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plush-rabbit · 3 years

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Divinity in Impurity

Request: Okay but what if I actually request solo Simeon and him moaning through prayers and being just totally repressed and painfully turned on because his precious lovely MC makes him go doki doki? And of course a shameful messy clean up :3c I love u bestieee ✨✨💋

Word Count: 2.5K

A/N: Couldn’t get this out of my head, I want him to be repressed and emotionally conflicted

Simeon enters the House of Lamentation, a gift bag in hand and he’s grateful none of the brothers are home. At least for Beel since the angel is sure that the gluttonous demon would’ve sniffed out the lovely baked goods that he carries. The home is quiet, but he knows you’re here. He sent you a message, confirming that you would be here. The house is empty and it’ll just be you and him, sharing a treat from his home and chatting away. It’s so rare to get you alone and while he’s glad that the brothers are there to protect you, they are also highly possessive, not letting a soul get near you and even less likely to allow someone to be alone with you for so long. There’s a light feeling in his chest, making his lungs expand with air, making him feel as if he’d float away from the simple joy of spending time with you. His cheeks are starting to hurt from the smile he has etched onto his face.

Guilt may lap at him for not informing Luke or Solomon of his whereabouts, but for just once, he wants to be alone with you. He wants to sit and talk about anything other than school work and how everyone can’t seem to focus on the task at hand. He wants to talk with you, learn more about you until you’re all that fills his mind. Or at least, occupy it.

He’s excited, standing at your door and he knocks, a smile on his face. Patience is something that he’s born with, having the time and mind to save those that stray from the path of light, to mentor the young angels, and to grant him his title. Yet, he can’t stay patient. He’s at your door, he can hear you hum and only a piece of wood separates you for him. His patience is thinned, eagerness taking over and he turns the knob to your door. All he wants to do is see you, to be unbothered as he spends time with you and listens to you talk. He wants you, that’s all he wants. The knob is cold underneath his hand, and he steps into your room, greeting you with a wide smile.

The bag tightens in his hands, his eyes widening slightly and smile falling. You stand in front of him, slightly turned away, a shirt pressed against your tummy, your chest bare and legs naked, the only clothing you have on is your underwear, shaped to your body. Your eyes are wide, a heavy flush takes over your face and he’s expecting you to yell, an apology already at his tongue, his eyes dipping for just a moment, catching the swell of your breasts, the lovely aroma of the cream you wear, your fingers that twitch ever so slightly as you grasp the shirt in your hand.

“Simeon?” You call, and he’s quick to dart his eyes back to meet yours- back to where they belong. “I appreciate you coming over, but could you-” you gesture your head towards the door- “you know, leave for a moment?” You smile at him, the shirt in your hands now fisted tightly.

“Ah, yes, of course.” He nods his head, trying painfully to grapes at his composure that is now slipping through his fingers. “I’m terribly sorry,” he mutters, exiting the door, the door clicking behind him.

Rather than sit there and wait, he glances at the door, knowing you’re behind it, your body untethered by cloth and bare. He leaves, his steps quick and quiet, walking away without so much as a goodbye. How could he possibly stay there? How could he look you in the eyes when he was so obviously staring at your body? How could he have done something so raw and primal of him- something that isn’t him.

He hadn’t meant to walk in on you while changing but- he bites his tongue, his face hot and an aching pain in stomach. There is no “buts” or ‘ifs’ or anything of the sort. He should have known to knock before he entered your room. He’s an angel, of course he should have knocked. It doesn’t matter if you two are close, it doesn’t excuse his action for being so forward. He was just so excited to go and see you, to gift you a treat sent from the Celestial Realm. Oh- the treat. It’s still in the bag, protected by a glass casing and covered with tissue papers that glitters under the light. He had forgotten to give it to you in his rush.

There’s no going back now, not when he saw you and had the audacity to even stare at you. He’s humiliated. His face burning and any breath that he has is taken from him, squeezed out of his body and forced out. He runs to the safety of his room, glad that no one seems to be home. He slams the door, his back pressed against the wood and when he closes his eyes, he can still see you- your body bare and nipples pert, your face holding a slight flush. He can see everything behind his eyes. The lock quickly snaps into place, his steps hurried as he walks toward the small table in his room.

He places the bag down on a table as he rests on the chair provided in his room. He leans back, the cushion soft underneath him. The wood is scratched at by his covered hands, his gaze focused on the wall. Simeon mumbles under his breath, an apology said to no one, his bottom lip teased by his teeth.

How could he possibly face you tomorrow? How could he do anything after what he just witnessed and did? He removes his gloves, dragging a free hand down his face, leaving the palm to cover his mouth. His phone buzzes in his pocket and he reaches for it in the same second, half hoping and half dreading that it’ll be you.

It is.

You ask where he went. You even apologize, saying that you mustn’t have heard him.

He laughs bitterly. You apologize to him. He was the one who entered your room without permission, invaded your trust and yet, you were the one who was apologizing. He simply leaves the message on read, not knowing what to tell you. Would you believe him if he told you that he had felt sick? Probably not, but for his sake, you would have, he’s sure of it.

He sucks in a deep breath, his eyes on the wall and there’s an unfamiliar itch in his body. Or rather an itch that he shouldn’t scratch at. Looking down only confirms his suspicion. He’s erect. Could it be from you? He sighs. What a silly question. Of course it is.

It’s wrong of him to even keep the image of you ingrained in his head. “Touch me, O Lord, and fill me with your light and your hope. Amen,” Simeon whispers under his breath, trying so desperately to keep his hands away from his erection. It pains him so, his body growing hotter by the second, sweat starting to bead and eyes watering at the tempting fate of actually touching himself to you. “Please Father,” he whispers, “grant me strength. I can’t- I am but a humble servant of yours. Please take away all these sinful thoughts.”

His chest trembles, his mouth dry and tongue thick. There’s a pressure against his stomach, his hands grip at his thighs, his head bowed and no matter what, you are just in his mind. Perhaps you’re the real sin, the real test in all of God’s Grand Plan. How is he supposed to be an angel when a human of all things is the one that is turning him to sin. The one being who has managed to ruin him, to unthread his wings and have him even think of reaching out to you and be selfish.

The unzipping of his zipper is loud, echoing in his ears, drowning out the holy blood that rushes inside of him. He lets out a sigh when his cock is free, the cool air in his room making contact with the hot flesh. When his hand wraps around himself, he lets out a sob. It’s filthy, but at the same time, it’s something that makes his mouth water and want more. You are the most beautiful sin, the one that he will risk everything for, for just a chance to touch you.

“Please forgive me,” he whispers. He’s unsure of who he’s speaking to. He doesn’t know if he’s asking father for forgiveness, unknowing if his message is reaching out, unknowing if he’s hidden from his light and his view; or if he’s apologizing to you, for walking in on you and now pleasuring himself to the thought of you.

You are all that invades his mind, his hand wrapped tightly around his cock, the ridges underneath his fingertips pulsing with heat. You stand bare in front of him, your body soft and blemished with little scars and ridges. He tightens his grip, his teeth clenched and jaw starting to ache. He’s touched your hand before, felt how soft you are, how loving your touch can be and he can only wonder if you're still gentle in bed. If you’d play the act of the blushing virgin under him, if you’d whimper and buck your hips if he were to kiss at your neck and cup your sex under his hand. You allowed him to stare, even if it was for just a moment, you had reelected so calmly, smiling at him, acting as if he were your lover who had seen your body countless times before. You are molded under God’s light, given freedom and kissed with the gentle lips of God, birthed and given existence, your path defined only by you, and you’ve allowed him to see that. You had acted so calmly, telling him with a smile if he could excuse himself for a bit. It’s almost as if you were used to that sort of thing. He stops in his movements, his eyes wide and breaths coming out in uneven pants. You live with demons, you must be used to that. To have such devils enter unannounced and watch you strip yourselves from your clothes.

The thought fills him with fury, his lips curled and brows knitted together. Yet, his hand continues to pump at his cock. The ridges near his cockhead tingle under his thumb, his head thrown back and eyes shut tightly.

His thighs tense, the muscles in him pulled taut as his grip tightens. “Something so tainted shouldn’t be the thing to witness you,” he hisses through his teeth, brows furrowed and hips bucking. “It’s outrageous that they’re the ones you live with. Beings so full-” his voice cracks, his head dipping down- “full of sin, touching and dirtying you.” His cockhead leaks with pearly white semen, dripping off his cock in heavy, thick strands.

When he closes his eyes, he can imagine you, dressed in white, spread before him, pleading with him to be gentle- you’d be the blushing virgin, ready to take in God’s Grace and kiss lips so pure that you’ll whine against him. You’ll be under him, your fingers lost in your sex as you tell him that you’ve been waiting for this moment. His pace quickens, his eyes closed as he thinks as to how you’d feel. Your thighs plump and your walls tight around his cock, your sex pulsing under his touch. You’d kiss him and he'd return it. He lets out a cracked moan, his breath sharp and head thrown back.

Beside him, his phone rings. He gives a slight turn, his clean hand going to lift the phone. A deep frown settles on his burning face as he realizes what he’s done and to who he’s done it to. Your image fills his phone, a call from you. He clears his throat, and quickly accepts your call.

“Simeon!” You sound worried and the tugs at his heartstrings and further cements his guilt. “I was worried, you didn’t reply to me. Are you okay?”

“I-” his voice cracks, and with a deeper flush, he clears his throat. He wonders if you know what he just did. He wonders if you would figure out what he’s doing as he listens to your voice. “Ah! I’m sorry, I thought I had replied to you but it seems like I hadn’t. I- uh,” he bites on his lip, trying in vain to muffle his moan- “My mistake. I- I just, I needed to get something,” his voice strains at the last word. “I’ll be over shortly. I promise.”

“Simeon,” the way you call his name makes him tug harder at his cock, “if this is about what you saw, then it’s okay. I know you. You didn’t mean to.” You sound so sweet, trying to comfort him while he’s doing something so perverse. “Listen, if you want, we can forget that that happened and start new, okay?”

“Really?” he breathes out, already closer to his high. “I would appreciate that. I-” His nail grazes over a vein and he lets out a deep groan.

“Simeon, you okay?” You say hurriedly. “You sound hurt.”

“I just bumped into a table,” he laughs breathlessly, his phone pressed roughly into his ear. “I’m sorry for worrying you,” he mumbles. “I’ll be over shortly, my dear. Just wait a moment.”

He barely has a chance to hear you say goodbye before he ends the call. “Fuck,” he groans, snapping his mouth close and turning his head, sliding his hand up and down his cock. Clicking noises fill the room, his cock pulsing in his hand, feeling as if it were about to burst. So heavy and foreign in his hand, Simeon pushes past the thought of his own hand touching himself, and tries to imagine yours. He thinks of your voice, of how you said his name, rushed and high, calling out to him.

You’re this glowing thing, something so pure but also full of sin, so human and lovely for it. You’d be this thing he was able to touch, this person who would love him and beg for touch. Under his wing, you’d be protected, cared and loved. Tears brim his eyes, trailing down his cheeks in hot flashes, sparking and disappearing into nothing before they have the chance to wet his hand. He’s already so close, his stomach knotting together, and body beginning to shake. As he releases, his free hand covers his mouth, muffling his moans that are drenched in cries. His seed is thick, coating his hand and leaving him in burning ropes. He looks at his hand covered in semen and he wonders if you would have been so kind to lick it off of him, to treat him as if it were your finest meal. His cock twitches at the thought, dribbling out more semen onto the seat.

Simeon lays in his afterglow, taking deep, slow breaths, his palm open, his seed dripping onto the floor in syrupy strands. The tear tracks begin to dry, his eyes still watery and the image of his ceiling blurry. With a wince, he stands, and grabs at his soft cock, walking to the nightstand and pulling out tissues. It’s humiliating to cleanse himself, to dry off his semen and to wash his hands. He can’t touch you with his hand, with a hand that had sullied the image of you in his mind, that had gripped at his own cock and covered himself in seed. The semen comes off of him in rushed waves, slipping down the drain and leaving his hand wet and clean as if there was nothing there to begin with. In the mirror, he is greeted by his reflection- messy hair and flushed cheeks, tears in his eyes and puffy lips from being bitten by. He wonders if you’d recognize this dirtied version of an angel when he greeted you. He wonders if you’d still hold his hand that grasped his cock not too long ago. With another message from you, he grabs the sweet he was supposed to bring, giving a glance to the gloves that rest on the arm of the chair. With a sigh, he decides to leave them there, hoping to hold your hand and memorize the feel of it

#obey me #obey me swd #obey me simeon smut #obey me simeon x reader #obey me simeon imagines #obey me simeon headcanons #obey me simeon x mc #obey me simeon #i want him to cry #i want him to be a big crier #but i also want him to be super gross and indulge in his sin #like he's pent up #let him ya know #go buck wild and stuff

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gondowan · 3 years

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Communal Property

Pairings: Din Djarin x f!Reader, allusions to Paz Viszla x f!Reader, Boba Fett x f!Reader, other Mandalorians x f!Reader, big gangbang vibes here lads.

“I hear you Mandos like to share your women anyway.”

Tags/Warnings: NC-17. Explicit sexual content. Established relationship. Verbal humiliation. Dom/sub. Choking. Lots of finnnngerrring (vaginal/anal). Canon-typical violence (Din stabs a rando). Soup, but make it sexy. Daddy kink (ehe). Suggestions of a threesome, gangbang, public use, bondage, breeding, double penetration (if I missed anything please let me know), its fluffy at the end :D

Word Count: 4,709

Notes: <:3c please don’t read if you’re not comfortable with anything listed above lol. Seriously though.

---

It was getting late, and the only clientele left at the dingy cantina were either drunk and rowdy or on their way to out. Which was fine, it was rare for the two of you to have some time together and you relished every second you could get. Din had just bagged a large bounty for Karga, enough that he could be persuaded to take a short break. It had been far too long since the two of you could spend some time together without a bounty puck hanging over your head or fears of Imperials looking for the Child.

Besides, Sorgan was as quiet as it got, and with all the planet-hopping and close calls in the last few cycles, the two of you really hadn’t had any time to yourselves and you were getting a little...tense from the lack of release.

