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feelin-woozy · 3 years

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Title: I'm Your Man

Word Count: 2,562

Pairing: Danny Johnson x GN reader

Warnings: Gunplay, referenced knife play, very toxic relationships, impact play, some violent imagery and threats of violence, under negotiated kinks. They making love but they're being freaks abt it,,,,, making love in a rly fucked up way.

[AO3 LINK]

What you're doing is stupid, it’s dangerous, it’s audacious, it’s a million other adjectives that display your sheer stupidity, but most notably, it’s exhilarating. It makes your thighs quake, and your breath catch in your throat. Even when you have the upper hand, something about Danny never fails to deconstruct you to your more baser desires. And you know it’s not just you who feels this; as much as he loathes to admit it, you did something to him as well. It’s how you got him in this position in the first place.

Danny stares up at you, strands of blonde hair falling into his face and making his nose crinkle. There’s a murderous look swimming within his blue irises, like the moment you let your guard down, he will take matters into his own hands. To reaffirm that he is the one who holds power, not you, never you. To mold you back into that subservient little thing he’s worked too hard to force you into, but then there’s this spark within his eyes that overshadows the dark intent. It’s the look of how you feel, pure exhilaration.

His sharp cheeks are dusted with pale pink, jaw clenched till veins pop along his neck, and you can hear his teeth gnash together. In the dim lighting of the room, he looks dangerous, sharp edges highlighted by the way shadows dance over your face. It excites you all that much more, a true testament to how utterly fucked you were.

“I got a surprise for you,” You swivel your hips, leaning down to drag kisses along his jaw, the stubble catching along the soft skin of your lips. Despite the way his body tenses, his hips still involuntarily rock up into you, his cock throbbing. You lean back and smile at him before you pull off of him with a wet squelch. His cock bobs, the flushed skin shining with the remnants of lube.

Your legs wobble for a moment as you straighten yourself, the chilled floorboards creaking under your weight. You stumble over the clothing that litters the floor, your barefoot catching in the leg of tartan printed briefs. You kick it off to the side, clearing your path to the dresser across the room.

You feel his eyes on you as you walk away, and the air shifts around you. It becomes dense, and with each step you take, it feels as though you’re walking through jelly and over eggshells. You don’t let it deter you; you can’t. You were too far into this to back down. It would only reaffirm that you were nothing more than self-abasing, a toy that he could toss aside when he grew bored. You needed him to know you were more than that, that you were an integral part of his being. That throwing you away would be the same as throwing a few pieces of the jigsaw away, leaving him incomplete.

You rummage through the drawer of your shared dresser, careful not to crease the carefully folded dress shirts within. Spindly fingers wrap around the cool metal. Upon contact, you feel a sudden rush. Power swelling within your chest like an over filled balloon. It’s nearly suffocating as it scrapes along your ribcage, and you find it difficult to determine if you like the feeling. If you liked the side that Danny dragged out of you in the name of love.

Turning around, you look at him with as much of a neutral expression as you can muster. Trying not to convey fear or excitement to feed into his reaction. Your eyes carefully rove over his face.

Danny’s lips part slightly, and there’s something new within his eyes. Fear maybe? No, it was closer to indignation.

“Gunna kill me, baby?” He speaks with a sharp rasp, words dripping with equal parts venom and arousal. His brows knit together, a deep groove forming along his forehead as he stares at you with a narrowed gaze. You watch him try and get a read on you, trying to determine if this was how he’d meet his bitter end if he’d finally pushed just a little too hard and sent you tumbling down into madness like Alice down the rabbit hole. He settles his nerves, letting his words wash over you coldly. “I’m hurt you’d use a gun for it, after all we’ve been through together and you chose something so… Impersonal..”

You’re not sure what he’s trying to accomplish in saying this. Was he trying to goad you on? Send you into an uncontrolled frenzy that he could redirect to gain control? Was he trying to scare you? To make your hands tremble and quickly fumble with the zip ties that dug into the flesh of his wrists, constraining him to the wooden dining chair. Did he want you groveling at his feet and begging for forgiveness that he likely wouldn’t be kind enough to bestow? That one felt like a safe bet.

“No, I need you.” You let the words drip off your tongue like honey, lips twisting into a smirk as his hips buck up into nothing and his jaw goes slack. You walk back to him and situate yourself within his lap once more. Using the hand not wrapped around the grip of the gun, you position him carefully before sinking down onto him once more in a quick sudden motion.

The two of you moan, the sound melding together into something harmonious and beautiful. His arms flex against where they’re restrained, muscles rippling below pale skin. You know he must be going near crazy being unable to touch you, to have his way with you. To tear into you like a soft peach and have your juices messily dripping down his chin as he devours you.

“I love you,” You murmur, carefully dragging the barrel of the gun down along his jaw. His head tips back, letting you move the gun freely as a shaky exhale passes through his lips.

“Is it loaded?” Danny breathes, hips mindlessly rocking up into you in a steady rhythm. If it didn’t feel so good, you likely would have chastised him for doing so. After all, you were in charge. But you knew you were already toeing the line of what you could get away with; it was better to pick your battles than to face his wrath.

“Wanna find out?” You hook your index over the trigger as you drag the barrel carefully and nudge it against his lips. There’s a brief moment of hesitation before they part, and he slowly lets you force the pistol past. The two of you lock eyes for a moment, and you watch the way his tongue glides along the underside of the slide, taking the gun in till lips meet the trigger guard. “It is. Could blow your brains out right now if I wanted to.”

He moans at that, hips bucking up in a way that has you jolting, knocking the gun within his mouth and making him gag. A part of you expects anger to flood his face, for him to pull back and spit out the safeword, but if anything, it spurs him on more. Eyes closing as his cheeks hollow.

“You look so good like this, baby.” You whisper, raising yourself carefully before dropping once more and impaling yourself on his cock. You move at a leisurely pace, not entirely chasing your pleasure and more so fixated on the sight of him sucking on the barrel of the pistol like his life depended on it. And to some extent, it did; the looming threat, the implication that his brains could paint the wall behind you only served to turn the air heady with dangerous electricity. Danny didn’t seem to mind all that much at this moment, not with the way he bobs his head hastily, mindless bliss curling over his features and smoothing his brow.

You pull the gun out, making a note of how the color on his cheeks has deepened into a dark red. His pupils are blown till the blue no longer exists. His lips are slicked shiny with spit, and his chest rises and falls rapidly. “Gunna fuck me now? Done playin’ your little game?”

“Can I hit you?” A sliver of your usual timidness sneaks its way in, making your words falter enough that the glimpse of a predator can be seen in his eyes once more. He remains silent for a moment, letting your request roll around within his mind. You rock your hips, rolling yourself deeper on his cock and allowing an obscene little noise to tumble past your lips. “Please?”

“Fuck.” He grits his teeth, head tipping back as he soaks up the feeling of your walls clinging to his cock. After a moment, he looks at you once more, that dangerous look within his eyes that told you to tread lightly. “You’re getting too comfortable with this, babe.”

“You can carve me up real good next time,” You promise him, the words tumbling out almost desperately. His lips quirk slightly into a curve as you lean down, peppering the column of his throat in kisses and bites. You drag your nose along the curve of his neck affectionately, inhaling the scent of cigarettes, aftershave, and cologne and allowing it to wash over you like a blanket fresh from the dryer.

“Fine.” He lets out a sigh, trying his damndest to sound like this was more of a favor to you than it was exciting for him. You watch the way his face melts. An almost soft look crossing his features when your face lights up with the sudden excitement. “Be fuckin’ careful though.”

You let out a hum, moving from his neck to his face to capture his lips in a frantic kiss as you bounce eagerly on his cock. He meets your unbridled passion with his own, teeth sinking into your lower lip brutally till the taste of copper fills your mouth, and sticky warmth dribbles down the curve of your lip. You draw back, fingers curling around the grip of the gun in a firm grip.

Before he has any time to prepare himself, to think twice and go back on his word, you raise your arm before swiftly bringing it down with careful precision. A loud crack can be heard as the butt of the gun collides with the side of his face. His body thrashes, arms pulling uselessly against his restraints as his heels dig into the wood below. It makes the feelings of power wash over you once more in a torrential downpour, drowning you with the force of it and how it so thoroughly saturated your nerves and set fire to them.

The guttural moan that leaves his lips reverberates through his chest, and it catches you slightly off guard. You should have expected it, really; it wasn’t shocking that something like this was making Danny’s cock throb within you or having butterflies dancing within his stomach. You catch a dazed expression plastered over his face as his head lolls back on his shoulders. Unconsciously, you grip the gun again, finger curling over the trigger. As if waiting for him to lash out, to give you an excuse to fill his body with holes. Not that you could, the thought made your mouth taste of decay, and when he lifts his head and locks eyes with you, it only solidifies that you couldn’t do it.

There’s something beautiful about the way Danny looks with a busted visage. An angry medley of reds and purples has already begun to bloom over the right side of his face, the skin splitting and dripping with thick rivulets of red. It’s angelic, and you almost want to ruin this moment by asking to take a photo.

Your lips part, and a shaky exhale rattles through your diaphragm. You toss the gun aside, not bothering to flick the safety. All you do is pray it won’t discharge in a cruel stroke of misfortune. It bounces on the bed twice before settling without any issues.

One hand comes to cradle his face, fingertips pressing into the tender flesh as your lips meet his in a ravenous and all-consuming kiss. The way he winces under your touch momentarily before kissing you back makes your heartbeat a little faster, and you can’t stop the way you tighten around him like a vice.

“You’re fucking insane,” The words are panted out between kisses; they shake and fall so deliciously close to unhinged. “Like hurting me baby? Rile you up?” The comments are rambling, a true tell that he was just as delirious on pleasure as you were. You nod your head eagerly, the hand not on his face gripping into his shoulder as the two of you set a brutal tempo, the sound of your skin meeting echoing obscenely off the walls of the bedroom. “Should bring you with me one day, let you gut someone. Bet you’d look so fuckin’ sexy covered in someone’s blood.”

The proposition has you crying out, teetering so close to your release. It tears out a hysteric laugh from Danny, his hips faltering and becoming jerky and erratic.

One more thrust is all it takes for you to let a myriad of indiscernible noises, some sounding damn near inhuman as your orgasm, overtakes you. The force of it, the way your muscles tremble and you clench around him, drags him down just as violently. A cry of your name rips through the air, and you feel the way his cock throbs, painting your insides.

“You’re perfect.” Danny concludes with a wheeze as you slump forward. Your bones feel gelatinous, and you don’t want to move from where you were. Wanting to forever be suspended at this moment where you and Danny are so intimately connected. You feel the gentle dragging of his lips against the side of your head, the action so tender and only feeding into your desire to remain. “Need you to cut me free, baby.”

The way he speaks is commanding, and you know better than to ignore it for your own selfish means. Especially after something like this, you know you need to willingly hand the power back to him to soothe wounded egos and dark thoughts of losing control over you. So with a whine, you pull off of him. The wet noise that rings through the air as you pull, accompanied by the slow drip of sticky, viscous fluid down your thighs, makes your face scrunch up slightly.

Danny laughs fondly at you for it, watching you bumble around the room on shaky legs while you grab a pair of scissors before returning to cut free where each wrist was restrained to the back of the chair. You watch as he rolls his shoulders, trying to work out the stiffness that crept into the muscles and joints before he rubs at the red indentations that mar his wrists—another mark of imperfection that sends a strike of lighting through your nervous system.

You reach down, fingers carefully encircling his wrists as you drag the limb up to meet your lips. You press a gentle kiss into the angry red mark, smiling softly as you look at him. “Could never leave you, Danny.”

“Yeah. I know.”

#The name sake is leonard cohen pls listen 2 the song its bomb #Danny Johnson x Reader #Jed Olsen x reader #Danny Johnson x you #Jed Olsen x you #dbd danny johnson #dbd jed olsen #dead by daylight #dead by daylight x reader #dbd x reader #slasher x reader #slasher x you #danny johnson #jed olsen #ghostface x reader #ghostface x you #my writing

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blueroseblaze · 4 years

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Who’s The Deadweight Now?

Word count: 2342

WARNINGS: NSFW

Image credit: @drusoona

The apartment was dark and quiet, despairingly dark, and quiet. The only sign of inhabitance was the dirty boots strewn about the entry way, and Red Queen, still coated in dried grimy blood, propped uncaringly against the wall. You sighed in relief, looking into the darkened living room; eyes fixed on the sliver of warm light shining through the crack in your closed bedroom door.

You sighed, placing your own gear and weapons haphazardly to the side, before slumping through the dark space. You reached the bedroom door, hesitating, nervously rubbing the back of your neck and taking a deep breath before opening the door. The door creaked as you pressed on the wood, it wasn’t even closed all the way.

You poked your head through, looking around until your gaze landed on the bed, more specifically the figure resting amongst the covers. His back was to you, bare as you watched the lean muscles ripple underneath his skin as he breathed, but other than that he was still. The warm lamp light from his nightstand coated his back in harsh shadows, highlighting the curves and valleys of his body not obscured by the sheets. He made no move to turn to you as the hinges of the door cried out when you fit your body through the rest of the way. Nor did he acknowledge you when you clicked the door shut. You didn’t deserve an acknowledgment anyway.

You didn’t say anything as you walked past the bed towards the connected bathroom. You deliberately left the door open as you started the shower and began stripping your clothes. You stole a couple of glances back at the bed, still nothing.

You wanted to call out to him and apologize for what happened, but you held your tongue. It was a rough argument, almost a full blown fight. Nasty words, and passive aggressive comments were flung back and forth, culminating in you calling him the last thing he would expect you to call him. A deadweight. That was the last straw, and you two separated for the remained of your mission, only spitting an aggressive, “see you at home,” followed by terse “fine,” before parting ways.

You could barely focus the rest of the night. The overwhelming guilt of your words weighed heavily on you, sure, but you couldn’t shake the ever present fear that overtook you when you realized that if anything happened to Nero tonight, your last words to each other would have been nothing but venom. You eyes watered as you dried yourself off, remembering how easily the words left you despite never once meaning them.

You took a few shaky breaths, looking to the bed again when you heard movement, only to see Nero, in the same position, facing away from you. You quickly through on whatever t-shirt was sitting on top of the laundry hamper and exited the bathroom, turning off the light so the only illumination came from the lamp on his side of the bed.

You carefully raised the covers, sliding underneath them and laying yourself against the pillows. You watched him for a few moments, tracing over his back with your eyes and his shoulders continued to rise and fall. You could feel the warmth radiating off of him even from this far away on the bed.

You couldn’t take it anymore, and closed the distance between you, wrapping your arms around him and nuzzling your face between his shoulder blades. Your heart dropped when he flinched at your touch. Tears streamed down your face and onto his back and the sheets as you quietly sobbed against him.

“Nero,” you choked quietly, “I’m so sorry. Please don’t hate me. I-I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“I don’t hate you,” he said with zero hesitation, “I could never hate you.”

“But I-.”

You tired to continue but were silenced as Nero turned to face you, his strong arms wrapping around you and pulling you into him

“I was being an asshole,” he said, “It’s not all on you. We both said things that we regret. And I’m sorry.”

“I know but, I know I really hurt you,” you breathed out, “Please let me make it up to you.”

“You don’t have to make it up to me. It hurt, yeah but it doesn’t hurt as bad as the idea of not being with you, and I’m not going to let a stupid little fight come between us like that.”

You smiled at him and pulled yourself up to press your lips against his, he reciprocated without a second thought, one arm wrapping around your middle and a hand coming up to run through your hair and pull you in to deepen the kiss. Your lips parted and you moaned as his tongue ran across your bottom lip before fully entering your mouth. His taste sent sparks through your veins, and the heat from his bare skin made you melt.

“I love you so much,” he whispered to you before kissing you again and again and again.

Without breaking the kiss Nero ran his hand down your side, savoring your curves, slowing for just a moment on your ass and then running down to your thigh. He brought his hand under the crook of your knee and lifted it to hook our leg around his waist. You felt the heat pooling in your core as Nero began grinding against you. The hard bulge in his boxers rubbing against your bare flesh.

He pulled away from you, smiling devilishly as he tugged ever so slightly on your hair. You moved your head back and gasped, leaving your neck open for Nero to attack. He hummed as he covered your neck in kisses and would be hickeys, lightly sucking on your pulse as it continued to race.

You moved one of your own hands down his body. You tugged at the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down and setting his hard cock free. He hissed against your neck as you held it, pumping your fist up and down, in a steady rhythm. He moaned right in your ear, his hot breath spreading on your skin spurring you on. His burning flesh in your hand became slicker as the pre cum leaked from the tip.

“Hmmm,” he moaned, “You like that, naughty girl?”

“Yes,” you said breathlessly, “Please.”

“What do you want me to do, baby?” he teased,

“Fuck me, Nero.”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

In one swift move Nero maneuvered you on top of him, only to sit up and swing his legs over the side of the bed. Now perched on his lap, straddling his legs, and supported by his strong arms, you didn’t hold back from grinding your pussy harder on his aching erection. He grunted and groaned, smiling as he watched you lose yourself on him. His hands traveled up your torso and under your shirt. He groped and pinched every inch of skin he could like it was his life force.

He lifted the hem of the shirt so that it sat on top of your breasts, exposing your front completely, giving the devil hunter more than enough opportunity to take one of your pert nipples into his mouth. Tongue working expertly around the bud, swirling around it like a cherry lollipop. Your own hand moved to pinch and roll your other nipple between your fingers, adding to your body’s near overwhelming sensitivity.

“Nero… Please fuck me already,” you begged still grinding your most sensitive spots on his pulsing rod.

“So impatient,” he chided playfully, detaching his mouth from your skin.

His hands, still roving over every valley and mountain of your body, reached down between your legs. He expertly teased you with his fingers, before bringing them up for you to see. In the low lamp light you could still make out how his fingers glistened with your juices.

“You’re already so wet for me,” he said, “Are you that hungry for my cock?”

You nodded eagerly. You were impatient, you were needy, and you were hungry. He knew this, he just wanted to draw it out as long as possible. Whether this was his pay back for your fight or just him trying to savor the moment as long as possible you didn’t know. But it didn’t matter as his hands fell down your back, finding purchase on your ass. They moved with the gyration of your hips. He gave one of your cheeks a quick yet sharp spank and chuckled at your high pitched yelp.

He moved them underneath you, using only a fraction of that demonic strength to lift you up and place you back down, this time spearing you with his cock. Your warm wet walls clung to him, squeezing him from every direction, bringing him deeper into you. You let your head dangle back as his cock hit every sweet spot inside you, burying itself deep in your body and filling you to the brim in one go. You leaned your head against his shoulder, panting into his neck as you begged him to move, to hit even more of those delicious spots within you.

He obliged, of course, thrusting his hips upward as you rolled your hips and bounced your ass on his lap. A pleasured sinful dance accompanied by the melodic moans and cries of two passionate lovers close to a crescendo.

“God you feel so perfect,” he grunted through clenched teeth, “You’re so fucking tight and wet.”

“It’s cause your so fucking big,” you retorted with a cheeky smile as you clenched around him.

He got a solid ego boost from that comment, picking up the pace of his thrusts, aiming perfectly for your most sensitive spots while his fingers worked your aching clit. It felt so good, each little pass he made with his callused fingertips would make you gasp and lose yourself for a moment, before crashing back down. Your body moved on it’s own only guided by the desire for more pleasure.

You could always tell when Nero was getting close by the sounds he made, they were louder, more erratic and he lost his more composed dirty talk.

“Fuck yeah, baby. Yeah ride that cock, ride that fucking cock,” he moaned,.

You were reaching your limit but you held your pace, bobbing your ass up and down on him, rolling and spelling our words with your hips. The sounds of his slick cock moving in an out of you was the hottest things you had heard, second only to Nero’s lustful calls of your name. You didn’t even remember what happened earlier that day. This moment was too beautiful to be tainted by any such thoughts. All that existed was this room and your Nero.

“Oh god, baby! I’m gonna cum soon,” he grunted his head lolling back.

“Don’t stop,” you demanded, “Please don’t stop.”

“Want me to cum in you?” he asked, his voice getting more and more unstable as he closer reached his edge, “Want me to cum in your tight little pussy?”

“Yes! Yes please cum in me, Nero!”

His fingers left your clit and both of his hands were back on your ass, holding you in place as he bucked his hips fast and hard into you. His cock rubbed up against every inch of your inner walls, impaling you inch after agonizing inch.

Your mouth was back on his, tongues dancing together, eating each other’s sultry moans as you finally went over that anticipated cliffs edge, you walls clenched around him of their own accord, sucking him down once more as every nerve in your body lit up. You gushed around him before your body went limp in his hold. You pulled your lips away from his and laid your head back on his shoulder once again, physically exhausted from your little ride. Always such a gentleman he was, making sure you finished first.

But Nero wasn’t done. He was still rock hard inside you, reminding you with some smaller thrusts and chuckling at your oversensitive mewls. He took sick pleasure in watching you squirm as he brought himself to his own climax. Hands holding you firmly in place as he kept rutting into you, grunting and groaning with each thrust.

“Oh fuck!” he cried, his brow scrunching together and his mouth falling open in a look of ecstasy as he finally hit his limit, spilling thick hot cream deep inside you. With what little energy you had left, you clenched yourself around him, making sure to milk him dry as he rode out his orgasm. He went soft inside you but didn’t want to leave the warmth of your body.

Instead he wrapped both arms around you, holding you as close as he possibly could, like you would disappear if he loosened his hold even a little bit. He buried his face into your neck, inhaling your sent from your hair as it fell around him and tickled his face. He pressed sloppy and affectionate kisses to your neck as you both sat there, basking in the afterglow.

Eventually he pulled out of you, and you shuddered at the feeling of his seed leaking out of you and cooling on your skin. You tried to move but couldn’t find enough strength to remove your body from his. You’d be content to stay like that forever. Nero noticed your pitiful attempts to move and chuckled to himself as he leaned back, moving his legs back onto the bed and laid down, all with you still clinging to him like a cuddly koala.

“Heh, who’s the deadweight now?” he teased as he ran his fingers through your hair, humming contently as you rested against his chest, you heartbeat syncing with his.

He reached over to the bedside table, turning of the lamp with a click and then returning his arms to envelope you again. He kissed the crown of your head, whispering affections until you both drifted off to sleep. Safe, together, and content.

Happy Valentines Day <3

#dmc #devil may cry #dmc 4 #devil may cry 4 #dmc 5 #devil may cry 5 #nero #dmc nero #nero x reader #dmc nero x reader #reader insert #dmc fanfic #devil may cry fanfic #dmc fanfiction #devil may cry fanfiction #valentines #valentines day #My writing #blue writes

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7demonhoes · 4 years

Text

The devildom and hell are not the same part 2

This may have taken forever but I’m actually super proud of it. If you’re interested, I put a link to part 1 below. Also I take requests!!

Description: After giving into curiosity, MC has to deal with the consequences. They couldn’t leave the brothers be, not when they were clearly hiding something from their human. And now, with the demon’s secrets revealed, MC faces a dilemma that could cause them to lose the demon brothers forever.

Word count: 5,191

Warnings: Angst, body horror, mention of religion/hell. The demons act like actual demons.

Part 1

I kneel on the edge of the cavern that leads to the pits of Hell, throat raw from my terrified wail. Seven demons stare down at me, the sky beyond them tinged a cloudy red that resembles the blood being spilt far below.

The one that used to be Satan crouches down, moving as if to offer me a hand. It begins the motion. I stare at the arm; veins bulge from skin, its color a faint, sickly green. The hand reaching out towards me is huge, black claws the size of my fingers sharpened to a point, gore under the nails.

My eyes travel past the arm, looking towards the beast’s bare chest. Skin is stretched over muscle, pulled so tightly that it appears as if it will tear and bleed if it is stretched too far. A long, rigid tail snakes around the demon’s leg, swishing excitedly against a pair of bent knees. The tail travels up the entire length of the monster’s back, connecting to two obsidian horns at either side of the monster’s head.

The creature’s facial features are warped beyond recognition into a look of rage. Tight skin stretches over a small nose, dry lips forming a silent howl of anger. The mouth is horrible, its short, sharp teeth gleaming against pale green skin. Rows of teeth line the monster’s throat, reaching far back into the cavernous mouth.

Its eyes are blue-green, and they beg me for forgiveness. The beast whispers my name in Satan’s voice, far too soft to be coming from a hole filled with so many teeth.

“No,” I whisper, because it’s the only thing I can think.

“Why did you come?” The thing pretending to be Levi unhinges its jaw to speak, a forked tongue drooping from its mouth and slithering towards me.

“You’re so afraid,” another voice buzzes, “You’re making me even hungrier.”

“You betrayed us.” Mammon’s voice sounds pained. I can’t bring myself to look in the voice’s direction. When I looked at the figure before, I caught a glimpse of melted gold and burnt skin. “We loved you, you know.”

I could hear the meaning in those words. But not anymore. “Please,” I beg, because it’s the only thing I can do.

“Do not speak like them,” Lucifer rumbles, talons gesturing dismissively towards the Pit.

I stare at the ground, concentrating on the dirt sifting through my clenched fingers. I can’t think while I stare at them. The screams of the tortured souls get louder if I look into their eyes.

I remember the forcefield. I slowly crawl backwards. I need to get away from this place. I need to get away from-

A frail, thin hand with fine black hair rests on my own. If I wasn’t so afraid, I think I would reel back in disgust. “Running away?” Belgaphor whispers.

"I-" my voice breaks as the hand wraps around my wrist and pulls me forward. I stumble to my feet, barreling into hard muscle.

"Honey," Asmosdeus's sweet voice sounds sickly and thick. "You should have done what you were told."

I shiver against him, my arms wrapped around my chest. I stare down at his feet. A clawed hand gently touches the bottom of my chin.

"Don't," I whisper.

The demon ignores my request, forcing my eyes to travel up towards its face. Small, writhing bodies are pressed against the monster's skin, their nude forms stroking the demon.

When I look at the horror's face, the animal that stole Asmo's voice smiles at me. Its mouth splits open at the middle of the bottom lip, revealing a barbed tongue and curved canines.

Its hooded eyes reveal no emotion. Red makeup swirls around the demon's face, highlighting its elegant features. Four giant wings wrap around me, impossibly smooth to the touch.

I watch as it presses a clawed finger to its lips. "I'm sorry, baby," it coos, "but it appears that we have some things to discuss with you."

"...What?" I ask, attempting to reel backwards as the beast reaches for me. The demon places his finger on my tongue before pulling me in an embrace.

I feel a hand on the back of my head, softly stroking my hair. "Sleep," Belgaphore commands.

My vision blurs, my body starting to feel warm and calm. I find it impossible to move, but I'm too tired to care.

As my vision grows black, I hear the beating of wings and feel the soft caress of hot air against my skin.

I wake up in a dim room. Candlelight flickers across the stone walls and floor. Harsh shadow is cast across the other side of the room, so thick that I can't make out what might be lurking inside. Thankfully, I can no longer hear the screams of the damned.

I try to move my arm. To my horror, it pulls against a metal cuff. I look down to realize that I'm strapped to a metal chair by my wrists and ankles. I stiffen, looking wildly at my surroundings. I have to get out of here. What are they going to do to me? Are they going to keep me in Hell, now that I've learned what they are?

I can't help myself. I let out a whimper. I immediately hear rustling from the other half of the room. Glowing, red eyes stare at me from the darkness.

"Human," Lucifer's voice is rough. "I told you this was not information to be privy of." he steps into the candlelight, and I struggle against the chains. "And yet," he says, staring down at me with hunger, "I should have known that you would have meddled either way."

I stare at the figure in front of me. Its-his?- skin moves like ruffling feathers, never standing still. Hands and feet are replaced with the talons of a bird, the skin dry and black. The wings on the creature's back are even larger and more impressive than usual, crumpled slightly so they can fit in the cramped room. Black feathers shine an iridescent purple whenever candlelight flickers across them. Feathers travel from the wings, up the shoulders, and climb towards the demon's face, stopping at the jawline.

Lucifer's facial features are more or less the same. His cheekbones are sharper, his eyes brighter, and his lips are a shiny black. When the demon speaks, I see neat rows of fangs.

"Are you afraid?" The demon asks.

I remember when he almost attacked me in the common room. "Do you want me to be?"

Lucifer takes another step forward and crouches down, his face inches from mine. When I look into his eyes, I see the faces of those he has tortured. "Yes," he whispers.

I feel my heartbeat in my throat. "Why?" My voice is hoarse.

"It is my nature. And it is yours to be terrified of me." He gestures towards his body. "Especially when I look like this."

"Lucifer," I can't look into his eyes anymore. I stare at my lap, blinking away tears. "What is going to happen to me?"

"We will answer your questions. All of them."

"And then?"

He swallows. I glance at him to see his eyes on me. They're soft; if I look past the souls within them, I can see his sadness. "And then we will make you forget."

"Hell?" I guess that wouldn't be so bad. If I just woke up back in the House of Lamentation without any idea of what happened, it would probably be for the-

"No," Lucifer cuts off my thoughts. "You will forget your time in the Devildom."

If I wasn't sitting down, I think I would fall over. "Please don't." I can't forget this place. I can't forget them.

"It has already been decided." Lucifer stands and heads towards the shadows. "I will come back when it is time to say goodbye." He turns to look at me, opens his mouth, closes it with a shake of the head, and drifts away.

I shudder in a mixture of relief and despair when I no longer feel his presence. This place is horrible. I need to get out of here. But what would that do? They would find me, and they would bring me back.

And then they would say goodbye.

Maybe it's for the best. After everything I've seen… If I don't forget, what would become of my sanity? If I look at the demons in their human forms, will I ever be able to see them as the men I loved again?

I stare at the floor, feeling a coil tighten around my heart. Are the brothers truly that different? They've been coming to this place for more time than I can fathom.

And yet, those are human souls they are torturing. Do they ever look at me and think about hurting me? How much do they have to fight against their instincts to not attack me while I sleep?

But they never have. Does that knowledge by itself allow me to trust them?

It's not like I have a choice. They're taking away my memories of this place no matter what I do.

Someone coughs. I look up to see Beelzebub and Belgaphore. They stand huddled in shadow, looking at anything but me.

I eye them wearily, trying not to look away. Belphie looks even more exhausted than usual, the bags lining his eyes a deep shade of gray. His skin is covered in fine hair and rot, maggots crawling around his skin. Beel glances at the grubs, his stomach growling loudly.

"Does it hurt?" I ask.

Belphie raises an eyebrow. "Does what hurt?" His voice sounds sickly. It makes me want to close my eyes and never open them again.

