-goer’s gathered.

“Isn’t that woman just a bit too mature for Pastor Lee’s son?” A voice behind you whispers. Conversations sparking around faster. Pastor Lee awestruck at the podium, slack jawed similar to you and others questioning what Haechan is doing. Your mother scoffing eavesdropping in on everyone muffling their words.

“That is just disappointing. Such a promising young man, wasting his time with an old whore like that.” She lets out a sound in dismay. Never noticing how you hide your face behind the scripture for today's mass. If you muted everyone's speaking enough, sure enough, you’d be able to hear your heartbreaking this very moment. Blinking away hot tears threatening to pass over the rims of your eyes.

Your mother may have not noticed, but that didn’t mean the altar boys missed the way you sunk into your seat. Sadness taking over your features as Haechan relaxed in the pew across from you. Arm around this woman’s shoulders, large smirk displayed. Jeno and Mark gave you many warnings, too many. Your stubborn fault for not listening…always insisting to do things your way. Maybe this was how life worked? How could you have expected a guy like Haechan to want you for more than sex?

Your eyes lift to the ominous cross hung above the altar where you let Haechan commit sin with your body. This church becoming more like a place to drag your mind through hell than anything. Ah, but what was really the point in letting yourself get upset over this? He used you, like some brainless naive idiot you danced along to the pied pipers fiddle.

With a few rapid blinks you return to stare at the floor until this dragging mass ends. Catching Jeno’s gaze before you land on the dirty brown itchy carpet. His lips part open, surprised when your eyes lock on each other. The question passing through his mind all too obvious in his stare. A silent ‘are you ok?’ that you didn’t even deserve from him.. Forcing a smile, your eyes end on the floor, defeated. What if Jeno was the angel on your shoulder that you turned a muted ear to? Turning the volume up for the devil on your other side. Consequences, that’s what the bible was all about wasn’t it? Learning your lesson and living with the aftermath.

Eve bit into the apple of temptation, you were no different.

——————————————————————————

“Father Lee insisted we provide fruit along with baked goods. Health is wealth!” Your mother slaps an apple in your palm. Turning to greet approaching bodies with a shining bright small. Like a wire hanger was propped in her mouth.

“Watermelon! My favorite!” Mark’s brows wiggle, picking up a plate of vibrant fruit. “The fruit of salvation. You know fruit represents, pleasures.. overindulgence, temptation.”

Mark holds up a slice of bright red watermelon. Pale light in the bible room dimming it’s flavorful beauty. Admiring it as if it’s the best thing in the world. He takes a large bite, avoiding seeds. Juice spilling down his chin, speaking between chews- “Can’t always agree with the bible I guess.”

“That’s shocking coming from you..” you look at the apple in hand. Thumb rubbing over a bruise developed on the red yellow coating.

“Nothings perfect right? Only God is perfect. Look at that apple, bruised but still serves a purpose. Sort of like us, we have our flaws but we’re doing our best.” Mark shrugs, devouring the rest of his watermelon.

“You’re pretty logical when you’re not quoting Samael 6:66 all the time.” You smile, earning the jaw drop from Mark as expected.

“Now that is just blasphemous, you little harlot!” Mark scoffs. Damn finger waving about in front of your nose. “Jesus said..”

“Save the quote, I’m not seeing the gates of heaven anytime soon.” You quietly interrupt Mark. Setting down the apple with the other fruits. Some more pristine then others, none perfect. How could perfection be defined anyway..

“I’m pretty sure my invitation to the sky above got revoked years ago.” Perfection spoke up. Jeno standing by, catching the tail end of your conversation. Hands shoved into the pockets of his tight black jeans. Form hugging black t-shirt tucked in. Defined trimmed waist leading down to sculpted long legs. Physique of a God if you’d ever seen one.

“Gods for sure not the only perfect being..” you mumble under your breath. Mark and Jeno’s eyes both lifting to you curiously. Smiling, shrugging off a response. “Well I’m sure you redeemed yourself with all that bible camp stuff. God loves shit like that.”

“Does he now?” Jeno’s arms cross over his chest. Forehead wrinkling in surprise. Mark muttering into another bite of fruit how you needed to stop cursing all the time.

“He doesn’t communicate with me, but I’d imagi-…” Haechan’s loud laughter cuts your speech off. Entering the room with that woman old enough to be his mother. Pulling them closer to the table filled with coffee, pastries, fruits. Shifting side to side anxiously as they near, stomach bubbling in.. embarrassment? Was it because Mark and Jeno knew?..or could at least assume very well.

“Aw nono, you already changed out of your cute little altar boy get up? Wanted to introduce my girl to my cute innocent little brother. Now you just look like hot topic threw up on you or something.” Haechan pokes at Jeno. Smirk plastered across his face. Jeno’s ‘fuck off’ reply coming in like garbled words.

My girl?! My girl? All of a fucking sudden? Hag. Haechan wasn’t even sparing you a glance. If he was trying to make it clear there was nothing between the two of you- he didn’t need to try much harder. Accepting the situation the best to your abilities or not wasn’t going to stop the rush of tears attempting to streak down your face. A quick spin had you racing out of the church, Jeno’s neck snapping catching sight of your back exiting.

“You’re such a dick Haechan.” Shoving past his older brother, Jeno pushes past a few bodies. Running out of church behind you.

“I didn’t watch the porn because there was a watermelon in it…BUT there was a watermelon in it…” Mark’s eyes lift expecting to see you and Jeno. Too engrossed in his favorite snack. Haechan staring at him dumb founded.

“This is exactly why I don’t believe in God.” Haechan’s head shakes, teeth clicking. Nudging the woman at his side to agree with him. “He’s my distant cousin. Emphasis on distant.”

——————————————————————————-

“Hey! Wait up!” Jeno catches up to you easily. Long legs sprinting out faster than you were moving. Hand wrapping around your arm, revealing your wet tear stained face with a turn. His face instantly falling, chest moving up and down returning to a regular breathing pace.

“It’s ok..” hands lift covering your face. You should be accustomed to this sensation of embarrassment by now. Hunching in, sobbing harder the more it settles in. Humiliating deeper because it wasn’t some secret you could live with. Jeno knew exactly how easily you walked into his brothers trap.

His hands shook, staying still in the air near your head. Internally resisting the immediate urge to comfort you. Arms dropping, hands flopping down by his sides. Lips pursing annoyed he couldn’t bring himself to even touch you. The fact was- you weren’t interested in him. You were another broken girl, crying at his feet over Haechan. Ignoring the stinging pain in his chest, from watching you break down. From knowing why you were in such pain. Who knew either way, Jeno wasn’t going to admit it.

“I can.. take you home..”

His delicate rasp reaches your ears past muffled cries. Pouting, rubbing your palms across wet heated cheeks. Reminding yourself in the back of your mind how you probably looked like shit. The last way you’d prefer for Jeno to see you, not that it mattered.

“Don’t wanna go home..” you sigh into your hands, shoulders shaking trying to control yourself. “Dad’s home..”

Jeno looks around, eyes falling on his bike under a large tree. Shaded from the bright daytime sun. Mouth lifting to one side, he could take you to the diner? The book shop was closed on Sundays to prioritize mass.. or maybe..

“I got a place..” Jeno pulls your wrist. Sad face reveal causing another type of tight clench in his chest. “Come with me.”

Gently leading you toward his bike, unclasping the helmets attached along the back. The memory of riding attached to his back still drawing impure thoughts to your mind. No idea who you even were anymore. Riding around on the back of an attractive boys motorcycle. Losing your virginity in church of all places.

Arms circling around his flat stomach. Jeno smelled nice, clean and fresh. Nothing too strong, your nose tempted to dive in with a deep inhale. Opting to rest your chin on his broad upper back where it dipped down the middle. Not bothering to question where he was going to take you, grateful he even cared.

He cared.

“What is this place?” You cautiously stepped forward. Looking down the ledge of the cliff Jeno had brought you to. Setting the helmets back on the bar attached at the end of his bike.

“I guess I come here to get away.” He shrugs, moving to stand by your side. “Small town, not many places to go. It’s hard when you’ve lived here all your life, everyone thinks they know you..”

“Yea..” guilt gnaws away at your gut. You were no different from everyone else. Like your mother looking at Jeno with preconceived notions, judgement. “It’s hard when you’re the town pastor’s son, I can only imagine..”

“Pft.. cause he’s so innocent. Somehow brain washed everyone into forgetting he cheated, knocked up my mom while still married to Haechan’s..”

“Oh…” scuffing your boots nervously against dirt. Sparing glances Jeno’s way. Chiseled jaw having you ready to swoon like some sad teenager passing her crush in the hallway. Mind so far away distracted, screaming at yourself that Jeno’s trying to have a deep conversation with you. “I didn’t uh…know that about your dad.”

“He just lucked out my mom didn’t tell anyone about the church intern fresh out of high school that she filed divorce papers over..” Jeno says, removing his jacket. Holding it open for you with a questioning look. Your eyes widen, immediately caving in a moment of weakness. Allowing him to drape the material around your shoulders. Fresh scent engulfing your sense of smell.

“You’re really.. nice Jeno. Considering everything, I have to admit I expected you to be more like Haechan..” you express, pulling the jacket around yourself tighter.

“We aren’t that different, growing up together will do that. Someone has to be the scapegoat, unfortunately it’s always me. Typical younger sibling syndrome right?” Jeno rubs his exposed arm, muscle tank revealing bits of tattoo. You nod to his words, unable to picture Jeno and Haechan getting along like two loving brothers.

“Your tattoo… your dad doesn’t know about it right?” You inquire, returning to topic back to Jeno. Ready to forget his brothers existence, at least for the time being.

“Oh yea..he’d probably ship me off to Jerusalem, peace core or some shit.” Jeno laughs, pushing the loose cut off sleeve up. Further exposing the evil creature blaring into your vision.

“Why a demon?”

“Why not right? I lost my faith in religion when my dad kept coming up with new excuses for why his sins were forgiven. God isn’t real anyway.” Jeno finishes. Eyes narrowing, expecting a reaction from you.

“I think you’re right actually..” you nod, softly smiling. Awestruck eyes staring into yours, satisfied. “..I should probably get home. Didn’t even tell my mom I was leaving. She’s gonna be so pissed..”

“Ah yea..can’t have that. She’s pretty intense huh?” Jeno scratches his throat anxiously. The voice in the back of his mind yelling at him to do something now. “..I’ll take you home.”

You take languid drawn out steps together. Tension surging between your bodies like electric shocks. Jeno reaching for his helmet. Fingers hesitating to open the clasp.

“Can I ask you something?” he looks away, teeth digging at his bottom lip. Was that nerves?

“Of course” you promptly respond, bouncing on your toes.

“If Haechan..hadn’t.. I don’t know, gotten to you first..” Jeno cringes. Focusing his eyes on the ground. Ending his curiosity there, struggling with his hope that you’d ever like him.

“What do you mean?” Your brows furrow, moving in, closing the space between your bodies. Jeno’s eyes meet yours, giving away the intent behind his question. “..you..why are you asking? You don’t..”

“It’s nothing, forget it.” Jeno’s head shakes, realization hitting you. Guys like Jeno never gave you the time of day..

“Would you have?” Boldly your hand lands on his, pulling fingers away from the helmet. Still wearing his jacket, could you be more oblivious?

“I wanted to..” those words are all it takes. Pushing up on your toes, lips smashing on his. Fever like heat raising your confidence to go for it. Jeno’s been good to you- the cold demeanor a cover up for how painfully shy you make him.

Hands find your hips, pressing you against the seat of his bike. Ass digging into the warm leather, jacket falling from your shoulders. Jeno kissing you back needy, full of desperation, loud breaths passing through his nose. Finger nails scraping the material of your dress, gathering the fabric up. Skin rubbing on the sun kissed bike under you. He presses in, tongue flicking out, asking for permission to enter. Fisting the cotton shirt on his chest in a wrinkled mess. Mouth parting so fast, too fast. Wet tongues eagerly meeting, rolling against the roof of your mouth.

Jeno’s groans are hot, raspy and deep. Affecting you quickly, sinking back on the bike when his hips roll between your thighs. Hard on tenting angrily in tight jeans. Grinding against your soaking core.

“God I..” Jeno mumbles on your lips, lapping spit across your mouth. His own pouting out cutely, blood tinted lips shining in outdoor light. “I really…whoa..fuck..”

“Jeno..” your arms lift, wrapping around his neck. Bringing your bodies together impossibly close. Pained moan trapped in his throat, thrusting in anguish. Craving to bend you over on his bike, slap your ass and fuck you until you can’t even remember his brothers name.

Jeno’s thumb shoves between your wet mouth, tongue swirling around. Groaning louder with another crushing thrust. Cock screaming for release, working up a faster speed. Demanding movements bouncing you on the bike. Eyes falling shut sucking at his thumb, picturing the length prodding at your walls sitting heavy in your mouth instead. Both of you growing needier with each dry hump against each other. Calves finding Jeno’s hips, lifting yourself up writhing against the hard fabric of his worn jeans.

“You feel so good..fuck..” Jeno captures your upper lip, sucking harshly. Hips growing furious, thigh muscles flexing tightly. Dragging sweet panted moans out of you, thumb opening your mouth. Saliva drooling past both of your lips messily, chins coated in each other.

“Please..” you whimper, pleading. Unsure what you could be begging for. Jeno nods reassuringly, gripping the back of your neck. Hand falling from your mouth, finding space between your legs. Drenched underwear shoved aside, sliding long fingers up and down. Catching your wetness, palm covered, landing loudly on your mound. Jeno finding your clit, pressing down hard. Surprised scream releasing from your chest. Tongue covering your exposed neck, nipping at dips.

“Can I?” Jeno’s fingers prod your opening up entrance. Head nodding rapidly, eyes wide. Gliding past your convulsing walls. Groaned curses repeating from his lips, finding way deep inside of you. Slender pretty hands working you to a heightened pleasure. Jeno continuously licking around your jaw, catching parted lips in bites. Hard enough to leave you a swelling pained mess, lips pursing out asking for more.

He lets your neck go, face dropping, forehead hitting his shoulder. Tattoo coming to life so close up, licking the expanse inked skin. Jeno grits his teeth, whimpering with squeezed eyes. Hand squeezing your hip, fingers jabbing in and out. Thumb circling your clit with expertise, nothing innocent in his touches.

He squirms on your thigh, member begging to fuck you open. Resisting to need for himself, fully focused on getting you off. Enjoying the way your eyes roll, tongue hung out letting your mind succumb to his touches.

Your hips jump up, wriggling into the thrusts of his fingers. Reaching far deep within, hitting every delicious spot. Lips landing together in a bruising sloppy kiss, muffling strained moans. Jeno’s thumb pressing down just right on your clit, precise fingers hitting where you need him in repeated motions. Trembling around him, walls gripping tightly. Jeno’s motions slowing down, letting the climax high wash over you. Softly tracing kisses atop your burning cheeks, staggering down to your neck. Soft nips turning into hard bites, leaving marks of himself behind.

“I..” Jeno’s forehead rolls over yours, skin dragging against his. Nose nudging gently at you, nerves still clouding his sense. Hard breaths landing on your face, eyes finding yours, mind returning back to you. “I want.. I like you.. I need…..I want..to take you out, like…date out...”

You nod a bit too excited, nose hitting his. Jeno’s stressed words making you clench up around his fingers yet again. Another pained groan blended into a sigh sounding around you. “I want that so bad Jeno.. I really want you.”

—————————————————————————-

“What brings you in to confession today?”

“Pastor… what does the bible say about pre-marital sex with two brothers?”

“At the same time?!” Pastor Lee spits out abruptly, gagging on his spit.