It wasn’t that Din ignored your needs, but rather you were both so caught up with everything that there was barely any time to sleep, let alone indulge in a long scene. There just weren’t enough hours in the day to both take care of the Crest, the Child, and yourselves while on the run. You could tell he too was tense from the lack of physical connection; from the moment you stepped planetside, he was constantly touching you, either guiding you with a hand on the small of your back or

Din was in a mood.

“What will it be?” the barkeep had asked when you both walked in.

Before you could open your mouth, Din replied “Some stew and cider for her please, nothing for me,” he said in a clipped tone, not bothering to look at you or even ask what you might want.

As the barkeep walked away, he turned his helmeted gaze towards you. “Any objections sweet girl?”

You felt your face get hot. “No,” you murmured.

He cocked his head to the side, waiting. He was in that kind of mood tonight. Out of the corner of your eye you could see the barkeep coming back to your table.

“No...daddy,” you mumbled, dropping your gaze away from him right as the barkeep put down your drinks.

“Let me know if you all need anything else!” she said cheerfully as she set your plate of food and drink in front of you, oblivious to what had just occurred.

“That’ll be all, thank you.” Din said, not even bothering to look at the barkeep. She must’ve thought you were mute or the two of you had an argument or something, the air between the two of you felt so charged. You hadn’t spoken a word since you two stepped in, and this armor-clad Mandalorian was basically bossing you around.

She walked away, and you reached for the soup.

“No.”

You blinked at him in confusion.

“I’m going to feed it to you,”.

If you weren’t embarrassed before, you were now. Although the two of you had conversations about taking your dynamic outside the bedroom, Din hadn’t tried anything outside the ship just yet. The two of you were constantly surrounded by others anyway (Cara, Mayfeld, Boba, etc), so there wasn’t much of a chance to be naughty in public.

Except now, you suppose. You should’ve known.

“Mando, we’re in public,” you hissed, looking around the cantina. It was crowded and loud, and you were in a corner booth, but there was still a nonzero chance that someone might glance over.

His vocoder crackled, “Just the first spoonful,” he said, dipping the spoon into the soup and raising it towards you. You knew better than to say no, not if you valued the ability to sit down comfortably tomorrow. If you were really uncomfortable, all you had to do was blurt out your safeword, and you knew he would stop.

You licked your lips, “Just the one.” You prop your forearms on the table and lean towards him, parting your lips, fervently hoping that no one would look towards your table. Din carefully tips the soup into your mouth, watching intently as you swallow.

“Good?”

You lick your lips, despite the (admittedly delicious) soup, your mouth feels dry, “Y-yeah,”.

“Finish it and we can leave,” to do what it is we really want to do, is the unspoken statement hanging in the air. He pushes the bowl towards you; you hastily grab the spoon, not even tasting it anymore. Din watches you eat, unmoving save for an impatient drum of his fingers on the table.

You relax a little, and ramble at Din about this-that-and-the-other to fill in the silence as you move onto polishing off your cider. Din says little in return but traces circles at your thigh, gloved fingers leaving a burning trial in its wake. Right as you are about to finish, a drunken man saunters over. You can smell the stench of alcohol rolling off of him. So much for a quiet night.

“What’s a pretty lady like you doing with a tin can like that?” the drunkard giggles, pointing at Din. “Come with me instead, I can show you a great time, and you can see my face!”.

You sigh, so much for a quiet night, “I’m not interested, thank you,” you say with a clipped smile, turning away, hoping to the maker that he’d leave.

Unfortunately this idiot can’t read the room, “Awww, don’t be like that, I can-”.

“She’s not interested.” Din said, voice flat, gaze still directed at you, not even bothering to give the drunkard the luxury of his full attention.

The man scowls, throwing up his hands. “Whatever, she’s probably all used up. I hear you Mandos like to share your women anyway.”

The air got deathly still. Before you can turn to stop him, Din’s vibroblade is sticking out of this man’s shoulder. He screams, sobering up instantly, as Din twists the blade.

In a flash, the barkeep shows up, blaster in hand, “OUT! All three of you!”, she yells, “Sa’al, I told you if you were going to get in trouble for this shit one day. Don’t let me catch any of you back here again.”

You throw down a fat wad of credits at the table, face apologetic as Din pulls his knife out of Sa’al’s shoulder, returning it to his boot. Sa’al collapses and scurries away in pain, clutching his shoulder. Din calmly stands up, takes your hand in his and leads you towards the exit. You mouth apologies at the barkeep before stepping out into the cool night air. Sorry, my partner is...touchy tonight have a good night so sorry I’m so sorry.

You shiver, not looking forward to the long walk back to the Crest. Surprisingly, Din turns you in the opposite direction, marching you towards the inn.

“Don’t want to wait,” he says. “Besides, it’s getting cold, and I know you don’t like that,” he drapes his cloak over your shoulders, and despite the reaction he had at the bar, your heart feels warm, and you lean into him.

---

The inn is quiet, and you were lucky to get a larger room at the end of the hall. A bath would be nice, the refresher aboard the Crest did its job, but five minute showers really didn’t leave any time for luxuriating. Maybe you could MacGyver some bubbles and really indulge with Din.

Din however, has other ideas. He all but shoves you into the room, closing the door behind him and quickly doing his usual checks for cameras and recording bugs. Old habits die hard. Once he’s satisfied, he sits at the edge of the bed. He pats at his lap, gesturing for you to sit. This had become a bit of a ritual for the two of you, he would often decompress by holding you as you sat there, either in the cockpit or the sleeping quarters. You amble over, planting a kiss on his helmet, and sit down.

Din doesn’t say anything at first, just lays his head on your shoulder. You reach in between his armor to rub at the tense muscles on his back, and for a few moments, it’s just the two of you and the sound of his breathing out of the vocoder.

“You didn’t have to go so hard on the poor man you know,” you murmur as you massage the back of his neck. Din doesn’t move, just continues to hold you on his lap, head on your shoulder as he scoffs.

“I’m getting soft. Before I met you, old me would’ve killed him,” the voice underneath the helmet is deadly. He releases his hold on your waist and takes off his helmet, immediately peppering kisses along your mouth. You knew he wasn’t lying, he had done worse--for less. “No one talks to my girl like that,”.

“It’s fine, you dealt with him. My honor remains intact, I swear.” you giggle as his lips reach a particularly sensitive spot behind your ear. Except the idea was enticing. Maybe you could bring it up another time, when Din wasn’t fresh out of nearly killing someone for saying that. The idea of being sandwiched between two Mandalorians was...tempting. You squeeze your thighs together, willing the thought away as you card your fingers through his hair. For someone who routinely kept it covered, it was so, so soft, and one of your favorite parts about him. Din still kept his helmet on more often than not, so you relished every chance you could get.

His mouth wanders to your collarbones, hand reaching into your shirt, fingers smoothing over your nipple.

“Although Din--ah,” your breath hitched as he rolled your nipple between his fingers, “What was that with the soup?”

“You didn’t like it?” his voice is muffled as he sucks a bruise onto your shoulder.

You loved it actually.

“Need to make sure babygirl has enough energy for Daddy,”. He continues to play with your nipple as you fuss around his lap.“Although...you averted your eyes earlier sweet girl,”.

You whimper, body tensing. Shit. That had one been one of the rules he had laid out for you at the very beginning. Eye contact whenever you were playing. Din loved it because it made you embarrassed to have to admit to your desires to his face and it put you in an almost automatic submissive mindset.

“Are you ashamed of being my baby girl?” he murmured, catching your chin with his hand, tilting your face to meet his. You knew it was a trick question, you could never be ashamed of the relationship the two of you shared. It had grown from just business to more, and despite the near-constant danger, you never wanted to be away from him, and you knew Din felt the same.

“Of course not,” you sigh. You could never be anything but happy to be his.

“Then why did you look away from me?” he asked, keeping your chin in a gentle grip, looking at you fondly, a smile of wicked pleasure gracing his handsome features. His voice was calm, and he maintained an innocent demeanor even as his other hand drifted away from your breast onto your thigh, squeezing gently.

“I was just caught off-guard, we were in public,”. You braced yourself for what you knew was coming-- punishment.

The other hand that had been trailing along your thigh paused, prompting you to freeze. “Well, it looks like you need to be taught a lesson. Always be ready for me, kitten.”

“I think five is good,” he releases your face, hands roaming to your bottom, groping as you let out a shuddering breath, “Remember to count them”.

You burrow your face into his shoulder, holding on tight. Din keeps his gloves on, knowing that you have a special fondness for being spanked while he was wearing them. The leather just adds that extra touch.

The first hit takes you by surprise, and you buck into him, feeling the sting of his hand.

“O-one.”

The second and third hit right next to the first, causing you to moan into his neck.

Din rubbed the growing warm spot on your asscheek, “You should be in a museum kitten, your body is a masterpiece,” he growled, “Almost makes me feel sorry to hurt you.”. He lifts his hand away and you close your eyes, bracing yourself.

“But not quite,”. The next hit has you whimpering.

“Four.” you manage between clenched teeth.

He murmurs, “Last one okay? You’re doing so well.” You steel yourself, knowing that this one will be the most painful. You loved it when he was cold and domineering, playing with your body, inflicting both pain and pleasure at his desire, extracting whatever he needed out of you.

Din’s hand comes down, hard. You cry out, shifting forward with the force, but are caught by his chestplate.

“Five!” you call out, relieved. “T-Thank you Daddy,”.

Din kisses your cheek, phrases of adoration and love filling your ear. He moves you off his thigh, pushing you onto the bed in one swift motion. You land with a soft ‘oof’, getting up on the back of your forearms to look at him.

Din hurriedly takes off the rest of his armor and looms over you on the bed, arousal rolling off his body in waves. His palm reaches down between your legs. “Babygirl...you’ve already made a mess.” Din pulls at the crotch of your panties, feeling the wetness that has seeped through. He yanks them off, making a big show out of sniffing them, all the while maintaining eye contact with you as you squirm under him.

“Is this all for me sweet girl?”. You nod feverishly and Din groans, as he inhales deeply again, your ruined panties pressed right against his nose, “It’s too good--I should just keep your pussy under lock and key.”

“Did the spanking get you all riled up?” he asks, the curve of his cock visible even through his pants, making your mouth water.

“Or…” his voice drops precipitously, “Were you thinking about being passed around?”

Damn, of course he’d know. Your eyes widen and you swallow, stomach twisting.

Din grins as he continues to let his hands caress your hip, “Was that it? Is that what you want? Passed around and used up by a bunch of Mandalorians?”

You whine, biting your lip, refusing to give him the pleasure of confirmation.

A sharp slap across your nipple brings you back to reality. “Answer me.”

You nod, lips parting, unable to answer as Din pushes a finger into your mouth and across your tongue. You lap at his finger, pleased at the subtle shiver that goes through him. He adds a second finger, reaching deep into your mouth, making you gag as you garble out an affirmation.

Din grins ferally. “You know I could call up Paz and Boba, let them take turns on you”. You shudder, the thought of sucking Boba’s cock while Paz worked your pussy was hot. You hadn’t done more than exchange a few conversations with the two of them, but you knew that Din would trust them with his life, they were his vod. Paz was the biggest one and you knew he wouldn’t take it easy on you. Boba, however, would be brutal, possibly even more so than Din.

“Although I don’t know babygirl, I’m not sure I can share your pussy-- maybe I’ll keep my cock in your pussy and the others can take turns on your ass and mouth, keep you airtight and so full. Would you like that baby? Be stuffed full of cock?” Din hums as he pulls his fingers out of your mouth. The image he’s painting in your mind is disgusting and oh so good, you imagine yourself straddling Din as his cock fills your pussy, holding on for dear life while Paz eases himself into your other tight hole and you choke around Boba’s length, utterly debauched.

Din pets your cheek, soft gesture contrasting sharply with the utter filth coming out of his mouth. His hand finally reaches down towards the apex of your thighs, knuckle grazing up and down your folds. “We better train your asshole then, don’t want Paz or Boba to hurt you,” your heart flutters, filthy images of you on your knees plugged up making your blood pound.

“That’s Daddy’s job after all.” he says absentmindedly, eyes laser focused on your pussy as he briefly dips his finger even lower, just barely skimming across your other hole.

“Look at you,” he says, admiring the way you shudder as he inserts his fingers into your pussy, you’re so turned on you can hear the squelch as he pushes in. “Knew you were a greedy slut since the first day I set eyes on you.”

You keen under his touch, mind flying high, pussy throbbing as you move your hips into his hand. “I’m your greedy slut Daddy,”

“Yeah you are, sweet girl.” Din says fondly. You wonder how it is that you’re already this close even though he’s barely started to finger you.

“Can I kiss you? Please?” you whimper, reaching for him. Din hums and puts a knee on the bed, leaning over, chest pressed against yours, pressing a kiss to the underside of your jaw. You pull him closer, needy for more of him as you wordlessly beg for more. He nips at your bottom lip and you open your mouth to let him in, never minding the mess of saliva.

“Never thought you were that much of a whore,” he hisses against your neck, teething grazing along the line of your skin as you tilt your head back to allow him better access. His fingers continue to work their magic on your slick folds, and you’re pretty sure you’ve made a mess on the bed already, and dear maker, he hadn’t even made you cum yet.

“Alternatively…”. Din stands up, mouth leaving yours and withdrawing his fingers as well. You whine at the loss of sensation. He nips at your breast before reaching down to pull his pants down. You swallow, chest heaving as you part your legs further for him. Din rubs the head of his cock on your clit,

“Spread yourself,” he orders with a sharp smack to your inner thigh. You scramble, reaching down to give him better access. Din lets out a moan at the sight of your dripping pussy and your debauched dreamy expression, fresh bruises adorning your neck and chest, all his doing. He loved the way you folded under his touch as if you were made for him, always so sweet and anticipatory of his needs. A beautiful complement to his twisted desires. The thought of it made his heart swell. He was never going to let you go.

Din makes an appreciative noise as you follow his command, lining himself up with your wet hole. You’re breathing so hard in anticipation that you feel light-headed, “Or...I could take you back to the Covert, let everyone else have a turn at you,”

Before you can fully register what he said, he pushes deep into you with one fluid motion of his hips. You squeeze down on him, grateful for the pressure and the way he fills you up every time like he was made for you.