"Your skin."

He shrugs. "You get used to the pain."

I stare at Beel. His eyes look like those of a fly's, each bulb moving in multiple directions. His mouth is half open, drool spilling from his lips. Giant teeth poke holes into his skin, the edges of the white points soaked in blood. His wings buzz each time they quiver.

"We're here to answer some questions." Beel says, "If you want to know anything."

I pause, thinking. It would be a waste to not ask questions, even though the action seems pointless when I know that I won't remember their answers. Still, the longer I drag this out…

Am I really okay with saying goodbye?

"Why do you look like that?" I start, my stomach rolling.

"We naturally shift into our True Forms when in Hell," Beelzebub says. "It's hard to change if we're just in the Devildom, unless we're incredibly angry or we haven't…. come here in a while. The only person who can shift whenever they want is Diavolo"

I swallow, gripping against the chair. "Those people," I whisper hoarsely, "Do they deserve it?"

"People are brought here for different reasons. The book humans use for their religion has some truth in it, some lies."

"For example?"

Belphie sighs. "Killing for safety or self defense doesn't get you thrown down here, but destroying lives for your own well-being does. People never come here based on their sexuality or gender. Stuff like that."

"What about… people who make pacts?"

"Only if you offer your soul. And even those humans don't necessarily end up in Hell."

I frown, thinking. "What will happen to my pacts with you? Once I forget?"

Beel winces. "They won't disappear, but since you won't remember how to use them, the marks will never flare up and show themselves."

A desperate, sad fear twists in my gut. "I don't want to forget you." My voice breaks as I speak, my eyesight becoming blurry.

One of the twins growls. I look up to see Belphie right above me, his lips grinding in an angry snarl. "This is your fault," he rumbles. "If you never asked questions, if you never tracked us…" He kneels down, placing his head on my knees. "Were we that untrustworthy? Was it me?"

"Belphie," I sigh, trying to reach out to him despite the chains. "I was selfish. It was all my fault."

"Can't you stay here instead? What if you just never left? You could live here, with us, and I wouldn't have to-"

Beel walks over and rests a hand on Belphie's head. "Humans can't stay here for their entire lives. It's too dangerous." Beel sighs, walking behind my chair to wrap his arms around me. He's careful to hide his claws. "But it doesn't mean we can't be sad."

My lip quivers. I'm about to speak when Belphie cuts me off. "I can't do this. I can't look at you and know that in a few hours you wouldn't recognize me. I'll- I'll see you later." He gets up, grabs Beel, and drags him out of the room. Before he's engulfed in shadow, Beel reaches out for me.

I desperately try to reach back, but my wrists clang at their restraints.

I try to fight against the sadness in my gut. What have I done? I can't lose them. Not after all this time.

Before I can second guess myself, I concentrate, bringing the images of Leviathan and Mammon into my head. I imagine all of their forms and desperately force myself to think of each one as the same person.

I close my eyes. "Avatars of Greed and Envy," I speak, feeling the sigils against my palms and over the back of my neck tingle as they flare, "I summon thee as my guides. Be my strength." The sigils burn as I call out to the demons, feeling a familiar pull against my chest. I concentrate on that pull and imagine myself reeling it in.

The ground beneath my feet rumbles. I hear a whoosh and a flutter of wings. When I open my eyes, I find Levi and Mammon staring at me worriedly.

"Why did you summon us?" Mammon asks.

I smile sadly. "I still have questions. And I wanted to do it one last time."

Mammon winces, but doesn't speak. He tries to make him look as small as possible as I study him.

The Avatar of Greed is an impressive, terrifying sight. His blue eyes shine against his dark skin. His body and horns are adorned with jewels, the edges of the golden pieces melting into his skin. His hands are covered in melted gold, his fingers long and slender and decorated with beautiful rings. Black feathers cover parts of his chest and groin, the edge of them dipped in gold.

Burned skin presses against the gold, painful-looking blisters contrasting against the beautiful color of his skin. If Mammon is in pain, he shows no signs of it.

The tips of his bat-like wings are the same. One side of his wings brushes against the stone wall and leaves behind a smooth cut.

I turn my eyes towards Levi, and he shudders. "Don't look at me," he hisses, "I can't let you see me like this."

"Levi," I whisper, "Can you undo my restraints?"

"Won't you run?"

I shake my head. "I won't run away from any of you, ever. I promise." I put power into the words, feeling each of the seven sigils flare. The brothers in front of me gasp as they feel the power of the pacts within them.

Levi steps forward, gingerly reaching down to the cuffs at my ankles. When he moves to undo my wrists, he turns his head to hide his face.

His body is covered in purple scales. His arms and legs are disproportionately long compared to the rest of his body. His claws aren't as long as some of his brother's, but his fangs are the most impressive.

His mouth is huge, his jaw hanging open each time he speaks. Fangs dipped in poison reach towards his bottom lip, a forked tongue occasionally tasting the air. His eyes resemble a snake's, his extra eyelids blinking as he shies away.

Once he's released me from my restraints I rub at my wrists. I slowly stand up, barely coming up to Levi's chest. "Did you get taller?"

"We all do, in this form." He steps away from me.

"It's okay," I say. "Please don't hide. I want to be brave, so that your last memory of me is a good one."

I can tell how much they care through their words and actions. I could never hate them for what they are. They've shown me so much kindness and love.

I wonder if I'll know that something is missing? I've never been appreciated this much in my entire life. Will I feel a void in my heart once I wake up without these memories?

Before Levi or I can realize what I'm doing, I reach out and grab his hand. He jumps as I stroke his claws with a finger, his scales surprisingly smooth. Levi barely moves as I entwine our fingers together.

"Show me," I look at Mammon. He stares where my skin touches Levi's, a mixture of hopefulness and need plastered on his face. "I want to see all of it."

He stiffens, realizing what I'm asking. "No."

"Please," I take another step closer to Levi. I don't even think he's breathing. "I want to truly accept you all. I want you to know that I understand why you kept this from me, and that even once I forget you that I will never stop loving you."

He opens his mouth, closes it, and then shakily wipes at his eyes. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

He nods before gesturing towards the shadows. Levi and I follow him, still holding hands.

I'm completely blind for a few seconds as we walk through the murky black. As the shadows around me dissipate, the sound of tormented souls reach my ears once more.

We stand on the other side of the pit. I look behind me to see a wall of shadow climbing towards the sky. "That wasn't there before," I mutter.

"Welcome to Hell." Mammon shrugs.

"What's it like?"

"There's eight layers." Levi points down to the pit. I glance at it, trying to put on a brave face. "Each one of us controls a layer, but the lesser demons are the ones who do most of the work. We go once a week or so to quell some of our more… natural instincts."

"Eight layers? But there's seven of you."

"The first layer is the pathway to the layer each soul will spend eternity in. The people you see now are those who have just died."

"And every demon needs to come here."

"Yes," Levi nods. "For some, it's almost like a job. Demons who have roles at other places in the Devildom only come here occasionally."

I catch Mammon's apprehensive stare. He swallows. "Aren't you afraid?"

I look down at the black dirt. "Yes. But the fear of Hell seems unimportant when I am so much more afraid of using all of you."

Levi sucks in a breath. "I can't believe you." He looks down at himself. "How could you see me like this and not be disgusted?"

"It's hard." I won't lie to them-- it feels like my instincts are screaming at me to run and hide. "But I know that you would never hurt me."

"But we have!" Levi shudders, "Don't you remember? We have never been fully able to control ourselves!" He takes his hand from my grasp, instead clenching them into fists. "Every time," he growls, "Every time we have ever hurt you it was because we had procrastinated coming here. And we never learned our lesson."

He's shaking, his eyes wide. "And now, you're gone. The first person we've truly cared about and you're being taken away-"

I crash into him, arms wrapping around his torso. He stiffens, hands remaining rigid at his side. The air beside me suddenly becomes hot as Mammon comes closer, coming as close to me as he can without burning me.

"I'm sorry," I sob into Levi's scales. "I'm so sorry. I love you all so much. I-I don't want to lose you."

Mammon tilts his head towards the sky and bellows, a ferocious roar emptying into the air and causing the ash beneath my feet to quake. He snarls, his feathers rippling. "Fuck this," he snaps. "Fuck Hell, fuck the rules. I'm not losing you." His blue eyes meet mine, flames burning within. "We're not showing you Hell. We're getting ya out of this place."

Levi bristles. "But where can we take them?"

I gasp. "Purgatory Hall. Solomon has a trap there. I'll be stuck in a forcefield, and only he can get me out. We'll be able to negotiate."

Mammon nods. "Let's go." He takes to the sky, giant wings flapping impressively.

Levi effortlessly picks me up, cradling me gently against his chest. "Hold on," he says. I tighten my grip around him as he takes off at an impossibly fast speed, the world blurring around me as he sprints around the Pitt and towards the forcefield back to the Devildom.

As we pass through the forcefield, he doesn't slow even as he shrinks in size and his scales recede. He continues to run as he returns to his normal demon form, his face a mask of concentration.

Mammon continues to fly above us, keeping pace with Levi-

A giant, terrifying figure in the sky flies toward him. They both go toppling to the ground in a flurry of wings and roars.

"Shit!" Levi yells, forcing himself to go faster.

"What was that?" I have to scream to hear my voice over the howling wind.

"Diavolo! He must know we're trying to help you!"

I swallow down a thick ball of anxiety. He wanted to kill Belphie for not following his orders when it came to the exchange program; what will he do to Mammon for letting me remember Hell?

Once we reach Purgatory Hall, Levi doesn't slow as we reach the door. He tightens his hold around me as he rams into the door with his shoulder. The wood splinters and falls beneath his weight.

Something screams behind us. Levi swears, heading towards Solomon's room. Just as we reach the hallway, the windows lining the walls all shatter at once.

Levi curls around me and jumps, hitting the ground and rolling as glass embeds itself into his skin. He sucks in a pained breath, releasing me and throwing me towards Solomon's door.

I scramble to my hands and knees and take a few steps forward before looking back. Levi's already standing, his arms spread wide to leave as little of an opening to reach me as possible.

And beyond him…. Is Diavolo in his True Form. He stands at a staggering seven feet, each limb defined with bulging muscle. His wings are so large that the edges poke past the broken windows, the stiff leather riddled with glass. His arms lay tensely at his sides, claws as big as my hand covered in a mixture of blood and strips of dark skin.

I shudder, thinking of Mammon and asking every god I know to let him be okay.

Diavolo snarls, his mouth stretching from ear to ear. A long, pointed tongue is covered with blood, red drool spilling from his horrible mouth. His eyes glow against black eye sockets.

And his skin…. Screaming faces press themselves against it as if trying to escape. The forms convulse against his entire body, hands reaching out and pressing against veined skin in a mixture of desperation and hopelessness.

Diavolo screams, and I cover my ears with a pained gasp as the walls around me shake. Levi steadies himself against the towering beast before him.

"Run!" Levi shouts just as Diavolo charges. I force myself to turn away and spring for Solomon's door as the sound of pained grunts and tearing echoes from behind me. I open the door and dive into the threshold of the room as something hot and wet erupts at my ankle.

I fall into the room and whirl around, staring at the open door as I lay sprawled out on the floor.

Diavolo bangs against the forcefield, his face a mask of rage. I cower beneath him, a small whimper bubbling from my throat.

I look past his hulking form to see Levi crumpled against a wall, his body covered in deep lacerations. I stare at him in shock, thinking the worst.

He coughs, opening an eye to look at me. He smiles when he sees me in Solomon's room before closing his eyes. His chest rises and falls.

I force myself to look at my ankle. The skin is shredded in three different places. I wince, just now feeling the pain as I stare at the wound. I quickly rip a part of my shirt and tie it around my ankle, gritting my teeth through the sharp needles of hurt.

A flurry of wings takes my attention away from my useless ankle. Diavolo turns as the rest of the demon brothers enter the hallway through the shattered windows.

Lucifer carries a bloodied heap in his arms. His eyes glow with an anger so intense I find myself scooting away despite the forcefield between us. He gently sets Mammon down next to Levi, his cold eyes softening as he looks at his brothers.

His eyes drift towards me, then towards my bandaged ankle. He glances at Diavolo's bloodied claws, then looks back at his unconcioUs brothers.

He faces Diavolo. His skin ripples, and with a sudden cry of rage he shifts into his True Form, his eyes almost level with Diavolo's.

A rumbling voice sounds from Diavolo's throat, more growls than words, "How dare you threaten me!"

Lucifer bares his teeth. "You laid a hand on my brothers. You laid a hand on my human."

"They broke the rules! They must face the consequences." Diavolo steps forward threateningly, but Lucifer holds his ground. "Bring Solomon here at once to break the spell."

"No." Lucifer shakes his head defiantly. "You will not harm anyone else."

Satan puts a hand on his shoulder. His skin stretches and pulls as he changes as well. Each brother steps closer to Lucifer, their eyes ablaze as they stand before their king. To protect their brothers.

To protect me.

I can't leave them.

"You cannot defy me!" Diavolo roars.

"No," a cunning smile warps itself on Lucifer's face, "but they can force us." He points a claw at me.

Diavolo gasps and turns to me, smashing against the forcefield with all of us weight. I focus on the brothers instead as they wait. With a grunt of effort, I get to my feet. I close my eyes, taking a deep breath.

I picture the brothers in my head, bringing my favorite memories of them to my mind. I pour everything I have felt over the past few hours-- the fear, the despair, the desperation…

And the love. I imagine golden love wrapping around their bodies and mine, entwining us forever; an unbreakable bond that cannot be forgotten.

I don't have to say the words. I feel all seven pacts burning on my skin, their colors washing me in a hue of seven different colors.

I look at Mammon and Levi. "Heal," I command. Their eyes fly open, skin closing around their myriad of wounds. "Change," I tell them, and their figures warp, the beautiful monster's falling behind Lucifer.

Diavolo screams, whirling around to face the brothers. He charges, raising a clawed hand towards Lucifer.

"Protect yourselves!" I demand, "And don't let me leave you!"

Lucifer catches Diavolo's raised hand. Faster than I can blink, the brothers hold Diavolo down. He tries to get loose and tear away from them, but he's no match for the seven of them.

"This is treason." His voice is full of malice.

"There has to be another way," Lucifer pleads. "There has to be a way to ensure that they don't forget."

"It's impossible." Diavolo shakes his head. He blinks, the rage on his face turning to a look of pensiveness. "Only damned souls and demons are able to witness Hell."

Satan stiffens. "What if-"

Belgaphore gasps. "It could be possible."

Lucifer frowns. "I doubt they'd want that."

Diavolo tilts his head to the side, his eyes turning towards my direction. "I suppose it wouldn't make the exchange program a complete failure." He takes a deep breath, his body shrinking in size until he's in his human form. He crosses his arms, staring at me.

The brothers follow suit, each of them shaking off their demon forms. I watch them, confused. "What are you talking about?"

Diavolo takes a step forward. His eyes no longer hold any anger. "You have two options," he says. "Either you can forget this place and live the rest of your days as a human…"

He pauses. I try to read the brother's faces for a clue, but the only expressions on their faces are those mixed with anxiety and hope.

Diavolo continues, "...or you can live in the Devildom for the rest of eternity. As a demon."

My heart skips a beat. I could be here. Forever, with the brothers.

As a demon.

"H-how?"

"With the correct rituals, it's quite an easy process. But if you do this, you will forever be changed. The human realm will no longer belong to you." Diavolo narrows his eyes. "You are trapped. You have no other choice."

I look at Levi and Mammon, who risked their lives to get me here. Levi shrugs, understanding the meaning of my gaze. "We gave you a way out. Now it's up to you to choose."

I stare at the demons in front of me, picturing their true forms. Do I really want to leave the human world behind? Would I be prepared to give it all up?

And what about my job as a demon? I would have to do unspeakable things…

And yet… could I stand to lose what I have here? I have never felt so loved, so complete until I came here.

I close my eyes. And I feel the decision in my bones.

"I won't forget you," I say.

The brother's eyes go wide, but Diavolo simply nods. Something shuffles from the back of the room. I turn to see Solomon materialize from a corner.

"What. The. Hell." I mutter, staring at the grinning wizard.

"Sup," he replies. He shuffles to his desk, pulling out a small container. He opens it before kneeling before my injured ankle, gingerly peeling off my makeshift bandage. He rubs some sort of cream on it, and the wound heals within seconds. He stands up with a wink, waving a hand in the direction of his doorway. The forcefield dissolves.

"Let's make a pact," he smiles.

I sigh, standing up and squaring my shoulders. Lucifer extends a hand out towards me. I take it. Each brother turns and begins to walk.

I leave my humanity at the door, following the loves of my life into the eternally dark sky of the Devildom.

#thank you so much for reading!#obey me #obey me fic #shall we date #obey me angst

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retroellie · 4 years

Text

If I Ever Were To Lose You

Summary: Y/N helps Ellie through a nightmare

A/N: This sucks ass and I’m sorry but enjoy <3

Warnings: Death, nightmares and talk about NSFW

Word Count: 3K

“Y/N?” Ellie called out.

She frantically ran around the building, opening doors and breaking glass just to find you. She felt like she couldn’t breathe, she’s not sure what happened. All she knew was the knot in her stomach grew and you were gone.

“Shit! Y/N WHERE ARE YOU?” She basically screamed out.

Her heart beat grew louder, she swore it could pop right out of her chest. Door after door, she couldn’t find you. The emptiness of the building was terrifying, it felt lonely and especially since she didn’t know where you were. Worry and fear clouded her mind, she couldn’t lose you.

She was beginning to lose hope, to finally accept defeat until she heard a strange growl coming from the last door down the hall. Her last bit of hope carried her down the hall.

“Y/N” She shouted.

She ran down the long hall that only seemed to get longer. Broken glass and unopened broken doors pasted by her, it seemed to go on forever. She came to a screeching stop when she reached the door, busting it open.

“Y/n?” She asked once more.

She looked around, her eyes adjusting to the sudden darkness. It was empty, the only sound was the creaking of a broken light, swinging in the light breeze sweeping through the room. She had lost hope, the last person she loved and cared for lost.

She pressed her back against the wall, trying to catch her breath but the lump in her throat choking her. She let out a few broken sobs, finally giving in. She had no one to be strong for, no one to love and be loved by. She had no one.

“Ellie?” A voice called out

Ellies had shot up, she recognized the voice from anywhere, she heard that phrase come out of your mouth many times. Either that was laughing it out or in broken sobs and gasp or even breathy moans. It was music to her ears.

“Y/n” She gasped. She stood up, bringing you into the biggest hug she’s ever giving you.

“Ellie..” You laughed. “You’re strangling me.” You joked, attempting to pull her off of you.

“Sorry.” She chuckled, pulling away from you.”I-i just thought i lost you.” She wiped her nose with the back of her sleeve.

She took a good look at you, you looked different. Your eyes were darker than normal and your skin looked almost like rubber, like you weren't real.

“I’m sorry baby,” You started. “I saw a kitty, I had to go after it.”

Ellies eyebrows knitted together in confusion, you were never that reckless no matter how much you loved animals. Something was off, you didn’t seem like yourself.

“Y/n? Is something wrong?” She asked as she started to feel weird

You just gave her a big smile, it was too big of a smile. Your skin started to droop, like it was falling off. Your smile got bigger and bigger until your skin started to crack, it was like a scene from a horror movie. Ellie backed up, not sure if she should run or not.

“Everything is fine, my love.” Your voice echoing through the room, turning into almost a growl.

Ellie slowly stepped back, terrified at the sight in front of her. Your skin began to fall off revealing cyst and bumps, your eyes had turned almost black, your skin turned a sickly grey color and a big bite mark on your neck was now seen. Ellie now realized what was happening, you had gotten bit and you're now tuning. She couldn’t save you.

Her eyes started to burn and her heart had stopped for a minute, realizing her failure. You were Ellies most prized possession, She believed you were too good for this horrible world. You didn’t deserve to go out like this, bitten by one of those monsters and eventually a bullet between your eyes.

She could've run but she didn’t want to leave you to die here by yourself, she wanted to die by your side. She knew you had already turned, there was no stopping it so she just watched as your skin cracked open and cyst formed on your soft skin.

“I’m sorry.” Ellie whispered in defeat. “I couldn’t save you.”

You didn’t even look like yourself at this point, you weren't yourself. She didn’t know if you were in there anymore or if you were trapped inside this monster's skin. You took a step closer, one foot after the other making your way to her. She just let you, she stood there completely frozen ready for her slow death.

“You never deserved this Y/n.” She sobbed out, watching your every step. It was torture as you slowly limped to her. “You were always too good for this world, too good for me...”

You were inches away from her, arms reached out to grab her. She moved into your arms, wanting it to go faster. She looked into your cold dead eyes once more before closing hers, preparing herself for the pain. She was ready for it, ready to be consumed by the sweet release of death.

She felt your hot breath on her neck, your short and panted breaths. You wrapped your hand around her throat before letting out a terrible screech, finally sinking your teeth into her neck. She let out a strangled scream, the pain hitting her hard and fast.

It hurt so bad, she felt her heart pound in her ears. She grabbed onto your shoulders, the pain making her feel faint. The blood pumping out of the wound, she felt her body rush to the ground, she was moving in and out of consciousness. Her own throat strangling her, stealing her oxygen from her. Her eyes felt heavy and her brain fuzzy. Is this what death felt like, like your oxygen being stolen away from you. She let out a single breath and her heart stopped pumping. She laid there cold, dead and alone, just how she knew she would.

Ellie's eyes shot open, her heart feeling like it was going to jump right out of her chest. She shot up, not being able to breath. She put a hand on her chest, feeling like she was having a heart attack, she gasped for air. She didn’t know where she was or if she was dead, nothing made sense to her. Until she felt a hand on her shoulder, She reached into her pocket grabbing her knife. She flung her body around holding the knife to the person.

“ellie, hey! it’s okay.” The person whispered yelled.

She saw who it was, it was you. Her body eased up when she saw it was you, her breath finally coming back to her. She dropped her knife and let out a big breath, a breath she didn’t even know she was holding in.

“I’m sorry.” She choked out.

You crawled over beside her, laying your head on her shoulder and rubbing soft circles on her back. That calmed her down a lot, her breathes were still coming out in short gasps.

“It’s okay baby, you’re doing great.” You whispered encouraging words into her ear. “Just keep breathing for me, okay?”

She did what you said, no longer having to fight for air. She didn’t know she was crying until she felt the wetness on her cheeks. She wiped the tears off her face, letting her body relax.

“You’re okay baby.” You whispered once more. “You're safe, nothings gonna hurt you.”

She turned her head to look at you, you looked sleepy. She must have woken you up. Your hair was messy, the illumination of the fire brought out your slight eye bags. She thought your were the most beautiful woman she has ever seen, she was so in love with you she couldn’t even hide it sometimes.

“I’m sorry I woke you.” She whispered. You just smiled, giving her a small kiss on the tip of the nose.

“It’s fine, I was already awake because of Tommy's snores.” You giggled.

Ellie looked over to see two shapeless blobs right next to them, That’s when everything came back to her. You guys had been on your rounds with Tommy and Joel before it got too bad outside, the snow was physically hurting when they decided to just camp out at one of the lookouts. It was a nice cabin, it had a great view and a huge fireplace.

“He does snore pretty loud.” Ellie jokes, putting a hand on your thigh.

“Right! I've had to kick him so many times.” You grinned.

Ellie chuckled, looking back over at you. You were staring back at her, with a soft expression on. Not even 5 minutes ago Ellie saw your skin fall off and you turn, now she was here with you. She was able to touch and hold you without you biting her face off. She held a hand up to caress your face, eventually pulling you into a kiss.

You kissed back, it started off innocent. Her hands softly caressing your skin, yours running through her hair comfortably. Then it became more passionate, like it was the last time you would be in the same room with each other. Ellies hand wandered under your shirt, her cold hands making you perk up. You gasped into the kiss, giggling because her hands were so cold.

“Your hands are so cold.” You whispered, pulling away from her. Ellie just grinned, keeping her hands up your shirt.

“Your boobs are so warm though.” She joked, placing her cold hands on your bare boobs.

The coldness of her hands made your yelp too loudly for your liking. She quickly removed a hand and covered your mouth. You both looked over at the sleeping men, they were both still passed out. She looked back over at you and laughed.

“You're an asshole.” you said, pulling her hand away from your mouth.

You shifted to lay down, your hair sprawled out on the pillow perfectly. You looked like an angel, the fire highlighting your face. If Tommy and Joel weren’t in the room Ellie would’ve pinned you down, pleasuring you until you couldn’t see straight but she had to behave.

“You love me.” She replied, moving a hand to your bare thigh.

“Yeah, right” You rolled your eyes. “Now come here, i’m cold.”

You held your arms up hinting at her to lay with you. She chuckled, shifting to lay in between your legs, laying her head on your chest. She watched the fire dance, causing soft shadows on the walls. She finally had time to rerun her dream, what happened and how it felt like the ground below her got yanked out below her.

“Y/n?” Ellie spoke softly.

“Hmm.” You replied back.

She felt your hand run through her hair, something that always put Ellie to sleep almost instantly. This time she doesn’t even know if she wanted to go back to sleep.

“Please don’t leave me.” She sighed out.

She felt your arms tighten around her, your heart and the heat of your embrace lulling her to sleep.

“Ellie, baby.” You spoke, your voice making her move her head to look at you. “I’m not going to leave you, i don’t know what you dreamed of but i’m not going anywhere.”

Ellie saw your eyes gloss over, either that was you about to cry or the lack of sleep you had gotten but the pure emotion in your voice and in your eyes made her believe you.

“I just..” she started, hesitant of what to say. “i just don’t want you to get hurt or turn, if you were immune it wo...”

“Ellie stop.” Your voice was stern but not stern enough to scare or embarrass her. “ I’m not planning on getting bit any time soon and even if i do it’s not your fault.”

You pushed her hair out of her face, her puffy eyes watering once again. You knew about her immunity and how she went to the fireflies, you don’t know what went down there but you knew if there was a cure it wouldn’t have done much, people were still dicks in the old world and you knew they weren’t going to change all of a sudden.

“This entire situation is not your fault, I know you want things to be different but they're not.” Your voice was still silky smooth to Ellie, no matter how stern you were trying to be. “I don't care about that right now though Ellie, you're here with me. You are all I need.”

She nodded and turned her head back to the fire, she wanted to believe you but she couldn’t. She blames herself for a lot, but this was the one that made her break down every time. You felt the hurt she felt, you would give anything just to make her realize there was nothing she could do.

“Plus people are assholes, i don’t think they deserve part of you inside them.” You attempted to lighten the mood and it worked.

Ellie let out a stifled laugh, shaking her head. You chuckled along with her, closing your eyes. To say you were exhausted was an understatement.

“I love you weirdo.” Ellie whispered, her eyes falling closed as well.

“I love you too, asshole.” you replied.

Ellie snuggled closer to you, hearing your soft heart beat drum in your chest. Your hand is still running through her hair, allowing her to feel safe and relax while she fell asleep.

“Come on, wake up love birds.” A voice spoke, waking Ellie up from her slumber. She groaned as her eyes fluttered open, the sun peaking through the windows.

“Come on, we gotta get back to Jackson.” The voice said again.

Ellie looked over to see Tommy packing up his backpack. Joel was by the kitchen table, strumming his guitar strings. Ellie groaned once more, looking down at the still sleeping girl below her.

“What time is it?” She asked, slowly getting up.

“I don't know, 11 maybe 12.'' Tommy spoke.

“Damn, we slept in.” Ellie gave a good stretch and stood up, causing you to turn over on your side

“You're gonna wake up sleeping beauty over there.” Tommy nodded over to you.

Ellie looked over at you, you were still passed out. Your hair was covering your face and your hands were placed by your head. She grinned down at you and shook her head.

“I’ll let her sleep for a little longer, she had a long night.” She replied, walking over to the table she laid her stuff on.

She started packing her stuff up along with yours, she knew you would be too tired to do it. You didn’t sleep in often so she thought you could use the extra sleep.

“Was that y’all talking last night?” Joel asked, putting down his guitar and putting his backpack on.

“Yeah, sorry we didn’t mean to disturb you or anything.” She said, zipping her backpack up and moving on to yours

“No it’s fine, I was dead to the world anyways. Just wondering.” Joel said.

Ellie nodded and went on with packing your bag up, she even folded your stuff up nicely. The two boys got ready for the small and cold trip, putting on layers and layers of clothes. You were still passed out, Ellie was dreading having to wake you up. You were so calm and peaceful when you slept.

“Alright, you should wake her up. I’ll bring in the horses.” Tommy stated, throwing his backpack on. “Maria’s probably got the whole town looking for us.” He joked.

He walked out the door, Joel following him but stopping in the doorway, turning to ellie.

“I’m glad you're talking to someone.” Joel spoke, causing Ellie to look over at him. “You know, you're not holding stuff in. I'm glad, she’s a real nice girl” He finished. Ellie nodded, leaning on the table. She looked down at your jacket and smiled.

“Yeah, she’s good.” She smiled, there was an awkward silence between them for a minute.

She was glad Joel approved of you. She knew you and Joel got along well, you liked Joel real well but Ellie wasn’t sure if Joel was okay with you two being together, he was from the old world. It was different back then but that statement just confirmed he was okay with it.

“Well, I gotta go wake up the princess.” She chuckled.

“Yeah, i’ll go help him with the horse.” Joel said.

Ellie nodded as she watched him leave the house, looking down at your jacket again. She sighed knowing it was going to suck having to wake you up. She grabbed your jacket, making her way to where you were. Your chest rose and fell calmingly, it almost made ellie wanna crawl back into bed with you.

She kneeled down and moved the hair from your face, bending down to pepper your face with soft kisses. You squirmed a bit, your eyes fluttering opened and seeing her.

“Come on, we gotta get going.” Ellie spoke, giving her a peck on the lips. You stretched your body a bit before sighing.

“Can’t yall just leave me here, i’ll walk back.” you joked.

“Come on weirdo, you can attempt to sleep on the horse.” Ellie replied back.

You rolled your eyes before sitting up, Ellie handed you your jacket. You slipped it on and stood up. Ellie went to go get your backpack but you pulled her into a hug. She didn’t refuse your hug, she melted into it. You stood on your tippy toes and kissed her, Ellie kissed back. The kiss was long and innocent before you pulled away.

“Good morning to you too.” Ellie grinned.

You laughed, pulling her into another kiss. This one was more passionate, it was the kind of kiss that left you breathless.

“Okay come on you two, enough face eating. we’re ready” Tommy interrupted.