“Separately Pastor!” You shriek out. Fingers stopping your lips, wondering if Pastor would recognize your voice. It’s not as if you spent time speaking to each other much..

“Well..” Pastor Lee’s throat clears, adjusting the collar tightening around his neck. “That’s..good to hear. Are you planning to wed one of these men?”

“Wed?! Like marry?” Your forehead creases, thinking it over. It was way too early to even consider such a thing. “I’m not pregnant pastor!”

“That’s…that’s good news my child.” Pastor audibly swallows. Sweat gathering at his hairline. “You..wish to know what the bible has to say about this?

“Am I going to hell if I choose to…have intercourse with both of them? I’ve only slept with one..”

“Only?” The pastor sounds flabbergasted. Gulping down another loud breath of air. “You won’t go to..hell over this. You need to repent for your mistakes none the less. God is good, and forgiving.”

“So, I’m not going to hell right?” Your frazzled tone sounds around the booth. Growing frustrated the longer he skirts around your questions.

“Yes my child, of course God does, but!-…”

“….God forgives all right? Like…God will love and forgive me even if I do happen to…somehow…you know..fornicate with uhm..” you chew on your thumb nail, catching yourself ready to say- ‘your sons’. “..siblings?”

Pastor Lee becomes frantic on the other side of the confessional booth. Fingers quickly turning through thin pages of his bible. Murmuring sounds of ‘uhm’ between, buying extra time to find an explainable excuse for why you absolutely should not do such a thing.

“Now my child.. yes God loves you, of course. I cannot say he would approve of you doing this! What about the brothers bond you could end up destroying?? That would be greed and lust! Those are sins child, sins!” Pastor Lee exasperates. Patting a handkerchief along his sweating forehead. Small towns hardly ever brought him confessions this extreme.

“Pastor, did you not have sex out of wedlock once too?.. more than once! With two different women! Does God approve of that?” You sit up straight. Hand slapping over your mouth after speedily replying. Shit, God probably didn’t care much for this conversation, that’s for damn sure..

“Child of God! now..” the pastor continues, avoiding your accusations. “Are you going to go through with this regardless of what excerpt from the bible I give you?”

“Yes father…I believe so..I really like this guy..” you timidly say. The thought that the pastor could have you in mind making your stomach turn.

“Well then..” with a heavy dissatisfied sigh, Pastor Lee continues. “Twenty hail Marys and Fifty our fathers should do it.”

“Fifty?!” your mouth falls open, disbelief stricken by the idea of sitting here for the next three hours repeating prayers.

“Make that seventy child. Ten for each seven deadly sin.”

You pause for a moment, hand on the door knob ready to exit. Mouth gaped considering asking what the bible says about losing your virginity in church. A minute of contemplation later, you decide it’s best to add another fifty hail Mary’s.

“Thank you so much Pastor Lee!”

——————————————————————————

It felt a little scary, but fun, getting ready for your date with Jeno. Of course you still wanted to leave an impression, even with his confession.

Repeating it in your mind over and over again: A. Date. With. Jeno.

Holy fucking shit. What alternative universe had you stumbled into moving to live here. Maybe the best way to get over someone really was by getting under someone else…younger brother and all. God had to be real if this was how your love life was playing out.

Walking up to Jeno, he was a complete vision. Black messy hair pointing different directions, as if he just ruffled it and said ‘good enough’. Leather jacket all too tight over his defined rippling biceps, like a second skin. Silver chain necklaces shining under the sunset across the orange red sky behind him. Hoops adorning his ears making the sparkle in his eyes come to life. The large steel ball chain necklace catching your eye against his pale thick neck. Imagining him on top of you coated in a sheen of sweat. Cold chains dangling down on your skin..

“Isn’t this… your brothers car?!?” Your eyes nearly bulge out of sockets asking the question. Drawn out of the quick fantasy you’d almost drifted into. The cherry black trans am practically glowing behind Jeno.

“It is, isn’t it..” Jeno’s smile lifts into his eyes. Fingers waving around a set of keys mid-air. “Who do you think Haechan learned how to pick pocket from? Still no match to the king.”

Jeno unlocks the car, opening up the passenger door for you. Surprising you first with his tattoos.. now this. Maybe he wasn’t the innocent cute younger brother you’d perceived him as all this time.

The engine sounded alive, Jeno pulling out of your driveway. Better looking than any heart throb you’d see on some terrible basic cable teen drama. Arm reaching around the space between your bodies. Other stretched in front of him. Long fingers attached to pretty veins flexing around the spinning steering wheel. All he had to do was grab your thigh to set you bursting up in flames. Stealing subtle looks at him picturing the tattoo adorning his perfectly sculpted shoulder.

“Haechan doesn’t know you borrowed his car I’m guessing? Won’t he be mad?” You wonder out loud. Jeno’s smile spreading into his cheeks. Eyes squinting under the low sun coming through the windshield. Relaxed in the drivers seat making way down the empty road. Arm closest to you splaying out, fingers wrapping around your exposed leg. Shivers shooting up your heat from where his large palm covers the majority of your visible mid-thigh.

“That’s the plan.”

Final—>

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hansolmates · 3 years

Text

shiver | 01 (m)

banner done by the wonderful @dnrequests

summary; jungkook changed since he moved out of his small town church community and attended college. when he returns for a christmas mass, you suddenly crave a taste of his fun and carefree life. in exchange, jungkook craves a taste of you pairing; bad boy!jungkook x church girl!reader genre/warnings; childhood friends to lovers, brief childhood friends to enemies, fwb!au, catholic guilt, jungkook is a meanie who eventually turns into a soft tsundere, bicuriosity, sexual exploration, virgin!oc, eventual smut—in this installment: touching over the clothes, mc is hornee, *pulls out cards against humanity* “a gentle caress of the inner thigh”, panty kissin, mc is a big ol’ pushover and hopeful for jkk:(( w/c; 1.9k a/n; it’s here! aaaaaa!!! i’ve been really eally realllyyyyyy nervous to post this. even though this is just a drabble series let me know how you feel about it! enjoy [shiver masterpost]

“Oh, you’re so dead.”

Jeon Jungkook isn’t thaaaat buff, he's more of a skinny kind of muscular. You don’t understand the hype, why everyone croons over Jungkook’s strength and physique. However, how else could you explain Jungkook being able to climb the currently dilapidated fire escape to the top floor of the chapel. The ladder is rusted beyond repair and is definitely a fire hazard rather than a fire escape. Yet he barely breaks a sweat doing it, and he wipes the minor sheen off his brow with the back of his hand. There’s some soot and whatever nasty residue from the fire escape that gets on his face, a black streak marring his already annoying face. He’s currently wiggling his fingers in a sarcastic “hello.” It makes you sneer, your two consciousness (inappropriate and appropriate) warring against each other to determine whether you still find this man attractive or not.

Convincing yourself that Jungkook is ugly is the worst quick-fix idea you’ve ever had.

The words of your Aunties, the family friends in the church, echo in your ears. Jungkook’s bad. They’d say over and over. It would cause you to snort and giggle, unable to imagine what sort of things he’s done to warrant such a cliché label. Yet some of the girls your age, girls that have gone off to college agree with sultry looks and longing eyes that yes, Jungkook’s bad. So bad, it’s good.

You haven’t a clue what he’s actually done to earn such a hushed title, his parents are lip-tight about his doings, unless it’s his achievements in the architecture graduate program. You hear things, though. Things that make you shamefully green with envy, envious of sin.

As soon as he finds proper footing in the storage room, he goes to the closet, immediately finding his backup clothes. They’re plain white button-downs, awkward long shirts with no shape or definition to them. They belong to the church, and no one ever uses them because they’re stiff and itchy. Yet Jungkook wears them like it’s tailored, and you have to look away when he quickly knots the bottom half of the shirt, fashioning it into a tasteful double knot in order to cinch his lean waist.

“Pretty sure it was just you that saw me,” Jungkook says dismissively, “so it’s fine.”

This bristles you the wrong way, and you put down the catering covers you were supposed to return to the storage room. You smooth out your Sunday dress, this shade of Boring Beige looking particularly pale in the morning sun. “How do you know I won’t tell?” you turn your nose up.

“Because I know,” he doesn’t even look at you, focusing on rolling the sleeves of his shirt. You weaken when you see the black shadowing across his forearm. That’s new, then again you haven’t seen him since last Christmas.

“Know what?”

“That you have a crush on me,” Jungkook says into the air like it’s common knowledge, adjusting the leather jacket on top of his outfit so the white-startched collar pops on top, “I mean, it’s hard for anyone not to know. You’ve been into me since youth group, Bunny.”

You hold your breath, counting to ten as you close the door behind you. A vision of you playing “Duck Duck Goose” as a five year old plays in your head, where you’d pick a bushy, big-eyed Jeon Jungkook each time, hopping over to him to pat his fluffy head so he’d chase you around.

It’s old news, your puppy love for Jungkook. How could you not like him? He's clever and sweet with his mother and always told the best stories in youth group meetings. Everyone thought your affections were so sweet, and while that attention weaned over time, your feelings have only increased the more self-aware you’ve become.

With a mind as open and honest is yours, it’s hard to ignore how well Jungkook has grown. What has also grown is your curiosities since the two of you have moved onto university. Jungkook goes to the university uptown, a far drive which only forces him attend masses during the holidays. You attended the local community college, wrapping up a bachelors in some vague major that you’re not attached to. You’re currently looking around for some graduate schools, but unfortunately you’ve been so wrapped up doing duties for Pastor Nina that you haven’t been able to look around properly.

Jungkook’s probably living a fun life, with the way he’s grown rough and loose, you resent him.

When you turn back around, Jungkook’s right in front of you, trapping you between his body and the door.

“Don’t be embarrassed, Bunny,” you furrow your brows, nearly growing cross-eyed when he leans in. “I think your crush is cute.”

You’re not sure what he thinks of you. Sure, he considered everyone a friend when you two were in youth group, but that was youth group. Premeditated, parents forcing other children to do the same things with each other for years upon years in the hope they’ll practice together forever and ever. Jungkook did not want that, evident from the way he dipped his duties as soon as he got into university.

You hate how easy he dips back into it though, calling you Bunny and making you feel like a little girl all over again. Bunny, because you’d hop around to him whenever he was in sight. Bunny, because Jungkook had been fondly compared to the wide-eyed, diamond-toothed creature. It was cute when you were five. Now, it’s just discomfiting.

“Don’t call me that,” you bite, “and I don’t like you anymore.”

“Sure you don’t,” he rolls his eyes, and you flinch when Jungkook’s hand rests on the curve of your waist, fingers slotting themselves between the pleats of your skirt. “That’s why you’re not moving away when I’m about to put my hand under your skirt. Because you don’t like me.”

You press yourself further into the door, your skin hot and vibrating. So warm, you feel like you could melt through the door and escape from Jungkook’s gaze. Sure, the young ladies in the congregation talk. Maybe you’ve heard a story or two about Jungkook being seedy, a result of being repressed after years and years of stiff routines and expectations thrust upon him. You could care less about Jungkook’s sexual appetite, until this appetite has reached you.

“Mm, you’re pretty,” Jungkook’s eyes roam your form, the daisy white blouse doing nothing to barricade Jungkook’s sudden interest in you, “you’ve never been touched like this, have you?”

“I’ve touched myself like this,” you hiss in defense, and it’s more out of anger than in pleasure. You don’t need a man to comfort you, but Jungkook’s eyes sparkle in mirth at the new information.

“That’s really sexy,” Jungkook slips down, roams his fingers down to your ankles and plays with the silver buckles of your Mary Janes. You shiver when his hands trail up up up to your knees, the swell of your thighs, and catch right under the elastic seam that holds your secrets together, “but I’ll have you know, it’s different when you have someone hold your pleasure in their hands.”

You’re in the storage room of your church, fifteen minutes before the Christmas mass, with Jeon Jungkook’s head between your legs. Your skirt is long, and Jungkook doesn’t bother to ride it up your waist.

It feels more forbidden that way, Jungkook hiding under the fabric of your skirt to get to your honeyed center, sneaking his way in with rough hands and soft touches.

“J-Jungkook,” you whimper, pressing your full spine against the wooden door, “we shouldn’t. N-not like this.”

What is wrong with you? Is it sheer curiosity? Do you just want to know what it finally, finally feels like? You should be pushing him away. There’s red lights flashing back and forth in your brain like sirens. Yet, do you really want to turn away the attention you’ve been aching for years?

You imagined your first time to be relatively special. The bare minimum, a bed, a talk, and a partner you’re mutually committed to. None of those things are met. Now you understand why all the young women in church whisper about sex like this. It’s a spur of the moment, it’s an unbridled pleasure you don’t want to stop, no matter how forbidden and sinful the act is.

“How else then?” you feel his deep voice straight through your panties, his lips whispering between the pink cotton like he’s sinking liquid heat into your skin. “I can’t sink my fingers into your sweet cunt during the candle lighting. Or when we open presents with the family after. That would be inappropriate.”

Your replies come out in breaths, puffs of air that conceal the moans you so badly want to let out as Jungkook pokes and rubs at you. He does nothing beyond the cotton fabric, only slides two fingers up and down your slit as he gathers the arousal between his digits.

“So wet already, that’s so sexy,” he’s kissing your core, and you sigh fretfully at the pleasure that feels so close yet so far away.

“P-please, Jungkook…”

“Please what?” Jungkook teases, fingers slipping back and forth between the elastic of your underwear, “please stop? Please touch me? Please fuck me?”

The church bell answers that, and Jungkook’s nose knocks right into your bud at the sudden intrusion. You yelp at the jarring stimulation, pulling him from under your skirts as the loud noise echoes in the room. Both of you wince at the pain, the moment interjected.

“You first,” Jungkook casually opens the door for you, as if he didn’t have you ten seconds away from begging him to make you come.

You don’t even look at him as you dash away, not bothering to take the elevator in favor of running off the heat. Two minutes before the procession. The church is packed to the brim, only the back seats left. Your family probably gave up on waiting for you up in the front. As you sit down in the corner, you’re momentarily distracted by the beauty of a decorated church on Christmas. Even though you’re part of the decorating committee and commanded most of the design, seeing the stained glass lit up with fairy lights and the poinsettia plants blooming burgundy on the altar, you’re impressed.

“There’s a draft here, you must be cold.” Jungkook talks to you so politely, a perfect picture of a gentleman as he drapes his leather jacket over your lap. He speaks as if it’s a pleasant surprise, a childhood friend he hasn’t seen in nearly a year.

You can’t tell him to move when people are watching and Jungkook is seconds from interrupting the procession, so you reluctantly scoot over so he can sit next to you. His scent overwhelms you even more now that you’ll have to sit next to him for a whole hour, lavender and vanilla overtaking your pew.

The jacket is heavy and heady on your lap, and you force yourself to stare straight ahead. Jungkook cannot weaken you like this, not anymore.

Thirty minutes later, his fingers are hovering at the start of the homily, caressing your thighs under the jacket with his big hands. A draft? Please. You clamp your thighs together, knocking your knees and hoping they’d lock together for the rest of the mass. Jungkook’s a master key, easily parting his way as if your muscles are pure jelly. You turn your head sharply, glaring at him with all the fire in the world.

“Careful,” Jungkook mouths, eyes flickering to the symbol atop the podium, “he’s watching.”

His fingers finally brush the damp blush cotton of your panties, and you shudder.

#ficswithluv #btsguild #btswritingcafe #kwritersworldnet #btsghostie #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #bts smut #bts fic #jungkook angst #bts angst #kpop fic #hansolmates

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evita-shelby · 2 years

Text

Between the Shadow and the Soul

Chapter 16

Tw: mentions of ptsd symptoms

She’s clutching to him like he might disappear. There was a tremor when she pulled him into a hug when he returned, and it hadn’t left yet.

