#insert something about black holes and the dark side and even when that darkness exists in oneself the light can still outshine is | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

binxyu · 3 years

Text

Being on both sides seemed like a good idea. Double the money, double the affection, and double the action. But, your opinion soon changed when you were discovered and were punished accordingly for your crimes.

>>Pairing: Stray Kids (doms) x fem!reader (sub) | secret agents!stray kids x double agent!reader

>>Word Count: 3k

>>Genre: Oneshot / Smut

>>Warnings/Kinks: Murder, violence, blood, ninesome, polyamorous relationships, slapping, knifeplay, spitting, collars, gags, bondage, whips, overstimulation, oral (giving and recieving), anal, quadruple penetration, spanking, voyeur, dirty talk, degrading, size kink, choking, swearing, scratching, breast play/torture, electric play, handjob, begging, fingering, scratching, blindfold, paddles, and cockwarming (honestly just pure filth)

“Yeah, that’s what he said”, you chuckled after Jeongin looked shocked at your gossip. You heard the familiar sound of multiple shoes hitting the tile floor of the building. You turned your head and was about to say hello to the rest of the boys, but their dark expressions made a shiver go down your spine and you watched them approach instead.

“Guys what’s going-“, you were cut off by Chan’s sudden grip around your neck, pressing you up against the wall and choking you. You couldn’t breathe and your small hands desperately tried to pry off his huge ones that wouldn’t let loose on their grip around your neck.

“How long? How fucking long have you been doing this? How long have you been telling our secrets to them?!”, Chan yelled in your face, spitting slightly in rage. Your face started to turn a different shade from the lack of air and the man finally let you go, making you fall to the ground on your knees. You tried to catch your breath before looking up at the man, tears staining your cheeks from thinking you were going to die.

“I-“, you realized what they were talking about and sobbed a little louder, covering your mouth to try to quiet them. Felix groaned and walked up behind you, gripping your hair and pulling your head back to look at him.

“Fucking admit to what you’ve done you good for nothing bitch”, he practically growling, his teeth gritting in pure anger. You winced at the harsh grip on your hair and noticed all of the boys looking at you, Chan filling Jeongin in on the situation. Even he looked completely angry at you.

“I’m sorry. Don’t kill me”, you begged, sitting up straight on your knees and putting your hands together desperately. “I’ve only been doing it for a month. I swear”, you looked up at them all and Chan smirked. You on your knees like that gave him an idea for a punishment that wouldn’t involve your death.

“Get up”, Chan ordered. Felix kept his grip on your hair and pulled you up by it, tears streaming as he controlled your every movement. “Felix, we’re taking her downstairs”, your eyes went wide at the order. You had never been in the basement, but you knew that was the torture room. You tried to pull away, but Felix only tightened his grip on your hair as he pulled you towards the elevator. The rest of the group followed behind you two.

“What are you going to do to me?”, you asked, not knowing if you even wanted to know the answer. Chan grabbed your wrist and pulled you out of Felix’s grip, your chest now against Chan’s. His finger trailed along your jaw line and his eyes were on your lips. He raised an eyebrow at you.

“Well, I think I’ve come up with a more fitting punishment for you that’s not death. One that I think you’ve been wanting since you started working with us. Besides, it’s just fitting considering you gave away our secrets for a good fuck with our enemies”, he slapped you, leaving a bright red hand print on your face. The impact made your face go to side and you looked back at him after you recovered from the shock, your hand on your now bruising cheek.

“What are you talking about?”, you wiped your tears, trying to play dumb, but that just made Chan ever more pissed.

“Don’t play dumb, y/n. He was the one who told us”, Hyunjin chuckled, coming closer to you and twirling a strand of your hair with his finger. Fear suddenly went through you, knowing that they knew about your affair. The one night stand that turned into more. You knew you never should’ve done it, but you did.

“How?”, you choked out, looking at the rest of them in surprise. He would’ve never told them willingly.

“Well, he was rather compliant when we threatened to kill him. He told us everything. Your affair, the secrets you gave him, and how long you had really been doing it”, Felix crossed his arms and leaned against the wall of the elevator. He chuckled before finishing his sentence, “but, we killed him anyways because as you know he’s our biggest enemy. And, yet, you let him fuck you” you gulped at the lustful and dark look in his eyes.