“We could get your implant taken out, make you take all of our loads in your pussy. All of our cum mixing together.” You moan, head dropping back, shuddering as he continues to thrust, bottoming out, not giving you any time to breathe let alone think.

“Would you like that babygirl? Naked in the middle of the Covert for all to see?” you scramble to hold on to his arm, legs circling around his back. You squeeze around his length, getting close, but you don’t dare to cum without his permission.

“D-daddy…” is about all you can muster out, eyes looking at his face but unseeing as he continues. You pull at the arm he’s been using to brace himself against the bed, gesturing at him to put his hand around your neck. He obliges with a small laugh, the span of his palm encompassing your neck, lightly resting his hand there and not squeezing, yet.

“Close baby?”

You tremble, “Y-yes Daddy fuck, please may I--”

His hand returns to your clit and he presses down, taunting you, “You’re close already? If you cum, you acknowledge that you’re a filthy slut who needs Daddy to keep them in check. Is that what you are? A whore for Daddy?”. The hand on your throat squeezes just right and you can’t hold on any longer.

“Always Daddy f-fuck.” you cry out as you curse, feeling your release overtake you as Din fucks you through your orgasm.

“What do you say,” he snarls, ignoring your attempts to scramble away from the overstimulation of his cock and fingers.

You blink and take a deep breath, “Thank you for letting me cum Daddy.” You’re past the point of embarrassment at this point, he has you wrapped around his finger, all mental filters long gone.

You can see Din’s jaw clench before he pulls out quickly and you whimper at the loss of sensation. He flips you over and pulls your hips up. He huffs out as he pushes himself back in, chasing his own pleasure this time, nailing you to the bed and all you can do is continue to take it. Your mind swims as you let out a sob; you’re so deep in a trance that you barely register his finger at the edge of your asshole again. He pushes in slowly, first knuckle breaching the tight ring of muscles as you tense up around his thick finger.

“I knew you would love being the Covert slut; you always need so much to be satisfied,” he sneers, voice dropping even lower as he continues to mock you as his thick cock continues to work your hole and his finger fully breaches your asshole. “Maybe we won’t stop until we’re sure you get pregnant huh? You won’t ever know who the father will be since you won’t ever see their faces.”

You’re nonverbal at this point, your litany of ‘yes Daddy’ and ‘more please’ muffled by the pillow.

“I guess we’ll just have to hope it looks like me huh?”. You groan, too overcome to do anything but moan.

“Gonna give us warriors babygirl?”. Din snaps his hips particularly hard, you’ll be feeling the smack of his thighs against yours in the morning.

You can feel yourself getting closer, the combination of the obscene image he had planted in your mind coupled with the press of his cock at your back and the fullness of his finger in your asshole was getting to be too much. You grip the sheets in a vice grip, mind falling into the web Din painted, of you on your knees, collar tied to a post, all your holes dripping with cum while the other Mandalorians all take a turn at you. So filthy, and you love it. You know nothing would please Din more than your complete and utter submission, and if that involves the entire covert or Paz and Boba, so be it.

Din’s hand comes back up to your throat, and squeezes, playing with your breath right as his other hand inserts a second finger inside your asshole. You clutch at the hand wrapped around your neck, feeling your head swim, closing your eyes as you bounce up and down on his cock.

He growls, biting into the shell of your ear, “Aww baby are you drooling?” he smears your spit across your cheek with his thumb. “Look at you, you’ve only cum once, and all of this is already making you cockdumb. Might have to call Paz and Boba in after all.”

You could only mewl in affirmation, mind floating, body only anchored by the points of contact made by Din’s hand on your throat, his cock in your pussy, and his fingers in your ass. You feel so good being used like this.

“I love it when you’re like this babygirl, so helpless for Daddy,” Din growls in your ear. His eyes are hooded as he chases his own orgasm, the rhythm of his hips becoming more erratic.

“I-I--” your tears break free, running down your cheeks as you struggle to form coherent words.

Din is unaffected, unrelenting in his thrusts against your walls. “Tears aren’t your safeword babygirl. You can do better than that.”

You manage a moan, barely registering his words, cries reverberating around the room as he knocks the breath out of your lungs with each thrust. “Tell Daddy you love this.” he hisses.

“I-I fuck, oh, oh, iloveitdaddypleaseplease,” you struggle to find enough breath to answer him, mouth dry from all your panting, Din’s hand unrelenting across your throat.

“I know you do baby. Is it getting hard to breathe? It’s okay, Daddy’s got you,” his voice full of pride as he rails you, splitting you open, filling the room with nothing but the sound of his cock moving in and out, his hips slapping against your ass. “So good for Daddy fuck-- I’m gonna-- this pussy is too good--such a good girl for me.”

His words fill you with warmth, and you squeeze your pussy against him right as he pulls out. Din moans, his hand letting go of your throat, looking for more leverage as he gets closer to his own completion. “Make a mess all over me babygirl, it’s o-okay I got you,”. You wail and sob as he pushes you over the edge again. All you can hear is your garbled ‘thank you Daddy thank you’ as you thank him devotedly over and over again. All the tension drains out of you, leaving you boneless on the bed, only held up by the fingers still in your ass and his cock.

“S-shit. You made a mess all over me f-fuck, oh fuck.” Din groans as he finishes inside you, filling you with warm cum. He pulls his fingers out and collapses on top of you. Din places his head against yours, peppering kisses all over you as he pulls out, his cum oozing out of you. It’s quiet as you both catch your breath.

You open your eyes blearily, “Fuck.” is about all you can manage before giggling, the endorphins making you feel so good. You can feel Din smile as he lifts himself up, pushing you back on your back. He looks ethereal, hair sticking to his forehead, sweat dripping down his body as he gazes at you fondly. You reach up and caress his face and he leans into your touch.

“How do you feel?” he murmurs, warm brown eyes on yours, laying a kiss on the back of your hand; ever the gentleman when he wasn’t busy degrading you at your request.

You stretch languidly, a little sore, but no more than usual. “I feel great actually. And you?”

Din smiles softly as he caresses your face, “Never better,”. You love all these aspects of him, the bounty hunter, the Mandalorian, your lover. Nothing made you happier than getting to share these moments with him. The two of you lay there for what feels like eternity, happy, sated, no concerns, just kissing each other softly, coming down together. You feel your eyelids close.

His voice brings you back from the edge of sleep. “Sweet girl...we need to clean up,”.

You blink at him blearily, “Ah right...I made a mess,”.

“We made a mess,” he chuckles, pulling you up into his arms (how did he still have all that energy?) before depositing you in the tub and turning on the warm water. Right as the water covers your shoulders, he gets up.

“Where are you going? The water is niiiiice.” you say as you make a big show of sinking into the bath. “Although not as nice as your ass.”

He smirks, “I need to send a message to Paz and Boba. Got exciting news for them,” he says as he turns towards his discarded armor.

Your eyes widen. Wait what?

---

I regret nothing lmfao. This is 100% me procrastinating from the fact that I have six months to finish writing my dissertation nbd. The line “you should be in museums” and “pussy under lock and key” is from Megan thee Stallion’s Sex Talk and Dance respectively. As always, comments/reblogs/keysmashes are always appreciated and give me much serotonin :)

Might do a part two with actual Boba and Paz but there are only so many euphemisms for cock that I know of ahaha.

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #paz viszla x reader #boba fett x reader #mono writes

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midnights-calm · 4 years

Text

Honey and Ginger

Hi there! This fic is base off of two writing prompts by @thecinnamonroll-varian. Hope you enjoy!

--------

Everything was fine. The Saporians had been returned to jail and Corona was still in one piece. Sure, there was the occasional glare or remark about his past, but Varian didn’t think about it too much.

Besides, he had other things to worry about. Like helping Xaiver organize his herbs, or putting up the new sign in front of Monty and Atilla’s shop. And he can’t forget that he promised to help Dad gather supplies to fix the roof. Not to mention he still had to figure out how to bring back the King and Queen’s memories. He didn’t have time to focus on people’s glares.

*Cough Cough*

...Or a small cough. It wasn’t a big deal. Just a dry throat that could easily be fixed with a glass of water. Simple. Now what did he do with that book that he said Catilena could borrow?

***

Varian brought his elbow up to cover his cough, pausing in adjusting the sign. He had enough time before heading over to Xaiver’s to drink some water, but the relife had lasted for the trip. He did his best to keep quiet and hide the shivers raking his frame. If the older man notices anything he didn’t say so. But then again he was a bit wrapped up in recounting the tale of a curse involving a cauldron. Once the coughing subsided, Varian adjusted his position on the ladder and returned to his work.

“Hi Varian!” The boy paused and looked over to see Rapunzel and Eugene headed his way. He gave them a wave in return.

“Hey guy! What brings you guys out here?”

Eugene shrugged. “We were just enjoying a stroll and found you. Whatcha up to buddy?”

“Nothing much, Monty asked me to replace his sign.”

“Didn’t you fix that for him last week?”

“Yeah, but he said that it broke again. So I offered to make him a new one.” Varian shrugged, swiping his sleeve across his forehead. When did it get so hot?

“Varian, are you feeling alright?” Rapunzel asked with a concerned expression.

“Yeah I’m fine!” He chirped. “It’s a bit warm out, but it’s nothing some water can’t solve.”

The couple didn’t look too convinced, but before they could say anything, Monty came out.

“How’s that sign coming, boy?” He snapped.

“A-almost done, sir! I’ve just gotta straighten it out.”

Monty huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well hurry it up. I need you to take a look at one of my displays. It’s been wobbling since your last visit.”

“I could take a look at it for you Monty.” Eugene chimed in. “I’m sure that it’s a simple fix.”

“No need, the boy here’s probably got everything to fix it himself.” Eugene quirk an eyebrow. The way Monty was treating Varian wasn’t sitting right with him.

“Alright, finished.” Varian called, hopping off his ladder. He immediately stumbled back a step, before shaking his head. A sudden dizzy spell, so what. “Lead the way.”

Rapunzel and Eugene shared a look, before following Varian and Monty.

***

“Are you sure it’s broken?” The alchemist asked. “It doesn’t look like anythings busted.”

“Well Atilla said that his last batch of muffins came out over done, so something must be wrong with it.”

“Or maybe he had left them in for a bit too long?” Eugene offered with an arched brow. After fixing the display, Monty immediately had Varian fix his register, before dragging him over to look at the oven. At this rate, the older man seemed determined to have the boy fix every minor inconvenience in his shop.

Rapunzel nodded, keeping an eye on Varian. She noticed him coughing more the longer he worked, and letting out small shivers as time passed. Not to mention how his skin seemed to have paled since they had run into him outside. It was really starting to worry her.

The old man huffed. “Preposterous. Atilla would never.”

“Oh, I-I think I found your problem.” Varian said, repressing another cough. He cleared his throat before he continued. “Looks like there’s something blocking the smoke stack. It’s keeping heat trapped in the oven itself. Not to worry though, I’m sure I can get it ou-”

The alchemist quickly brought a hand to his mouth as he broke into another coughing fit. This one was longer and more painful than any of the previous. Rapunzel swiftly moved over to rub soothing circles on his back as Eugene rushed to fill a glass of water. Monty, on the other hand, just crossed his arms and looked annoyed.

“Don’t be spreading any germs around my shop boy.”

“So-sorry.” Varian gasped in between coughs. “M-must’ve breathed i-in s-some ash.”

Eugene glared at the shop owner, before offering the glass over to the boy. “Here. Drink this.” He said as Varian took the glass. The younger took slow, careful sips letting the cool liquid soothe his throat. Once he emptied about half of it, he lowered the glass and took in a deep breath.

“T-thanks Eugene.”

“No problem kid.” Eugene replied, flashing a concerned smile. “Are you sur-?”

“Ahem!” Monty cleared his throat, causing Eugene and Rapuzel to scowl. “The oven if you would?”

The brunette let out a frustrated sigh, before collecting himself.“Monty buddy, can’t you see tha-”

“R-right sorry about that!” Varian wheezed, quickly getting back to removing the blockage. Rapunzel felt more concern bubble up to the surface as she kept her hand placed on the Alchemist’s back.

“Varian, are you sure you should be-”

“A-Ah-ha!” He cheered, straightening out and revealing a small piece of tinder. “G-got it!”

“Good to hear. Now I need you to take a look at-”

“Oh would you look at the time! Rapunzel didn’t we have that thing we thought we could have Varian look at.” Eugene interrupted. Rapunzel glanced at him, before understanding crossed her face.

“T-that’s right!” She jumped in. While she didn’t like lying, she knew monty would continue to force Varian to work. “C’mon boys we should probably get going!”

The princess grabbed both males hands and quickly left the shop. They keep a hurried pace until they’re a handful of streets over. Normally, that distance wouldn’t phase him, but now it has Varian wheezing. Rapunzel stops upon noticing the alchemist’s state.

“Are you sure you’re okay Varian?”

“Y-yeah…” He gasped, trying to take in as much breath as he could. “Just- uh, just give me a second.”

Eugene wasn’t convinced. He stealthily removed his glove and placed it on the younger’s forehead. Varian flinched away from the contact, but Eugene got what he wanted.

“Kid, you’re burning up.” He stated plainly.

“I-it’s nothing. R-really, I’m fi-.” Varian tried to say, but another coughing fit stopped him.

“You’re clearly not. Varian please, let us help.”

“No!” Varian shouted, causing all three to flinch. Realizing his mistake, he hurriedly corrected his volume. “I-I mean n-no thank you! Besides, you guys are probably busy anyways. A-and I promised to help my dad.” The couple looked like they were about to argue, when a voice called out from behind them.

“Varian!” The trio turned to see Quirin making his way towards them. “There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you, son.”

“O-oh Dad!” The alchemist stammered. “S-sorry about that! I got caught up helping Monty.”

His father chuckled. “Of course. I forgot that you said you’d be there.” Varian chuckled, before it dissolved into another coughing fit. Quirin’s smile faded, and he quickly closed the remaining distance between them.

“Varian? Son, tell me what’s wrong.”

“N-nothing.” Varian choked. “ t’s just a cough.”

“Varian, please.” Rapunzel pleaded. “You have a fever. Let’s take you back to the castle.”