You both laughed and Ellie pecked your lips one last time, loosening her hold on you.

“To be continued.” She whispered.

!Credits to gif owner!

#the last of us #the last of us x reader #Ellie Williams #ellie williams x reader #tlou ellie

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becomewings · 4 years

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The Most Beautiful Moment in Life <I’M FINE>

BTS Universe Story Highlights, pt. 4 / 4

« pt. 3 | start at the beginning

Introduction

The final sections for TaeHyung’s arc and the Epilogue are 4.3k and 4.4k, respectively. As with earlier parts of the series, I have included “tl;dr commentary” at the bottom of the post after a section of additional thoughts (specifically devoted to an interesting MV location parallel!). This commentary summarizes the parenthetical asides I made throughout the summaries and may be of interest as standalone reading to those who have already played the game yet would like to review its connections to the BU texts and MVs.

Content warning: contains references to death, suicide, suicidal ideation, child abuse, domestic violence, blood, homicide, depression, trauma, PTSD

This guide contains major spoilers and includes references to other BU media

Do not repost, copy, or quote without permission

Heart’s Distance

TaeHyung’s story opens with a short cutscene. In his apartment (with the calendar on the wall open to May), TaeHyung smiles at a photo of his father holding him as a baby. (The image looks similar to the photograph he holds at 1’48” in the HYYH On Stage: Prologue short film.) Remembering his father’s drinking and violence, he crumples the photo with a sigh. SeokJin then narrates over a series of shots explaining the latest developments in the loops. By this 15 May Year 22, he has saved NamJoon, ensured that JungKook and YoonGi saved each other, prevented HoSeok’s accident in the hospital, and borrowed everyone’s help to free JiMin. Everyone is gathered outside NamJoon’s container that night, smiling and giddy from saving JiMin. “How long has it been since we’ve all laughed together?” SeokJin asks. (This is a reference to the recurring phrase “we can laugh when we’re together” present throughout the Notes and occasionally this game.) He wants to relax and enjoy the moment too but knows this isn’t over yet. TaeHyung is laughing radiantly next to JiMin. “What drives this happy and innocent TaeHyung to commit such an unspeakable act?” he wonders.

SeokJin’s reflections on the coming days in previous loops present the crux of his challenge and this story: on 19 May, TaeHyung is arrested for vandalism while painting graffiti on the streets. (The bus stop depicted in the shot is the same as the one in Highlight Reel.) One thing SeokJin has learned through the loops is that TaeHyung and his sister live under the constant threat of domestic violence. On 20 May, TaeHyung goes home after spending the night at the police station. The situation gets especially bad for his older sister, and TaeHyung makes a choice that he can’t take back. (In the shot in the game, TaeHyung approaches his father from behind and the sound of glass occurs on a cut to black. We know from the I Need U MV and Save Me webtoon that he fatally stabs his father.) SeokJin’s inner thoughts relate that he has tried to stop this event by preventing TaeHyung from going home this day or even involving NamJoon—but all of his attempts have ended in failure.

While SeokJin is mulling over this challenge during their gathering on the night of 15 May, HoSeok approaches and asks what he’s thinking about by himself. “Oh, nothing much,” SeokJin dismisses. HoSeok remarks that it’s nice to be there with everyone. “It makes me think of the old days…” While HoSeok happily chats, SeokJin’s attention stays on TaeHyung as he approaches NamJoon. The player is given the choice to “get closer to eavesdrop” or “listen to what HoSeok has to say.” In the first path, SeokJin excuses himself to make a phone call and only pretends to pick up the phone as he nears TaeHyung and NamJoon. In the second path, HoSeok jokes about eating too many snacks in high school thanks to SeokJin. SeokJin is a little distracted, but HoSeok notices that TaeHyung has snacks. “Huh? What’s that? I want some too!” SeokJin uses this opportunity to follow HoSeok and join their two friends. The paths converge with SeokJin overhearing TaeHyung and NamJoon’s conversation. TaeHyung says he doesn’t want to go home and asks if he can spend the night at the container. SeokJin remembers that TaeHyung often mentioned not wanting to go home in high school. Back then, they thought it was because he enjoyed being with the group, but now SeokJin knows that he was probably avoiding his father. He wonders why TaeHyung insists on going home on the 20th since he hates it there so much. Maybe learning the reason will be the key to stopping—and saving—TaeHyung. “Do whatever you want. You can sleep over,” NamJoon replies. TaeHyung brightens visibly at this answer. “Do you want to stay up doing something? We can play a card game, or…” HoSeok chimes in too that it sounds like a fun idea, but NamJoon says he has work tomorrow and can’t stay up late. “Let’s play until I have to go to bed.” TaeHyung’s phone vibrates. His face is already grim when he peers at it. “Actually, I think I have to go home.” Surprised, NamJoon asks why, but TaeHyung leaves without answering.

SeokJin leaves the gathering and follows TaeHyung, shadowing him carefully to avoid detection. He wonders what was in the text that changed TaeHyung’s mind and notices that they’re heading in the opposite direction of his home. After purchasing snacks at a nearby store, TaeHyung stands at a bus stop. SeokJin wonders if he’s waiting for someone since he lets several buses pass by. Eventually, a disembarking figure approaches TaeHyung. SeokJin recognizes her as Kim Eunhye, TaeHyung’s older sister. She asks why he is waiting for her since he said he’d be home late. “I was about to head in, so I thought I’d wait for you,” TaeHyung replies. “You should’ve gone ahead. Dad probably hasn’t had dinner yet…” she trails off. TaeHyung says he ordered delivery to the house for their dad. “Did you eat yet? Here.” He hands her a hot dog. SeokJin follows at a distance when they begin walking home. “Do you think dad will be drinking?” Eunhye wonders. “Is that even a question?” TaeHyung returns. They go back and forth about how he has been drinking less these days, goes to work every day, and doesn’t get as angry. “I hope things stay like this,” Eunhye finishes. “...It won’t last,” says TaeHyung. From his sigh, SeokJin senses how little TaeHyung trusts his father. He is surprised to hear that his father goes to work every day. In previous loops, he wondered if the cause for TaeHyung’s accident was an external force and went to observe his father’s workplace, but the man was not at the construction site and apparently hadn’t shown up for several days.

“I better check it out,” SeokJin decides. He calls Uncle JunHo, his father’s assistant, to ask for a favor. The two meet later in SeokJin’s bedroom. “You wanted to go on-site for practical training, right? This is the form you need,” says JunHo. He dismisses SeokJin’s thanks. “The Assemblyman seemed to be interested, too. He said he’ll be keeping an eye on things.” “Father said that?” SeokJin checks. “Make sure to use this opportunity to take a thorough look around. It’ll all be helpful to you later,” JunHo advises. (It’s helpful to know that Kim ChangJun is involved in some shady business with a construction company—this is revealed in The Notes 2.)

On 17 May, SeokJin visits the construction site. The foreman tells him that they’re busy and won’t have time to pay any special attention to him. SeokJin is glad for the lack of watchful eyes because it gives him the opportunity to observe TaeHyung’s father, Kim SungHoon. He is working silently, and SeokJin can’t see anything wrong on the surface. “Why does he get so violent at home?” he wonders. The foreman has apparently been watching too and yells at him. “Oi, you! Why aren’t you working?” Kim SungHoon points out that there isn’t any scaffolding. The foreman orders him to use a ladder instead. “You can’t get any work done being all careful.” Kim SungHoon tries to protest, but the foreman won’t hear it. “Are you going to pay for it if the schedule gets delayed, Mr. Kim? Hurry it up!” A look appears on Kim SungHoon’s face as though he’s been wronged, but he uses the ladder to begin working. SeokJin’s concern must be visible, for the foreman makes conversation with him. “Ahem. Don’t get the wrong idea. You might not be well aware of it yet, but it’s hard to always follow the rules on site. We can’t stay on schedule if we’re not flexible.” “I see…” murmurs SeokJin.

Another laborer shouts, drawing their attention: Kim SungHoon has fallen from the ladder and lies groaning on the ground. The foreman curses and rushes over, demanding how he could be so careless and shifting the blame to him for not paying attention. With a hurt back, Kim SungHoon cannot continue working. Trying to downplay the accident, the foreman gives him a few bills and advises him to stop by the hospital. TaeHyung’s father seems to have something to say, but he withers under the foreman’s stare and accepts the money in resignation. The foreman then assures SeokJin that this happens occasionally on a rough worksite and hands him money too. “You’ve worked hard, so here’s a little something for you to get a nice snack. Forget about everything that happened today. You know what I mean, right?” His brazen, selfish attitude angers SeokJin, but he smiles and leaves to follow Kim SungHoon. He is shocked to witness TaeHyung’s father purchase alcohol at a convenience store rather than go to a hospital. Worried about what will happen if he drinks while injured, SeokJin tries to call TaeHyung, but he doesn’t pick up. The episode ends with a small scene of TaeHyung finishing graffiti on a wall. He doesn’t know why he painted what he did, but the “dumb, ugly-looking graffiti” represents how he feels. He rubs the still-wet paint, yet it doesn’t go away. Picking a new color, TaeHyung sprays over the existing layers like he’s pouring and emptying out all of himself.

On 18 May, TaeHyung deals with his third rude customer of the day at the convenience store. The man demands why he must pay for a bag, even though the law has changed so they can no longer be given freely. TaeHyung either relents and gives him the bag without charge or stands firm. In the first path, he gives in, knowing that he probably won’t restrain his anger if they argue further and that he’ll have to cover the cost with his own paycheck. In the second path, the customer flings the money at him before leaving. TaeHyung clenches his fists and holds in his anger. The paths rejoin with him reflecting that this isn’t a good day. He greets the next customer and realizes that it’s SeokJin. “How come you’ve been stopping by so often these days?” TaeHyung asks while ringing up his bottled coffee. “Huh? Just. I have some things to take care of around here,” SeokJin answers. TaeHyung doesn’t know whether or not to believe him. SeokJin keeps asking how he’s doing, and it makes him a little uncomfortable. Today, SeokJin asks more meaningless questions as always, until: “How’s your father?” TaeHyung can’t stop himself from responding sharply. “Why do you ask about him?” Taken aback, SeokJin stammers, “N-No reason, really. I was just wondering if he was well… Uh… Never mind.”

A rich-looking father and son enter the store, interrupting the awkward silence. The way the father looks after his son and buys him what he wants to eat plunges TaeHyung into memories—he once felt the same as the boy about his own father. He remembers asking his dad who the baby is in the photograph we see at the beginning of the story. Kim SungHoon said it was him. “Don’t you think you look just like dad, TaeHyung?” An incoming phone call shakes TaeHyung out of his memories. The food deliverer informs him that no one is home to accept the order of hangover soup. “Huh? My father should be there…” TaeHyung confirms that the deliverer can leave the food outside the door, but he worries about his dad, who was passed out drunk and groaning in his sleep when he left for work. “SeokJin. I need to run home really quickly. Do you think you can watch the store for me?” TaeHyung leaves as soon as SeokJin gives a startled affirmative. The episode ends in SeokJin’s perspective. He’s curious and concerned about what is going on with TaeHyung, as he couldn’t overhear the phone call. Since leaving the store alone to follow TaeHyung may just create more trouble for him, SeokJin decides to stay put and look for clues.

Arriving home, TaeHyung brings the hangover soup inside and finds his father slouched in the corner. More soju bottles are lying out than when he left this morning. “Your lunch is here.” TaeHyung shakes him when there’s no response. “Wake up and eat.” Kim SungHoon mumbles something unintelligible, so TaeHyung nudges him again. His father shudders and cries out. “You bastard! I’d just gotten comfortable!” “Oh… I just wanted you to eat before the soup gets cold…” says TaeHyung. Kim SungHoon calls him a bastard for not listening. “I just told you to leave that damn thing here!” “Hah… Anyway, eat your lunch.” TaeHyung touches his shoulder again, and his father shoves him away. “The pain is killing me. Get lost, bastard!” TaeHyung yelps. The back of his neck burns from something he hit, but he doesn’t feel the pain over the rage brewing inside him. He can’t stand to look at his father for another second and kicks the door open to rush outside. “But of course. Why did I run over here to make sure that miserable geezer ate something?” he thinks bitterly. TaeHyung’s temper cools as he walks back to the store, and he remembers the pain in his neck. His fingers come away with blood when he touches the spot. He trudges onward, planning to bandage it at work. The memory of the rich father-son duo comes to mind: the man holding his son’s hand so tenderly, and the kid smiling brightly up at him. It makes TaeHyung even more miserable, and he fights to suppress the feelings that threaten to overflow.

Alone in the convenience store, SeokJin feels anxious not knowing when TaeHyung will return but decides to poke around, hoping to learn something like he did when observing NamJoon’s room at the gas station. He either looks through TaeHyung’s backpack or a full box near the register. The box is only a makeshift lost-and-found with customers’ forgotten items. Despite his discomfort at rooting through someone’s belongings, SeokJin finds the crumpled photograph of TaeHyung as a baby with his father in the bag. “He wouldn’t be carrying it around if he truly hated his father. But it wouldn’t be crumpled if he liked him, either. Is it… love and hate?” SeokJin wonders. He also finds a post-it stuck on the counter with a note left by HoSeok: “I packed this for myself but Auntie invited me over for dinner. There are two patties inside. Make sure to enjoy it and write me a full review at least one page long!” SeokJin realizes they’ve spent all this time looking out for each other. He’s glad to see the signs of HoSeok taking care of TaeHyung and TaeHyung being grateful enough to keep the note.

When TaeHyung returns, SeokJin is concerned to see blood from a cut on his neck. “Are you okay, TaeHyung? What happened to your neck?” But TaeHyung avoids looking at him and doesn’t answer, instead putting on a bandage and continuing work. SeokJin ignores a call from Uncle JunHo, deciding it’s more important to look after TaeHyung. “Are you sure you can stay here all day like this, SeokJin? Aren’t there people at home wondering where you are?” TaeHyung speaks up at that moment. SeokJin smiles sheepishly. But with the incident looming ahead on the 20th and no solutions yet to avert it, he has no choice but to stick close to him. After TaeHyung’s shift ends, SeokJin asks what he’s doing now. The red seeping through the bandage worries him. “I’m just… gonna go paint some graffiti,” says TaeHyung. He reluctantly agrees to allow SeokJin to tag along. His phone vibrates before they leave. “Sis? What’s going on? What? The emergency room? Why is Dad there? Hold on. I’ll be right there!” TaeHyung runs out. SeokJin catches up to offer him a ride, which he accepts after a moment’s hesitation.

The perspective switches to TaeHyung when they arrive at the hospital and find his sister waiting with an uneasy expression. She thinks that their father was injured at work. When she tapped him lightly to wake him up for dinner, it caused him a lot of pain. TaeHyung remembers the incident at lunchtime and wonders if he felt like that earlier, too. Eunhye notices SeokJin, and TaeHyung introduces them, noticing that her hand seems to make her uncomfortable. “Did you hurt yourself, sis? What happened to your hand?” “Oh, it’s nothing. I… tripped before we came to the hospital.” TaeHyung knows she’s lying but doesn’t argue. He pretends not to see her injuries, and she pretends not to see the one on his neck—like they always do. Eunhye voices concern about the high bill, which the hospital wants them to pay before discharging their father tomorrow. “The company will take care of it if he was injured at work,” SeokJin assures. TaeHyung finds the construction foreman’s number in his dad’s cell phone and calls him. Reporting the situation, he asks if his father’s injured back can be processed as an industrial accident. The foreman denies that they can help. “How can we cover an accident where Kim SungHoon was drunk on the job and failed to follow safety protocol?” The foreman informs him that he already gave Kim SungHoon money to see a doctor. “There’s nothing else to say, so I’m going to go. And I’m telling you—don’t try to pull anything.” TaeHyung swears when the call ends. Eunhye wonders if the foreman is mistaken because she doesn’t think their father drank that day. TaeHyung purses his lips shut instead of replying, filled with rage at the patronizing foreman and their incompetent father. He hates that he can’t say his dad isn’t the kind of person to drink on the job, and his body shakes with indescribable emotion.

“They won’t cover it as a workplace accident?” SeokJin asks, the perspective shifting to him. He knows the foreman is lying but is unsure how to help TaeHyung and his despairing sister. He could pay the hospital fee himself, but that was counterproductive when he tried it for NamJoon in an earlier loop. Noticing a text from Uncle JunHo asking where he is, SeokJin postpones his decision for later and bids TaeHyung a quick farewell. “I’m sure there’s a way to take care of all of this. Don’t worry too much. Take care of your dad. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

On 19 May, TaeHyung and his sister exit the hospital room with twin sighs. Their father called the foreman back after hearing about the first conversation and let loose, only hanging up when his supervisor agreed to speak in person at the hospital. He also demanded alcohol all night and only recently fell asleep. TaeHyung notices that Eunhye looks exhausted and suggests that they take a nap before the foreman arrives that evening. Later, the foreman arrives with some workers and a box of drinks. TaeHyung stands in the corner, not wanting to butt in since this is his father’s business. The foreman asks how Kim SungHoon is doing, advises him to rest, and then adds, “We’re here to say that you shouldn’t bring up compensation since it’s your fault you were injured.” The foreman accuses him of drinking on the job, and the coworkers Kang and Seo nervously agree. Kim SungHoon argues back about being denied the scaffolding and drops the box of drinks, a “token of their sincerity,” on the floor. While the other works avert their gaze, the foreman looks down on him and clucks his tongue. “You bastard! You call yourself a man?!” Kim SungHoon roars. The foreman bristles. “What? Bastard? Watch your mouth punk!”

Eunhye tries to intervene, pleading for her father to calm down and apologizing on his behalf. The foreman accepts her actions like it’s the obvious thing for her to do. His arrogant attitude reminds TaeHyung of how he probably deals with his underlings. “Sir. My father wasn’t drunk,” he speaks up. The foreman’s arrogant air dissipates. “What are you saying? I have witnesses here.” TaeHyung explains that his dad did not drink that day or the previous one. The foreman scoffs. “Look at this kid. Where’d you learn your manners? He probably drank on the way to work even if he didn’t at home! Who do you think you are, raising your voice like that?” TaeHyung’s hands tremble with rage at the injustice, but he has nothing to retort. Suddenly, SeokJin appears. “I also saw everything. Remember me? I was there on site for practical training that day. I watched him work and he definitely wasn’t drunk.” The foreman grows flustered as SeokJin reveals the truth of the site’s dangerous work process and makes it clear that he coerced Kim SungHoon into not following the correct procedure. He glares between SeokJin and TaeHyung. “I don’t know how you both are putting up this united front… But you think it’s going to change things? We already paid him. It’s a done deal. Understood?” Fuming, the foreman leaves with the other workers in tow. “It’s alright now, TaeHyung.” SeokJin gently taps his shoulder. TaeHyung realizes how tense he has been when he loosens his grip and sees little crescents of his fingernails cut into his palms. (His wounded palms are a recurring motif.)

The perspective shifts to SeokJin while TaeHyung stares blankly at his hands. He decides to come clean about his payment of Kim SungHoon’s hospital bill, since the problem with NamJoon was that he paid it secretly. “You can think of it as borrowing—” “Thanks, SeokJin,” TaeHyung interrupts. “I’ll pay back all of it. Thank you.” SeokJin is a little shocked by his response—it is the first time he’s heard “thank you” from TaeHyung. He hopes that this is the beginning of solving TaeHyung’s problems and bids farewell for the day. Outside the hospital, SeokJin runs into HoSeok, who correctly guesses that he came to visit TaeHyung. “How’d you know?” “I stopped by TaeHyung’s work and didn’t see him, so I called him right away,” HoSeok explains. SeokJin expects him to ask about Kim SungHoon, but instead HoSeok worries about his friend first. “Is TaeHyung alright? He must’ve been so shocked. He cares a lot about his dad…” “TaeHyung does?” SeokJin checks. “Yeah. Even though he says that he doesn’t want to go home all the time, he always makes sure his dad gets a real meal every day. Even if he just eats convenience store snacks himself.” This is new information to SeokJin, who wonders if this is why TaeHyung is determined to go home on the 20th. HoSeok seems more familiar with TaeHyung’s sincerity than anyone else. SeokJin is still braced to explain how he knew about Kim SungHoon’s injury, but HoSeok is more focused on contacting TaeHyung and continues on towards the hospital. Overcome with exhaustion as his tension ebbs, SeokJin trudges home to plan his next move.

Later on 19 May, TaeHyung helps his father walk home after he is discharged from the hospital. He is grateful that SeokJin paid the bill but even more so that he intervened to verify Kim SungHoon’s unjust treatment. “SeokJin might be a better person than I thought.” No words are exchanged as TaeHyung supports his father. His arm is thin, but the weight that presses down on him is burdensome. “It’s the weight of the wheel that I can’t escape. The weight of reality—that I’m always going to be responsible for my father. A person that I wish I could let go, but can’t, and the contradictory feelings of hating my father but wanting to protect him.” In a perspective switch, SeokJin watches at a distance with bated breath. Even though TaeHyung seems accustomed to helping his father walk, Kim SungHoon raises his voice every time he almost falls. SeokJin guesses that TaeHyung is adamant about going home on the 20th because he is worried about his father, who is just out of the hospital, but all he sees is violence against his sister when he arrives. “I’m going to stop it this time, no matter what,” he vows.

On 20 May, SeokJin stands at the bus stop and touches the graffiti for which TaeHyung was arrested the previous night. (It’s the “I’m Fine” message depicted at the same location in the Highlight Reel.) He wonders what TaeHyung felt when he painted it and feels uneasy that he may not be handling this sequence correctly. SeokJin shakes away this premature doubt. There’s one thing that has changed from the previous loop: him. He has protected Kim SungHoon after his injury, paid the hospital bill, and built up enough credibility with TaeHyung to earn his thanks. This time, he reassures himself, his words will get through to his friend. Later, SeokJin follows TaeHyung when he leaves the police station. They walk in silence, but TaeHyung does not push him away or ask why he’s following. “Thanks for walking me here, SeokJin,” he speaks up when they arrive at his house. SeokJin waits a few moments before heading inside after him, entering a familiar situation he has seen far too many times: TaeHyung lunging toward his father, who looms near Eunhye. “TaeHyung! No!” SeokJin dashes to grab his arm. “Let go!” TaeHyung snarls and flails. SeokJin holds tighter, pleading for him to calm down. TaeHyung yells and shoves him away. SeokJin slams into something and falls, pain blooming in his skull. TaeHyung spins around with an expression of shock. The voices calling SeokJin grow fainter, and his vision blurs. “Tae… Hyung…” The glass shatters, marking another failed loop and concluding the story. (This is not the first time TaeHyung has caused SeokJin grave or mortal injury during his intervention: in the Save Me webtoon, he accidentally stabbed SeokJin with the broken bottle instead of his father.)

Nightmare: Epilogue

Throughout the <I’M FINE> series, we have witnessed SeokJin’s trials and failures in the earlier time loops. These experiences culminate in the Epilogue, titled “Nightmare,” as in The Notes 1. This arc spans his efforts to save each of his friends between 11 April and 22 May rather than focusing on one or two characters. SeokJin’s decisions and their consequences here closely follow The Notes 1, so now we have a more detailed picture of his journey between the Save Me webtoon and the first book. The Epilogue fills in some gaps and provides greater depth to these events. For the sake of clearer context, I have still summarized the moments that parallel The Notes 1.

On 11 April Year 22, SeokJin opens his eyes to the familiar bedroom ceiling, the events of the previous loop replaying in his mind. Will he be able to save his friends this time? Uncertainty, horror, and the fresh pain of failure plague him, but he looks at the photo of his friends by the sea. Once, he believed that saving them would be straightforward. But while obsessing over only the problems that he could see, SeokJin lost his way and had to learn from his mistakes. The “signal fires” that helped guide him back were the times spent with his friends, the moments they began to truly understand each other, and the memories he wants to treasure. As he leaves his room, he reflects: “We’re all connected together by a single string, and we’re fated to save one another. And the person to finally put an end to all of this… has to be me.”

In his car, SeokJin encounters a scene at the school crosswalk that he always runs into around this time. He sees a downcast-looking JungKook crossing the street among a group of students. The player is given an option to get out of the car to greet him or pass him by. Regardless of the decision, SeokJin knows that he can’t let his emotions steer his actions. In a previous loop (depicted in JungKook’s arc), he brought JungKook to see the cherry blossoms blooming on the university campus. SeokJin wonders if the JungKook from that loop enjoyed it at least a little. But ultimately, it was just a day and JungKook ended up alone with nothing changed. Not wanting to repeat his past mistakes, SeokJin drives by without stopping.

Later that night, SeokJin pulls into Naeri gas station. NamJoon greets him with a now-familiar look of surprise. “Oh. SeokJin?” “It’s been a while.” SeokJin is determined to make this the last time they repeat this conversation. (As mentioned in part 1, this sequence parallels their moment at the end of the Blood Sweat & Tears Japanese version MV.) As they move to a corner of the station to continue their conversation, the perspective shifts to NamJoon. Something seems a little weird to him, and SeokJin looks like he has a lot to say, but he manages to gloss over it. NamJoon is about to invite him to the meetup with the other guys after work, but his boss yells for him to do his job. An expensive foreign car pulls up to the gas pump, and the customer drops the money on the ground when NamJoon reaches for it. “Ah, butterfingers. What are you doing? Not gonna pick that up?” the man sneers. The player is presented the choice to pick up the money or not. In both paths, NamJoon unconsciously clenches his fists. “You don’t want it?” asks the customer. The paths converge with SeokJin easily picking up the bills and handing them back to the driver. “You dropped this.” Hands shaking, NamJoon is mortified by the situation that caused SeokJin to react, yet his friend continues to stand there between him and the customer. The man demands who he is, but SeokJin advises, “You must be busy… So you should leave.” Out of steam, the customer drives off. NamJoon thanks SeokJin. “It’s nothing. What were you going to tell me earlier?” NamJoon forces his mouth to move. “Ah. I’m meeting up with TaeHyung and HoSeok today after work. Do you want to come with me?”

Back in SeokJin’s perspective, these are the words he’s been waiting for. Nerves dry his mouth, but he tries to speak naturally and inquires about the others. NamJoon doesn’t really keep in touch with them, but offers to call HoSeok, who still talks to YoonGi. SeokJin knows that YoonGi will call JungKook after hearing from HoSeok—this is how he saves JungKook tonight. His phone buzzes with a call from his father. “Oh, I’m sorry… But I need to leave.” NamJoon’s expression reflects disappointment yet understanding. “That’s too bad. Let’s hang out another time.” “Yeah. Tell the guys hello for me.” SeokJin turns back as he arrives at his car. “NamJoon. If we can get everyone together… Let’s all go to the ocean.” NamJoon looks puzzled by the suggestion. “The ocean?” SeokJin smiles in lieu of an explanation.

The third episode begins with JungKook fighting a group of thugs in a covered alley. (The date is unspecified, but this is a continuation of the night of 11 April.) They kick his stomach and spit on the ground as they walk away, a sight that reinvigorates him even though he can barely sit up. He either says something to provoke them or hurls his bag at them. Riled up, they beat him again as he laughs, vision blurring. They’re gone by the time everything comes back into focus. JungKook got what he wanted: he deliberately provoked them, and when he laughed, they called him crazy and hit him harder. He watches a breeze flatten a tuft of grass in the pavement, just like him. JungKook forces himself to laugh again because he’s afraid he may cry. Where does he go now? He feels like a ghost at home: he’s never a priority for his mom, and dealing with his stepfather is a pain. JungKook closes his eyes, hoping that when he opens them, he won’t be here.

The scene that follows appears to be a memory of 7 April, although it is not specified as such and is written in present tense. (This encounter occurs in The Notes 1 as well as episode 4 of JungKook’s story.) While wandering the streets at night, JungKook is drawn by a familiar piano tune to a music shop with broken showroom windows. He sees YoonGi, for the first time in two years, playing within and looking like he will crumble at any moment. JungKook can’t muster up the courage to follow when he leaves and instead sits at the piano. The keys feel cold like no one has touched them. By memory, he stumbles through the song that YoonGi played this night and back in the classroom hideout. YoonGi appears beside him and corrects the notes like he did in their school days.

The story cuts to YoonGi in the present, possibly in the classroom. He ignores his ringing phone partly because of his drunken stupor and partly because he doesn’t want to talk, but he finally relents and answers. HoSeok offers that NamJoon wants to hang out later. “I’m not going,” YoonGi says immediately. “Hey, don’t be like that. SeokJin’s here, too. Do you want to talk to JungKook? I called him earlier, but he didn’t pick up.” HoSeok encourages YoonGi to call instead because JungKook may pick up for him. YoonGi hangs up, thoughts complicated as he remembers a time when he watched JungKook play piano. “Looking back, that kid was my shadow. I couldn’t ignore him, even if he wasn’t speaking to me. And I kept looking out for him… because it seemed like he’d fall apart if he was ignored.” He considers leaving it be, but his fingers are already dialing.

The perspective switches again: on a rooftop overlooking Songju, JungKook grows dizzy and stumbles. Darkness grasps his ankles, and his mind empties. “I don’t want to leave anything behind. This will just be the end.” At that moment, his phone rings. He sees YoonGi’s name, and everything sharpens, as though he’s awoken from a dream. “What took you so long to pick up?” asks YoonGi. When JungKook doesn’t answer, he continues, “Everyone’s meeting up later. Do you want to go?” After a pause, JungKook says, “YoonGi. Please come get me.” (From the thug beating to the rooftop, this is how his 11 April entry plays out in The Notes 1, but it ends before their phone conversation.) Waiting for YoonGi down on the street, JungKook recalls when they all used to hang out in the classroom. “I have a place to go. People to be with. Right now, that’s enough.”

On 2 May, SeokJin sneaks into YoonGi’s workroom, which is filled with oil-soaked papers as though he intended to set it on fire. (It’s dark, so as the later part of the episode occurs in the daytime, it must be past midnight or in the early morning.) There is no foolproof way to save YoonGi since he acts unpredictably between the loops, but SeokJin has determined that YoonGi needs someone who can tie him to the world—someone whom he won’t push away. Once, NamJoon told SeokJin that JungKook still carried the photo they took at the beach. (The photo depicted in the game is the one of the boys on the wall by the sea.) While NamJoon probably relayed this to show that JungKook hasn’t forgotten about SeokJin, it stirs a different memory for him. In high school when they ditched and went to the beach, hunting for a boulder that supposedly made dreams come true, SeokJin noticed JungKook ask YoonGi an important question while their voices were drowned out by construction noise. He has now realized that both JungKook and YoonGi have the same desperation in their eyes. JungKook knows that YoonGi is like him: a person who needs a string to hold him here. Therefore, JungKook is the key to saving YoonGi.

