#this was a failed attempt or something else that brought him to the brink of death btw | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

senjutsunade · 21 days ago

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~The Last Mission~

Note: A lot of people have harsh criticism over Tsunade leaving Konoha following Dan's death. But there was more at play and this is my small attempt at sharing how I see events unfolding.

Tsunade’s eyes fell to her hands, staring at them with a gaze hollowed out by grief and disgust. Hands that had healed hundreds, brought life back from the brink more times than she could count. Hands that had crushed boulders, created chasms, wielded power that most shinobi could only dream of. They were hands people revered, hands that earned her accolades, ones that made her an idolized figure in the village—a so-called goddess of healing.

And yet, these very hands had failed him.

Dan…

His name was a wound that never scabbed over, an ache that didn’t dull with time but grew sharper, crueler. How could no one else see it? That the blood of the man she had promised a lifetime with was soaked into her skin, invisible to the world but ever-present to her. She had washed her hands until they were raw, scrubbed them until her flesh felt like it would tear. But nothing could rid her of the stain she alone could see—a deep, insidious red that marred her with her greatest failure.

There was a deeper wound on her though. A bigger failure. One so deep she had successfully concealed it. For now. No one knew about her fear, her horror of blood. No one could know.

She had done everything to hide it, to bury it so deeply that it would never betray her, never expose her as the fragile, broken woman she had become. Her hands started to tremble. She curled them into fists, as if squeezing tightly enough might erase the memories etched into her skin, but the trembling only grew worse. How ironic, she thought bitterly. People hailed her as the pinnacle of strength, resilience, the female Sannin. Yet here she was, undone by her own hands, the hands she couldn’t bear to look at without remembering the moment she had watched Dan’s life slip away.

The world had never understood her loss. They whispered that they did, murmured words of sympathy as if their platitudes could penetrate the chasm that had opened inside her. But Dan wasn’t just another casualty of the battlefield, not just another name on a stone slab. He was the man who had seen HER, not just her strength or her reputation, but her—the terrified girl hiding beneath the titles and the expectations, the girl who was crumbling beneath the weight of a name she had inherited, a legacy she was expected to uphold.

He had been her savior. In his arms, she had glimpsed a future that was not defined by blood or duty. He had given her a reason to believe in something beyond the weight of her own history, her own family name. She had dared to dream of a life where she didn’t have to be Senju Tsunade, the last of her clan, the one from her generation expected to burn the brightest with the Will of Fire. But Dan had seen beyond all of that. He’d seen her as she was—a girl afraid of her own greatness, terrified of the crushing strength that had always set her apart. She had wanted so desperately to protect life, to save others, even as her training had shaped her into a weapon designed to end it.

Her shoulders began to shake as she stared down at her hands, her breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. Her fingers unclenched and then clenched again, the tremors racing through her as she tried to keep herself together. She could feel the weight of expectation, the village’s gaze upon her, their hopes and dreams intertwined with hers, and she was drowning in them. Drowning in the legacy that had become her prison. She was the village’s hope, the Last Senju, the Strongest Kunoichi—and she had failed. She had failed Dan, failed to protect the one person who had looked past the façade and seen her, who had loved her not for her accomplishments but in spite of them.

Her chest tightened, and the tears came unbidden, hot and fast, spilling over and streaking down her cheeks as she folded in on herself. The grief hit her in waves, each one more crushing than the last, leaving her gasping, struggling to keep her head above water. Her usual grace, her carefully maintained composure, had dissolved entirely. Her face was blotched and pale, her eyes swollen and rimmed with red, her lips trembling as she pressed a fist to her mouth to muffle the sound of her own sobbing. Her hair, usually pristine, hung in disarray, clinging to her damp face and neck as her body shook, wracked with a sorrow too vast for words.

Tsunade’s hands shook, reaching for a kunai, its cold steel pressing into her palm as if urging her to confront her deepest fears. Her gaze transfixed by its edge, by the way it gleamed in the low light. It was a tool she had wielded a thousand times before, but now it felt foreign, an object charged with a dread that slithered through her like poison. Her thumb hovered over the sharp tip, trembling, a quiet act of desperation as she tried to reconnect with some part of herself that had always felt so certain, so untouchable.

With a ragged breath, she pressed her thumb down, just hard enough to break the skin. Pain flared, quick and sharp, followed by a few drops of blood welling up, rich and red, trickling over the blade’s edge.

And that’s when the scream ripped out of her.

It came from somewhere deep, a raw and primal sound that clawed its way up her throat as if it could purge the trauma lodged there. She clapped her free hand to her mouth, as if she could force the scream back inside, but it was too late—the blood was there, staining her skin, staining her memory, flooding her mind with images of Dan’s body, lifeless in her arms, the blood slipping through her fingers as she tried to keep him with her. She clenched her eyes shut, biting down on her knuckles to muffle the sob that threatened to tear her apart.

Her hand shook violently, and instinctively, her chakra flared. A soft green glow bloomed around her thumb, knitting the wound closed in an instant, erasing all trace of it. But even as her skin returned to flawless, unmarred flesh, she knew it hadn’t healed anything. She could still feel it—the weight of that kunai, the sting of the wound, the blood that no one else could see but that she felt everywhere, as if it had seeped into her very bones.

How would she function like this?

The thought stabbed through her mind, sharp and merciless, each word echoing with the weight of a thousand doubts. How would she keep being a kunoichi when the mere sight of blood—blood she’d spilled so easily before, blood she’d healed and fought to save—turned her into this? She had always been the healer, the warrior, the one who never faltered in the face of anything. And yet now, here she was, broken by the very thing that had once been her strength.

Fragments of thought clawed at her mind, jagged and relentless, each one cutting deeper than the last. How could she go on? How could she return to the field, knowing that her hands would betray her, her mind would falter? Her breaths came fast, shallow, as the weight of her own fear closed in around her, crushing her with the knowledge that everything she had been, everything she had lived for, was slipping through her fingers like sand.

What was she if not a healer? Who was she if she couldn’t fight, if she couldn’t wield a kunai without feeling her mind unravel? And Dan—she had lost him, lost him because her hands hadn’t been enough, because her strength had failed her in the one moment it mattered most.

How could one night, one failure, have stolen everything she was? Her lover, her identity, her future—all of it ripped away, leaving her hollow and stranded in a life that suddenly felt alien, unbearable.

She curled in on herself, arms wrapping tightly around her knees, her whole body folding as if she could make herself small enough to escape the weight of her own grief. The once-imposing figure, the warrior who had struck fear into the hearts of her enemies, was now reduced to a broken woman, undone by the ghosts of the past, by the love she couldn’t save and the future she couldn’t protect. And as she wept, she could feel the stain of his blood still on her hands, mocking her, reminding her of the one truth she could never escape—she, the claimed goddess of healing, could not save the man she loved most.

In her grief, time shattered into broken fragments. Hours blurred into days until reality came pounding on her door once again.

The Hokage's office was unusually quiet, the heavy weight of responsibility hanging in the air like a dense fog. Tsunade sat across from the desk, her posture stiff and unyielding, her face carefully neutral, betraying none of the storm churning inside her. She barely acknowledged Orochimaru's presence. It had been weeks—weeks since the incident, weeks since she’d buried the part of herself that once healed without hesitation, without fear.

No one knew.

Not a single person, not even the Hokage, who sat across from her now, his voice steady and calm as he explained the mission.

Infiltrate and gather intelligence on the border patrol routes, schedules, and security protocols of Kumogakure. Simple, straightforward, and essential for the village’s safety. An easy mission assigned to not one but two of the sannin. But to Tsunade, it felt like a world away from the hollow, broken shell of herself that she had become. The weight of the kunai still sat in the pit of her stomach, the blood of her failures still staining her hands in ways no one else could see.

The Hokage's words droned on, but she barely heard them. She should be focused, sharp, her mind already calculating the risks, the strategy, but instead, all she could do was stare at the polished wood of the desk, trying to push back the tidal wave of panic rising within her.

No one knows, she reminded herself.

No one knew about the terror that lurks just beneath the surface, the fear that controls every part of her now. No one knew how each day, each minute felt like a razor’s edge against her sanity.

Her throat tightened as she tried to respond, tried to form the words, but they caught in her chest. She should say something—she should tell the Hokage that she was barely holding it together.

But no, she couldn’t.

She wouldn’t.

There was too much at stake, too much that would crumble if she let her secret slip. Too much she would lose.

No one knows…

She forced herself to look up, meeting the Hokage's gaze for a moment, and then quickly averted her eyes. Maybe it will be okay, she thought desperately. Maybe it will be fine.

She had to lie to herself that she could do it again. She had to.

“Hai, Hokage-sama,” she said, her voice sounding distant to her own ears. She couldn’t help but feel the weight of her own words, how hollow they felt now. She said nothing more, simply nodding, confirming the mission. The Hokage gave a slight nod in return, signaling the end of their conversation.

Her first mission since that night…

The room seemed to close in on her as they both stood, the finality of the mission settling over her like a lead blanket. She bowed, her movements mechanical, and turned to leave. But as she did, something in her twisted. She should say something—anything—about how she felt, how her hands trembled just from the thought of blood, how she didn’t know if she could do this anymore. But she couldn’t.

She wouldn’t.

They exited the office, and the door clicked shut behind them, leaving her in the dim hallway. She tried to steady her breath, tried to shake the weight of the lie she’d just told. No one knows.

The words were a mantra now, a fragile shield she had to cling to. She didn’t look at anyone, not even Orochimaru, who walked silently beside her. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him; she had known him for so long, he had always had her back, and yet… even now, she couldn’t bring herself to speak. The words stuck in her throat, thick and suffocating.

They reached the gates in silence, the tension between them palpable, even if neither of them spoke of it. Tsunade stole a glance at Orochimaru, her partner, her teammate. He had always been the one who understood her in ways no one else had. But was she putting him at risk? Her failure had already cost so much—Dan, her future, her identity. Was she about to drag Orochimaru down into the same abyss she had fallen into?

Her heart pounded in her chest, a fierce, frantic rhythm that threatened to drown out her thoughts.

She should tell him, tell him everything, but the words were stuck, trapped, suffocating her with their weight. You can’t, she thought. You can’t show weakness now.

The gate loomed ahead, and with it, the promise of a mission that should have been nothing more than a routine operation. But nothing felt routine anymore. And now, she was about to step into the unknown with Orochimaru at her side, knowing that she couldn’t tell him the truth, that the very thing she feared most—the thing that made her hands shake and her heart ache—was something she would never be able to escape.

Orochimaru knew her too well - and though no words were said, his gaze asked if she was ready for this? Tsunade took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. She didn’t speak. She couldn’t. Instead, she simply nodded in his direction, the same way she had nodded to the Hokage, the same way she had nodded to herself when she had promised she would be okay. But she wasn’t. And they both knew it.

“Let’s go,” she finally managed, the words coming out too quietly, too strained.

One last lie, to herself, and to him. And then, they left.

The mission was supposed to be a simple one: infiltrate and gather intelligence. There was nothing complicated about it. No need for excessive violence or destruction—just information on Kumogakure’s border patrols, their schedules, and security protocols. A straightforward retrieval job for a kunoichi who had seen countless battles, who had spent her life walking the razor’s edge between life and death. She had healed the broken, crushed her enemies, and stared death in the face more times than she could count. This should have been easy.

She could handle this.

The words echoed in her mind like a mantra, a simple reminder of her status. A Sannin. The Last Senju. A healer who had saved hundreds, no—thousands, over the years. She had learned how to handle things, how to stay in control, how to make sure the mission went smoothly. That’s who she was. That’s what she was.

But fate had always had other plans for her, hadn’t it? She had been dealt a cruel hand over the years, and despite her strength, she couldn’t shake the feeling that every turn she took in life was just another set-up for disaster. This mission was supposed to be another notch in the belt. Another success. Another day at work.

But fate? Fate never liked her.

The moment they entered the forests of the border, she felt the shift. The air felt wrong, too still, too quiet. The tension in her muscles tightened, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling. She looked at Orochimaru, who gave her a small, knowing glance, the faintest hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. They had been through too many missions together. She knew that smile, knew the silent communication between them—the unspoken understanding of how this would go.

Only, it didn’t go the way it should have.

What was supposed to be a routine infiltration soon escalated into chaos. They hadn’t counted on a dozen Kumo Jonin lying in wait. There was no subtlety to this fight. It was a barrage of kunai and shuriken, the sounds of steel slicing through the air, bodies crashing into the earth. There was no time for careful strategy; everything had to be dealt with right then, right there. She gritted her teeth, pushing the panic that had started to bubble up back down into the pit of her stomach.

It will be fine…

She told herself that, as she danced through the chaos, her eyes flashing with determination. She was Senju Tsunade. She could handle this. She could—

A swift movement to her right, and she was already in motion. Two Kumo nin fell to the ground, unconscious, their bodies crumpling like ragdolls. Her breath was steady, her chakra flowing like a well-practiced routine. She could do this. She could fight and win. She had fought worse odds, and she had always come out on top.

But then the third one came.

The man was faster than she had anticipated, and before she could react, his blade slashed toward her. She barely had time to twist out of the way, feeling the brush of air as the blade missed its target by inches. Her heartbeat was deafening in her ears. She moved instinctively, her body flowing with the rhythm of battle. She slammed her fists into the ground, using her strength to shift the earth beneath her and send the nin around her tumbling, disoriented.

She could do this…

Tsunade exhaled sharply, wiping the sweat from her brow. She was managing. She was fine.

But then she saw him.

Orochimaru was cutting through three Kumo nin with his sword, his movements a blur, lightning fast and deadly. A twisted smile tugged at the corner of Tsunade’s lips for a brief moment—before the distraction cost her.

A flicker of motion. A flash of steel. Before she could raise her arm to block, the kunai struck her, embedding itself through her arm. The pain was immediate, a sharp bite of reality that ripped through her senses. For a moment, she stared at the weapon, the blood seeping from the wound in slow, crimson drops.

The sight of it was almost mesmerizing. She was trembling. Her fingers twitched, trying to pull the kunai free, but her body didn’t respond the way it should. Blood. She could smell it now, the thick copper scent mixing with the sharp tang of sweat and the metallic bite of panic. It drowned her, suffocating her as the world seemed to close in.

No.

Her breath hitched in her throat, and the tremors began. It wasn’t just the pain—it was the blood. The blood that had always been her companion, her constant. Blood that had always been her ally when she needed to heal, when she needed to fight, when she needed to protect. But now? Now, it felt like the weight of her failures. It was the blood of a man she couldn’t save. The blood of her own incapacity. The blood of the girl who had spent her whole life running from her own legacy, from her fear of what she was capable of.

And somewhere, in the distance, there was screaming. Animalistic, raw, and broken. It wrenched at her heart, clawing at her chest with an almost unbearable intensity. Is it—?

She couldn’t tell. She barely had the strength to stand, her knees buckling under her as the world tilted to one side. The kunai still embedded in her arm. Blood dripping from her fingers as she collapsed to the ground, the battle around her fading into a haze of screams and chaos.

Is it me?

For a moment, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t move. Her body betrayed her, her mind drowning in the horror of the blood that coated her hands.

And then the screaming—the wailing—didn’t stop.

It didn’t stop.

Tsunade collapsed fully, her vision blurring as she crumbled into the dirt, her head spinning, heart pounding, body trembling. The world became a blur of blood, a blur of screams, a blur of everything she had failed at. And yet, somehow, it was all too clear. She wasn’t the woman she had been. She wasn’t the healer, the protector, the fighter. She was nothing but a broken shell, collapsing under the weight of her own phobia, the haunting realization that, for all her strength, she couldn’t save herself.

The trembling started low in her limbs, but it quickly climbed, stealing through her body with such ferocity that it felt like an earthquake rattling her bones. Every twitch, every tremor was a visceral reminder of her helplessness. She couldn’t stop it. She couldn’t stop herself. Her hands, shaking violently, were covered in blood—her blood, the blood of others—and it made everything worse, made her feel more like a monster than ever before. But she couldn’t do anything to stop the trembling.

It was almost as if her body had rebelled against her, reminding her of all that she had failed, all that she couldn’t undo.

Through the fog of fear and confusion, through the pounding of her own pulse in her ears, she heard a distant voice—a familiar voice, though it was strained, raw, and desperate. It cut through the chaos like a knife.

Orochimaru?

Was he screaming? He’s screaming.

But no. Orochimaru never screamed. He’d never screamed. It wasn’t his nature. He didn’t shout. He never showed fear. He was always calm, calculating, composed. That was the man she knew.

So why had he sounded so terrified then?

Why would Orochimaru be scared?

The blood. The blood was everywhere. Her vision was clouded by the red sea, the thick, overwhelming smell of it filling her nostrils. It coated her skin, stuck to her clothes, made her feel like she was drowning in it. Why was there so much of it? The question beat at her like a drum, each pulse of her heart making the ache inside her worse, more unbearable. Her hands were stained—her hands, the ones that had healed, that had saved lives, were soaked through with the proof of her failure.

Orochi…did you see it? she asked, though she knew he couldn’t hear her thoughts. Did you see the blood?

It didn’t matter. She couldn’t stop shaking. She couldn’t stop trembling, couldn’t stop the feeling of suffocation crawling down her throat.

Orochimaru, I can't breathe… The thought clawed at her, and she could almost hear the scream that never escaped her mouth.

Her breath was shallow, uneven, strangled in her chest. It felt like the world was closing in on her. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t even feel herself anymore—she was nothing but a vessel, trembling violently in Orochimaru’s arms. It felt like hours—like years—before she even realized that he was carrying her, that he was lifting her, taking her away from the chaos, away from the battle, away from the blood.

Momentary awareness had her realizing that the kunai had been removed from her arm. She refused to look at it but she could feel the roughness of the bandages wrapped around the wound. The wound throbbed. She allowed her chakra to numb it. Heal what damage could be healed and then once more reality slipped away.

She didn’t remember much of the journey. It was a blur of dizziness, of muffled sounds, of nothing but a constant buzz in her ears. But when they finally broke through the gates of Konoha, she felt it. She felt something—a flicker of cold, of shame, of utter horror that cut through her like a blade.

The emotions flooded her, crashing over her with the force of a tidal wave. Humiliation. Why her? Why had this happened to her? Why had the mission ended in failure, in blood, in terror? Why was she trembling? Why was her body betraying her so completely?

Guilt. The guilt was suffocating, all-consuming. It was everywhere, all around her, like the blood she was soaked in. She had failed. Failed everyone. Failed the mission. Failed Orochimaru. Failed herself. Failed Konoha.

And assaulting her, worse than the blood, was the thought that her greatest weakness had finally revealed itself to the one person she had never wanted to see it—Orochimaru. The one person who had always been by her side, the one person who knew her better than anyone else. He had seen her fail. He had seen her at her lowest. And she couldn’t escape it.

“Why?” she sobbed. “Why this? Why me?”

The sobs burst from her, jagged and unrelenting, raw with the weight of everything she had lost. She didn’t care anymore. She no longer cared if anyone saw her. She no longer cared if anyone knew the truth of what had become of her.

What did it matter now?

What did it matter what image she had been trying so desperately to preserve? The woman who had been the healer, the protector, the strongest Kunoichi. The woman who had walked the line between legend and reality. What did it matter now?

She wasn’t a healer anymore. She wasn’t a Sannin anymore.

What was she now?

She had nothing.

Nothing to offer. No way to fix this. What was she without the ability to heal?

Her sobs didn’t stop. She was past caring. She was past hiding, past pretending she was strong, past trying to keep up the façade. She was just broken. And everyone could see it now.

Her mind circled in a spiral of despair. She was unworthy of the Senju name. Useless to Konoha. An embarrassment to the Sannin.

Her entire body shuddered, as if the weight of her failure was too much to carry anymore. And then, from somewhere far above, she heard Jiraiya’s voice—soft, soothing, yet still carrying the weight of worry. He spoke to Orochimaru, but the words were lost to her.

Then, she was passed into Jiraiya’s arms. She felt his strength holding her up, but it was hollow. She couldn’t find comfort in it. She was too far gone.

She was drowning in her sobs. Heart-wrenching, desperate sounds that seemed to tear her apart from the inside out. The pain was so raw, so overwhelming, that she wondered if she would ever stop. Her chest ached with the force of her crying, her body wracked with it.

But she couldn’t stop. She didn’t know how.

Time lost all meaning once again.

The world around her was dim, but the touch on her head brought her back to the present, grounding her if only for a moment. She blinked, feeling the calloused, familiar warmth of her sensei’s hand resting gently atop her head. For a fleeting instant, the past blurred with the present, and she was the young, naive girl she used to be, staring up at him with wide, hopeful eyes. That hand—so steady, so certain—had once meant comfort, an unbreakable promise that everything could be set right. Sarutobi Hiruzen had once been her unwavering rock, the man she had believed could shield her from anything.

But time had tarnished that illusion, and reality had shattered her faith. Those hands, now worn and frail, had proven incapable of protecting the people she loved most, of protecting her. She'd seen him falter, seen him weighed down by the sacrifices of shinobi, by the choices that had demanded lives instead of miracles. She’d watched as the invincible became merely human, as the strong became burdened by the limitations of this world.

In recent years, she and her sensei had drifted, their once-easy rapport strained by the growing chasm of her disillusionment and grief. Their interactions, rare as they were, had become stilted, colored by unspoken disappointments and a distance neither could seem to bridge. Yet, tonight, as she raised her head, her gaze met his with a desperation she hadn’t felt in years.

Her eyes, usually hard and defiant, softened as she looked up at him, pleading without words. Fix me, she begged silently, the rawness of the thought an ache in her chest. She wanted him to wave his hand and somehow lift the crushing weight of her shame, to make the weakness that had taken root in her vanish like a bad dream. She wanted him to be the man she’d once believed he was.

But in his eyes, she found no comfort, no reassurance. Instead, she saw resignation—soft and gentle, yet edged with pity. He understood her pain, and it hurt to see that understanding in his eyes. It was as if he knew, as well as she did, that there was no easy cure for her broken spirit. She was fractured, and he could offer no remedy.

A hollow ache spread through her, and she tore her gaze from him, turning her head to the side, unwilling to let him see the shame etched across her face. Bitterness coiled within her like a silent beast, gnawing at the edges of her resolve. The hopelessness of it all settled heavily in her chest, an immovable stone.

She forced herself to take a breath, steadying the tremor that threatened to overtake her. “Sou ne…” she murmured, her voice barely audible. Somehow, she gathered enough strength to keep her hands from shaking as she straightened. Her gaze remained fixed on the wall, unwilling to watch as he turned his back to her, the familiar sight of his form retreating behind the desk both painful and symbolic. His footsteps were soft but heavy, the weight of duty pulling him away from her, as it always had.

The faintest rustle beside her reminded her that she wasn’t alone. Jiraiya and Orochimaru had been watching, their silent presence both a comfort and a reminder of what she could no longer be. She drew in a shallow breath, steadying herself. “Put me down, Jiraiya.” Her voice was quieter than she intended, but it held an edge of finality.

The grip he’d kept on her loosened as she was put down, and she stood unassisted. Every step toward the Hokage’s desk felt like a battle, her legs heavy with the weight of everything she was about to relinquish. Her gaze remained fixed on the polished wood as she approached, the sheen of the surface reflecting back her shadowed form. She refused to meet anyone’s eyes, feeling their silent, judging gazes like stones upon her back.

With deliberate slowness, she reached up, her fingers brushing against the cool metal of her hitai-ate. Her thumb grazed the engraved symbol, a symbol she’d worn with pride, once. Now, it felt foreign, a lie carved into steel. Her hand wavered, the tremble nearly betraying her. She steadied herself with a quiet breath, the weight of the forehead protector heavier than it had ever felt.

And then, in one swift motion, she released it. The hitai-ate dropped onto the desk with a soft thud, the sound louder in the silence than she’d anticipated. It lay there, gleaming under the dim lights, a silent testament to all she could no longer bear to uphold.

She didn’t look back as she turned and walked out of the room, her footsteps a steady, quiet rhythm that carried her farther away from the place that had once felt like home.