Quirin flinched, returning his focus back to his son. “Varian, why didn’t you tell me you were sick?”

“Didn’t want to bother you.” The boy muttered. He was very dizzy all of a sudden, and his balance felt off. He shook his head, and groaned. Next thing he knew he was falling forward. Strong arms caught him before his head could meet the ground.

“Varian!” Three voices called out. He tried to pinpoint each owner, but a spike of pain shot through his brain. The last thing he felt before drifting into unconsciousness was someone lifting him up and carrying him someplace else.

-----------------------

So this was four pages in itself. I’ll post the rest later :3c

#tts varian #sickfic #varian #concerned raps and eugene #quirin shows up at the end

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gumnut-logic · 4 years

Text

We’ll Be Home For Christmas 3.1

Title: We’ll be home for Christmas

Day Three - If not for the courage of the fearless crew – Part 1 Prologue | 1.1 | 1.2 | 2.1 | 2.2 | 2.3

Author: Gumnut

23 - 27 Dec 2019

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: The boys can’t fly home for Christmas, so they have to find another way.

Word count: 3823

Spoilers & warnings: language and so, so much fluff. Science!Gordon. Artist!Virgil, Minor various ships, mostly background.

Timeline: Christmas Season 3, I have also kinda ignored the main storyline of Season 3. The boys needed a break, so I gave them one. Post season 3B, before Season 3C cos we haven’t seen it yet.

Author’s note: For @scattergraph. This is my 2019 TAG Secret Santa fic :D I hope you enjoy it.

Please note that I am not a scientist, only an artist with mad librarian skillz. I may have stretched a few facts in places here, for which I apologise, though I did research a hell of a lot to get this written (at one point I was only writing one or two lines before I had to research another fact…it was a very long process). I hope you enjoy it anyway. :D

Many thanks to @vegetacide and @scribbles97 for cheering me on and their wonderful support through this craziness. And to @onereyofstarlight for geeking out with me over the setting.

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

Day Three - If not for the courage of the fearless crew

When Virgil woke late the next morning, the yacht was already in motion. He sighed as he crawled out of bed, body groaning the entire way.

Stumbling into the living area, he didn’t even have to look for the coffee. John simply met him halfway and handed him a mug.

He inhaled it. The hot beverage ran down his throat and within minutes his brain was beginning to boot.

A hand landed on John’s shoulder in honest gratitude. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Okay, so that grin was a little smug, but the coffee was worth it. That and it was a novelty to have John for breakfast at any time. He squeezed his brother’s shoulder, blaming not enough caffeine for the sudden soppy.

His brother frowned at him. “How are you feeling?”

Okay, that fixed the soppy. He rolled his eyes. “I’m fine.”

The frown turned into a smirk. “Sure. Would you like some eggs? I hid the last of the bacon from Alan, so there is some if you like.”

The soppy returned. You’d think he was on drugs or something. Must be the sea air. “Thanks, John.”

His brother peered at him a little more before ushering him to sit down and busying himself in the kitchenette. It wasn’t long before the tantalising smell of bacon sizzling wafted through the living area.

“Hey! I thought we were out of bacon!” Alan was not impressed as he strode in, game console in hand. “You lied to me!”

John snorted as he placed the plate full of bacon and eggs in front of Virgil along with a glass of orange juice. “So, you would have eaten Virgil’s share?” The arched eyebrow was challenging.

“Nooo.”

“Sure, Alan.” John turned around and walked back into the kitchen obviously not believing his brother.

Alan sat down across from Virgil. “I wouldn’t, honest, Virg.”

Perhaps his littlest brother’s brain was not connected to his hand because Virgil had to slap it away from his plate almost immediately. “Sure, Alan.”

The bacon was good and the eggs just right. Mouth full, “John, this is divine.”

The snort from the kitchenette was loud, but the only comment he received in reply.

Virgil slapped Alan’s hand away again and glared at him. “So, who’s winning the game.”

Alan was immediately distracted. “I was, but then John pulled a stunt with a rogue asteroid, which I’m not entirely sure was legal...” His voice rose specifically in the direction of the kitchenette.

“Game allowed it.”

“Yeah, well, I PM’d the developers and they knew nothing about it!”

“Gregory never remembers what he programs. The guy does it in his sleep half the time.”

“Hah! Grez is totally cool. He said you’re a stick in the mud.”

John wandered back into the room wiping his hands on a tea towel. “Gregory is also a card-carrying member of the Flat Earth society.”

A snort from Alan. “So?”

“The man has been to space, Al. He designs video games, set in space. Explain the logic behind that?”

“Denial? Imagination? A little too much college night life?”

John threw the towel back into the kitchen. “All of the above. So, yeah, game allows it, it’s legal.”

“Well, I’m gonna whip your ass in the void between galaxies. Gonna stoke my ship with engines only you can dream of.”

Taking a seat at the end of the table, John did not appear concerned in the slightest. “Hey, Virgil, would you like to assist me in developing a fictional intergalactic drive.”

An arched eyebrow as he munched on bacon and glanced between the two of them. “Hmmm, sure.”

“Hey! No fair. No engineering brothers allowed. If you get Virgil, I get Brains.”

John grinned. “Go for it. International Rescue could do with one of those.”

Virgil snorted. He loved Brains like a brother, but the man did not know the difference between reality and fiction. Postulate an idea such as this, give him a few hours and he’d have a working theory. Let him go, and he’d build it. The game would be forgotten the moment Alan mentioned the concept.

“You suck.”

“Just using the tools at hand, Alan.”

Virgil blinked. “You just called me a tool.”

John shrugged and opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a string of profanity from their captain up on the bridge. The boat suddenly accelerated, swerving to port, and Virgil had to grab the remains of his breakfast as it tried to slide off the table.

A frowning Scott strode through the room. A worried glance at Virgil and John, he took the most direct route towards the bridge and disappeared. Alan dropped his console onto the lounge and darted after him.

At higher speeds, the boat began to bounce off the wave peaks. Virgil decided that staying put was probably in his best interests and apparently John agreed as he reached out and gently grabbed Virgil’s arm.

“I’m okay.”

“Just making sure.”

He didn’t bother responding to that.

Wherever the boat was going, apparently it got there quickly because it wasn’t at full acceleration for long and it slowed quickly to a stop, her hull wallowing in the water at the sudden lack of forward momentum.

As Virgil pushed himself to his feet, he glared at the hand wrapped around his bicep. John didn’t let go.

“If you fall on your face on my watch, Scott will kill me.”

“I’m fine.”

His brother still didn’t let go. This was ridiculous.

But apparently smother was in the Tracy genetic code, because John held onto him the entire way up to the bridge. Only to find it locked down and empty.

All three brothers were out on the bow of the boat.

He could hear Gordon swearing from here. What the hell had his brother all riled up?

It took his slow way onto the bow - those steps still hurt, damn it - for him to find out.

“It’s caught in her mouth. Goddamnit!”

“Hey, hey, Gordon. We can help her. Tell us what we need to do.” Scott’s voice was tense. Virgil read it clearly as pissed, but needing to calm a brother and fix a problem before blowing a circuit.

What the hell had happened?

“Gordon?”

His fish brother shot distraught eyes in his direction. “We’ve got a humpback calf caught in a gill net. A fucking illegal gill net. Here. I’m gonna string the bastards up and Mel is gonna skin them alive!”

Gordon stormed past Virgil and John, heading towards the back of the boat, thumbing his comms. “Mel, you got your ears on?”

Virgil turned to look out across the surface of the ocean and sure enough a single dark buoy appeared just off to port about fifty metres away. To his horror there was a weak whale spout just as his eyes focussed on the spot.

Scott strode past and gently clasped his shoulder, his eyes bleak before following Gordon aft. Alan hurried after him.

A glance at John found his brother’s professional facade well in place. Gordon could be heard yelling over his comms from the other end of the boat.

The whale breached again.

Shit.

-o-o-o-

Scott followed his little brother as he stormed down the length of his yacht.

“Mel, what the hell do you mean this isn’t the first time.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Gordon, I’m as angry as you, but these assholes know what they are doing. I’ve had the coast guard out here sixteen times in the last year and they haven’t managed to catch one of them. We’ve lost turtles, sunfish, rays and earlier in the season a humpback died of its injuries. We can’t locate the nets. They don’t appear on our scanners.”

“Well, they appear on mine and I’m not putting up with this crap.”

“Any help is appreciated, Gordon. If I knew you’d be able to detect them, I would have called you in earlier. If you can give us the locations, it would be much appreciated.”

“I’ll get John on it immediately. In the meantime, we have an injured calf and a distressed mother to attend to.”

“Do you want me down there?”

His brother paused a moment and dragged in a calming breath. “I’ll do an assessment. If I need help, I’ll call Kayo to come get you.”

“Keep me in the loop, Thunderfish. Play it safe. Mamma Humpback is going to be anxious.” A pause. “Sorry your vacation has been interrupted.”

“Screw my vacation. We’re gonna get these bastards.” Scott didn’t think he had ever seen his brother so angry. It was understandable. “Speak to you soon. A Little Lightning out.”

Gordon immediately turned to Scott. “We have a situation.”

Scott let his head drop just a little in acknowledgment. “Yes, we do. This is yours, Thunderbird Four. Tell me what you need.”

-o-o-o-

With the power of TB5 they discovered an intricate network of netting just to the west of the Kermadecs, trailing intermittently down their full length. To regular sensors they were invisible, but to IR sensors they were a flicker. A flicker John was able to focus on and bring up a clear picture.

Gordon, now dressed in his IR uniform, swore a bluestreak at how many nets were actually out there. John put him through to WASP Command and Gordon gave a very colourful report to the regional commander, who just happened to be a former squad mate of his. Her response was more formal, but no less colourful.

With tight expressions, Gordon, Scott and Alan climbed into the inflatable dingy and rowed their way out to the beleaguered cetacean. Gordon used the effort to push his anger into the oars. He couldn’t afford to have his thoughts clouded by the bastards who had done this.

Sensors told him the calf had a net caught in its mouth and wrapped around its right pectoral fin. The fine mesh hung down its left side, dangling into the depths where it had caught on a snag. The chances of it catching right there were ridiculously small, the waters so deep between the islands. But the net was hundreds of metres long, weighted, and, even tangled, it reached down far enough to snag itself on a submerged pile of rock.

Hell, he was going to need Four to get down that deep to get the net out of the water.

If the calf had been snagged while diving, she wouldn’t have been able to surface to breathe and would have drowned.

Bastards!

Scott darted a glance at Gordon. The aquanaut held his gaze. His eldest brother was dressed in an IR wetsuit. It was startling to see him out of his familiar uniform. Gone was his flight baldric and in its place, yellow slashed across his blue, visibility more the priority underwater. The only concessions to his commander rank were his shoulder patches and twin silver-grey bands on that yellow baldric. Alan was dressed similarly, but where Scott sported silver, Alan sported red. Neither had their helmets on.

Gordon had only mentioned the suits to Scott when preparing for this venture because he had hoped to enjoy some recreational diving. Their suits were far above average equipment, so why not use the best to have a little fun?

Scott had rolled his eyes, but five wetsuits had been thrown into their luggage. They had supposed to be used for sharing his world with his brothers.

Gordon swore under his breath again and tugged at the oars angrily.

“We’ll fix this.” Scott’s voice was calm, ever the commander when on duty. And on duty they were.

When he got his hands on those assholes...

“A Little Lightning to Inflatable. Mother Humpback is on the move towards you.” John had been tracking her frantic circles around her calf.

Gordon dropped the oars and grabbed his scanner. Sure enough, the worried behemoth was angling in towards them. She posed a serious threat despite their benign intentions.

“Roger that, A Little Lightning.”

The inflatable stilled in the water, three pairs of eyes stared out across the surface.

“Be quiet. Here she comes.”

Not twenty metres away, the mother surfaced, her spout spraying them all with angry water. Her huge mass coasted just under the surface and beelined to her daughter.

Gordon’s heart lurched at the distressed groans she made as she nuzzled her trapped calf.

“I’m going in.” He shoved his helmet on.

Scott caught his arm. “Are you sure that is wise?”

He caught his brother’s worried eyes. “You are just going to have to trust me. I know what I am doing.”

A bitten lip, but Scott nodded once and let him go.

Gordon slipped quietly over the edge of the inflatable and into the water.

-o-o-o-

Virgil stood on the bridge of A Little Lightning and swallowed hard. It was frustrating to be caught unable to do anything, but in this kind of situation, it wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling.

Usually, though, he was hovering in Two far above the surface.

John stood beside him, a mission hologram projecting from his tablet, his hands playing the portable controls as smoothly as Virgil played his piano. Eos spoke up quietly, relaying reports from WASP as the organisation swooped in on the illegal fishing organisation somewhere off to the west. His brothers’ vitals danced in one corner, the readout from the sensors and the now deployed sensor buoy hung beside them.

Virgil could only watch.

“Gordon, approach with extreme care. The mother is emitting infrasound, beyond our hearing. She is very distressed.” John’s voice was sharp, but calm as the sensors traced the sound pattern in the air before him.

Whispered. “FAB, John. I can feel it. She may be calling for help. Silence on comms.”

And Virgil realised he could feel it, too. A rumble in his bones, a wail so deep it could only be felt, not heard.

He closed his eyes.

He felt her shift octaves, the sound pulsing, her thrum desperate. It vibrated at the edge of his sensory perception, slipping in and out, barely felt in his body tissues, his fingertips, the sensitive incisions in his gut.

“Virgil? You okay?”

John’s soft voice startled him, throwing him out of focus. “What?”

He received a copper frown for his efforts. “You’re pale.”

“I’m fine.”

Green eyes narrowed, but his brother didn’t comment further. He returned to his holograms, bringing up a satellite lifesign read of the area.

“We’re receiving a reply.” John frowned. “Another. Several. Locating sources. Eos, give me a narrow frequency band and pinpoint.” The AI didn’t answer but several dots appeared on the satellite view. John waved a hand and zoomed in on a cluster in the Southern Ocean. The view focussed and cleared and Virgil was again amazed at Brains’ skill as the surface of the ocean appeared and a pod of whales was defined. They were all travelling in a south-easterly direction.