Eva has steady hands; he knows because in their two years of marriage her hands have never shook when she is patching him or any of the boys up.

“Polly said your hands were shaking the entire time.” He rubs circles on the hand he’s holding reminding her she’s safe with him. Nothing else exists, but them in this bed.

“When Gabriel died, I had a vision of him surviving the battle, but my hands started shaking and then I saw him in the pile of dead soldiers.” She tells him closing her eyes to focus on his heart. It was comforting for her, to know he was alive and with her, she had said when he asked her about it. “It goes away, don’t worry about it.”

“I didn’t die, it happened almost exactly like you said it would. Churchill isn’t an idiot.” He brings his lips to her ear and says it quietly. Things go better when only Eva knows about them. “The grave was already dug, and the third man was Churchill’s man.”

“Churchill will use you again,” she warns.

“I know, but we’ll survive like we always do.” he assures her.

Charlie is born in September 1st at a hospital because Eva fears she might die with her boy like Felicidad died with her little girl.

He came three weeks earlier than he was supposed to, but her baby is healthy and thriving by the time spring comes around the following year.

“We never married in the church.” He brings up when the attend mass at the renovated church they technically own. Her grandparents had been 40 when they gotten their proper wedding in the chapel at their remodeled hacienda in the outskirts of Xalapa where the Rileys still live. Eva and her siblings had been born there before her parents got the villa by the beach, never did she think her wedding would have to be in another chapel on a different continent.

“Neither of us believe in it anymore, so what does it matter?” she asks quietly. Polly wanted them to appear as godly people, but they’ve only attended enough services to give the impression the new owners aren’t atheists.

They had married in a courthouse, her wearing a simple white dress with Esme’s veil and Tommy in a new suit with a red rose pinned on his lapel. The party had been huge, but except for her Smith relatives and the sailors on their ships no one from her family had been present. She didn’t mind, Eva had always dreaded big occasions with the whole family present. They were great fun, and she loved her family, but they could be a lot. Especially now that Abuelo Pato had died at the ripe age of ninety-eight.

She’d have to deal with her aunts and uncles disapproving about her marrying a gypsy gangster, with them complaining about England and its bland food and with Antonia showing up with Francisco.

“We can’t baptize Charlie if we weren’t married in a church.” He points out. They needed to baptize Charlie, force him into Sunday School and do all the necessary rites they had to suffer through to keep up with appearances.

“We can postpone it until we are married.” Eva sighs, now she’d have to plan the wedding party she never wanted. “We can baptize Charlie in September on his second birthday, so it doesn’t look like we were trying to take the spotlight from him.”

“You aren’t too keen on marrying me again, love.” He teases her and if they weren’t holding a baby who could wake up any minute, she knows her husband would’ve done something sacrilegious.

“Not excited to have my family here, some of my relatives are still angry they weren’t invited to the first wedding and others only know you as a gypsy gangster. If there’s no fistfights by dessert it will be a miracle.” She tries to focus on the sermon.

The last time they came they forgot to say ‘Lord hear our prayer’ after the first three short prayers during the Prayer of the Faithful. Tommy had been too busy telling her of all the filthy things he wanted to do after mass and people heard her moan quietly when his fingers gave her a preview.

Hence why she brings six-month-old Charlie to church now. Charlie is also a convenient excuse to leave early. Until disposable nappies are invented, Eva and Tommy will never get caught lying about why they left early. Only once had Charlie actually shat during mass.

“January 5, 1924. Enough time to get your family here and to plan the weeding.” Typical of Tommy to have everything planned out when something needs to happen.

“What’s happening, Tom? Why do you need the wedding to happen that day?” she asks and wished they could leave again.

“Tiago was contacted by his Russian friends, he said they needed someone of my specific skill set. Job won’t begin until then and we needed a cover big enough to hide it.”

December 1923

“You plan on wearing white?” Ada asks as if she couldn't believe Eva would really get a snow-white dress inspired by Princess Mary’s dress.

“It's my first wedding, and hopefully the only one, I don’t care if people judge us for it. Besides we are legally married, so it's not as offensive as many will think it is.” Eva hates the drop waist, makes her look fat.

As if she hadn’t spent nearly a year working off the baby weight. She was a vain woman, forced to conform to western standards of beauty and wearing makeup since she discovered it covered up her freckles. Tommy didn’t care about the stretch marks nor the imperfections that she hated so much. He was good man despite all the blood on his hands.

“The veil is lovely, the people who worked on it must be cursing you.” Ada looks at the mostly hand embroidered Mantilla that had been in the Arambula family since the reign of Emperor Maximilian of Mexico.

“Its tradition that everyone who marries into and out of the family wears it, brings good luck too, no one in our lineage has divorced.” Eva’s face won’t be covered, only women who haven’t fucked their groom are to have their face covered. With a boy of one, it be stupid of her to play the coy virgin. “Of course, some of us rarely live long enough to get to that point, but the veil is beautiful, and my family is still not over the fact that they got a phone call instead of an invitation three years ago.”

“How many of them are hopping on a boat and coming here?” Ada asked flipping through a magazine. She was interested on the mythical Riley Arambula family ever since handsome and cultured Tiago Ulysses Rosales-Riley had arrived to jumpstart the London offices.

“Two of my mom’s four brothers and their wives; three of my five aunts; six or seven male cousins and four are bringing their wives; ten female cousins and most are single; assorted grandchildren of my aunts and uncles’; the maid who used to work for my parents and partially raised me and a chef that will infiltrate the Mexican Embassy. Half the bridal party won’t speak English and the other half will want to wear their dress uniforms especially Cousin Alejandra who was a captain in the rebel army.” Even with breaks and a glass of water earlier she feels tired from saying all that.

“So, they won’t mind us being what we are.” Ada nods. No normal person could handle a family of criminals and communists, but a family of traitors and rebel leaders might. One saw their service for the King as awful and the other agreed but held onto proudly to their status as rebels.

“Aunt Olivia might, she’s stuck up because her husband is a very rich banker, her daughter is an actor and my aunt used to be friends with late President Diaz’s youngest daughter. But my ninety-year-old grandmother can get her to shut up if she begins talking out of her ass, never gotten over her family joining the rebels.” Oliva de Souza thought too highly of herself thanks to her very much being raised on the lap of luxury in Mexico City and then marrying a rich banker ---who had been bankrolling the rebels until the very end.

Now she and her husband, Aurelio de Souza Comonfort ran the SRA Office in New York after having been exiled from Mexico. Almost everyone had been exiled from the Capital or completely exiled from Mexico. Once the Rileys held every major port or beach, but now only very few people remained in their original port of Veracruz. SRA was now international and boasting of a small but growing fleet of cargo planes in New York.

“Will your brothers and the rest of the family mind my relatives wearing their dress uniforms? Tommy says they won’t, but I really need them to at least pretend it's fine.” Eva hated this wedding; it had all the problems she had wanted to avoid.

“It’s not a British military uniform nor German, they’ll shut up once they see its a woman wearing it. The wedding will be perfect, and you should enjoy it.” Ada recites the same words she had said the billion times she has asked that in the past year.

---

January 5th, 1924

The wedding day comes and if Tommy hadn’t done his husbandly duties the night before and this morning, she would be cursing him for choosing such a cold day.

They were not a cold weather people. Mexico was subtropical, they were never meant to see snow that didn’t melt an hour later.

She doesn’t like the pageantry, reminds her of all the pageantry in Mexico City to keep up the pretense the federalists were winning. Eva had no father to give her away and too many uncles willing to fight the other to get the honor. In the end its her grandmother Dominga who will give her away while her uncle Jack walks her down the aisle.

“Harry wouldn’t have given a rat’s ass if you had gotten married by the church.” her uncle tells her as he drives them to the church outside the estate grounds.

“I know, uncle, but Tommy feels guilty for ‘denying us the wedding you deserve’.” she imitates her husband and Jack laughs. “I told him not to complain when Tio Pato and Tia Olivia start fighting in the middle of dinner.”

“I know about the job, who do you think is smuggling the Russians here, kid." he doesn’t confront her, more like reminds her that not everyone here is under false pretenses.

“Good because the man you brought isn’t the real one. Can I count on you to turn a blind eye while they kill him?” she asks him as they arrive at the church.

“Where did Harry go wrong with you, sweet girl?” he sighs, but agrees to help. “I should’ve taken you with me to Poplar.”

“Too late for that now, uncle.” she says as he helps her out of the carriage.

#between the shadow and the soul #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x oc #thomas shelby fanfic #tommy shelby x oc #peaky blinders fanfiction #ocappreciation #oc appreciation

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rocorambles · 3 years

Text

Hit It Till It Breaks

Pairing: Oikawa x Reader

Genre/Warnings: Yandere, Mafia AU, NSFW, Drug Dealing, Dub-Con/Non-Con Sex, Dub-Con/Non-Con Drug Consumption, Drug Addiction, Manipulation, Humiliation, Degradation, Prostitution, Slight Pet Play

Prompt: Hard At Work

Summary: Growing up, you’d always loved fairy tales and happy endings. You’d always believed that despite how bad things might seem or get, there would be a light at the end of the tunnel. But you’re quickly realizing that this isn’t a fairy tale, that there is no happy ending, and that sometimes, you only go downhill, farther and farther from the light.

Author’s Note: This is my contribution for my HQ Discord Server’s NSFW collaboration. There are so many talented writers on the server and I highly encourage you to check out the collaboration masterlist to see how everyone decided to run with this spicy prompt.

(Thank you as always @sawamooora for helping me keep this a coherent degenerate mess~)

It’s hard to believe that bright eyed girl holding her college diploma in the photo on your nightstand was you not that long ago. And your heart clenches when you remember how hopeful you had been. So excited to venture out and experience life. Ready to enter the job market. Ready to be an adult.

Doors opened and closed. But you hadn’t let it deter you at first. It just wasn’t meant to be. You can’t expect to get the first job you interview for!

But then more and more doors opened, only to be shut in your face.Your rose-tinted glasses began to crack as your funds quickly dwindled, as you lowered your standards, desperately mass applying to any small time company vaguely related to your major, only to be turned away at every step.

And now, here you are, barely able to make rent, barely able to even feed yourself with the little you have from odd part-time jobs you’ve managed to stitch together into some sort of financial life line.

Well, you HAD been barely able to make rent, but your hands tremble when you stare at the letter notifying you that your rent will begin to increase starting next month, mind speeding into a panicked haze as you unsuccessfully try to think of what to do, how you can possibly afford to live even in this dump anymore. And before you even realize what you’re doing, you’re scrambling, stumbling to your bathroom, throwing open your medicine cabinet as you rummage for the little pills that you know will help slow down your racing thoughts and provide much needed clarity.

You swear everything seems clearer as soon as the smooth texture hits your tongue and you can finally breathe, slumping down on the cold tiles of your floor, pill bottle still clutched in your hand as you allow yourself to relax, praying for any ideas to flow through you. And it hits you like a ton of bricks when your grip on the plastic container accidentally loosens and the bottle clangs against the floor.

A humorless chuckle slips past your lips as you stare at the rolling cylinder.

Drug dealing. Fucking drug dealing.

You can’t believe you’re even thinking of going down this route, but your mind flashes back to old roommates, old friends, old classmates who had nonchalantly made a pretty bundle on the side, carelessly tossing around and selling all types of prescription drugs on campus. And you vividly remember how simple they had made it seem, how they had all gotten away with it. Scrumptious meals, pricey alcohol, far beyond a college palette, and beautiful clothing were the only “consequences” for their crimes.

If they could do it, you could too. Or so you’d like to think.

But as naive and ignorant as you are about this line of work, even you know there’s a difference between selling to silly college students on campus, and selling it at a popular nightclub owned by an infamous crime syndicate.

Even as far removed as you are from the more seedy underbelly of the new city you live in, you know of the Seijoh Syndicate. Everyone in town does. It’s hard not to when they literally run and own the entire place.

Oikawa Tooru and the rest of the Seijoh Four run their domain with an iron fist. They’re practically nonexistent, merely a scary story to keep people in line, for those who abide by the laws and keep their noses out of trouble, but an all too real nightmare for those who choose to defy them. And you shudder, remembering the horror stories you had heard of exactly what happens to those who decide to try and start their own nefarious business and practices on Seijoh streets without Oikawa’s permission.

But surely they wouldn’t pay you any mind? Right? Surely a mere girl in her early twenties selling the leftover prescription medicine she has in her cabinets for one night won’t do any harm?

Maybe it’s stupid to go to such a prevalent and well known club, especially one that’s notoriously favored by the Seijoh Four. But you convince yourself that it’s the most crowded venue in the area with a target demographic who’s guaranteed to buy you out, even at the obscene prices you plan on charging. How would anyone even notice you? Where else could you go? What options do you even have?

So despite the nervous pit swelling in your stomach, you soldier on, plastering a cheery smile at the bouncer who easily waves you in without a second glance, slipping into the sweaty mass of bodies, going deeper and deeper until you’re surrounded - skin, bones, and muscles pressing against you on all sides, safe from any prying eyes.

Or so you believe.

You know who the Seijoh Four are. You even know their names. But never have you met them, never have you ever seen a picture of what they each look like. Not that it would help you if you did when you’re so laser focused on finding potential customers, not even bothering to look around to see if anyone’s watching you. So you carry on, unaware of the four sets of eyes looking at you in amusement from their roost high above the writhing crowds.

There’s nothing subtle about the way you sloppily nudge people, practically shoving your pills in stranger’s faces, almost wildly waving your merchandise around you in a desperate attempt to pull in buyers. Sweaty nervous hands fumble as you exchange little plastic baggies for wads of cash and Matsukawa raises a brow in disbelief while Hanamaki cackles when you drop your merch and payment, getting on all fours on the trashed dance floor to recollect your goods.

It might be the most amusing show they’ve had in a while, but Iwaizumi feels a pang of pity at the wild hopeless look in your eyes and he swiftly stands, brusquely telling the other three that he’s going to go down and tell you off with just a warning, only to be stopped when Oikawa smoothly stands to his feet, effectively blocking Iwaizumi’s path.

“Now, now Iwa-chan. Don’t be so hasty. Let me go talk to the cutie. I’ve been so bored recently and she looks like she’ll be fun! Plus you’ll make her cry with that scary face of yours.”

Suddenly the sight of you bumbling around isn’t quite as entertaining as the remaining three men watch the brunette prowl towards you, heavy realization of what’s to come sombering the mood.

You’re frantic, flitting about the throngs of flailing limbs and swaying bodies, frustration from not being able to get through your supplies fast enough weighing at your conscious. Sure, you’ve managed to accrue some cash, but it’s not enough, not nearly enough to even feed yourself for the coming week let alone make a dent in the daunting rent that looms over you. And you can feel hot tears prick at the corner of your eyes when you see that it’s almost closing time and you’re still stuck with more than half your inventory, no closer to figuring out how to survive. So when a hand firmly rests on your shoulder, you whip around, ready to take your anger out on the poor soul who’s managed to catch you at the worst time. But you freeze, vicious words stuck in your mouth when you see the handsome man beaming down at you, a thick wad of rolled up bills haphazardly dangling from his fingers.

“I heard you might have some stuff I’d be interested in.”

You wonder if this is all a dream, if the man in front of you is (ironically a devilishly) handsome angel swooping into save you when he casually asks you how much stuff you still have, how much you’d be willing to sell everything for, not even blinking an eye at your outrageous price tag. You’re so stunned by how quick he is to call it a done deal, not resisting even a bit as he wraps his hand around your wrist, pulling you after him, saying some vague comments about wanting to go somewhere a little more private since it’s a bigger trade. All you can think about is how you’ll finally be able to eat something other than instant noodles and not have to worry about rent as you throw yourself back into interviewing, too lost in thoughts to be wary of how you’re being dragged farther and farther away from the rowdy crowd.