“You joined because of him. It wasn’t that hard to figure out”, Chan shrugged his shoulders, “he was screaming and begging for mercy before we killed him” that sentence made you snap. You slapped Chan and desperately pushed the buttons of the elevator to get out. Changbin sighed before grabbing you and covering your mouth with his hand as his other arm was wrapped around your waist. You kicked and punched and screamed, but he wouldn’t let you go.

“Babygirl, if you think he went hard on you then you’re in for a ride”, Changbin whispered into your ear and you stopped, wondering what he meant until you realized. The elevator door opened and you saw the dark basement, a couple of doors lining the walls. Changbin brought you to the last door, the others following closely behind, loosening the buttons on their suits.

“What the fuck”, you whispered, your eyes wide at the room full of sex toys lining the wall and a black bed, chains hanging from the bed posts. You didn’t think a room would exist inside of a secret agency meant to do good for the government, but apparently you were very mistaken. You knew the boys had other ways of making money, but you didn’t expect a sex room to be the way.

“Welcome to our little playroom”, Minho walked past you and chuckled as Changbin threw you onto the bed and cuffed your wrists, watching you completely comply. You didn’t want to admit it, but you wanted this. You always had. You wouldn’t fight it. They all took off their clothes and put their suits on the couch across the room.

“Aw, a cat got your tongue bitch? Why don’t you tell us how wet you are, hmm? How much you’ve always wanted this?”, Seungmin walked up and patted your red cheek. A wave of arousal went to your core at his words and you watched as the rest of the men got toys or watched you. Their eyes looking over your body.

“I’ve always wanted this”, you nodded and felt Changbin rubbing your clothed clit through your black work skirt. You spread your legs wider for him and he chuckled. “Please have your way with me”, you begged and Chan tilted his head, a little taken aback by how easily you agreed to the punishment. He saw it coming though.

“We will doll. But, remember, this is a punishment. You’ll be patient like a good whore”, Changbin slapped your thigh in warning and you whined from the pain. He continued to rub your clothed clit before the rest of the men came over. Chan gripped your hips and flipped you over onto your hands and knees, your wrists still bound by the chains.

“How pretty”, Chan trailed his finger along your back, admiring the way it arched before ripping the fabric of your blouse into two and throwing the fabric onto the floor. The cold air of the room hit your barely clothed breasts and made your nipples get hard, making them extra sensitive.

“So needy for our touch already, aren’t you?”, Changbin chuckled and pulled your skirt and underwear off. His finger trailed down your folds and rubbed your wetness in circles around your hole. Jeongin watched the action and felt his erection get harder.

Chan and Felix got underneath you. Chan’s hand unclamped your bra and threw it onto the floor, his lips immediately sucking your sensitive bud once your breasts were visible. Felix pinched your nipple and you moaned from the sensation of the two men playing with your breasts, Chan’s tongue swirling around the bud.

Minho watched as Changbin inserted two fingers inside of you and handed Jeongin a wooden paddle. The two men approached you as your back arched from the feeling of Changbin’s fingers inside of you and pumping fast in and out of you. Minho trailed his black whip along your back and you shivered at the feeling, a scream leaving your lips when Jeongin brought the paddle roughly down onto your left ass cheek. He chuckled and did it again, continuing to bruise the skin. Tears started to form in your eyes when Minho joined, continously being the whip down on the other cheek.

“Say thank you you bitch. This is what you wanted, isnt it? To be completely ruined by us?”, Minho ordered and you sobbed, trying to get the words out.

“Thank you sir. I’m sorry”, you forced out and Minho rubbed your ass. “Good girl”, he slapped it with his hand, leaving the handprint on your black and blue skin. Jeongin finally stopped after five hits and leaned back to look at his work. You breathed heavily, trying to recover from the spanking session and the sting that came with it.

Jisung handed Chan something underneath you and his lips pulled away from your nipple, so Felix took over, groping both your breasts in his hands and massaging them. Chan pulled something out of a box, but you couldn’t see what it was. Changbin’s fast pace was already hard for you to handle, but the pleasure completely took you over when he added two more fingers and thrusted even faster. You moaned his name and then screamed when you felt a jolt of electricity sent to your nipples. You had been so distracted that you didn’t realize Chan had put electric nipple clamps on you. He hit the button again after turning up the voltage and you shook, pain going into you. Hyunjin came up to your face and watched it change with each thrust of Changbin’s fingers or with each shock sent to your breasts. He loved it.