Over two thousand kilometres from the mother and calf. John zoomed out again and scanned for a closer answer. He found one but it was still fifteen hundred kilometres distant. Far too far away to return to help the distraught mother.

But then another signal came in, this one only three hundred kilometres away to the south-east. John narrowed in on the location, only to find another mother and calf.

“Is that the mother and calf we encountered two days ago?” The subjects of his painting.

“More than likely. Gordon did say it was very late in the season. The humpback whales migrate from tropical waters north-west to south-east across the Kermadec Ridge on their way to feeding grounds near Antarctica during spring. That places the nets in the optimal position to do the most damage.”

Virgil stared at the kilometres of lines denoting the position of so many illegal fishing nets.”

“Do you think WASP will be able to stop this?” His voice came out parched and cold, an echo of the anger building inside.

“They will do their best. Gordon won’t rest, you know that. I’ve also asked Penny to investigate. This impinges on Tracy Industries’ ecological interests so I have contacted the board.” His lips thinned. “We will find those responsible.”

The lines taunted him. How many? How many lives had been taken moments before sanctuary?

“Virgil?”

The mother shifted octaves again and he found himself closing his eyes.

A hand landed on his arm. Soft. “Virgil?”

He startled. John’s turquoise eyes were frowning at him again.

“She’s terrified.”

“Gordon will free her calf.”

“She doesn’t know that.”

Her thrum was in his bones, vibrating his very soul.

And then the calf cried out.

-o-o-o-

Gordon had always felt small beside his brothers, but floating next to a leviathan of the open ocean there was no comparison.

The mother humpback was nuzzling her calf, a mixture of chirps and groans vibrated through the water accompanied by the modulating infrasound, screaming fear across the Pacific.

Knowledge of cetaceans scrolled through Gordon’s mind, but instinct was yelling at him.

Never get between a mother and her baby.

But the baby was in pain and her mother was unable to help her.

He could.

He edged closer, ever quiet, calm.

Mamma shifted in his direction, her great head swinging around and tossing him about in the resultant wake. Gordon caught himself and took the opportunity to slip in even closer.

C’mon, beautiful, I don’t mean you any harm. I’m here to help.

He reached out and touched the calf’s flank.

The calf shifted away, crying out and her mother propelled herself forward towards Gordon.

He darted backwards, holding up a hand. “Hey, hey, I’m here to help.” She couldn’t understand the words, but perhaps the intent?

A groan wrapped around him, followed by a click.

“Gordon!” Scott’s voice echoed about his helmet.

And into the water around him.

Shit.

He scrambled backwards as Mamma reacted. Surging forward she nudged him hard enough to force him to the surface. “Woah!” He got a brief glimpse of Scott gesticulating at him from the inflatable, obviously agitated and then everything was bubbles.

He lost orientation for a moment and just settled for swimming away from the chaos.

“Goddamnit, Gordon, answer me!”

“Shut up, Scott. I’ve got this! Silence on comms!”

He dove.

Deep.

He relied on his suit to keep his body pressure static as he propelled himself fifty metres straight down.

Sunlight flickered turquoise and disappeared into the depths.

Mamma didn’t follow.

Gordon hovered there a moment, looking up at the silhouettes of the two whales and the dingy far above. Mamma returned to nuzzling her calf, her pectoral fins churning the water into bubbles with the smallest movements.

Okay, Gords, you’ve got this. Gentle, calm and persistent.

He began his ascent.

-o-o-o-

Virgil tensed as his brother was thrown from the water only to disappear and dive down deep.

Gordon’s snarl across comms at Scott was acid.

The mother’s call shifted an octave to the point Virgil could almost hear the clear C, F, and G notes hanging in the air.

Three hundred kilometres away, the second mother and calf answered and turned around.

Virgil stared at the dots on John’s map as they slowly began moving towards them. It would take them a good chunk of the day and night to reach the distressed calf, but the other mother was answering the call.

John’s monitor sketched out the answer, far below human hearing and far too distant to be felt.

A complicated, pulsating aria of sound.

It wove around the mother’s distress call, each note dancing with its partner, an answer in form as well as content.

Staring at the readout, he found himself humming the notes, switching cadence, following the thread.

The rumble in his throat spoke counterpoint to the song in his bones. It completed. It felt...reassuring.

“Virgil?”

“What?!” He blinked. Shocked at his own outburst as John took a step back, Virgil drew in a shaky breath. “Sorry.”

John’s voice was quiet. “What is it?”

Virgil stared at his brother, then back at the sensor buoy’s holographic display showing Gordon swimming up the water column. “Can we transmit sound into the water?”

It was John’s turn to blink. “Of course.”

“At infrasound levels?”

John pulled up the buoy’s specs and Virgil knew the answer before his brother could vocalise it.

“Wait there.”

He had an idea.

-o-o-o-

The sight of the abrasions on the side of the calf’s mouth physically hurt Gordon. He swam up slowly beside the calf on the other side from its mother. He kept quiet but made sure the calf knew he was there.

It edged closer to its mother.

“Hey, beautiful. I’m not going to hurt you.”

She whined, her sonics vibrating through him.

Mamma growled in the way only a mamma whale could and, blowing spray up into the air, drew in breath and dove.

She slipped below her daughter and targeted Gordon.

Oh shit.

He flung himself to the left and down. He could manoeuvre easily around her, but...

...her tail swung and he was caught in a rush of wake, bubbles and the need to avoid the whacking she was trying to give him.

“Okay, I get the message. But Mom, you’re going to have to back off or your baby is going to die.” The calf could last only so long before exhaustion and predators put an end to her struggles.

Mamma swam around in a tight circle and for a moment one of her great eyes caught his, her intelligence and fear glaring at him through the turquoise light.

His external mic picked up a single note.

What?

The note shifted and became more of a wail, cut off and was silent.

Mamma whale was still staring at him.

Another note. Again it was modulated, but this time his brother’s voice accompanied it, Virgil’s raw baritone holding the note for a few seconds before shifting down his range to another note. His keyboard, for there was no doubt that Virgil had his keyboard with him, emitted a series of low moans.

Gordon shivered.

His brother was playing infrasonic, he could feel it, no doubt using the transmitter on the buoy.

Mamma was still staring at him.

He could give his brother all the points for effort, but there had yet to be a case where humans could communicate with whales. Many had tried. Most were ignored. The most success had been achieved with touch, which is what Gordon was attempting to do.

If he could get close enough without having his head handed to him.

Virgil shifted from single notes to a more complex weaving of sounds, combining his voice with the keyboard in a way he had never quite heard from his brother.

Mamma blinked.

Clicked three times.

And let off a wail of sound that tore at his heart.

Virgil answered.

-o-o-o-

End Day Three, Part One

Day Three, Part Two

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Virgil Tracy #Gordon Tracy #Scott Tracy #John Tracy #Alan Tracy

30 notes · View notes

gwoongi · 5 years

Text

𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗎𝗌 ✰ taehyung (2)

𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗎𝗌 kim taehyung / reader genre: zombie apocalypse au words: 4814

“She did,” Taehyung assured, reaching an arm around your waist awkwardly, but tight enough for you to feel comfortable, and safe, all at the same time. “They did. We did.”

warnings: graphic content, death references, gore, swearing, dark themes

a/n: sorree if it feels a little bit slow paced!! i just want to make it realistic :D thank you for the positive (and small) feedback, it means a lot :”) mmmm the sweet smell of CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT. i love slow burns lol :3c ((i also really recommend checking out the music playlist, especially listening to this + this bc. the last of us’ music is DIVINE))

01. denver ↝ 02. holiday with me ↝ 03. sad forever ↝ 04. surely ↝ 05. scorpion ↝ 06. shakespeare

As anticipated, the room connected to the rusted balcony was empty and upturned; the sheets stained caramel were tossed in bundles to the floor, bird feathers clinging to dried pools of rusted water and the smell of bird feces filled the room, overpowering the usual smell of dried sweat and blood.

Each step was meaningful and calculated as Taehyung stepped through the hotel room - because, it was indeed a hotel, as Taehyung noticed by the brass letters on the outside of each door, pulled off hinges and shedding tears of flaked paint. Leaving you behind slightly, Taehyung stepped out into the hall, staring in both directions to the end of the halls, where bodies lay rotting in sitting positions, blood-written messages praying one final time to God. He scoffed to himself.

“Find anything?” you asked, meeting him outside. He shook his head, turning to head in the West direction towards the stairs, knowing the elevator was most definitely down. An orange flicker of the light inside the pried open elevator showed a carcass, rotting and open, a putrid smell leaving through the cracks. You turned away before it sank in how affected the hotel was. Taehyung tugged at your sleeve when an open hotel door showed a bloody crib with barely moving mobiles.

Sticking to the plan you devised on the roof, Taehyung led the way, as if familiar with the hotel. A downfall of the elevator being out of use was the excessive amount of stairs, a waterfall of concrete steps running down to a square box trashed with shredded newspaper and articles of false hope: MILITARY ON THEIR WAY! VICTORY FOR HUMANITY!

Taehyung once believed in it.

The door was unlocked. Pushing it open, a cool breeze kissed Taehyung’s biceps, bare with his coat tied around his waist in a double knot. The foyer of the hotel was dark, only filters of lofty light pouring in from the windows, despite them being dirty and stained with handprints and splats of crimson. Moving away, Taehyung ducked underneath a fallen beam and stepped towards the main desk, checking for maps or papers or anything worth taking.

He leaned over, elbows on the wood, when he noticed a head of hair, facing the wall, arms outstretched and littered with red bites. Beside her, the cord to the telephone swung as if recently dropped, and the static of a radio could be heard louder when he rounded the desk to crouch before the body; it was a woman, with dark skin and brown curly hair, ripped clothing with exposed, shredded skin. Blood cried from her eyes and nose, and Taehyung sighed dejectedly as he pried away a Denver map from her hands.

The hotel was circled in a green pen - Merryweather Hotel. An arrow pointed to it, labelled City 10, Block 18.

“Shit,” he exhaled.

“What happened?” you asked, stepping over an open bag of luggage to approach him. He rose from his place, meeting you before you saw the body and the swinging mobile, or the cynical piece of paper reading, “May God Be With You”, written in Spanish, if he remembered.

Taehyung passed you the map. “Now we know where Block 18 is.”

You scanned the map, cursing softly when you noticed the markings. “The herd. Where’s the herd, then?”

“I don’t want to find out,” Taehyung replied briskly, nodding towards the doors. “Let’s just get out before we find out the walkers are behind the door to the basement, or something.”

Knowing your luck, it wasn’t entirely unrealistic.

Dampening your throat with hot saliva, you followed Taehyung to the double doors. As his fingers brushed the handle to leave, your heart thumped erratically; Taehyung had barely joined your group, and if he didn’t make it somehow...that would be on you. With little pride, you weaved in front of his arms, opting to take the lead. His gaze felt cold as you pushed in front of him, doing a slow and barely-audible countdown until Taehyung pushed the door for you, grabbing your hand in a swift and tight motion, pulling you into the room seconds before the count of three.

The door slammed closed at on 3, glass pouring to the floor with a loudness that alerted the herd before footsteps did.

The dead’s reactions were delayed, looking up from their meals to see the two of you speeding down the roads, the sound of your shoes slapping against the street echoing in the silence of the evening. Even as they begun to move, it was not fast and you were both able to make it back to the clearing where you had started at. Learning from earlier experience, Taehyung remained utterly silent, except for large gasps for air, and a string of foreign curses when the square was empty, missing Taekwoon’s ride.

They were gone.

“Fuck,” you muttered, mostly to yourself as Taehyung rushed towards a nearby car, shoved in front of the doors to a small convenience store once known as “TODD’S SHOP”. He slid into the driver’s seat, only to rush back out at the sight of a busted radio and torn apart insides, and the lack of steering wheel and pedals.

“It’s busted?” you asked, breathless, as he pulled you by the hand across the boot of the car, and into the desolate and destroyed interior of Todd’s once humble store. He closed the doors hurriedly, already working on fortifying defences.

“Completely useless.”

It’s surreal- you realise, as you scan the store and notice shelves torn off the walls, nails upturned and daunting, lights swinging, that the world can change so dramatically. Even when you try to pretend like most of the world aren’t undead and eating everything else, it’s hard to forget. Everything from the groans to the fallen stuffed animals is a reminder.

Somebody else had set up camp in the same spot. A small den had been made by pushing two display tables together, an L from the desk making a perfect sleeping station, already kitted with a cool gas lighter, and a thin and uncomfortable looking mattress and a hard pillow, stained slightly with a creamish substance that looked familiar to your high-school years. But, at this rate, anything would have to do.

“Over here, Taehyung,” you called, voice exhausted but loud enough to carry to his ears. He looked over his shoulder, briefly scanning the store as he walked robotically towards the makeshift bed. Dropping to a crouch, he craned his head to look at the bed, a frown of disgust evident on his features. But, being alive made him grateful, and he said nothing as he moved around you, occupied by your bag, to sit with his body on the edge of the mattress.

“I don’t have any food to share out,” you said quietly, but he remained unbothered.

“Don’t worry,” he replied, fingering your shirt from the back. “Maybe we can find apples on the way back.”

At that, you smile genuinely, fiddling with the gas lighter. “Apples?”

“Yeah. I saw an orchard on the way to your camp. Big green apples.”

With the flame lit timidly, you faced Taehyung with a small and vacant smile. “I like red apples more.”

“Me too. But, you can’t be picky when the world is ending,” he shrugged, and a chill slid down your spine. Masking your sudden somber mood with a faint smile, Taehyung stuck out an arm for a second pillow as you lay down beside him, facing away from the window. Taehyung leant over you, reaching to pull the blanket acting as a tent to block the auburn sunset and the thumping of biters outside the door.

“I’m sorry.”

Taehyung paused, moving his cheek across his own bicep to look at you, smushed against his arm.

“Me too.”

“I’m supposed to be the leader. I’m- I’m supposed to lead and set an example for the group,” you croaked out, feeling your eyes burn with dry tears. “You shouldn’t have come.”

A low hum left Taehyung’s throat. “Maybe. But then you’d be all alone and that walker would have got you.”

You scoffed, at that: “Jisoo would have been my partner.” A silence. “I hope she made it out.”