#➤ D r a b b l e s ┊ ❛ In a blatant mind my thoughts have entwined ❜#tw; blood #tw; phobia #tw; death #Senju Tsunade #Tsunade #Kato Dan #Orochimaru #Jiraiya #Sarutobi Hiruzen #drabble #character drabble #angst #Long Post

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whumpsday · 2 years ago

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Kane & Jim AU: Brink of Death

Kane & Jim AUs Masterlist

content: failed escape attempt, dehydration, environmental whump, carewhumper, vampire whumper, bugs mention

Bad End so nice i do it twice. what if Kane caught Jim on the second night instead of the first? diverges from the events of Out.

@amonthofwhump March Trope-A-Thon Day 1: Environmental / Rockslide / Rain/Snowstorm / Exposure/Lost / Come In From The Cold

Jim was vaguely aware that he was dying, but it was hard to think. He was too dizzy.

The sun set, and he was so thankful that the heat lessened that he could barely think about the danger of Kane finding him. Maybe it would be better if Kane found him. He would be in excruciating pain and would probably never walk again, but Kane would at least keep him alive. Kane would give him water. He’d go back to Kane if he could have water. He’d give up his ankles for water.

His hand stayed closed around the stick despite this train of thought. He held it close to his chest, like a child hugging a treasured plush toy.

I don’t wanna go back. I’m scared.

Jim’s eyes fluttered shut. He opened them again.

I am going to die.

His breathing was ragged and shallow and it hurt, the air only seeming to make his throat drier.

His eyes closed again. He did not try to open them.

There he was. His human, collapsed on the ground, just over the border into human territory. He’d nearly died to make it there. Stupid thing.

Kane gave him a light kick.

The human’s eyes opened slow, his response delayed. He looked up at Kane blearily, clutching at the stick in his hands.

“W-water?” he stuttered, his voice scratchy. His entire body smelled of blood, from his cracked lips to his scratched-up feet to... whatever was going on with his back.

This was what happened to a human that goes two days without water? It was unbelievable. How were they surviving out there?

Kane sighed. “Yes, yes, you’ll get water back at home. You’re not dying on my watch.”

The human dropped the stick. “Yes, sir,” he rasped.

Well, at least there was some obedience. Proper titles for once.

Kane scooped him up off the ground. He was filthy and shirtless- it looked like he had fashioned his shirt into makeshift slippers, which had then been eviscerated by his two-day trek.

The human’s head thudded weakly against Kane’s chest. His eyes fluttered closed again, his breathing shallow.

Kane hurried home, a bit worried that the human might die despite his abundant efforts. When he got there, he dumped him on the bed in the human quarters. The human didn’t wake, or at least didn’t appear to.

Water, he’d said. The fact that Kane was now made to tend to him after something as audacious as an escape attempt was infuriating, but a punishment could be attended to later.

He went to the kitchen, filled up a glass of water, and brought it back for his human. He shook him roughly by the shoulder. “Wake up, human. Drink.”

The human didn’t wake.

Beginning to get nervous, Kane propped the human up with a hand on his back and tipped the glass to his lips with the other, letting the water touch them. ”Drink.” he commanded.

The human came to life the second the water touched his lips, gulping it down desperately. He devoured the whole glass, looking up at Kane pleadingly. “More?” he croaked.

Kane removed his hand, letting the human flop back onto the bed. He shouldn’t be coddling his human right after he tried to escape. But what else could he do? The human obviously wasn’t in any state to help himself.

“Fine.” Kane went to the kitchen and refilled the glass. The human drank it down just as fast, and Kane, though begrudgingly, continued refilling it until he was satisfied.

The human held his half-full glass to his chest, like he was afraid Kane would take it away, at looked at Kane wide-eyed. Warily.

They were on the same page, then.

“You ran. When I explicitly told you not to.”

The human’s eyes watered, now that he had water in his body to spare. He scooted back until he was pressed against the wall: they both knew he couldn’t truly go anywhere.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Master. I’m sorry, Master.”

“I’ve been searching for you for two nights!” Kane snapped. “And I haven’t fed in that entire time! I certainly can’t now, you’d about keel over. Do you have any idea what a pain this has been?”

The human nodded, arms hovering defensively over his bare chest. “Yes, sir,” he replied quietly, tears slipping down his cheeks.

Kane supposed he really did know. Being a weaker species, the two nights had practically killed him, the woods doling out a punishment on their own. He pinched the bridge of his nose, frustrated.

The human winced at Kane’s obvious irritation. “I w-won’t try to run again. I mean it this time,” he insisted fervently. “I can’t. I’d die. I know that now. I know-” he let out a sob before continuing, voice wobbly, “I know I’m yours forever. Sir. Please don’t- don’t hurt me. It already hurts.” He cast his eyes down, trembling.

Kane eyed him icily for a long moment, trying to determine if he really meant it, but it was obvious he did. He could see it clear on the human’s face.

He leaned forward and grabbed the human by the chin, forcing him to look him in the eyes.

“This will not be tolerated again.”

“Yes, sir,” the human squeaked, eyes wide with fear.

Kane released him. “Clean up. You’re a mess. I’ll help you get those bugs off your back if you can’t manage it.”

The human nodded slowly, obviously relieved at the lack of further punishment. “Thank you.”

taglist to be added in reblog!

#kane and jim au #whump #my writing #amow tropeathon 2023 #environmental #environmental whump #failed escape #dehydration #carewhumper #vampire whumper #whump writing

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thunderstroked · 1 year ago

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Ghostios || Mona & K.O

TIMING: current. LOCATION: out and about in town. PARTIES: @involuntarily-ko-d & @thunderstroked SUMMARY: mona saves k.o from an annoying ghost headache. CONTENT WARNINGS: none!

It’d been… a few days now since Konstantin first noticed the ghost that was following him around. It took virtually no time at all to recognize her, either; indeed, minding his own business and abruptly finding himself face to face with the ghost of someone he had murdered while in the grips of a temporary but overpowering violent rage wasn’t something he ever looked forward to. He remembered all their faces, though he tried not to - they were just bodies, things that possessed nightmares for him to consume at his leisure, dreaming things with fears and darknesses hidden in their crevices for him to burrow into and exploit, most of the time for food but sometimes for fun. Ever since he himself had been turned, K.O. had been exceedingly careful not to make any more like him - he didn’t share in that comradery or sense of community. He didn’t want to be responsible for someone else the way Tenant had for him. He lacked that connection or capacity to care. He lacked that empathy. When he killed the woman whose ghost now followed him as he walked down the street that evening, going out of his way to avoid the streetlamps that loomed overhead like interrogation spotlights, he didn’t care then either. She was a body and he was angry. She didn’t become a mare, he made sure. And now she followed him around, trying to engage in conversation and he was resolutely ignoring her as he took a long drag from his cigarette; his brain didn’t crave nicotine, it hadn’t for over 30 years, but it was one of his longest-standing habits from his first life and it was something to do with his hands and mouth, something to fidget with as he couldn’t simply… astral project away from the ghost.

—

The fox had been following after this particular ghost for some time, trailing along, listening in on the one-sided conversation. Something about death, about the cruelty of it— Mona could understand that. Could feel the way it felt to lose something dear to her, and even death itself. After all, she’d been brought back from the brink of it.

But she knew that in life, everyone had a purpose; much less so in death. At least, unless you came back as something else. The telltale lack of heartbeat from the un-living addition to the pair was proof of that. It was clear that they did not care what the ghost had to say despite her pleas for them to listen. Mona almost felt bad for them, but the fox’s stomach ached with a hunger only the spectral entity could satiate.

To show herself would be the loss of a meal and she knew that. The fox had two choices. Tail after the two for longer than needed, or eat it right here and then. They were alone for the most part, and something told her that the undead individual might even be grateful for her action. So she leapt to it, springing up behind them before the ghost could react, devouring her entirely. The fox licked its chops, satiated for the time being with the midnight snack, before backing away, appraising the reaction from her audience before deciding her next move.

—

The pleas and attempts at conversation, the sad, pitiful noises that Konstantin had become proficient in drowning out in favor of brooding in his own head were suddenly cut short and replaced by the sounds of an animal eating, though he obviously didn’t know what animal it was. On instinct, given the knowledge that animals instinctively attacked things like him out of primal fear, he whipped on the spot and jumped back, his hands reaching up to cover his face as though whatever it was was his height and readily available to maul him. A dog? A coyote? God forbid, a bear in the middle of town that he utterly failed to hear due to the whining of the ghost behind him? None of those, as it turned out. Instead, Konstantin stood tense and ready for teeth in his arm as eyes that threatened to flicker to red in the dark spots between the street lights beheld a fox. At least, that’s what he thought as his brown eyes danced over the general shape of the creature, between the large ears, narrow snout and thick, brush-like tail that swept behind its rear. It was the color of the fox’ fur that confused him, he thought. Orange blended into white that blended into blue, making it look electrifying even as it lingered in the shadows. He’d never seen anything like it, only that one moment there was a plaintive ghost following him and the next, she was gone and now there was a technicolor fox there. “...Hi.” Konstantin said with uncertainty. The fox didn’t seem to be instinctively afraid of him, at least not to the level of other animals. Was it a shifter? Maybe someone’s art project? K.O. wasn’t sure but for some reason part of him appealed to attempt to communicate with it. “You wouldn’t, uh… happen to know where that ghost that was following me went, do you?”

—

The fox’s ears twitched as the individual spoke. She watched him carefully, gaze trained on the movement of his hands, of his feet. She stayed still, the shadows dancing around them as a neighboring street light flickered to life, its amber light pooling at either of their feet.

She considered his question carefully, knowing her next action would determine how the rest of this conversation played out. The fox could run away easily, could even burn him if she needed to. Her mind wandered with the endless possibilities, and she understood then and there that her impulsivity probably hadn’t done her any favors here.

But he wasn’t attacking, so that was something. She stayed still a moment longer before transforming in a quick puff of smoke back to her humanoid form. Mona stood across from him, silent a beat longer before speaking up, “I ate her.” She paused, eyebrows furrowed. “She wasn’t your friend, was she? It didn’t seem like you were enjoying her company, so I took a chance.”

Arms folded across her chest, Mona kept her gaze trained on him. “I’m afraid that if she was your friend, there’s no getting her back. Not the same way. We’ll have to call an exorcist, it will be a whole thing.” She waved her own words away, lifting a hand to physically dust through the air. “So I really hope that she was annoying you and not some long lost lover that you were trying to necromance.” Her mind ran wild with the possibilities, but she kept her other observations under lock and key; such as the one being that he had no beating heart.

—

Konstantin had been dead for over thirty years and even when he was alive, he had dreamwalked often enough to have seen a lot of crazy shit. That being said, this was the first time in either of his lives where a fox turned into a human in front of him. He knew shifters, he thought he was savvy when it came to which types there were but a fox girl, along with being almost as desirable as a “catgirl” online, was new to him. And, perhaps more importantly, she had gotten rid of the nagging murder victim that was following him around. “I’m sorry– did you say you ate her?” He asked, a look crossing his face as his own brows furrowed. He blinked and held up a hand. “Okay first of all - not trying to necromance. That’s the uh, that’s the main thing. Second of all, what the hell are you?” He asked, gesturing to her. “Wait—” Everything she said took a second to catch up in his brain and Konstantin narrowed his gaze, eyes dancing over her figure. “Okay, sorry– So you’re a fox… lady. Who can not only see but you eat ghosts.” He said slowly; maybe he’d already been dead too long, too desensitized to other people knowing about the supernatural for anything to make much impact in his mind.

—

“Yes. You heard me right.” Maybe it wasn’t smart, going around and telling people she was eating their ghostly friends— it could prove dangerous down the road if she weren’t careful, but the lack of heartbeat told her that this person had something to be wary of, too. That it was important for secrets to stay secret, at least in regards to those who could hurt either of them. Mona watched as his expression changed, confusion splitting across their features.

“Perfect. Then I was helpful.” She clasped her hands in front of her, tilting her head to the side at his question. “I thought it was obvious.” Mona looked around them, “you saw the tails, right?” Was he really that ignorant to believe that he and ghosts were the only things to exist? She thought of her father’s warning— years ago, we live in secret, only revealing when we trust.

She didn’t trust the person in front of her, but she had already snacked on their ghostly friend. “I’m a gumiho.” She rolled her eyes, “you might be more familiar with the term kitsune.” Mona dropped her hands, swinging them by her side, bringing up to clap her palms against themselves. “Now. What are you? You don’t have a heartbeat. Mare? Vampire? Zombie?” She paused, “fury?” She ticked off the counter on her fingers, “that’s all of them, right? Undead folk?”

—

K.O. immediately bristled when she said that she was ‘helpful’; ‘help’ usually led to ‘you owe me a favor’ and those weren’t things K.O. did. At all. Ever. However, he swallowed the reaction when she continued and gave him something new to get defensive about. Obvious? Obvious how? She was a neon fox with multiple tails that just showed up out of nowhere and ate a ghost; he was stupid but not THAT stupid. “Well, ex-cuuuuuuse me for not knowing what a kitsune was, princess.” He crossed his arms, the eyesore of a lanyard that he made sure was always visible lightly flopping over them with a jingle. That retaliation served a twofold reason, the first of which was that Konstantin actually didn’t know what a kitsune was; she was effectively the first but he didn’t want to be caught off-guard by something else since the second reason was that he was… caught off-guard by her inquiries into what he was. “Uuuugh.” Shifters were so annoying, always nosing into his business with their ‘oh you don’t have a heartbeat’ crap. He didn’t like being so obvious, even when he wasn’t obvious at all. His brow furrowed and while he didn’t like being put on the spot, he figured his imagination wouldn’t have been able to bail him out of this one. If this were a few months ago, he wouldn’t have even been there. But try as he might as he stood there for a few long moments, nothing happened. He didn’t move, of course he didn’t move and she could still see him. He sighed, his face still painted with irritation though the sigh was more one of defeat. “Mare.” He said dully. For what that meant anymore.

—

Mona frowned at his sarcasm. She wasn’t sure what she’d done to warrant it, but she had a sparkling personality, and quite honestly she was a little miffed that he had decided on that route. Then again, maybe she deserved it; it was all she ever supplied anyone, anyway. With a sigh, she shrugged. “Well, most people know things.” Most people didn’t know things. Others like her, maybe, but not people she found randomly in the street. Something told her that this person wasn’t new to this life, either, but she could very well have been wrong about that.

Annoyance flashed across her company’s features and Mona anticipated being called out for being invasive. It wasn’t her fault that she had great hearing, great sense of smell— which, this one smelled a little like lavender. She wondered why.

As she waited for his answer, she looked past him to the spark of a streetlight that’d gone out. This town really didn’t care about its infrastructure, did it?

They stood there awkwardly, and Mona wasn’t sure if he was trying to do something. Thinking, maybe. Which was taking too long. She opened her mouth to ask more questions, but his answer dropped suddenly and she nodded. “I know a few of you.” She knew what they could do, too. She’d been told to be wary of them by several of her undead friends for the sake of not being bombarded with nightmares, but she hadn’t ever had an issue before. She hoped there wouldn’t be one now. If he didn’t know what a kitsune was, she had an advantage— it meant he wouldn’t know her fears. “For how long? I’d tell you how long I’ve been a kitsune, but it’s not like we’re werewolves. We don’t just turn into one one day. I was like this the day I was born.” Maybe a story they didn’t really deem necessary, but she provided it anyway. “Sorry about your death or… I’m happy for you?” She offered, considering that perhaps death was better than the rampant nightmares he had experienced beforehand.

—

“You like to talk, don’tcha?” Konstantin asked before he could stop himself in response to her explanation about kitsunes in relation to other shifters. A cursory listen-in to the conversation would’ve implied that it was just him making a petty remark but in reality, and he wouldn’t admit this, but it was a deflection. Deflection from what, though, he wasn’t sure. Maybe it had to do with how she had met more like him before. Maybe he was still unhappy that she just flat-out asked him what he was. Maybe it was an unpleasant reminder of his first life or maybe it was that she just got to be born as what she was, without enduring any perceived hardship or trials like he had; becoming a nightmare was, in of itself, a nightmare. “I’m glad you’re happy for me, though!” He added, pasting over the unpleasant spike of defensiveness with a smile. “Because it was a good thing. Literally no downsides.” He paused. “I dunno, like thirty years? Over thirty years, I think?” That was as close as K.O. was going to get. “Okay uh… I don’t know your name but “Fox Lady”, is this conversation going somewhere or…” He made a rotational movement with his hand. “I mean, I appreciate you taking care of my ghost problem but like… I dunno, do you want me to pay you or something?”

—

Mona raised a brow. “And if I did?” She was well traveled, and a part of that meant she had to make connections. To depart from one’s life and the only things they’d ever known, they’d have to be well versed in communicating. Maybe she misunderstood how effective she was at it. She didn’t really care if people liked her or not, and maybe her methods of doing this person a favor had been done with haste, instead of any actual thought.

“I’m not sure if you’re being honest with me, but I figure plenty of secrets have been revealed tonight, so maybe it’s best you get to keep this last one.” Mona knew that sometimes, honesty wasn’t the best policy. It wasn’t that she didn’t lie— she did it a lot, but when it came to the obvious, what was the point? “Thirty years, and you’re…” She tried to size him up, figuring out his age, but she was at a loss. It was hard, when one lived as long as her own kind. Her own great-great-great-great grandmother only looked to be about seventy. “Mona. Not fox lady.” She pointed at herself, eyebrow pushing into her hairline at the absurdity of his question. So he didn’t know a thing about her kind. “You don’t need to pay me, but what’s your name? Feel like it’s important, since I told you mine.”

—

The mare shoved his hands into his pockets with a noncommittal shrug and a generous roll of his eyes. “Then I guess I just stated the obvious.” Konstantin had dealt with types like her before, kitsune or not; ‘hey, I did you a favor, now I’ll keep you posted when I need to cash it in.’ He knew there were a few fae like that (or maybe more, he wasn’t sure) but it certainly wasn’t exclusive to fae. He was handling his little ghost problem just fine without her, even if her sudden appearance, eating a ghost, then asking him invasive questions was a little off-putting. Up until late August, K.O. had long since lost the general sensation of fear, though he certainly remembered what it felt like and even now, before the Split, he was sometimes starkly reminded of how he felt in the moments before he died. It was phantom pain, but it was still pain that somehow made him feel alive though he knew he was effectively a corpse being piloted by stardust, dreams and nightmares. And yet, talking with this kitsune, he could’ve sworn he felt some of that fear. If she could eat ghosts, could she eat astral projections? After all, he himself could see ghosts - he’d even had some conversations with them on the Plane before. Maybe he was being obtuse. Maybe he should’ve just asked. In any case, K.O. loosened his posture slightly, rolling his eyes again though the getsure was much more muted this time. “I’m sixty-three. I d– I was reborn when I was thirty.” He explained, keeping his hands in his pockets. “And the name’s K.O.” He added after a beat. “Aaaand�� I guess I should ask what else you eat.” He sighed the last bit. “Because if you eat mares, you can fuck off–” He grunted and furrowed his brow. “Get lost. Or… I don’t know. I’m not on the menu, is the gist.”

—

“I guess you did.” She wasn’t sure if she was actually offending her company, or if they were just like that. It was none of her concern, anyway. If anything, she got a meal out of it. She was satiated, for now. Even if she did feel a little guilty that she had devoured a murder victim. Her sister had made it a point to only eat the ghosts of those who’d done bad things. It was a moral compass that Mona lacked, if she was being honest. Then again, maybe the woman had done something bad and she just didn’t know it.

“Reborn.” This wasn’t the first time she had heard it phrased this way, and she figured it wouldn’t be the last. Mona wasn’t sure exactly what it meant, to somebody who could come back from the brink and be given a second chance as something different. She had come back as the same thing she’d always been, though physically a little different. “Interesting. Well, I’m older than you, if that tells you anything.” She wondered if he would have figured that. “K.O…” It wasn’t necessarily an odd name, but she had to wonder what it stood for. “Okay, K.O, I can guarantee that I don’t, and won’t eat you. You’re physical, right? I’m not in the business of cannibalism.” She paused. “Is it considered cannibalism if we’re not the same— you know what, it doesn’t matter.” She shook her head with a laugh. “You can relax, though. I have no intention of eating you. Only things that are of the spectral variety, like a ghost. You can’t have a tether to this world. I know about what you can do, and I’m not interested, but..” She drew out the last word comically, “since you’re asking— I really have grown fond of boiled peanuts and Dublin Coddle over the years.”

—

“You’re older than me?” K.O. asked first, admittedly perplexed in that childish way, a novel concept that someone could’ve done something, achieved something or been something before him. Of course, he knew that certain species had longer lifespans, but he couldn’t have been sure if it was jealousy or just a subconscious self-centeredness that kept him from realizing that fact sometimes. It might’ve been both, but he gave a noncommittal shrug as though it didn’t stick around in his mind for long. “I guess that tracks, considering I’ve been dead for thirty years.” Out of all the things he could’ve said, that was what came out and immediately after he said it, it left a bad taste in his mouth. And speaking of bad tastes… “Oh good. ‘Cuz I promise you, I’d taste terrible.” It was his turn to laugh, a superficial thing that held the right amount of legitimacy without being too disarmed. “I was just– I wasn’t sure because ghosts also hang out on the astral plane and I thought–” He cut himself off, shaking his own head and lifting his hands to stop himself. “Never mind, it’s not important. Good to know you’re not eating me, cannibalism or not.” The mare paused. “Though… I admit, I’ve never heard of “Dublin Coddle” before.”

—

“I am.” She wasn’t sure what age that K.O had died at, or rather, been reborn from, but she figured they were close in physical range to one another, not that it mattered. She wasn’t really in the business of trying to one up people based on ages. She liked that she looked younger, even if sometimes it got her into more trouble than it was worth. “Thirty years…” She hummed under her breath, “that’s a long time to be dead. Sorry to hear that.” She could tell that he wasn’t pleased with what he had divulged, but Mona wasn’t about to try and correct the use of words that hadn’t even come from her.

“You might want to tell the rest of this town that, though. I’m sure there are some things out there that’d love to snack on a mare.” Not her, definitely not her, but this town was full of things that even she didn’t know. Mona shook her head. “Not interested in your astral plane glittery shit, I swear.” There was no use in beating a dead horse, she realized. “Hm? It’s good. You should give it a try sometime, I’m sure there’s someone in town who can make it for you, there seems to be quite the community of fae.” With a sigh, she looked around them for a moment before realigning her gaze with the mare standing in front of her. “If you have any more ghost problems, let me know. Only the annoying kind, nobody with sad eyes.” She waved away her own words and motioned in the direction of the brighter part of town. “I’m going to head out now, and I suggest you do the same. Sun’ll be up eventually, and then you’ll Edward Cullen yourself.”

#para: ghostios #para: konstantin #wickedswriting

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whileiamdying · 9 months ago

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‘Beyond the Wall’ Review: A Grueling Guided Tour of an Iranian Police-State Nightmare

A suicidal blind man and an epileptic fugitive mother become physically and psychologically trapped in Vahid Jalilvand's bruisingly assaultive polemic against Iranian state oppression.

By Jessica Kiang Sep 8, 2022 11:31am PT

Nobody emerges unscathed — least of all the audience — from Vahid Jalilvand‘s highly effective, deeply unpleasant “Beyond the Wall,” a morbidly violent allegory for the effects of state-sponsored trauma on the individual that places contemporary Iranian society somewhere on the map between the sixth and seventh circles of hell. A strange combination of intricate, almost sci-fi-inflected psychological thriller, splenetic social-breakdown broadside and two-hander (torture) chamber drama, it is an exercise in bravura filmmaking applied to a story so relentlessly grim you might wish it were a little less well-made, giving you an excuse to look away. In his 2017 film “No Date No Signature” (which won Best Director and Best Actor in Venice’s Horizons sidebar), Jalilvand pictured a stratified society teetering on the edge of legality and morality; here, however, it has toppled entirely into the abyss. The only way is down, and the filmmaker is bringing you with it.