SeokJin places his copy of the photograph next to the mirror in the workroom, hoping it will lead to saving them both. Before he can leave, footsteps grow closer. Flustered, he chooses to either explain himself honestly or hide. In both paths, YoonGi stumbles inside and collapses on the sofa, too drunk to notice that someone else is in the room. In the second path, some extra information is presented when SeokJin notices a little water dish and paper cup with breadcrumbs as he hides beside the piano. “He must’ve looked after it again.” In another loop, SeokJin saw a small, weak bird that got mistakenly trapped in the workroom. YoonGi looked after it, most likely thinking of JungKook. (This particular episode is called Small Bird, so the title may only be meaningful to players who choose this path or are familiar with the bird from The Notes 1.)

SeokJin escapes undetected while YoonGi sleeps. Later in the day, he watches the workroom from his car. The most difficult part starts now: JungKook must follow the hints SeokJin has left to save YoonGi. After staring up at the second floor for a while with an unhappy expression, JungKook seems to make up his mind and enters the building. The story cuts briefly to YoonGi’s perspective. In the workroom, the mirror shatters. (The reason is unspecified, so we are left to wonder if a confrontation unfolded like the one depicted in the Run MV and implied in The Notes 1, or if something else occurred.) Dizzy, YoonGi falters but manages to stand up. (Again, standing up from what? Possibly because JungKook hit him.) “YoonGi…” JungKook is rooted to the spot in surprise. YoonGi runs, leaving him behind. Back in his perspective, SeokJin starts the car as soon as he sees JungKook dash out of the building. He hopes that leaving “a sign” will guide JungKook to the correct motel. (In The Notes 1, it is a bloody tissue that SeokJin drops by the entrance gate because YoonGi fled his workroom with busted lips. The game episode closely follows how this scenario proceeds in Notes 1, so I’m not sure why it is so cryptic around the details implying that a fight occurred between YoonGi and JungKook.) Inside the motel (once again matching the I Need U MV), YoonGi lights the bedsheets on fire. He regrets having JungKook by his side because the people close to him get hurt. The memories of his childhood burn along with the flames: fragments of the day he arrived home and found it collapsing in a fire. YoonGi hears JungKook shouting. “I’m sure… He’ll be sad because of me. But he won’t be unhappy anymore,” he thinks. JungKook shouts for him to get up, and YoonGi finally looks at him. His last view of the room encompasses the red flames, the air wavy with heat, and JungKook’s crumpled face. The episode ends with sirens playing over a black screen.

Episode 5, “Connecting Threads,” picks up on 12 May with SeokJin preparing to set events in motion for saving his next pair of friends. At the hospital, he waits for JiMin to show up and overhears a conversation between a nurse and doctor. If SeokJin stays where he is, they notice him and postpone their discussion, but if he steps out of sight, they continue. The nurse mentions “patient Park JiMin” who has “transferred down from the 9th floor.” She reports that he keeps roaming the hallways at night and wonders if they should stop him “just in case.” “He’ll be headed back up in about three days or so. Just leave him be. If it really bothers you, check with them,” advises the doctor. SeokJin moves to his precalculated spot when they leave, planning to lead JiMin to the stairs so that he’ll run into HoSeok on his way down. In his perspective, JiMin is troubled by his stiff wrist as he waits for the elevator. A familiar voice suddenly calling his name draws him to the stairwell, but the light makes it difficult to see its owner.

The story cuts to HoSeok wrapping up a consultation with the same doctor from earlier. The doctor states that they haven’t noticed any huge issues and that he’ll be discharged soon. “Do you have any discomfort still?” “Nope, I’m fine!” HoSeok answers energetically and even strikes an exaggerated pose, feeling that he needs to. “Please take care to avoid any future collapses,” the doctor adds. This comment makes HoSeok either recall the last time he collapses or the last moment he spent with his mom. In the first memory, he collapses on the bridge as he thinks about his sick Auntie leaving him alone after she has always been at his side. In the second, he stands at the merry-go-round and wonders if his mom will be standing there when he finishes counting. “Sir… Sir? Are you alright?” The doctor’s questioning shakes HoSeok out of the past. He wants to say hello to JiMin before he leaves the hospital, but JiMin’s bed has been empty for a while. Worried, HoSeok heads to the elevator to look for him. A woman dressed in a long skirt and hat passes by with her child. “Mom!” Convinced that she’s his mother, HoSeok chases after her. He shoves past people, breathing ragged and heart pounding. Afraid to lose her, he either yells out again or goes to the stairs. The results are ultimately the same because she doesn’t respond to his shouts and disappears into the stairwell. HoSeok skips steps down the stairs in his haste. “Mom!” His foot suddenly slips, throwing his weight forward. He flails, but there’s nothing to grab onto—and suddenly, his fall is arrested by someone grabbing his arm. “HoSeok?” “JiMin? How are you here…?” JiMin looks equally surprised. HoSeok realizes it’s obvious that the woman isn’t his mom. Though he can’t remember her face anymore, he still can’t let her go. “Are you alright, HoSeok?” JiMin asks. HoSeok figures that JiMin doesn’t inquire about what he was doing or why because he already knows. “I wonder if JiMin is like me… living trapped in the past. If he’s unable to get better and move on, stuck inside the memories that bind him…” “JiMin,” HoSeok says aloud. “Let’s get out of here.”

From JiMin’s perspective now, he notices that everything about HoSeok in this moment is different from normal. “Get out of here?” JiMin echoes. Outside is unfamiliar and scary, and he knows that even if he escapes the hospital, he will still have to return some day. “JiMin, I’ll come back for you.” HoSeok leaves without waiting for an answer. Not wanting to say goodbye, JiMin follows him secretly as he’s discharged from the hospital. He stops at the line where the hallway ends up on the ninth floor, watching the bright sunlight filter in through the open door. JiMin turns away, believing that the place to which he needs to return isn’t outside but the ninth floor. “Because… I’m a patient.” The rest of episode 6 follows the events in his 15 May Year 22 entry of The Notes 1, with only minor dialogue changes. HoSeok pulls JiMin out of his hospital bed the night before he is scheduled to return to the psychiatric ward. SeokJin and NamJoon meet them in the elevator, while JungKook, TaeHyung, and YoonGi are waiting for them in the first floor lobby. A nurse finds them and sees through YoonGi’s flimsy excuse that they’re having a birthday party. Throwing snack bags and plastic bottles, they all run toward the exit. (This sequence is likely the one depicted in the Euphoria MV, although in the video it’s staged during the daytime instead of at night.) JiMin unconsciously slows as he nears the invisible boundary in the hallway, but HoSeok’s urging grants him the courage to cross the line. Passing through the door, he draws in a breath of fresh air and feels on the verge of crying.

The beginning of episode 7 follows SeokJin’s preparations to prevent TaeHyung’s incident on 20 May in the same fashion as The Notes 1. He waits at the park on the hill behind TaeHyung’s apartment building until HoSeok escorts TaeHyung home from his night at the police station. With careful timing, SeokJin calls HoSeok after he sees the two part ways and asks him to invite TaeHyung to their beach trip in two days. HoSeok turns around toward TaeHyung’s apartment.

The next sequence provides more details of the confrontation (and notably unfolds a little differently than what is depicted in the I Need U MV). TaeHyung arrives home to a familiar stale odor of mold and stench of alcohol. “Where the hell have you been all night?!” TaeHyung turns to see his father’s bloodshot eyes and his sister standing behind him, face swollen. Defiance surges through him, but the desperation in Eunhye’s eyes roots him to the spot. “TaeHyung, tell Dad you’re sorry and go to your room.” TaeHyung either apologizes, holding his anger in, or tries to go straight to his room. In both paths, Kim SungHoon yells that a beating should set him straight. He seizes TaeHyung by the collar. Something bursts and rages inside him. “What have I done wrong?! You’re the one who needs to get things straight!” His father stammers in shock, “W-what did you say?!” while his sister calls his name in warning. TaeHyung chooses to shake him off or hold still. In the first path, he shoves his father to the floor. “Why are you doing this? How long? How long do we have to keep doing this?!” In the second path, Kim SungHoon snarls that he has a lot of nerve to look him in the eye and strikes his cheek. “Why do I need a beating?” TaeHyung thinks.

The paths converge with Eunhye begging their father to stop. The voice continues thundering in TaeHyung’s head: “Why does my sister need a beating? How long are you going to do this?” “You two are a double dose of pain in my ass today!” Kim SungHoon swings at Eunhye, who has thrown herself between them, and she sways at the rough blow. The injustice of it all stokes TaeHyung’s rage. “What have we done wrong? Why do we have to live in fear like this?” Heart pounding, he notices that the cold bottle he’s somehow picked up grows warmer from the heat of his hand. He roars and charges forward. A shattering sound plays over a black screen, and someone cries, “No—! TaeHyung, stop!” TaeHyung comes to his senses. HoSeok is hugging his midsection, his sister is crying, and his father is nowhere to be seen. He wonders whose blood is on his hand. HoSeok stands there silently, looking like he has a lot to say but holding back. “I’m sorry, HoSeok. I’m okay… So you can go now,” TaeHyung says, calm voice belying his inner turmoil. “I want to cry, to scream, to kick, break, shatter everything. I want to fall apart, but I can’t do any of the things I want.” The world spins as he closes his eyes. Mind blank, TaeHyung craves NamJoon’s presence and wants to talk to him—to tell him that he almost killed his father.

The eighth and final episode, “The Pier,” closely follows the version of 22 May in The Notes 1, with the addition of SeokJin’s perspective providing greater depth to the events. The boys make it to the same beach they visited in high school. The observation platform strikes TaeHyung as familiar. As the sun sets, he remembers this all occurring in a dream, except that SeokJin climbs the platform instead of him. Atop the platform, SeokJin is fearful and full of emotions. Memories flash by of their suffering and loneliness, his failures and desire to give up as the misfortunes repeated. He is relieved that TaeHyung does not follow him. At nightfall, they head to where they’re staying. (In The Notes 1, this location is simply called their lodging, and in The Notes 2 it is referred to as a lodge by the beach that SeokJin reserved under his name. In the game, the room appears like the one in the Run MV party scenes (0’57”, 3’00”, etc.), down to the same string lights and sconces—more on this in the Additional Commentary section below.) As the others dance and laugh, SeokJin realizes that this is the first time they’ve made it this far. “It’s something I hoped so desperately for… and a day I thought would never come. We were all lonely once. We hid our own scars and lived through it alone. But it’s different now. We’re all by each other’s sides. We’ll never be alone again.” Despite these thoughts, he has a nagging feeling because he hasn’t told them the truth. SeokJin is afraid of their reactions, but this will be the only way “to really see them properly.” He announces, “I have something to say.” Only TaeHyung turns to look at him through the chaos.

TaeHyung balls up his prickling hand, wondering if this is about the dream he asked SeokJin about several days earlier. (The location of this conversation is unspecified in The Notes 1, but the game provides a flashback shot of it at the bus stop.) His frustration grows when SeokJin begins to mention high school instead. TaeHyung interrupts sharply, believing that SeokJin is still cowardly avoiding the truth. “Are you talking about when you spied for the principal in high school and told him everything we were up to? Or were you going to mention how, because of that… YoonGi got expelled?!” The mood in the room chills. “I’m sorry.” SeokJin drops his head, while the others look away or stare in surprise. But TaeHyung doesn’t want to be unhappy without knowing why, even if the truth is worse than the nightmare. “Is that all? Or are you hiding more from us?”

The perspective switches back to SeokJin. He guesses that TaeHyung is asking about the dream but can’t reveal that the tragedies he experienced were real, believing that no one else should have to suffer with that knowledge. NamJoon approaches and tries to calm TaeHyung, but TaeHyung pushes him away. “Stay out of this, NamJoon. Why does it matter to you? You’re not my brother.” (In the album Note from Her and as a flashback in The Notes 1, TaeHyung overheard NamJoon talking on the phone while they walked to their lodging. NamJoon was speaking to his parents about his younger brother being old enough to take care of himself, but TaeHyung apparently took this to heart as something about himself. It hurt and angered him deeply.) “TaeHyung, I’m sorry,” SeokJin attempts to plead with him. “Stop it, Kim TaeHyung!” NamJoon warns. TaeHyung demands again that SeokJin explain everything. The interrogation unleashes all the memories of his friends’ tragedies that he has tried to forget. SeokJin feels like his nightmares are going to become reality, and his mind goes blank as TaeHyung and NamJoon continue to argue. “I repeated so many moments of suffering… for you… Why are you doing this to me?! I only wanted to be able to laugh together.” A little flame grows within SeokJin, an indescribable feeling cresting like a wave. This is what his countless attempts have led to? “What’s so great about being together?” Shaking off NamJoon’s arm, TaeHyung yells, “Who are we to one another? We’re all alone in the end!” “Alone…” The thing SeokJin has desperately been holding onto breaks away, and the shaking in his hands now consumes his entire body.

SeokJin hits TaeHyung. He remembers TaeHyung’s sudden jump off the seaside platform—a time he thought he saved them all. “I even kept that from happening—and he says we’re all alone in the end? The hopes I had for all of us to be happy, and for us to face coming days together… It all feels like it was for nothing. I thought I left my repeating misfortunes behind me, but I now see them again, taunting me from just ahead.” This concludes the Epilogue and the <I’M FINE> series. Notably, the glass does not break, suggesting that this loop continues from this event (as it does in The Notes 1) without yet resetting.

Additional Commentary

The only point I want to touch on here is the depiction of the boys’ lodging on 22 May after their beach trip and its potential implications. In The Notes 1, this location is simply called their lodging, and in The Notes 2 it is referred to as a lodge by the beach that SeokJin reserved under his name. In the game, the room appears like the one in the Run MV party scenes (0’57”, 3’00”, etc.), down to the same string lights and sconces.

As a standalone MV set, this location felt (to me) more metaphorical than concrete. It’s introduced after NamJoon opens the door of a train’s shipping container, a little film editing trick as though it’s a world inside—and it does feel like a space away from the real world where the boys are free to let loose, revel in their youth, and be themselves. While it seemed to serve as a more glamorous substitute for NamJoon’s shipping container where they often gathered, this location also appeared to stand in for the location of JungKook and YoonGi’s confrontation (2’24”-2’55”). An altercation between them is heavily implied in SeokJin’s 2 May entry from The Notes 1, but it occurs in YoonGi’s workroom. Since Run is an MV rather than one of the short films, which always present BU events and locations more literally than their song counterparts, it doesn’t seem too unusual that these sets are condensed to one in this video. YoonGi’s workroom isn’t portrayed until Highlight Reel, so we can kind of excuse one of the earliest MVs for artistic license.

However… the inclusion of this location in the game considerably changes the circumstances! Since it is both canon and animated, the creators had the ability to design the settings as they are truly intended to appear (within the general limitations of the game’s engine and visual style). It must have been a very deliberate choice that led to the reuse of the Run MV’s set for the 22 May beach lodging. (For what it’s worth, I have always interpreted SeokJin’s and TaeHyung’s fight in the Japanese MV for Blood Sweat & Tears to represent the fallout of that night, and that is staged in a different set.)

To further complicate matters, a date has been explicitly attached to one of the scenes in Run because it is matched shot-for-shot in the BU Story trailer Map of the Soul—and it is neither 2 or 22 May.

24 July Year 22 is not reached in <I’M FINE>, but in the Notes, this is the date the boys plan to gather at NamJoon’s container to celebrate JungKook’s discharge from the hospital. So far in The Notes 1 and 2 (and various album-accompanying Notes from MotS: Persona and 7), this event has hardly manifested as the celebration it is intended to be. This particular shot maps a little better to the circumstances in Notes 2, as not all of them even show up in Notes 1. But again, this gathering occurs at the container—so what, and where, is this shot really depicting? How is it linked to the beach lodging they visit in some loops on 22 May?

BU has been in development for years now, so I believe there is intentionality behind this location’s depiction in the game, even if it raises more questions than it answers. Perhaps it is foreshadowing a very different version of 24 July in which they return again to the beach lodging. This is my best guess for now, and it’s exciting to think that there are still hints embedded in the older MVs for aspects of the plot that have yet to be fully revealed in The Notes.

What do you think? Did you notice the location parallels if you played the game, and did they inspire any new theories for you?

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As mentioned above, the following “tl;dr” commentary summarizes the parenthetical notes I provided in the summaries in case you want to review them on their own.

Heart’s Distance — tl;dr commentary

In the opening cutscene, TaeHyung’s photograph of his father holding him as a baby looks similar to the one he holds at 1’48” in the HYYH On Stage: Prologue short film.

During the gathering at NamJoon’s container after everyone freed JiMin from the hospital, SeokJin asks, “How long has it been since we’ve all laughed together?” This is a reference to the recurring phrase “we can laugh when we’re together” present throughout the Notes and occasionally this game.

On 19 May, TaeHyung is arrested for vandalism while painting graffiti on the streets. The bus stop depicted in the shot is the same as the one in Highlight Reel.

In the shot in the game illustrating TaeHyung’s choice on 20 May that he “can’t take back,” he approaches his father from behind and the sound of glass occurs on a cut to black. We know from the I Need U MV and Save Me webtoon that he fatally stabs his father.

When SeokJin asks Uncle JunHo for a favor to visit a construction site for practical training, JunHo expresses that SeokJin’s father seems to be interested, too. “Make sure to use this opportunity to take a thorough look around. It’ll all be helpful to you later,” JunHo advises. It’s helpful to know that Assemblyman Kim ChangJun is involved in some shady business with a construction company—this is revealed in The Notes 2.

After the foreman leaves his father’s hospital room, TaeHyung realizes how tense he has been when he loosens his grip and sees little crescents of his fingernails cut into his palms. His wounded palms are a recurring motif.

On 20 May, SeokJin stands at the bus stop and touches the graffiti for which TaeHyung was arrested the previous night. It’s the “I’m Fine” message depicted at the same location in the Highlight Reel.

The story ends with SeokJin losing consciousness after TaeHyung shoved him away and he slammed into something, marking another failed attempt while preventing the homicide. This is not the first time TaeHyung has caused SeokJin grave or mortal injury during his intervention: in the Save Me webtoon, he accidentally stabbed SeokJin with the broken bottle instead of his father.

Nightmare: Epilogue — tl;dr commentary

SeokJin and NamJoon’s conversation when they reunite at the gas station on the night of 11 April begins with 2 familiar phrases: “Oh. SeokJin?” “It’s been a while.” As mentioned in part 1, this sequence parallels their moment at the end of the Blood Sweat & Tears Japanese version MV.

In episode 3, the scene of JungKook finding YoonGi playing piano at the music shop appears to be a memory of 7 April, although it is not explicitly stated as such. This encounter occurs in The Notes 1 as well as episode 4 of JungKook’s story.

From JungKook’s beating at the hands of thugs to the rooftop, this is how his 11 April entry plays out in The Notes 1, but it ends before his phone conversation with YoonGi.

SeokJin reflects on a time NamJoon told him that JungKook still carried the photo they took at the beach. The photo depicted in the game is the one of the boys on the wall by the sea.

Episode 4 is called “Small Bird,” yet the bird is only referenced in one of the choice’s paths (SeokJin hides behind the piano in YoonGi’s workroom). The title may be more meaningful to players who choose this path or are familiar with the bird from The Notes 1.

The game is even more cryptic than The Notes 1 about JungKook and YoonGi’s apparent altercation on 2 May in his workroom. When the perspective cuts to YoonGi, the mirror has already been shattered. The reason is unspecified, so we are left to wonder if a confrontation unfolded like the one depicted in the Run MV and implied in The Notes 1, or if something else occurred. The “sign” that SeokJin leaves to guide JungKook to the correct motel is also unspecified, but in The Notes 1, it is a bloody tissue because YoonGi fled his workroom with busted lips.

The motel room that YoonGi sets on fire in this loop once again matches the I Need U MV.

JiMin’s escape sequence from the hospital is likely the one depicted in the Euphoria MV, although in the video it’s staged during the daytime instead of at night.

TaeHyung’s confrontation with his father on 20 May unfolds a little differently than what is depicted in the I Need U MV.

Some notes/thoughts on the 22 May post-beach trip lodging are included in the Additional Commentary section above.

TaeHyung has a flashback to several days prior to 22 May when he asked SeokJin about his recurring dreams. The location of this conversation is unspecified in The Notes 1, but it’s depicted at the bus stop in the game.

TaeHyung pushes NamJoon away physically and verbally when he tries to interrupt his interrogation of SeokJin at the lodging. “Stay out of this, NamJoon. Why does it matter to you? You’re not my brother.” In the album Note from Her and as a flashback in The Notes 1, TaeHyung overheard NamJoon talking on the phone while they walked to their lodging. NamJoon was speaking to his parents about his younger brother being old enough to take care of himself, but TaeHyung apparently took this to heart as something about himself. It hurt and angered him deeply.

Notably, the glass does not break at the end of the Epilogue, suggesting that this loop continues from this event (as it does in The Notes 1) without yet resetting.

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This brings us to the end of the BTS Universe Story <I’M FINE> highlights! This series turned out a little different than I originally envisioned, but I hope you found these summaries helpful and worthwhile to read. If you have any questions, important details that you felt I overlooked, or theories of your own that you would like to share, feel free to send me an ask!

For more informational storyline content, please check out the Timeline project, currently in development!

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consumeconstantly · 4 years

Text

Summer Photography (aka the thirst trap)

Summary: Marinette is forced to take pictures for Gabriel in order to pay for her summer graduation trip with her best friends from lycee. Adrien, her primary model, wants to avoid the summer heat and pulls in one very attractive bad-boy motorcycle man to be his replacement.

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July in Gotham comes with an almost rancid kind of heat.

The kind of heat that is impossible to banish unless the air conditioning is set to 65 degrees and there’s a dehumidifier in the room. The kind of heat that makes babies cry with discomfort and adults curse whenever they have to take a foot outside. The only age population that enjoys it are the teens. More precisely, the teens are more fans of being on summer vacation, rather than the sticky warmth, but they find ways to work with the heat, rather than against it. Some teens gather on apartment rooftops, taking in the rare, smoggy breeze with pleasure. Others frequent their local swimming pool, an ice cream parlor or convenience store. If they get really desperate, they take shelter in the library.

Should a teen be forced out onto the muggy sidewalks full of sweaty bodies, they drift towards parks or areas of ‘city beautification’ and find a tree to rest their weary bodies under.

Of course, there are always exceptions to these norms.

“Marinette,” Adrien groans, sweat on his brow. “Can we please do this not during peak heat?”

“No,” Marinette says. “Your father insisted on having pictures of a male model at precisely two in the afternoon, and it took me months to convince him to let us come on this trip, so we’re not going to do anything to jeopardize it.”

“It’s not like he can do anything now. We’re literally an ocean away.”

“Suck it up, sunshine,” Marinette swats her hand at a lazy fly, not bothering to look up from changing the lens on her camera. “Maybe I’d let you get away with a substitution. Gabriel didn’t specify that the person in the pictures had to be you, but we don’t know anyone in Gotham, and everyone we’ve come across so far isn’t exactly the friendly sort.”

Adrien flicks the collar of his t-shirt, desperately trying to generate some sort of a breeze so he doesn’t melt. “This is all Nino’s fault. He and Alya insisted on going to that couple’s show when he could have been out here, taking my place. If Luka were here, he wouldn’t have deserted me like that.”

“We all know of your and Luka’s undying love for one another, but he is busy touring. He’ll meet up with us in New York, though, and you can have your disgustingly sweet love-fest over there. Meanwhile, I’ll be forever alone.”

“Don’t put yourself down like that, Marinette. At least five people in each city we’ve gone to so far have tried to go on dates with you.”

She crinkles her nose and does a test shot, making sure the light setting works out. “Yeah, but they all reeked of desperation and alcohol. Plus, at least two of them were just looking for a person to cheat with.”

“No good,” Marinette says, frowning at the shadows the tree cast. “Gabriel won’t be happy with these kinds of photos. You’re going to have to move out of the shade.”

“No!” Adrien wails. “I refuse! It’s bad enough that you dragged me out here, but to make me go in the sun? You know I burn easily.”

“Yeah, yeah drama queen, but these photos aren’t going to take themselves, and I’m one hundred percent sure that you don’t want to have to do this twice. Which is what we’ll end up having to do if you don’t get your little butt out into the sun so we can take quality shots.”

Adrien whines before a motorcycle revs in the not so far distance. A very Chat Noir smile creeps onto his face. “I don’t think I will. I’ve just found my substitute.”

Marinette follows his gaze, then shrugs. “If you think you can convince him to substitute in, you’re free to go. But remember, it’s Gotham, and if you get jumped, I’m not going to help. It’s too hot for a fight.”

“You underestimate my charm.” Adrien says, already triumphant.

True to form, Adrien somehow manages to get motorcycle man over to her.

“Not sure how Adrien convinced you to do this, but I guess he gets a free pass.” Marinette knows exactly what Adrien’s going to do with his free time. He’s gone on and on about Gotham’s Museum of Vigilantes, and to be quite frank, Marinette doesn’t want to get caught up in another one of Adrien’s rant sessions on the Bat Family. “Anyways, nice to meet you. I’m Marinette, and my awful boss has come of with the wonderfully creative idea of Summer Heat for a photoshoot in the summer.”

She has a bone to pick with Gabriel Agreste. More than one, actually. In fact, she’d say that out of the 206 (well, 207, if she counts the fracture she got in her left pinky toe after that last akuma battle that weirdly, still hasn’t healed) bones in her body, she’d pick a fight with Gabriel over at least 200 of them. The lack of originality is one thing, but she’s not sure how she feels about his blatant attempts to set her up with her son during this trip. Somehow, he still hasn’t grasped the fact that his son doesn’t swing her way despite having hundreds of pictures of being lovey-dovey with Luka all over the internet. In fact, maybe it’s because Adrien and Luka have that many pictures that Gabriel is trying to push for a heterosexual relationship. A lack of vision both for his photo shoots and for his company. Marinette doesn’t understand how she once looked up to this man.

“It’s no problem. I’ve got nothing better to do, anyways.”

Marinette blinks, then reassesses the man in front of her. Not only does he have a sinfully attractive voice, but his visual appeal isn’t that bad, either. “It’s still nice of you to do this. Should be a pretty quick shoot. Five outfit changes and a few poses in each-- shouldn’t take any longer than an hour, hour and a half.”

She rummages through her bag, fishing out a stack of paper. “You’ll get paid for your time. $250 for the whole shoot, and if you want to keep one of the outfits, feel free.”

If she’s being completely honest, she thinks that Gabriel’s summer collection is a hot mess, and she doesn’t particularly want the burden of bringing back the disgusting articles of clothes back with her in her suitcase. Should motorcycle man not want any of them, she’ll send them back via express mail.

“Don’t need the money, but I’m trying to stay out for as long as I can. Any way you could make the shoot go on longer?”

“You want to stay out in this heat?” Marinette asks in disbelief, taking out a small bag of makeup to apply to his face. She motions for him to sit in the shade of the tree while she sees what she needs to cover up.

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Motorcycle man says.

“Like the owner of a custom Harley-Davidson is poor,” Marinette quips. Humming in approval after giving his features once over, she decides that foundation isn’t necessary, only concealer to cover up the dark circles and some old scars.“You have great skin.”

During their summer trip, Marinette has become makeup artist, photographer, public relations manager, and trip advisor. It’s a taxing job, but well worth the reward, which is an all-expense-paid graduation trip with her friends from lycee. Well, Nino and Alya had to pay, but between Nino’s part time DJ gigs and Alya’s ad revenue on the Ladyblog, it wasn’t hard for them to raise enough for the two month long, seven city, four country trip.

“One of my siblings is insistent that we do our best to minimize the scarring. Don’t know what his deal is, it’s not like our faces are sellable commodities.”

“That’s where you’re wrong-- you’re pretty good looking and could easily go into modelling or acting if you wanted. So props to whoever your sibling is. And thank your genetics too.”

Motorcycle man snorts. “Not cut out for that lifestyle. I like more… adrenaline inducing jobs.”

Marinette almost-- almost laughs. The placement of the scars on his face do imply that he’s gotten in at least one or two knife fights before, and there’s a thin line on his neck that definitely looks like it hurt. Motorcycle man has definitely been in trouble before, but he’s also good enough to get himself out of it. She’s not going to bother asking what his job is. She doesn’t want to be an accessory to any of his crimes. “Action movies, then?”

“Oh sweetheart, I make action movies look like a kid’s fist fight.”

“Wow, we have a bad boy on our hands, ladies and gentleman.” She finishes applying highlighter and sits back to admire her work. His jaw can cut glass. “Okay, Motorcycle Man, it’s time to take pictures. If you’re good, maybe I’ll draw the shoot out-- I’m not a fan of this humidity.”

Summer is better than winter, if only because she’s acquired a weird habit to almost hibernate when the temperature gets too cold. It’s easy for Marinette to shrug off the heat most days, even when her friends complain constantly.

“The name’s Jason.”

“I think I’ll stick with Motorcycle Man. Alliteration, you know? Now, one hand in your pocket, the other at your collar. Left leg out a little, like you’re ready to take a step-- perfect. Walk forwards a little, yeah, just like that.”

Jason is Adonis personified. The perfect package of cocky, arrogant, and bad boy. It doesn’t hurt that he’s well muscled either-- even Adrien doesn’t have thighs like that, and he spends hours as Chat Noir jumping from rooftop to rooftop.

“You’re a natural,” Marinette praises. “Have you ever modeled before?”

“Not like this, but I’ve got my fair share of pictures on the internet.”

She’s going to regret asking this. But curiosity killed the cat, not the ladybug. “If not for modelling, then what for?”

“Oh, you know. This and that. A few odd jobs here and there.”

And if that doesn’t make Jason sound more like a criminal, she doesn’t know what will. Marinette decides that she definitely won’t bring up a day job, let alone a night job.

“All right, next outfit.” She pushes a muscle tank top and light, ripped jeans into his hands. “You can change in the public restroom, and if anything doesn’t fit, just let me know.”

He takes the outfit, but pauses at one of the other outfits she has in her bag. “Is that… leather and fur? For a shoot with the theme of summer heat?”

“I don’t call the shots, I’m just the poor lackey who has to make them look good. Trust me, if I were in charge of design, the only outfit that might still be in the bag is the one you’re holding right now.” Gabriel is definitely losing his touch. But hey, doing this weird intern summer program for him isn’t the worst thing she’s had to do in her life. It’s good to learn from other people’s mistakes, rather than making them herself.