“She did,” Taehyung assured, reaching an arm around your waist awkwardly, but tight enough for you to feel comfortable, and safe, all at the same time. “They did. We did.”

You could barely remember the moment you woke up and left Todd’s old shop, just knowing that it was before the sun came up and in total silence. Fragments of thought- Taehyung sitting up with you still in his arms, a shake awake, and a quick jump out of the back window towards the forgotten trail into the thick woods. An avoidance, he had said, or something similar. To skip the walkers. You said nothing.

As expected, you rightly predicted that on foot, it would take nearly three days to return to camp. Sticking to the main road unless absolutely necessary, you found that you felt undeniably safe by Taehyung’s side; he walked several feet ahead, in a system designed by you, out of boredom on the long road home. You both walked along the dusty chalk-line in the middle of the road, looking forwards and to the left, backwards and to the right. Every sound was heightened in the silence, but the only thing to put you at ease was the familiar click of Taehyung’s gun, the occasional groan when his bat hit his knees and the comforting sound of absolutely nothing at all.

Cutting from the road to a trail in the woods, the sound of gravel and discarded beach pebbles underneath your boots became a familiar soundtrack as the pair of you walked along an abandoned train line, passing by a Caboose cabin on the way back home, fog slithering down the mountainous wall surrounding the Denver area.

Taehyung was right, too- on the way along the tracks, a big and blooming apple tree hung over the dip between the tracks and an ebony coloured stream of water, with giant green apples swinging in the breeze. Taehyung had helped hoist you up to pick four apples for the journey back, the first food of the day. The original sourness became a drug in your mouth, a taste so addicting that the four apples intended to last four hours lasted ten minutes. You simply tossed the cores to the side, hoping a tree would grow in the world that stopped working.

Further towards the warehouse, it became familiar enough to talk. Taehyung talked first, keeping the conversation clear and above the surface, mentioning his sister once again and the one time they went to Memphis for Spring Break and got lost. After almost dying alongside him more than once, it was impossible to fight the urge to know more about him. To debunk the mystery behind the new member who arrived with the gash in his leg, three cigarettes in his boot, and a stolen Scorpion-owned pistol covered in a crocodile skin protector.

Following the ancient-looking trail back to the warehouse, where the hills got steep, you could see the tops of the barbed fences enclosing the hideout, and a wave of relief washed over you. The atmosphere had changed drastically, and your feet moved quickly up the hill despite its efforts to deter you. Just a little bit further ahead…

Reaching the top of the hill, it took less than three seconds to recognise that something was wrong. The approaching puffs of air didn’t pull your gaze away from the swinging gates, very much open. Taehyung rested a hand on your forearm, confused. “Why’d you stop?”

His gaze lifted tenderly, noticing the opened gates and he hesitated, devoid of expression and breath. The wind stopped. Birds paused their singing. A cloud covered the sun.

Then, all at once, you broke out into a sprint, running towards the camp to see it in literal ruins. You had been gone less than three days, and everything had fallen apart without you. You should have noticed warning signals from the rising smoke on the way back home, but with a non-threatening camp just miles away from your own, it was always hard to tell the source. Part of the warehouse was alight, smoke stuck in the ceiling but nonetheless smelling out the place, and newspapers and colouring books fluttered like wings in the wind, carrying a smell of burning flesh with the familiar smell of oil and charcoal, burning paper, the smell of burnt toast.

Majority of the vehicles were gone, except one small Nissan Versa in a decorative black, although now painted in ash. A pile of blood, and a trail of dragged red towards the spot where the cars once were made your stomach churn, and the sight of a hand sticking out from behind the dumpsters, a hand that was human, was enough to make you cry out, in agony, staggering towards the dumpsters to find the mauled and maggot-covered body of little Yena.

She was too young. Way too young.

“Y/N?”

Sniffing, and turning to Taehyung with tear-stained cheekbones, you met his somber gaze as he passed you a sheet of sooty covered paper. Your reaction was delayed, but you nonetheless turned from the sight of Yena mangled up and gingerly took the paper from his hands, feeling the comfort of his fingertips brushing your own, gaze distracted on the corpse by the dumpster.

Y/N.

I hope you’re reading this. I hope it’s you, and not somebody else. It needs to be you.

We arrived back to camp with every intention of coming to find you the following morning. As I’m writing this, we have very little time. I’m in the car while the others deal with the biters. They’re in. They got in. They got Yena by the gate without us knowing. We think she’d gone to get flowers from the meadow, and got caught by one on the way back inside.

Yena didn’t make it.

With what we have left, we’re heading to Georgia. While the group were gone, we got a signal. From a group of survivors who have a boat with extra spaces. We made connection and managed to guarantee us seats on the boat. With Yena gone, at least we’ll have room for us all to safely cross the waters to somewhere new.

We’ll wait for you for as long as we can. We love you, and I hope you’re safe. Taehyung, too. I hope you made it out alive. We left a car. I hope it’s there for when you come home.

Please come. May God be with you.

Or whatever you believe in.

Doyoung.

“They’re gone,” you said finally, your voice scratchy from crying. Without even knowing, Taehyung had lead you away from the sight of Yena and towards the car. He’d put a sheet over her, to keep whatever dignity she had left. He pulled open the door for you. “They’re safe.”

“I know,” Taehyung replied, gently pushing you into the car. “Buckle up.”

The door shut, and instead of doing what he asked, you popped open the footwell, taking out a pen from the small leather pouch, drawing a wonky line from Colorado straight to Georgia. Pointing out the obvious, but enough to occupy the seconds alone inside the car. Taehyung moved into the seat next to you, closing the door and locking it for good measure. Thankfully the car was fully filled with petrol, and Taehyung sighed with relief when the engine started smoothly.

“Do you know how to drive?” you asked suddenly, and Taehyung looked at you with a deadpan expression, one eyebrow quirked.

“No.”

“Are you kidding me? No, get out, we’re switching. I can’t believe-”

“People are coming back from the dead and eating each other, and yet you can’t believe that I can’t drive?” Taehyung asked, almost offended. “Put your seatbelt on, Y/N.”

You scoffed. “I don’t fancy dying because you drove us off the road.”

“Why do you have, like, no trust in me at all?” he asked, a sigh in his voice as he reversed the car. “Just because I don’t have a license doesn’t mean I can’t drive safely. I got an Alton Towers drivers license when I went on holiday to England, so, it technically counts.”

“...Are you fucking with me?.”

“Deadly serious,” he nodded, smiling when he saw you grinning in the seat beside him. “I did laps around that track like my life depended on it, and I took the license to school and told kids I had passed my test.”

Leaning over to switch on the radio, you shook your head. “You’re full of surprises, you know.”

He shrugged. “I’ll take it. Which direction is Georgia?”

“That way,” you estimated, pointing an arm in the direction on the map. “You ever been to Georgia?”

“Six months ago, I’d never really been anywhere except for New York,” Taehyung replied. “You?”

“Nope. It’ll be like a holiday for us both,” you said, settling into the seat with the sound of a random jazz CD playing quietly. “Is that okay? Going on holiday with me?”

Taehyung pretended to think about it, and then looked over with a faint smile ghosting his lips, eyebrows quirked with an essence of playfulness. “I couldn’t think of anything worse.”

OCTOBER 27TH, 4 YEARS AGO. [x]

“What do you mean, you’re not going to Uni?”

For October, it was warm. Jiyong walked alongside you, his hands balled into fists in the pockets of his green bomber jacket, knees nude in the rips of his jeans. Just further ahead, Seunghyun led a trail of smoke towards an alley walled by chainmail fences, a lime-green light creating a path towards a low hum of chatter, his boots crunching on broken bottles and Autumn leaves.

You shrugged next to him, brushing against his shoulder. “I dunno, really. Can’t afford to go.”

“Uni’s do bursary now,” Jiyong said. “For people who don’t have a lot of money.”

“I appreciate it, Ji, but, I don’t think I’m fit for Uni,” you replied, exhaling a shaky laugh. The small group of high-schoolers made it to the end of the alley, stepping into the back-street submerged in a midnight silence, Denver lights creating bokeh effects in the after-rain landscape.

Minding the dark puddles, you walked in a short silence to a series of stairs leading to an abandoned subway line that expected construction months ago. Down them, students and late-nighters congregated near the train-lines, the familiar smell of weed and cheap Vodka in small dugouts in the wall, and you inwardly cringed as the three of you walked further down the subway station, towards a second staircase leading up, opening up into an abandoned street, where the hum of chatter became roars of excitement. Further ahead, bright nude lights outlined the buildings lining the street, and an accelerating vibration wriggled down the street, shaking the chains on fences, sending Seunghyun into an episode of excited dancing, cigarette slipping through his fingers and dying in the swimming pool of rainwater that flooded a nearby drain.

“Even Seunghyun is going to Uni,” Jiyong continued, irrelevant to the fact that you simply did not have the money to go. “You can’t leave us.”

“Sorry, Ji,” you said quietly, patting his shoulder gently. “It’s just not gonna happen.”

Jiyong watched as you left, his eyes lingering on the imprint left on his jacket. Stepping towards Seunghyun who was already steps ahead, he excitedly tugged at your sleeve, pulling you at a fast pace towards two large open iron gates, past bleachers and towards a once-alive-but-now-abandoned race-track, the type you saw on TV once, the type racers in the area used to practise for Formula tracks. By large barrels painted neon red, two parked race cars revved their engines, the crowd screaming with the bass-line of a song imported from Korea, courtesy of the star racer, Kwon Hyojong. Apparently Jiyong knew his family.

“What’s this about Uni?” Seunghyun asked suddenly, arm swung around your shoulders.

“Not you, too,” you groaned, removing his arm. “I can’t be arsed right now.”

“I’m just asking!” he responded, surrendering by raising his arms. To the side, Jiyong approached a group of girls you recognised from school. “I’m not here to lecture you like he will. He’s known you longer, so it’s part of his programme to mother you. Me, on the other hand…”

He trailed off suggestively, meeting your eye with a small and friendly smirk. Rolling your eyes, you nudged him to move, walking alongside him towards the barrier near the track. Across the road, the second racer, Johnny, took photos with some guys wearing glasses.

“I can’t afford it, after Mum, and everything,” you said, honestly, concentrating on the circles massaged into your skin by Seunghyun’s thumb. “But, it’s okay. I’ll still be in the area. You’re thinking of going to Denver Uni, yeah?”

He nodded, licking his lips once. “Still close enough to see you.”

“See?” came your voice, strained but nonetheless positive. Seunghyun smiled vacantly, hands on your body, sandwiched between the bar and his torso. “You won’t even realise I’m not there.”

“...Y/N.”

PRESENT DAY.

“Y/N.”

Jolting awake, your elbow slid off the door of the car, attention pulled away from the memory to the man beside you. Taehyung had been driving wordlessly, the radio quiet, the rain loud enough to send you to sleep. As the car passed the “WELCOME TO OKLAHOMA” sign on the left side of the road, his gaze had landed on your body, abnormally curled up on the seat.

Stirring, limbs sore, you rubbed your eyes clear of sleep, yawning. “‘sup?”

“Away out where the West begins, you’ll find Oklahoma!” he sang, a childish smile present as you groaned in annoyance.

“Already?”

He made a voiced confirmation. “Three minutes ago.”

Pulling the car into a slip-road, you straightened in your seat and took back the map that had slid into the footwell at some point during the journey. Taehyung looks after absentmindedly, his gaze heavy and content watching you scan the red lines on the map, oblivious to the empty road ahead.

“You mumble in your sleep,” he said finally, and you catch your tongue between your teeth suddenly, flinching towards him with a perplexed, and almost afraid, expression.

“I do?”

He nodded, humming. “Yeah. Little things like the weather. The Elvis vinyl.” He wriggled his brows, smirking.

Without realising, you sigh in relief. “Wish I could mumble out a way to cure this thing.”

Taehyung smiled a tight-lipped smile, his features giving away that there was something he wasn’t saying. To his relief, you didn’t notice; your attention was poured onto the map meanwhile he drove, silently, nearing a clutter of cars stained brown and ashy-white. He exhaled slowly, letting the car roll.

“We’re stopping?” you asked, looking up.

“I’m just gonna check something,” Taehyung assured, smiling once and pulling the keys out of ignition. The car jerked violently as it stopped, the radio cutting, the rain washing the front window. “Stay here.”

“Taehyung, no, I want to come with you-”

Without being rude, Taehyung opened the door and silenced your protests, locking it for good measure as you angrily pulled at the handle, glaring through the raindrops as he stepped, drenched by the minute, towards the barricade of cars blocking the road. He stood quietly, hands on hips, analysing the situation: if he moved the cars, it would clear the road, with the definite outcome of attracting walkers with the noise. Letting out a sigh, Taehyung looked around the area, noticing small community apartments lit with China lanterns, a banner with running ink reading: STILL ALIVE, but he couldn’t take any risks.

For now, at least, his own responsibility was keeping the both of you alive. No matter what it cost him.

Over the short ride across Denver, there was plenty of time for Taehyung to get to know you, to find out more about the leader of the group who took him in when nobody else would. He barely scraped below the comfort zone, only getting an age- the same as himself, aged 21- and a birthday, the name of a poem you wrote aged seven, the name of a family pet you had who passed away months before the outbreak. In return, you learned Taehyung studied Economics and Music at NYU and that he liked jazz music, which explained the torturous loop of whatever CD had been left behind in the car.

It wasn’t enough to start a friendship. But it would have to do.

Returning to the car, he sank into the suede seat and started the car back up, the lights switching on and the saxophone solo continuing.

“Nothing?”

Taehyung shook his head, reversing. “Nothing that wouldn’t cause attention. There’s a road, over there. I’m hoping it will take us right around the mound. Close your window- anything could pry it down.”

You didn’t argue. He knew what he was doing.

The car rolled silently, moving away from the barricade of cars and instead down a left-hand backstreet, cutting underneath a large junction, the old shed-sales company redundant and rotting with wet mould. The windscreen wipers cut away the stains of rain, clearing a view for Taehyung to manoeuvre around discarded bodies and open drains, the occasional biter trying to move from beneath a fallen lamppost, or groaning behind a fence too thick to bite through.