These uncompromising intentions are signalled by an opening salvo that would surely be any other film’s brutalizing emotional nadir, as we’re introduced to Ali (“No Date, No Signature” star Navid Mohammadzadeh) in the commission of an attempted suicide. No mere “cry for help,” it is not just the act itself but the manner he has chosen that is shocking: In the dripping damp of a dingy bathroom, Ali wraps a soaking T-shirt around his head, ties a plastic bag over that and shoves his battered hands down behind the shower pipe, effectively cuffing his own arms behind him while he screams and suffocates. The scene is such a trial to witness, it’s possible to miss the brief, disorienting, semi-subliminal inserts where it appears the violence is being done to him by someone else — or to think you have imagined them.

It is only an insistent pounding on his front door that brings Ali back from the brink. Breaking the pipe and tearing off his plastic shroud, he shuffles, gasping, dripping, broken, to answer it. The men at the door inform him that a woman wanted for a heinous crime has fled custody and was last spotted on the fire escape of his forbiddingly enormous apartment building. They suspect him — for some reason more than all the other residents — of harboring her. Ali shoos the men away, but we know that the woman, Leila (Diana Habibi), has indeed infiltrated his home and is cowering beneath a countertop, hands clasped over her bleeding, chapped lips to stifle her sobs. Ali has not seen her, because he does not see anything much. His failing eyesight is not just a temporary symptom of his recent near-death encounter, but a condition brought on from an earlier trauma, and it is degenerating faster than it should, as Ali refuses to use the treatments prescribed by sympathetic doctor Nariman (Amir Aghaee) on his frequent house calls.

It takes a painfully long time — and rather too many sequences of Ali feeling his way down his apartment’s yeasty, peeling walls, lighting cigarettes with palsied hands and peering at a mysterious letter he’s received — but eventually, as must happen, Ali discovers Leila. She is, and remains, terrified throughout but in Ali she has lucked upon the one man in this whole building (perhaps even the one man in all of Iran) who wants, obscurely, to help her. It might be because, given his initial state, he has little to lose. But perhaps it is something else, something like a shot at redemption for the unknown sins of a past that more frequently forces itself into the present as Ali and Leila’s predicament worsens.

The tricksiness of the finale, however, does somewhat undercut the seriousness of the film’s more intriguing ideas about how a prison made of concrete can never so comprehensively constrain us as the prisons of the body and the mind. Ali’s failing eyesight, his nerve-damaged hands, his stooped posture and proliferating scars, as well as Leila’s epilepsy and her son’s muteness, can be read as a fleshy physiological allegory for state violence and oppression, as damage to the body social manifesting in damage to actual bodies. But the metaphor only really works up to the point when Jalilvand’s overly complicated plotting comes round on itself. In any case, after more than two hours of seizures, crashes, riots, shootouts, beatings, and endlessly relived trauma, some of the finer points of the movie’s philosophy may escape you, just as you, too, are longing for escape. ��

#Iranian Cinema #Vahid Jalilvand #Beyond the Wall #Variety #No Date No Signature #Navid Mohammadzadeh #Diana Habibi #Amir Aghaee

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angelofthenight · 2 years ago

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The Monster You Created Pt.3

(Sam Fortner x Reader)

Warnings: Yandere!Sam, Dark themes, Swearing, Kidnapping situation, Somnophilia(?), Brink of victim blaming, Brief sexual reference, YN has an abusive dad, YN has daddy issues, Mentions of a past with drugs, Brief flashback, Unreciprocated love, Sam will get behaviorally worse as the story progresses (just like in the show but I feel the need to just put it out there)

Word Count: 4.7k

Table of Contents

Over the several more days of being imprisoned in Sam’s basement, you’ve developed a strict schedule for yourself to help pass the time. But you’d be lying if you said you didn’t felt like the Grinch up in his lonely mountain with the pathetic schedule. You’d eat your breakfast with Sam then as soon as he went upstairs you’d take a nap so that when he came back down you wouldn’t have to talk to him. Sleeping was really your only escape from him. You usually woke up right when it was time for him to leave for work. That’s when you officially started your day.

First you’d cry in your own misery, then stare at the wall, then start screaming at the top of your lungs for help, then eat the lunch Sam left for you before he left while you were asleep, then stretch with a little bit of yoga, then cry again, then throw a mini tantrum on the bed, then stare up at the ceiling. Usually by the end of your schedule Sam would be back with dinner and you’d be forced to talk to him before he went into the next room for bed.

You knew you shouldn't be neglecting the things Sam gave you to occupy your time, but with striking his food being a failed attempt at rebellion you resulted to striking his gifts. You refused to touch any of it.

Right now you stirred in your sleep, your body slowly waking up at the time Sam should be at work by. You inhaled deeply as you clutched onto the sheets while laying on your stomach. Once you released your exhale you slowly opened your eyes to begin your pathetic daily schedule.

Your pupils didn’t have time to adjust to the light when the first thing they landed on was Sam in a crouch right beside the bed, staring right at you with a studying look and pink dusted across his cheeks.

You instantly jumped up along with the spike in your heart rate and quickly backed up to the other side of the bed. “What the hell are you doing?!” You screeched with a convulsing chest and frighteningly disturbed features as Sam shot up to a stand, his face showing he was not prepared to be caught like that.

“I’m sorry!” He squeaked in shame as he shifted around in awkward embarrassment under your furious yet alarmed gaze. “I’m sorry, I… you just looked…” He looked down at his watch and flinched, he had completely lost track of time. “Shit, I'm late for work.” He didn’t look at you as he practically bolted for the door in a hurry. “I’ll see you soon.” He called out before sliding the door shut.

You were still stuck in your reaction in the corner of the bed, your eyes staring out the door where you last saw him. Tears layered over your eyes as you felt sick to your stomach, your appetite ruined by the nausea. Speaking of food, you looked down at the table at the plate of lunch he had given you. You made your way over to it to graze the food with your fingertips. You pulled your hand away. The food was freezing cold.

You backed back up to your bed, sensing a haunting feeling loom over you. He usually brought you lunch then left for work right away and by the time you’d wake up it’d still be hot. And he also mentioned he was late for work. So how long had he been watching you?

Some indistinct, muffled noises came from the ceiling above you, tearing you away from your thoughts and redirecting your focus towards something else. The noise continued. This isn’t the first time you've heard that noise. The first time you heard it it scared the shit out of you since Sam had already left the house and your first fear was that his house was haunted. However, you didn’t yell for help because you had a belief that maybe Sam pretended to leave to see if you’d call for help while he was gone.

But you heard Sam’s truck drive away so you knew that this was indeed a different person, perhaps a roommate Sam tried to hide you from. So you walked as close as the chain would allow to the staircase and began yelling as the thumping sound continued. “Hello?! Can you hear me?!” No response.

You huffed with an aggravated pout, your patience had grown to be short from being so pissed at Sam all the time now. And you were not in a good mood at the moment to be ignored, especially if this was the closest taste to freedom you’ve gotten.

“I know you’re up there! Please! I need help! If you can hear me please don’t ignore me! Can you make a call for me?!” The thumping stopped and you held your breath so you weren’t making any noise that might drown out anything from upstairs. Suddenly, the footsteps grew closer and louder and you felt hope birth the air back into your lungs. You almost bawled tears of absolute joy when you heard the door to the top of the stairs open. You braced yourself for literally anything as you heard someone walk down the stair, relief pumping through high adrenaline veins. You were not prepared to see who came down the stairs.

An older woman with short blonde hair hesitantly came into your view, clutching onto a fire poker with a look of disquietude.

You blinked in surprise, your lips parting with no words coming from them. You snapped out of your revelation and cleared your throat. “Hi. Um, I’m (Y/n).” You nervously said, gesturing toward yourself before her condoling eyes.

The woman nodded slightly with her back pressed against the wall. “I know. I’m Candace.” She hesitated before saying. “I'm Sam's mother.”

Your eyes widened and your eyebrows lifted in shock. You looked as if someone told you the most offensive joke. “His… his mom?” You clarified aloud, your shock still very intense and it showed on your dropped jaw. She nodded and didn’t say anything else.

“You said you knew who I was?” You asked regarding her ‘I know’. “Of course I do.” The smallest smile teased her lips. “All Sam does is talk about you ever since you met. He’d come home and gush about you all day, about how nice and funny you were. I helped with giving him ways to make a move on you.”

“So this was his big romantic gesture.” You asked bitterly with an unimpressed scowl, gesturing around the room with a pointer finger. “No, I know this was not the way he should’ve gone. I know how terrible this is. Believe me, I know.” She softly exclaimed with a sympathetic expression. Your annoyed grimace sunk into a sad look of desperacy. “Please, let me go. Unlock me.” You begged, your ankle tugging on your restraining chain.

“I don't have a key.” She blatantly shrugged and you held back a huff of frustration. “Well then… can you call the police? Or call my boyfriend, even?” She took a few steps closer to you, yet still way out of your reach. “Please understand. I don't support him in this at all. I'm not... like him. But I can't turn in my own son.” “You're his mom. Can't you tell him to stop this and let me go? This isn’t the way to get me to like him. He can’t force me to love him if I don’t.” You pressed on as you tried to convince her.

“I know it's-it's-” You cut her off. “Candace, please. Just woman to woman. You have to understand what it’s like to reject a man and they just won’t take no for an answer no matter how uncomfortable you get. You have to understand that this is just making it worse and he’s just gonna have to accept that I don’t like him like that.”

“I know this isn't right. But he's my baby. You have to help him, he does everything he does for you. I really think you’d like him if you just gave him a chance.” She explained, trying to sugarcoat everything which only worsened your anger, making you finally snap at her. “So, what? You’re saying it’s my fault? You’re saying it’s my job to fix him? That he’s the monster I created?” Your anger was clear as sharp glass in your tone, offended and furious at what she was hinting at.

“I didn’t say that.” Candace asserted, a strict motherly tone clear in her voice. “What he feels for you… it’s starting to really concern me…” she paused as distress painted over her features, “and scare me.”

Your expression shrunk away, going blank in confusion and anxious apprehension from what she said and how she said it. “What do you mean?” She looked to regret saying that as she avoided your stare, squeezing the fire poker in a state of nerves. “It’s not my place.” She shook her head and scrambled back up the stairs.

You flinched and fearfully called for her to come back. “No! Tell me! What did you mean by that, Candace?!” Your yelling evolved into screaming to be sure she was hearing you as you began to panic at what you were being left in the dark about. Your chest began to hyperventilate as fear overpowered you. “What did you mean by that!? Should I be scared too?! CANDACE!!”

You sat on the ground with your back pressed against the side of the mattress as you stared at the carpet. You just finished your scheduled tantrum and instead of staring at the ceiling till Sam got home, you decided to switch it up and stare at the ground instead. You couldn’t tell how much time had passed until you saw Sam holding two plastic bags walk up to the sliding door in your peripheral vision.

The door slid open, letting fresh air hit your face momentarily, the gust of cool wind just cruelly teasing you and your isolation. Your fleeting moment of peace was disturbed by the voice of a delusional dick, in your words. “You ever had pho?”

You looked up to him looking down at you after he set the bags on the table. “I think so.” He smiled and pointed down at you. “Not like this, you haven't. I'm gonna get bowls.” He said then turned for the stairs until you stopped him. “Sam, wait.” You piped out, making him turn back around with a wondrous look.

You debated for a second even telling him, maybe the more you knew more than what he thought you knew the bigger upper hand you had. But you decided to focus your energy on earning his trust in hopes of losing the chain sooner rather than later. “When you were gone, I heard someone upstairs and I called out to them.”

Sam swallowed. “And did you get an answer?” He asked though you were sure he already knew the answer. You nodded. “I did. They came down and we talked for a bit.” “So you met my mother.” Sam stated, looking almost disappointed. He didn’t really plan on you meeting her like this. “Yeah. Is this her house or yours?” You asked out of curiosity.

“It’s hers, I moved back in with her after…” He stopped himself from finishing his sentence. “Let me get the bowls.” And he rushed up the stairs like he was running from embarrassment. You hated it. You hated knowing him and his mom were keeping significant things from you. Sentences left unfinished, stories having shadows of multiple unspoken details. You had so many questions and every answer you were given was only half the truth. What were they hiding from you?

You stayed sulking on the floor until he came back with the bowls, placing them on the table and pulling in his seat. As he prepared the food you finally forced yourself up to sit down as well. “So what’d you do while I was gone?” He asked as he still set everything up for your shared dinner. You didn’t answer. After a moment of silence passed you finally worked yourself up to make a request you’ve been hung up about during your long stare session at the wall earlier in the day. “I need new clothes to change into.”

Sam almost spilled a bowl. Your brows cinched together. “I’ve been wearing the same thing for the past multiple days. And I need a shower. So, I think you should unlock the chain.”

“No.” Sam shook his head quietly and still didn’t look up at you, making you shift more into a glare. “Sam, you really think I’m a physical threat to you? You're bigger and stronger than me and could easily overpower me.” You saw the corner of Sam’s lips quirk up and at first you were confused until you realized what suggestively ran through his mind. “Not like that.” You moderately barked through a faint heat of embarrassment.

“I… I was originally gonna have you handcuffed to the wall too.” Sam said almost a little bashfully. You felt relief brush through you as you sat back in your chair and stared at him. You hated to admit you were thankful that he hadn’t gone that far, barely even grasping how much more miserable you’d be if he went with his first idea. Another moment of silence rose between the two of you, your unsettlement written all over your face and Sam playing with his food as he bit his lip.

“She usually doesn't come down here.” Sam spoke up after awhile, finally looking up at you with confusion in his squinting eyes and biting lip. “Your mom. She seems nice.” You said quietly but loud enough for Sam to hear.

Sam nodded. “She's a good mother. She made me sandwiches every day. She did the laundry. She took care of me when my dad-” His chest physically heaved, inhaling his words back in. He had already told you about his dads constant violence, it was one of the things you made him feel comfortable enough to open up about. In exchange you opened up about your own dad’s severe verbal abuse. You both never went very deep with your stories though, you were both equally sensitive about talking about it and it was never a good time or place to talk about it. But now, Sam believed this whole situation was the perfect time and place to say all the things you could never say.

“What about you?” He asked which earned the vaguest eyebrow raise from you. “Before your dad left, were you close with your mother?” Your first instinct was to snap at him, telling him it was none of his business. But you were in such a weak state of mind that you wondered if maybe you’d feel better if you finally did talk about your traumatic childhood with someone who had a similar one as well.

“We could’ve been.” You said just above a whisper, a frown forming on your lips as your mind went back to that dark, untouched cabinet surrounded by cobwebs that you called your childhood memories. “She always tried to help me but I just… pushed her away and always yelled at her. I think it’s because she was constantly giving me love and attention and my dad was the only one who…” you pursed your lips together fleetingly to prevent them from quivering, “wasn’t. And that bothered me. So I was so obsessed with getting his attention.”

Sam watched with a heartbroken expression as you held back tears you didn’t even realize you were holding. “Did you ever get it?” He asked carefully.

You sighed wistfully, staring at the carpet as your memories unraveled. “Never the kind I wanted. Everytime he faced me he always had something to scream at me about. About everything that was wrong with me. I think sometimes he just made up things on the spot that he hated about me or wished he could change about me.” You spaced out for a second longer than you intended, Sam practically seeing in your mournful eyes you were having a flashback.

You sniffled, blinking yourself back into reality. You looked back over to the empathetic man across from. “Was your dad ever like that?” You asked, trying to steer the conversation away before it drifted too far into your past than you were comfortable with. Sam exhaled and leaned back into his chair, his eyes never parting from you.

“Yeah, my dad had a, uh, temper like that too, where there was always something I was doing wrong. Like he'd say something that I was supposed to do, and if I didn't do it within one second… I didn't know what he meant sometimes. I... He was… I needed time to think, but… like, one time, he got a whole load of grout for the kitchen and the bathroom, and he got a deal,” he rolled his eyes, “right, so he ordered a ton of it, and it came in these boxes. And he was yelling at me, ‘Break 'em down’. Screaming. ‘Break 'em down’.”

Your brows furrowed and your upper lip lifted in utter confusion. “What does that even mean?” Sam shrugged with a bitter smile. “I still don’t know. I've never heard that before 'cause he... he wasn't pointing at the boxes.” He took a sharp deep breath. “Then he just, he just went at me, like he did.” He took a deep sip from his drink.

You would never admit it out loud to Sam, but the snippets of stories he told about his childhood made you feel sick. Everytime. And the look on his face told you it was so much worse than it sounded. The part of you that didn’t hate him was genuine pity. “Was he really violent with you all the time?” You asked with a look of wonder and worry contorted by commiseration.

He looked up to you with a deadpan expression. “All. The. Time.” He didn’t say anything afterward, his stare wandering from you which left a tense silent atmosphere, making you swallow and look down at your nails. “What happened with you and your mother after your dad left? Did you heal together?” Sam asked, once again steering the conversation back towards you.

You felt a twinge in your chest, breath instantly sucking up your nose as you were brought back to one of the lowest times in your life.

“Mom! Has Dad called yet?!” Sixteen year old you yelled from the other room as your mother rinsed dishes in the sink, her hair in a knotted bun she hadn’t taken out for weeks and dark eyebags weighing under her tired eyes. “No!” She called back. She heard your footsteps scamper over into the kitchen, you peeking your head around the doorframe with a suspicious look in your heavy black eyelined eyes.

“It’s Monday now. He always calls on Sunday’s.” You asked, your pierced nose crinkling. Your mother sighed in exhaustion and shook her head. “I guess he just forgot, baby.” You glared at the woman you hated oh so much, she was the reason your dad left you for some scarlet woman with a big house. You marched up to her and snatched her phone from her back pocket.

She whipped herself around to chase after you. “Sweetheart, give it back!” She said sternly as she stayed hot on your tail as you ran out the side door and onto the patio. You searched for your father’s contact but could not find it anywhere. “Where’s his number?” You asked lowly as you turned to look at your mother.

Your mother sighed and looked you dead in the eye. “I deleted it.” You blinked, your body becoming paralyzed from the sudden burst of anger that exploded inside you. The only thing that moved was your mouth and the twitch in your eye. “…Why?” “So he can’t bother us anymore.” She said plainly, her tone sounding as if she knew best.

Your breathing elevated to huffs. “FUCK YOU, MOM!” You suddenly screamed at her, your face turning red and spit flying from your scream like you were some rabid bulldog. You chucked her phone onto the concrete, not even watching it shatter and only your mother’s lack of reaction. You stomped past her as you continued to rasp. “I fucking hate this house! It’s a fucking prison!” You stopped in front of her bedroom door that she always kept locked from you now.

Your fists painfully tightened along with your jaw, your glare twitching as you stared at the door where you knew everything she confiscated from you was behind. “And I FUCKING want my joints back!” You screamed out as you began manically kicking at her door, trying to bust it open as your mother fought away tears in the kitchen while wondering how the hell she could help you.

You blinked repeatedly to rid of the stinging sensation in your eyes. “Only after my little, uh, phase.” You said quickly. You bit your lip as you begged that the conversation would end. When Sam said he wanted the two of you to connect you didn’t think he was talking about trauma dumping. You didn’t even open up that deep to your own boyfriend. You preferred to keep it that way. You have finally healed from your traumatic childhood and you didn’t want to open those closed scars.

“You keep referencing your ‘embarrassing phase’ but never elaborate. What was the phase of?” Sam asked, his full attention on you as he forgot he even had food to finish eating. You remained silent which stung Sam’s heart. He knew you were sensitive about your past, so was he, but you always acted as if you didn’t need to talk about it. But he could see that you’ve been secretive about it for too long. “You can talk to me, (Y/n).” He pressed on.

“It was just a rebellious phase.” You said brusquely, a shrug tensing up on your shoulders as you crossed your arms irritably, growing annoyed by Sam’s encouragement to keep going. “I was really dramatic about my dad leaving so instead of healing right away out of relief I kind of just… spiraled in the wrong direction. I was really angry at my mom all the time and shut her further out of my life every time she tried to help me.”

“But what did you do exactly?” Sam pressed once again, the need to know physically paining him.

You looked up to his attentive gaze, vex in your own. If he wanted to know so badly then fine, you’d open the closet door to reveal the skeletons not even your boyfriend knew about. “I was unhinged and out of control and I used anything as an excuse to dull the pain of abandonment. So lots of drugs, smoking, alcohol, sexualized clothing, sneaking out, petty crimes, sex. Y’know, basically self destruction as I tried to get the attention of any guy that reminded me of my dad.”

“Like your boyfriend?” Sam stated.

Your features flinched in offense, your brows pinching together. “What? No? Brady is nothing like my dad.” You defended neuroticly as you leaned your form forward. “He’s always there for me, he cares for me, he protects me, and he loves me.”

“All qualities a father should have.” Sam said softly, looking at you like you were the saddest thing to ever crawl across the earth. It infuriated you. “No! It’s not like that! It’s just called being a loving partner!” You barked harshly, enraged that he thought you were only with your boyfriend to fill that empty void of lack of a father.

Sam stared at you, unfazed by your shouting and instead saddened by your arrogant obliviousness. “You don’t get it, do you?” “Get what?!” You snarled in outrage. He didn’t respond, just kept doing one of his favorite activities: staring at you with dull eyes.

Your eyes rolled in exasperation as your fists tightened into balls, abruptly standing from your seat. “You know what, I don’t care. I’m done with this stupid conversation.” You growled angrily before spinning your whole body around to crash back onto the bed, returning to your corner of the mattress with your back facing Sam.

Sam sighed to himself disheartenedly as he stared at your back, deep in thought. It was going so well until he brought up your boyfriend whom you’re so defensive of because you love him oh sooo much. He rolled his eyes at your stubbornness to open your eyes and see and accept the truth: that your boyfriend was a piece of shit dickhole who deserved to be wiped off the face of the earth in the most painful way possible.

His knuckles faded into hues of white as he pictured the air within his fists as the flesh of a man. A man who treated you as if you were the piece of shit. A man who saw himself as too dignified for a lowlife. A man who’s never been disciplined before in his life, nor ever been told “no”. A man who always won at everything he attempted. A man who always believed he was above everyone and everything. A man who always kept his eyes open when he kissed you so he could give Sam a cocky, smug look.

A man who not only resembled your father, but his own.

Sam bit the inside of his cheek painfully until he stood up, taking the half eaten food in his hands. “I’m gonna go heat up our food. I’ll be right back.” He said fleetingly before rushing out. Even when he came back and ate the rest of his food, you didn’t falter from your curled up ball of silence. You only broke it when he announced he was going to bed.

“So what about that change of clothes and a shower?” You asked without turning to him, making him stop in his active tracks toward his room. He didn’t turn around. “I’ll stop by your house and grab some.” “And what about a shower?” You asked. “I have to think about it.” You heard him resume his steps so you forced yourself to risk the question. “And the chain?”

He stopped in his tracks again and you felt that tension-filled question weigh in on the atmosphere. He took a deep breath and finally stepped back to look at you. “The chain will come off when you start acting like someone who doesn’t need it.” Before he had the chance to finish his way to his room you looked over your shoulder to meet his eyes. “How can you love me but not trust me?” You asked with a dismayed undertone, hoping for that alone to be enough to manipulate Sam by his love for you.

Sam didn’t fall for it though at all. “I’m not stupid, I know you’ll sprint out that door the very first chance you get.” He made his way to his bedroom door to open it slightly, wide enough for him to slip through but thin enough for you to not be able to see in. “Patience is a virtue. The chain will stay on until you learn to accept my love. And I don’t care how long you make me wait. I really don’t. I’d literally wait forever if I had to.” And with that he shut the door.

You stared at that damn door as despair slowly settled into your face. Would he really keep you chained up forever? He said it with a tone that left you uncertain of how far he was willing to go to have you embrace his affections and return them. Sam concealed himself that way; he was nearly impossible to read. His eyes were just so… dull more than half the time.