“Don’t worry. Crappy fashion isn’t going to scare me away. Have you seen some of Gotham’s villains?”

At that, she couldn’t suppress a laugh. “You’re talking Gotham villains? How about Paris?”

“Paris is some weird alternate dimension. It doesn’t count,” Jason protests.

“I could say the same for Gotham. Really, why are there so many Robins? Can’t they come up with another name?”

“I almost wish I could argue with that.”

He comes out of the stall, and Marinette feels the summer heat. Jason, Motorcycle Man is ripped. Yeah, his thighs are probably some of the thickest she’s seen, but his biceps are to die for. She’s half tempted to ask for his workout regime, but she’s sure that somewhere he’ll casually throw in ‘beating up random people on the street’ or ‘punching people who piss him off.’ Those are just the kind of vibes that Jason gives off.

“The arm holes are kinda tight.”

“I’m sure they are,” Marinette breathes, chest tight. Jason’s eyes smoulder. He knows exactly what he’s doing as he places an arm on the door frame and flexes. She thinks she can die happy, now.

They wrap up the shoot quickly. All of the clothes are promptly packaged up except for the tanktop and jeans.

@jasonette-july-2k20

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For the other jasonette prompts i’ve written for so far, i think i’ll probably continue them eventually, so lmk if you want to be added to the tag list for that. pretty surprised these are getting such a good reception thank you guys for that ;)

#jasonette july #jasonette #jason todd #marinette dupain cheng #maribat #miraculous ladybug #dcu #summer #jason has thicccc thighs #marinette is a ho for muscles #adrien agreste #original content

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writefightandflightclub · 4 years

Text

Halt and catch fire (Nathan Bateman x reader)

Summary: you have an... arrangement, to spend the summer with Nathan at his house. Sounds simple, yes? Nope. It’s not. Don’t say I didn’t warn you!

Author’s note: FIRST NATHAN FIC! I wrote this all in one go, which I never do. It came to me like lightning. Just remember that Nathan’s a bit of a dick, a’ight? Still would though.

Word count: 4k (ish).

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Explicit smut. Angst. Some dark elements. Hints of coercive control / gaslighting in parts. Swearing. Rough sex. One daddy kink moment. Dirty talk, inc. derogatory sexual language. Mild alcohol abuse. Typos.

Tagging: @dameronsgalaxygal @geo-winchester @xxidontwikeitxx @neverlandlibrarian @jennibradley @itsamedeemoney @bioticgoddess @spider-starry @yougottakeeponkeepinon @a-killvr-queen @porgiez @beyoncesdragon @damerondjarin @iamthe-shadow-on-the-wall

Song mood: Pixies, Where is My Mind.

(GIF by @pariztexas)

Nathan ticks his eyes up at you, clicking on you like a cursor. You suddenly animate, placing your book down on the coffee table as you watch him dexterously unwind his hand wraps, veins and muscles standing out in relief as he does so.

You would have to work fast, you knew, while you had his fleeting attention. The gears in his brain shifted too quickly to covet his focus for long. You’d learned that it was always best to catch him in-between tasks. In fact, you can already see him start to open up multiple tabs inside his head even as he shifts from his workout space and into the kitchen, the interior / exterior perimeter almost acting as a delineating line of code, shifting his function between mind and body.

He looks good after a workout, his vest showcasing his taut, sheening muscles. Sweat pools at his chest and the damp fabric clings to his torso, highlighting the silhouette of him, sturdy and hard and strong enough to take control of you. You like to see him pumped-up and gleaming like this. It makes you think about getting his dick pumped-up and gleaming underneath you, wetness pooling everywhere. What really gets you though, is that positively primal look in his eyes which follows a bout with his punchbag. When he looks at you like you have captured his id and separated it from the rest of his consciousness, isolated his base desires.

Once, when you’d worked out together, he had pinned you while sparring, peeled your leggings down from your sweat-soaked thighs and rutted into you right there on the decking. Something in the pit of you stirs and awakens with the memory, clenching like your walls had around him as he had spilled his seed into you. He has good instincts when he’s not subject to logic and bogged down by programming.

Still, as he moves into the kitchen his eyes cool far too quickly, becoming calculating; detached again. All the same, your own body responds obediently to his entrance. You wonder, as you react, if Nathan sees the world as an interface, things only springing to life at his command. You are reticent to be so dreadfully accommodating, but the truth is -aside from the fact you don’t have a lot else to do around here- you enjoy accommodating him.

You especially enjoy him after a workout, when he’s still in his body and not in his head. After all, he might be a genius, but you’d nominate him for the body-based equivalent of a McArthur Genius Grant, if such a thing existed. Especially those genius fingers. Those fingers, which you’ve had to watch skim deftly over his keyboard instead of over your body for far too long now, as Nathan insisted -time and time again- that he was on the brink of yet another major breakthrough.

“Baby?”, you coo at him, and his eyes land on you with casual interest as he finishes blending an iced coffee, pouring it from its jug into a tall glass set atop the kitchen counter.

You’re good for him. With you here he doesn’t need to drink all night, just to shut his mind off. Not that he finds your company mind-numbing... It’s just that you find other, mutually beneficial ways to keep him out of his head. Sometimes, you even convince him to get some sleep.

He takes a long swig of his drink before placing it down and reaching for his glasses. He slips them on to peer up at you, brow furrowed with a question, broad hands settled on his sturdy hips. That look ends you every time. “What, baby?”, he asks, the term of endearment managing to sound a little sleazy on this arrogant fucker’s lips. You’ve noticed him sweetening though, over the summer, whether he’s realised it himself or not.

Nathan looks at you sometimes as if you’re an algorithm he can’t solve, an intricate web of code which makes no sense to him- the only person he can’t figure out and manipulate within five minutes of meeting them. You don’t know why, because your call and response is fairly predictable, as if he has you programmed like everything else around him. You see him? Then you want him. There’s not a lot else to this... arrangement. At least, that’s how it had begun. There’s not anything deeper; not that he’ll admit to. Not yet.

Speaking of wanting him, your eyes wander lazily over his torso and the beading sweat on his skin, his arms defined and pumped through exertion. He looks like a machine and, yeah, you want him this minute. Nothing else will do.

“Shower. Now, strong man”, you command, with a come-hither finger.

His espresso brown eyes harden with a quiet, lust-ridden stare as he idly strolls over the floor toward you, slinging a towel around his neck.

You always feel like he’s studying you, sometimes to the point of discomfort, and yet you can never look away from him when he does it.

“Since when did you start tellin’ me what to do?”, he delivers in his soft Bronx-twang, his tone dark. His sweaty hand comes to grab you -securely, not harshly- by the chin. His eyes flash with challenge, which you return with equal fervour.

“Sorry, Daddy, I forgot my place.”, you purr obediently, knowing from the way his eyes blacken with lust that your words alone will have his dick half-hard for you.

“You’re learning.”, he praises, his voice honey over sandpaper, and you deliver him a wicked smile, your thighs pressing together in desperation already as you look over his bare shoulders and chest as if you’re famished.

But, contrary to your wishes, he releases your chin and you can see he’s already following some half-formed thought down a rabbit hole. “What are you reading?”, he asks, his eyes hovering over to the hardcover strewn on the table. “What made you choose that one?” Oh no he doesn’t.

“Nathan.”, you redirect, your voice throaty and brazen. “It’s nice that you’re interested in how I occupy myself, but I’m not here for Book Club.”

“That’s almost funny, sweetness.”, he chides, towelling the sweat from the back of his neck. Patronising fuck. His amused eyes meet yours, and when he finds them humourless in return, he presses on tiredly with a question. “Do I really have to ask? I know you’re about to tell me exactly why you’re here.”

Sometimes, you can understand his impatience. It must be frustrating for him to be one step ahead of everyone around him.

“To be your fuck-toy for the summer, right? That means you actually have to fuck me.”.

You wind your arms around his neck, arching your body into his, breasts pushing unsubtly up against him. “I need this. I’ve sat patiently while you worked and worked-out. It gets me hot for you. So, now that you’ve adequately displayed your prowess, I need you to fill me up, baby. And I’m not past begging.”

You watch his eyes shine with pride at your words before burying your lips into his neck. You trail your hot, wet tongue and mouth over his salty skin, your words muffling into him. “You should relax, baby. Just let me take care of you. Remember, how much you like it when I take care of you?” The contact must finally tap into something more primal and less cerebral, as he responds by circling his muscled arms around your waist and sinking his lips to yours in a crush. His prominent, wiry beard is abrasive over your skin as he opens you up, his supple tongue delving deep into the cave of your mouth.

Nathan is all or nothing. He lives by extremes. In binary. As the kiss skyrockets in intensity, his hands dragging up your back and winding into your hair, you know he’s going to give it all to you. No holds barred. He tugs on your hair, sparks like static needling over your scalp as he demonstrates his dominance. His power over you. He likes control. He requires it. And that suits you just fine.

You whimper into his mouth, the sound feeble; all of you feeling feeble against his crushing, passionate embrace. You’ve gladly gotten used to the sheer intensity of him, when his focus does land on you. But this time it feels… different. There’s a hint of desperation in it. Like he’s coming undone for you, not fully in control of himself. He breaks from you, ragged breaths heaving in the space between you. Yanking your hair back so he can look you in the eyes. But when you look at him you find him distressed; discombobulated. The way he gets when something defies explanation, when some mystery or formula or person fails to yield to him in the way he’s become accustomed to. His eyes are shadowed beneath his brows and that tell-tale vein is popping on his forehead. Something is troubling him. If you’re not wrong, that something is you.

“It shouldn’t be possible.”, he breathes, sounding uncharacteristically weak. “It shouldn’t be possible for kissin’ you to make me feel this good.”

You moan into the air for him, his sugared praise and the brokenness of his voice elevating you to another level. “Nathan Bateman, you sound weak for me.”, you tease, delighting in your newfound power, sounding almost as cocky as him.

Turns out, that was the wrong thing to say to a man with a superiority complex. To a man on the verge of full-blown narcissism. And yet, it was the best thing to say to him, because now he feels the need to reassert himself... and, oh boy, do you like it when he does that.

“Weak for you?”, he seethes, his mouth pressing right up against your cheek, hot lips skimming your skin as he enunciates his words. He tugs hard enough on your hair that tears begin to spike at the corner of your eyes. “Weak for you? I’m gonna fucking tear you up, you hear me? I’m gonna take you apart until you can’t even remember your own name.”

“Is that what you want?”, he growls, pressing his clothed erection against your hip. “Want me to break you, fuck-toy?”

“Yes. Yes please. Fuck, Nathan.” His words crawl inside the cavern of you, filtering like lines of code to your centre. You respond to his command instantly, and you feel arousal coiling in your body.

His chest heaving, his mouth a snarl, he releases your hair and then both his hands are on the collar of your oversized shirt. He grabs and tears it away from you abruptly, and you squeal as buttons pop their way on to the hard floor, leaving your lingerie exposed to him. Clearly, Nathan wasn’t expecting that to be revealed beneath, as the sight of your body covered in this skimpy, delicate lace garment has him practically falling to his knees for you. “The fuck is this?, he asks, and you’ve never seen anyone look so annoyed whilst captivated.

“I thought I’d surprise you.”, you coo, looking up at him with doe eyes.

“Surprise me? I didn’t know you had it in you.”, he growls, still looking over you with a hunger that makes your whole body quiver. But he doesn’t have his hands on you.And you need his hands on you. Those genius fingers.

“Please. Nathan. Touch, don’t look.”, you plead, eyes roving over him and landing on the tent in his shorts.

You snake your hands out towards his waistband but he grabs your wrists firmly, preventing you. “Uh uh. Naughty naughty.”, he scolds, eyes dark like a destroyer of worlds. “The next time I touch you is gonna be in the shower, and it’s gonna be my dick in your tight cunt, understand?”

You nod in earnest, the look in his eyes demolishing you. Your thighs writhe against each other, aching for some kind of pressure at your core.

“Yes, sir.”, you comply, your voice a husk.

His eyes glow with a self-satisfied, almost cruel glint. You know it’s because you’re the broken, weak one now. You also know that he’s just getting started. Smugly, he releases your wrists, your skin still burning where his fingers dug into you. Then, Nathan inches as close as he can get to you without actually touching, whispering right up against the shell of your ear.

“Turn on the water. Take everything off that hot fuckin’ body of yours. Then face the wall, spread your palms and your legs for me, and wait there until I come and fill you. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”, you tremble, throbbing for him.

His eyes glint with promise as you sweep out, hurriedly, Nathan landing a smack to your ass as your quaking legs carry you toward the shower room. All you can think about is his promise. But you focus on his instructions, and you follow them to the letter. You know he’ll be watching you on the monitor, and if you put a foot wrong, he’ll make you pay for it.

First of all, you pad over and fiddle with the various nozzles, until warm water is cascading from various jets above your head. You let it sluice over you, soak through what remains of your shirt and your lingerie, before wiggling the sodden, torn garment off your shoulders first. As it drops onto the floor with a wet slap, you stand there in nothing but the delicate red lace coiling closely around the contours of you, a little like wires.

You feel exposed as you think of Nathan watching you through the cameras, seeing the water slipping over the contours of you until you’re gleaming for him. You think of him palming his hardened length through his shorts as you peel away the delicate fabric from your shoulders, thumbs hooking under the straps. For his benefit, you peel it away slowly, inch-by-inch, cups popping away from your breasts, your exposed nipples pebbling under the water. You think about his eagerness growing as he watches, his thick cock twitching, the head beading with slick as the garment peels away from your stomach, clinging to the wetness of your body.

Finally, you fold it away from your hips and your buttocks. It clings to your thighs, material coiling in on itself like the knot forming at the core of you, and your fingers work it down your body until it finally drops onto the shower floor below you. You step delicately out of it, entirely exposed now, and feeling that way. Next, as instructed, you carefully shuffle your feet apart until your legs are spread for him, you palms flush against the wall in front of you. You know he wants to see your hands so he knows you’re not touching yourself. He was quite clear about what the next thing touching you would be, and you don’t think you have it in you to refuse his command.

The waiting drives you crazy, and you slip your palms further down the wall, arching your spine to push your ass out, further up into the air, writhing it against nothing, but imagining Nathan’s substantial length sliding home into your heat. Imagining his strong arms wrapping around the front of you and dragging you into his slick chest as he pounds you.

Nathan keeps you waiting to the point of irritation. The ache in-between your legs becoming discomfort. Your body stiff from holding its position. You are so eager to press your parted legs against each other. To just reach down with your hand or a shower head and relieve yourself. But you don’t, because you know what’s coming is much too sweet to forgo. You moan on nothing but the thought of him.

When he finally enters you are so desperate, so frustrated, that tears are mingling with the rivulets of water over your face. You hear him pad in and almost turn to look at him before you hear a firm “no” in those deep, rich tones of his. You screw your eyes tightly shut so you won’t be tempted. By this point, your legs are quivering with need, your slick dripping from you. You need his touch inside of you. You bite your lip as you imagine you hear the sound of his clothes being dropped to the floor.

Nathan makes you wait a moment more for any contact, and it feels like the longest moment of your life. He’s made you think about him. Made you focus everything in your mind and your body on exactly where he’s going to touch you.

With a groan, Nathan pushes the head of his cock against your folds. Even the blunt pressure has you mewling for him, and you practically collapse up against the shower wall, wavering with need. Finally, with one swift thrust he slides all the way inside of you, as deep into you as he can possibly go, the base of him settling against you with a smack.

“Holy shit, Nathan.”, you sob, as he fits inside of you, stretching you, the size of him straining your walls, his broad hands clamping down over yours on the tiles. All of your focus is entirely on the ridges and veins and girth of him buried up in your cunt. It feels so good. He feels so fucking good.

He stills in you, simply to tease you more - to demonstrate his power. But you need him to move. You need motion. Need his friction.

“I told you I’d fucking split you open.”, Nathan growls. You try to writhe against him but he’s not allowing it. Not yet. His hands come to clamp hard on your hips. “You said you weren’t past begging, baby. Do it then. Beg me to rail you.”

Your words are sugared pleas into the air which dissolve into the water, making everything around you sweet as Nathan finally begins his ruthless thrusts. He buries himself in you over and over and over as one hand comes to your head, pressing your cheek against the cold tiled wall and pinning you in place as the other grasps the meat of your hip. “I’m gonna take you apart. I’m gonna fucking unmake you, baby.”

You believe him. You believe you are going to come apart for him. You could do so already. Could do it on command, you’re sure of it. With the number of times he’s made you come undone, you have no doubt in the sensations he’s capable of delivering.

Indeed, the way his cock slams into your heat, your walls snug around him, is like an electric current jolting through your body, sending shocks of pleasure with every drag of his contours over your sweet spot. Every time he resheaths himself in your tight cunt. His body fits you so perfectly it’s as if he’s made for you, the way he fills you is like nothing else you’ve ever had.

“Nathan.”, you plead, clutching for him, desperate for more contact. “Nathan, please. Hold me. I need you to hold me.”

There is something so soft in the way he wraps his arm around you and nestles his head over your shoulder, his chest pressing up against you. Even as he pounds into you, his pace relentless - his force punishing. Water sluices between your bodies as his wet skin slaps against yours, your moans surrounding him from all directions in the echoey room. You don’t know how it’s possible for something to feel this harsh and this soft all at once, but you guess the real world doesn’t run on binary. Not everything is an absolute.

Nathan’s groans and grunts billow over your ear as he crushes you to him, ensuring you have no escape from the brutality of his thrusts. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him so vocal. The sound of him, all his anger and arrogance humbled in the place of pleasure – all for you- has your release spilling over, that impossible knot tightening in the pit of you and flooding you with warmth.

Your proclamation comes as a silent plea into the air first of all, followed by a low, guttural moan which blooms from your chest. The sensation overcomes you, wipes everything else from your mind for a moment, as if you are a system rebooting. Feeling fresh. Remade.

“Fuck, Nathan. You make me feel so good.”, you praise into the air, and his hand digs even more harshly into the meat of your hip to pull you down on his length as he drives his own hips up in return. Your words tipping him over the edge, he shoots his seed deep into you in thick, warm ropes of cum as he finds his end too. He sounds wrecked with pleasure as he coats your walls with his release, aftershocks spasming through the both of you as his taut body presses against your back. He is perfectly, uncannily contoured to you.

For a moment then, Nathan doesn’t move. He simply holds you. It is the most still you’ve ever seen him, ever felt him. His mind and his body are always -usually- in perpetual motion. But he just stays there, holding you tight for a second as his cock softens inside you, the only sound the patterns of water slipping off your bodies, and his steady, jagged breathing against the back of your neck. The frenzied patter of your heart as you come down from your high, whole body buzzed.

Eventually, Nathan pulls out and you feel his cum slip out too, down your thighs. You feel satisfaction at having made him feel so good. He directs the shower head to clean himself and then you off, laughing half-cruelly as the water pressure finds your sensitive clit, causing you to shudder.

After a deep, gathering breath you turn to face him with a steady, even grin, and you find the hardness in Nathan’s eyes is entirely gone. Wordlessly, you bat your eyes at him and take the shower head from his grasp, reaching for some soap and, with a soft smile, lathering it over his tired muscles - all over his body. He lets you, closing his eyes against it and humming gently when your hand reaches his chest.

When he opens his eyes, he is looking at you again like you’re an algorithm he can’t solve, an intricate web of code which makes no sense to him. He’s developing a habit of this, the more time he spends with you. You counter his stare curiously, and his eyes narrow in return.

Nathan’s not usually very tactile outside of sex, and so when he reaches his hand out to caress your face you flinch away at first, merely from the shock of it. But, gently, he smooths his palm over your face, his eyes reassuring and like cups of warm, morning coffees on yours.

“How do you do it?”, he asks, his voice faltering. “What makes you different from all the others? Why does it feel so much better with you?”

Your eyes glow with a cautious pride. “Maybe you’re getting soft on me, genius.”

“It’s not possible. What I’m feeling for you... it can’t be real.”

You scoff. You knew the softness had to end sometime. There’s his arrogance again. Nathan Bateman. He thinks himself above most things. Of course he thinks himself above love. Or whatever this is.

“Why not?”, you probe, hiding a slight edge in your tone. “I... I feel it too, you know.”, you admit, but he recoils from you at that moment, snatching his hand away. Looking pained. Looking... pissed off.

“Don’t. You don’t know what you’re saying.”, he dismisses, vein popping in his forehead.

You roll your eyes at him indignantly, flipping off the water and reaching for a towel, which you tuck under your armpits and knot at your chest. You pass Nathan a bath sheet too and he towels himself off before wrapping it around his waist. “So, what? I don’t know my own mind now?”

Nathan replaces his glasses, retrieving them from the washroom counter. He furrows his brow as he looks at you from beneath his mildly steamed up lenses, hands on hips again.

“Do you think you do? Know your own mind?”

This look usually ends you, but there’s something about the way he’s looking at you in this moment that you don’t like; like he’s studying you all over again. For some reason his question and his manner cause an unease to bloom in the pit of you and you’re not sure why.

“I mean it.”, he continues, oblivious to your discomfort. “Could you prove that you’re conscious?”

You towel off your hair, dismissing his question. “Don’t start this again, Nathan. I’m not in the mood for philosophy.”. Your voice comes out weaker than you intended it. Unsure. The room suddenly feels hot and airless, but as you turn to leave it, Nathan grabs you sharply by the wrist.

“Could you?”, Nathan continues, an intensity in his eyes that you shrink back from, his voice broken all over again. “’Cause… Please.”, he grimaces. “I need to know how these feelings could seem so real when you’re....”

A dread you can’t explain is flooding you now, your bottom lip trembling. He cuts himself off, leaving you feeling as if you’re hanging over an abyss.

“When I’m what?”, you press, eyes interrogating his. “When I’m what, Nathan?”. There is a rising panic in your tone which you can’t quell.

Something like fear passes over Nathan’s eyes then and he shakes his head dismissively, trying to backpedal. “Never mind. Never mind, baby. I’m sorry. Just forget it. I’ve had too much coffee. Or not enough.” His voice is sweet. Sickly sweet. Manipulative. But when he speaks that term of endearment it sounds entirely sincere.

He tries to shush you, to soothe you, dragging you in towards him in a surrounding embrace. You don’t resist it, at first. You fit against him as if he was made for you.

Or you were made for him.

A feeling like bile rises up in your stomach as your next thought arises.

As if you were made by him.

“No.”, you say, feeling suddenly ill with understanding. “No, no, no!”.

You beat and thrash your arms against his chest but he tries to pin you close to him; ineffectually tries to calm you. You become a mess of arms, like sparring, as he begins grabbing at your wrists and pleading with you from beneath his glasses, chin dipped low like a boxer.

Your revelation doesn’t seem possible, And yet you instantly know there is truth in it. When you try to think beyond Nathan? You can’t. You were made here. You’ve never left. You are his. His fuck-toy.

“Baby. Baby, I’m so sorry.”, Nathan begs, looking distraught, undone. More vulnerable than you’ve ever seen him. But you don’t care. You don’t care.This is about you. If there is a “you” at all.

Regardless, you struggle against his attempts to subdue you, but he built you weaker than him. There’s something sinister about that. Though why would a god create someone in his own image when he could create them weaker? If he couldn’t prove himself more powerful, would he even be a god at all?

You sob and sob as the truth of things dawns on you. The scope of this truth feels like it’s frying and warping your brain. You feel like you can’t possibly process all of this. It feels like violence, that he created you at all.

“Baby. Shush.”, Nathan reassures, still trying to capture your flailing arms and to contain you. Control you. “You’ll hurt yourself, please. Please stop.”

He does it with reluctance, at least. When your reactions become increasingly violent, Nathan has no choice but to power you down, for your own safety. For his. He whispers apologies into the steamy air. Claws at his buzzed head in distress. As you fall limply to the shower room floor the sight of you there, like that, makes him hurl abruptly into the nearby sink. His hands shake and tears spill from him as he pushes your damp hair back from your face and carries you down to the lab.

He lays you out on the workbench in front of him, alongside the parts and components and faces of other dismantled flings. For once, he doesn’t have any of the answers. None of the others were quite like you, and he still can’t explain it.

Usually, when he lost control of a test subject, he had one alternative; to delete. To take them apart. To start again. But he’d never lost control of himself; his feelings. Not like this. And even if he deleted you, and all of your memories, he couldn’t scrub you from his own brain.

Could he?

Becoming increasingly volatile with emotion, tears streaming down his cheeks, Nathan yells his stream of consciousness into the air, before fishing a bottle of vodka out of his desk drawer and tipping it to his lips as he takes several generous swigs at once. There are some methods humans can use to forget, he supposes.

Then, his eyes cool slightly, his manner becoming slightly more detached. Detached enough to open you up. To slip red wires inside each of your ports with his genius fingers, connecting you to his system. The wires coil around your body, reminiscent of that red, lace lingerie.

“You’re not real, right?”, he asks softly, over your still, beautiful form, his hands running again over his buzzed head as he leans over you. “You’re not fucking real. Just wires. So, if I just wipe you... doesn’t matter? Right? Doesn’t fucking matter?”

Hands trembling, he boots up your code on his monitor. Frenzied, his eyes move at light-speed over the commands and sequences before his eyes. Looking for some explanation. Some evidence. Something he can point to as proof. Proof of you.

But he finds nothing. He can’t prove it. How can you prove consciousness? So, finding nothing to validate this thoroughly illogical adoration that he feels in the pit of him, he taps hurriedly at the keys and generates a command, his index finger hovering over the button as he tries to psych himself up to “execute”.

Execute. Now there’s a choice word.

Maybe there’s another way. Some other way to deal with this. But gods tend to deal in absolutes, not “if” statements. Nathan tended to deal in absolutes.

If you’re real, he loves you, absolutely.

If you’re not, then he’s not a god. He’s nothing more than a fool.

It all comes down to what Nathan is more willing to risk, in the end. Would he dare risk it for love? Would Nathan ever risk appearing a fool?

His index finger hovers over the key, shaking, like the hand of God.

Creator and destroyer of worlds.

He whispers under his breath.

“I am become death.”

THE END

(PLEASE DON’T SPOIL THE TWIST FOR OTHER READERS? TIA!)

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Want more? I mainly write for Poe Dameron (and recently Santiago Pope Garcia). This is my first Nathan fic! You can check out my masterlist in my bio to read more of my works. It’s always kept updated there. And let me know if you want more Nathan! :D

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#nathan bateman x reader #nathan bateman #nathan bateman smut #nathan bateman angst #ex machina #oscar isaac

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yandere-daydreams · 4 years

Text

A spicier Yandere!Villain!Izuku/Reader for an absolutely lovely anonymous commissioner, featuring just a little Katsuki /Reader on the side. It’s always nice to get to experiment with a scenario I don’t get to use very often, but honestly, making Katsuki absolutely miserable might just a hobby, at this point.

Title: Lasting Rivalries.

Word Count: 2.0k

TW: Noncon, AFAB!Reader, Kidnapping, Light Bondage, Oral Sex, and Slight Exhibitionism.

The air tasted like mold.

You could’ve sworn you’d fallen asleep in the cold, brisk atmosphere of Katsuki’s apartment, where every draft carried the vaguest traces of bleach and even the dust was neatly polished. Wherever you were now couldn’t be the same place, hell, you doubted it was the same building. The mattress underneath you was warm, uncomfortably so, the kind of damp, sticky heat that only radiated off of objects with a decade’s worth of grime. It was dark, the walls a bare, desolate grey and the few functioning lights only seeming to highlight how obscured everything felt, out in the open yet hidden by some thick curtain hanging just in front of your eyes. Your head felt… bad. You weren’t in pain, and you didn’t have a headache, but you almost wished you did. It would’ve been real, and that must’ve been better than whatever cotton had been stuffed where your skull was supposed to be.

You tried to roll over, intent on coughing away the blockage, but to your dulled shock, you weren’t able to do anything more than shift before falling back into place. Your wrists had been tied to something cold and metallic - part of the bed frame, you guessed, a post - but the rope was soft, seamless and smooth. A harsh distinction from the scratchy, cheap sheet that’d been spread out under your exposed back.

Oh, wait. Where were your clothes?

It was a startling realization, but you didn’t have much time to linger on it. As soon as you had time to properly feel the chill running over your skin, something replaced it. Two palms pressed into your sides, just above your hips, gloved but undeniably there, squeezing as they went, exploring. You kicked, reflexively, relieved to find your legs free enough to do so, but the mass was unmovable, catching your knee and pushing it flat against the bed with a light chuckle. You manage to focus, although your gaze was still blurry and your head still clogged, a shape forming in front of you. A silhouette, at first, then a form. A man. By the time you put a name to those hints of a face, you might as well not’ve bothered.

You would’ve recognized the voice of that monster anywhere. Even with the added smugness.

“When did they get so soft, Kacchan?” Izuku asked, a self-righteous smirk pulling at the corners of his lips. His tone was mocking, too patronizing to be genuine, but that didn’t stop his hands from falling to your waist, rubbing slow, measured circles into your midriff before moving towards your thighs and groping curiously. He continued, unprompted, not seeming to care that he’d never gotten a response. “You did that on purpose, yeah? I know you like your targets too weak to fight back.”

“Fuck off.” You didn’t have to think, your attention locking onto the interruption’s source, onto your boyfriend. Your restraints were child’s play compared to Katsuki’s, his hands encased in metal cylinders and leather belts laid across every extremity that could’ve possibly broken free. He was pinned against a cement column, immobilized, a loose muzzle strapped over the lower half of his face for Izuku’s personal enjoyment. He hadn’t been taken peacefully, either, a splatter of dried blood matting blonde hair to his scalp and his Hero get-up ripped to tatters, stripped of anything that could’ve been made into a weapon. You might’ve been jealous of how much effort had gone into capturing him, if concern hadn’t been shoved to the forefront of your mind, refusing to budge once it took its place. “Touch (Y/n) one more time and I swear I’ll--”

“Maybe we should gag him,” Izuku mused, cutting Katsuki off gracelessly. It took you longer than you’d like to admit to realize he was talking to you, but you didn’t dare indulge him with an answer, averting your eyes to the wall with a pointed glare. Izuku just pouted, crouching and nuzzling affectionately into the crook of your knee. You shuddered at the contact, but he didn’t seem to share your aversion, something lovesick weighing down his tone. “I don’t know how you put up with him for so long, angel. All those dirty words, and that rotten attitude…” He let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head. “It had to be terrible. You need someone to love you, really love you, right?”