“Imagine how cool it would be inside an IKEA right now,” you said suddenly, staring at the large blue building just off the road, littered with biters in the car-park. Taehyung snorted. “I’m serious. Maybe we could pretend life was normal.”

“This is normal, now,” he replied, his voice quiet, as if afraid to be loud. “I don’t think I could get used to going back to how things were. Not after what I’ve been through.”

“I get that,” you nodded. “It would be nice to sleep on a real bed, though.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

Further down the road, as the car cruised past an open alley looking outwards to a flooded stream littered with blood and guts, the atmosphere shifted. It was the type of moment where the air becomes clammy and it’s hard to breathe, even harder to pretend like nothing has changed. On command, the radio signal wavered, the smooth vocals of a singer you didn’t know crunched into incoherent static, and out the corner of your eye, you took note of the way Taehyung gripped the steering wheel tightly.

“Y/N, seriously, put your seatbelt on this time,” he said warningly, his gaze flickering to the shaking seatbelt that hadn’t been worn once during the trip. Sensing danger, you did what he said, putting your seatbelt in the slot.

Cautious of speed, Taehyung drove steadily down the road, ready to turn back onto the street when someone jumped in front of the car. She- it was clear enough to decipher that it was, indeed, a woman- slammed her palms flat on the bonnet of the car, eyes crazed and blood pouring from her lips. Unexpectedly, the car halted, making you thankful of the seatbelt.

“Please…” her voice said, quiet but loud at the same time. You glanced at Taehyung with a frantic gaze, noticing that his hand was ready on the gear-stick. “They’re gonna come for me. They gonna come. Take me with you. Get out, I’m takin’ your car.”

She moved in stutters, her body moving before her legs, like the shake of your body with a cough. Taehyung reversed slightly, bumping the tail of the car into a biter who had picked itself up from the corners of the abandoned shed company lot, its face sneering through the back window.

“They’re gonna kill me,” she repeated, but Taehyung didn’t budge.

“Taehyung- she’s-, we-”

“Get out the car or else I’ll kill the both of ya!” the woman screamed, violently lunging at the driver’s window, hands fisting the glass.

“Go!” you screeched, pinching the skin on Taehyung’s wrist as you gripped the steering wheel. “Please, go, go, go, go-”

Stepping on the gas, the car pushed forward at an alarming speed, a trail of thick black smoke blinding the biter but nonetheless drawing in more from the shadows, staggering and swarming towards the woman painted in crimson blood, her elbow white and exposed, the skin curling up with an infection, a bite on her neck.

Turning in your chair, you felt compelled to watch; the premium viewing experience, watching her get torn to pieces by her neighbours, a childhood best friend, a lover. Their grown fingernails scratching at her skin like needles to paper, the sinister sound of her screams attracting herds of biters from across the town, eager to taste. As Taehyung drove away, fast enough to avoid the mob but slow enough to save gas, it was harder to look away. Harder to look away from the beauty that was death.

NEXT CHAPTER.

122 notes · View notes

mirsan · 7 years

Note

:3c mirsan and kagsan? 💕💕

of COURSE jenny my sweet devil 💖💖💖

who is more likely to hurt the other?

mirsan: I think if we’re talking during the series, Miroku’s flirting and gags really start to wear Sango down and she can’t help but feel hurt. By the time they’re married though, I headcanon Sango has moments where she shuts down or her trauma takes hold of her and it causes her to act in ways that hurt Miroku, but they talk about it and realize where she’s coming from and work through it

kagsan: I can see Sango doing the same thing above with Kagome! It’s in Kagome’s nature and heart to want to help someone no matter what, and I think it might come off sometimes as overbearing and if Sango is in a certain mindset she may not be ready for that, but Kagome would eventually understand. BUT you know what I would have loved loved loved to see? When Kagome and Sango first use the hot springs together and Kagome hesitantly tells Sango she’s the reason why the jewel shattered, I wanted to see Sango react with something other than mild shock for half a second. It could have been really amazing to see them work through that together, especially considering what happens to Kohaku that same episode/chapter!!

more under the cut~

who is emotionally stronger?

mirsan: This is kind of tricky to think about?! I think Sango wears her emotions on her sleeve but there is a strength in being your authentic self and not hiding how you feel. But Miroku on the other hand is much more apt to keeping things below the surface and showing calmness and control, even if he is bubbling up underneath with anger or sadness or something else. I think he can prevent cracking under a difficult situation more easily, but I also believe that what Sango has lived through has made her immensely strong and I don’t think that’s undone by crying and showing those emotions sometimes!

kagsan: I think Kagome has a special gift of being able to carry on despite feeling intense emotions, and so while Sango might be overcome and feel like giving up, Kagome is driven to continue despite the odds, and that takes incredible emotional strength.

who is physically stronger?

mirsan: 💪 SANGO 💪

kagsan: 💪 SANGO 💪

who is more likely to break a bone?

mirsan: HAHA well….. they both have a complete and total disregard for their wellbeing when their loved ones are in danger but…. if I’m remembering correctly, every time Miroku was incapacitated in canon it was because of sucking up too many bees or miasma, or maybe he got cut here and there, and for Sango it was always from physical injury, including being hit by hiraikotsu or thrown from Kirara etc, so I’m gonna say Sango!!

kagsan: again, Sango!! I think Kagome’s physical injuries were limited to acid burns or cuts and whatnot, and either way Sango is reckless enough to end up badly hurt for Kagome’s sake imo

who knows best what to say to upset the other?

mirsan: LOL ummm Miroku might make the occasional ignorant/misinformed comment here and there, but I think Sango knows how to Read Him and incinerate his entire life

kagsan: AND YET remember in “Only You, Sango” when Kagome EVISCERATED Miroku with that speech about how much better Kuranosuke was than him? mmmmm Yeah she knows how 2 fucking use her Words to end a life

who is most likely to apologise first after an argument?

mirsan: Definitely Miroku!!! He is NOT one to drag something out, just picture him chasing Sango around in the catfish episode lmao. SANGOOOO SANGO HEYYY WAIT—

kagsan: Oh my god lol they’d both apologize at the same time and blush and then argue why its their fault and not the fault of the other person, I genuinely don’t think either one would ever spend more time than necessary brooding after a fight!!

who treats who’s wounds more often?

mirsan: Mmmm I’d say it’s pretty even (see previously: how fucking reckless they both are and therefore prone to injury)! Then again a lot of the time when Miroku is injured it’s a matter of waiting and watching as the poison passes through his system. But in a world where Sango grows up to be the leader of the rebuilt taijiya village, I think Miroku would spend plenty of time massaging out any knots and treating any injuries sustained from a day of heavy training ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

kagsan: Kagome treats Sango’s wounds with her handy dandy futuristic medical kit!! She frets and frets over how hurt Sango gets but Sango is usually waving it off with a blush 😊

who is in constant need of comfort?

mirsan: Sango. The trauma she has gone through doesn’t disappear just because Naraku is gone and Kohaku is back, and sometimes it becomes too much to bear and she needs to be loved and soothed and reminded that it’s okay and will continue to be okay.

kagsan: Same answer as above. The moment from the stolen tessaiga arc where Kagome holds her and strokes her hair is far from the only time she does this for Sango, I think.

who gets more jealous?

mirsan: SANGO

kagsan: o my god….. fuk…… I’m… gonna say Sango again but just BARELY lmao, if only because Sango doesn’t really hide it very well whereas I think Kagome kind of does?

who’s most likely to walk out on the other?

mirsan: WHY WOULD U MAKE ME THINK OF THIS!!! I’m not gonna answer this in the way I think this question is phrased (aka who would leave the relationship) but instead, based on how Miroku has left Sango for the sake of her safety re: inside Naraku when he fears the kazaana is just about at its limit and could swallow him and anyone around him at a moment’s notice, I’m gonna say Miroku. He would do what he had to do to keep her out of harm’s way, even if it meant leaving her side. I also think Sango is at her core someone who is loyal and stands by others and I don’t see her leaving anyone unless that person really, truly hurt her and betrayed her.

kagsan: okay even though I just said Sango is loyal and wouldn’t leave someone, I think if she thought she was a burden to Kagome or that she brought nothing but trouble for her (again with the stolen tessaiga arc), Sango might try to leave to spare her. But Kagome is Kagome and therefore if there’s one thing she would want, it’s to stay by her side no matter what.

who will propose?

mirsan: Mirokuuuuu huehuehuee

kagsan: KAGOME! I think she’s much more romantically inclined and outgoing compared to Sango, so she’d def pop the question first 💍

who has the most difficult parents?

mirsan: LOL uhhh well we know nothing about their one of their mothers, but Miroku’s dad went off and left Miroku with a drunk uncle for like his entire life and meanwhile Sango’s dad is the head of the village and trained his two children to be able to kill giant centipedes and spider demons, so I’m gonna go with Sango’s

kagsan: Man again, Sango’s dad is already intimidating enough but compared to how lax and cool Kagome’s mom is with her daughter just doing as she pleases and hopping down into a well to fight demons in the past, Sango’s dad is practically a drill seargant

who initiates hand-holding when they’re out in public?

mirsan: Miroku x9348502 he is all about physical intimacy and loves little romantic gestures that make Sango blush!!

kagsan: lmao Kagome is so bubbly and outgoing, again I think she’d initiate the physical intimacy over Sango out in public and her girl would just be beet red

who comes up for the other all the time?

mirsan: What does this even mean…. What…. Like who thinks of who more? Lmao I have no idea how to interpret this question so uh, I think Miroku can’t shut up about Sango and she always comes up in conversation, he also can’t shut up about his babies, he’s like Maes Hughs when it comes to gushing about his family tbh????

kagsan: KAGOME IS THE SAME WAY lmao she is always gushing about Sango. “Did you see Sango just throttle Inuyasha during sparring? o my god and the way she lifted him and threw him over the fence? I saw stars 😍😍😍“

who hogs the blankets?

mirsan: Sango is a total blanket hog and Miroku lays there with a pathetic “why me” face while he is forced to lay there freezing because is he going to wake up his wife and ask her to share? of course not.

kagsan: Sango IS Kagome’s blanket, u fool. u absolute fool!!!

who gets more sad?

mirsan: Sango, re: complex trauma and the tendency to let her emotions pour out.

kagsan: Same as above, but Kagome’s empathy makes it difficult for her not to come right down to where Sango’s at in the moment

who is better at cheering the other up?

mirsan: Miroku 100%. His main defense mechanism, I think, is humor; he can artfully use that to turn a situation around and earn a smile from Sango, but he is also great at instilling hope and reminding her that she can do what she feels she cannot

kagsan: Kagome’s positivity is so contagious, it’s hard for Sango to remain sad sometimes when Kagome is there, always cheering her on!

who’s the one that playfully slaps the other all the time after they make silly jokes?

mirsan: Sango!! Miroku is always being a silly lil idiot lmao

kagsan: hmmmm I think Kagome, mostly because I remember her popping out of the bushes in “Only You, Sango” and doing that to Miroku after she scared him half to death lmao

who is more streetwise?

mirsan: Miroku. I think he’s traveled around a loooot more and knows the ins and outs/the lay of the land, plus he knows how to get a free bed for the night 👀👀👀

kagsan: Sango, but I mean that’s kind of a given because Kagome isn’t even from that time period!! I love the idea of Sango teaching Kagome all about her era and the customs, since it’s likely that at her age Kagome has only just started learning about the feudal era

who is more wise?

mirsan: I think Miroku; I’m pretty sure it’s filler-y nonsense but when Sango explains the shikon jewel, one of the “four souls” is wisdom, and it shows Miroku when she says it BUT LIKE besides that, I see him as someone very in touch with old texts and scriptures and if this were a modern AU he’d definitely be in a few philosophy courses. He may not be the most virtuous monk but I still think he knows his shit!!

kagsan: I’d say Sango! Given how much she knew of the legend of Midoriko, I think she possesses some very useful, powerful wisdom (and knowledge re: demon slaying tactics and strategies). Where Kagome still appears very young mentally, Sango seems much older than just 16 and part of that is her mental age and I tie that to wisdom

who’s the shyest?

mirsan: 😳 SANGO 😳

kagsan: 😳 SANGO 😳

who boasts about the other more?

mirsan: Ok fuck I answered the earlier question wrong then. O well. Miroku never shuts the fuck up and can u blame him? He married a goddess and had three perfect children with her. I too would never shut up.

kagsan: And if you think Kagome isn’t the same way about this as Miroku is then o my god u poor thing u are so wrong, Kagome has literal heart eyes for Sango at all times and is Will Smith Introducing Jada.png in any given moment

who sits on who’s lap?

mirsan: boy….. Sango sits in his lap….. he’s a walking Blanket Fic, I can see why

kagsan: Kagome sits in Sango’s lap and is a giddy little ball of smiles the whole time!!!

#inuyasha #mirsan #kagsan #miroku #sango #kagome #ask meme #jenny saved my soul by sending me these two top tier ships #ask

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everlarkbirthdaydrabbles · 7 years

Note

Hi guys! A little fire-breathing flying reptile informed me it's going to be Alice's (aka thegreatorangedragon's) birthday on Feb. 16, and I was wondering if someone might be able to drabble a little something for her? There's no truer friend to the folks here and champion of Everlark authors, and I know she'd love to see something. (Bonus points if someone can give her a puzzle to figure out... I'm sure you've noticed she's a clever one). Thanks for everything you guys do.

Happy birthday to the @thegreatorangedragon!! Thank you @papofglencoe for sending in the ask! Here is a fun little fic submitted by @peetabreadgirl just for you. Hope you have a fantastic day!

Happy birthday! I hope you enjoy this little one shot. Rated S-E-X. For sex. There be smut here, folks. Sorry if I ruined the surprise. Thanks to the girls who run this awesome blog and make cool stuff happen. Pbg

Join ‘Em

rated E

It started out as a joke. A way to pass theawkward time while listening to the sound of my neighbors through the thinwalls. But I can’t deny anymore that I wish the sounds Peeta and I are makingwere real. I don’t know what to do about it. He’s been my best friend for aslong as I can remember.

Since I moved into my place, Peeta and I havespent most Saturday nights in the studio apartment, scarfing down tubs of cheapudon noodles or greasy slices of pepperoni pizza, watching various movies fromall different eras and genres.