“P-please fuck! It’s too much”, Hyunjin chuckled and gripped your jaw. He put a blindfold on you and shoved a gag ball into your mouth. You were surprised and you moaned through the gag ball, choking slightly on your own saliva at first. Jisung clasped a black collar around your neck with a bell. Every time you moved forward slightly the bell would ring. You were completely at their mercy just like they wanted.

“Be quiet slut. You’ll take this punishment and be grateful”, Minho used the whip again, making your head go back at the pain. Blood started to appear from the cuts formed from the whip and Jeongin watched as it trailed down your ass cheek. Hyunjin touched your bottom lip with his finger, licking his lips at the sight of you being a complete mess for them. His connected his lips with your’s roughly and you kissed him back the best you could, your mind becoming overwhelmed by the pain and pleasure all happening at once.

Jisung moved underneath your hips and started to lick and suck on your clit as Changbin thrusted his fingers, making your orgasm rush through you. Jisung moved down and started to lick your juices up as Changbin continued to thrust his fingers, making you shake and sob at the overstimulation. Hyunjin chuckled and pulled away from your lips, moving across the room to pick up something. You couldn’t tell who anyone was or what anyone was doing due to the blindfold. Everything they did to your body would be a surprise.

You felt the strange sensation of cold metal sliding across your side. You couldn’t really focus at all due to the overstimulation Jisung and Changbin were giving you, but tears immediately started to fall from your eyes when the knife started to cut into your side. Hyunjin had started to carve his intitials into your side, smiling proudly once we once down and passed the knife to Felix, who was still underneath you. He and Chan cut their initials into your breasts, making you scream louder around the gag ball.

The knife continued to be passed around. Jeongin, who cut into your left ass cheek while Minho cut into the right. Changbin, who stopped his finger thrusts to carve his initials into your thigh. Jisung, who decided to cut into your other hip. And Seungmin, who cut into your back. You now belonged to them.

You let out a breath of relief once the knife stopped digging into your skin and the nipple clamps were off. Changbin and Jisung stopped their stimulation and you tried to breath to recover. You thought the punishment was over until Chan flipped you over onto your back, making your wrists turn in the chains. Your back was against Chan and Felix’s chest.

“Open up”, Minho slapped your thigh where Changbin’s initials were, making you nod desperately out of pain. You spread your legs like you were ordered. Chan held your right thigh and Felix held your left to keep you spread as wide as possible for them. You didn’t know what was to come, but you had an idea. You bit your lip in preparation before Chan lifted you up slightly and rubbed lube onto your asshole. He and Felix slowly thrusted the tip of their cocks into your hole, already stretching you out. Your head fell back onto Chan’s shoulder with a moan spilling from around the ball.

“Such a good girl taking all our cocks. You’ll be a good fucktoy for us”, Felix whispered in your ear and after he said that he and Chan started to thrust into you, taking turns going deep inside your ass. That alone had you shaking and whining from the stretch. You felt two cocks rubbing against your folds, the sound of the skin slapping filling the room. Chan and Felix spread you open wider when you tried to close your legs. Changbin and Minho slowly slid inside of you, spreading your cunt as wide as it could go. You felt like you were going to rip, both your holes being completely filled by four cocks. Your moans and screams became louder when Changbin and Minho started to take turns as well, but even when one wasn’t deep inside of you the tip of the other was still inside to stretch you out.

Hyunjin watched your mouth fall open from the moans, your saliva coating the ball inside. He walked over and pulled the ball free, making your moans louder as the four men thrusted faster into you in perfect rhythm. Your orgasm was approaching fast again and you bit your lip.

“Open up doll. You’re so tiny I know your throat is going to be tight too”, Hyunjin spit onto his finger as you opened your mouth. He rubbed the saliva onto your lips and then pushed his cock deep into your throat, making you gag slightly before you got used to it. He started to thrust into your throat, rubbing against the walls of it.