But the sound of a door slamming shut behind you jolts you back to reality and Oikawa fights back a laugh at how adorable you are, eyes blown wide like a deer in headlights as your head swivels side to side, dismay and panic making you tremble when you survey the private room you’re in, throat nervously gulping when you notice the three other occupants.

You’re so predictable and Oikawa just rolls his eyes fondly at how you swiftly turn around, trying to lunge towards the door in an attempt to escape, taking his time to leisurely make his way towards you, brown orbs taking in every inch of you as Matsukawa and Hanamaki hold your writhing body in place.

It’s so satisfying watching you crumble to pieces before his very eyes at just the mention of his name, despair and fear swirling beautifully on your face when he continues to introduce the rest of the Seijoh Four. It never gets old, that deliciously addicting feeling of power he feels when people tremble from just a few syllables and he relishes in your pleading apologies and your tears, patiently waiting for you to finish your little sob story, barely listening to the details as he focuses in on how gorgeous you are, broken and vulnerable.

And really, there’s no need for him to pay close attention to your blabbering anyway. It always comes down to one thing…

“So you need money, cutie? How about working for me?”

“Oye! Oikawa-”

“I’m just asking her some questions, Iwa-chan.”

There’s tense silence and your eyes nervously flicker back and forth between the two imposing figures staring each other down, green and brown eyes clashing in a silent argument. But as if they’ve somehow come to a conclusion, Iwaizumi tsks and looks away while Oikawa turns his attention back to you, a sickeningly cheerful grin on his face.

Blood curling fear lances through you and you’re almost grateful for the two pairs of strong arms holding you tight, their grip keeping you from falling to your knees as your legs threaten to give out under the pressure you feel as Oikawa thoughtfully looks at you.

You know the smart answer would be to adamantly say no and promptly figure out a way to leave this moment far behind you, even if it means forfeiting any money you had made tonight. But...a job is a job, right? And surely a job in the Seijoh Syndicate would be more lucrative than anything you’re doing now, right?

Oikawa hides a smile at the way he can see the cogs in your head turn, apprehension turning to curiosity as you stutter out questions about pay and what the job would entail. Desperation is a good look on anyone, but it suits you particularly well and just like that, hook, line, and sinker, he has a new cute live-in maid to replace the recently vacated role.

Working as Oikawa’s maid is more...normal than you would have expected. Not that you’re complaining and other than the embarrassing maid outfit he makes you wear, complete with frilly bow and garters, the chores are mundane. Bring breakfast to him and wake him. Clean his room and do his laundry when he’s away at meetings or jobs. Make sure guests have refreshments when they come over to his large estate, a mansion you now also call home.

If you’re honest, it’s much more relaxing than the multiple part-time jobs you had been juggling previously, and with free board, free food, and the substantial paycheck that regularly makes its way to your bank account, you can see your future brightening up again. When your duties are done for the day, you resume practicing for interviews and keeping up with the industry, feeling emboldened and empowered to finally resume working towards the career path you had always dreamed of.

But the more time you spend with Oikawa, the closer and more entangled in your life the brunette becomes. Alarm bells ring wildly in your head as you’re forced to join him for meals, forced to dress in elaborate gowns and jewelry while you’re waltzed around on his arm, forced to travel around the world with him, and attend to him like a glorified assistant. He’s too charming, too familiar, too bold, and you can’t help but feel like you’re racing towards some inevitable crash as he easily brushes aside any boundaries between the two of you.

You know so many women would kill to be in your shoes and you can understand why, not completely immune to his playful smile and the lilt of his voice yourself. But you know better, know exactly how dangerous it would be to get involved with a man like Oikawa Tooru.

It’s clear from the crimson stains on the clothes he leaves for you to either dispose of, or have cleaned. It’s clear from the wails and sobs of woman after woman he uses and tosses aside like garbage on an almost daily basis. It’s clear from the guns, knives, and weapons, most of which you don’t even know the name of, filling up all the walls, drawers, and cabinets.

So you do your best to keep your distance, building titanium walls around your heart. Always polite, too terrified of what would happen if you pissed him off, but cold enough to deter him from more amorously or intimately testing his boundaries.

And it seems to work as he turns his eyes towards other women, leaving you alone after throwing a few flirty comments and winks your way and ultimately falling in bed with some other poor damsel. But you nervously gulp when it’s just the two of you one night and just as you’re ready to make yourself scarce after turning down his bed and laying out his pajamas, his voice beckons you over and you anxiously bite your lower lip at the sight of pills of all shapes and sizes splayed out across his desk.

Other than your prescription medicine, you don’t have a lot of experience with drugs other than the few blunts here and there during your college years and you had always strictly kept to your recommended doses, never even entertaining the idea of taking more. So the sight in front of you is overwhelming and you hesitantly stare anywhere but at the table surface, anxiously waiting for Oikawa to explain why he called you over. But what you’re not expecting is the warm hand gently grasping your wrist and holding your arm out, small objects being carefully placed in your outstretched palm, and soft coaxing from Oikawa to “give them a try”.

Every part of you is screaming to throw the pills and make a run for it, begging you to come up with some excuse or just outright reject his offer. But it’s as if your body is frozen and he firmly pushes your hand to your mouth, grip tightening enough to make you wince when you hesitate to listen. The slight pain is enough to remind you that you’re not exactly in any position to negotiate and you force yourself to down the pills and gulp down the glass of water he holds to your lips.

The last thing you remember is the unsettling feeling of beginning a descent to an unknown place from which there is no return as Oikawa pulls you to his bed. And then euphoria floods through you as your body slots against his larger frame.

It feels good. Too good. Unnaturally good. But it’s intoxicating and you can’t help but let yourself drown in the hazy waves crashing down upon you, feeling lighter, freer, happier than you have for years. You vaguely register roaming hands, a hot wet mouth, a body on top of yours, something hard pressing against the apex of your thighs, filling you, consuming you in heady pleasure only amplified by the drugs coating your insides.

Bliss. Pleasure. Pure unadulterated joy. And then nothing.

When you come to, the weight of what had happened last night comes crashing down on you, making your foggy mind throb even more and you can feel bile rising inside of you as a toned arm around your waist tightens its hold on you. Oikawa grunts in annoyance when you claw your way out from his hold, scampering on shaky legs to his bathroom, heaving and expelling the contents of your stomach, trying futilely to cleanse yourself of your employer’s touch.

You flinch when you hear footsteps approach, shrinking into the corner of the tiled room, body crouched and curled into a tight ball as you try to save any shred of dignity you still have by hiding your naked body as much as you can from his prying eyes. Salty drops threaten to trail down your face when he hovers over you, sweetly cooing down at you “not to be like this”, “you liked it so much last night”, “come back to bed with me” only to stream down your face when his countenance swiftly changes, handsome face glowering down at you before brusquely turning away and snapping at you to “get on with your work then if you’re going to be an annoying bitch”.

It’s easy to convince yourself that you’re just being smart, just trying to survive as you obediently wash up and don your humiliating uniform, that it isn’t just you being a coward as you submissively go about your usual work day, still sitting with thighs pressed against Oikawa’s legs at meals, making no move to brush off the heavy arm he slings around your shoulders, only slightly flinching when his fingertips teasingly play with the hem of your skirt as he converses with the rest of the Seijoh Four.

But you can’t deny that all you are is a weak fool, desperate to live when you shakily accept the pills he pushes towards you again that night, silently crying yet not doing anything to prevent the inevitable as you swallow any self-respect or pride you had along with the smooth pellets under his watchful gaze, too scared of the glimmer of gunmetal you see on the inside of his jacket to even think of resisting.

And history repeats itself. Over and over again.

Oikawa smiles at how different you are from that skittish creature who fled from his every touch, smirking at how naive and innocent you still are as you try to hide how eager you are for your daily dose, unaware of how he’s slowly been increasing it every night, ignorant of how you unconsciously lean into his touches, pretty lips wrapping around his fingers as he hand feeds you.

Do you know what an animal you are in bed these days? Do you realize how little there is left to differentiate you from one of his filthy whores when you’re so doped up on whatever he gives you, moaning like a pornstar and leaving vicious red claw marks on his skin as you bounce on his cock?

And he knows it’s time to move onto the next phase of your conditioning when there’s not even a speck of shame in your clear eyes when the sunlight begins to filter through the window, knowingly smiling in satisfaction when instead of slinking off to wallow in your regret you shimmy down between his legs and begin to nuzzle and mouth his morning wood, face full of nothing but wanton desire as you take his cock in your mouth.

He doesn’t give you anything that night. Or the next night. Or the one after that. He doesn’t so much as even look at you outside of your usual eye contact, not a single flirtatious word slipping past his lips.

You should be grateful. This is what you wanted, right? To keep things strictly professional between the two of you. To not be coerced into the artificial pleasure you’ve been swallowing on a daily basis for the last month now. To not feel like just another warm body for Oikawa to taint.

Your interview notes and open tab of job listings are right there, begging for your attention, practically screaming at you to pursue the life you’ve always dreamed of.

Yet here you are, not even a week later, on your knees in between Oikawa’s legs as he leisurely reclines in his chair, peppering his inner thighs with kisses and rubbing your face against the growing bulge in his trousers, begging and pleading for another dose, feeling utterly empty and cold inside, unable to sleep, unable to focus, unable to function without the nights of hazy ecstasy.

Your heart drops at the long disappointed sigh the brunette releases.

“Drugs are expensive, cutie. I was just being nice and letting you try some new batches we’ve been producing, but now that they’re on the market, I can’t just keep on giving them to you for free.”

He rolls his eyes when you adamantly tell him you’ll pay whatever the price is, a condescending smirk splitting his face from how quick you are to shut up, soul crushed when he reveals the extravagant cost, a price he knows you can’t afford with the salary he’s providing you with.

But he artfully softens his smile as he begins to unbuckle his pants, sliding the fabric down and letting his throbbing cock spring into view, chuckling when it lightly slaps your face as it’s released from its confines, wondering if you’re drooling from the sight of his erection or the pills he’s playfully placing along the length of it.

“I know you don’t have that money, cutie. But I’d be willing to accept other forms of payments.”

The words are barely out of his mouth before you’re rushing to take him in his mouth and he loudly laughs at how obscene you look, slobbering all over his length, fervently bobbing your head up and down, hastily trying to deep throat him to reach the pill strategically placed right at the base of his shaft, lips puckering as you inhale the drugs, swallowing around him in a way that has him groaning as you stuff your face full of chemicals and pre-cum. And it doesn’t take much longer for him to wash your mouth and throat with warm rivulets of sticky white fluids as he watches the goods take effect, his balls tightening and cock straining with arousal as you reach between your legs, fingers playing with your tight dripping hole while your lewd moans vibrate against him.

It’s pathetically endearing how you can’t keep off of him after that, insisting on sitting on his lap during meals, your cute ass grinding against his clothed cock, always dropping to your knees in between chores, warming his cock in your greedy mouth, always asking him how many pills you’ve earned so far. You really are just his little slutty drug addict now, aren’t you?

But he needs you to be more than that, needs you to learn that you belong to anyone who’s willing to give you the high you crave, needs you to realize that you’re just a free use drug addicted whore for anyone and everyone to use.

So despite how tempting it is to just plunge balls deep inside your tight little pussy, he shoves you off of him one night as you try to grind against his body, feigning exhaustion and boredom of your body, watching in amusement at the panicked crazed look that flashes across your face at his words. Well aren’t you a beautiful sight, throwing yourself at his feet and groveling, saying you’ll do anything for another dose.

Anything, huh?

In your defense, even through the daze of your withdrawal, there’s still a wary expression on your face when Matsukawa and Hanamaki enter the room. Maybe you aren’t as broken as Oikawa had thought. But when you see the little baggies filled with the tablets you’ve become far too familiar with twirling between the duo’s fingers, you practically lunge at them and Oikawa finally allows himself the pleasure of reaching into his pants and stroking himself to the debauched sight playing out in front of him.

Maybe he needs to fuck you in front of a mirror more often if this is what you look like from an outside perspective. It’s like you were made to be used, to be just a warm toy for men to use and Oikawa can’t help but think you look best like this, cocks penetrating both your front and back holes, your body squeezed between two bodies. And he fondly smiles at how you have Hanamaki’s face between the palms of your hands, your lips locked in a sloppy kiss as your tongue ravages the strawberry blonde’s mouth, searching for the pills the man had playfully placed on the tip of his tongue in front of your very eyes before winking at you and telling you to come and get them yourself if you wanted them so badly.

They keep your daily training a surprise, mixing up who gets to wreck your body each day, how many cocks and rounds of cum you’ll need to pay with, what pills and dosage you get. Always keeping you lost and confused, making sure your mind is just a muddled mess that can only think of reaching your next high by any means necessary.

Hell, even Iwaizumi takes part when he realizes that you’re beyond the point of no return, that Oikawa wasn’t joking when he said that there is no other choice for you anymore. This is your life now. This is who you are now. This is your “happily ever after”. He knows all that, can see all that in the way your dazed eyes only come to life at the sight of your addiction, your otherwise listless body perking up at the sound of the tiny objects rattling in their container. And yet a small sliver of guilt has him growling at you to get on all fours, ensuring your face isn’t visible, turning you into just another body for him to mindlessly use as he pleases.

It’s an uncomfortable position, borderline painful as your knees rock back and forth on the hard floor with every brutal thrust of Iwaizumi’s hips. But you don’t care, the aching pain in your legs just dull background noise as you fixate on the tablets scattered on the floor in front of your face, dropping your entire upper body low to the ground, only your hips raised high as your mouth snaps forward. You’re so close and you mewl as your lips make contact with the first pill, uncaring of the pitiful sight you make licking and lapping the floor, whimpering when a hand firmly grabs you by the hair and roughly pulls your face away from your feast.

“Maybe we should get you a dog bowl, cutie. It’s humiliating even for you to be eating from the dirty floor like that. Hold her hair for me, Iwa-chan.”

You crane your neck back and forth, jaw jutting forward as you frantically fight against the tight grip holding you back, mouth drooling and tongue extending like a ravenous animal. But it’s no use and you whine, too focused on your unfinished “meal” to notice how Oikawa is still standing in front of you, cock pulled out from his pants, his hands rapidly fisting the shaft. And only when thick white spurts glaze the remaining pills do you whip your attention towards him, staring with hopeful wide eyes when he crouches in front of you and grabs your face.

“When Iwa-chan lets go of your hair, you’ll get to have the rest of your treats, but you also have to eat the special seasoning I’ve generously given you, okay? If I see even a speck of it left, you’re not getting anything tomorrow, understand?”

Oikawa laughs at how vigorously you nod your head and with a nod in Iwaizumi’s direction, you’re released and the two men watch on as you lick the floor until it’s sparkling clean, slumping your face in the mess of your own drying saliva as you reach euphoria once more. You wail as Iwaizumi shoves you off a cliff and into floating clouds of bliss with one last thrust, the drugs in your system weaving a comforting cocoon around you that you melt into, unable to escape its soothing pull, giggling in content as his seed fills you to the brim.

There’s silence as Iwaizumi pulls out of you, tucking himself back into his pants before sitting besides Oikawa, joining him as he continues observing your used and drugged up body sprawled across the floor, a dopey smile on your face as cum begins to leak out of your spent pussy.

Minutes pass and Iwaizumi sighs, knowing what Oikawa is waiting for him to ask despite how insistent he has been over the years about not wanting to be involved in this particular side of the business...

“Are you going to have her start working at the brothel soon? She seems just about ready.”