But a few weeks ago I got a new neighbor. A veryloud, sexually active one. Apparently said neighbor also has standingappointments on Saturday nights. Whether it’s for money or not, I’d rather notknow. The neighborhood I live in is a bit seedy, so it’s a possibility. But inany case, the first time it happened took us by complete surprise. I wasstuffing my mouth with cheese fries from the bar on the corner, Peeta besideme, a beer bottle tipped up to his lips, when it started.

The moaning and wailing were enough to make melose my appetite, and Peeta looked white as a sheet. I tried to laugh it off,but it didn’t take. Peeta wouldn’t look at me, and to be honest, I couldn’thave looked him in the eyes either. I turned up the television, tried to watchthe movie. Tried to ignore the knocking and cooing and ‘yes, right there, ohyes’s’, but it seemed the more I tuned them out, the louder they became.

It didn’t help that we were sitting on mycouch-slash-daybed. Where I sleep. Where that would happen on thisside of the wall.

The second week was much the same. Peeta and Istared at the TV for the forty-two minutes it dragged on, both silent and stillas hunted prey. The third week, however, I decided I’d had enough. I walked overto the wall and beat my fist on it. The noises stopped, and I flashed Peeta atriumphant smile over my shoulder until my neighbor started beating on the wallin the same rhythmic pattern as me. Startled, I jumped away, heart pounding.Then they started up again with the moaning and groaning.

My fists balled up and my eyes narrowed to slitsas I shot daggers through the wall. If I had x-ray vision, I could havemurdered them with my death glare. “Just ignore them, Katniss,” Peeta said fromthe daybed. My eye felt like it was twitching. Ignore them? It was all Icould do not to think about making those sounds ourselves, and he wanted me tojust ignore it? I turned slowly to face him, my face full of disbelief. Heshrugged his shoulders and said, “They have to stop eventually.”

Peeta was wrong that night. Probably becausethey knew it bothered me, they kept at it, going well past midnight with theirantics.

It’s now week four, and right on time it begins.I roll my eyes at the familiar sounds of misused furniture and unnecessarilyvocal cries of pleasure. I have a feeling they’re doing this to spite me now.

“I’m going to have to move!” I shout, stuffingmy head into my throw pillows to block out the noise.

I feel Peeta’s hand on my back. “Let’s just havesome fun with it. We should give them a taste of their own medicine,” he says.I tense underneath his palm, which now feels like it’s branding me. Does hemean what I think he means? Peeta and I have been friends for a long time and,yes, he’s scorching hot with his broad chest and big shoulders, true blue eyesand blond hair that falls in waves across his forehead. And his smile - full,pink lips that surround perfect white teeth. I never have to picture it becausehe’s always wearing one around me. And when I look up at him, it’s there. Ifeel my panties melt to my skin now that I’m seeing that smile in a new light.Does he want to fool around with me?

My heart stops and then starts a million timesfaster while we stare at each other. Something passes between us, and thesparkle of mischief in his eyes grows as he stands up and positions himselfnext to the shared wall.

“Come on, Katniss, this’ll be fun,” he says,almost laughing at something I don’t understand. What is he doing? I watch, captivatedby every motion he makes as he presses his ear to the wall and starts makingsex noises. He stops after only a few seconds. “Don’t make me do this alone,”he says, turning his head to send a wink my way. I know my body interprets itas something more than friendly because my melted panties disintegratecompletely.

Almost like an out of body experience, I floattowards him, pressing myself against the wall just like his, my head turnedtowards him. The hard surface against my breasts feels incredible. I squeeze myeyes shut and inhale a quick breath. It doesn’t escape me that I’m turned onenough to feel pleasured by a piece of sheetrock. And that my best friend hasdone this to me.

In my mind, I know I should stop, suggest goingout and probably find a new place to have our Saturday night hang outs. Ishould avoid this altogether. It’s just not a good idea to go down this roadwith him. What if it’s a dead end or a catapult that sends us so far from wherewe’re comfortable that we never recover? But then he starts moaning again andthe thoughts vanish quicker than the thin material of my underwear.

When I open my eyes, they immediately find his.I’ve never seen them so intense. They’re deep water blue, and I feel likedrowning tonight. I start making my own noises. I’m quiet at first, a littleembarrassed by what I’m feeling, but then he smirks and something flares tolife in his gaze that makes me grow louder. He joins me and I can’t take myeyes off his mouth when he moans. I inch closer to him, pretending the frictionfrom the wall is Peeta’s solid chest. God, I want it to be.

When our shoulders touch, everything stops.Sounds, movements, time. I don’t think either of us is breathing. I wantnothing but to feel him. Taste him. My lips feel like they’re reaching for himand, against my better judgement, I don’t stop them. I press them against his,softly, and I can feel it down to my toes. It’s just as heated as if we weretangled up in each other on the couch. That’s when I know that we could havesomething amazing. Tender with a side of explosive.

I move my lips against his, wanting to turn theheat up to a roar, but I freeze when he doesn’t kiss me back and pull away,unable to look him in the eyes. I messed up! My world is about to come crashingdown around me, and suddenly the sounds coming through the wall are painful. Iwant to scream at my neighbor to stop it.

“I-I’m sorry,” I stutter, plastering my palmagainst my forehead. “I, I don’t know what got into me. Please-”

His mouth crashes into mine, cutting off myfloundering apology. I don’t think. I just feel. I go with it, and the urgentway his tongue parts my lips goads me on. Within seconds, he’s backed me upagainst the wall, caging me in with his hands as his mouth plunders mine in themost deliciously provoking way.

I reach up to his face, hands trailing down tohis neck, beneath his collar, needing to feel his skin under my palms. But thebuttons are restricting my access. I pop the top one, waiting for him to backoff, to tell me to stop, or at least slow down. But he doesn’t. I push the secondone through the hole, then the third. Down until his shirt is open and hischest and abs are exposed. I want to see him, but I for the life of me I can’ttear my lips away from his, so I’ll have to feel for what they look like.

My hands are greedy little suckers, taking theirfill of his muscled chest before my fingertips trail down the ridges of hisabs, focusing on every delicious indention. When they hit the waistband of hisjeans, he let’s out a groan that rivals the neighbors’ and tilts his hipstowards me.

“Please tell me this is real,” he moans beforeattacking my neck with his wet lips. I press my head back, and the force of thewall pushes my breasts into him. “Fuck, Katniss, I want to touch you.”

I don’t know how he finds the coherency tospeak. I know I can’t, so in reply I take his hands off the wall and guide themto my chest. We both moan this time, the feeling of it too incredible to holdback. His hands cup my t-shirt covered mounds with just the right pressure ashe rubs his thumbs back and forth across my aching nipples. It sends a thousandkilowatt jolt of pleasure straight between my legs. Death by electric shocksounds like as good a way to go as any tonight.

I want my hands on him, too, and they wanderthrough his hair on a trail down his shoulders, underneath his arms and aroundhis lower back, cupping his ass. I still haven’t opened my eyes for fear itmight break this erotic spell.

Acting purely on touch, I squeeze and pull himagainst me, feeling the hard length of him on my belly. I want him inside me,desperately. Pounding me against the wall at my back. I’m so far gone, I don’tcare if the neighbors hear us.

“I want-” he starts, then cuts it off with agrowl when I drive my hips against his. “I want to do so much to you. Withyou.” He hisses when I do it again, letting him know with every thrust that I’mwith him. I want this, too. “I’ve wanted to for - aahh fuck,” he pants,“a while.”

With that knowledge, I still my hips and flickthe button on his jeans, tugging the zipper down. “Take my pants off, Peeta,” Itell him as I dip my hand into his boxers and pull him out. His hands move withlightning speed, yanking my yoga pants down to my ankles. I step out of them,still in my socks, but as Peeta hauls me up to his chest and my legs wraparound his waist, I couldn’t care less.

“Are you sure?” he rasps, stopping long enoughto look into my eyes. I marvel at his control. He’s right there. My gazeroams his beautiful face. Thoroughly kissed lips, eyes as dark as midnight,hair arousingly disheveled from my own hands. I can feel his chest heaving fromexertion, matching my own. I love that I’ve done this to him, and when I stareback, his expression is so open I can see straight to his soul. He wants me tobe certain. He doesn’t want to ruin us. We’re on the same page, I think, andstopping now wouldn’t undo any damage we’re likely to feel. At this point it’sall or nothing.

And I want it all.

I lean in, grazing my lips against his as Iwhisper, “Yes.”

“Fuck, yes,” he grunts out, positioning himselfat my entrance, wet and throbbing for him. “There are so many things I want doto you, but right now-”

“Please, Peeta,” I beg, feeling the tip of hiscock so close to being buried inside me. I have never felt such a desire to befilled before. I’m unprepared for the size of him as he pushes into me. It’sthe kind of sweet pain that steals my breath right out of my lungs. Then hislips seal over mine, and his long, drawn out groan breathing the life rightback into me.

“Incredible,” he rasps, pulling out beforepushing back into me. “You feel better than I ever dreamed.” He adjusts hisarms around my thighs, fingers digging into my flesh as he picks up a fasterpace. He presses his face into my shoulder as he pounds me, and all I can do ishold onto his broad shoulders for dear life.

“I can’t… I can’t let go of you, Katniss. Touchyourself. I want - oh, fuck, you feel too good,” he almost shouts intothe air. “I want you to come with me.”

I let go and try to do what he wants, butbetween the angle of my body and Peeta’s frantic thrusting, I can’t beconsistent. I try to tell him, but my breathing is so ragged all I can say is“later.”

“Fuck it,” he says, moving us away from thewall. He hurries to the daybed and drops me onto it, my back hitting themattress and bouncing me up in the air. I watch him strip off his jeans andboxers, then climb between my legs. His shirt still hangs open, exposing thecenter of his chest to my greedy eyes, and the perfect v of his lower abs thatlead down to…. Holy shit that was just-

“Oh!” I cry out as he lifts one leg over his shoulderand plunges back inside me, filling me for the second time in minutes. Histhumb finds my clit and he goes to work on it, playing it like the tiny,precise instrument of pleasure that it is.

“Take off your shirt,” he says, and I somehowfind the wherewithal to whip the cotton over my head. “Fucking perfect. I knewthey would be.”

The apartment falls silent except for our wet,slapping arousal as Peeta drives deeper inside me with every thrust. I watch ashe bites his lower lip and his breathing becomes erratic. It’s almost as eroticto watch him as it is to feel him, and experiencing both is about to send mevaulting over the edge.

“I’m gonna come so hard,” he says throughgritted teeth. “So….fucking….hard.”

One last flick of his thumb over my clit has mywalls pulsing around his cock. His eyes fly open and lock onto mine, rightbefore I squeeze them shut from the force of the pleasure that washes over me.I’m not new to sex, and I’ve brought myself to completion more times than I cancount. Always with quiet moans or subtle whimpers. But with Peeta, I’m ascreamer. The way he makes me feel is unlike anything I’ve ever known. He’sfilling me body and soul, practically obliterating anyone before him, and damn sureeliminating anyone after him.

I force my eyes open to the feel of his hipsbucking even harder. He lets out a loud groan before I welcome him with openarms to collapse on top of me. We’re a sweaty mess of tangled limbs and pantingbreaths, and I’ve never been more alive.

He rolls to the side, slipping out of me and Ican feel the evidence of his climax between my thighs. I release a deep,satisfied sigh and look over at him. His skin is flush and his right arm isslung across his forehead, hiding his eyes from sight. My gaze trails down hisfirm pecs and flat abs, contracting with his calming breaths. His bare lowerhalf is on display, and even though I just had the best orgasm of my life, I’mready to go again.

As I drag my eyes back to his profile, a tinyseed of doubt settles in my chest. He still hasn’t moved. The seed sprouts theidea that the reason he can’t - won’t - look at me is because we fuckedup. Literally and figuratively.

“You regret it,” I whisper into the stillness.He moves his arm and his eyes find mine, his brow creased in confusion.

“What?”

“You regret what we just-”

“No! I don’t regret anything. God, Katniss, I’vewanted you for so long, this-” he moves closer to me and pulls me into hischest, sliding his fingers through my hair lazily. “This is like a crazy dream come true.” A beat of timid silence passes before he speaks again.“I was afraid you regretted it. I couldn’t stand it if I looked at you and sawdisappointment.”

“Disappointment? I could never be disappointedover the best orgasm of my life.” I try to make light of the heaviness I feel,but it feels wrong. I reach up to pull gently at the tips of his hair. I needto have my hands on him, anywhere, to be grounded to this moment. “Given to meby my one and only best friend,” I add, feeling completely insecure about myability to convey what it meant to me.

“Is that what we are?” he asks solemnly. I seethe spark of hope begin to fade in his eyes and I can’t stand it. I can’t lethim think this was a one time thing, but I’m terrible when the ball is in mycourt. So I toss it back to his.

“What do you want us to be?”

“Together,” he answers with certainty. Like he’sgiven it so much thought that there can be no other way. It’s the same for me,though I haven’t questioned it for quite as long as he has. But I don’t needyears to know that I want him this way. Always.

He kisses me, and it’s sweet with an underlyingheat that promises more. Who knew that the neighbors I loathed so much- “Hey!”I say, sitting up on the bed and startling Peeta. He slaps his hand over hisheart and mutters a curse word, following me into an upright position. I wouldlaugh that I scared him, but I just realized the neighbors are silent and it’snot even 9 P.M.

“Listen,” I tell Peeta, pointing at the wall.His eyes narrow confusingly at me, then I see the moment he understands.

“Did we out sex them?” he whispers, like it’s asecret we were trying to mess with them. Whomever they are, I can’t be mad atthem now because their antics brought our feelings to light. I can, however,gloat that we beat them at their own game.

“Well you know what they say,” Peeta says as hishand sneaks up my stomach to fondle my breast. I bite my lip to keep fromletting out an embarrassingly loud moan at the simple touch. Looking at him, Iraise an eyebrow, inviting him to go on before I peel his shirt down his armsand push him onto his back for round two.

A sexy smirk lifts one side of his mouth. Amouth I can’t wait to have on me. “If you can’t beat ‘em…”

#Happy Birthday to you #thegreatorangedragon #papofglencoe #everlarkbirthdaydrabbles

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