Jeongin uncuffed your wrists for you and removed the blindfold before he brought your hand down to his cock. You immediately knew what he wanted and wrapped your hand around the base before moving it up and down. You looked around the best you could with Hyunjin’s cock buried in your tight throat and you orgasmed a second time immediately when you saw what situation you were in. You looked through your tears at Jisung and Seungmin, who were walking up towards you. Seungmin grabbed your other hand and you started to pump his cock too, finding it hard to focus with everything going on. The men continued to thrust into you, your cum covered Changbin and Minho’s dicks as they continued to thrust in and out of you.

You screamed around Hyunjin’s dick, sending vibrations to it and you looked up slightly to see Jisung hovering above your chest. He aligned his dick with your breasts and started to thrust between them. Your body was completely being used by all of them now for their own pleasure. Felix and Chan’s grip on your thighs tightened, their nails digging into your skin and leaving scratch marks as their cocks twitched inside of you. They pulled out of you and came onto your back, their heavy breathing filling your ears.

You pumped your hands faster around Jeongin and Seungmin’s cocks, making their moans become louder. Changbin and Minho let out loud groans as they pulled out and came onto your thighs, making you feel the strange sticky sensation. Hyunjin twitched inside of your throat and came, forcing you to swallow all of his seed before he pulled out of your mouth. You took deep breaths as you could finally breathe correctly. Jisung thrusted faster between your breasts and came between them, falling onto your chest as he took deep breaths.

After a few minutes of your hands moving up and down their huge cocks, Jeongin and Seungmin came too, their cum spilling over onto your hands as you helped them ride out your high. The room because filled with heavy breathing. You tried to wrap your mind around what just happened, but it all happened so fast that you really couldn’t.

“So, who’s team are you on now babygirl?”, Chan chuckled as he and Felix moved out from under you, letting you laugh flat on the bed.

“Um definitely your’s”, you laughed back after snapping out of your slight daze. Hyunjin patted your head and kissed it.

“Good girl”, he whispered and the boys got some towels to clean up the mess all over your body.

“When can I have my turn inside of you?”, Jeongin pouted and you sighed.

“Just take turns cockwarming you needy boys”, you chuckled and a smile spread across his face with a nod.

383 notes · View notes

paper-n-ashes · 3 years

Text

sparks and embers - chapter 1

Characters: Poe Dameron x Original Female Character, Kylo Ren x Original Female Character

Story Tags: Explicit (18+), Canon Compliant/Divergent (Set after TLJ), First Person POV, Love Triangle, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Porn with Plot, Hurt/Comfort, Kylo Ren hates Poe Dameron

Summary: Alexys is a doctor living a life of exclusivity on Raxus, hoping to survive through a peaceful existence, concealing herself from those she believes would use her, or kill her. When fate intervenes and instigates a perilous journey she'd been desperately trying to avoid, Alex finds herself caught in the middle of two sides in both war and love.

Preface: Let me say, I am immensely nervous about this. After months of back and forth inside my mind, I’ve decided to go for it and begin the long process of moving my long running series to Tumblr, along with changing the name (something I’ve wanted to do for a long time). I hit a big emotional road block after over a year of writing and posting, so I’m hoping this move will eventually get me back into the swing. But for now, I’m looking forward to revisiting the beginning of this space love triangle.

If you’ve already read the saga, absolutely NO pressure to read again. Each chapter will be edited a little, but no major plot points will change. To any newcomers who find themselves interested, the story is already posted on AO3 if you are desperate to continue. Otherwise if you prefer reading on Tumblr, or simply like the forced breaks between chapters, I’ll be posting a new chapter every couple of days. I know it’s not written as reader insert, but I just couldn’t make the story work out in any other fashion. I poured a lot of love and heart into Alexys so I hope you’ll give her a chance.

Chapter 1 - Crash Landing

Words: 3.4k

Chapter Tags/Warnings: descriptions of severe injury including blood and bone, medical procedures

Read on AO3

I felt it before I heard it.

A booming crash of metal and glass, sending a shattering vibration through the walls and furniture around me. After the years of mostly silence I’d become accustomed to, the noise that came pummelling into my ears almost made me shriek in surprise. It was short lived, coming and going in a flicker so quick I had to wonder if it was real at all.