“Not yet. I want to give her a few test runs first before I have her work full-time at that establishment. She’s only been with the four of us, so I’m curious to see how she is with a complete stranger. It’s perfect timing too since Sawamura is coming over for a meeting soon and I know he won’t damage the goods if I gift her to him for a night or two. Plus, she hasn’t completely lost her mind yet so we can get some more use out of her before we toss her aside...”

The brunette rambles on, tone light and airy as if he’s just discussing the weather or a TV show he watched, as if he’s not mere feet away from a woman he’s utterly destroyed and rebuilt into just another brainless profit-making doll.

And Iwaizumi tunes him out, already having heard almost this exact speech countless times by now, unable to even keep track of how many others like you there have been in the past, unwilling to think about how many more there will be in the future. But he snorts at Oikawa’s typical closing line.

“I guess it’s almost time to find a new cute maid.”

#haikyuu smut #yandere haikyuu #yandere oikawa #yandere oikawa x reader #oikawa x reader #tw: yandere #tw: drugging #tw: drugs #tw: addiction #tw: noncon #tw: dubcon

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holylulusworld · 3 years

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Smirk of the devil

Title: Smirk of the devil

Summary: He’s the devil in disguise.

Square filled for @spnquotebingo: (“Believe me, I’ve been asking myself the same question for two years.” – SPN)

Word Count: 1,9k

Pairing: Clubowner!Dean x fem!Reader

Characters: Sam Winchester, Ruby, Gadreel, unnamed girl

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: angst, language, smut, unprotected sex, a hint of fluff, mentions of cheating (implied), sadness, toxic relationship?, unrequited feelings, Dean hurt the reader more than once, hopeful ending but no happy ending

Divider by @firefly-graphics

SPN Quote Bingo masterlist

“Excuse me, miss,“ a young girl, barely twenty-one coos. She looks up at you with big doe eyes, batting her eyelashes. “I’m looking for Dean Winchester. He asked me to come here at nine.”

“No, you don’t,” anyone not knowing you would think you are trying to be rude to the girl, but this is so far from the truth. “Girls like you shouldn’t come to places like these.” you huff when the girl rolls her eyes. “You don’t want to meet up with Dean.”

“And you know this why?” she sasses, hands on her hips now.

You can smell the strawberry chewing gum she tortured the whole time and can’t help but chuckle at her bratty attitude. Once upon a time, you were just like her.

Sweet, innocent, an intact heart beating in your chest.

“You’re not my mom. So, why do you think you can keep me away from Dean,” you’d like to slap her face at the ‘mom’ comment but bite your tongue. You never were a violent person. Maybe if you were, Dean would run around with one ball missing. “I bet you’re just jealous he wants me.”

What can you possibly tell the girl? That he will break her heart. That, once he has you in his clutches he will strip off your dignity, rip any pride left out of your chest and replace your former self with a drooling mess, begging him to do it all over again.

“Speak of the devil,” you whisper, watching Dean waltz into his club, the bunker, the place you first met. Those days seem a lifetime away. Back then you still were a cute and clueless girl, missing the way he tainted you with every touch and kiss.

“I want to speak to him, now,” the girl pouts and you get the feeling she’s rather a girl scout wanting to sell cookies than her pussy to a man she won’t be able to handle. “NOW!”

“It’s your funeral, sweet cheeks,” you wave her off, walk past the girl to talk to Dean Winchester, the devil himself. Oh, how you wish you could tell him to go to hell, but you would only beg him to take you with him.

“Sweetheart,” he dips his head, shamelessly roams your body with darkened eyes, “you look ready to get eaten.” damn him, he smirks, and you get weak in the knees. “And you will—”

“Another of your fangirls,” you jerk your head in the girl’s direction, rolling your eyes. “Guess you are down to high school girls now, Winchester. Shame on you.”

“Jealous?” he cocks his head, watches you turn on your heels, ignoring your racing heart when he walks behind you, one hand on the small of your back. “So, how’s it going with your mysterious boyfriend lately?”

“Wonderful,” you grit out, already walking faster to brush Dean off. “I told you, no questions about my love life or I’ll quit once for all, Dean. Go, take care of your girl.”

It’s when he walks toward the girl that you allow yourself to admire his back, his broad shoulders, and, yes, his ass.

“Ogling my brother again?” Sam stands too close for comfort, but you don’t mind. “What’s the state of your on-and-off relationship? Who’s winning this round?”

“No one is going to win shit, Sammy. Dean wants to fuck every woman with a pulse, and I want a faithful man, period,” you turn your attention back toward the bartender who wanted to talk to you about the latest order.

“He’s hard to handle, I told you so,” Sam nudges your side. “Why don’t you lay claim on him and show any woman he’s yours.”

“Dean is not my man, never was,” you sigh, eyes filled with unshed tears once again. “When we met, he did anything to get me, and then, he dropped me like any other girl. I’m not what he wants, Sam. Dean lives for his club, Baby, and having sex with any woman he can get into his bed…”

“Bunny hole would be the better name for this shithole,” you grit out, downing your first drink of the night. “Give me another one, Gade. I wanna get drunk tonight.”

“Sweetheart, you shouldn’t drink at work,” Dean sits on the barstool next to you, grinning when you grasp for the next drink.

He easily snatches the drink out of your hands, downing it in one go, slamming the glass onto the counter. “Your boss could catch you red-handed and fire you or slap your ass. Whatever you prefer.”

“Go ahead and fire me, Winchester. This shithole will go down without the manager keeping it alive,” you quip. “Now let me have another drink. My shift is almost over.”

“Almost,” he whispers in your ear, fingertips sliding over your thigh to hike up your skirt. “How about we talk about this at my office in the back, Miss Y/L/N?” you place your hand on top of Dean’s to guide it to his thigh, hiding you shivered at his touch.

“Don’t hurt yourself, boss,” you lean closer to whisper the words. “I think you had enough fun with little miss sunshine not an hour ago. I hope you checked she was at age, Dean.”

“Jesus, I asked her to come around for a job, nothing else,” Dean grumbles, hand moving toward your thigh again. “I don’t play with girls, only with women.”

“Yeah, I remember how well you played with half of the female population in town,” snickering Dean slides off his barstool to stand behind you. He’s caging you with his body, places both hands on each side of the bar counter.

“You were one of them, and I remember you were so eager to get out of that cute dress you wore only for me, sweetheart,” he husks in your ear. “Come to my office, Miss Y/L/N, and let’s talk about your behavior lately.”

“If you insist, boss,” you hate you follow him all too eager.

While Dean waltzes toward his office, waving at people, you fight your way through the masses, unbeknownst Sam is following your every step with his eyes.

“She will fall for him all over again,” Ruby sighs. The brunette sips at her drink while sitting on Sam’s lap. “Can you not tell your brother to stop breaking my friend’s heart? She deserves better for fuck’s sake. Two years ago, she found a nice guy and tried to quit only to do the walk of shame the next morning.”

“I can’t help two fools in love to find their way. I tried, Baby. Don’t ask me to talk to my brother about love again. He’s stubborn. You know that Ruby.”

“I know, still, she deserves better than a quick fuck at his office only to end up alone and weeping on the floor for weeks after he had his way with her…”

“Fuck, Y/N,” Dean groans with every thrust. “I’ve missed this tight little cunt around me.” you hate yourself for letting Dean in once again while he takes you apart.

What can a girl do when he has you pressed against the wall the moment he closed the door behind you. His lips on yours, his hands on your ass to heave you up to hold you against the wall.

His thrusts are more demanding tonight, his lips tender against your throat and his hand, well his hands hold you a little tighter. “Dean, fuck—we shouldn’t.”

“A little too late for regrets,” the devil moans in your neck, moves a little slower to drag his thick length against your walls. “You’re so wet for me, Sugar.” you whimper at the nickname.

It brings back memories of all the nights he called you like that, voice hoarse and his eyes only set on you.

“Go to hell—” you finally choke out, still, you hold tight onto his shoulders when he starts to fuck up into you at a madding pace.

“I’ll just take you with me,” he grips your ass tighter, moves you up and down his length while his lips do the worst thing possible – they claim yours in a bruising kiss, take your breath away.

Dean moans against your soft pillows, ignores a single tear that runs down your cheek or that your cunt flutters around him.

“You’re mine, my girl,” he demands, hips jerking uncontrollably now. “Never gonna let you go. Just hold tight, baby.”

You grasp for his shoulders, dig your nails deep into his skin when you can’t hold back the approaching high anymore. A wave of pleasure washes over you and for a moment everything is like it should be—until it isn’t.

His warmth fills you and you remember the way he ended things, right after he fucked you against the wall at his place.

“What if you let me fall?” there is so much fear and pain hidden behind those few words Dean stops moving for a moment. He just looks at you pinned to the wall, bare and vulnerable right in front of him. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Why do you always keep coming back to me?” he nips at your lips, hands wrapping around your back. “Why, baby?”

“Believe me, I’ve been asking myself the same question for two years,” you give Dean a sad smile, eyes filled with tears again. “Maybe I’m a masochist and like to get hurt. I don’t know why I let you in over and over again only to get broken.”

“I hate to break it for you, but we have this thing going on for almost six years,” Dean laughs when you punch his shoulder. “Maybe a little longer.”

“I know, dumbass,” you shake your head. “Two years ago, I found a new job and tried to leave town, but then you dragged me back into your life, and since then…”

“You try to escape me and my charming personality…”

“Why are you still here?” looking over your shoulder you wonder why Dean didn’t leave your place like he always does after he got what he wanted. “Isn’t one of your other girls waiting for you?”

“I told you that the girl was there for a job, not to suck my dick,” he kicks his shoes off and drops his shirt to the ground before he unzips his pants. “I want to stay the night.”

“Why?” watching Dean strip his socks off you frown. “Dean, you don’t need to pretend shit, okay. We both know I was just convenient again.” you turn around, not wanting to face the devil again. If you do, he’ll drag you down to hell again.

“Y/N, baby,” he crawls under the covers to press his face into your shoulder, “you’re not convenient to me. I swear, I asked the girl to come to the club for a job. She asked around at my mom’s place and I offered she can take over a few shifts. As a waitress, not for me to… you know…”

“How shall I know?” you hate that his warmth lulls you into safety. And you hate his arms wrap around your waistline even more. “All you do is to bang random chicks at your office. Just like you did with me not an hour ago.”

“You’re not a random chick, Y/N,” oddly Dean clings to you tonight. He burrows his face in your neck, not letting go of you until he feels your breathing even out. “Maybe you are the only girl I ever loved. I was just too afraid to keep you in my life.”

You can’t react to his confession as you are fast asleep. Dean doesn’t care. He needed to get it off his chest.

“No matter what, you’ll always be mine, sweetheart. Come hell or high water,” he whispers.

And maybe, just maybe, you’ll give him another chance to prove he’s not the devil, only a lonely man who messed things up years ago.

>> Part 2

Tags in reblog.

#Smirk of the devil #dean winchester #spnquotebingo #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester smut #smut #angst

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isabellabrodar · 3 years

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Rely on You✖️JJ Maybank✖️

word count: 1573

warnings: mentions of alcohol and drugs, death/loss

JJ Maybank x Reader; JJ Maybank x John B’s sister

Everyone in my family has left me at some point. My mother ditched us for Colorado when my brother and I were only three years old. John B took that pretty, hard but I knew we were better off without her. Caring for her children wasn’t really a strength of hers anyways, so we barely talk about her now.

Then our dad went away to find the lost gold on the Royal Merchant and never came back. This time the loss of a parent broke me. I didn’t dare hope that he was just stranded somewhere, slurping on a coconut and waiting until someone comes to get him and although his body never was found, John B and I silently agreed on moving on. Accepting that your dad died isn’t the easiest thing for two teenagers to do. So I tried to lose myself in school stuff and John B took over our household. I think it was just his way of coping with the situation, but it became annoying pretty quickly. Every time our friends came over, it seemed like he was trying to prove that he was taking care of me.

And then he died. Or at least we all thought he and Sarah did. But turns out they were alive the whole time and now everything can go back to normal. But losing almost everyone that you have learned to rely on hurts you in a way that cannot be undone.

I was gripping the red plastic cup tightly as I tried to make my way through the dancing and drinking crowd. My eyes were moving rapidly over every face nearby, searching for my brother’s hazel eyes and curly brown hair. But I didn’t see him. So I pushed further into the mass of people until I passed a group of Kooks, standing on the edge of the boneyards, seeming to be staring at a girl dancing her heart out only a couple of feet away. I usually would’ve said something to them but I just walked by, my breathing becoming quicker as I whispered John B’s name over and over again.

When I felt a strong hand grab my shoulder, I turned around in a quick motion.

“John B?” I said before I looked into clear blue eyes.

“No, Y/N. He left about five minutes ago with Sarah. They’re fine.” JJ’s voice was calm but his look was drenched with worry and his grip didn’t loosen up as my breathing slowed down a bit.

“Sorry, J. I…I just didn’t know where he was. I was…I am sorry.” I felt a small tear of relief roll down my cheek as the panic started to die down and JJ moved to put a strand of my dark brown hair behind my ear.

“It’s okay. No need to apologize, smarty. We’ll go home yeah? I’ll get Kie and Pope.” I could hear a slight slur in his words, probably coming from more than just a couple of beers. Other than that he sounded tired and I knew that was my fault.

“No, J. I can get home by myself. Let them enjoy themselves, I don’t want to ruin the whole evening.” I put the empty cup on a rock wall next to me and straightened out my white summer dress. JJ looked me up and down once and then shook his head. I knew he wasn’t going to let me walk home alone after that panic attack.

“I’ll tell Pope that we’re going home. Meet you at the truck.” And before I could argue once more, JJ was already on his way over to our friends who were chatting with some other Pogues that I had seen before at school. So I went back into the crowd and saw that one of the Kooks from earlier was now dancing with that one girl and his friends weren’t staring anymore but looking around for something or better someone else to watch. I made my way over to my old truck, dodging several elbows and spilling drinks, while thinking about all the other times the panic had taken a hold of me and JJ had been there to help me.

Our friendship used to be very easy, I would say. We met through John B in third grade and have been inseparable ever since then. With the others we would go surfing almost every day but when it came to talking about serious matters, JJ and I usually kept to ourselves. Occasionally I had noticed the forming bruises on his cheeks or ribs whenever he came back from his house, but he always said it was nothing or an accident and I didn’t pressure him into telling me more, although I made it a point to come with him to his house as often as I could, so his dad wouldn’t get a chance to touch JJ.

And in return JJ didn’t ask about my nightmares that would wake me up every night after we thought John B and Sarah died. He’d move closer to me on the mattresses that we put into the living room for us four to sleep on. Kie and Pope mostly slept at their houses though, which was good, because then I didn’t have to explain myself to even more people. The problem is, that even after my brother and Sarah came back, the nightmares didn’t stop and I started having panic attacks when I felt like I lost them again. Just like at the party. And since JJ was the only person who knew about that, he felt obligated to take care of me.

This is pretty far away from us calling each other smarty and pretty boy, reducing each other to what people mostly noticed about us and never talking about anything besides parties, surfing and how many grams of weed we would need to get for the next tour on the HMS Pogue.

I grabbed a hoodie from the passenger seat of my truck and closed the door again when I heard footsteps approaching.

“You know I am fine. No need to deprive all these pretty girls from their favorite pretty boy.” I said in a mocking but tired tone whilst nodding my head towards the dancing crowd. JJ was now standing next to me, smiling.

“They can wait ‘till the next party. Let’s go home.” He held out his arm for me to loop mine around and then we started walking through the Cut. This kind of intimacy between us had become normal, but it never seemed to be anything besides friendship and we were both grateful for that. The summer air was cold on my legs and small goosebumps started to form on my skin.

“You really need to wear more… I don’t know, fabric I guess.”