You stared at that damn door, despising the fact that his room was just right there, the wall being the only thing separating the two of you. You hated that you could only have privacy when he left the premises. You didn’t feel safe or anywhere near comfortable knowing he could open that door anytime in the middle of the night to be alone with your vulnerable unconscious body.

You also hated how quickly he opened and closed his door, never allowing a single second for your eyes to focus on anything exposed through the crack. What was he even hiding in his room anyway?

Taglist: @alices-halcyon @katlover63

#the patient fx #the patient hulu #the patient #yandere #yandere x reader #sam fortner #Sam fortner x Reader #Sam fortner imagine #reader insert #dark fic #yandere Sam fortner #domhnall gleeson #Domhnall Gleeson x Reader

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wangshuus · 4 years ago

Text

no love left | diluc ragnvindr

pairing: diluc ragnvindr/gn. reader

genre: angst

wc: 3.2k

cw: mild cussing, brief mentions of violence, probably lore breaking too lol.

summary: falling out of love is painful but maybe it’s what you needed.

note: please read the authors note after the story ESPECIALLY if you’re confused because i’ve implemented a few odd aspects into this story. i was just typing out whatever so essentially it’s more word vomit (again lol) but uhh yeah. most of the important stuff is at the bottom so like i said before, read that authors note at the end!!

lightly proofread, please don’t mind any errors

fic below the cut.

When the esteemed bachelor Diluc Ragnvindr finally settled down with a lover, the news did not fail to spread across Mondstadt like a wildfire. It was the talk of town for who knows how long but as time passed, the people settled down and the buzz eventually died but no one ever failed to acknowledge the young Ragnvindr and his beloved when they were together. Although the two preferred to keep a composed look to the public eye, the admiration they held for each other burned as bright as a summers day in their eyes at all times when they were together; from that alone, anyone could tell they were in love

So where did it all go wrong?

You sat across from Diluc at a table in the winery, the air thick with a suffocating tension that felt like it was going to swallow you whole at any minute now. Your hands rested on the table in front of you as you barely managed to keep your hands from trembling as a storm of emotions stirred inside of you as you felt your composure on the brink of cracking any second. You decided to finally break the silence as you spoke up, a slight tremble in your voice.

“What is it Diluc? Huh? I was hoping you’d have the decency to speak up about whatever the hell is going on instead of leaving me in the dark but it’s been far too long now. Now tell me Diluc, what’s going on?”

Oh the way your words slipped from your mouth made the room feel so cold, even if you didn’t wield a vision of any sorts. Diluc took a deep breath before he decided to speak up.

“What went on between the two of us was purely business.” Was the simple statement he gave.

Was?

“They’ve shown themselves to be quite the individual, wielding good etiquette with both business and a weapon.” He spoke out once more.

“God sake Diluc you’re fucking stalling at this point. You know what, I’ll make it easier for you. Do you still love me?”

There was a pause. A long painful pause. You already had your answer.

“(Y/n), I still care for you more than you can ever imagine, I truly do.”

The words felt like knives piercing through your form and from that, you felt the first tear slip down your face.

“Diluc, are you even aware of how terrible I feel in this situation right now? I’m watching my lover from a far doing lord knows what and you expect me to just tolerate it? I trusted you enough which is why I never pried at it but fuck Diluc, it’s just unbearable at this point.”

“I never did act upon anything in fears of making the situation worse--” You cut him off.

“Making the situation worse huh? So you were out here trying to do some crowd control weren't you? Was if for the sake of not hurting me or or for the sake of not tainting your pristine reputation?”

“I said before, I really do care for you still.” His hand reached towards your own as he held your hand with utmost gentleness. You were almost convinced he still loved you as much as he did in the past.

“However, I can’t deny that our dynamic has indeed changed. I…” His grip on your hand tightened.

“I can’t lie to you and say that I love you the way I did before.”

There it was.

“You don’t look at me the way you used to, you know? Your eyes used to be so full of love whenever you looked at me but that look is reserved for someone else now, isn’t it? You’ve looked at me with nothing but sorrow and pity nowadays and I guess my assumptions of the worst were correct.” You said as your voice trembled even more.

You wanted to pull your hand away so badly, the hand that once brought you such warmth now felt as if it was searing your skin. But you couldn’t. Not when this was mostly likely the last time you’d ever feel such an intimate touch from him. You found yourself to be conflicted as to whether you wanted to pull away out of pure frustration or savour the moment as it could be the last of him you would ever get to have for yourself.

“(Y/n), from the bottom of my heart, I’m truly sorry. I’ve loved you for so long and you’ve given me more love than I could’ve ever imagined. I never wanted things to change but I suppose fate had other plans. I’ll never stop caring for you however, I’m afraid I’ve stopped loving you in the way you’re used to.”

The truthful words were ones that felt like hell to swallow. You didn’t want to believe it but you knew damn well he was telling the truth. The sincerity and softness in his voice made it so hard to be completely mad at him. He was so gentle with his words but the truth of them did nothing but make your heart hurt and ache. An empty chuckle left your lips as your features were now graced with a bittersweet smile.

“Ah, I think I would’ve appreciated it if you were meaner with your responses. Maybe then I wouldn’t have such a hard time letting you go.” You finally managed to look him in the eyes, his reflection showing on your glossy orbs.

He felt his own heart churn with remorse and guilt, seeing as he terribly hurt the one person that he had sworn to love and protect for the rest of his days. He felt sick over the fact he failed to keep part of the promise-- the part where he said that he would continue to love you.

That was one of the last times you had ever seen Diluc Ragnvindr.

Your body shook as the freezing temperatures of Dragonspine overtook your senses. You sat up against a rock, your back leaning onto it as you struggled to keep yourself upright. You were barely holding on by a thread as you physically felt numb. However, your mind swirled with a storm of emotions, almost as strong as the last day you had seen your ex-lover but this time, you reminisced on your time as you felt like this would be your final moments.

You pondered over the fact that this might’ve been the reason that he no longer loved you in the way you wished to be loved by him. You wanted his affections, you wanted his love, you wanted him. But you were too weak. That was it. He let you go for someone that was strong, so very strong; both mentally and physically. God, you couldn’t even compare to the likes of them, being nothing but a measly old adventurer, one that wasn’t even fortunate enough to wield a vision. You were nothing but weak in your own eyes; that's what brought you to your demise.

In your hands, you clutched one of the last treasures you had found in the cursed mountains. It was a pretty little collar that held a jewel that twinkled so beautifully despite the dull, hazy environment.

“You do not wish to be weak anymore do you, little one? Do not be afraid, put me on and I’ll grant you the desires you so wish to obtain. Abide by my rules and obtain for me the essence of life and together, we can make sure that everyone will hail before you.”

A voice echoed inside your head as your mind began to spiral. All morals, memories and feelings began to drown out until you were barely hanging on by thread.

“Hurry, time is of the essence! Quick!”

With little energy you had left, you were able to hang the new found possession around your neck. The second you let go of the clips that held the piece together, you felt a tight constriction around your neck, the feeling was suffocating. Just like the last time you had seen Diluc. For a moment, you thought of the red haired male you once held to dear and close to your heart. It ached for him once more in that very moment because he was the very essence of warmth and it was something that you so desired in such a moment like this. The way he held you against him in the coldest of nights in an attempt to keep you warm and oh how it worked wonderfully. It was a memory that slowly faded away with your conscience. Your hands graced themselves lightly around your neck as you struggled to breathe even more than before, your body finally running out of any sort of energy as you fell limp against the cold and soft snow.

Anything. From this point on, you would do anything to get stronger. You no longer cared for any mishaps that happened along the way. You had no love left, nothing but the hunger for power that drowned out the aching void that was now left behind after everything was torn away from you.

“Sorry... to also have you shoulder the grievances of the world. Since you could endure my bitter cold, you must have the desire to burn? Then, burn away the old world for me.”

Within the bustling harsh winds of the Dragonspine mountains laid a girl with a jewelled necklace as well as a cold, icy blue orb that shined brightly against the blizzards.

“The expedition out in Dragonspine was a complete disaster! The winds were harsher than usual and how could we predict such a nasty storm would’ve been upon us? We planned so far ahead and yet it ended up utterly terrible.” One of the adventurers commented as they were in the process of recovering after descending from the unforgiving mountains.

“Did everyone that went on the expedition come back? There’s absolutely no way we can risk going up there again, at least not for a while.” Another commented.

There was an excruciating silence within the camp.

“Has anyone seen (Y/n)?”

Diluc had set out once the late hours of the night and the early hours of the morning came upon him. He continued to lurk from the shadows and deal with whatever trivial matters that had to be dealt with in the dead of night as he always did. He had heard of a few nuisances that arose near the outskirts of Dragonspine that hadn’t been dealt with yet. Of course the knights wouldn’t bother with this anyways, as per usual what he thought to himself.

Though the male held a pyro vision, the sharp and bitter cold of Dragonspine was something that never failed to make him uncomfortable.

He swiftly made his way to the location, being stealthy and fast with his movements in an attempt to get the job done faster to refrain from being caught. Once he had made his way to the destination, he remained hidden while he examined the area. In the far distance, he saw camps, hilichurl as well as Fatui camps that were not too far off. His face held a look of distaste as his eyes laid upon the familiar trademark symbol of the Snezhnayan organization.

Just as he was about to step out and deal with the hilichurl camp himself, a figure emerged from afar and into the camp. The movements of said person were agile, fast and swift, ice shards being directed in the direction of every living being on the camp. A blizzard stirred so fiercely upon the camp and as the barbaric bitter winds of the snow died down, there was almost nothing left of the camp that once stood there.

Not a single soul.

Diluc very cautiously moved closer to get a better look at the strange person that appeared before him. His eyes widened in disbelief as he started to make out the figure, his mind refusing to believe what he saw in front him, almost regretting letting his curiosity get the best of him.

“I wasn’t aware that you people are unable to take care of a measly little hilichurl camp. I specifically stated to clear the area before anything else and you couldn’t even follow instructions as simple as that, or perhaps I wasn’t clear enough with my statement?” An icy voice boomed out towards a trio of Fatui skirmishers.

That voice was all too familiar to Diluc. It was so familiar yet it sounded so different, so harsh, so cold. Yet, it was the voice that confirmed his unruly suspicions.

“Make up for your poor performance by getting the camps set up in a decent manner at the very least. I’d rather spare myself the trouble of punishing the likes of you people. You don’t wish to cross me any further, do you?” A cold, hard glare very evident on your fact that was directed to the three in front of you.

They frantically shook their heads, sputtering out a series apologies in an attempt to ease your annoyance.

“Make use of yourselves and set up immediately. By the time I come back to supervise the area, everything should be set up in a manner that is nothing less than perfect. If you wish to please me this time, do as you’re told this time. Now go.” You shook them off with a wave of a hand as they saw themselves away in an instant.

You took your time to avoid the now empty camp that rid itself of almost all remains. A hand placed itself atop the jewel that gracefully sat between your collarbones. The voices that swirled in your head chanting for more power and more life eventually died down as the constrictions of your beloved collar began to loosen, just enough so you could breathe. You let out a breathe that you had been holding before regaining your composure. You stood up straight with a proud stature before speaking out.

“I know you are there, may as well come forth voluntarily unless you want be to bring you out myself.”

Diluc’s blood ran cold when he realized that that you were most likely referring to him, baffled at how you were able to pick up on his own presence. He cautiously revealed himself and made his way a little closer to you. The second you laid eyes on the redhead, you felt like your world stopped for a second. The initial shock was replaced with amusement as the scene unfolded in front of you.

“And to think that last time we saw each other would be the last.” You said before bitterly chuckling.

Diluc took some time to muster up words and recover from his initial shock.

“You never came back from that mission. You were claimed to be dead by the guild the day after and yet here you are. The people mourned over you. I mourned for you. What has become of you, (Y/n)?” Diluc spoke out, pain and sadness laced within his tone.

“Ha, they mourned? As well as yourself? Don’t make me laugh Ragnvindr. Was your mourning perhaps an act in an attempt to keep up your reputation. Would not surprise me in the slightest if that were the case. I refuse to accept the pity of others, and I absolutely detest if it is empty and meaningless. Pity is for those who are weak and as far as I’m concerned--”

You stepped closer to Diluc before you continued.

“I’m not weak anymore.”

“(Y/n), you were never weak--” Diluc said before he was cut off.

“Bullshit Ragnvindr. Utter bullshit.” You harshly spat.

“I wasn’t able to handle myself before. I was nothing but weak. It was one of the reasons you fell out of love with me, was it not? You wanted a strong individual that could take care of themselves and you sure got one, but it wasn’t me at the time. Look now Ragnvindr, I am strong now.”

He took a better look at you as the realization of your position has begun to sink in.

“You... you’re…” In one of the rare times of his life, he was at a loss for words.

“Ah, Ah, Cat got your tongue? Poor boy can’t even muster up any words.” You chuckled mockingly.

“Fatui Harbinger, Ragnvindr. Number 12. Surely you’ve heard right?” You boldly stated.

Yes, he did hear. The Tsaritsa had taken another Harbinger under her wing yet the news and information of said Harbinger was extremely scarce and yet, No.12 stood right before Diluc.

No.12 was once his own beloved.

“What exactly led to all of this? What caused all of this to happen? What have you done to yourself?” The questions kept pouring out from Diluc’s mouth.

“It was quite simple. I got sick and tired of being weak and having things being taken from me. I have lost too many things to count and I have sacrificed many things to become who I am today. I do not regret a single thing I have done since I have started being selfish and being selfish has kept me from getting hurt again. I do not need you anymore, I do not need anyone in fact. I live for myself and to serve the needs of the Tsaritsa to repay her for giving me a chance to live the way I should’ve been all along.” You look at him with a taunting smirk on your face.

The (Y/n) (L/n) that was once known to be the beloved of Diluc Ragnvindr was dead. They died the moment you stepped out of the winery for the very last time. You were (Y/n), No.12 of the Fatui Harbingers. You were the one that sacrificed yourself to a curse upon the Dragonspine mountains in exchange for power to fill the void that was left behind. You no longer had the longing for love; you had none left after all. You craved for power and leverage over others and you refused to let people trample over you like they did before. You refused to be weak again. With the help of your new found vision as well as the curse that now burdened you, you would conquer the world and burn the old one away, along with your old self.

With no love left, there was nothing left to lose after all.

A/N: SOOOO the whole choker thing might be a little confusing but BASICALLY i took the whole concept from the “Love me, Love me, Love me.” song where the girl gets that cursed necklace/choker and i changed the concept around a little bit so that in exchange for power, dear reader has to basically slaughter things to keep the choker from killing them LOL (I’m tired pls my mind if SPIRIALING rn lmfao)

the italics in the second chunk are the weird choker speaking to the reader since it's a whole ‘curse’ thing and the bold italics in the second chunk is basically a quote from genshin from the cryo gemstone thingies and i used it to signify the reader getting a cryo vision^^ there’s a lot i wanna say but i’m too lazy to elaborate sorry lol. kinda feel like making more parts to this bc i feel like the story could go one but ehhh we’ll see how I’m feeling. i really just wanted to make a oneshot where the reader goes batshit after so ahahahahhaha. (also this fic feels lore breaking as fuck but its ok LMAO)

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin impact reader insert #fanfic #fanfiction #genshin impact diluc #diluc ragnvindr #angst #diluc #no love left

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starrconch · 4 years ago

Text

SAFE HAVEN

★ Includes: Kaeya, GN reader, mention of injury and blood

★ Word Count: 928

★ Master List

KAEYA

★ The last thing you expected was to hear pounding on your front door in the middle of the night.

★ You lived in the small village of Springvale, meaning any company in your home was very rare. So, it was a real shock to be woken at an ungodly hour.

★ It had to be some kind of emergency. Perhaps the village was under attack by hilichurls, or worse. What if the abyss or fatui had found their way here?

★ Drawing your weapon from under your bed, you rushed to the door, readying yourself for a fight.

★ As you opened it, the sight of Cavalry Captain Kaeya of the Knights of Favonius was another shock to your system.

Kaeya leant against the doorframe, shifting his weight onto one side and clutching his torso tightly as if he were trying to hold himself together. “Ah! Y/N! I didn’t realise you lived here.” He smiled weakly, the kind he used when he was attempting to hide something and said something was usually pain.

“Kaeya!” You dropped your weapon and crossed your arms. “What are you doing here?” What the knight was doing out this late at night was a mystery to you, but you knew something bad must have happened for him to be knocking on random people’s doors. Unless he knew where you had been living this whole time, you wouldn’t put past his skills for finding out information.

“I know this is a sudden request, but,” he paused to wince and readjust his position, “can I stay here tonight?” As he moved his arm, you were able to spy a tear in his shirt and the blue edges slowly fading into crimson.

“Kaeya,” you repeated once more in a sterner tone. “What in the archons happened to you?” Stepping back to allow him in, you surveyed his form to check for any more injuries.

“I got into a fight with a few abyss mages I’d been tracking, and, of course, I won.” The usual allure his personality harboured was slipping from its normal standard, though he tried to maintain it all he could. “But that wasn’t without a souvenir to remind me of the battle.”

You caught him as he stumbled into your home, unsteady on his feet from the blood loss of his wound. “A few abyss mages? One is a great enough pain to deal with already. You’re such an idiot.”

“But I’m your idiot,” he chuckled as you guided him to sit down. “I wouldn’t dream about being anyone else’s.”

You rolled your eyes. At least he wasn’t too gravely on the brink of death, he could still attempt to flirt with you after all. “Stay there. I’m going to go and get some bandages and stitches.”

★ As stubborn as Kaeya was trying to pry the medical supplies from your hands to treat himself, he failed, resulting in you swatting him away with your hand, finally obliging to letting you help him.

You lifted up his shirt after removing his scarf-like mane of excessive fluff and belt of weapons, revealing his toned chest adorned with blood. It was a little worse than you had imagined, but it would be okay. It had to be.

“Don’t stare for too long now, the real attraction is a little lower than that,” Kaeya smirked, noticing where your gaze was planted. “Don’t be afraid to tell me about how amazing I look though.”

As blush coated your cheeks, you restrained yourself from wanting to hit him over the head to knock some sense into him. “What I’m staring at his all the blood you’re going to get on my couch.”

★ The Cavalry Captain was used to patching himself up after the many battles he got into in his schedule, so when you were hesitant on where to start he happily guided you.

★ It was a long process with you apologising every time he winced in pain as you stitched him back together, but eventually, the bleeding had stopped. You were still uncertain whether or not he had punctured anything vital.

“As soon as the sun is up, I’m dragging your ass over to the cathedral to get Barbara to have a proper look at you.” You were nearly done, all that was left now was to wrap him in bandages and give him some pain killers. You weren’t even sure if they would do much for a wound as bad as his.

Kaeya looked exhausted. His eyes closed and reopened every so often to stop himself from drifting off to sleep, his usual richly coloured skin had paled from the blood he had lost. You had never seen him so weak before.

★ You quickly left and brought back some food and water for him to consume to hopefully regain a little slither of his energy. Once he was busy with that, you gathered a blanket and some pillows so he could sleep where he was already sat.

“Does your wound hurt really badly?” You asked after assisting him to lie down.

He shook his head, sleep dragging him in and out of consciousness. Pressing a kiss to his forehead, you made to leave him so he could rest but found a hand wrapped around your wrist.

“Thank you,” he whispered, not letting go of his safe haven. A place where he knew he could always come to and feel protected.

★ You stayed like that for the rest of the night. Hand in hand and foreheads pressed together as you two slept, a peace settling over the both of you.

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin x you #kaeya #genshin kaeya #genshin headcanons #kaeya x reader #kaeya x you #starrconch #genshin impact kaeya

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mintjamsblog · 3 years ago

Note

Does Alfie ever demand that Tommy calls him Sir?

Okay, this is so late, (I'm sorry, I have sat on this answer for literally weeks). It also answers another ask I seem to have lost/deleted, which simply said 'sub-drop?' So, here you go, it turned into 1600 words of smut, I'm afraid. (Set in my Mistakes AU, but can be read without that background).

Subdrop

"How many fingers Tommy?"

Tommy lifts his head but it drops back immediately.

"Tommy, love, how many fingers am I holding up?"

"Ten," Tommy says, without even looking. "Everyone has ten."

"Alright, love, up we come."

It's no wonder, really, Alfie has toyed with him mercilessly for — he checks his watch — fuck, well over two hours, has brought him to the brink of orgasm over and over again, watched his face flush and his thighs tremble and his stomach contract in anticipation of the release he's repeatedly been denied.

Tommy's so fucking pretty when he lets himself go (when he's made to let go) and Alfie, well, he's always been a sucker for pretty things, ain't he? Beautiful things.

Tommy finds it so hard to relax that once Alfie gets him loose, persuades him into handcuffs or a spreader-bar or, immobilises him somehow, his inclination is to make the most of the situation, to wring him out like a wet towel, count every last drop of resistance as it splashes onto the floor — a puddle to be licked up and savoured (metaphorically speaking, of course, there's no way Tommy's licking anything off any floors with his arms and legs fastened securely to the straps of a leather sling).

The silly boy still approaches these scenes as if they're a test of his fortitude rather than a willing exchange of power and trust. And that's fine, mostly. A click of his fingers or a safeword could end it all, but Tommy'd far rather grit his teeth and pretend he don't want this at all. Alfie can allow that for a while, can give him something to bite down on until he's too far gone to care about giving a voice to his plight.

Usually it takes some impact to get Tommy to give up his sounds. He needs to be pushed past some physical threshold. A firm hand, a paddle, a whip — they each make him sing different notes, eventually, but always the same fuckin' undertone. Anger. Whether Tommy's angry at Alfie (likely) or at himself for needing this (even more likely) is neither here nor there. Tommy has plenty to be angry at; the world ain't always been kind to him and he's even less kind to himself.

But anger, well, it's corrosive innit? Useful when controlled, maybe, when mastered effectively and released into the world in small bursts that serve a purpose; to warn or threaten or reinforce the hierarchy. But not when it seethes in your blood, pumps through your heart and into each artery like slow-acting poison that seeps through veins and capillaries, reaches the tip of every extremity, hides beneath every thought. That sort of anger, the sort Tommy lives with, that anger needs to be let. Like blood.

Not that Alfie's some antiquated physician restoring balance to the humors. Nah, he fancies his particular form of therapy's far more effective, even if his tools are barely less crude than the old-timers' scalpels and leeches. Alfie prefers to mix things up, to intersperse the blows of a bullwhip with the soft, wet heat of his tongue; to lash Tommy with a folded belt, then hold his cock like a delicate creature he's trying to stroke back to life. He'll pinch and tease and whip and probe until Tommy rails and rages, fists balled, teeth bared, every muscle pulled taut as tension wire. Eventually he'll scream at Alfie, at himself, at the universe, then let the breath shudder out in increasingly shaky increments, like he's tumbling down the stairs.

The journey to that point is best travelled slow. Given time, Tommy's tight grunts and growls always soften into something looser, gentler, pain still evident in the pitch of his voice, but threaded through with desire and resignation and something else entirely ... an underlying need to give up or give in. To please, Alfie flatters himself.

That medley of sounds, the unwinding trajectory of 'em, awakens some possessive creature in Alfie. He can feel it uncoiling inside him, muscles sliding and flexing as he drives Tommy towards an apex neither of 'em can see — a pinnacle of endurance or restraint beyond which Tommy simply is. Or maybe isn't. Beyond which he is merely a consciousness, untethered from any worldly woes and oblivious to the sensations of his own flesh. Or perhaps oblivious to anything but the sensations of his own flesh. Either way, Alfie knows to watch when the sounds turn animalistic, when the groans are so low and feral that they peter out into breaths. Into nothing. Into rolled-back eyes and gaping mouth and climaxes so molten they look more like pain than pleasure.

"Come on love, that's it, down we come."

It's a struggle getting Tommy out of the sling, he's too exhausted to cooperate, to untangle his own limbs from the leather, so Alfie releases the two lower straps and pours him out like water. Like water he slips through Alfie's waiting arms and pools at his feet on the floor.