Lights began to flash, blinking rapidly in uneven time. The mixture of harsh beeps indicated something was faulting my electricity circuits, plunging me into the darkness of night over and over.

I could only question myself again at the plausibility of this being a dream, but the slow, increasing creak emanating from beyond the walls of this building brought me to a certainty.

Something had crashed outside.

Fear radiated through my limbs, leaving me stuck where I was standing for a few moments, before an uncontrollable urge of selflessness and honestly, curiosity, forced me to move and exit the safety of my clinic.

There wasn’t really a way to prepare for what I saw not metres away from my front entrance. A ship, an X-wing of some variety, was wrecked into itself, varying metals twisted and curled over each other, flames beginning to billow out from the creases. I could feel the heat of them rise as I cautiously stepped forward, taking in the scene with wide eyes. Only seconds had passed when I saw it – the movement of something – no, a person, demanding my attention. The pilot of this battered machine had been thrown just beyond the edge of its hull, broken transparisteel smattering the ground around them.

Hm, the Resistance should probably investigate their flight safety measures.

That thought quickly flittered away when the pilot moved again, this time with a painful moan echoing into the atmosphere. The switch inside quickly flipped, and an all too familiar feeling of conviction flooded through.

This is your cue Alexys.

I raced quickly to the pilot and knelt on the ground before them, fingers carefully removing the black and red helmet with both urgency and restraint as to not cause any more possible damage to their head or neck. The moan I'd heard just moments before let me know this person had some kind of airway, but it was pertinent I assess further. With the helmet gone I noticed the short, lightly waved black hair of a man, his eyes pulled closed, a few bruises and smudges of grey soot smattered over his face. His chest was moving, laboured breathing with the occasional heave on inhale.

At least he’s breathing.

“It’s alright,” I insisted. “I’m here to help you.”

There wasn’t any discernible response from the pilot other than a groan that withered away slowly, and that in itself was worrying. Kneeling over his body, I placed two fingers under the line of his jaw, halfway down, trying to feel for a pulse. I could sense the thump of blood under my fingertips, but it was too slow, too faint, too uneven.

Not great, but it was enough for now.

I began to scan over his body, knowing it was time to assess what was giving him reason to cry out in pain. There were severe burns on his left arm which had caused some of his flight suit to stick to the skin, with more scalds reaching down to his torso and abdomen. His right arm was almost definitely broken with the limb morphed into an irregular angle almost halfway along.

Without being able to look at them directly to ascertain whether I was going to be able to move him, I pressed on his hips gently, silently praying he hadn’t broken his pelvis. He muffled softly, but anyone who had actually shattered the bone would have screamed. As my eyes continued to scan down, it became obvious all too suddenly the shattered edge of his right femur bone poking out of the orange flight suit.

Kriff, this is not ideal.

I wanted to kick myself for not noticing it before, but there was no time, not with the very real possibility of him bleeding out in front of my eyes. My feet moved under me, racing back to the clinic room, knowing where the bandage and splint lay waiting, along with the anaesthetic injections I had stocked in the pharmacy cupboard.

He was certainly going to need them.

Within minutes I was back to the ground with the pilot, clicking together the injector handle and vial, piercing the needle straight into his thigh above the fracture site. I wouldn’t be able to wait for it to dull most of the pain, so internally, I braced myself for the scream I was about to elicit from this poor human's chest. The second I started to wrap the bandage around the splint, a piercing wail echoed through the air, almost causing me to hesitate. Still, my hands continued to haphazardly wrap the white material around his leg, pushing through the guilt it ignited.

Suddenly, the noise stopped.

My eyes darted to his face as his head slumped over on its side. “Hey!” I shouted into his face as I scrambled back to the top end of his limp body. “Hey can you hear me? Open your eyes if you can hear me!”

There was no response.

I pinched at the muscle on his shoulder, harder and harder to elicit any kind of reaction. Nothing. My hand pulled into a closed fist and grinded against his sternum. “Come on, open those eyes if you can feel this!”

Still nothing.

Again I took check of his breathing, chest still rising and falling, yet shallow and with little power. His heartbeat had begun to race, but through my fingertips I could feel the strain in the muscle. Something was seriously wrong, even more so than his other injuries. Something internally. If I didn’t get him into the clinic, he was going to die.