“I… I don’t need anything from you,” You spat, attempting to clench your thighs together. Izuku pushed them back open with a strength you couldn’t hope to counter. “Get off of me!”

“You don’t think you need me,” He corrected, prompting a groan and a series of volatile insults from Katsuki. If Izuku heard him, he didn’t feel the need to give a response, kissing the inside of your thigh, instead, his lips lingering a second too long. “You’ve been... influenced by Kacchan. He didn’t love you like I would’ve, he didn’t take care of you. I wouldn’t have made you go out into the big, bad world every single day. I wouldn’t have been so ungrateful.” Another kiss, this one higher up. “You deserve better. I’ll give you better.”

You opened your mouth, but anything you could’ve said was caught in your throat and choked on as Izuku took hold of your hips, pinning you down despite his attempts to buck him off. You weren’t sure what you’d expected, but when a hot, eager tongue dragged along the length of your slit, the severity of your situation finally dawned on you, sparks of something callous and distant accompanying overwhelming, overpowering terror. Your mind went blank, but you flailed, attempting to kick and writhe and struggle until he let go, but your resistance only seemed to make Izuku more determined, pulling away to suck at your sensitive clit, flicking at it almost playfully with his tongue.

The pleasure was invasive, aggressive. Izuku was relentless, drinking you down like a man starved, his inexperience covered by his will to find whatever spot made your body contort and abuse it, whether that meant fucking your entrance with his tongue or drawing baseless, abstract patterns in your cunt or lapping at forcibly provoked wetness and daring you not to make a sound. You bit your bottom lip in an effort not to give him what he wanted, but his pursuit was a brutal one, the whimpers that found their way through your defenses meek and pitiful. Katsuki had been stunned into silence, but your involuntary submission seemed to snap him out of his stupor, an assumption only further backed-up by the garbled mix of ‘get away from them’s and ‘I’ll fucking kill you’s that soon filled the cramped space. Izuku delighted in that, nearly moaning against you, the reverberation sending an unpleasant tremor up your spine. You couldn’t tell what was getting him off more - your suffering or Katsuki’s.

Regardless of his intentions, your body was reacting to his ministrations, something in your core pooling and spiraling, delving into a dark, aching fire you wish had stayed untouched. Your hips nearly followed Izuku when he pulled away, straightening his back and making a half-hearted attempt to wipe away the spit and slick staining his chin with his sleeve before his shoulders slumped, a wide, malicious grin forming across his features as he looked over you. Wordlessly, he pulled off a glove with his teeth, swiping his newly freed fingers over your cunt, letting translucent fluids gather on fingertips. He held them to your lips, only hesitating for a moment before giving a command. “Lick it off,” He demanded, his smile never faltering. “Or I’ll have someone come in and slit his fucking throat.”

You weren’t proud to taste yourself on his skin, gagging when he shoved his digits down your throat and spitting when he refused to dislodge them, coughing until something in your throat tore and fell away. He only kissed your cheek, something you hoped was meant to be a reward.

You were still recovering when he started to undress, lazily unbuttoning his white dress-shirt and pulling it off, only bothering to shrug his pants down enough to free his cock. Of all things, that was what got you, how casual he acted, as if he was only admiring something he already owned. Tears sprung up in the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision despite your attempts to blink them away. Izuku took care of that, though, cooing as he dragged his thumb over your cheek. It could’ve made you sick. It did make you sick. But, the sudden wave nausea did little to stop something painfully hard from rutting against your thigh as Izuku leaned down, the sensation a constant, perverted reminder of your growing misery.

“Please…” You mumbled, the words falling from your tongue reluctantly. You tugged at your restraints, trying to pull yourself into a more dignified position, but all you accomplished was irritating your already-sore wrists. “Please don’t, Midoriya, please. I’m… I haven’t done this before.”

His eyes widened, the hint of a scowl shadowing over his expression. “Poor thing, poor baby,” He crooned, the words dripping with manufactured sympathy. With one hand, he steadied himself, positioning his length at your entrance with the other, making it clear that no amount of sobbing or innocence would get you out of being defiled. “No wonder you’re scared, he must’ve neglected you for so long. But, you don’t have to worry, love. Your Izuku’s gonna take care of you, from now on.”

That was all the warning you got before he pushed into you, snapping his hips against yours and only stopping when he bottomed out inside of you. Something between a moan and a croak found its way from your throat, but you were quickly distracted from the discomfort as Izuku took up your thighs, digging his nails into your flesh and forcing your knees against your chest, something between confusion and distress flooding into your system. By the time he began thrusting in earnest, finding a steady rhythm to match the tempo of his fleeting, breathy panting, you were sobbing, trying fruitlessly to keep your breakdown at bay as a terrible, unknown pressure built inside of you, a knot forming somewhere in the bottom of your gut. You were snug around him, hot and tight and drooling, making each movement all the more tortuous, toe-curling, world-shattering. It felt like there was never a moment he wasn’t hitting something new, something foreign, something you couldn’t quite make up your mind about. Unwillingly, you clenched around him, and Izuku faltered, groaning shamelessly. You were almost glad you’d fallen so far, when you felt him twitch.

Anything that managed to numb the filth slowly spreading through your body was a mercy.

“You feel so good,” He drawled, hunching forward, pressing his forehead into your shoulder. His breath was warm on your skin, damp, your disgust unaided by the teeth soon embedded in your neck, biting into anything they could reach. He acted without care, without discretion, his only goal being to make his mark and ensure that it lasted, regardless of how much blood he had to draw to do so. “Gonna make you mine, he won’t be able to touch you when I’m done. No one’ll be able to look at you without thinking of me.” He paused, letting out the fractured bastardization of a laugh, relief heavy in the cracked sound. “I’ll knock you up. Kacchan could never give you that.”

Oh, god, Katsuki. Your head fell to the side, in search of something stable to latch onto, but he was far from a source of comfort. He was despondent, limp and motionless, his bindings slack, unneeded. Still, every muscle in his body was tense, on edge, but if he could do anything but sit and stare, you couldn’t tell. His eyes were peeled open, lips parted but no noise coming out, as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t bring himself to make the words. He was as much of a prisoner as you were, now. As helpless as you were, now.

Weakly, he opened his mouth, what was left of his will escaping in a miserable, wounded whisper. “I’ll fucking kill you, Deku.”

That was all it took for Izuku to finish, staining you so thoroughly, you doubted you would ever feel clean again.

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ahsokasanity · 3 years

Text

Chapter Eight

A Court of Shadow and Ribbons Missed any Chapters? Go to the pinned post

Notes:

– With credit to song words (only slightly messed with) Melissa Etheridge “Do It Again”

Nessian mating ceremony.

Idisi comes from Nordic mythology around the Valkyries – ours didn’t want to be a replica of the original female warriors, but something new and their own.

Apologies if you’re fitting this in during lunch break (@TrashForAzriel !) It’s a bit longer than normal

Nesta was not nervous on the day. She was already so entwined emotionally with Cassian that it actually seemed a natural progression to confess it in front of a few important friends and family. Some of the training group would be at the service, some could not make the step from the House of Wind to Velaris proper. They had tentatively begun to call themselves Idisi – the name itself made them more a part of the Valkyrie mythology, Nesta grinned to herself as she remembered Gwyn coming to them with the idea “Well, we can’t just keep calling ourselves the training group or Cassian’s defenders.” Although Nesta quite liked the second.

Nesta had stayed at The River House overnight and Cassian, Azriel and Rhys were to fly as many from the library as they could. Mor was going to Windhaven to collect Emerie who would stay the night in Velaris. All of them might end up out on the town. Nesta was wishing for, and dreading that night as the first she would take as Cassian’s mate and the first time she would return to the nightclubs and drinking bars that she had frequented before her recovery. With Cassian by her side, she knew it would be a fun night. The House of Wind had been entitled to them and tonight she would host her friends. The House had promised to care for them all if Nesta was occupied once they got home.

Gwyn had agreed to sing but she was nervous about leaving the library. The last time she did was to support Nesta and they had ended up abducted. She knew the circumstances were entirely different and the River House was so very safe, but it did not stop the butterflies swarming in her gut or the slight vibrato when she did try to speak at breakfast. She’d put on her best prayers robe. It was a pale blue and pleated around the neck to be fastened at the waist with a gold thin rope. He feet were shod in thick leather slippers that would protect her while travelling and walking in the garden.

There were just five of them to attend from the priestesses and being that Azriel and Rhys could winnow, they took Margot, Lorelei, Deirdre and Roslin. Cassian was grinning at Gwyn. “I think that the first Idisi to cut the ribbon with her sword should have no problem getting a ride to MY mating ceremony with her best friend’s mate?”

Gwyn laughed a nervous laugh and pursed her lips. “No, you wouldn’t think so would you” She stepped toward him and stood at his side, offering her arm for him to take. Cassian wrapped one arm around her waist and took her forearm with his other hand. “I’ll hold you and I promise I will not let you fall”

She nodded but closed her eyes. The hand around her hip was firm not punishing and his other hand was gentle on her arm. She told herself over and over. It’s OK, this is Cassian, it’s OK”

“No harm will come to you” Cassian had sensed her thoughts and she tried to look up at him, to give permission for this flight. He grinned down at her

“Don’t have too much fun will you” and launched off the training area into the bright summer sky. Gwyn screeched, not in a scared way she surprised herself, but with exhilaration. Cassian merely flapped harder to get into the slip stream heading up the face of the cliff from the city. As they got into that rising warm air he extended his wings to their widest (Gwyn remembered something that Nesta had told her that night in the library of the House of Wind, about Illyrians wing spans), but she shut down that thought as they began spiralling down, down, so smooth, so free.

The feeling was immense. She had shut herself out of this world for years now and could suddenly see what she might be missing. Yes, High Fae, Illyrians and half breeds like her, could all be cruel to each other. There was also this, flying (she was flying for the Mother’s sake) and heading to a celebration of love of togetherness and she loved her friends. She felt wonderful and alive and impatient to enjoy more.

The garden and lawn of the River House (it should be called the River Palace she thought), looked picture perfect today. Elain had worked hard on getting the flowers to bloom, in the right colour order to suit where Nesta would stand. Rhys had spared no expense in the set up of a pavilion and chairs, with a spread of food for all, once Cassian and Nesta had officially Mated.

Cassian could sense her excitement and a change in her scent from flat out petrified to wonder and a happy nervousness. One more thing that he could do to make her comfortable was to set her down where Mor and Emerie were talking at the outskirts of the party.

“Thank you Cassian” Gwyn stood on her tip toes to peck him on the cheek. “I did not know that it would be like that, so free. I can’t really explain it”

Cassian merely shrugged and replied “You don’t have to. I am glad that you are here, and that Nesta doesn’t have to attempt murder because I scared her friend!” He winked and headed off to Rhys and Azriel who were clucking over baby Nyx.

“Gwynie, oh wow, you are so lucky. How was the flight? It looked so glorious today and you took the slow way down. Oh, I am so jealous” Emerie was at her side and Mor a step behind.

“It’s nice to see you Gwyn” Mor intoned. There was more to that statement than your average greeting. It’s nice to see Gwyn in Velaris, it’s nice to see Gwyn outside the protection of the library. The first time that Mor had met Gwyn, she had just been repeatedly raped and her world was imploding. Mor here, in the sun on this grassy expanse of the river flat was a beautiful sight. Her words were a balm and Gwyn just nodded.

“It is so nice to see you again” she replied, again meaning a lot more than pure greeting.

Emerie took Gwyn’s arm but steered her close to Mor as they seemed to be in the middle of something “Just stay here until you have to sing will you Gwyn?” her friend insisted “I’ll get you a drink and we can applaud from here!”

Mor laughed at that and the two of them returned to talk of fabrics and colours and what Emerie sold in her shop and what Mor wanted to show her from Vallahan that was “like a second skin that shows every curve and highlights every asset” Whatever that meant. Emerie was immersed in the conversation and brought Gwyn in on it every now and then to suggest a colour for her or to ask her opinion. Gwyn was happily edging the topics as she was having more fun watching the others, Cassian being teased by his “brothers”, Feyre taking Nyx away from them before Rhys threw the boy high enough he’d have to learn to fly to get back, and Elain talking with some others whom Gwyn did not recognise. An auburn haired Fae with a mechanical eye. One of the sons of the Autumn Court by the looks. She remembered that Nesta did not like him much but that Feyre and he were on good terms. Elain seemed very quiet. Gwyn understood her shyness.

Emerie whispered to Gwyn “The red headed male is Lucien, Elain’s mate” she just nodded her head and looked their way. There was no explanation necessary, the relationship apparent. That mating was not the happy affair that Nesta and Cassian were celebrating. Elain looked a little more alive when Azriel joined their group, but Az stayed by Lucien’s side and spoke politely to all before moving to seat people around the central point of the yard, an altar and a table.

Gwyn was not at all present, she realised. The small tension of singing while Cassian and Nesta would be preparing and eating food together had been overtaken by the large stressor of being surrounded by people that she did not know. She found a place backing on to a heavily thorned rose bush bursting with red flowers. She felt better having her back protected. Little tremors shot up her spine and across her skin every few minutes and she held one hand in the other so that she could hold herself still. Deep breathing was the only thought that she had, her singing voice would not appreciate having no wind. Emerie touched her arm every now and then, but she was engrossed in the service and in leaning in to Mor’s side to whisper comments.

Gwyn found Emerie leading her toward the centre of the gathering and realised that she had better be ready to perform. A few strong breaths down into her stomach and she found her place, Nesta smiled through some tears as she moved aside to the table with food, Cassian so pleased, the look on his face many of them had never seen before.

Gwyn tried to look over the small crowd, but her gaze snagged on the darkness in one corner. Azriel. He gave her an encouraging nod and she was able to start

The song had originally been a nightclub hit, Nesta had played it for her on the Synphonia. Gwyn had tweaked it a little bit to be more soulful. More like a prayer.

Walked your fire I got a little bit burnt

Hold on tight cause I, I never did learn

You were the one they tried to warn me about

I jumped into your ocean knowing I could never get out

Oh darling it hurts, hurts to be in love

Oh darling it hurts but I do it just because

I walk straight through your mountain

Crawl right under your sea

And if you do not know it by now

You're the only one who does this to me

But I’d do it again

Yes I'd do it again

Even when I'm tired and my feelings are hurt

Never lost desire only made things worse

I hope I'm holding out for something good

Cause we're that combination yeah we're the kind that could

Oh darling it hurts, hurts to be in love

Oh darling it hurts but I do it just because

I walk straight through your mountain

Crawl right under your sea

And if you don't know, know it by now

You're the only one who does this to me

But I'd do it again

She looked up to see Cassian kissing Nesta passionately and smiled to herself. Only to become more self aware as people started to approach her with congratulations and it was hell.

Emerie was making her way to help, with Mor at her side, but Azriel and his shadows dispersed the few gushing admirers with excuses and subtle manoeuvring to suddenly be next to her. He lightly took her arm and guided her into the house and to the summer parlour by the kitchen. He sat her down on the nearest armchair and stepped back toward the door. “Wait Azriel, please” She was surprised to hear her own voice in such a clear request.

Azriel simply turned and stopped. He did not want to be closer to this woman than he already was. She was so beautiful and her singing always seemed to open a door to his emotions. He could not hear her without remembering old forgotten feelings of being held by his mother, of being full, not the furtive being that he had become. It was undoing his resolve, his very footing on the earth.

Gwyn composed herself and looked straight at Az. “Thank you for helping me out of that situation. I didn’t want to be with so many people, but I don’t want to be alone either.”

It took three steps for Azriel to be seated next to her and looking around the room, not at her. He looked at her all of the time. He couldn’t do it now. His chest was thundering. Do not ruin this Az, he thought savagely. This woman has been through hell. Do not overstep

“I have to tell you something Gwyn” he knew once he started he would have to finish this. “I have noticed you wearing a chain at training…”

“Oh well, it’s OK if I shouldn’t wear it, it’s nothing much”

Az swallowed his next words and re-thought where he was going with this. “Really, it’s nothing much?”

Gwyn blushed a little. “Well, I do really like it but it was an anonymous gift and I probably will never know who gave it to me, it shouldn’t be important to me”

Azriel decided then to struggle on. This could not stand. “It was me”

The room was silent. Gwyn’s face went through about fifteen expressions while he watched and waited. She looked sad then like she would yell at him, then pensive, finally she looked at him and spoke. “Why?”

“You are not going to like this, but I am going to tell you the absolute truth. That is all I can promise you” Azriel got out of the chair and started to walk this way and that about the room.

“I bought the jewel and the chain for Elain before Winter Solstice, I know that sounds bad, but please listen” Gwyn was discomforted but not scared. Azriel having feelings for her would be more scary.

“Rhys made me understand that any relationship outside of her being a sister to me was off the table. So Elain and I talked and she is my sister now. She will be making changes and I will support her decisions, but we will not be together”

Gwyn was struck dumb as to how she would feature in this story. How she became a part of this story.

Azriel could tell he was losing her. “After that night when you were training in the dark” She did smile at that “I wanted to give you something that was just appreciative of you”

“Do you think that Elain will see this and be upset?” Gwyn took the rose out of her top and it caught the sun. Azriel held himself together at the sight of Gwyn seated before him, rose between the thumb and forefinger and an absolute innocent look on her face.

“I, well, I hadn’t thought of that” he shifted to the far wall of the room and looked out over the gathering and smiled at his brother being fed bread by Nesta and laughing with less worry than he had even seen. He didn’t notice Gwyn had got up from her chair and approached him. When he turned back to her she was under his nose and he stepped back hurriedly

She had never felt threatened by Azriel, never nervous in his presence, but his closeness, his casual demeanour. He was not her trainer today. She held out the chain with the rose dangling and handed it to him.

“I think that it was a lovely gesture Azriel”, she liked the sound of his name and wanted to say it more, to moan it. “But, I think that you should take it back. Keep it until you can tell Elain that you found someone that you really want to see wearing it forever.” Azriel held out his hand and accepted the chain, quickly pocketing it with shame written across his downturned face at her words.

“Thank you, for thinking of Elain Gwyn. Five hundred years is not enough time apparently to turn me into a thoughtful male”

Gwyn could not bear the tone of his voice or the hunch of his shoulders. This was not Azriel on the back foot, this was him retreating. She knew the feeling. The self-loathing, the depression. It was not something that she wanted for him.

“Don’t say that. Don’t think that you are not every bit as noble as the best males in Velaris. You are thoughtful and you are kind. Think of all of our friends, our Idisi who are starting to feel, whole again.” She touched his cheek with a shaking hand “Think of me Azriel. I would be dead, and without the training I would be close enough to dead that there is little difference”

His eyes found hers but she stepped back away from him, hand still in the air between them.

“Azriel, would you walk with me in the garden?” She raised her elbow for him to take it, prayed that he would take it. He hesitated only a moment before sliding his arm through hers and they left the parlour then the house.

The party was getting properly started now, Cassian and Nesta had left, but that was no big deal, they would resurface later in the evening and it was the guest’s responsibility to eat, drink and enjoy themselves. It was being accomplished. Mor and Emerie were talking, heads close together by the edge of the crowd. Gwyn saw Elain speaking with Lucien in the company of Feyre and Nyx. That baby certainly garnered attention. Some of the priestess’ saw Gwyn with Azriel and waved them over.

They spoke for a little while, but the overall impression was that they were generally ready to leave. Lorelei and Deirdre had enjoyed perhaps a smidge too much strawberry wine and were giggly enough for the others to worry about their choices over the next few hours. The others had felt pleased and proud to be at the ceremony, but the ongoing music, drinking and laughing was not what they wanted for their first trip out from the library in an age. Azriel went to speak to Rhys, leaving Gwyn with the others with a smile and a nod that he would arrange transport for them.

Emerie found them and spoke to Gwyn “I think I’m going to stay here”, she nodded to Mor. “She has invited me to go out to Velaris to a night Club! I think I’m going to like it. Mor said she’d take me to the House of Wind to the guest suite whenever I wanted to leave.” Emerie’s cheek flushed as she said “I can’t believe she’s here talking to me,…. I really like her” the last quietly and aimed only for Gwyn

“That’s great Em, you seem comfortable today, you look; yourself” Gwyn had noticed the calm stance and the open face while Emerie talked with Mor. She was really at home here.

“I feel amazing Gwynie, not like anything I’ve ever felt before. Free and happy and maybe,…excited” She hugged Gwyn. “Do you want me to ask Mor to winnow you home?, you look tired. Oh, where’s your chain?”

Gwyn looked slightly unsettled “Can I tell you about that later? , it’s alright though” She smiled to show Emerie that she was really fine with the loss and added “Would it be silly of me to ask, could I suggest that Mor help with Deirdre and Lorelei and the others? I’d like to speak to Azriel”

Emerie noted the confidence in Gwyn’s request and the lift of her head. She was sure about this.

“OK, sure. I’ll see what I can do” Emerie squeezed Gwyn’s hand then turned to Mor who was speaking with Lucien now.

Gwyn focused on the rose bushes and wandered around the edge of the revellers. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to talk to Azriel about, but she couldn’t leave him tonight without another word. She wanted to make sure that he was good. That he knew she was a friend. She was happy with her decision to give up the necklace. Even though the thought that it had been from Azriel was thrilling and scary all at once. She had now made a plan that he would find in the future, a need to gift it back to her with emotions attached. She didn’t know why that thought had occurred to her. It was something she could not have imagined before today.

Azriel approached her as if summoned. He was looking down and around, anywhere but her face, so she lifted her hand for him to take and stared him down. “I wanted to ask you, if you wouldn’t mind, could you please fly me home?

Azriel’s shock at the request was covered quickly. What he did know was that Gwyn was asking for physical contact with him. Winnowing only required the slightest touch. A hand or an arm. Flying on the other hand would be body contact on a larger scale. This was her choice. He nodded his head, lost for useful words. He didn’t want to sound like a clumsy novice male. He merely stretched an arm out for her to step into his side.

Gwyn turned to Emerie and Mor who were organising the other Idisi and gave them a smile. Emerie grinned in return and Azriel wrapped her in an embrace that was solid and calming yet her blood pounded and her eyes blinked. She couldn’t remember feeling so safe.

His wings spread and flapped and Azriel bent his knees and sprung into the breeze of the evening. Gwyn found herself tightening her grip around his neck and bringing her face closer to his

“You’re safe” is all he said

Gwyn simply replied “I know”

The trip down with Cassian had been exhilarating and freeing, the flying back required going across Velaris, coming to life with street lights and coloured flashes from the restaurants and dance rooms opening for the night. Gwyn got the feeling that she was missing a lot so she turned her head and took in the marvel of the city, the lights and the sun setting across the ocean. “Oh my goodness, Azriel, it is so beautiful” Azriel smiled and nodded, but he too looked properly at that view re-appreciating what he always knew was there. Trying to see it as Gwyn saw it for the first time brought a wonder to his heart that he had forgotten.

Gwyn looked at his face, and he caught her eyes. It was a charged moment. Azriel composed himself first and looked out to the sea and the river. With his free hand he began to point out landmarks and favourite haunts. From the Rainbow where Feyre went to paint and to teach, to the townhouse in the residential area and of course the sparkling flashing lights of Rita’s – their most frequented nightclub. “I guess I’ll be finding Mor and Emerie and probably the others there later” he smiled to think of what he knew of Mor now and the simmering looks that she and Emerie had been sharing during the ceremony. Only happiness filled him at the thought.

Gwyn was getting comfortable and moved a little in his arms. She squealed as she felt herself slip, but Azriel simply held her tighter and put his other arm under her legs, carrying her through the air like a princess. She surrendered, just for now she told herself, to the warmth and the stillness here in his chest.

Azriel relaxed into the embrace and flew steadily ignoring the thundering of his heart and the closeness of her lithe warrior’s body. The distance was covered all too soon and he stepped onto the roof of the house, jogging a few steps toward the double doors before coming to a halt. He placed her on the ground feet first, before facing her with his arm still around her middle. Gwyn stepped away first and walked backwards toward the entrance. She smiled at him

“Thank you Azriel” She looked down as if remembering where that jewel had rested until this afternoon. “I did really love that chain” She winked, as she had to him once before. This was not a student teacher interaction, this was a suggestion, a question to his searching. He took a step toward her and she held up a hand

“See you at training” and she turned, with every fibre of her being she kept walking toward the library. Willing him to watch her, to make a plan for the future to stop her from walking away. But not today. She was tired, she was wrung out and she did not trust herself to spend any more time with this male. He had opened too many doors within her to be careful of her wellbeing. She needed more time.

Azriel was old. He had bedded women across continents and had held a candle for Mor since he could remember wanting. Gwyn had him questioning any reaction that came to mind. Instead of those he just whispered “You will” He meant more than training tomorrow. He fully intended to show her what a thoughtful, evolved Illyrian male could evoke in a woman. She would not have a straw of fear left for him by the time she came to him ready to accept the necklace as truly hers.

#acotar #Gwynriel #Nessian #acosf #mating ceremony #Elriel #flying #Angsty #No Smut yet

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bedlamsbard · 4 years

Text

Part 13 of the other side AU concept! I am going to eventually pull these apart into parts one (Devil’s in the Details) and two (Carry the Fire) and do edits/rewrites to the extent they meet my standards for going up on AO3 as chaptered, titled fics, but I don’t currently have the mental and emotional energy for that. (Have you...met January 2021?) In the meantime here are my in-progress playlists, if there’s interest: Devil’s in the Details and Carry the Fire.

About 5.8K below the break.

Zeb got up to keep watch, since he had the best ears of the group; Kanan took his place on the tree root and Ezra leaned back to keep his head tipped against Kanan’s knee, barely able to comprehend that single point of connection. Kanan’s presence radiated through the Force with startling solidity, as if after years of shadows someone had suddenly turned on a light in a dark room. Ezra had to fight back his urge to roll around in that strength like an overjoyed Loth-cat in a patch of sunlight.

“I don’t know exactly what happened when the Chimaera went down,” he said eventually. He hesitated, not wanting to get into the fact that at the time he had still been locked in his cell. He didn’t think he could get away without telling them that at all, but he didn’t want to lead off with it if he could help it. “I wasn’t up in the bridge – Thrawn and Pellaeon didn’t really want me near anything important. What I heard later was that the Vong tricked the Scylla and the Charybdis – they’re the only other ships left in the Seventh – into leaving the Chimaera, and once the cruisers were out of reach they hit the Chimaera with everything they had. Their ships aren’t like ours,” he added slowly. “They’re living things, for one – I have no idea how that works. They’re not shielded, but they’ve got some kind of – of miniature black holes that move around on their ships, swallowing up most shots before they can get through at all. Dovin basals, that’s what they call them. TIE pilots don’t know how to deal with them – ship gunners either, for that matter. I don’t know how they work; the Chimaera’s scientists were trying to figure it out.”

He glanced over at Sabine in time to see her eyebrows snap together, obviously trying to work it out for herself without even having seen one. She still had the piece of broken beskar in her hand, like she couldn’t comprehend what had happened to it.

“The Chimaera had already taken a lot of damage by the time the Vong started boarding,” Ezra went on slowly. “Zafira – that’s the death trooper captain – let me out around then, but I was never on the bridge or anything. I guess Thrawn had the idea that the Vong ships might not be able to survive in atmosphere since they’re alive and they live in space, so he started bringing the Chimaera down into the planet’s atmosphere.”

Sabine whistled softly. “Did it work?”

Ezra shrugged. “You saw the Chimaera.” He was quiet for a moment, remembering the desperate battle in the narrow corridors of the star destroyers – lights flickering as power was cut off, then restored, emergency notifications about hull breaches still blaring out absurdly over the sound of blasterfire and Vong war cries. He would have given his right hand for his lightsaber.

He swallowed past the lump in his throat and went on, “Thrawn sent Pellaeon and some of the other bridge crew to the auxiliary bridge so that they weren’t in the same place. I know they were arguing about it – I think Pellaeon wanted to evacuate and Thrawn still thought he could win.”

“Zeb and Chop and I searched the bridge,” Sabine said. “There wasn’t much of it left. We had to get into the communications room computers.”

Ezra nodded. “Yeah. I was with the death troopers – we ran into Pellaeon on his way down to the auxiliary bridge and stayed with him. The Vong took Thrawn, the rest of the bridge crew, others – there’s no accurate count on how many died and how many the Vong took captive.” He resisted the urge to say that as far as he was concerned, the Vong were welcome to keep Thrawn; with his luck they’d team up and that was the last thing he wanted or needed. “No one was in the auxiliary bridge when the bridge went; by the time we got there it was too late to pull the Chimaera up. Pellaeon ordered the evacuation then; the Vong were already pulling out. I guess they got what they wanted. By then the Scylla had come back; Charybdis was still trading punches with the Vong out in space.”

He pulled his legs up and rested his chin on his knees. He didn’t think he would ever forget the sight of the Chimaera crashing, which he had seen from one of the evacuating gunships. The shock wave when the star destroyer had struck the ground had tossed the gunships around with toys; two of them had crashed into each other and exploded. Even the Scylla, making a reckless atmospheric approach in an attempt to save as many of the Chimaera’s crewmembers as it could, had been thrown aside. Ezra never wanted to give Imperial any more credit than necessary, but the fact that Commander Kisujo had kept the Scylla from crashing was probably a minor miracle, especially given how much damage the cruiser had already sustained.

“Pellaeon went back afterwards to look for survivors,” Ezra said eventually. “There weren’t any. There were Vong hunting parties all over the place, though, seeding their blasted worldshaping plants.”

Hera stirred. “Those are the plants all over the Chimaera? We thought the ship must have been there for years until we got into the computers.”

Ezra nodded. “This planet is already pretty close to what they like in a world –” He gestured at the jungle that sat heavy and waiting all around them, “– but I guess they do it as a matter of course whenever they’re grounded for a while. Change the chemical composition of the atmosphere, the groundwater, destroy anything that looks like technology, enslave the natives – I don’t think this place has any, though.”

“So what are you doing out here?” Zeb asked over his shoulder.

“Looking for the Vong,” Ezra said. He rubbed his aching shoulder, where a Vong warrior had slammed him into a bulkhead on the Chimaera, and which had gotten further banged up when the shock wave from the Chimaera’s crash had tossed them his gunship around like confetti. Getting thrown into that tree hadn’t helped it either, nor did it help that it was the same shoulder he had been shot in six years ago. “Pellaeon thought he’d send someone who actually had a chance at making it back. And who he didn’t mind losing,” he added sourly. “TIE patrols spotted the Vong camp out this way – or the one who made it back said so, anyway. Pellaeon wants Thrawn back for some reason. And the rest of the crew, I guess. Even if they’re Imps they don’t deserve what the Vong will do to them.”