"Up you get," Alfie says, hoisting him under the arms, and up Tommy comes, unsteady but obedient in his altered state of mind. Alfie braces him for a moment, waits for Tommy's body to harden, for a flicker of conceit to return to those down-cast eyes. Now is when Tommy should swipe a hand down his face, curse under his breath and huff an almost laugh, a poor disguise for self-consciousness, but a sign he's aware at least.

But Tommy offers no such reassurance, regains none of the control that usually washes back as soon as he's up on his feet. He's deep, Alfie realises. Deeper than usual.

He whispers into Tommy's ear, small praises that have no place in any moment other than one such as this. His fingers run down Tommy's back, tracing small paths through sweat that's turned cold, an attempt to distract and reassure, but already he knows it's too late. He's left it too late. He can feel the distant vibrations and knows they'll soon take Tommy's legs.

By the time Alfie gets him onto the bed, onto his side, the trembling has tipped into shivering, a violent reflex that even the finest goose-down duvet fails to subdue. Alfie curses himself for missing the cues, for pushing Tommy too hard. "S'okay," he whispers, "you were beautiful."

But Tommy is straining against the hold, against Alfie's leg wrapped over his own. "I need ... I'm gonna be sick," he says, and throws himself into a sitting position with a violent retching sound. The purge that follows isn't from his stomach, it pours down his face in scalding tears that drench Alfie's waiting hands. Tommy throws his arm up and buries his eyes in the crook of his elbow, taking frightening gasps after every few breaths.

"Come on, now," Alfie says, entirely at a loss. Sure, he pushed Tommy hard tonight, but it seemed like what they both wanted. Needed. "Please, don't," he whispers, hands searching beneath Tommy's forearm to thumb away some of the tears. He wants to tell Tommy he doesn't mind, he can cry as much as he likes. Alfie don't see this as victory; Alfie's not him. But he says nothing, afraid of dredging up ghosts as he coaxes Tommy back down to the mattress, runs fingers through his hair, holds him tight against his chest and lets him cry himself out till the tap runs mercifully dry.

"Why?" Tommy says, eventually.

Fucks sake, why what? Why anything? Why do they do what they do to each other? Why does Tommy allow it? Allow Alfie to pull the meat from his preverbial bones? Alfie's asked himself the same question often enough. Not why does he do this, exactly, he's well past shame over that, but why did he get this lucky? Why does he get to do this with Tommy? To see what no one else sees? Why did he push him so hard tonight? Why did he think Tommy could take it?

"Why did you spend so long ... you know ..." Tommy sniffs, "when there's nothing in it for you?"

Alfie pulls Tommy out from his chest enough to look him in the eye. "Nothing in it for me? Are you fucking kidding me, Tommy?"

"You didn't even come," Tommy says.

At that, Alfie grabs Tommy's arm, fumbling to open the top button of his jeans and force Tommy's hand inside. "There," he says, in his sternest voice. "Nothing in it for me, hmm?"

"Oh!" Tommy says in surprise.

"Yeah, oh, you blithering idiot. Twice. No fuckin' hands."

He watches Tommy swallow, feels fingers flex through the undeniable evidence soaked right through Alfie's boxers.

"Why?" Tommy asks again.

"Why what Tommy? Why does God allow famine and pestilence? Why do good people die? Why didn't I meet you ten years ago, hmm?"

"Why did you fucking come?"

"Because you’re sexy as all burning hell, aren't you? Turn me on like a switch."

Tommy curls into him tighter, buries his face again, and it dawns on Alfie that he really and truly doesn't get it, does he?

"The first time, right, you wouldn't lay back." He keeps his voice low, strokes Tommy's perfect little ear. "I'd fingered you till you were leaking all over your stomach, all over the marks I'd left with the flogger. You should've been way past defiance by then, but you just kept trying to sit up ... your mouth hanging open, like you were trying to fuckin' kiss me." Tommy burrows further still. "So I slapped you," Alfie continues. Maybe that was a bit cruel. "And you only tried even harder. Lay your sinful tongue on your lower lip and strained up out of the sling." Alfie's hardening again at the recollection, at the way he'd thought Tommy was acting, playing the little minx, struggling to reach forward with his wrists and ankles bound to the straps above him. Only Tommy'd never appear so needy, not in his rightful mind, wouldn't chase Alfie's mouth like a newborn pup seeking out its mother's teet. And he'd gazed at Alfie through half-lidded eyes, in that way he had no right to do, like Alfie was the only face he knew in the entire unholy world, like Alfie could fuckin' save him, reach inside his body and take all the pain away, maybe, or make it ten times worse. Like whichever option Alfie chose Tommy'd fucking let 'im.

"And?" Tommy says, when Alfie falls silent. God, he really doesn’t remember, does he?

"And I leant down and kissed you, you silly boy. And I came in my pants, like a teenager."

Tommy makes a wet sound that could be a huff, or could just as easily be more tears.

"Weren't my fault," Alfie adds, defensively. "Your mouth was so fuckin' soft, despite what I'd done to you. And you. You mewled like a Siamese kitten..."

Tommy squeezes him, through his pants, seemingly soothed by the hard line he's holding, proof, perhaps, that Alfie is part of this.

"And the second time ... the second time ... fucking hell. Right at the very end. The last time you came. You looked so fucking fucked-out, love," Alfie's hands are roaming now, sliding over the marks he's left all over Tommy's skin. He seeks out the curve of Tommy's throat, presses kisses there. "All the fight gone out of you. Covered in sweat and welts and come, so exhausted you were trembling ... and please, you kept saying please." He cups the back of Tommy’s head, pulls him closer still. "And I didn't know what for. And I kept asking you, please, what, Tom? but you wouldn't answer. Couldn't, maybe. Too far gone to know." He bites gently on Tommy's ear, at the little crease where it joins his jaw, the tiniest sign of age on his otherwise youthful face.

Tommy's hand is working now, struggling to find its way beneath the fabric of Alfie's underwear. "Then what?" he breathes into Alfie's ear.

"And then you said please, Sir."

Tommy's hand stops dead at that.

"I ... I didn't--"

"S'alright, love, you were under, weren’t you? Too fuckin' deep to know." And there might be a tiny part of Alfie that wishes that weren't the case, that would like to hear that word on Tommy's lips again, but not at the risk of a drop. Hurts too much to see Tommy so upset.

He removes Tommy's hand from his trousers and laces their fingers together, pulls them up high enough he can kiss every sticky knuckle.

"You want me to clean you up, love? Tommy barely shakes his head; his fingers clench around Alfie's hip. "Okay, in a little while then."

Ain't right to feel so tender about being stuck to someone with come. To like the smell of their sweat so much you don't wanna wash it off. Hell, he'd sleep like this all night, in jeans and boots an'all, if it gives Tommy the reassurance he'll so surely claim he don't need.

#asks #anon #sub-drop #tommy x alfie #my fic #mistakes #tofie #tomfie #writing

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princessphilly · 4 years ago

Text

Plain Jane Chapter 2

Word Count: 2391

CW: a mention of P K*ne, allusions to issues with alcohol, references to being in the closet

Tag list: @newlibrary , @luvsherleafs @spine-buster , @m00nlightdelights @lovethepreds @myhockeyworld87 @Defiant-mouse, @callllumhood @yzas-stuff , @stars-canucks @laurenairay @cutiesara23, @besthockeyfics @hockeyallthetime @tazerass , @markymarkstrom @letsgobaby, @himbos-on-ice @hockeywocs @bloodthedevil @nhlboyshavemyhart88 @whatishockey @dreamer1430 @shelbsatans @no-pucks-given @stlbluesbrat21 @mydarkestsecretlol @t0xickisses2 @heatherawoowoo

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I’m too damn stubborn for my own good. I admit it; I don’t like to lose or be wrong. I hate being wrong. Well, I hate losing money more than anything else. But I really hate losing or being wrong after that. - Journal 10/12

One year later

Jamila couldn’t help but look at Jonathan Toews as he sat at the table for this charity dinner. He really was more handsome in person than in the pictures. But the guy sitting next to him was just as good looking as him, in her opinion. He was rougher looking with long auburn hair and blue eyes and probably a good decade older than her, just the way that Jamila liked it. The only issue was… Duncs was nice but he wasn’t as exciting as Jonathan Toews. But Jamila told Shan and Mel that she was going to fuck Duncan Keith and she always got her man. Plus, it didn’t help that Jonathan always has something smart to say which made Jamila more dedicated to fucking Duncs.

But it seemed like that wasn’t going to happen. Jamila was frustrated; she knew she was gorgeous and she was used to getting her way. But Duncs had a preference for blondes and.. Jamila had no desire to dye her hair blonde anytime soon. Plus, she hated the fact that she was going to lose because then Jonathan would hold it over her.

Normally, Jon wouldn’t give a fuck that a girl wanted Duncs over him. He knew exactly where he stood with the vast majority of women and that he could have anyone he wanted. But he really, for some reason, wanted her. It had been over a year since they met and she was still hung up over Duncs. Granted, during that time, Jon was recovering from an injury and was at home in Winnipeg. Now, he was back and he wanted Jamila, even though she was supposed to be Cizisky’s girl. Jon had pulled the younger defenseman to the side and asked him about her and Cizisky straight up said that she was just going out with him as a friend to events. So Jon knew that Jamila was basically single and available.

Jamila was smiling in Duncs face but whenever he talked to her, she got angry and flustered. Jon knew she really wasn’t that interested in Duncs. He could tell by the way Jamila got closer to him when they argued that she really liked him. But the stubborn woman didn’t want to admit it.

As the captain, Jon was used to solving problems. But this was a problem that he couldn’t solve and he was becoming frustrated.

It wasn’t fair how intense those dark brown eyes were. And they had been focused on her while Jamila attempted to flirt with Duncs. Jamila had to admit she was failing and it was annoying her. He was being polite but she knew she was being brushed off.

She could hear Jonathan; “Duncs isn’t interested. Aren’t you tired of wasting your time?” All of that paired with a mocking look. She was done doing favors for Shan’s cousin. Next time he needed a plus one, he could find someone else.

“Tired of shooting wide?”

“Really, a hockey metaphor?” Jamila rolled her eyes while Jonathan chuckled. He really was tired of watching Jamila flirt with Duncs. She wasn’t his usual type but Jonathan wanted to be her type. Once Duncs made it clear that he wasn’t interested, Jonathan decided it was time to try his luck.

“Good, you’re learning about the game! But are you tired?”

“What do you mean?”

Jonathan was tall enough that while she wore 5-inch heels, Jamila still had to look up at him a bit. He licked his lips and once again, Jamila felt those unwanted shivers. Jonathan smirked before saying, “Stop pretending you’re interested in Duncs when we both know that you really want me.”

“You’re so conceited,” Jamila retorted. A small part of her said he was right but her pride hurt so fuck him.

Jonathan gave her a devilish grin. “Fuck me? We can make that happen.”

Jamila’s eyes grew wide when she realized she said that out loud. “Captain Serious? More like Captain Dickhead!” Jamila rolled her eyes as she gave him a once over.

Then Jon shocked her. “That was a bit too much, I’m sorry,” he said. The earnest look in his eyes told Jamila he was telling the truth. “But seriously, you’re wasting your time.”

Jamila sighed deeply. She knew he was right but her ego didn’t want to let her admit it. Jamila just grimaced before pushing away from Jonathan.

For the rest of the night, Jamila kept mostly to herself and Alex, nursing her wine. She was tempted to get something stronger, very tempted, but she kept herself to her one glass of wine. It helped that Alex was watching her like a hawk, as if he knew that Jamila was in a mood. As soon as he was able to, Alex made his goodbyes, escorting Jamila out to the valet.

“What happened, Mila?”

Jamila sighed as Alex’s car was brought up. “Nothing, buddy. Nothing.”

Alex wisely didn’t press it as he got his keys from the valet, opening the door for Jamila and closing it after she got in. Once he was in the car and driving away, he said, “You’ve been in a mood since you talked with Tazer. Did he say something that triggered you? I’ll tell him to back off if he’s triggering you, Mila.”

Jamila sighed. “He didn’t say anything that triggered me, per se, but you know I hate being wrong.”

“Yeah, because you’re very wrong about Duncs… I’ve been telling you that for months,” Alex cracked.

Rolling her eyes, Jamila replied, “Jonathan basically said the same thing. Then he hit on me, again.”

“I thought you enjoyed verbally sparring with him. It’s entertaining as fuck.”

“Fuck you too, Alex!”

Alex snorted as he said, “I would if I liked pussy.”

“Talking about that, have you thought of coming out,” Jamila asked.

Alex looked at the road as he thought about his words. Then he said, “I could but I feel the same ones who talk about ‘You Can Play’ and all of that aren’t as accepting as they pretend to be. I mean, Tazer would be supportive, probably Duncs, maybe Kaner, Brinks, Murph, but the rest of the guys… I don’t want to risk it right now.”

Jamila reached over, placing a hand on her friend’s shoulder. That was a lot to have to deal with. “People fucking suck, man.”

“I know. Thanks for being my plus-one, Mila. I will always support you, even when people are asking me to call you names when you finally get with the captain.”

Jamila laughed, tears forming in her eyes at the idea of dating Jonathan. “That was very funny, Alex, you should become a comedian.”

Smirking, Alex turned into the parking lot of the building that they lived in. They had separate units, Jamila’s bigger and more expensive, but it was still home. “Jamila, your eyes still follow Tazer everywhere he goes when you two are at the same place. It’s a matter of time, well, it’s a matter of how stubborn you are about it.”

As Jamila walked into her condo, she thought about Alex and his words. She felt a bit bad for him; locker room culture was real and it sucked that Alex couldn’t fully be himself yet. At the same time, Jamila wasn’t fully open about her own sexuality. If she wanted attention, she could easily come out as pansexual but Jamila didn’t want her life to become a circus. Add on the fact that she enjoyed bdsm and was a submissive…. It would be a hot mess, she thought. However, Jamila knew that she didn’t have to worry about the potential reactions of a bunch of other people if she did decide to come out.

One thing Jamila did have to worry about was her thesis. It was finished, turned in, it was just a matter of finding out when she would have to defend it. Since she was graduating with her PhD this December, Jamila knew it would be before then. Not knowing the exact date was just irritating to her. Maybe once she had it, her dad would respect her more.

Jamila sighed as she looked out at the Chicago skyline. It didn’t matter anyway. He wouldn’t really care. The only ones who would were Nina, Marisa, Ms. Tracey and Mr. Vernon, Siobhan, Lauren, maybe Karesha and Desiree. Sighing again, Jamila decided it was time to go to sleep for the night.

Jon looked at his computer screen as he looked at his budget for the month. Coming back this season has had it’s ups and down so far. The travel and other rhythms of the season were familiar but at the same time, Jon had enjoyed being at home. For over a decade, Jon had lived under the grind of the NHL season plus the playoffs. There was something nice about being a home, not a hotel room every couple of weeks. The hotels were all the same, they stayed at the same places in the same cities every year. But staying in his own bed night after night had it’s own appeal.

At the same time, Jon wanted a 4th cup. It still irritated him that the team had decided to rebuild without even asking if the boys wanted to rebuild. Last season, Jon appreciated that the boys didn’t give up and tank even though the front office would have preferred that they did. Odds were stacked against them this season but Jon believed that they could make it. Once the playoffs started, it was anyone’s chance to get the Cup.

Jon sighed as he opened the Netflix app. He was starting to really feel his age this year. He was only 33 but he could feel every hit now. Plus, coming home to this new place with no one waiting for him was getting very old. “Maybe that’s why you like that girl so much,” Jon muttered to himself. He felt dumb; every time he talked to Jamila, he felt like he put his foot in his mouth. But then, it seemed like she was just looking for an excuse to tell him no.

As he mindlessly scrolled through shows, Jon felt super frustrated and ready to give up. He didn’t want to continue asking her out if she kept saying no. Jon blanched as the idea that maybe he was making Jamila uncomfortable came in his mind. As he clicked on watching Brooklyn 911, Jon decided that he was going to leave Jamila alone.

Jamila felt weird. It was two weeks since the last time she saw Jon and he was keeping his distance from her. All night, all he had done was say hi and wave when she greeted him. Jamila felt strangely bereft. Unconsciously, Jamila’s eyes drifted towards Jon more often than not during the charity auction. His black suit fit him like a glove, the crisp white shirt setting off his remaining tan. Of course, Jon didn’t wear a tie and it made him look absolutely delicious. Jamila inwardly scowled as she looked down at her water.

Jamila was attempting to be good by sticking to water instead of any of the myriad alcoholic options tonight. The last time she had wine, she had to resist the urge to down the whole bottle. Jamila sighed; she thought she could try to have a bit of alcohol but now, she was sure that was impossible. Her sobriety was worth more than trying to fit in.

The auction went pretty quickly, all things considered. Jamila made a couple small bids, there wasn’t really anything that caught her eye. Then the auctioneer said, “For our last, and surprise, auction item tonight, a date with the captain, Jonathan Toews. The winner gets to have one night with Captain Toews, at a place of your choice. Mr. Toews is a gentleman so it will be on him. Bidding starts at five hundred.”

One woman yelled, “One thousand!”

There were a flurry of bids and Jamila knew she had a screwface as she listened. One of the bidders was that bitch Frances and it looked like she was going to have the winning bid. The bids went up to six thousand before it started to slow. The auctioneer called out, “sixty-five hundred, do I hear sixty-six hundred?”

He waited for a couple of moments for additional bids. Jamila looked at her hands as the auctioneer said, “Sixty-five hundred, sixty-five hundred, going once-”

“Seventy-five hundred,” Jamila called out, raising her placard.

There was a hush as people turned towards her. Jamila smirked as Jonathan raised an eyebrow.

“Seventy-five hundred, do I hear seventy-six hundred?”

Jamila waited as she sipped her water. Frances called out, “Eighty-five hundred,” frustration laced in her voice. Jamila smirked; this was time for payback.

The eyes turned towards her and Jamila looked down at her phone. There was a message from Alex: have u lost ur mind?????

“Ten-thousand,” Jamila called out.

Jon let out a whoo, pursing his lips. This night had turned out in a way he hadn’t expected. The auctioneer called out, “Ten-thousand, ten-thousand, going once, going twice, sold, to number 53.”

Jamila rifled through her purse, looking for her wallet. She hoped she could just put it on her black card instead of needing a check. The money wasn’t a problem; the way of paying could be. One of the team’s interns came to Jamila. “Miss, come this way to pay.”

Following the intern, Jamila gave Frances a wide smile when she passed her. Luckily, Jamila was able to use her card to pay for her bid.

“This wasn’t expected,” a deep voice said to her side.

Jamila smiled. “Revenge is a dish best served cold.”

“I’m a tool for revenge? I feel like shit,” Jonathan joked.

Jamila shrugged. “I’ll let you know if I ever want that date.”

Tossing her hair over her shoulder, Jamila walked away. She still felt some satisfaction winning the bid over that bitch, but something told her she made a crucial decision in some way.

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panharmonium · 3 years ago

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@dreamersscape said:

Part of why I like Shikamaru testing the would-be chunin with Kakashi’s principles so much is that Kakashi living by those words keeps Obito alive through them, right? And Obito already had those values, but he was verbalizing them in connection to why he believes Sakumo was a hero, so this combined principle that defines who Sakumo, Obito, and Kakashi are, is now going to live on in Naruto, Shikamaru, and the rest of their generation. And ofc “don’t put the rules above your comrades” is a good way to live regardless of whether any of their names are attached to it…I dunno, is it dumb to just want this to be Kakashi’s legacy over his other prowess/renown? (x)

NO IT IS NOT; I AM RIGHT THERE WITH YOU! (And I agree with what you said, that this is likely already how he’s going to be remembered - and I’m so grateful for that, because I think we know that there are many things in Kakashi’s life that have brought him renown but that he doesn’t want to be remembered for. Thinking specifically about that scene where Kakashi takes out an enemy and Yamato makes that comment about “keep this up and you’ll be famous,” and Kakashi is clearly so uncomfortable with that...Kakashi doesn’t want that kind of recognition, the kind you earn from being particularly efficient at killing people. He doesn’t want to go down in history as “cold-blooded Kakashi” - that was never something he wanted to be known as in the first place.)

Anyway, I was partway through writing the below post when I saw your replies about Kakashi’s family/legacy in relation to the new Chunin exams, and I just went, “we REALLY are having the exact same thoughts about this show” 🤝 so I’m just turning the rest of this post into a response to your comments, because I could not possibly agree with your angle on this topic more, and I knew my response wasn’t going to fit in the replies XD

The thing I kept thinking about when I saw that Shikamaru’s version of the Chunin exams was passing/failing students based on Kakashi’s criteria was that this is a HUGE paradigm shift for the Leaf Village (and for shinobi culture as a whole). The new exams say that if you abandon a teammate to complete your mission (aka to pass your test), you’ve made the wrong decision. The mark of a worthy shinobi, in this new framework, is your commitment to choosing people’s lives over the success of your mission. But to have something like this enshrined into the Chunin exams would have been unthinkable in earlier generations. When Kakashi’s father made a decision like this, he was breaking the law, and nothing about his choice was considered honorable or worthy or in any way acceptable. He was blamed for it by the Land of Fire and the Leaf Village, “slandered and vilified” by his peers (even the ones whose lives he saved), and hounded to the point of suicide. And even as little as four years ago, when Kakashi started working as a Jonin Leader, his philosophy for evaluating genin was still notorious, and his standards were considered to be abnormal (“It’s a good thing we didn’t get that jonin everybody talks about”/“Who does he think he is, making up his own criteria?”).

But just a few short years later, the script has been completely flipped. Now you can’t even become a chunin unless you demonstrate your commitment to putting your comrades’ lives first. And I just keep thinking about how that must feel for Kakashi, to see the systems that punished his father so mercilessly finally start to crumble and fall. To see a shift in the culture that indoctrinated Itachi and brainwashed Yamato into murdering family and friends, on the pretense that it was necessary for the sake of a mission. To see the values Kakashi has tried to live by ever since Obito’s death incorporated into the official structures of the shinobi world, when previously they were grounds for vicious persecution.

To have Sakumo’s choices validated and affirmed by the shinobi world’s promotion structure when just a few short years ago those choices were universally reviled and earned Sakumo nothing but shame, hatred, and harassment must be such an emotionally overwhelming experience for his son, who went through his own kind of crucible in the wake of Sakumo’s departure but ultimately came out the other side more committed to his father’s ideals than ever. To finally see things changing, and for these changes to be the direct result of Kakashi’s own teaching choices - I can’t imagine what that must feel like. I don’t even think that Kakashi ever expected to see a world that’s progressed this far, to be honest. He made a decision to embrace his father’s values, yes, but he did so long before they were considered acceptable, long before they were something he could ever expect to be rewarded for. That’s why Obito told him “no matter what the village or anyone else may say, I think you’re a great jonin” - he knew Kakashi broke the rules to rescue Rin the same way Sakumo broke the rules to rescue his comrades, and he knew it was entirely possible that Kakashi would catch flak for it upon returning home. In the shinobi world, the mission is absolute, and people who buck the system are branded as traitors. If the Battle of Kannabi Bridge had gone poorly because of the detour Kakashi and Obito took, Kakashi may not have been welcomed home quite so warmly.

Kakashi never really expects his choice to be rewarded or respected. But despite this, and despite the fact that he knows the potential consequences better than anyone, he chooses to stand by his father’s values anyway. He makes that decision the day he loses Obito, and he never looks back. No matter how lost he becomes, or how much pain he goes through (I’ve thought this world was hell, too), he never loses sight of this one thing: he’ll never abandon a friend, and he’ll never bow to anyone who tells him that his mission requires him to do so. That’s true throughout his time in ANBU (if your orders are to kill a friend, then those orders are wrong. and the one who gave you those orders is wrong!), and it’s true when he becomes a teacher, too. He persists in his convictions, no matter how unpopular they are, and he teaches them to an entire generation of children, even when people keep giving him the side-eye for failing entire teams of genin year after year.