In a snap decision, I chose to forgo an attempt to run back and locate the hover-stretcher. It would take too much time to set up and power on, time this man didn’t have. I would have to move him myself.

How the hell am I going to do this?

With my arms hooked and locked under his armpits I began to drag the pilots hefty body backwards towards the clinic behind me, thankfully only a few meters away, barely making it past the entryway when a roar of flames overtook the X-wing. I looked up to see the blaze almost completely engulfing the ship, a ferocious heat searing into my eyes and face. With even more urgency I heaved the body into the large clinic room, getting up and slamming the door just in time. Just before a house rattling explosion sent shockwaves into the atmosphere.

Lucky didn’t seem to be an appropriate feeling considering the situation I was in, but at least no one had died. Yet. With my last bit of brute strength, I hoisted the pilots limp body onto the closest hospital bed, noticing then the trail of red liquid I’d brought along with me.

Oh no no no.

With him still lifeless, I tugged at his body and limbs to lie flat on the bed, scurrying to my medical trolley and hauling it back to where the pilot laid, ragged breaths still thankfully escaping into the air. Snatching the heavy shears from the top drawer, I began to tear through the thick fabric of the flight suit, unclipping and removing as much of the life support vest and belt as I could. I had to be careful not to rip away the fabric that melted into the burns scattered all over his body, the number of them increasing as I peeled away the suit, starting from his legs, up to his abdomen and chest over to his upper arms. His torso was in full view now, a smattering of dark hair over his pectorals, underneath which showed the bruises of his crash’s impact.

Oh he’s definitely got some broken ribs.

As my gaze scanned over his skin, I could finally isolate where all that blood had escaped from. A deep penetrating wound just below the last rib on his left flank. As I registered his quick shallow breaths and the uneven rise in his chest, it became obvious.

Collapsed lung.

Whatever had pierced through his chest had poked an extremely damaging hole in his lung, the pleural space now filling with air, leaving no room for his lung to expand. My following movements were swift and calculated, almost automatic. A pointed scalpel was soon in my hand, poised to cut. But I couldn’t help but hesitate. It had been so long since I’d had to do this. And yet, somehow, concern for this stranger’s life was quick to weave it’s way through, dissolving my fear into pure resolve.

I made my incision in between the 4th and 5th ribs, using a clamp to push into the underlying tissue and past the pleural cavity, a gloved hand then entering to check I’d made it through. With an instinctive confidence, I guided the chest tube between the layers of tissue, undoing the ratchet of the clamp to an immediate rush of air. The pilot’s chest heaved in relief, along with my own.

One crisis averted.

But there was more to do. Connecting a drain to the tube, I haphazardly sutured it in place, before flying to the pharmacy cupboard. My stock of bacta was limited, returning with an already prepared vial into the pressurised injector, reminding myself I would need to use it sparingly if this stranger was going to make it through the full extend of his injuries. I had cursed at myself only a few times in the years past at being so far removed from a higher level medical centre that would be overflowing with bacta and medical droids that could help in exactly this kind of situation, but the thought had never burned me so badly. There was no way to know if I could keep this man alive with the resources that yesterday I had been more than comfortable with. I would just have to try.

I injected some of the bacta solution throughout the surrounding area of the wound and covered it with heavy dressing, knowing the bleeding would quickly be curbed. Unfortunately, the wound itself would take a few days to fully close, only ever being able to afford lower quality bacta. Before moving on to the burns, I placed some basic monitoring, lines extending from electrical dots over his chest, wrist and neck to the data monitor above the bed. As the numbers lit up on the holo screen, I felt myself breathe a small sigh of relief, having prepared for a much worse result. His heart rate was better, oxygen levels returning to normal, blood pressure not optimal by any means but high enough to sustain his life, for now.

After securing an oxygen filter over his battered face, I continued to inspect and clean as many of the small and more sizeable burns dotting his body. Even with the many I had uncovered, the one extending from his shoulder past his elbow was the one of most concern. Third degree and extremely unhappy looking. If I wasn’t quick to treat this, it could leak even more fluid from his already compromised circulatory system. I was thankful he still remained unconscious when I began to slowly shed the charred material melted into the skin layer. I couldn’t help but shudder as I remembered the initial scream this man had let out, knowing I would be hearing it now if not for his comatose state.