“You sound like my dad. Or worse, like John B.” A small laugh escaped his lips as we made our way further along the street, arms still intertwined.

“I think you should talk to him about your nightmares.”

“And I think you should tell your dad he can rot in hell.” He let go of me and put a little distance between us.

“Damn, Y/N, I get it. Don’t talk to John B then.” It always came to this. Both of us telling the other what to do and to confront their problems, but we couldn’t do it and then we would get pissed off at each other, but that’s just the way our friendship worked.

We got to John B and I’s house a couple minutes later, which we had spent in silence. I opened the door and went straight towards John B’s room. The light was turned off already and I saw him and Sarah sleep peacefully. That’s when my heart beat finally went completely back to normal. When I stepped into the living room I saw JJ sprawled across one of the big mattresses. He was still wearing his clothes but that didn’t seem to matter to him.

“I’m going to sleep in my room today, J.”

He mumbled a quiet “ok” and turned his back towards me as I stepped past him.

I was standing on the beach and watched John B and my dad go into the waves on a small boat. Then thunder started and the heavy rain made it hard to see anything out on the ocean. There was lightning and then suddenly the sound of the thunderstorm stopped as I saw the lightning hit the boat that my family was on. Then they were just gone.

I woke up, breathing heavily with sweat on my forehead. My room was dark but I could hear quiet steps coming towards my bed. I scooted over to the side and started to relax as JJ planted himself next to me, still fully clothed. I laid back down and closed my eyes as the boy next to me but his arm over my side and started to calmly breathe onto my neck. This is something that has happened a lot the past two months. Always the same dream, the same horror in which I woke up and then JJ being there and helping me back to sleep just by getting closer. But this scared me. How can I let myself rely on him when everything that causes me pain comes from the people that I am closest to disappearing, getting hurt or leaving?

✖️Soo, I usually don’t write but I just wanted to try it. I know this is not a complete story or whatever and it’s kind of all over the place, but if you guys like it, then I might rewrite it or add more:)

#jj mayback x reader #jjmaybank #outerbanks #obx #obx s2 #jjmaybank imagine #rudy outer banks #rudy pankow #john b #imagine

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bamfdaddio · 3 years

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X-Men Abridged: 1980 - The Dark Phoenix Saga

The X-Men, those enduring mutants that have sworn to protect a world that hates and fears them, are a cultural juggernaut with a long, tangled history. Want to unravel this tapestry? Then read the Abridged X-Men!

(X-Men 132 - 140, X-Men Annual 4) - by Chris Claremont and John Byrne, John Romita Jr. and Bob McLeod

Go on. Name a more iconic X-Men panel. I’ll wait. (X-Men 134)

If you were born in 1980, you were born under the sign of the Phoenix. This means you will have great hair, but you’ll also be absolutely corrupted by power. Don’t worry, as long as you don’t consume any stars and/or galaxies, you should be fine.

This year hits the ground running, introducing Emma Frost, Kitty Pryde and Dazzler in one fell swoop. The White Queen is the first of the Hellfire Club to make her move, but Phoenix is quickly able to dispatch of her, as you can read here.

Cyclops, worried that the rest of the Inner Circle will soon come in for the kill, decides to abscond to Angel’s Aerie in New Mexico to throw their pursuers off their scent. Jean decides to make the most of it and has sex with Scott on top of mesa. (Kinky!) She also shuts off his uncontrollable destructo-beams, nbd. This somehow inspires Scott to go from reactive to proactive and lead an ill-advised charge straight into the Hellfire Club on the night of their big ball… soirée... thing. Call it a Hellfire Gala-avant-la-lettre.

Fine, he might have been inspired by the raw power of the Phoenix. She’s the biggest gun on their side and, if there's one thing you can be sure of, it´s that reliable powerhouse Jean won´t switch sides in the middle of battle.

Oh wait, that's exactly what she does.

As soon as they enter the Hellfire Club, Jason Wyngarde, who reveals he’s actually Mastermind, takes control of Jean, finally turning her into the Black Queen. With the power of the Phoenix and the patriarchy on their side, the Inner Circle makes short work of the X-Men. They consists of:

Jason Wyngarde, aka Mastermind.

Sebastian Shaw. Often shirtless. The Jeff Bezos of mutantkind. Has the ability to absorb kinetic energy, which means punching him only makes him stronger. (Colossus and Storm figure this out the hard way.)

Harry Leland. Ability of mass manipulation, which has got to be one of the dopest powers ever. Uses it to dunk Wolverine three floors down into the sewer.

Donald Pierce. 25% robot, 100% asshole, 100% useless in taking out X-Men, 225% the worst.

Wolverine is the only one who escapes, resulting in another iconic image:

Apparently, this picture is solely responsible for the fact that Wolverine became the face of the X-Men in the zeroes. It also lit my cigar from the other side of the room. (X-Men 132)

Needless to say, stabbing ensues.

Meanwhile, Shaw pontificates what he wants with the X-Men. He means to use them as guinea pigs to isolate the X-Gene, which he’ll then reverse engineer to give everyone (with money) super powers and all of a sudden, I want Shaw to do a team-up with John Sublime. Jean is not all there, however: she’s trapped in the astral plane, cultivating a cruel streak a mile high.

And suddenly, Jean-turning-evil is not all that funny anymore. (X-Men 133)

Cyclops traverses the mental link he shares with Jean to confront ‘Sir Jason’ and challenge him to a duel. Guy can’t catch a break: in Jean’s mindscape, he is stabbed and he promptly collapses in the real world. Ruh-roh!

Wolverine, meanwhile, has done a passable impression of the Bride against the Crazy 88 in Kill Bill, and he interrupts the Hellfire Club and their gloating. That’s when Jean resurfaces as well, snapping out of her voluptuous Victorian fantasy and, playing a dubious tango with everyone’s trust issues, switching sides once again. The Phoenix is like the golden snitch: as long as your team holds it, it’s enough to win.

Colossus snaps Pierce’s robo-arm, Shaw gets punted through a floor and Leland uses his powers to increase Wolverine’s mass - just when Logan is jumping on top of him. Oops! Should have made him lighter than a feather, Leland.

Jean, meanwhile, is doing her own passable impression of the Bride and goes on what the advertisements would refer to as a ‘Roaring Rampage of Revenge’. (Oh, she roars, and she rampages, and she gets bloody satisfaction.)

This is what happens when you fuck around and find out, Jason. (X-Men 134)

Phoenix makes Mastermind’s mind touch the infinite. His tiny human mind can’t cope. And, just like me when I’m at Pride and surrounded by a bevvy of shirtless gym bunnies, he becomes a dribbling mess. A shell with nothing inside. For those of you paying attention: this is where your Lit teacher would shout “dramatic irony” and underscore Emma Frost vs. Storm on the chalkboard.

This is also the moment where she officially Breaks Bad.

We see powerless people become heroes all the time. The reverse, where the angel falls? That happens far more rarely. I think that is the reason this story was so shockingly effective in the eighties. The reason why it’s still so effective? I think because, like the One Ring, you can read the rise and fall of the Phoenix in a myriad of ways. Is this a victim, reclaiming power? Is this a woman, trying to rise in a man’s world? Is this someone who was always buttoned up, daring to embrace her own power, her sexuality, her dangerous side -- only to get promptly beat down? The ambiguity of the narrative gives it strength, which is why I think it keeps resonating even now. This counts especially in the X-Universe, inherently designed to appeal to the underdog.

Anyway, the X-Men try to flee, but it’s too late. Jean can’t hold it in any more. She explodes in Phoenixesness and vaporizes the X-Men’s aircraft over Central Park. Relishing in her power, Jean easily defeats her friends, before flying off into the galaxy.

In the Avengers mansion, Beast gets the report that the X-Men are trashing the Hellfire Club. Ignoring his duties as an Avenger, Beast chooses his old family and hops off to investigate on his own.

The report, by the way, comes from Shaw, who knows when to turn tail and cut his losses. Among the confused, scared refugees of their party, he begins working a politician on the importance of a Sentinel program. That politician? Senator Kelly. Remember that name.

Jean can’t talk, she’s doing hot girl things. Nomnomnom that star system, sis. (X-Men 135)

Originally, Jean wasn’t meant to die. This one panel, the one showing the inhabited planet, is the reason why she eventually does: Jim Shooter, editor-in-chief, felt Jean shouldn’t be able to get away with a literal genocide. Claremont and Byrne, who had planned to strip Jean of her powers at the end of this, had to change the end of their story within days before it went to print. Additionally, this stoked the adversarial fire between the two: Claremont claims that he hadn’t originally intended there to be an inhabited planet, but felt his hands were tied when Byrne drew one. I wonder how true this is, considering how embedded it is in the narrative, but that’s neither here nor there.

The Phoenix’s genocide alerts the Shi’Ar - and therefore Lilandra - to her presence. Lily says that Galactus is nothing compared to the Phoenix: he merely eats planets, she will consume all that exists.

A hungry Jean, meanwhile returns to Earth, not sure what she’s looking for. She pays a visit to the home of her parents, but when they warily come to greet her, she can’t help but read all the innermost thoughts of her family. Nothing is secret, nothing is sacred. (Imagine knowing all those little thoughts your parents had about you, all those little terrible human things they did in their life. Imagine knowing all their sexual fantasies. Brrr.) It sours the Phoenix against them and she is about to start familicide to her list of sins, when the X-Men attack!

Nightcrawler slaps a psionic scrambler designed by Beast on her, but she’s still too strong. Wolverine tries to end her, but he isn’t ruthless enough to do the deed. When the scrambler overloads, Scott tries reasoning with her, appealing to her love. This causes the Phoenix to waver and Charles Xavier (airdropped in by Warren), bolts Jean telepathically.

Drinking game rule for the Phoenix saga no 6: shout “ca-caw” and take a sip every time the raptor appears. (X-Men 136)

Xavier feels Jean helping him out from within the Phoenix and together, they slowly trap Phoenix in the same sort of energy-matrix as Jean did with the M’Kraan-crystal. The Phoenix finally lays dormant, the X-Men have Jean back and Scott, overwhelmed by emotion, sort of awkwardly proposes to her. Happy Ending! And then, pulling the rug out from under our feet, the X-Men (including Beast and Angel) are whisked away.

They appear in front of Lilandra. The Shi’Ar hold Jean accountable for her planet-killing ways and Lilandra orders her Imperial Guard to take her away! But Charles invokes an ancient law with the same relish of someone who invokes an obscure board game rule against the person who is about to win: he demands a trial by combat.

The rules are easy:

X-Men win: Jean lives

Shi’Ar win: Jean dies.

The trial will be on the dark side of the moon. The Shi’ar are way too strong and, one by one, the X-Men fall, until only Jean and Scott are left. In their last stand, Jean loses control and becomes the Phoenix again, wiping the floor with the Imperial Guard. Technically, they win, but she knows now.

Suicide by abandoned-machine-of-a-long-forgotten-civilization-on-the-dark-side-of-the-moon. (X-Men 137)

She dies. Phoenix dies. The X-Men lose. Scott, bereft, leaves the X-Men.

One detail I love is the holempathic crystal that Lilandra bestows on Jean’s parents.

Without becoming too maudlin, the idea of this is beautiful. A condensed image of a person you love, one you can touch when you feel memories slipping away so you can remember who they were. (X-Men 138)

And with that, season 2 of the X-Men ends. Without Cyclops and Phoenix, the X-Men have to readjust. While Beast returns to the Avengers, Angel takes up residence in the mansion again. He confesses to liking most of the new X-Men, except Wolverine. (To be fair, Wolverine is an acquired taste.) Kitty Pryde also formally starts attending the school and slowly, the Jean-and-Scott-shaped void is filled.

Patriarchal Charles is thrilled to finally have a new teenager in the house who will hang on to his every word. It’ll be like the sixties all over again! (X-Men 139)

There are so many beautiful touches in the few panels:

Wolverine calling Charles ‘Chuck’

Nightcrawler getting drinks (and a beer)

Most amazingly of all, Storm becoming the leader. (I give Chuck a lot of flak, but this decision is Right.) Not just because Storm is the best X-Man for the job, but also because she was a black woman leading one of premier Marvel superhero teams for, what? The better half of a decade? The eighties had barely started, so this was a big fucking deal.

Storm also takes up a motherly role for Kitty, who takes up her suggestion for a codename: Sprite. (This after Kitty rejects Charles’ suggestion of Ariel, which is only fortunate, considering that name would soon be associated with redhaired mermaids.)

The rest of the year is dedicated to two adventures, both of them starring Kurt. The first is depicted in the annual: on Kurt’s birthday, he receives a mysterious package with a mysterious figurine that mysteriously explodes in his face. Professor X calls guest star Dr. Strange for aid, who deduces that his soul has been stolen. What follows is a quest to regain Kurt’s soul in an adventure that feels a little too I just read Dante’s Inferno, check how smart I am.

Hell is a little too pedestrian and boring, though we do get a King Minos hitting on Kurt and Ororo. A man of wealth and taste indeed. Anyway, at the end of this side quest, it turns out all of this was a convoluted revenge scheme concocted by one Margali of the Winding Road. She turns out to be Kurt’s (adoptive) mother, who’s getting revenge for Kurt killing her son.

Kurt, racked with guilt, reveals he had no choice. Stefan had always feared the darkness in his soul and he’d made Kurt pledge to stop him if he should ever succumb to it. After Stefan killed a child or two, Kurt had no choice but to end him. Stefan perished and Kurt was blamed for all of the murders, having to flee an angry mob.

Margali forgives him, with some help from Jimaine, Kurt’s foster sister. In a twist that is a little too soap opera for my tastes (and I watch Riverdale), Jimaine turns out to be Kurt’s squeeze, Amanda Sefton. I’ve always disliked this twist, and not just because of the incesteous vibes: I like the idea of Kurt dating a regular lady who is into him despite his appearance and his being a mutant. Making Amanda Sefton his sorcerous half-sister dilutes that message a lot.

The tail end of 1980 involves Wolverine going to Canada so Wolverine can make amends with Alpha Flight. Kurt joins him, ostensibly to flirt with Aurora, but in fact this shows that Kurt and Wolverine are establishing a rapport. A deeper friendship.

In a pretty paint-by-numbers adventure, Wolverine, Nightcrawler and the worse half of Alpha Flight take down a Wendigo. We don’t get Northstar or Aurora, but we do get more Snowbird, who can change herself into Canadian animals, with the danger of being consumed by her animal side.

We get this delightful panel out of it:

Scared Nightcrawler almost makes me forget how full of shit Jimmy MacDonald is, considering last time Kurt saw them, they tried to kidnap the fuzzy elf. (X-Men 139)

This whole arc is meant to show the softening of Wolverine. Not only does he share his name with Kurt (well, sort of: “Logan, is that your name?” “Yup.” “You never told us.” “You never asked.”), but when they fight the Wendigo and Snowbird turns into a white wolverine to deal the final blow, he talks her out of being consumed by her vicious animal nature.

The year ends with two details worth mentioning:

The Canadian government dissolves Alpha Flight, which I can only find a prescient move that highlights their good taste. A realistic note I like is the minister referring to the mutant problem as ‘an American problem’ even though they employ the Beaubier twins. Wankers.

Fred Dukes escapes prison to join the New Brotherhood of Mutants!

We’re now entering a run of the X-Men which I haven’t read much of yet, but Freddy mentions he was helped by some lady lawyer. That’s gotta be Mystique, right?

I can barely contain my glee.

Ugliest Costume: Despite that godawful hooded thing Kitty wears, I have to give this to Dazzler. There’s no salvaging that costume: I’m sorry, but she’s wearing a disco ball around her neck. It's a boot from me.

Best new character: Emma Frost. Fight me by the bike rack near the parking lot if you disagree.

Turns evil: Jean Grey, famously so.