He never expects his behavior to make this kind of difference, and he’ll probably never give himself credit for any of the changes that we’re starting to see now, but the only reason these things are happening is because of the choices he made back then. The new world we’re on the brink of building now is a direct result of Kakashi having taught his students the values that his father and Obito died for. Kakashi’s teaching is what helps Naruto go from “when I become Hokage, the whole village will have to stop disrespecting me and start treating me like i’m somebody important” to “how could i ever become hokage if i can’t even save one friend/a true hokage never steps over his comrades’ bodies.” It’s what helps Sakura go from “you obsessed about Sasuke, who was gone, while Naruto was right in front of you and you wouldn’t lift a finger to help him” to a decision to put her feelings for Sasuke aside in order to release Naruto from the promise he made to her, which is killing him. It’s what helps Sasuke go from "you thought [your teammates] were so far beneath you they were worthless” to “I don’t ever want to see that again - my trusted comrades falling right in front of me,” as he offers to die for them against Gaara. It’s what helps even Neji Hyuga go from a disdainful “who does he think he is, making up his own criteria” to an affirmation of those same criteria when telling the Hidden Rain ninja “it’s just the Chunin exams. The safety of our teammate is more important than passing.”

All of the changes that we’re seeing now are happening because Kakashi was committed to teaching the next generation the lessons he feels are important, contrary to widely-held public opinions and in defiance of the people who made a near-successful attempt at turning him against his own father: We never abandon our friends. We never sacrifice our comrades. If your orders are to kill a friend, then those orders are wrong. We do what’s right, not what we’re told.

The Hatake clan may not have a hereditary jutsu to be passed down to others, but THIS is their legacy. This massive sea change in shinobi culture, the hard-fought shift away from a repeat of the tragically sacrificial Sakumos and Itachis and Tenzos of the old shinobi world, the total inversion of Mission > People to People > Mission - all of that started with Kakashi’s father, who died before he could see his work completed, but whose torch was picked up by Obito, and then by Kakashi, who made it his mission to pass on those ideals to the Leaf Village’s children, some of whom are now making policies that affect promotion criteria for the entire shinobi world.

Just...I’m thinking about Kakashi taking Sakura out to celebrate and to hear all about her test, and I know she won’t even give Shikamaru’s last question a second thought, because to her it’s just natural that they’d be tested on that; Kakashi’s been testing them on that stuff since day one; it doesn’t even occur to her that there’s anything novel or strange or revolutionary about it; it’s just expected and accepted by her entire class that the principle “people are more important than rules” is something all shinobi should understand - when in reality, things have NEVER been like that before, and it’s taken SO much work to get here. A question like this being included as pass/fail criteria on the Chunin exams would have been unimaginable just a few short years ago. Kakashi’s father was harassed to his death for answering this question in the exact same way that is now required of anyone who wants to pass the test.

What an incredible feeling that must be for Kakashi, who worked so hard and endured so much to keep these values alive. To see how far the world has come - and to know how much of this progress is the result of his own choices, which he never thought would amount to anything so substantial - what a bizarre, beautiful, bittersweet feeling that must be.

#i wrote in some other post about how kakashi's teaching of obito's values is tantamount to performing a resurrection #and it's happening again here #kakashi lost every single person who mattered to him back then #but his refusal to give up on what they believed in eventually brings them back to life #no reanimation jutsu needed #kakashi's friends and family are alive in the hearts and minds of the next generation #they're still shaping the future #even from beyond the grave #WHAT A LEGACY TO LEAVE #naruto #meta #i got lost on the path of life #pan watches naruto

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shhhhsh · 3 years ago

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About Tim’s New Story….

I just really hope they address Tim’s mental health. Like, DC just been ditching really good plot lines in favor of being “woke” or pandering. Just look at all the live action shows.

Now I’m not saying they can’t make Tim queer/bi/gay, but (as someone pointed out to me) Tim’s previous story writer was bi and he still chose to write Tim as straight & in a healthy romantic relationship with Stephanie Brown. I’ve seen several people who identify as queer/bi say that to have Tim go “ ooooh I’ve fooled myself into thinking I was straight, but now I’m freeeee” sends the message that Tim’s previous relationship failed b/c he was with a woman and not because of Tim’s poor mental and emotional health.

To go back to my previous statement; by him not writing Tim as bi tells me that he didn’t want or care for Tim to be bi, but instead saw Tim as, or preferred him to be, straight. The writer had free control to write Tim how ever he wanted and yet he chose to keep Tim straight. And he actually liked & wanted Tim/Steph. Again, I’m not saying Tim can’t be queer/bi, I’m just saying I find the motivations for this possible change very fishy. Almost as if the new writer is trying to get brownie points for pandering to a portion of the fans.

I think this way b/c in every other media where a character is revealed to be LGBTQ they just did it. They didn’t beat around the bush or do any queer coding/baiting. They either announced it, just made the character that way right out the gate, or just dropped the bomb w/out warning (as seen in Netflix’s Voltron, Amazon Prime’s Invincible, and Nickelodeon’s Legend of Korra respectfully).

DC currently has a bad habit changing things to be “woke” and bragging about it or shoving it in our faces. DC is becoming the “pick me girl” of superhero media. If you want to do it, just do it. Again I just get the “look at me, look at me” & “carrot on the stick” vibes from them now. If you truly feel in your heart to do something you would just do it without the need for recognition or to be so dramatic about it.

Now what I much rather see & think it’s a natural progression for Tim:

I personally believe that if Jason, Dick, & Damian can get a story that attempts to give them character development beyond romantic relationships (romance was more of a B-plot to the character driven A-plot anyway) I think they can give it to Tim as well.

I know that the Bat-Family all struggle with some form of mental health problems (most commonly paranoia and PTSD). However, I would like to point out that trauma is was what brought the others into the vigilante lifestyle, while Tim & Barbara became traumatized because of the vigilante lifestyle. Yet, Barbara was shown overcoming her trauma and using it as motivation to get better. Tim is yet to have this moment.

We all know that Tim struggles with depression, self-esteem, and suicidal tendencies. I mean heck, him becoming Red Robin only happens because of Tim’s degrading mental health. I hate to say it, but Tim is very psychologically broken and has been show to get so depressed that he can’t even get out of bed some times. To my knowledge, Tim is the only one in the Bat-Fam that struggles in his head with the idea of not being needed, useful, or forgotten when in reality that is furthest from the truth (Steph, Jason, & Damian also feel like the black sheep periodically, but that is because they have been presented with real evidence that would lead them to logically believe this. I.e being actually forgotten or dismissed for past mistakes despite great efforts to better themselves).

While yes, Dick did Tim dirty by replacing him without having a proper conversation first, the motivation was because he saw Tim as his equal and not Damian. He thought highly of Tim, but Tim couldn’t see that over his offense. Tim is so beat down by life that he see’s everything with negative lenses. Everyone came to check on Tim’s mental health but Tim took it as an insult instead.

And even though now Tim has reached some form of “peace” in his life, that only happens because the people he lost came back (Bruce, Conner, Bart, Cassie, etc). Tim never fully learned to handle grief, to handle his emotions, instead he represses them. Again in the Red Robin run, the main reason he doesn’t believe in any form of God is because he can’t logically justify the pain he has gone through. He is hurting and doesn’t know how to deal with that. In his original Robin run, when he tried talking someone out of committing suicide……the words and comfort he gave….that wasn’t something that was just inside Tim, this is something that was told to Tim. This is followed by him calling Dick to get the same pep-talk he just regurgitated to someone else.

In short: Tim is hurting. Deeply. And having been someone who’s emotional & mental sanity was pushed to the brink and attempted to jump off several times, I think it’s really sad that DC just ignores it. Now as someone who’s gotten the help they needed & now helps other people who struggle with the same issues as myself & Tim, I think that they’re going to say a lot of Tim’s problems come from him not being “aware” of his own sexuality, which is just sad.

In the story in question, Barbara talks about Tim not having a solid identity. People are more than their sexuality. People are capable of making future decisions for themselves without it hindering on their sexuality. If Tim was real, I would brake down his struggle as so:

Tim refuses to go to college and do something more with his life because he cannot see anything beyond his current circumstance. And the only reason why Tim cannot see anything beyond his circumstance is because he has no internal sense of purpose, identity, and acceptance beyond the cape & cowl. And when Tim finally found that in being Robin, Tim held onto it as a lifeline. There’s a reason why everyone says Tim is basically Bruce 2.0: it’s because he is Robin/Red Robin/Drake & Tim is the mask. At a young age, he did not grow up having these things instilled into him due to his parents neglecting him at a very important age in his development. Tim raised himself, and for a lack of better terms; an idiot cannot teach themselves to be smarter, an idiot becomes smarter by learning from the intelligent. A child can’t teach themselves to be an adult, they have to learn from others to grow & better themselves.

Now a parent doesn’t necessarily have to sit down and give a lesson about how to be an individual, but children learn how to live life by watching their parents. A good example of this is the rest of the Bat-Fam; they all grew up with some form of parental figures that taught them how to behave (for better or worse). Of course children have their own personalities, which is why two kids can go through the same type of trauma but come out differently, but it is a battle of nature vs nurture. Steph, Jason, Cass, & Damian grew up in abusive/unstable homes, while Dick, Barbara, & Bruce grew up in loving homes, but their personalities & character dictated how they responded to trauma. They took what life gave them and decided what to leave or take.

Tim had nothing to work with & is basically playing catch-up with the rest of his peers.

In a weird sense, Tim is like Zuko from The Last Airbender: only living to serve their father’s purpose. Anything outside of that they don’t know what to do. They’ve been trained to be something externally without been given a chance to figure out who they are internally.

Again you are not your sexuality, your sexuality does not determine who you are as a person. When a person struggles through life, it is due to the conditions of thier soul. Everything starts internally and shows it’s self externally.

I want to make that very clear because I am truly scared that in DC’s attempt to claim “clout” they are missing the bigger picture. Tim doesn’t have identity problems simply because he “doesn’t know” he likes boys, but because DC never gave him is own identity to begin with. Robin was never his own identity, Red Robin was never his, & Drake was his first attempt to make his own but he quickly gave it up so that he can be Robin once again. What is Tim going to do once Damian gets back? Is Damian going to get his own identity before Tim? Or is Tim just going to go back to one of his old identities?

I would like for Tim to personally move on from being a vigilante and rejoin civilian society for a while. Go to college, do something for himself and only for himself. Give Tim the self-discovery story, let him heal, and grown to be his own person. Besides you can never have a functional romantic relationship if you are not a functional individual. Self love > romantic love.

#red robin #batman #dc comics #tim drake #batman and robin #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #damian al ghul #damian wayne #stephanie brown #batgirl #cassandra cain #batfam #robin #I just want a good and meaningful story that doesn’t have some secret agenda #just do right by Tim #beware the pandering #not everything has to be about romance

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chaoticpuff17 · 4 years ago

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Something Wicked

part 4

masterlist

Hello my darlings! Here you go! Enjoy part four! We’re going to see how it works out bouncing between Jin and Yoongi’s stories, but please give me some grace between this and school, I might have to put on on hold. They’ll both get done eventually, but not quite as speedily as ADG. Thanks so much for reading!--- chaotic puff

Jin couldn’t have been happier. Granted he didn’t have his darling by his side, but he could be generous. She needed some time after the day before, and it allowed him the opportunity to swoop in and be her knight in shining armor. She was all alone now and so fragile. It was the perfect opportunity. She needed comfort, stability, and Jin was going to provide it. She would officially be his in no time. He’d already prepared the house for her.

He was thrumming with excitement. He would bring her flowers, take her to the ballet. He would woo her. She wouldn’t be able to resist his charm. No woman could, and now there were no obstacles in his way. Everything was perfect. Everything was going his way, until she stepped into his office.

He was thrilled to see her at first, thrilled that she’d chosen to come to him despite him giving her the day off, and then he took note of her appearance. Never once had he seen her in jeans, but there she was in jeans and a flowy top looking as casual as he had ever seen her. Even when he called for her assistance late at night, she came looking perfectly put together. This was new for him. Another point of notice was the dark circles that made themselves at home under her eyes. From the look of it, she hadn’t even tried to conceal them. It didn’t look like she was wearing any makeup at all, and her hair was pulled half back messily strands falling haphazardly into her face. All in all, she looked absolutely exhausted like she hadn’t slept at all, and she hadn’t.

“Are you alright, darling?” He asked rising from his desk to greet her. “You look ill. You should be at home resting.” He swooped in pressing a hand to her forehead that she pushed away gently giving him a stern but tired look.

“I’m fine.” There was no smile. She always smiled at him. “I actually came to give you this.” She turned from him to dig around in her bag to retrieve an envelope, one that Jin knew exactly what was in it. It was a fucking resignation. “I apologize, sajangnim, but I won’t be able to serve you any longer.” She held out the envelope bowing politely and waiting for him to take it.

He was silent for a long terrible moment before snatching it out of her hands and ripping it in two. “No.”

She straightened up looking at him quizzically. “No?”

“No.” He growled glaring down at her.

She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders determined to stand her ground. “I’m sorry, sir, but this isn’t your choice to make. I’m sorry for the sudden notice, but I cannot continue to work for you.”

The words were so calm, so clinical. It infuriated him. She wanted to leave him. After everything he’d done for her, she was just going to leave? He’d built her up from nothing, and she thought she could leave? This was not his darling. This was an ungrateful brat, and Jin hated brats.

“And if I choose not to accept your resignation?”

Of course when she became his, she would no longer work for him. Kim Seokjin’s woman would have no need to work, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that she was trying to leave on her own terms, and that simply wasn’t allowed, not when she belonged to him.

“Then I’ll take my leave and pay the penalty for breaking contract.” She responded chin held high though she had the drawn appearance of someone who was tottering on the brink of exhaustion. She looked small and weak, and Jin could only blame the boy for that. He was the reason for her pallor, for her exhaustion, for her defiance.

“You’re exhausted and shocked after yesterday, unsurprising for someone so delicate.” He ground out trying to keep his cool. “I’ll ignore this as a lapse of judgement caused by the stress of the last few days.”

Y/N was taken aback by that. He was brushing this off as what? The overreaction of a delicate demeanor? She made no attempt to hide how offended she was at the insinuation.

“Delicate? I do not make decisions based on exhaustion or shock. Min Seok was my fiancée,” she paused taking a breath. “Almost my fiancée. After what’s happened, I would find it inappropriate to continue working for you especially considering I’ll be hiring a lawyer to defend him.”

“What?” The question was breathed out in shock, rage barely in check. She wanted to defend the little bastard? She believed herself that in love with him? No, she was just confused. Jin would help her see reason.

“I don’t believe that he would embezzle from the company, and I’m going to stand by him. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.” She bowed again, turning on her heel to leave, but Jin’s far larger hand encircled her wrist tugging her back making her stumble into his chest.

“Mr. Kim.” She scolded pulling herself away.

“I’m afraid I have some terrible news for you, darling.” He cooed the sympathy coating his voice was saccharine and completely offset by the gleeful twinkle in his eye. “Kim Min Seok is dead.”

She paused the entire world standing still for a moment. “What?” The question was barely even breathed out as she stared at him with wide eyes tears welling up in them. “No.” She shook her head backing away. “You’re lying.”

“No, darling. I’m not.” He sauntered over to his desk picking up the falsified file that had been prepared for an instance just like this. “He escaped police custody and died in the attempt to flee.” He held out the file to her. “I have the file the police brought over just this morning.”

He watched attentively as every bit of color drained from her face. “No…” She whimpered. “No, no, no, no, no, no.” Her hands went up clawing into her already messy hair as she tried to make sense of the news. “He can’t be!” She cried eyes wild as she began to hyperventilate.

“I’m so sorry, darling.” He wasn’t, but the pretense of providing comfort gave him the perfect opportunity to wrap his arms around her gently rubbing his large hands up and down her arms in what was supposed to be a calming gesture. It had the opposite affect though. His proximity. The smell of his cologne. The news. It was all so overwhelming. She felt sick, dizzy.

“He can’t be dead.” She whimpered tears flowing freely now. “He can’t be. He was… he was alive. I saw him. He was fine last night. I just saw him.”

Jin shushed her pulling her further into his arms, wrapping himself around her. “It’s alright.” He cooed. “You’re going to be alright.”

“NO!” She cried ripping herself away from him not wanting him near her, not wanting him touching her. “He’s not dead!”

This man, this man was the devil. How could he tell her so casually that Min Seok was dead? How could he tell her it was alright? What kind of heartless creature was he?

“Darling…” Jin approached her slowly, carefully, not liking the way she seemed to sway on her feet. “Darling, you need to rest.”

“No.” The word was barely a whisper now as her world crumbled around her. “No. He can’t be…he isn’t.”

Jin lunged forward as he watched the swaying grow worse. He was just in time to catch her as her eyes rolled back in her head, and she began to crumple. He gently lowered them both to the floor relishing the feeling of her tucked safely away in his arms. She was still drawn, looking completely wiped out, but she was safe in his arms. He moved a strand of hair from her face lovingly, cooing at how fragile she looked in his arms.

Eventually, he pulled out his phone calling for his driver. It was time to take her home. A hospital would have been more practical, but Jin wanted her safely at home. He could bring the doctor to her.

He scooped her up in his arms carrying her out of his office. It was a spectacle. The employees were all clamoring at the sight wanting to know if she was alright. He brushed them all citing exhaustion as the reason behind it all. She’d be well soon enough. Jin would make sure of that. His darling would have the best care, and she’d soon forget all about her suitor. She had Jin. What need would she have for anyone else?

Y/N came to in a horribly familiar room. This was not her home, nor was it the hospital despite the IV that was attached to her arm. This was Jin’s home. This was his bedroom. The panic did not set in slowly. It came all at once like an all-encompassing wave. The panic only worsened when she realized, these were not her clothes. She didn’t own anything this fine. She didn’t own nightgowns let alone long silk nightgowns. She preferred the same ratty old comfortable pajamas she had had for years.

She ripped the IV out of her arm uncaring about the pain or the blood. Her only focus was making it to the door and getting the hell out of there. She didn’t know why Jin had brought her there, but she didn’t want to find out. She ran through the penthouse stumbling down the stairs in her desperate dash for the door.

This wasn’t right. She wasn’t supposed to be here. She never came her of her own volition. It was too intimate. Not even Jin’s parade of women would go to his home, and it always made her skin crawl when the called her there.

It was an easy dash. She knew the way. She had been to Jin’s home many times before, but when she reached the door, she found something she was not so familiar with. There was a lock placed there that had never been there before. It was sleek and black, ominous. But still she tried the door even though she was unsure if it would open for her. It did not. She tugged at the handle trying her hardest to open it out of sheer force of will, but it was unyeilding. She tried the keypad as well, tapping in every combination she could think of, but every time, the keypad flashed red telling her she had failed.

“Please!” She shrieked banging on the door. “Please!” She continued to scream and plead banging against the unyielding wood. No one was there though.

Jin lived on a private floor. The elevator opened to a narrow hallway separating the penthouse from the rest of the building. Her only hope would be if someone was coming up to the penthouse and would hear her screams. It was unlikely though. Jin didn’t like anyone invading his space, his immaculate home, and there was no sign of the house keeper that made his home so immaculate. The most likely person to find her was Jin himself, and at this time, he was not someone she wanted to see.

The commotion had summoned him though. He stayed back watching indifferently as she screamed and cried trying to leave, but Jin had planned for that. She wouldn’t be able to get past the lock. He’d allow her out in time, but for now he needed to make her his sweet darling again, his sweet obedient darling. The boy had made her defiant, a brat. Jin wouldn’t put up with that, and it was safer to keep her inside away from harm while she grieved, while she adjusted. Jin would be everything she needed. She’d see that soon enough. She’d realize how lucky she was, how perfect they were together.

He watched her until she’d tired herself out slumped against the door crying, trembling and completely exhausted before he made a move.

“Oh darling,” he clucked sympathetically coming to crouch next to her crumpled form. “Look at you. You’ve exhausted yourself.” He tutted fussing over her and moving her hair away from her face even though she flinched back from him violently. “Now, now, darling. None of that.”

He scooped her up, ignoring her weak struggles. She couldn’t struggle against him really. She’d used what little energy she had trying to open a locked door. His poor stupid darling.

The doctor had confirmed that she was dehydrated and exhausted. That combined with the shock had been too much for her. She’d be fine after some rest and a good meal.

“The doctor didn’t want you up and about yet. And you’ve hurt yourself, my poor darling.” He fussed looking at the place where she’s ripped out the IV, stubborn girl. There was blood smeared against her arm. She hadn’t been gentle when she’d ripped it out. She’d caused herself more damage than needed.

He could have tied her down, prevented this, but it was better for her to know now that she wouldn’t be leaving him. He was the only one with the code to open the door, and they were too high up for her to consider something as foolhardy as jumping from the balcony. It also helped that she had a decided fear of heights. It was something he’d discovered when he’d brought her on her first international business trip with him. She’d been petrified the entire flight despite their luxurious seats. She wouldn’t be making any stupid decisions like that, and if she did? God help her. Jin would not put up with such disobedience.

“Let’s get you back to bed. Okay, darling?” He asked smiling down at her with a lovesick expression. Everything would be perfect now.

part 5

#bts #bts fic #yandere bts #bts seokjin #bts jin #kim seokjin #ceo seokjin #yandere seokjin #jin #seokjin x reader #jin x reader #yandere jin #yandere #ceo au #ceo #ceo jin #dark romance #fanfic #bts fanfic

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theutterlyboredwriter · 4 years ago

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Bounty and the Hunter: Good Girl

Summary: Sometimes you need to do a little reflecting after sucking the dick of a bounty hunter who could at any chance kill you…

Rating: Explicit (I know that you won't listen but if you're under 18 don't read or I'll tell your parents)

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: SMUT (it is 1000% cringey but a girl is doing her best), cockwarming, P in V sex, cumplay (is that a warning??), mentions of prostitution, cursing, a little touch of violence, cursing, sexy themes, if there's anything else let me knowww

A/N: Hello again!!! I know I said that I was gonna try and get this up on Valentine's Day but then I accidentally deleted a quarter of this so I had to rewrite it:( ANYWAYS I hope y'all like it!!

"I'm not done with you yet."

The words caught you off guard. You hesitantly turned around and slowly began to walk back to the pilot, wishing he'd just let you change into some clothes.

"Yes?" You answered meekly, standing behind him like you had when you fixed the dashboard.

There was a nice silence, the hyperdrive gave a low hum that you knew would help ease you to sleep. Sleep. Sleep sounded so nice, even though you hadn't been awake that long.

It was now that he turned around to look at you, the chrome helmet reflecting the fearful look on your face. The comfortable feeling you felt between his thighs was gone; it seemed to be a momentary blip.

"Your bounty is 60,000 credits. What do you usually charge?"

"Um, what we just did is usually 400 credits, and um all the way is usually 1500 credits. But that depends on what all that includes…"

Though you couldn't see his face, something told you that he didn't like the prices you'd just named. So slowly you began to get quieter until you just stopped speaking.

"No."

Suddenly you thought back to your first day at the first club you'd worked in when your first customer got angry at how much you were charging for a lap dance.

"I'm not paying that shit, listen whore you'll give me a dance for 20 credits and be happy about it," he'd yelled at you throwing credits on the floor for you to pick up.

When you refused, he'd slapped you; and though he was a thin man he had mustered enough strength to slap you to the floor. Rage had fluttered through your body and you could've killed him, opting to kick his ass out of the booth and tell the floor manager that he was trying to steal.

You remembered how the lights flickered and the music had stopped playing, as if it could sense the tension that existed, much like the lights had done a few hours earlier. That was the last time that a man had put his hands on you in anger; you didn't want someone to have that power, nor did you want to feel that anger ever again.

Suddenly you were snapped back to the current time and realized that once again your worth had been debated by someone who didn't matter.

"You asked what I usually charged, and I told you, that isn't a debatable fact," you said with a small trance of frustration.