Covering the immense scald in as much salve as I could spare, I began to wrap it in protective antibacterial bandage, soon moving on to protect his many blisters and deeper burns with dressings. Glancing at the monitor screen, he was still stable, and swallowed hard. Now it was time to attempt possibly the most daunting part of this patient’s treatment.

His femur was still sticking through the tissue of his thigh, slightly dried dark red blood creating lightning strike looking lines extending from the wound.

I need to get some blood into him before moving this.

I quickly got to work on an IV cannula, his poor blood pressure making it significantly more difficult than it should have been. Two bags of O- blood were all I had, and a wave of dread coursed through me with the thought of that not being enough if this all went wrong. My fist squeezed the fast flow pump of the IV line, pushing fresh blood urgently into his system, making his blood pressure rise only slightly. With the last of the red liquid trickling through the line I wheeled over the portable X-Ray. It was so old the mechanical arm screeched at me as I positioned it into place over the pilot’s leg. The bone had to be at least somewhat in place before getting the bacta to work its magic or this guy might walk with two uneven legs for the rest of his life.

If he actually made it through the rest of his injuries, that is.

Shaking my arms out at my side, I sucked in a few deep breaths to build my stamina. Unfortunately, this stranger was stuck with a small framed female to attempt reducing his severe fracture. With one last inhale, I drew the courage to pull as hard as I could horizontally at the knee joint, digging my fingers into a vice grip around the limb and yanking it towards me. To my relief, the fractured edge of the femur to slipped back into the hole it was peeking out from, settling back under the skin.

Thank all the stars in the galaxy he’s not awake for this.

I quickly pressed the image button on the X-ray to assess the progress I’d made. The faint white lines of bone edges were stark enough on the grey background of the image. The fracture wasn’t reduced even nearly enough. I prepared myself again, with another deep breath I pulled hard. This time my efforts were forced into angling the lower portion of bone to try and lock it back into place. The grinding of bone edges could be felt through my fingers, pushing myself to pull even harder, creating more space between the fracture in the hope of giving a fighting chance of lining up the splintered edges. My muscles were whining, begging for this to be over, tears of exhaustion soon stinging at the edges of my eyes.

With one final twisting motion there was a sudden click.

Finally.

My relief was short lived.

It was slow at first, before racing faster. A stream of dark red blood pooling at the wound the broken bone had made.

Oh maker no.

Within moments the pace of the blood quickened. I shot my hands to the open flesh site, pressing down hard in an attempt to disturb the flow. The liquid quickly covered my gloved hands, already sure I’d sliced into the femoral artery. The pressure of my hands into the area made the blood spurt out onto my arms, my clothes, my face, everywhere. The monitor was screaming, blood pressure falling quickly. Wiping some of the hot coppery fluid away from my left eye, I slid my fingers back into the gash, moving desperately to stop the overflow before the man lying in front of me bled out, knowing it would all be my fault.

You have to do it Alexys. He will die if you don’t.

The voice nagged at me, pleading to do what it wanted.

He’s with the Resistance! If he survives, if he contacts them, they’ll find me. And they’ll know.

It is time to decide. His life. Or yours.

Seconds ticked by fleetingly, numbers flashing on the monitor trickling down, the speed of blood flow from the pilot’s leg stubbornly keeping it’s intensity.

Everything I’d done to get here, to isolate myself so no one could find me. It would all amount to nothing. My easy, albeit lonely life, would be gone. All because of this stranger.

But I couldn’t let him die. Not like this.

In one flash, I removed my hands from inside the wound, ripping off my gloves and placing two palms at either side of the leg. With closed eyes, I willed the energy out of the depths of its slumber. From the darkened corner of my mind I pulled it back into existence, opening the gate I’d locked it inside for so long, letting it finally burst through and fill up my brain. From there it down through my neck, through my chest and down my arms, right to the end of my fingertips. Its warming glow was almost comforting, friendly. I would have basked in it for a while if not for the life that hung in the balance before me.

Through the pads of my fingerprints I pushed the stream outwards, connecting past the skin of this innocent human being, and felt the overwhelming heat of pain and dimming of energy.