What to read: X-Men 129 to 137, the Dark Phoenix run.

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beskar-cowboy · 4 years

Text

Coup d’œil

Part 1 of The Best Things Dwell Out of Sight Series

Summary: The Mandalorian saves you from what quickly becomes an unsuccessful bounty hunt. (6.9k words) ao3 link here

coup d’oeil (french) - a sharp eye or a glance that takes in a lavish view.

Warnings: slightly NSFW (Mando has dirty thoughts!) canon typical violence, mentions of past violence against the reader, mentions of cuts and blood, fluff and angst i guess

A/N: this series will be uploaded in a non-linear order! i realize that this way of doing things might not be everyone’s favourite so please let me know if you would like to be notified when all the parts are uploaded (linearly in my masterlist) <3

Mandalorians had filtered into your work place before. They never stayed as long as other customers, but they seemed to enjoy themselves just as much as anyone else did.

But when he walked in today, you knew it wasn’t for pleasure, he wasn’t here to enjoy himself, to be entertained or distracted. No, he was here strictly on business.

You heard him ask one of the girls for your boss; a bail jumper, known criminal who was constantly on the move from bounty hunters like him. Your boss was never in, barely stopped by the place he owned due to the high volume of lurking bounty hunters just waiting for him to show up.

Maybe this Mandalorian was just really lucky, or had impeccable timing because your bail jumper boss just so happened to be in today. He was in the back, probably harassing a worker.

It wasn’t long before blasters were being fired, seemingly from every corner of the bar. Turns out the shiny Mandalorian wasn’t the only bounty hunter in search of your boss today. All their tracking fobs were going off, almost like a choir.

But the Mandalorian didn’t shoot first, he’s much smarter than that.

He probably wouldn’t have even used his blaster, a blaster would have drawn too much attention to him. He would have gone around back without alerting anyone, using his rope and lasso to tie him up and bring him back to the ship with almost no effort, no hassle.

But some rookies, some fucking twerps, had to get cocky and show off their blasters, aiming un-preciously, setting curtains and clothing up on fire. This place was about to go up in flames, fast.

With no sign of your boss, Mando was about to call it quits on this one as he watched the flames grow hungrier and hungrier, consuming more and more of the bar with each passing moment. With the child next to him, he wasn’t so sure the bounty was worth the credits anymore.

Mando ducks behind an overturned table, taking cover as the child’s closed pod follows him seamlessly. Alcohol catches on fire, fuelling it and sending glass shattering across the bar. He takes a deep breath, gripping his blaster, looking for a way out.

That’s when he sees you.

Near the bar counter, huddled on the floor with your knees and head tucked into your chest.

Acting on sheer impulse, he rushes over to you, taking your shoulder into his much larger hand and grasping it somewhat forcefully, enough to alert you to his presence. He’s not a threat, he just wants to get out of here before this place is swallowed by the flames, he’s assuming you do too.

You gasp, big eyes filled with tears as you look up startled at the Mandalorian. He may have been after your boss, but maybe he could get some measly credits for bringing you in as well. Not that you thought you were worth much, or anything for that matter, but you couldn’t help the way your brain was working in overdrive right now.

You shoved yourself away from him, pulling your shoulder from his grasp with desperate fervour.

You were so used to the filthy touch of men, you’re unfamiliar with a gentle, helpful touch. When you look to the Mandalorian, the one who came in completely uninterested in the half-naked girls, who didn’t spare them a single glance, you can’t help but soften a little, maybe putting too much immediate trust in him.

“Let’s go!” He shouts over the firing blasters.

Deciding you don’t want to go up in flames with the bar because of your stupid habit of overthinking, you let him pull you out of the crumbing building.

You stare at him, bewildered and a little helpless if you’re being honest, somehow still afraid of your boss who’s probably dead by now anyways.

You can’t help it, the fear is ingrained in you, it was beat into you. He'll know you’re trying to leave, trying to escape. He’ll come after you, he’ll hurt you. He always does. He always knows, he’s got eyes everywhere.

The Mandalorian’s hand feels warm and softer around your bicep this time. You let him pull you down the street and into the alleyways until you come upon a giant ship. Maybe not giant but it’s by far the biggest one you’ve seen around here.

The Mandalorian opens the hatch to his ship and this is the part where you’re not sure if you’re supposed to follow him, or get lost.

He stares at you through the T-shaped visor, probably asking himself the same thing.

There was nothing for you on this dingy planet, no family, no friends, no work besides that bar that was about to go up in flames and out of existence. Everyone knew where you worked, who you worked for. They wanted nothing to do with you. You suddenly realized this was your chance, possibly your only chance at leaving and starting anew.

The ship groans when the hatch finally touches the ground. You stare at the Mandalorian as you follow him and the floating pod inside, relieved when he doesn’t object. You can still hear the blasters going off in the distance up until the moment the hatch closes behind you.

The floating pod that’s been following the two of you finally opens up with a mechanical hiss, revealing a little green… baby?

It coos at you and you can’t help but laugh a little at its exaggerated features, still very baffled and dizzy at how quickly everything seems to have escalated within the past half hour.

You follow the Mandalorian through the ship, up a ladder until you’re in the cockpit. With wide eyes, you watch him walk into the pilot seat, flip a million switches and you feel the ship rumble with life. It isn’t long before you feel it leave the ground and you stumble a bit, grabbing something on the control panel to steady yourself. You don’t feel like it’s in your best interest to assume you can just sit in the seat next to him, so you just grab the paneling a little tighter.

You look out the large windows spanning across the cockpit and you quickly spot the bar you both just escaped from up here in the sky. Where you worked and lived for the last five years of your life. It was all you had come to know, all you were familiar with. You watched it as a sudden shock wave rocked the ship, you stumbled but held your ground, straining to look out the window at the explosion.

You stare at a mass of angry flames, what once was the bar now fuelling it completely. The Mandalorian had seemed to know so intuitively that it would combust into a fiery pit, and you’re thankful that he found you at the exact moment that he had.

You had been paralyzed with terror, unable to move due to the fear of getting caught in the crossfire or being dragged away by your boss. Your thoughts fade away as you watch the smoke rise high into the sky before a flurry of stars flashes before the windows.

This time you do fall from the sudden change in speed on the ship, landing hard on your ass. The baby turns to look at you over the edge of his pod and giggles. Your cheeks feel hot.

The Mandalorian doesn’t spare a glance back at you as you lift yourself off of the floor and walk awkwardly to stand next to him. You rub the skin on your elbow that stung from your fall as you look from him to the control panel, and the flickering stars dashing past you in solid blue streaks.

“So... where are you headed?” You decide to ask after much deliberation on your wording, not wanting to accidentally say the wrong thing and set him off. He had no reason to trust you after all, might as well try and suck up to the bounty hunter. He doesn’t say anything for a few moments before he answers you.

“Batuu.” His voice sounds much deeper now that you’re in the dead silence of hyperspace. The modulator of his helmet no doubt distorting it to some extent but… you can’t help but shiver at his tone, at the deep rumble of his voice as it passes through you.

“Great, I’ll just… I guess we’ll part ways once we’re there.” You nod at him even though he’s not looking at you. He doesn’t say anything in response.

At the sound of your voices, the child babbles from where the pod floats now next to you, probably wanting to be included in whatever conversation he thought the two of you were having. You turn to look down at him and smile when you meet his big black eyes. He was very precious and you couldn’t help but wonder what a young child was doing travelling with a big, bad bounty hunter.

With your head turned to study the child, Mando finally turns to look at you, look at you properly since you two fled the bar.

Your hair and skin were dirty, flesh below the knees littered in bruises and dirt. He wonders to himself what exactly your job was at that bar?

He asks himself this as if feigning ignorance, as if he does not notice your scantily clad body in that see-through dress, nothing but thin, white material and a thong underneath. As if you are not covered in bruises that may have been left from the rough hands of men who knew no boundaries.

He pulls his eyes from you, he really fucking does because he feels somewhat angry for you, angry at what seemed to be your life and your job. He feels no desire to participate in the act of looking at someone who does not care to be looked at in that manner.

You turn back to face him, catching him off guard as you notice him analyzing you. You look at him with those big fucking eyes and that’s when he notices your split lip, the dark circles of fatigue, maybe even a black eye.

You can feel the way he looks at you is not with malicious intent but you can’t help but wonder how truly beat up you must look, how tired. He seems a bit taken back when you accidentally meet his eyes from beneath the visor… it must be bad.

“Your lip?” He’s unsure how to ask if you’re okay, if you need something or if you’re badly injured. He’s even more confused when you scoff and roll your eyes.

“The other guy looks worse.” You huff, crossing your arms, feigning annoyance or arrogance but it comes out small and unsure.

Mando looks away then, when your arms cross and press your breasts snuggly against each other. He regrets the way he begins to feel hot underneath his helmet, his beskar.

But you hear something of a breath from underneath his helmet, maybe he was laughing along with you. At least, you hope he was. You’d rather that than him pitying you.

God, you hated how pathetic you seemed, how helpless and small you must seem to him. You were thankful for his rescue, for the semblance of warmth and compassion he’s shown you so far but… But you’re just not used to this, therefore you don’t know how to accept it and show how thankful you truly are.

You both sit in silence for several moments. You sort of admire him while he pilots the ship, flicking switches and pushing buttons every now and then while you steal glances at the child, waving to him and watching him wave back and make those little noises, wondering what he’s trying to say to you.

Mando thinks your laugh is sweet as it floats through the air every now and then, he wonders what it would sound like through his ears, without the receivers influence in his helmet. He likes how at ease you seem with everything, with him, even though he’s not quite sure what he’s done for you to feel that way.

“Would you like to use the ‘fresher?” He asks suddenly and you try not to appear startled at the sudden sound of his gravelly voice. He realizes he should have offered you the opportunity to wash off a lot sooner and he mentally kicks himself for it but, better late than never.

He’s turned to look at you expectantly. All you can do is nod your head.

Cute, Mando thinks.

He stands up, towering over you and standing incredibly wide. You follow him as he leads you back down the ladder and into the main area that you had come in through. The refresher was just through a slender door that you had missed when you came in such a hurry. You step inside and start to close the door behind you when the Mandalorian says,

“I’ll be in the cockpit when you’re done.” You nod and close the door once he leaves.

Mando lingers on the other side of the door, screwing his eyes shut at the damned images that play through in his mind.

Ones of you undressing, stepping into the shower, the shower he uses.

Fuck, he had already basically seen all of you, there wasn’t much left to the imagination thanks to your dress.

If he wasn’t wearing the helmet, he’d press the palms of his hands into his eyes until the sinful images dissolved into stars and static. But he is wearing the helmet so he shakes his head and lifts himself back up into the cockpit to distract himself with the millions of flickering buttons that he could be pushing on the dashboard.

Back in the refresher, you turn to look at yourself in the mirror that hangs above the sink incredibly slowly and reluctantly.

There were no mirrors in your old place of work. Boss said it would distract the girls, pull attention away from the customers. Now maybe you knew why.

The bags underneath your eyes were dark, almost like you had a black eye on your right one. Then again maybe you did, the cut on your bottom lip would certainly indicate that it was a possibility. That guy had hit you pretty hard after you refused to fuck him now that you think about it.

You weren’t one of the girls that fucked, you served the drinks that intoxicated them out of their minds.

But all the girls had to wear the same, debasing outfit either way; sheer white dress, black thong, combat boots. No socks.

No wonder the customers got confused.

Deciding you didn’t want to look at yourself anymore, you quickly pulled your dress from your body, slipping the thong down as well before tinkering with the knobs and buttons of the shower. Eventually you managed to get the water hot enough to wash the grime from your body and you sigh, relaxing under the loving caress of the stream.

You never had a shower to yourself at your work. Someone always hosed you down, all the girls standing in line, the weekly routine.

It saved water they said, but the water was always freezing cold, the hose down and harsh scrubbing that immediately followed only lasted ten minutes anyways. How much water could they have been really saving? A hot shower was a luxury you were never afforded, so you closed your eyes and tried not to cry at the embrace of the scalding water. You dipped your head down and watched the water drip, watching as it swirled down the drain with a dark red and brown tint to it.

Without snooping through the Mandalorian’s things, you found a bar of soap resting on a ceramic ledge in the shower. You lather it between your hands quickly, not wanting to waste his soap. You scrub it gently along your body, relishing in the sweet slippery slide of your careful hands. When was the last time you received a loving touch, even from yourself?

You ignore the sudden images that float through your mind; a faceless man, tall and wide like the one up in the cockpit, naked and scrubbing himself with the same soap you’re using now. You wondered if the earthy smell clung to his skin the way you hope it clings to yours, hoping it reminds you of a brief moment you were living in luxury, in comfort and dare you say safety.

Eventually the hot water does start to run cold, you didn’t quite expect a ship to have a great hot water supply anyways. Upon turning the water off and stepping out, you realize there aren’t any towels for you to dry off with.

You then notice a small bin in the corner of the refresher, you peek inside finding a pile of dark clothing. You reach in and pull out the first thing you can grab, a black long-sleeve shirt.

This must be his…

You bring it up to your nose, inhaling the sweet scent. It smells like skin in the summertime, sweet and nutty, whatever cleaning product used on it only slightly lingering, almost like he slept in it too many times, deeming it dirty and throwing it in here for future washing.

You reach for your dress, deciding to dry off with that and slip on his used shirt to wear instead. You think it smells good as you pull it over your shoulders, letting it fall to the middle of your thighs, the sleeves going far past your hands. Stars, this guy was huge.

You throw your dress in the hamper, thinking that he won’t mind disposing of it once he realizes you’ve left it behind. But you keep your underwear, pulling it up onto your hips before you exit the refresher and are greeted by those big black eyes of the child.

“Hi there.” You smile, crouching down to the floor to be more level with him. He babbles and waddles towards you, stretching his little arms out. You hold your hands out for him to grab and play with, not feeling totally confident in yourself to pick him up, mostly because of the arguably overprotective Mandalorian sitting right upstairs.

His small, three-fingered hands latch onto your own, prying your fingers apart and trying to put them in his mouth which you softly discourage with a soft ‘hey, don’t do that’, and ear rubs to try and distract him.

A loud thud comes from behind you, close to where the ladder is and you yelp, jumping away from the kid. The Mandalorian stares at you, or maybe glares, you can’t tell from the way his helmet gives way to no emotions whatsoever.

“I-I’m sorry, I wasn’t-” You begin to stammer, trying to apologize to a fucking Mandalorian for playing with the child, for all you knew was his son. You guess he could be green underneath that helmet and you wouldn’t have a clue.

A small coo cuts you off and you look down to see the child waddling towards you on the ship floor. His arms are stretched out again, reaching for you but he settles on putting them on your ankle.

Normally, Mando wouldn’t be so lax about a stranger being so close to the child, he wouldn’t be lax at all actually but...

But the way the kid is drawn to you, reaching for you, he can’t help but trust the little womp rat as a judge of character.

Mando’s eyes follow the child, watching him put his little hands on your ankle, your bare…

Oh.

You stand there in nothing but his shirt.

His shirt. Fuck… Where did you even find it?

Of course you wouldn’t want to put that scrap of material called a dress back on after washing off. He feels bad for not having the foresight to have offered you some clothing beforehand, although he would have had nothing better to offer you than another version of that same shirt, so he supposes it worked out all the same in the end anyways.

You made the shirt look so much bigger with the way it seems to swallow you whole. Your perfect legs, bruises and all on full display, your hair dripping wet, soaking wet patches into the shirt, making your- fuck… making your nipples hard as you stand there nearly trembling in his gaze.

“It’s okay,” Mando’s voice is strained, hoarse and maybe a few octaves lower. He clears his throat before continuing, not wanting to come off as mad or upset. “He clearly likes you.”