"We're going to be lowering those rates for the duration of our time together. What we just did will be 100 credits,"

"200."

He was silent for a moment before giving a begrudging, "Okay."

"Sex is 500 credits, non-negotiable." Once again, he was just staring at you; you imagined that underneath the helmet he was squinting at you.

"Fine. But if anything else happens we adjust the price upwards."

He nodded and turned around to look out through the front of the ship.

You turned to leave the cockpit but was stopped by one last question of his.

"Is there anything you won't do?"

You chuckled, caught a little off guard by the question.

"Why? Are you into some messed up shit Mando?" He didn't answer, and you couldn't bring yourself to turn around and risk the chance of him staring back at you.

"No, there's nothing that I won't do…yet" you answered.

The ship was very cold, and your underwear did little to warm you up. So, after you knew that he was finished speaking you turned around and made your way down the ladder so you could get into some clothes and try to get some sleep. The ladder made more sound than you would've liked, but once you were in the lower half of the ship you were very glad to be alone. The fresher was smaller than the bathroom that you had in your old apartment. It didn't allow you much space to try and change clothes, but you were thankful to have a private spot on the ship. Walking out of the fresher you saw the pile of your belongings and a blanket. You tried to create a small spot on the floor, out of the way, for you to lay down in. Clad in a long shirt and leggings and covered in a blanket, you fell asleep to the muted whoosh of the ship in hyperdrive.

The dreams that you had in your small break of sleep were unpleasant to say the least, images of pain and carnage. Murder and violence flashed across your brain. You couldn't wake up; it was like someone was forcing you to stay asleep. The screams of pain and agony rang through your ears and no matter how hard you tried you just couldn't wake up.

Then you felt a hand grab your shoulder and try to shake you awake. Without a thought, the back of your hand hit the hard metal of Mandalorian armor. You hadn't gained full consciousness yet, but pain rang through your hand. You slowly started to wake up and see fuzzy figures, but the silver armor was clear as day.

"What the hell was that?" The Mandalorian asked now standing over you.

You looked around, confused and tired.

"It was a reflex, I guess. Sorry." You rubbed your right hand, hoping to stop the warm throbbing that was quickly developing.

"Do you always scream when you're asleep?"

Had you really been screaming? You wanted to reassure him that you didn't, but it had been so long since you'd been with someone who had been around to watch you sleep. But rather than run the risk of being thrown out, you opted to just lie.

"No, I was just having a bad dream."

"Alright. When we land, you're going to have to check out the ship," he said walking over to a little door that you assumed housed his bed.

"What's wrong?"

"For a moment, the power looked like it was going to fail, everything almost went offline."

He stepped into the little room, shut the door, and once again you were alone. You were still exhausted but the dream, now a vague memory, still had you on edge. In an attempt to try and clear your mind, you chose to lean against the cold metal wall of the ship and mediate. An old friend of yours taught you to meditate as a way to cleanse your mind of the trouble that the day brought. At first you had been skeptical but didn't want to offend your friend who wanted so much to help. Now you found it nearly impossible to go through the day without taking a few moments to try and silence your mind.

Your head leaned back against the wall, letting your shoulders fall and your arms go limp. The soft humming of the ship in the background of your mind as you closed your eyes and focused on your breathing. In. Hold. Out. Hold. The words of your long-lost friend rang out in your head as your body slowly relaxed and fell into a steady motion of deep breaths. The thoughts of the day began to trickle out of your focus; the steadiness of your breathing was all that mattered. It wasn't long before you felt yourself on the brink of sleep. As you started to succumb once again to the warm embrace of sleep, a thought entered your mind.

Protect the child.

You shot up in a panic. That wasn't your thought, it had been forced into your mind. Why had that come to you? How did it come to you? What child was it referring to? Your implant had made sure that children weren't ever a worry in your line of work, and the Mandalorian didn't have a child…did he? No, you thought to yourself. He would've said something if he had a child on this ship. Then what child?

Fear struck you in a way you hadn't experienced in years. Something deep in your soul knew that this message was the beginning of something big, something to be scared of.

You laid back down on the floor and tried to fall asleep, telling yourself that you'd be able to handle this better once you'd slept. As you fell asleep once again, you heard the words protect the child again.

When you woke up, it was because of the loud cursing that came from the cockpit of the ship. You decided not to investigate, choosing to get yourself ready for the day before you met the Mandalorian while he was in a fit of rage. The cursing had ceased by the time you were dressed and showered, so you decided to see if you couldn't try and fix the issue of power that he had mentioned last night.

Out of the front windshield you could see a planet in the distance, you let out a silent prayer that he wasn't going there to deliver you to someone.

"Hi. You mentioned something about the power last night, I thought I could take a look at it."

"We're going to be landing in a little bit. You can look then." He was still annoyed.

You nodded to yourself, noting that in the future it would be best to leave him alone at all costs. Looking around, you took a seat in the passenger's seat. The memory of how turned on he'd made you came back, and you tried to fight a blush that took hold of your face.

How can you be attracted to him? He could kill you or give you to people who will kill you. You've never seen his face! You know nothing about him, you told yourself. All valid points, but there was something that despite your better judgement still found yourself attracted to him.

You were jerked out of your thoughts as he turned his seat towards yours and grabbed your wrist before putting on what looked like a bracelet.

"It's a tracker. If you take it off, I'll know. If you put it on something else, I'll know. If you try to kill its power, I'll know. I found you once, I can find you again. If I have to find you again, I'll kill you."

You couldn't help but sit there in shock. Finally, you nodded and looked at the cross between a handcuff and a bracelet, a physical reminder of your capture.

The two of you sat in silence after that. Being around him was terrifying, you were trying not to get on his bad side by talking, but you knew that if you talked to him you could probably make him like you. All of it surrounded a common goal, don't give him a reason to turn you in. When you were getting ready this morning, you'd seen the people in carbonite, he could easily do that to you. But he hadn't, you kept reminding yourself. You knew that you had talent and had proved it to him last night. What you didn't know was if you were talented enough to stay out of trouble and stay alive.

Maker, you thought to yourself, I'd give anything to hear his thoughts. Not talking was beginning to take a toll on you. You'd never met a stranger, you had friends no matter where you found yourself. It was a trait that you prided yourself on, it was a skill that had gotten you out of a lot of trouble in the past. Yet, as you sat in silence with a single handcuff on, you felt powerless.

The planet slowly got closer, and the fear grew in your heart. There wasn't much that you'd be able to do if he were really here to turn you over, but it didn't stop you from trying to plan different escapes. Your hands weren't bound so it would be easy to grab the blaster from his belt. Killing him wouldn't do anything to help you. You could knock him out and kick him out of the ship. You weren't a pilot; you'd crash and burn. Eventually you had to face it, you were pretty much fucked.

He landed the ship in the middle of nowhere. You didn't have a clue what planet you were on, the rocky ground giving little in way of aid.

"I have some business to take care of. See if you can't figure out what's wrong with the ship. I'll be back." The Mandalorian said, getting up to leave the cockpit.

You just nodded, trying to prove that you had no intention of leaving.

"If you leave, I'll find you and kill you," he said before climbing down the ladder.

A painful lump formed in your throat as you watched him leave your sight. Sweat began to bead on your forehead and roll down the back of you neck. He wasn't going to turn you over. Relief ran through your body, and you let out a most welcome sigh of relief.

Once you had seen him walk away from the ship, you decided to get up and explore the ship a bit more. The layout was fairly simple, the only thing that was left for you to discover was his weaponry and what looked to be the carbonite chamber. Since you had the time to spare, you started to clean up the ship the best you could. The cleaning supplies that he possessed was limited to say the least. For the next 3 hours you scrubbed, wiped, scraped, and cleaned every surface that you could on the ship. When you were done, he still hadn't returned, and truth be told, the ship didn’t look any different. Since this was the first time you'd been with him while he was out on what you assumed to be a job, you didn't know how long it should take. That didn't stop you from worrying.

"Why do I care if he's safe?" You asked yourself as you ate a meal bar that had been packed in your bag from the club.

This would be the perfect time to try and escape, you thought. You were scared to say something like that out loud, you didn't know if he'd set up cameras to watch you while he was away. The only thing that you knew for certain about the Mandalorian was that you shouldn't underestimate him. Besides, you knew that you weren't capable of a life truly on the run. He was far more experienced and talented at the hunt and chase than you were and there wasn't a doubt in your mind that he'd find and kill you.

At some point you made your way back up to the cockpit, hoping that there was something to fix or work on. Being alone wasn't something you enjoyed. Your mind needed a distraction from its thoughts. Looking around at the dashboard you came to the conclusion that had been coming together for the past few hours. This ship is a piece of shit. It resembled a toy that was long past its prime, but was held together by tape, glue, and love. Everywhere you looked was evidence of a fight or altercation of some sort. In a way, all the damage gave the ship personality. Maybe its personality matched that of its owner, you wondered.

Slowly the day passed, and he still hadn't returned. You were now really worried, a plethora of scenarios as to why he wasn't back came flashing to your mind. Maybe he was just taking a long time, there had to be people who were better at hiding than you were. Maybe he was shopping…for eight hours. But the thought that you couldn't help but obsess over was that he was getting ready to turn you in. You didn't want him dead, but it was better than the alternative that ran through your mind. Just as you were starting to get really antsy and see if there wasn't a way you could track him on from the ship, you heard the cargo door open.

You weren't fluent in anything but basic, however you could make out a few words in Aqualish. Mostly curses, something about money, and a scream that didn't need any translating. Then there was silence, you didn't hear a blaster or any grunts to indicate a violent fight. Maybe he'd used the carbonite chamber. You could hear footsteps making their way towards the ladder so you sat in the passenger's seat and tried to make yourself as small as you could. He walked in, the sound of his shoes filling the silence that rang throughout the ship. The Mandalorian looked around at the cockpit before turning to look at you, his gazing burning into your skin.

"C'mere," he said softly.

This wasn't a tone he'd used with you before, it put you at ease. You stood up and walked up to him, noticing how he seemed to tower over you.

"I've had a long day and right now all I want is to feel your cunt around me. Is that okay?"

You struggled to keep your jaw from dropping to the floor. All you could bring yourself to do was nod with a stunned look in your eyes.

He sat down in his pilot seat and pulled himself out of his pants. He was half hard already, and even then, he was still much bigger than most of the men you’d been with before. You awkwardly stepped out of your pants and underwear, leaving you in just the tunic. While you hadn't expected anything in the way of foreplay, you were quite unwilling to go in dry especially with a man as well endowed as the Mandalorian who sat before you, languidly stroking his cock. Standing before him you now got a better view than what you got last night. His pants were pushed down to the top of his thighs and you got another glimpse at his tan skin and the chocolate-colored curls around the base of his cock. You watched as he caressed himself, taking his time to tease every ridge and vein that was now painfully taut. He had now turned to look at you as you stood waiting for him to give you a direction of what he wanted you to do exactly. You quickly realized that you were more than ready to take him, watching him begin to masturbate to the sight of you had turned you on and left you ready for more.

He patted his left knee and you walked over to him trying desperately to keep steady breaths. You'd never reacted to a customer like this before, and you couldn't understand what was causing you to act like this. Once you were standing between his thighs, he grabbed your hips and turned you around so and slowly began to pull you down onto him. Right before he entered you, he quickly asked, "Are you safe?"

Impatiently you nodded and muttered, "Implant."

With that confirmation he pulled you down onto him and thrusted himself into you. Your breath caught in your throat and for a second you forgot how to breathe while he let out a rather loud groan and pulled you to his chest. The feeling of him inside you was overwhelming in the best way and he hadn't even moved. Once a few seconds had passed and you had adjusted, you started to lift your hips up before he pulled you down and held you flush to him.

"Stay like this. I don't want you to move."

This was not something you'd done before. You weren't going to argue, feeling him fill you like this was not a feeling you wanted to be rid of. So, you sat like that, your feet dangling off the ground, back pressed up against the metal that covered his chest, whimpering every time he made the slightest movement. His hands were holding you down, and you knew that within a few hours bruises the shape of hands would develop along your hips. The thought of him marking you sent a wave of heat through your body and down to your now dripping cunt. "Fuck." You said softly.

You weren't sure how long had passed before he lifted his grip off your hips and turned to face the front of the ship so he could leave. It was a little weird, you were just sitting on your captor's lap as he was buried deep within you, watching as the ship left the rocky planet and flew into space. Once you were safe in hyperspace his hands returned, only this time to your thighs. His right hand rubbed little circles up on your thigh while his left hand made its way under your shirt. He was pleased to find that you hadn't worn a bra today, as he rolled your nipple between his thumb and pointer finger. Every little movement that he made sent a chill through the most sensitive part of you.

"Do you want me to move? You feel so good clenching around my cock, I can tell you needed this as much as I did."

He'd been inside of you long enough to take away your ability to speak, leaving you to whimper and nod.

You waited for a change in motion, pace, anything. Then slammed himself as deep into you as he possibly could, and an utterly guttural moan ripped out of your throat. You clenched down on him hard, letting you feel every ridge and vein on his cock as his hands guided your hips up and down on him. He was using you to get himself off, replacing his hand with your clenching cunt.

"I love when you squeeze me like that. If I knew you felt like this I wouldn't have taken so long today. Oh! Good girl let me hear those pretty moans," he groaned out into your ear.

He worked up to an impossibly good speed, pounding into you and hitting spots that you didn't realize existed, telling you how good you were for him in between your moans. At some point your hands found their way down to his thighs, your grip tightening every time he drove himself into you. "My good girl, so good for me, squeezing her tight pussy around my dick. Such a good girl." The pornographically loud sound of your wet pussy being abused was music to your ears, heightened only by the moans and whimpers coming from the man behind you. You could tell that he was getting close, his whines becoming louder, and his thrusts are becoming sloppier by the second.

"C- I want—ugh! I'm gonna cum." He yells.

You nodded and locked down on him, squeezing his cock with a vicious force as you let out a weak, "Cum in me."

That set him off as he held you down, thighs shaking, moaning loudly. You feel him deep inside, pulsing as you milked his cock for everything it had to offer. The feel of his warm cum all over your fluttering and spasming pussy left you unable to do anything but just whine. Slowly, you began to roll your hips around, helping him work through the last of his orgasm and giving yourself one last moment to relish this feeling.

"Maker. You're my good girl, aren't you?" He asked, gloved hands rubbing up and down your thighs.

You lean back against him and just hum a soft yes. You even close your eyes for a second, wishing that you could stay like this forever. There wasn't ever a time that you were so satisfied with a client, no one had ever made you feel this good. But true to character, the Mandalorian was no normal customer, so it shouldn't have been a shock to feel his ungloved finger circling your clit.

With his gorgeously thick and soft finger, he circled your clit. It was all too much; your body shook uncontrollably as he ripped a near earth shattering orgasm out of you. You tried to run from the feeling, tried to push him off and stop the overwhelming pleasure that he brought you, but he wanted you to sit there and take it. Your vision went out and you could've sworn that you'd lost consciousness for a minute, coming back to the sound of the Mando's heavy breathing.

When you were fully aware and capable of using your legs, you slowly pulled yourself off of him, letting out a sad whine as the fullness left. As you stood up and tried to balance on wobbly legs, a hand came between your thighs, gathering up the cum that was dripping out of you.

"Open up."

You turned around and eagerly opened your mouth. His fingers pushed into your mouth, as you sucked them clean of the taste of the two of you. Your tongue swirled around his fingers, making sure that you weren't leaving a single drop before he pulled his hand away from your mouth. When he was satisfied with your work he nodded and started to tuck himself back into his pants.

You grabbed your pants and pulled them on, reminded once again just how cold the ship was. Unlike last night, you decided to stay with him in the passenger's seat.

As the lights of hyperdrive flashed across your eyes, you were reminded of a life where you were free and innocent. Ideas of living a peaceful life in your mind with no idea of what the future would hold. You didn't expect to be here, working as a prostitute, everyone you ever knew and loved dead. You didn't expect to be hiding from the people who took your family from you, you'd always thought of yourself as a fighter. It was amusing just how different life was from what you expected as a child. But that was all naivety, even as a child you'd been taught that the life of someone like you was one full of challenge and hardship. You just never expected to be one of the last jedi, seeking refuge with a Mandalorian.

#theutterlyboredwriter #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian smut #din djarin #din djarin smut #smut #reader insert #sorry if this is shit #i tried but tbh im still ass at writing smut #star wars

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yanderenightmare · 4 years ago

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YANDERE ! DABI x FEM ! READER

goodiebag WARNING: yandere, dubcon/noncon, abuse, amnesia, arson, drugging, human trafficking, kidnapping, abduction, stockholm syndrome, stalking

PART ONE

NOTHING BURNS LIKE THE COLD - part two

THOSE THAT WAIT...

Strange that someone with such an icy exterior could cause your skin to start sizzling. It’d been brief. She woke up late in the day, taken a shower, and went to work. Like every other miserable day. Though, she never got to working. She remembered a tall lanky fellow with purple patching decorating his already dark features. She recognized him as just another regular, but more as the villain named Dabi. He was never here this early, she’d taken notice, as one should when entertaining dangerous individuals. They hadn’t even opened yet. In fact, she was rather early herself, none of the other dancers had arrived, only her. It was strange to say the least. A customer here before the staff.

He had spoken with The Ringleader, he seemed distressed. Their eyes shifting over to her every now and again as she ate at the bar, as she always did, except; her food was already set before her and the bartender was absent. She didn’t think much of the peculiarities nor their flickering, lingering gaze. She was wearing nothing more than a translucent kimono after all. Men are curious animals, she knew this more than anyone. The rest of the night never came.

“You ought to be more careful, little one.” She didn’t quite capture it, the words fused out into blunders. Her vision spotted, a strange flutter took place in her head and her skin became all tingly. Yet, she swore she felt a warm set of hands rest on her shoulders, a wind of some sorts brushing against her neck, something hot pressed against her jawline, right before she didn’t feel anything at all…

The bed was definitely softer. She was away and mistook it for drowsiness. The welcoming warmth and embracing fabric making it easy not to resist, where she didn’t exactly struggle to try and shake the sleep from her limbs. Her poor attempts; with words could be described as intentionally pathetic, as she failed and continued slumping down into the pillows and drapes. Her body, after so many nights of unwanted worship, delved deep into the blissful harmony of silence, as if in reverence of the blessed void of noise, as if just now realizing how spent she was, receiving the much-needed rest with ease and not so much as a hint of war. He enjoyed that.

“How far you have fallen, Angel.” She hummed at the sound of the rusty voice, not quite alarmed yet, still sleeping, not yet remembering what had happened the prior night or who the handprints on wrists belonged to. Not yet feeling the bonds digging into those same delicate wrists of hers. Perhaps in the form of denying herself the truth, not allowing her the reality yet.

He had been holding back, while studying her, for the better half of the night, denying himself his prize. Not in punishment, however... in a form of delayed gratification. Meaning, that by holding himself back, he was in some way earning the delectable offering before him, and therefore grateful enough to relish in every drop of it more thoroughly later. He had been patient, as any God should be with their offerings, however... he was still a God, and what God would he be if he didn’t revel in his omnipotence and take advantage of his divine rights? He unshackled himself, first by lifting his shirt over his head and shoulders, then by the unbuckling of his belt. The crisp noise of metal stirring her ever so slightly, reminding him of the importance of silence, something he would often forget after so many nights spent alone. His trousers slipping off his hips and making a rather reckless contact with his arousal. He felt his member push against the fabric of his boxers, but he wouldn’t release him just yet.

And now, with his morals left with his clothes on the ground, he lifted the covers, exposing just a little of her. He bit his lips in a struggle to contain himself. The itch so vigorous and viscous and brutal under his skin. Practically shaking with anticipation, he reached out to allow himself a sliver of what would be his by the end of the night, a single taste to torture and drive himself mad with.

Something rough like sandpaper traveled up her thigh, a stark contrast to the soft covers she was splayed out on. One digit first, then all five stroked her ambrosian skin, hungrily. If she had been more aware she could probably have felt the wanton pressure in the touch, as if holding back in savory. The gesture not being enough to stir her sleep, but then again, it wasn’t meant to either. His moves were calculated, despite his lust; careful, godly.

Still half asleep she felt the warmth once accompanying her leave, the duvet being pulled off in slow and calm movements, bit by bit. The cold slightly nipping at her skin, so much as though her eyes fluttered for a moment, and he was sure if had turned the lights on, it would have been enough to wake her fully. Goosebumps were quickly following suit to adorn her otherwise smooth skin, not that he minded the decoration, he was more awestruck than anything, his adoration leaving his lips in long, unsteady but controlled breaths. And, in encouragement from her slight stir, he reached out with his hand to accompany one of her breasts, that had now, because of the cold, perked in search for warmth, which it shuddered in contact with whence his fingers granted her a little more than just heat, by teasing the sensitive spot with the excitement or even playfulness of a child.

She moaned softly, heavenly, like the moan one extracts from a pleasant dream. Her lips kindly sucking on the red ball in her mouth. Drool had yet to be seen running down her chin, a sight he was awaiting with the most eager patience. His fingers lingering, continuing to squeeze and flick in ever so delicious movements, keeping her reactions on beck and call.

She wasn’t used to being touched, despite her experience with seeing the earnest in predatory eyes, to hearing the hunger in their growls, witnessing the almost threatening bulge in their pants. However, her lack of experience with touch showed, and it was all too visible that the pimp had been truthful about her chastity. Not that he would have minded her being touched by others before him. He would do well in singeing loyalty into her bones, making it utterly unquestionable who it was that she now belonged to, making even the slightest thought of someone else’s hands on her burn with a vengeance on her skin in phantom punishment. However, he wouldn’t deny the fact that being her first and last didn’t bring him some pleasure. The fact the he would teach her how to be his perfect girl, without his lessons being compromised by lesser minds she had prior connections with, brought him a certain satisfactory ease. Especially when it was displayed all so beautifully with her body already. The inexperience so adorable and mouthwatering to perceive.

Keeping one hand on her breast, his other moved absentmindedly down to his cock, who was stiff and yearning for some form of attention, or at the very least recognition. He finally freed himself fully. His cock sprung in the most elevated thrill, flat against his stomach. Dabi granted himself one more taste of euphoria by rubbing himself to the same beat of the moans emitting from her. Picturing what he’d do to her first, what to introduce her to first. His eyes searching up and down her exposed body, resting mostly on her face, where the red ball did a perfect job at both accessorizing her sweet expressions and keeping her throat open and therefore sounds sheer for his ears to revel in.

She made a harsh pull to her restraints. The product of him being a little too vigorous with his fingers, twisting and pulling at the sensitive pink nib. However, her halfhearted efforts for liberty were to no use. Even if she had given it all her strength, seeing how both her wrists were tied snuggly behind her back, making her attempt parallel to the act of grasping at straws. Her chest arched over her arms some further, making it seem as if she was yearning for his touch.

Something in the mix of a whine and a whimper escaped her lips when her arms wouldn’t budge from their rightful place behind her back. She started groggily squirming, twisting in her position, feeling the sting of a heavy migraine take shape behind her forehead. His fist moving more vigorously, gripping himself tighter, upon seeing her frustrated and futile struggles.

Her brows furrowing and moving in tremors to the same beat her nose twitched. A tear, maybe remnants from the night before, or a painful dream reaching the surface, or probably, what was bound to be a burning headache brewing in her skull, paved a path down her cheek.

Leaving her nipple for the time being, his hand was quick in catching the droplet with his thumb before it hit the fabric of the pillow, putting it to his mouth before sucking it off, shivering in ecstasy at the salty taste it left on his tongue. His hand assuming the same position it left, now with a hint of moisture, making her nipple glossy with wetness.

He wasn’t sure how she’d take it, being this exposed, this vulnerable, his, but he was dying to see her reaction. And, with that thought pushing him much farther to the brink, he decided she didn't have to be fully awake for him to have a little fun with her before that time, seeing how his actions proved to influence her even with her not being fully aware of it. The signs obvious to his prying eyes; her hardened nipples, her parted thighs, her toes moving in and out of a curled state, her soft yet distinguishable moans, as if to test or coax him. However, she was still very much asleep. The drug wouldn’t be surpassed that easy.