He fell silent, thinking about some of the holos he had seen of Vong-controlled planets the Chimaera had found. He had only been allowed groundside on one of those occasions, when Thrawn had decided he wanted to see what a Force-user would make of it, and he’d wanted to claw his own skin off within minutes of touching down.

“This isn’t the invasion fleet,” he said eventually. “I don’t know where they are. Thrawn thought it was some kind of advance scout fleet to figure out how hard the Vong would have to hit the Empire.”

Hera exchanged a look with Kanan over Ezra’s head. Sabine and Zeb both swore, Sabine in Mando’a, Zeb in Lasat.

“What?” Ezra said. “What did I miss? Uh, besides everything that happened in the last six years. You can just give me the highlights.”

Sabine rested the piece of beskar on her knee and ticked them off on her fingers. “Tarkin’s dead, Vader’s dead, the Emperor’s dead, Alderaan got blown up, the Empire’s in pieces but Palpatine still tried to destroy it from beyond the grave, the New Republic’s being run by idiots. Did I forget anything? Oh, the Jedi are back but all they do is argue about doctrine.”

Kanan sighed. “That’s an oversimplification.”

“Wait – what?” Ezra said.

“Not everyone on the Provisional Council is an idiot,” Hera said.

“Wait, what?” Ezra felt like he had just been hit with a very large brick. “Palpatine’s dead?” he said, focusing on that.

“Probably,” Zeb said. “Skywalker’s the only one who saw it happen.”

“Who’s – wait, like Anakin Skywalker? But he’s –” He stopped abruptly, remembering what had happened on Malachor.

There was an awkward silence shared between Kanan and Hera; Zeb and Sabine just looked at each other and shrugged. Sabine said, “If Palpatine was still around there wouldn’t be a dozen warlords – mostly former Imperials – running around trying to carve up the Empire between them.”

“Yeah, and maybe the Provisional Council would stop arguing with each other,” Zeb grumbled.

“The Jedi?” Ezra said a little wildly.

“Yeah, all three of them,” Zeb said.

“I’ll explain later,” Kanan said quickly. “It’s not quite as dramatic as it sounds.”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you about the Death Star,” Sabine said. “Mark one and mark two.”

“The what?”

“Let’s focus on our current situation, shall we?” Hera said quickly.

“Don’t even get me started on Mandalore.”

“I’ve always tried not to!”

“Hera went to another universe.” Sabine considered. “And she has a baby.”

“What?” Ezra almost fell off the tree root twisting around to look at Kanan and Hera.

Hera bit her lip. “Jacen’s not a baby, he’s six,” she said. She looked at Kanan and smiled, soft and fond. “He’s back on Ryloth with my father.”

“I need a drink,” Ezra muttered, then, louder, “Congratulations. Wait, you, went to another universe?”

“Kanan too,” Sabine said. “Oh, Ahsoka’s back too, but that was a while ago.”

Ezra rubbed at his forehead. “Okay, can we catch me up later?”

“The relevant part is that neither the Imperial Remnant nor the New Republic is in any position to repel a full-scale invasion,” Hera said. She sighed. “The only reason the New Republic let us come out here – officially, I should say – is because there have been rumors about Thrawn for years. If he’s in contact with anyone in the Remnant –”

Ezra shrugged. “Believe me when I say that I’m the last person Thrawn ever talked to. About anything.”

“How much of the Seventh is left?” Kanan asked.

“The Scylla and the Charybdis are the only ships left, and they both got pretty beat up in that last fight with the Vong,” Ezra said, thinking back. Pellaeon didn’t tell him much more than Thrawn did, but he had seen the makeshift command post in the Scylla before he’d left. “Everyone’s taken pretty heavy losses since Lothal –” He looked up suddenly, his heart in his throat. “Lothal –”

“Fine,” Sabine reassured him quickly. “Ryder’s governor again, everyone’s fine, Loth-cats as far as the eye can see.”

Ezra’s shoulders slumped in relief. Eventually, he said, “At least ten thousand back at Chimaera Camp and on Scylla and Charybdis, but I don’t think they’ve got more than fifteen thousand left altogether. I guess it depends how many the Vong took off the Chimaera.”

Kanan drew in his breath sharply. Ezra couldn’t blame him; the Chimaera’s full muster was for forty thousand, but it hadn’t held that many people since well before the purrgil had reduced it substantially. Most star destroyers, Pellaeon had remarked once, seldom held a full muster unless they were expecting to go into battle; in the normal course of things a star destroyer simply didn’t actually need nearly ten thousand stormtroopers who would do nothing but take up resources and start fights.

“That many troops plus the cruisers is enough to give any of the warlords a leg up on the others,” Sabine said practically. “Even without a star destroyer – or Thrawn, for that matter, I can’t see him letting Isard or Zsinj hold his leash.” When Ezra frowned at her, she clarified, “Those are two of the warlords running around making trouble. Isard used to run the ISB, Zsinj is just annoying.”

“He’s gotten a lot of people killed,” Zeb said harshly. “That’s more than ‘just annoying.’”

Sabine made a gesture of apology. When Ezra looked uncertainly between them, Zeb explained, “Before I volunteered for this, I was with New Republic Special Forces – the Pathfinders, not the droppers. The droppers are all crazy.”

Ezra filed that away to ask about later.

Kanan and Hera shared one of those silent moments of communication that Ezra had been so familiar with half a decade earlier, then Hera said, “We’ve stayed here too long already. Ezra, were you on your way to or back from the Yuuzhan Vong encampment?”

“To. I know about where it is. And I can’t sense the Vong –” He glanced at Kanan and saw the older man’s nod, acknowledging that it wasn’t any fault in Ezra’s command of the Force, “– but I can sense the captives they’ve got. And what they’re doing to this planet.”

Kanan nodded again, his expression grim.

“Will you take us there?” Hera asked. “We’d better see this, and then we can decide what we’re going to do. Regardless, the New Republic has to know.”

Ezra nodded, a little puzzled at the odd tone in her voice, then realized abruptly what might be going through her head right now. “I’m not one of them,” he said. “I didn’t switch sides. It wasn’t all awful, but I spent most of the past six years in a cell except when Thrawn decided to haul me out in case having a Force-user around helped. No one on the Chimaera ever forgot whose fault it was they were out there,” he added, gritting his teeth against the sudden quaver in his voice. He touched a finger to the white streak in his hair; it was probably invisible in this poor light, but it was part of the reason he kept most of his hair cropped short these days. “I got this the last time some of them decided I should pay for that and shot me in the head. That was the fourth time someone tried. Thrawn executed a hundred and thirty-seven people for it, including all the death trooper officers.”

He heard Zeb’s growl, low and furious, and the leather of Sabine’s gloves creak as she closed a fist.

“I’m not an Imperial,” Ezra said, fisting his own hands against his knees. He had nightmares about that day sometimes, about getting dragged out of his cell and down to the starboard hangar bay; the death trooper commander, who had been in charge of the attempted lynching, had wanted as many crewmen as possible to see it. Ezra had heard later that there had been a significant number of the conspirators who had wanted to execute Thrawn as well, blaming him for bringing Ezra onboard, getting them lost in the Unknown Regions, and attracting the attention of the Yuuzhan Vong. As it was, Thrawn, Pellaeon, and most of the other senior officers who weren’t also in on the conspiracy had been locked in one of the conference rooms before they had managed to get out. He had found out later that Thrawn had actually wanted to execute more of the conspirators, but had decided not to under the circumstances. As a result Ezra had spent most of his time in the medbay worried that one of those who had escaped the executions would come after him to finish the job.

He looked at Kanan, knowing that he would be able to sense it even if he couldn’t see it, and added, “I’m still a Jedi.”

“I know,” Kanan said, reaching down to squeeze Ezra’s shoulder.

Ezra felt something tight inside him unknot. He reached up to grasp Kanan’s fingers, feeling sick with relief.

“I believe you,” Hera said. She looked over his head to Kanan, who nodded in response. “I believe you,” she repeated. “We’ll have a job of it convincing New Republic Intelligence, but let’s not borrow trouble before we have to.”

Before they left, Ezra found his sniper rifle and the sheared-off barrel. He handed the barrel to Sabine so that she could inspect the severed edge, comparing it to the dead amphistaff, and broke down the rifle until it was in its heavy blaster pistol configuration. He packed the rifle components away rather than leave them there; the machinists back at Chimaera Camp would either be able to repair them or use them for another purpose. The pistol went on his belt in the holster he had brought in case he needed to use it in that configuration.

Sabine returned the barrel to him and regarded the amphistaff’s corpse thoughtfully. Ezra had already tried and failed to get his vibroknife out of its neck, to his disgust.

“Can I take this with us or can they track it?”

“No idea,” Ezra said. “It’s never come up before.”

“Don’t take the risk,” Hera said.

Sabine sighed regretfully but admitted, “I’m guessing this isn’t the last time we’re going to run into these things.”

“The Vong are worse than grass ticks,” Ezra said, looking around until he found where he had dropped his night vision goggles. When Zeb reached for them, Ezra shook his head and explained about the amphistaff poison, which had already eaten through the lenses and left a brown patch on the ground where the goggles had lain. Ezra wouldn’t touch them again; he had seen too many people die from a drop of it on bare skin. It ate through stormtrooper armor only a little more slowly than it did cloth. At least five people from the Chimaera had had limbs amputated where they must have touched somewhere it had been, even if the venom itself was no longer visible.

“I’m really starting to dislike these things,” Zeb growled.

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” Ezra said. He looked around until he saw the thud bug that the Vong warrior had thrown at him early in the fight, and found it lodged into the thick bark of one of the nearby trees, which must have prevented it from returning to the warrior the way most thud bugs did. The fact that it hadn’t taken a chunk out of the tree impressed him, since he had seen them rip holes in durasteel plating a few times. That must have been very hard wood.

He pointed the thud bug out to Zeb and Sabine; Kanan and Hera were talking quietly to each other a little ways away. “We’ve been calling them thud bugs – they’re some kind of beetle; they can change their gravity somehow to hit incredibly hard. The Vong throw them – razor bugs too. That name’s probably self-explanatory.”

Sabine fingered a scratch on what remained of her armor. She looked oddly unbalanced without the missing portion of her breast plate, which she had stowed in one of her hip-pouches. “Ran into a couple of those. Lightsaber goes through them,” she noted, glancing at Kanan.

“Does it go through the armor?” Ezra asked curiously, hoping the answer was yes. He would feel better to know that something did.

She and Zeb both shook their heads. “Kanan’s real good at finding soft and tender places, though.”

Kanan turned his head at the sound of his name. Ezra felt the flicker of his attention at the edge of his mind; he hadn’t been listening in on their conversation. He was exquisitely aware of Kanan’s presence now that he knew the other man was there; if he had been paying more attention he might have realized when the Ghost arrived in-system. As it was, he had had his mind focused on the area immediately around him, trying to make certain that the animals and plants of the planet would tell him the Yuuzhan Vong crept up on him. He hadn’t flung his mind wide into the Force. No one on the Chimaera was Force-sensitive; the Empire screened even the weakest Force-sensitives out of the service.

He might have been more concerned about the way his awareness of Kanan’s presence was blotting out his awareness of the rest of the Force, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Kanan was here. All he wanted to do was creep over to Kanan’s side and bask in the sheer strength of his presence in the Force, like a Loth-cat in a patch of sunlight.

They left soon afterwards. Ezra took the lead with Zeb, wishing for the night vision goggles but knowing he didn’t need them. Even before Malachor he had trained blindfolded with Kanan – which he still remembered vigorously protesting at the time – and afterwards he had worked twice as hard at it, even though he had never told Kanan as much. He didn’t need his eyes when he had the Force, and with all his attention on the Force, the planet itself would tell him if the Vong were approaching, let alone Zeb’s sensitive ears and nose. Zeb had confided to Ezra that this planet reminded him of Lasan before its fall – Lira San, he had said, was nice enough, but somewhere between too similar and not similar enough to be comfortable for long. If Lira San was anything like, Ezra didn’t want to visit; he had already had enough of jungle planets and this was the only one he had been to.

He pushed his awareness of Kanan’s nearness to the back of his mind with a force of effort. Six months ago he had woken up from a sound sleep, shocked and shaking and knowing that some essential truth of the universe had just changed. Since it had happened he had touched that knowledge a hundred times a day, trying to work it out without having any way to do so. He had spent long hours in meditation, reaching out into the Force and falling just short every time. He had thought he might go mad with frustration. Thrawn, who never missed anything, had certainly noticed, even if Ezra had refused to say what had caused his sudden discontent. If Ezra had thought that there was any way he could get back to known space on his own, he might have made a break for it. He had considered it – Thrawn had certainly made the point enough that as a Force-user Ezra should have been able to – but by the time he had nerved himself up for it the Vong had begun hunting them in deadly earnest.

Being back here with them felt odd.

Ezra had certainly dreamed about it enough times, and if he hadn’t been so aware of his bad shoulder he might have thought that he was back on the Chimaera, sound asleep. He knew it was a danger, too; that his awareness of them ran the risk of distracting him at a crucial moment. As much as he pushed his knowledge of their presence away, trying to keep his mind only on the simple facts rather than the emotions involved, he knew he was putting them all at risk. He had to trust that between the five of them, they would be able to tell if Vong warriors searching for their missing patrol approached.

It took the better part of three hours before they reached the edge of the jungle. Halfway through, Ezra and Kanan both sensed the passage of another Vong patrol – sensed the wildlife and plant life reacting to it, rather – but the warriors were far away and showed no sign of approaching them. Dawn was filtering through the forest canopy in a gray-green haze as they ghosted up to the edge of the tree line. Like the path Ezra had taken earlier, the jungle ended barely a meter short of the cliff-face, forming a kind of bowl around the valley below. Ezra eased forward on his belly, pulling the riflescope out of his pack. He could sense the passage of another Vong patrol on the rim of the cliff, but it wasn’t near enough to be concerned with unless they were here for a while. He didn’t intend to stick around longer than he could help it.

The valley below boasted a kidney-shaped lake with large patches of some kind of plant life growing on the surface – Ezra reached out curiously with his mind and winced when he realized that they were Vong rather than native. The jungle around it had been cut back to make space for what he thought were either structures or grounded ships, all of them looking out of place here – not quite the right color or texture, with shapes that were subtly off enough to make him wince. He counted several dozen that looked like enormously oversized snail shells, a kind of orange-y green with a faint oily sheen to them. Something else, as large as a cruiser, he thought might be a grounded ship; its material was something like coral, or at least that was what it looked like through his riflescope.

Figures moved through the structures and ships – a few he recognized as Vong warriors, each of them unique in their vonduun crab armor; others were Vong from the different castes. He could sense humans down there, the prisoners taken off the Chimaera, but couldn’t spot them.

Sabine and Hera eased up on either side of him, Hera with a pair of macrobinoculars and Sabine with her rangefinder lowered. Ezra didn’t have to turn his head to know that Zeb and Kanan were hanging back, keeping watch against a Vong patrol.

Keeping his voice barely more than a whisper, Ezra pointed out the grounded cruiser-analogue, then the coralskipper starfighters that passed by overhead before landing alongside the starship. He hadn’t seen them in person before, just in holograms.

“Fast?” Hera asked him very quietly.

“About the same as a TIE, I think,” he murmured back. “They’ve got dovin basals – miniature black holes – like the cruisers, too, so it doesn’t really matter.”

“Hmm.”

He had to grin at the hint of considering challenge in that syllable. If anyone could not only outfly a coralskipper solo but also shoot it down – the TIEs and handful of remaining TIE Defenders had to go after them in swarms – then it was Hera.

After a brief moment of hesitation, Ezra reached out with the Force, sorting through the thousands of human minds as he searched for the alien one. He couldn’t sense the Vong and their living tools at all.

“Thrawn’s there,” he said after a moment, not bothering to conceal his disappointment the way he had done when Pellaeon had asked him to find out if the grand admiral was still alive. He was pretty sure Pellaeon had been able to tell his feelings anyway, but it was the principle of the thing; Pellaeon was fully capable of having him shot as more trouble than he was worth.

Sabine snorted softly. “Might have saved us some trouble if he was dead,” she grumbled.

“Tell me about it,” Ezra muttered back. He peered through the riflescope again, letting the Force direct him. The shell-structures seemed to be where the prisoners were being kept, Thrawn among them. He couldn’t tell exactly which one Thrawn was in, but he supposed that when the Imperials went after him they would probably want to break all their missing troops out as well, since it would be about as much trouble. Unless Pellaeon tried to make him do it on his own, of course, Ezra thought, and started to grimace at the thought before he realized abruptly that that was no longer an option Pellaeon had.

He was reaching back reflexively for Kanan before he even realized he was doing so, his mind brushing against Kanan’s in the Force for a brief instant of reassurance. He felt Kanan’s response as if his master had gripped him briefly on the shoulder, calm and collected, though he knew Kanan hadn’t moved from his sentry position. Ezra turned his face down, his eyes burning with unshed tears.

Sabine elbowed him gently. “Hey,” she whispered. “It’s all right. We’ve got you.”

Six years ago Ezra might have said something like you took your time about it, but he just nodded. If they could have come sooner they would have, and if they had come sooner, then Kanan – Kanan might not be back. Six years in the Unknown Regions with Thrawn and his merry band of sociopaths was a sacrifice he was happy to make for Kanan’s return.

They watched the Vong camp for another two hours, watching the mist burn off the lake as the sun rose. Some of the lower caste Vong went into the shell-structures, probably to feed the Imperial prisoners; none of the Imperials came out. Ezra did a rapid estimate with the Force and came up with somewhere between three and four thousand prisoners, which he supposed would make Pellaeon happy; the worst case scenario had been that all the crewmembers unaccounted for from the Chimaera were dead. Hera didn’t look thrilled when he conveyed this information to her.

“Well, we’re not putting them all on the Ghost, that’s for sure,” Zeb grumbled; he was close enough to overhear.

All Hera said was, “I suppose we’ll have to talk to Captain Pellaeon.”

Not long after this exchange, Kanan said softly, “There’s a patrol about two klicks west of us. We’d better clear off, if you’ve got all you need.”

“Not all we need, but all we’re going to get, I think,” Hera murmured. The three of them retreated from the cliff face into the cover of the jungle.

Ezra got to his feet, wincing at muscles that had gone sore after two hours lying on the ground. Kanan was still sitting cross-legged on the forest floor, facing away from them with his eyes closed and his expression calm. Ezra was barely aware of stepping towards him until he found himself reaching down to touch Kanan’s shoulder, wanting to reassure himself of Kanan’s presence. Kanan turned his face up towards him, opening his eyes, and smiled. Ezra drew his hand back, embarrassed, then grabbed Kanan’s forearm to help pull him to his feet, the hard edges on Kanan’s bracer digging into his fingers.

Despite their precarious position, Ezra still rather wanted to drape himself on Kanan’s neck and weep.

Hera came up behind him and put a hand briefly on his shoulder. “Let’s get out of here before Chopper decides to take the Ghost and come find us,” she said.

Ezra nodded, then nearly had a heart attack as Zeb ghosted out of the jungle to join them; his purple fur and green bodysuit and armor blended in perfectly with the foliage. If this was true of all the Lasat Ezra was definitely never going to Lira San.

They left silently, moving through the undergrowth with surprising delicacy for the size of their group. Ezra, reaching out with the Force, found the passage of the same Vong patrol that Kanan had sensed. If the disappearance of the patrol they had killed had been noted, it wasn’t evident from the way the Vong had acted. Ezra would have thought that they would have had better security, but apparently not. Either that, or the Force had led them to avoid it on their approach.

The sun continued to rise steadily as they made their way single-file through the jungle. Zeb took point this time, with Sabine just behind him. While Zeb blended into the forest around them, the sunlight through the tree canopy dappled Sabine’s armor as she moved through it; Ezra couldn’t decide what colors it was and suspected he wouldn’t know for sure until they were back at the Ghost. Kanan and Hera brought up the rear, nearly soundless though Ezra was excruciatingly aware of Kanan’s presence.

After a sleepless night and a fight with the Vong, not to mention the intense emotion of the past few hours, he was so tired that he was nearly delirious with it. Everything had taken on a slightly bright edge; he could have fought if he had to, but he was just as glad for the moment that neither the Vong nor the native wildlife crossed paths with them. After almost a full day out here, he was also extremely aware of the fact that he had spent most of the past six years locked in a cell, with only occasional breaks to go nearly get killed, either by the Imperials or by whoever they happened to be fighting at the moment. He was almost tired enough that the cell was starting to sound appealing.

The day wore on, the heat and humidity growing steadily. Ezra kept his weary eyes on Sabine’s gaudily painted jetpack in front of him; it wasn’t the same color that it had been six years earlier – he would have been shocked if it had been – but the basic winged design was more or less the same, though he could spot differences. He was so focused on that to stay on his feet that he didn’t realize they had reached their destination until the flicker of movement behind transparisteel caught his eye.

Ezra stiffened, his hand going to his blaster. It took him a few moments for his gaze to focus; he was expecting nothing more than the endless expanse of forest, not the Ghost parked in a clearing just barely large enough for the ship. He stared blankly at the ship, unable to believe that it was actually here after so many years.

Kanan closed a hand on his shoulder as the ramp unfolded. Chopper, apparently unchanged from the last time Ezra had seen him, appeared at the top of the ramp, waving one of his manipulators and shouting in annoyance about how they had gone for hours, they could have died, how dare they leave him all alone. He stopped midway through his tirade, apparently having spotted Ezra.

Kanan pushed Ezra forward gently. Hera was walking past him, her own shoulders slumping with weariness; Sabine paused to turn on one foot, her gaze traveling over the clearing. Zeb was already on his way up the ramp with a comment to Chopper.

Ezra took one step forward, then another one. Chopper came down the ramp towards him as he reached it, chirping a cautious question.

“Yeah,” Ezra said. “Yeah, it’s me.”

He started to kneel down so that they were on the same level, then overbalanced and sat down hard instead. Chopper rolled up to him, close enough to touch but not doing so. Ezra reached out, hesitating for an instant before he laid his hands on Chopper’s chassis. The metal was warm to touch, the pain smooth beneath his fingers except where it was starting to chip away. He could feel the hum of the droid’s inner workings against his palms.

“Yeah, Chop,” he said again, and started to cry, his head bent forward against Chopper’s dome so that none of the others could see. “It’s me. It’s me.”

#other side au tag #cut scenes and concept writing #as always comments are appreciated #there's less in the details playlist because I'm working on the fire part of the story at present

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babyybitchhhwrites · 4 years

Text

Mugen x Reader 18+

Title: In the City

Rating: Explicit/R-18+

Words: 8522

Warnings: cunnilingus, spit swapping, biting, creampie

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25298812

♥♥♥♥

The rain came suddenly and with the sort of vengeful, punishing force that put an immediate stop to the hustle and bustle of nightlife in the city. It seemed even the floating world of Edo, for as lively and vibrant as it was, could not claim immunity to nature’s unpredictable wrath.

You’d been lucky enough to secure a relatively dry spot for yourself under the safety of an izakaya’s roof awning. The notion of going inside to warm up with a bottle of sake flitted through your mind, very briefly, but then you remembered that your travel funds had already been greatly depleted on the journey here. You couldn’t afford the extra expense. At least not until you found a job, anyway.

You didn’t anticipate that being much of a problem in the capital though, and your heart gave a little thump when you peered out into the gloomy night. It was odd to see the once crowded streets now completely deserted. Empty, save the quickly flooding potholes in the road. The hazy outline of buildings loomed up out of the shadows all around you, faintly glowing lamps flickering here or there in the distance. You thought it strangely peaceful despite the rain violently hammering down on the earth.

It was far from quiet though, at least not compared to the small farming village you’d come from. Even the slightest noise sounded like a thunderous clap when everything else was immersed in silence out in the country but here it seemed there was a continuous din coming from every which direction. You could just make out the reverberating notes of a plucked shamisen further down the road. There was a baby crying in one of the adjacent houses, its baleful wails almost poignantly ironic when it bled into the racket coming from the red light district just one street over. A dog was barking somewhere nearby. Behind you, raucous laughter drifted out of the izakaya and brushed your shoulder like a passing stranger stumbling home, only further emphasizing your isolation in a city of thousands.

A shudder raced down your spine and you shivered, feeling strangely alone. You’d expected some amount of homesickness, yes, but it seemed too soon for that just yet.

There was no helping it when you were standing in the middle of an unfamiliar city full of nameless faces though. Knowing each of them had their own individual lives to lead that had nothing to do with you, a mere outsider, unavoidably made you ache for what you’d left behind. It was like being lost out at sea with no sign of land in sight. Disconcerting, to say the very least. But try as you might, you couldn’t seem to shake the impression of drowning within the expansive Edo landscape and you wordlessly shuffled aside when the door opened up behind you with a soft clack.

“Man, it’s really coming down.”

You snuck a quick glance at the man who’d stepped out under the awning with you. He turned his head to look at you too. The quiet beat of consideration that passed between two strangers only seemed highlighted by the pounding rain and then you looked away.

“Guess you don’t have an umbrella then.” He sighed as he moved to lean against the opposite wall.

“I wouldn’t be standing here if I did.” You said, casually offhand. The disinterested tone of your voice had been purposely constructed so as to discourage further engagement on his part but he either didn’t pick up on it or he didn’t care.

“Well, that makes two of us. Damn. My luck couldn’t get any worse.”

You tried to ignore him, to no avail. He just kept talking, having a one sided conversation with himself no matter how pointedly you stared out at the rain.

“I don’t even have enough to buy another bottle of sake so there’s no point going back inside. I’m not in the mood to get drenched though. Same probably goes for you too, huh, sweetheart?”

Lifting your brows, you turned to regard him with nothing short of scandalized affront. Was this how all men in Edo talked to women? You weren’t convinced of that, particularly when you took a second look at him. His skin gave off the faint impression of copper, ruddy with a cool undertone that seemed to suggest he hailed from the south. There was a slight accent too. Noticeable but hard to place. The realization that he was also an outsider to the decadent world of the capital should have been of some comfort to you, inspiring a sense of solidarity if not camaraderie. Something about him put you on the defensive though and you couldn’t decide if it was the sword strapped to his back or the scruffy, unkempt appearance he was unapologetically touting. Shady. Exactly as you’d been told the people in the city would be.

You narrowed your eyes at him in warning.

“Scary.” He murmured, clearly more amused than intimidated. “You got a name?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“I’m Mugen.”

“I didn’t ask.”

Snorting, he dropped his gaze lower and his lopsided grin turned wry. “You a runaway or something? Looks like you got your whole life stuffed in there.”

You turned your attention to the furoshiki sitting at your feet. He wasn’t necessarily wrong in his estimation - you really had shoved as much as you could fit inside and it looked close to bursting - but you didn’t appreciate the insinuation that you were a child simply disobeying their parents. You hadn’t run away so much as you’d snuck out in the middle of the night to avoid a confrontation you knew you’d never win. The farmers in the country were distrustful of the city on principle alone, often citing the gambling houses and pleasure quarters as proof of Edo’s inherent corruption from within. You weren’t about to waste your time trying to explain that to him and risk being labeled a bumpkin though, so you merely offered a delicate sniff in response.

“Snooty. I like that.”

Your mouth twisted in a scowl. “I am not snooty. You’re just a boorish brute and I’ve got nothing to say to you. That’s all.”

The stranger who was no longer a stranger in your mind but, rather, a man called Mugen gave an overeffected shrug. “No skin off my nose. How old are you?”

“What part of ‘I’ve got nothing to say to you’ don’t you understand?” You could feel your face starting to grow hot.

Laughing in a strikingly boyish manner, he pushed off the wall and stepped closer. The hair on the nape of your neck promptly stood on end and an unseasonable chill raced through your body as he closed the distance on loose, confident strides that spoke volumes about the sort of life he’d led. A predator. That was all you could think to call him and you were apparently the weak, isolated prey animal he’d set his sights on. Something not unlike panic started to claw at your throat but you already knew running would be a futile effort. You were effectively cornered. Trapped.

Your only option was to stand there, frozen to the spot with your heart pounding a frantic beat against your rib cage. The thought that this is how a hunted rabbit must feel when a half starved fox was closing in for the kill flashed through your mind and then camped there. You were just as helpless as the hare though and, craning your neck back, you met Mugen’s infuriatingly attractive half-mast gaze head on.

He seemed to like that and hummed in quiet approval. “You’re awfully talkative for someone who claims they’ve got nothing to say. I think we just haven’t found the right topic yet, sweetheart.”

“How arrogant.” It was a real struggle to keep your tone neutral now. “Why do you think I owe you any of my time?”

Ignoring the question, Mugen reached out and you instinctively flinched. He only grasped your sleeve between lax fingers and listlessly tugged on it though, not at all unlike a child. “This is your nicest kimono, isn’t it?” He asked instead. “It’s well made but old. Even I can see that and you think I give a damn about clothes?”

He inelegantly snorted and you took that as your cue to jerk out of his hold. “What is your point?”

Another flippant shrug of his thin shoulders. “Just making an observation. Is that a crime?” You pursed your lips together and he pressed on, satisfied with that. “I bet if I took a look in your bag, the rest of your shit is even more beat up than what you’ve got on now. Not a fancy silk kimono in the bunch.”

“And?” You said archly. “Is that really so condemning?”

Comfortably slouching, Mugen slipped his hands into the pockets of his pants with a testy sigh. “And it’s obvious you’re not from around here. Not the city, at least. You’re a country girl, aren’t you?”

The breath caught in your throat. You suddenly couldn’t speak; all of your witty, sharp tongued remarks failing you when you needed them most, but your silence seemed to be answer enough for him. He smirked.

“Thought so.” Piercing gaze roving down your ramrod stiff body, Mugen regarded the furoshiki at your feet again. “Considering how full you’ve got that bag, it’s not hard to figure out your angle. A sweet little girl from the country who ran away to Edo for something more than a life of farming. I’m right, aren’t I?”

A tense beat of quiet passed over the spot under the Izakaya awning.

“I’m not a little girl.” You stammered. It was the only thing you could think to say.

“Coulda’ fooled me.”

Hunching his shoulders, Mugen turned on his heel and unhesitatingly stepped out into the late summer downpour. You watched him go, reeling and knocked off course. Buoying in the tumultuous sea of doubts suddenly assaulting your mindscape in a torrential flood that made the rain storm seem a mere drop in the bucket by comparison. He’d come to you like a tsunami, abrupt and without mercy, ravaging your resolve in one fell swoop before receding just as quickly.