You laugh nervously, looking down at the child who looks back up at you with big blinkey eyes, clearly trying to tell you something from the way he will not stop babbling. “I guess…”

The Mandalorian takes a few long strides towards you until he’s picking up the child from the floor, holding him against his chest, as if trying to show him to you in a more effective manner. You feel hot, nervous from how close he stands to you.

Without the context of the child, there was a deadly bounty hunter, standing less than a foot away from you. You couldn’t help the way you trembled, you hoped he couldn’t tell.

You reach your hand out to the little green child before stopping and looking up to the tall man, asking, “Can I?”

Mando shudders but nods his head. He watches you as you gently prod and rub the child’s ears and forehead, completely taken by your beauty.

The shower seems to have done you good, you seem more at ease and he feels like he can truly see your face now. Clean skin save for the few cuts on your lip and under your right eye. But even the cuts seem less coagulated and crusted over. You probably scrubbed them too hard in the shower, he feels like he can see tiny bits of fresh blood near the ripped, purpled skin. He has bacta spray, maybe he should offer to clean it? What if it got infected-

“Is he yours?” You ask suddenly, voice small as you look up to the Mandalorian and his breath catches in his throat again.

Did you know how deadly you were? Those eyes, that face… He hopes you don’t hear the way his heart pounds, but you don’t, you couldn’t, not over the baby’s relentless talking and squealing.

“Yes,” Mando answers too quickly, realizing very suddenly that he does not want you to think that he was green underneath all that beskar. “N-no, I’m-” not that there’s anything wrong with being green, he just-

Fuck.

“Adopted?” You ask, sensing his inner turmoil. You hadn’t meant to ask such an intimate question, you were honestly stunned he even answered it, or at least tried to answer it.

“Yes, adopted.” You nod, seeming to understand to some degree. Thankfully, you don’t press it further.

“We’ll arrive in Batuu by morning. You’re welcome to sleep in the cockpit.” The Mandalorian says, changing the topic.

“Okay.” You follow him back up the ladder, letting him go first which he quickly realizes is so he doesn’t get a full view of your underside.

Sometimes he really is thankful for the helmet, especially with how much he seems to be blushing around you. He’s not typically like this, he’s not one to blush and stammer, people don’t make him feel hot, flustered, depraved.

But then again he’s never let someone like you catch a ride with him, shower in close proximity, play with his adoptive son… all in less than an hour of meeting each other.

After what felt like minutes but was more close to an hour, your eyes become droopy, feeling heavy as you fight to keep them open. Even though you’re still in hyperspace, you can’t help but feel like you’re missing out, missing out on seeing a galaxy whiz by that you would otherwise never have seen if it weren’t for Mando (short for Mandalorian, he informed you from the few questions he reluctantly answered).

The child is asleep in his pod next to you, cozy and wrapped up in his long tunic and a thick blanket covering his body. You can’t help but feel a bit jealous, wishing you had something half as cozy and warm as that blanket looked. Your knees were tucked into your chest, arms wrapped around to hold them for extra warmth.

But you’ll take what you’re given, you’re thankful for what Mando is providing you with, what he’s giving you; a new life, a fresh start, a second chance-

“Thank you.” You mumble, you whisper. You’re not quite sure if Mando catches it before your head is lulling to the side, then resting on your knees as you succumb to slumber.

Mando’s helmet turns to you when he hears you mumble something incoherently. Maybe you were sleep talking? He looks at you and finds you in the same position he found you in back at the bar. Head and knees tucked into your chest, this time with your bare feet hanging off the edge of the seat.

His heart pounds. Like actually fucking pounds at the soft rise and fall of your back with each heavy, sleep laden breath you take. The way your toes and feet slightly twitch every now and then, the way your legs bend, the soft pull of skin around your knees, your thighs....

Once his eyes get too far up your leg he realizes that if he were to bend forward in his seat, even just slightly, he’d get a full view of that spot in between your thighs covered by the racy material of your underwear… his shirt you wear riding up over your hips with your position, there was no way you weren’t completely exposed to the open air of the cockpit.

But Mando wouldn’t dare look, wouldn’t dare peek at you, especially not… not that part of you. You seemed trusting of him for some reason. Maybe it was because he travelled with the child, maybe that gave him a sort of false air of trustworthiness, of gentleness perhaps? Mando doesn’t know, he’s not quite sure. The only thing he’s sure of right now is that he needs to drop you off in Batuu so he can stop thinking about the way you make his cock swell.

How easily you made his cock swell, feel hot, heavy, starved.

Mando groans to himself, keeping it muffled in his helmet, scared to wake you or the child.

This was going to be a long night.

The hatch opens and a warm gust of wind flows into the ship you’ve now come to know as the Razor Crest.

You hold the long shirt down with one hand while shielding your eyes with the other, the harsh sun blinding you for a moment. You hadn’t realized how dark the inside of the Crest was until now.

You had never been to Batuu, you hadn’t been anywhere for that matter, but as you step out of the ship, you think it might be the prettiest planet you’ve ever seen.

Mando had landed the ship in a secluded area, surrounded by dense trees and across a clearing from a lake. You wish you could stay here and rest with them but that wasn’t what you two had agreed upon. Mando had business here and he would escort you into town, and then that would be it, you’d be on your own.

You tried not to think too hard about the fact that you were about to be walking around a densely populated city, wearing nothing but a long shirt, a thong and some boots without any socks. Mando didn’t seem too phased by it at least, but then again, he was wearing a ton of beskar and probably wasn’t worrying too much about your appearance.

You walk alongside him regardless, not having much say in the matter. You could buy new clothes once you got into town.

The child’s pod floats on Mando’s other side, where he can keep a watchful eye on him as you walk through the wide streets of the town. You look around, coming to terms with the fact that this is where you live now, this is your new home.

You feel your lip tremble, suddenly overwhelmed with how unfamiliar everything is. Where do you even start? Where do you go? Who do you talk to? What do you do when night falls-

“Are you hungry?” Mando’s deep modulated voice suddenly cuts off your quickly derailing thoughts which he noticed due to your shaky breaths, trembling lip and shiny eyes. You sniffle and run your hands down your face.

“What?” You pretend you don’t hear what he said, trying to distract from the fact that you’re trying not to cry.

“When was the last time you ate?” He asks instead, realizing now that neither of you have had anything for almost twenty four hours now. You were probably starving, thirsty, parched. Your lack of response is enough of an answer for Mando.

He changes trajectory, leading you down the road to a rather big establishment with music flowing out the wide opening. A cantina.

Eyes catch and follow the shiny man as the three of you walk into the place, taking seat at the relatively empty bar. Within seconds of having sat down, the bartender is scurrying over and standing in front of the brooding Mandalorian.

“Broth and a jug of water.” Mando orders and the bartender scurries off as quickly as he had come over.

You look to Mando inquisitively with a furrowed brow, wondering why he had only ordered food for one- oh. Right. The helmet. He cannot remove the helmet.

The food and water arrives too quickly and you feel awkward, you feel bad eating in front of him, knowing he can’t have any and fuel himself too.

“I-It’s on the house.” The short man stammers, scurrying away once again before Mando can say anything. Not that he would anyways, he just looks at you, carefully sliding over the full bowl and jug to you without paying any mind to the bartender. That was...

That was kind of hot. Butterflies erupted in your stomach and your cunt involuntarily clenched at how easily he displayed dominance.

The broth steams and makes your stomach growl, but you go for the water first, downing it all in one go. You hadn’t realized how thirsty you were.

Mando watches with endearment, watches you hold the oversized jug with both hands, tilting your head back to get every single last drop. He watches the way your neck extends, how it cranes back so elegantly, how it bobs. He thinks he’d like to touch it, maybe even kiss it, lick it-

“Thank you.” You say to him, in between heavy breaths due to the way you nearly inhaled the water. Mando nods, pivoting on his stool and resting his elbows on the bar, taking in the patrons of the cantina, surveying. He needs to do anything but look at you right now.

You with those killer eyes, wet, shiny lips and heaving chest, chest clad in his shirt, naked breasts pressed up against the fabric he once wore. He could feel the way his blood pumped out of his head and down to his cock, making it painfully twitch underneath his armour.

As you move on to the broth, you take in the sights of the cantina as well, looking at all the different types of species that fill up the booths, so many types of creatures you’ve never seen before. You wonder if Mando notices those particular ones that stare, including this blue guy off in the corner. He seems big, muscular, a wicked smile curling his lips as he looks directly at you. You wonder if Mando sees him. If he does, he doesn’t seem too worried. He is covered in extremely luxurious beskar and travelling with a tiny green child after all, he’s probably used to it by now.

And a half naked girl isn’t that much of a switch up for him, is it?

You finish the broth rather quickly, all the while keeping your eyes trained on the blue fellow who seems to have moved closer to the three of you, stalking.

“I have to go to the bathroom.” You announce, standing up and quickly pulling the long black shirt down to cover your ass. Mando nods.

“We’ll be out front.” You nod back, scurrying off to the back of the cantina, standing behind a random man perched on a stool at the far end of the bar who talks to another patron. You watch the blue man as he not-so-subtly follows Mando and the child out of the bar.

Just as you expected, a stalker. Nothing you weren’t used to dealing with back on your home planet.

You notice the man you’ve crouched behind is armed with a blaster, a blaster that’s poorly holstered to his waist. It’d be so easy for someone to just,

Snatch it.

You rush out the back exit of the bar, seeing Mando and the child off in the distance, near the main entrance. The blue man standing only a few feet in front of you with his back turned towards you. Perfect.

“Hey Mando!” He yells, his speech slurred, heavily intoxicated. You roll your eyes, switching the safety off on the lightweight blaster in your hands. Mando pivots leisurely, searching for the direction the voice came from before his visor falls on the giant blue man. You see the blue guy reach for his own blaster and,

Thud.

He falls to the ground, a burning red ring singeing the flesh in the middle of his back. He falls forward, face down in the ground as you emerge from behind him, blaster in hand emitting smoke from the barrel.

Mando is.... He’s stunned to say the least. And he’s not quite sure what he’s more stunned at.

The fact that he hadn’t noticed this guy beforehand. The fact that you did. How you sneaked off, forming a plan without him clueing in. How you snuck up on all of them. The fact that you have a fucking blaster. The way you stood there, feet firmly planted on the ground, legs apart, solid, long, arms outstretched in front of you, your one eye that was screwed shut in focus slowly opening again. Where did you-

“Where did you get that?” Mando sneers after menacingly marching over to you, gripping one of your wrists tightly into his fits and dragging you away from the body and into the weaving alleyways. You only answer him once he’s allowed you to pull yourself from his vice grip.

“I grabbed it off some guy in the cantina.” You shrug, like it’s not a big deal, like you don’t know how much it’s turning him on.

Mando snatches the blaster from your hand, inspecting it and then quickly shoving it into his own holster. You feel as though he’s glaring at you from underneath the helmet. You look to the kid, he seems concerned, big eyes shining, ears pointing downwards.

“I saved you guys,” you glare back at Mando. “The child could have been harmed, or worse...” You trail off, not wanting to think of any harm coming to this precious child, even if you barely know him or his adoptive father. You couldn't believe he was upset with you about this.

Mando continues to stare at you, his chest expanding with each heavy stress laden breath he takes as your words settle into that thick skull of his.

The child… could have been killed, his son. He could have been harmed.

Mando’s blood had rushed right out of his head and down to his crotch the moment he first saw you, he hasn’t managed to form a coherent thought since.

Maybe he really did need to get rid of you.

As much as Mando had panicked when he had been deemed the child’s (however temporary) father, he could not imagine a life without him anymore.

His son. Adiik.

You watch Mando’s helmet tilt from you, down to the child before it sags even lower, staring at the ground. You scoff and roll your eyes at his lack of a response. Whatever, you were supposed to get lost anyways.

Without another word, you turn on your heels and begin to walk down the dirt path, trying to think of a game plan as you kick at small rocks with your boots.

Mando begins to panic at the sight of you leaving. He thinks back to when he first delivered the child to the client. The regret, the fear, the shame, the guilt he felt as he left that forsaken building and walked all the way back to his ship before deciding no, he couldn’t give up a child like that. He couldn’t part from the little womp rat. He felt it in his bones, his being. Now that same feeling ebbed through him as he watched you walk away from him and his son.

Regret, fear, shame, guilt.

“Wait.”

You stop dead in your tracks. Your bare legs halting their hypnotic motion. Mando’s heart leaps in his chest, a glimmer of hope.

“What?”

Mando takes a deep breath, his beskar feeling too constricting, too tight.

“Stay.” You don’t say anything, you just continue to stare at him. Mando tries to think of an excuse, an excuse worthy of your devotion. “T-the child has clearly taken a liking to you.”

It was true, the child had grown attached to you very quickly, for reasons unknown to either of you. Maybe it was just a kid thing but Mando can’t help but trust the child, trust whatever affection he’s already grown for you.

You had stolen a blaster and you had used it to save them instead of threaten them for money, food, the Crest, or whatever else you could want. Mando couldn’t let that fact fly over his head, nor could he ignore the way it made his heart hurt with some emotion he had never experienced before.

Besides that, being a single parent and bounty hunter was not the easy task. It was no life for a child, and Mando couldn’t imagine how much the child’s quality of life would improve if he had someone else around to help him, to help him give the kid the attention and love he needs and deserves.

Not that he didn’t love the kid but… but his line of work just made it difficult to separate work life and home life. He doesn’t even consider it a home… but maybe, with you -

“I’m not a babysitter.” You shrug, sounding exasperated but with no real malice behind your words. You look to the child, eyes wide as he coos, arms reaching for you like they have been since you met these two. It breaks your heart a little.

You try and convince yourself not to stay with someone who could keep you safe, protected from literally anything in the galaxy…

No. You can protect yourself. You don’t need him. You don’t need his shiny armor and large ship… you especially don’t need the way your belly swoops whenever he speaks in that low, deep voice.

You turn on your heels, swaying on your legs like you're debating just walking away again and Mando’s heart beats, beats, beats so fast he feels like he might pass out.

“I can pay you.” Your movements stop and you hesitate, looking to the ground for an answer, like it would be spelled out for you in the sand. The prospect of money is… comforting, intriguing.

“How much?” You say, voice quiet and a little ashamed. Mando tilts his helmet, deliberating over an appropriate amount.

“10 percent of what I collect.”

“Make it 40, that kid looks like a lot of work.” Mando scoffs, rolling his helmet and tilting it as if to taunt you.

You weren’t wrong, he thinks to himself.

“20.”

“40.” You say forcefully, unbudging.

Mando stares at you, refraining from throwing another pair of numbers in your face, helmet still and menacing. It seems 20 percent is as low as he’ll go.

In reality, a 80/20 contract is a much sweeter deal than you would manage to snag anywhere else. No matter how much the Mandalorian makes, which probably isn't a lot but clearly it's more than enough for him and the child, especially if he’s willing to bring you on board to live with them.

“I guess… I guess 20 works.” You finally answer after realizing he was hanging on your every thread for an answer, some indication that you’ve agreed to such a strange arrangement.

“Yeah?” He tilts his helmet at you. You suppress some feeling of a smile pulling at your lips, a feeling that makes your cheeks ache. The child seems joyful too, as if he can understand the two of you and the contract you’ve just agreed upon.

Mando feels like he’s high, like his heart is going to burst through the pounds of beskar which covers it so securely.

You’ve agreed, you’ve agreed to stay with them. With him. He thanks whatever Maker is out there that you can’t see his face right now, can’t see the ways you make him blush, make him flustered.

“Yeah, Mando.”

“Good. Now... let’s go get you some real clothes.”

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #reader insert #din djarin imagine #fluff #angst #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #my writing #coup d'œil

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