His knee sunk into the mattress by her hip, his weight making the bed dip quite a few inches down in its softness, making her body slightly shift to rest against his leg, now paralleled with her thigh. He swung his other leg to follow the first and placed it between her thighs, careful to rub his knee up against her pussy, wanting to find it soaking. He was disappointed. He rigged his other knee symmetrically with the last, and propped her thighs up onto his, kneeling before her; spread out for him. He swept his digits over her clit again, wishing for a different result. He was being greedy and impatient, he decided.

She should have been conscious enough to feel it, just unable to do act on it when she did. She moaned again with the heat of his body seeping into her, the building chill in her bones replaced, her goosebumps subsided and left smooth skin in their wake. He enjoyed the show, and was tempted to slip inside her right then and there, fuck her until she woke up, but decided on waiting. Those that wait don’t wait in vain, he kept telling himself. Besides, there was so much he wanted to do first.

She felt it, the two palms that placed themselves tenderly at her sides, calloused thumbs rubbing into her midriff, before they started to wander, squeezing at what they found, exploring as much as conquering. Cupping her breasts again, one in each hand. Placing his tongue under her bellybutton and leaving a wet, cold trail as he made his way to her nipples. Wanting to feel the softness in his mouth, the prodding button slightly tickling when playing with his tongue-piercing. Her chest stirred again. A gasp, that was far from a real gasp, struggled in her throat.

She kicked, it was sloppy, but a kick nonetheless. It must have been a reflex, she still hadn’t opened her eyes. He caught her knee when she tried a second time, pushing it flat against the bed with a cruel chuckle. At this, she opened her eyes. Pretty, fluttering doe-eyes met his ice-blue ones. She was quickly rid of her drowsiness, replaced by panic instead. She made a series of strained, desperate cries, all repressed by the red gag filling her mouth like a dream. He saw spit foaming around her lips, and as though they somehow absorbed the wetness, her lips became that much more plump and glossy and bite-able and fuckable.

He was going to say something when she woke up. He had something planned, but had currently forgotten in the midst of feeling her timid struggles beneath him. He bet he must have looked like the onset of death in the dark room, looming above her, scarred, with eyes so bright and piercing. With a fried mind, he leaned in and sucked some more on her exposed breasts, biting more savagely this time. No need to tiptoe around anymore, he thought. One hand remained teasing her nipple, but the other traveled down to in between her thighs, simply rubbing circles in her clit with his middle-finger. She squealed beneath him, struggling so preciously, so adorably. His teeth and tongue nipped and sucked their way up to her collarbone, making sure to mark her flesh as he went, until he rested his face in the crook of her neck. Salty tears coating her throat, he appreciated the flavor.

Hot breaths fanned against her ear, as he continued to pinch and rub her sensitive nipple between his thumb and index-finger, with another hand rubbing aggressively down below. “You’re just made for my hands, aren’t you?” His voice was feral, teasing. She whimpered at the sound of it. “Built for abuse.” His actions become more and more brutish as he went. And, against his hot skin, she became unsure of whether he might burn her. “No…” There was a pout in the word. Yet, despite how disgustingly sweet his tone was, the groan that followed was nothing but beastly. “Built for begging.”

He dragged himself off and made to sit and gaze down at his creation for a minute. His hands falling back to her waist before moving towards her thighs and groping curiously into her doughy flesh. She wiggled, quite amusingly in his eyes, her brows furrowed together in the outmost pleasurable pleading expression. He felt his mouth water again. Lifting her leg to rest on top of his shoulder, nuzzling, almost affectionately, into the crook of her knee. His hand, again, flickering over her clit ever so teasingly, earning himself the cutest little flutter. She seemed unsure of herself now, her eyes were terror-wide and intense and beautiful, no longer sleepy, yet still longing, or at least, he liked to imagine that’s what he saw lurking in those orbs. She shuddered when his finger delved into her folds, only one at first. She attempted to clench her thighs together, but Dabi simply pushed them back open with an amused laugh, and added another finger. She winced, back arching just a little further outward.

She could start sobbing. He wouldn’t have stopped if she had. But the fact that she didn’t, could only mean one thing, he mused. He started curling his fingers inside her at the thought. Focused on what reaction she’d give away this time. She jolted, gasped and then moaned. He licked his lips for the hundredth time, sure to start drooling soon. He kissed the inside of her thigh, a kiss that turned into a bite and then another kiss. His thumb; currently digging into the tender flesh at the backside of her knee, pushing it up against her chest. He planted a path of wet kisses down the inside of her thigh. “I’m gonna destroy you.” He mumbled it, the words smeared onto her skin instead of released into the air. But she heard what he said just fine, and it made her stomach fold. His fingers quickened their pace, thrusting in and out in a relentless fashion. She didn’t get enough time to collect herself before she was met with his drooling mouth, a hot, eager tongue dragging along the length of her slit. It was in that hauled out moment the realization of her impending corruption dawned on her. She only barely heard the rest of his speech. “By the end of this night, I’ll have reduced you to a wet, hot, cross-eyed mess, Angel.” The words tickled against her, snapped her once again back into reality.

She kicked and flailed, despite the heat that soon simmered were his hands were placed, sure to leave bruises if not scorch marks. Attempting to writhe and struggle until he let go, but the resistance only managed to amuse him and egg him on even further, diving into her with a new-found growing determination. He was going to have her cooing underneath him before the night let up.

Although it was invasive, aggressive, brutal, it was pleasure nonetheless, and she found more and more that she had never in all her life felt this alive. Unsure if it was the fear, the pain or the unwanted fire that was being constantly kindled by a stranger’s tongue between her legs. She would have felt dirty for her ongoing, growing desire if it wasn’t for the state of the man in front of her, drinking her down as though he were starved, utterly depraved and void of any shame. His thumb flicking over her clit, as his tongue drew a series of incoherent patterns, prodding and poking and lapping and biting and abusing every sensitive spot that made her contort in those involuntary violent spasms. His piercings didn’t help the case, teasing and tickling the tender skin it scraped against. Her whimpers turned meek and pitiful as they became more and more like moans instead of protests. He moaned in return, growled and groaned, the reverberations sending unwelcome yet pleasant tremors through her body into the very tips of her toes.

It was foreign, the building knot in her core, pooling, spiraling, tightening, untouched until now. She wasn’t sure if she wished it had remained that way, not anymore. Her question was answered when she caught herself a little too late, her hips following Dabi when he finally, unfortunately pulled away.

He straightened himself, admiring his work with a feral, dripping smile carved upon his face. Her tits glistening with coated sweat he had brought to the surface. He didn’t even make an attempt to wipe the slick from his chin, he only leaned forward, his wet hand gripping her neck hungrily, teeth biting down on her earlobe. “I think you’re beginning to enjoy yourself.” His slender fingers made it to the back of her head, unlatching the clasp that kept her gag in place. Visible bite marks marred onto the once polished red ball. “Let’s give you something more to suck on.” She was nearly too gone to respond. Nearly. She spat in his face, not sure who she was disgusted with more, herself or him.

He wiped his face with his hand in a nonchalant fashion, bringing those same fingers down to her dripping clit, only barely diving into the folds, gathering his own drool amongst other translucent liquids, before he motioned back to his face. His other hand took a grip around her chin once again, his nails digging into her cheeks, forcing her lips to part.

“Taste yourself.” Pushing his fingers into her mouth, scratching the back of her throat pitilessly. “You taste good, don’t you?” He asked as though he wanted her to agree. Finally kissing her, biting down into those juicy, plump lips. She bit back aggressively, but found that it only earned her a red-hot smack across the face. She looked stunned. The viciousness on her face, in her eyes, replaced by something rather docile. When he leaned in to kiss her again, she complied willingly. Letting him set the motion, teaching her how it should be done. “That’s right, you just need a little guidance.” His tone was sweet; patronizing, as he admired the forming handprint on her cheek, covering half her face.

Something hard, something strong, kept pushing against her thigh. She knew what it was, but didn’t want to give it any attention. Both hands around her throat, one descended to grope her breast on its way down to her clit. She shuddered at the contact. The flesh even more sensitive, swollen, now than before and every touch, no matter how feather-light, sent electricity coursing throughout her body.

“You know who I am.” He didn’t seem to mind that she merely nodded instead of given him a full answer. Perhaps she wasn’t even able to, maybe that slight tilt of her head was all she was capable of doing after what he had made of her. He enjoyed the thought. “You know what I will do if you decide to disobey me.” He threatened and this time he heard the tiniest, breathiest little yes splutter from her lips. “Good. I’m gonna untie you. If you try to run, if you try and struggle, if you upset me just a little bit too much, trust me…” He slid a finger down her cheek in an affectionate manner. “I will hurt you.” His voice was so dark, and his eyes so bright; staring down at her, enslaving her very spirit.

She quaked beneath him. Eyes so frantic, so wild, but… he could see it hiding amidst the terror, a look of lust, a look of piqued thrill. He didn’t take the leather cuffs off, simply unhooked them from each other. Half wanting her to run, just as a provided excuse to spank that perfect ass of hers. All in good time, he thought when she remained still, only barely daring to rub her sore shoulders. She was bound to do something wrong at some point, all he needed was to give her more rules. He’d have his way.

In retrospect, he wished he’d put a collar and leash on her. Next time, he humored. “Get on the floor, on your knees.” He seated himself on the edge of the bed, spreading his thighs, cock in hand, listening to her slide slowly off the bed, legs wobbly and weak. He was expecting her gaze to be locked onto the floor in shame or embarrassment, but she was far from it, looking up at him like a lost little puppy, orbs full of expectancy, bottom lip trembling. Her knees held tightly together, hands resting on top of them. “Spread.” He motioned to her thighs, and she did as she was told. “More.” She inched them even further apart. “Good girl…” He praised and stroked her hair, only to gather it all into a ponytail in his fist. She winced at the act, but remained where she was. “Show me your hand.” So compliant, so docile, a perfect little pet. He spit onto her now presented palm. “Spread that on your tits.” He only hummed in response when she hesitantly did as he said. He liked this, he wanted more of this. His hand was furiously gripping himself, motioning back and forth inches away from her face. She didn’t dare look, but she was going to have to very soon. “Lick your hand.” Her other hand ascended, the one without his spit on it. That wouldn’t do, he tutted her and she stopped. “The other hand.” There was a tremor presented in her brows, but she did as she was told despite it. Dragging her tongue from her palm to her fingertips, feeling the cold, slippery surface slide against her. He was delighted to see a string of spit connecting her mouth to her hand when she pulled away. “Take me.” She still hadn’t looked down. Her breathing began to hitch, the fear dulled all other senses, to the point where even her vision became spotted and all she could see were those ice-blue eyes staring down at her. He gave her head a pull. Her hand visibly shaking as she reached out to grab around him, feeling a cold dreadful feeling sink to the bottom of her stomach at the realization that she couldn’t fit him in her hands. He, on the contrary, enjoyed the sight. He looked even bigger in her clutch than his. At the moment all she did was hold, her eyes searching for some form of direction. All he needed to do to get her started was growl, and she began slowly pumping. Her fingers slightly stirring each time they hit a new piercing. To his surprise, he quit liked the slow pace, her careful placed strokes, holding him as though it were something precious in her hands. He wondered if her mouth would do the same. “Stick out your tongue.” He inched forward at once when she opened her mouth, pure impulse. She took it as a hint, placing her tongue on the tip and flicking it side to side, not minding the velvety feel of his tip grazing against her.

She didn’t seem like such an amateur anymore, not when her eyes were so intent on focusing on him, soaking up every reaction to see if she was doing it right. He pulled her closer and she widened her mouth more, talking his entire cockhead, resting it on her tongue, tasting it. It was salty, yet something about it was sweet as well. Her mouth watered in preparation. She moved more on her own volition than on the guidance of his direction, aiming to keep him content. She exchanged her performance by taking him in her mouth and licking up the sides with her tongue, trying to go deeper when he added a little more pressure to the back of her head. Her hand pumped where her mouth couldn’t reach, but he wanting to break limits. He pressed on, his other hand accompanied the one holding her head, pushing his entire cock into her mouth, feeling it bend down her throat. She made a series of objections, but they all felt rather good when being received by his cock. The spasms were far from contained, bracing herself by placing her hands on his knees, trying desperately to create more space between them. She failed. He only let go when he saw the tears drip down her cheeks. She tore away at once when she was allowed, hiccupping and coughing rather violently with her head bowed.

She felt his hand gather her ponytail again, dreading what was to come. “One more time, Angel.” The nickname didn’t help. His cock sprung past her lips quickly this time, hitting the wall of her throat with speed, filling her mouth completely. She whined, the plead entering her tearful gaze yet again. But her prayers were unmet. His head had fallen backwards, mouth parted, groaning and moaning shamelessly with her lips wrapped around him. Her fists started hitting lightly on his thigh, but he didn’t notice, and if he did, he certainly didn’t pay it any mind. She tried her best breathing through her nose, but when his back hit the bed and his legs wrapped around her, with her nose buried into his pelvis, she fell prey to the only solution panic allowed her. The second she sunk her teeth into him, he released, almost as though he was expecting it.

She coughed, the burning lack of air far more than itchy at the back of her throat. Small splutters of spit rained onto his thighs. Gathering herself quickly, knowing that this couldn’t possibly be overlooked, let alone forgiven. His maniacal grin didn’t suit her feelings. Looking apologetic, no; terrified, and then pained, when he yanked the perfect ponytail he’d gathered in his deadlock of a fist. It didn’t take long before she was off her knees and bended over his lap instead, her ass presented to him in delicious offering. She began struggling, knowing that the punishment would come either way now. He didn’t blame her, not when he bet she felt the heat boiling in her veins. The hairs viscously pulling at her scalp was only one form of burning. Sapphire flames moving like tendrils around and about his fingers, almost with a life of their own, eager to get started, eager to taste her perfect skin and ruin it. She screamed, and it was bloodcurdling. His large hand planted at her ass cheek, flames still lit, even after giving the blow.

“I’m sorry!” She only barely got the words out amidst her cries. Singing hot tears running new paths down her cheeks. He gave another slap to the same place and she wailed even louder. Her ears were burning, but she could still make out his appreciative hum. His hand kept going relentlessly and only quit their harsh abuse on her cheeks to see if she was still wet. And she was dripping. He chuckled at that.

“You’re a little masochist, aren’t yah?” She only whimpered in response. Saying no wouldn’t help her case, but saying yes didn’t seem like a valid option either. She could only hope it wouldn’t earn her any more punishments. A groan followed his initial statement. “I’m gonna have a lot of fun with you.” Remnants of the flames lingered in his fingers in the form of simmering heat, as he grabbed ahold of her hips and positioned her in a kneeling stance, hovering over his lap. “I want to hear you beg for it.” His nails dug into her delicate skin, she tried recoiling back with the slightest shift, but he held her firmly in place. “Come on…” He drawled, eyes intensely daring her to ruin his wishes. “Moan my name.” He leaned in closer, dragging his tongue up her cheek, capturing all the shed tears he’d made fall. “Scream it.” He pulled her closer, and she felt the wet pole slide against her thigh, imagining its heat inside her. “Tell me you want me.” He bit down on her nipple; harshly. The words he was wanting sprung to her lips.

“I want you!” It came in the shape of a gasp. His teeth gracing, grinding around the nib, threatening to bite it off. “Dabi…” She whimpered, almost crying. “Please…” She sniffled, unmoving of her position, yet unable to control her shaking. “I want you.” This time it came as a whisper, and in his mind, he managed to make it sound like the most lude and lustful thing he had ever heard. “Plea-”

Her plead was left hanging in the air as she choked, feeling her hips forced down. His cock pocking, prodding against her entrance. She closed her eyes, unconsciously wiggling to better slot him inside her. And at once when the head found its place, Dabi snapped his hips forward, jerking until he was all the way inside her. Taken by the moment, she moaned loudly, like a brazen wanton. “I knew there was a hungry slut behind that innocence.” His tone gruff, licking her throat. “Why don’t you show me how much you want me?” It wasn’t a question, it wasn’t a request. He fell back onto the bed, his hands on her hips letting her now she wouldn’t be getting very far, was she to try and get off. “Convince me of how much you love my cock inside you.” His eyes were challenging her to oppose him. She didn’t dare. Despite the almost unbearable pain shooting through at him stretching her out, she slowly started to rock her hips back and forth, earning herself a satisfied moan from the man under her. “There you go… good girl.” He started rubbing circles into her hips, a form of gratitude. “There you go, ride, slow and deep.” He seemed to repeat himself. “Just like that.” His head tilted back. Moans upon moans, each more raspy and struggled and feral than the one before, extracted from deep within his throat. His eyes tightly shut. “Good girl…” Hands loosening more and more. She thought if she flung herself towards the door now, she might just make it.

However, as though sensing her coming escape attempt, he gripped onto her hips again, digging his fingertips into the doughy flesh. Not intending on letting her solo-act continue for too long. Just when he felt his eyes roll back into his skull, on the verge of giving into the pleasure, he claimed control again, grabbing her hips and assisting her with rolling them faster and harder, pushing her with a violent passion down upon himself. With the yelp that left her lips, he was encouraged to sit up and wrap both hands around her torso, as so to have her jump up and down on his lap. Still using his strength to lift her just enough so that the tip of him teased her entrance, only to be smashed down and filled to the very brink with an earnest and inane hunger.

“Excited, are we?” He said in a craze, referring to the adorable sound that escaped her teary lips. His was an insinuating tone, the words spoken like a statement or a fact more than a question. Lips parted and curled up un a sadistic and frenzied smirk, contorting each time he derived a pleasurably raw sound from her throat or an uncontrolled spasm of her body. Brows lifting in expectancy, furrowing together over the growing fire down below, a fire kindled by the soft sanctuary sitting in his lap. He threw his head back and made a long breathy moan, before positioning his mouth next to her ear and growling, “Come on, be a good angel and bounce for your master.” His teeth sinking into her earlobe for a quick scare, before his mouth went on in finding her neck a nice muzzle to let his groans and growls into, loving how she, even in this overwhelmed state, made room for her terror and let her shivers and whimpers almost overpower, or at the very least equal, her moans of painful pleasure.

She reacted well in every definition of the phrase. Her insides contorting, twitching, tightening and squeezing around his shaft in a pleasant and relentless fashion every time he would hit that sweet spot inside her. Her body succumbing, surrendering, melting into his embrace even without him holding her in place, perhaps out of fear of punishment, perhaps in exhaustion, or perhaps in search of comfort from her new master, some search for recognition and praise. He enjoyed the thought of it being all and everything. The soft skin of her thighs, legs, belly and breasts were some form of resolution against his marred purple flesh. And the tones leaving her tongue in prayer, in worship, was nothing short of heaven.

She wasn’t given the peace of mind to feel guilty about the knot in her stomach or how it seemed to tighten each time he hit deep inside her. She shoved her hips against him just as much as he did her, fighting to move in synch. The fire inside was unrelenting; roaring. She was holding onto every moment of him pushing inside, stretching her out, going deeper. His pace so earth-shattering she began clenching around him. He groaned in response, slowing his pace for just a second to acclimate, before diving back with even more strength and speed than before.

Her nails dug into the purple flesh of his back, her drool coating his shoulder as she was resting in the crook of his neck, moaning sweet hymns right into his ear. She felt like she was breaking, falling apart, becoming undone. Toes curling until they cramped and then some. Eyes switching from traveling all the way back into her skull and crossing paths. The twitching in her core grew and grew. She propped herself further up, pressing her chest against him, expecting something to snap inside her. It was strange she knew what to look forward to without having ever felt it, but when it happened it was exactly like the crushing weight of paradise. Shocks of electricity zipped through her entire body, as she clung to him for dear life, as he continued pushing in and out of her.

“That’s a good girl.” Feeling her orgasm coat around his cock. He landed a slap to her ass, but it felt only an inch away from heaven this time. A gasp that half-way through became a moan left her lips. “But…” She didn’t take it as a threat this time. “I’m far from finished.” She moaned when he pulled out, twitching at the ticklish feeling. Her eyes half-closed when she felt herself be placed down on the bed, his heat completely leaving her. Catching herself missing it, but not finding it in herself to care about her fall to debauchery whatsoever. “On your stomach.” It was a military command, and she looked up see him seated with the pillows propped up behind him. Like a throne, she thought as she rolled over onto her stomach. “Legs up, point your toes in the air.” She didn’t hesitate. With one hand he grabbed her chin and the other made to pet her head. His cock swayed from side to side in front of her. “Are you gonna be a good girl this time?” He was teasing, coaxing, challenging her to revolt, but was pleasantly surprised when she nodded her head compliantly, large eyes looking up at him with a look he thought seemed strangely akin to love. “Can you keep your hands behind your back?” He stroked the back of her head, feeling her shudder in gratification. “Or am I gonna have to tie them up again.” She shook her head, placing her hands behind her, feeling herself dip into the bed, unable to hold herself up. But, his hand held her head steadily. She was patiently awaiting her next command. “Be daddy’s good little girl and open up.” He tightened his lock around her jaw, but it was unneeded. Her mouth fell open willingly, promptly starting to suck as though she were devoted. “That’s right.” He groaned. “Just obey.” Closing his eyes, as he let his head fall back to rest on the pillows, stroking her smooth hair again and again. “Just obey, Angel…” He could cum right then, but he wanted to last longer. Looking back down at her intently nuzzling between his thighs. He added a slight pressure to his hand. “You can take it.” She didn’t protest, only braced herself. “A little deeper, Angel, come on…” She lost her cool when he hit the back of her throat, but he didn’t let up. She tried relaxing, letting him venture all the way down her throat. “Hold.” He groaned savagely, bucking his hips forward on repeat, fucking the very back of her throat. Choked whimpers and moans sprinkled over his dick, as he held on tighter to her head. She didn’t bite this time. He didn’t exactly let go, not allowing her to drop his cock, keeping it inside the comfort of her warm mouth. “Such a good girl.” He praised, unable to control his moans. “Come on, baby, lick the tip for me.” Her tongue was eager to swirl around him, playing with him inside her mouth. She felt his fingers pressure against her scalp again, taking it as a warning and prepared herself a second time. “And now all the way back.” She wasn’t able to hold back the whimper, but he only seemed to enjoy it more. “Mmh, there you go…” The squealing and whimpering and moaning and small cries she made was almost too much for him to take. “Ahh, fuck.” He groaned, his fingernails digging skin deep into the back of her head. “Good girl, come on… just a little deeper.” He made to fuck her mouth again, feeling her lips tighten around him. She hollowed out her cheeks, and his knees jolted by the act. “So close.” He repeated it a couple times, pointing his chin to the ceiling, cursing and groaning. “Fuck, hold, hold, hold.” He snapped his focus down to her, giving the back of her head a light smack for each word, on top of the other hand holding her in place, pushing himself just a little bit further each time.

Hot, creamy liquid sprouted deep inside her throat, sliding down her jugular and filling up every empty space still left in her mouth. Sickly sweet, to the point where it wasn’t really sweet at all.

Her brows neatly furrowed, eyelashes glued together after keeping her eyes tightly locked, the cutest flush adorning her cheeks. “Now, be a perfect little angel and swallow.” She rested against his thigh, gulping down the thickness, licking the excess off his cock with her tongue when noticing it was still dripping.

He was twitching, his toes curling into the bedsheets, gripping them, focusing on her tongue running up and down the length of him. His hand resulted in stroking her head, until he fell limp, his orgasm fading into a pleasant sense of satisfaction. Pulling her up to rest on his chest, catching himself hoping she wouldn’t irritate over his calloused purple flesh. Feeling such a genuine feeling of fulfillment when she nuzzled up against him on her own, her eyes closed in gratification, an actual smile on her face. Small, delicate hands wrapped themselves around his neck. Large, calloused hands hesitantly made to rest on her waist, stunned at this display of affection. They were both fast asleep.

PART ONE

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