He was a force to be reckoned with, of that you were sure, and he hadn’t even acted in a way that was outwardly aggressive. Mugen simply was what he was. A beast. Perhaps even the most dangerous of them all, because his retreating back sparked a feeling deep inside your gut that could only be described as longing. He was a threat to your person, your entire being. But there was no denying his magnetic pull and you didn’t stop long enough to consider the possible consequences of further engaging him. He hadn't really left you with any other choice.

You moved to step after him only to trip, stumbling over your bag.

Swooping down, you hauled the considerable weight of your past life up over your shoulders and stepped out into the rain. It was cold on your flushed skin but a welcome reprieve. Your hair was plastered to your skull in a matter of moments, though you hardly even noticed it as you scampered after him like a naive, hopeful stray.

If asked, you wouldn’t have been able to explain why you did it. You weren’t even entirely sure yourself. Maybe Mugen was simply the closest thing to an acquaintance you could lay claim to here in Edo or, perhaps more likely, he represented a much needed harbor of safety in this floating realm of hedonistic duress. You weren’t sure where to go from here or what to do with your new found freedom. But if he could ground you, even if only for one night, you felt certain you’d be able to face the unfamiliar city in the light of day. That’s what you tried to tell yourself, at least.

But he didn’t ask.

“Put your stuff wherever.”

Clutching the furoshiki in a death grip, you glanced around at Mugen’s room. It was small, though not exactly cramped. Humble would likely be a good word for it.

The simple, unadorned inn was surprisingly quaint. It almost reminded you of back home but there was no mistaking the sheer difference in its construction. This was not the simple, economical structure of a farming village but rather the distinct product of an extravagant city that was forever evolving in more and more decadent ways. It only looked modest and unassuming because it had been designed that way. You could see the signs all around you, from the meticulously polished wood to the immaculate state of the tatami mats that were without a fray in sight despite the no doubt heavy foot traffic they were burdened with. It left you feeling decidedly out of place and you awkwardly stood standing by the doorway.

“I don’t want to intrude …”

Mugen scoffed and shot you a flat look over his shoulder. “Little late for that wouldn’t you say?”

Your cheeks warmed but if he noticed, he paid it no mind.

Moving further into the room, Mugen pulled the sword strap over his head and somewhat carelessly dropped the weapon onto the floor. His drenched happi came off next, tossed aside without a second thought. The white shirt underneath quickly followed and you squeaked in surprise - not because you were fool enough to have expected anything less staying with a man you’d only just met but because he was skin and bones. Gaunt didn’t even come close to describing it.

You could make out almost every single knob and divot in his spine. The hard lines of his shoulder blades jutted out, stretching the thin layer of skin across his back like brittle rice paper until it seemed as if the bone might rip through it if he wasn’t careful. The grooves of his rib cage were clear as day even from behind and you gulped, swallowing your nerves so forcefully that it left you momentarily lightheaded. You’d never seen someone so skinny before. The apparent fragility of his body was misleading but, even though you would have otherwise assumed him weak and frail, you still recognized that he was actually quite strong. Maybe even stronger than the boys back home who spent their days plowing fields and chopping wood who were twice his size.

The impression of sharing a space with some mangy, feral dog only grew stronger while you watched him step up to the window facing out over the street and slide it open. You were able to see every muscle in his arm as it flexed with the motion, slight as it was but so densely packed that it appeared to violently bulge under ruddy skin. You quickly realized your initial assumption had been off by some margin. Mugen was all skin and bones and hard muscle, and you were starting to suspect that he was one of the most dangerous men in Edo.

You abruptly felt some concern about following him here, back to his room at the inn, but then he turned to regard you with an expectant lift of his brows and you relaxed. For the time being, at least, you were safe with him. He was just a mutt looking for some company on a rainy night and he had no reason to harm you. It was fitting, given that you, too, had no place to call your own or anyone to share it with. Birds of a feather and all that.

“Is here fine?” You asked, moving to deposit your overflowing bag in the corner.

“I don’t give a damn.”

Mugen lifted his arms over his head in an exaggerated stretch that left his skin pulled so taut it was a miracle it didn’t split open right before your very eyes. The gaps between his ribs made your stomach clench and you quickly looked away, untying the furoshiki with trembling fingers. Everything inside was soaked. Not that it really mattered. His earlier estimation had been absolutely correct and all the clothes you’d brought with you were as good as trash. A glaring sign of your roots up in the mountains, far away from civilization and talented seamstresses.

Sighing dejectedly, you tied the cloth back up so you wouldn’t have to look at its contents anymore.

“Something wrong?”

“Not at all.” Straightening, you turned and walked over to stand next to him in front of the window. It was still pouring outside and the mismatched pitter patter of raindrops on the clay shingle roof provided the room a strangely calming ambiance. It was peaceful here despite the ever present noise of city life.

Curiously, Mugen peered over at you for a prolonged moment. “Aren’t you cold?” He said at last.

Now it was your turn to shrug. “I don’t have anything dry to change into.”

He clicked his tongue, closing the distance between the two of you in a single step.

You froze, heart pounding in your ears when his narrow frame brushed up against yours without a hint of pretense or deception. Mugen’s demeanor was honest to a fault as his hands found your hips and settled there, guiding you forward until you were pressed up against him and you could feel the faint warmth of his body bleeding through your wet kimono and into you. A shudder rippled down your back, as anticipatory as it was anxious. You weren’t sure what to do - did he expect submissive compliance or wanton hunger? - and you held your breath when he leaned close to put his mouth next to your ear.

“Neither do I but I know how we can warm each other up.”

You lifted your hands to halfheartedly grasp at his bony wrists. “Isn’t this happening a little fast?”

“Sorry. I don’t like to waste time if I can help it.”

Tilting your head, you warily glanced up at him and whatever he saw in your face made him laugh.

“Don’t look at me like that. We don’t have to if you don’t wanna’. Despite what you think, I’m not actually a brute.” Narrow eyes twinkling with mischief, Mugen used his hold on your hips to steer you around so that your back was facing the open window. “But I can promise you won’t regret it. I’m leagues above those country boys you used to fool around with.”

“How modest.”

That was all you managed to get out when he abruptly tightened his hold and hefted you up into the air. You yelped, surprised, and he plopped you back down almost immediately. Realizing he’d set you on the window sill, you fixed him with a disgruntled scowl as you huffily attempted to right yourself. The ease with which he’d plucked you off the ground had affected you more than you were willing to let on though, your insides vibrating at the casual display of strength while you struggled to find your orientation again.

“A warning would have -”

Mugen silenced you with his mouth.

You jolted, fuzzy surprise washing over you at the sensation of coarse lips working against yours. He wasn’t gentle or slow. The exact opposite of every other kiss you’d ever been on the receiving end of. His ministrations were conversely demanding and rough, bordering on sloppy as he forcibly pried your mouth open so he could taste you.

Gut clenching, you acquiesced with a muted groan. Mugen swallowed the sound and tilted his head so your lips were slotted more firmly together and he could delve the wet, sticky heat of his tongue past your teeth. It brushed yours in a slow, languid lick towards the back of your throat, making you swallow on reflex. He smirked into the kiss and you shuddered. This was as foreign to you as the city. Brash and formidable where you’d only ever experienced tentative, coaxing pecks before. It had you burning up in a matter of moments, your chilled nipples pebbling against the innermost layer of your kimono until you had no choice but to squirm at the heady sensation.

It was like being lit on fire, you were sure of it, and you gratefully tipped your face towards the ceiling when he leaned back to regard your dazed expression. Smug and confident. Pleased.

“It’s been a long time since I was last with a girl as honest as you.” He husked, the sly note in his voice not escaping your notice.

“I am not honest.” You fixed him with a frazzled look of warning. Mugen didn’t seem to buy it though, continuing to hover over you with his hands bracketing your thighs against the window sill, and you irritably huffed. “What would make you say that, anyway?”

“The better question is what wouldn’t.” Reaching up, he grazed the rough pad of his thumb over your bottom lip which parted for him as if on command. “You’re not a virgin, are you, sweetheart?”

You hesitated, thoroughly caught off guard by that question. “No.” You said at last. It wasn’t a lie. You’d just never been with someone like him before.

The corner of his mouth twitched higher. “Good. I won’t have to hold back then.”

Mugen dipped his thumb into your mouth before you could draw a breath of protest, effectively silencing you again. Noising a weak complaint around the intrusion, you shot him a plaintive look but he remained as undeterred as ever. The pad of his finger pressed down on your tongue, making it writhe under the pressure in a tantalizing dance that had him drawing a slow breath of excitement. His other hand lifted and cupped your breast through the soaked cotton, giving it an experimental squeeze. Static zapped through you at the indelicate friction and you sat up a little straighter, pushing your chest further into his palm. He was still focused entirely on your mouth though, leaving you with no choice but to seal your lips around the base of the digit and obediently suckle.

He offered you a quiet sound of approval. It wasn’t hard to figure out what he wanted, but you found it difficult to shake the feeling that your childish trysts with the village boys down by the creek had not properly prepared you for what Mugen had to offer. He was an entirely different breed. His own animal, as dangerous as he was gangly. The little voice in the back of your mind tried to insist that you weren’t ready for this - whatever this was - but your body seemed to have a mind of its own. When he slipped his hand inside the folds of your kimono, you readily arched into the touch. When his fingers found your stiff nipple you writhed and when he unceremoniously tweaked it, you gasped. You’d never felt so desperate from such simple, tactless attention before but you couldn’t deny what it was doing to you even if you’d tried.

Had it been anyone else pinching your nipple hard enough to draw a groaning whine from the back of your throat, you would have smacked them across the face. He was far too rough with you, insensitive and unnecessarily crude in the way he handled your body. You were ashamed to realize just how much you actually liked it though and when your pussy fluttered eagerly at the rough treatment, you subconsciously squirmed again.

Mugen released a soft moan at the sight of you falling apart right before him, pushing down with his thumb and manually prying your jaw open until he could look straight down your throat. “Shit …” He paused to lick his lips, and you tracked the motion with your eyes. “You ever had a cock in your mouth, sweetheart?”

You jolted, molten heat flooding your guts when the mental image of what that must be like overwhelmed your thoughts. The notion had never crossed your mind before. The boys back home hadn’t been presumptuous enough to ask. You would have called such an act dirty if they had, adamantly refusing to put your mouth on the eager pricks they just as happily rutted into you with. They weren’t deserving of such dutiful submission. But it was different with Mugen. Not only did you want to do it but you could all too easily see yourself taking him as far as you could, right to the limit of your gag reflex, and it was enough to have you subtly grinding on the window sill underneath you.

The dizzying magnitude of your arousal brought tears to your eyes as you shook your head, numb and quietly keening for him.

“Can’t say I’m surprised.” He murmured, pulling on your lower jaw when you tried to close your mouth. ��I don’t think it’s very popular outside of the brothels. Guess you’ve probably never had anyone go down on you either, huh?”

Your eyes widened when you realized what he was suggesting. “Thash dirhi!”

Lazily smirking, Mugen curled his fingers under your chin and tugged you up straighter with his hold on your mouth. “Hey, don’t knock it til’ you try it. You probably won’t get this chance very often so you should be happy. Stick your tongue out, baby.”

Hesitantly, you obeyed. Your tongue slowly unfurled and tentatively slipped over his thumb even though your instincts were going haywire, screaming in protest to this degrading humiliation. The curious arousal searing your veins was all but palpable though and you watched, mesmerized, as he leaned close to hover over your face. Those thin, coarse lips parted, oozing a bubbling wad of saliva that dripped down towards your outstretched tongue at a tauntingly staggered speed. You whined, realizing too late what he was doing but not having the presence of mind to try and fight it. All you could do was observe its gradual descent and when the cooling spit touched its mark, you shook.

The glistening string that connected the two of you broke apart when he straightened to admire his handiwork, an expression of deep satisfaction flashing across his narrow face. “Now swallow it. Tell me how that tastes.”

His thumb retreated from your mouth, allowing you to do just that. The distinct flavor of his mouth clung to your taste buds as you choked down Mugen’s spit but it was, surprisingly, not half as repulsive as you would have guessed it to be.

Dazedly, you swayed on top of the window sill and croaked out “It wasn’t terrible …”

“Putting your mouth on someone's cock isn’t much different. Not dirty at all.” Looking quite smug, Mugen withdrew entirely and sunk down on his knees. You watched him with your heart in your throat, weakly trembling when he palmed your thighs so he could spread them wide. “Pussy, on the other hand, can get a bit messy. If you know what I mean.”

“I d - don’t know what you mean …”

He hummed as if he’d expected as much. Anticipated that response. Your mind was running a mile a minute as you followed the motion of his hand when he reached for the lower half of your kimono, hardly daring to breathe. It was almost impossible to wrap your mind around what was happening and even harder to grasp the fact that you were letting him do whatever he wanted with you. There was some kind of disconnect here.

But you couldn’t find it in yourself to complain as he parted the cotton and shoved it aside so that it bunched around the obi circling your middle. You were suddenly exposed from the waist down and you shuddered so hard that your eyes seemed to vibrate in their sockets. Mugen was attentively inspecting your bare cunt, his nose a little too close to the curling tuft of hair for your liking, and you instinctively tensed when he reached up to touch you.

“Calm down.” He huffed. “If you really don’t like it, I’ll stop. I don’t think that’ll be a problem though.”

“But it's so - ah!”

His fingers found your slit, spreading the puffy little lips open without pause, and you rocked back against the edge of the window. Your face felt like it was on fire as you gaped down at him, the unmistakable sensation of beading sweat on your brow only adding to the damp quality of your skin after walking through the rain. No one had ever looked at you with such plain hunger before - at least not down there, when your core was inches from their face and they could see all of you and smell your cloying arousal in the air.

Whimpering, you twisted on the sill and tried to close your legs. The high strung embarrassment making your pulse pound was too much. You couldn’t stand to have Mugen, this stranger, unobstructedly staring at the core of your body like this but he was positioned in such a way that you couldn’t shut him out. Your knees merely knocked against his arms, the attempt seeming to spur him on rather than dissuade him.

He grunted and shouldered his way further between your thighs so he could dip his face close. You drew a sharp breath to object but the sound puffed out of you in a frazzled squeal when his tongue darted out to trace the length of your labia from bottom to top. Wolf-like gray eyes roved up the length of your body to fix on your slack face. He looked like something wild and untameable. Something savage, particularly with his open mouth hovering over your cunt. You could just make out the glint of flat, blocky teeth in the sparse light that was stretching from the burning paper lamp off to the side. It made him appear almost inhuman and for the first time since stepping into this room, you felt the tickle of genuine fear at the back of your mind.

Mugen was going to eat you, both figuratively and literally. God, why did that excite you so much?

“Please …” You blubbered, not knowing what else to say.

Dark lashes fluttered as he turned his focus to your defenseless pussy again. “It’s a little too early to start begging for it, sweetheart.” He muttered, chuckling darkly when the puff of hot breath on your exposed clit made you twitch. “I haven’t even started yet and you already look like you’re gonna’ cry.”

Pausing, he pressed the rough texture of his lips against the gummy meat of your petal soft inner folds and mouthed at you. A strange choking sound erupted from your throat, prompting him to press into you tighter until you could feel the rough scratch of chin stubble teasing your cunt. The room began to swim as you rocked against the window, throwing your head back with a half stifled wail. You caught the sound of him swallowing the taste of you, his jaw opening wide to encompass your tingling clit in hot, wet warmth and then suckling. Spine snapping ramrod stiff, you lurched under him and blindly kicked out, your lips parting on a silent scream.

The intensity of the sensation was too much. It was difficult just to draw breath when your cunt was lighting up in brilliant, overwhelming sparks of pleasure you’d never so much as fathomed before. You realized, in a far off, dreamy sort of way, that you’d been correct in your earlier estimation. Mugen was nothing at all like the boys from the village who only knew how to fumble and stab at you with their pricks. This was something else altogether. Heady and intoxicating, and your toes curled in delight when he lapped at you with his tongue. Another lick passed over the thrumming pleasure button nestled between your folds and then another. He abruptly pulled off you with a rough suck that made your soul feel like it was slipping out of your body, the accompanying masculine grunt of satisfaction he issued rushing straight to your loins. You could hardly stomach the sheer magnitude of arousal you were all but suffocating under because of him.

“Mugen …!” You gasped, fumbling to grab hold of him. His fingers, his wrist, the haphazard shock of hair atop of his head. It didn’t matter. You just needed to feel him under your hands.

“I knew you’d like it.” He rasped, self-satisfied and confident as he grinned up at you from his spot between your legs. “Aren’t you glad you trusted me?”

You managed to snag a fistful of his brown hair and you arched, presenting your slick cunt to him. “Trusting you might have been the worst mistake of my life.” You hissed. “Please don’t stop …”

Softly groaning when you tugged on the strands between your fingers to encourage him back into action, Mugen shot a smolderingly fierce look up the length of your body. “Awfully demanding for someone who didn’t even want me to do this, aren’t you?”

“I'm sorry.” It sounded like a plaintive sob.

Noising a pleased hum, he relented at last and lowered his mouth to your cunt again. The fingers on your labia spread, pulling you further open for him, and you seethed when he tauntingly flicked at your clit with just the tip of his tongue. Thighs twitching, you pulled on his hair again but he refused to budge. He seemed content just to roll the meaty little nub back and forth, side to side, occasionally crisscross to keep you on alert. Never too much pressure though, nothing too direct and satisfying enough to send you over the edge. It was maddening and you keened, not caring who might hear when you were half hanging out the window. The only thing you could focus on was how all the sensation in your body seemed to have funneled down into a fine, pulsating pinprick of static electricity and he was relentlessly toying with that vibrating cluster of nerves like he was getting paid to do it. You’d never felt such dizzying desperation in all your life.

“Mugen! Please! Stop teasing me! I can’t ta - aaake it!”

He was watching you writhe from under the hooded fall of his lashes, sallow cheeks hollowing out when he deigned to suck at you again. You almost came up off the sill, that’s how hard you arched when the tension in your loins doubled and then tripled. Delirious, you jutted your pelvis up and humped his mouth in a lewd display of carnal distress that would surely embarrass you later when you remembered this moment. But for the time being at least, all sense of dignity had been thrown to the wayside. Thoroughly useless to you when he was making you feel so good. You just wanted release and you wanted it now. But, much to your groaning disappointment, he pulled back when it became apparent that you were getting close, leaving you to sob brokenly at the loss of his tongue.

“I’ve got one rule.” He intoned, his voice thick and guttural. “I’ll go down on you as much as you want but you’ll always cum on my cock. No exceptions.”

Feeling hysterical, you sat up straight and fixed him with a wild eyed look. “Then do it!”

Mugen snorted. “Bossy now that you’ve got a taste of it, huh?”

You wanted to reach out and choke the life right out of him. You suspected he’d probably like that though, hesitating when you saw him reach for his pants. A new wave of anxiety washed over you, uncertain and nervous. He was so different than any other man you’d ever known that you couldn’t help wondering if this would be very different too. You’d only seen a handful in your short life, after all, but the breath still caught in your throat when he shoved the baggy material down his legs and his cock sprung up into the air. Ruddy, like the rest of him, but a shade or two darker. The mess of curly dark hair at the base looked more fluffy than coarse and you suddenly realized that the hair on his head was the same way. It had felt like an impossibly thick mass of silk between your fingers and you wondered if the strands crowning his dick were just as smooth to the touch.

Your mouth started to water and you swallowed hard, wondering if he’d let you return the favor later. He probably would.

“C’mere, sweetheart.”

Starting, you jerked your attention up from his crotch. Mugen was already reaching out to grab you around the waist and when he pulled, you let him drag you down onto the floor with him. You trembled with jittery anticipation as he sat back on his haunches and guided you into his lap. Hands finding his bony, narrow shoulders, you squirmed over top of him while he took a moment to glide his finger through the mess he’d made between your legs. Each brief, fleeting touch to your throbbing clit made you jump but he was apparently serious about wanting you to cum with his prick wedged inside you. He was purposely avoiding the sensitive pearl, focusing most of his attention on your slick entrance. You sincerely hoped you’d be able to find release like this.

“You’re soaked.” He laughed, the humor in his voice anything but innocent.

“Because of you.” You snipped back halfheartedly.

“That’s right. Because of me.” Drawing a slow inhale, Mugen used his hand on your hip to push you down while the other guided himself to your dripping hole. “And don’t you ever forget that.”

A gasp caught in your throat when you felt the glans touch your sticky labia and you jolted, rising up on your knees a fraction of an inch. He merely squeezed your doughy soft flesh all the harder, forcing you down until the tip of him was pressing into you. Forcibly spreading the meaty lips apart in daunting slow motion. Breaching your body at such a staggered pace that you had no choice but to comprehend every individual blinding wave of pleasure that washed over you, one right after another.

You keened, digging your nails into Mugen’s flesh as you gradually sunk down onto his hard length. Reflexive tears sprung up in your eyes while you reveled in the sensation of being stretched out around him, seemingly right to the absolute limit. It was overwhelming and somehow not enough at the same time. You could hardly think straight anymore, your once frantic mind now grinding to a complete standstill. Every ridge, every vein, the slight curve of him. You felt it all. Such acute hyper awareness was foreign to you but you basked in it, groaning deep in your chest when you finally settled on top of his thighs a small eternity later.

The stuffed full sear of penetration was exquisite.

“Gods, you’re tight.”

Grunting, Mugen wrapped his long arms around you and shoved his face into your neck. You inhaled a sharp, faltering breath as you curled your arms around his shoulders. With a weak, experimental bounce, you rocked into him. He groaned, squeezing you so tightly that there were sure to be blooming purple splotches in the shape of his fingers come morning. You didn’t care though. The promise of absolution spurred you on and you repeated the motion, dazedly moaning when his cock exerted a delightful amount of pressure on your upper wall.

“Little minx.” He all but growled, taking a playful nip at your pulse.

Mugen leaned forward then, using his iron like hold around your middle to keep you seated on his lap so he could lazily thrust up into you. The tension in your guts increased and you wailed. His pubic hair tickled your clit, sending tingling shockwaves spider webbing all throughout your cunt and making you clench down around him. That seemed to punch the air out of his lungs and he wheezed. The slight but powerful muscles in his arms trembled slightly with the effort of holding himself back as he flexed up into you, working your contracting passage loose with a steady patience you hadn’t exactly expected from him.

It was driving you mad, the exact opposite of what you’d wanted. Seething through your teeth, you clutched at him all the harder as you struggled to get one of your legs out from underneath you. A triumphant spark lit up inside your chest when you managed to brace your foot on the tatami, the angle all wrong and sure to leave you sore the next few days, but you didn’t care. All you could bring yourself to care about was chasing that promise of release with him and you used your newfound leverage to bounce in time with his thrusts. The steady clap of skin on skin gradually rose in the air, blending almost seamlessly into the ever present patter of pouring rain. You could just make out the sticky wet squelch coming from between your thighs every time your pussy sucked him in deep on every downward thrust and that, too, would likely embarrass you later.

In the heat of the moment it was one of the hottest sounds you’d ever heard though and you gasped in delight as you clawed at his back. The worryingly pronounced ridges of his spine that had alarmed you not all that long ago now only added to the appeal of his lithe frame driving into you, over and over again with increasingly powerful thrusts. It didn’t take long at all for his tempo to pick up as your squeezing walls relaxed around him, driving into you hard enough to knock the air right out of your lungs.

You couldn’t seem to catch your breath any longer, the heaving grunts and groans bursting out of your mouth only making it all the harder to pull in oxygen. He was panting too, though not as labored despite the physical exertion he was putting his body through. It was in many ways astounding that someone who looked so horribly malnourished could keep up this kind of effort for so long and his stamina was far greater than you’d been prepared for. All of your previous encounters with the opposite sex had ended within minutes after starting but this was much more intense. Prolonged and drawn out. Mugen showed no signs of stopping any time soon and your leg quickly grew tired in this awkward position, aching almost as badly as your pussy.

With a frustrated wail, you went limp in his arms and let him ragdoll you for an extended beat. You caught the sound of him chuckling breathlessly against your neck but you were no match for him. That much had been obvious right from the start though, and you didn’t care. The driving force of his smoothly gliding thrusts was satisfying enough now that he’d picked up the pace and you chose to focus on that instead. Cumming like this did not seem like such an impossibility any more.

“Muh - Mugen …! You feel so - oooh good!”

“Yeah? You like that, baby?”

You jerkily nodded and buried your hand in his hair, gripping tight at the scalp. A faltering groan rose up out of him, rewarding for your trouble, and you choked when he changed the angle of his thrusts. He seemed to be hitting deeper and reaching further into your body than before. The head of his cock tickled your cervix and you jerked on top of him when the jolts of pleasure made starbursts erupt across your rapidly blurring vision. It lit every nerve ending in your body on fire, swallowing you in a rush of carnal bliss.

Mouth hanging wide open, you flung your head back. Mugen tightened his arms around you, threatening to suffocate you right on the spot if you weren’t careful, and tipped forward on his knees. Your back hit the wall just under the window sill with a solid thump, causing you to cry out with renewed desperation. His unruly hair was sticking to his face as he bent over your trembling body and slammed into your squelching cunt at the perfect angle to attack the dense, thrumming cluster of nerves just on the other side of your inner wall. Your trembling leg flew up into the air and curled around his narrow waist, squeezing him as tight as the tired muscle would allow. You were so close you could practically taste it on your tongue and he seemed to recognize the distant, doped out look pinching your expression for exactly what it was.

“You gonna’ cum for me, baby?” He said, struggling to get the words out.

Your response bordered on hysterical and the words came out so scrambled that even you had no idea what you were trying to say anymore.

Mugen didn’t seem to mind though and, baring his teeth in a leering smirk, he shoved you further up against the wall until your neck started to scream in protest. “Yeah, I got you all figured out now. That sweet spot is mine. This pussy is mine.” Ducking his head, he latched his mouth onto the swell of your breast where the kimono had slid open and bit down. Hard.

You shrieked, the pain meshing so suddenly with the pleasure that you forgot how to breathe for a split second. Your cunt spasmed and squeezed, but he remained undeterred as he continued to fuck into you while he animalistically marked you as his. Every muscle in your body instantly locked up in dizzying tension and, with a strangled groan, the coil snapped.

Coming up off your breast with a triumphant groan, Mugen watched you spasm and writhe throughout your hard won orgasm. It was intense - easily the most intense sensation you’d ever experienced - and you felt like something wild as you shook on his cock. You couldn’t see. Couldn’t hear. Only feel, and it threatened to bowl you right over the longer it wracked your body from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. His thrusts never faltered though, continuing to drive into your creamy cunt until you were sure you couldn’t stand much more. Sensitized and raw, you were like freshly wrought clay in his arms while he chased his own release, looking like some heaving, half starved beast above you.

“Fuck, you feel so good!” He practically snarled. “Keep squeezing me like that! I’m getting close!”

A high pitched, overstimulated whine clawed its way up your throat as you clung to him all the more fervently. Mugen’s hard, bony shoulders started to tremble under your palms, the only outward sign that he was telling the truth, and your helpless bleating quickly took on a more dire tinge when his hips began slamming into you even harder. Faster. His pace was quickly losing its rhythmic push and pull, becoming increasingly more frantic with each passing second. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head from the sheer force of his thrusts, an unseemly dribble of saliva creeping from the corner of your mouth. You couldn’t have been less concerned about it though. All of your limited brain power was focused on one thing and one thing only.

Mugen was going to cum inside of you.

“Shit,” He sounded winded. Like he’d been sucker punched. “Did you just get even tighter?”

You wordlessly groaned, unable to form a coherent sentence even if you’d wanted to.

The coarse sound of pleasure that rumbled inside his chest had your pussy lighting up all over again and you subconsciously clamped down around him. Mugen lurched over top of you, slamming into your aching pussy with all his might once, twice and then a third time. A full bodied shudder rippled down the length of his spine, you could feel the power behind it as the roiling wave systematically worked its way down to his groin. Hips stuttering, he let loose a seething howl that made your toes curl in response and then you felt the hot, sticky mess of seed flooding your cervix in the next heartbeat. You gasped when it kept coming, one spurt after another, all of it settling in heavy clumps against your palpitating inner walls.

Stunned, you didn’t dare move while he tried to catch his breath. The thick, viscous discharge seemed to bubble inside of you, quickly adjusting to your body’s temperature as if to blend in, but it was still painfully noticeable. You’d have to remember to buy some contraceptive herbs first thing in the morning.

Hissing, Mugen slowly detached you from his cock and lowered you down onto the floor just a brief moment later. His arms were shaking, apparently tired in the aftermath. “Damn.”

You shifted so that your neck wasn’t all bent up, keenly aware of the sloppy mess oozing out of your well fucked hole without him there to stopper it. This wasn’t the time to complain about that just yet though and instead you settled on “You curse a lot.”

He grunted a humorless laugh and looked up at you from under the fringe of hair that had fallen over his brow. “You gonna’ wash my mouth out or something?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Scoffing, Mugen reached out to grab the meat of your arm. You tensed, the inexplicable thought that he was going to kick you out of his room now that he’d gotten what he wanted flitting through your mind. A tinge of disappointment sparked to life in your chest, unbidden, but he merely pulled you against him and flopped down onto the floor. The resulting thump seemed to rattle the walls, though neither of you paid it any mind. You were far more concerned with figuring out what he was doing, eying the man suspiciously, whereas he appeared intent on catching a nap. His eyes were closed and the labored canter of his breath slowly evened out while you watched him, studying the subtle signs of relaxation on his face. He was quite handsome when you looked at him like this.

It was too good to last though and his brows furrowed after a quiet beat. “Are you planning to watch me or sleep?”

You cocked a brow at that. “The beds over there.”

Clicking his tongue, Mugen rolled over and half sprawled himself out on top of you. His topmost leg thrown over yours, arm stretching across your middle, yours and his clothes still all askew. You couldn’t help thinking it was the most unfriendly bear hug you’d ever received. A mangy stray right down to the letter, it seemed.

“The floor will do just as fine. Trust me.” He yawned. “I’ve slept on much worse.”

“But the bed -” You futilely tried to reason.

“Sleep now. I’ll fuck you nice and slow in the morning. Promise. Just be quiet.”

You huffed. “At least let me take off my kimono then. It’s soaked!”

Mugen lifted his head and cracked an eye open so he could peer over the length of your body, the interest in his half asleep face undeniable. “Alright, deal.”

#samurai champloo #mugen #mugen x reader #self insert bullshit #my wriitng

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