Hurry, he’s dying.

I began to map out the tissue of his leg, frustratingly slowly, starting at the smallest of capillaries, weaving and winding through the flesh, connecting them through the maze of fat and muscle. I could feel the sweat forming on my forehead, my breathing forced and harsh. The vessels grew bigger as I pushed the energy through, skipping past broken points of other smaller injuries. I could fix them later.

Finally, I felt a molten warmth radiating close to where the maze had guided me. Racing to it, I sensed something pushing me back, the pressure of escaping fluid holding my efforts. I’d found the cut, but now I had to somehow knit it back together.

You’re taking too long.

The alarms of the monitor started to echo with a hollow ring inside my ear, fading until I could hear almost nothing. The world around me was blurry, only the image of vessel tissue and all-consuming redness visible in my minds eye. The energy I was expending began to burn me - I wouldn’t be able to keep this up for much longer. I reached out with it, what felt like many hands grasping desperately at the severed edge of the vessel, frantic yet delicate, pulling whatever tissue I could hold back into place.

Several fringes connected, the pressure pushing forcefully against me, making it harder to hold. I couldn’t help but begin to shake at the strain, the sound of my own heart pounding over the slowing heartbeat of the pilot. My grip was already beginning to fade before I started to sew the pieces of artery back together, an ache growing behind my eyes as I pierced an invisible needle through the tissue, over and over, still clawing at the unsewn edges as I made my way around the tube.

I was so close, the tension of the fluid still being driven out of the broken seal almost overcoming me. The unseen thread had almost made its way full circle. I was almost there.

My entire body rattled with exhaustion and pain. One final thread wove itself around the artery, its abrupt closure alleviating the strain on invisible fingers that had been clutching it all together.

You did it.

The energy dissipated quickly in a rolling wave, letting it retreat back into my mind, scampering to the secluded area of my brain, hidden once more. I felt light suddenly, dizzy, the world coming back into focus, screaming alarms growing louder. It was too much, all at once.

A sharp pang of fatigue enveloped every part of my senses and I faltered back, knees giving way, slumping to the floor.

Then, there was only darkness.

Next Chapter

Tag list: @tlcwrites @roanniom @foxilayde @blackberries45 @hopeamarsu @caillea @princessxkenobi @direnightshade @mariesackler @leatherboundbirate @blowthatpieceofjunk @mylifeisactuallyamess @poedameronloverx @millenialcatlady @jynz-andtonic @lightsinthedistancee @star-killer-md @morby @modernpaw @cornmousequeen @paterson-blue

Just let me know if you would like to be removed or added, no judgement!

#poe dameron #poe dameron x original female character #kylo ren #kylo ren x original female character #star wars #star wars fanfiction #adcu #adcu fanfiction

88 notes · View notes

spvce-cowboy · 3 years

Text

a strange beauty

chapter 1 of i’ll be here in the morning (the mandalorian x fem!reader)

next-ch.2: “gentle things”

rating: Explicit

5.8k words

summary: The Mandalorian crashes on an unknown planet. Severely injured, he follows the sound of singing until he, literally, lands in your lap. A trained medic, you begrudgingly decide to help the bounty hunter in order to continue evading a dark past.

warnings: Violence, descriptions of gore, masturbation (m), brief panic attack description, hurt/comfort, angst/fluff, suggested sexual assault, canon divergent (post-season 1), slow burn, eventual smut

a/n: i wrote this after reading the Rough Day series by @no-droids as well as @cptnbvcks ‘s fics. i continue to be inspired by their work so i must give credit where it is due ! my first reader insert/mando thing so let's see how this goes !! thank you for reading <3

What he hears first is song.

It’s nearly night on the unfamiliar planet. At first he thinks the sound is some kind of bizarre hum of wind. He’s crash landed and between the hole in his chest and the blood in his eyes, he can barely stagger forward, let alone think things through, as he stumbles out of the smoldering Crest.

It stuns him, for a moment. On the verge of it all ending, the pain vibrating through his body, and he literally falls into some kind of melody so haunting he can’t help but think he’s already in some cruel kind of afterlife. Underworld would be equally fitting, he deserves that more.

He tries to pull in a breath. The sound that leaves him could only be described as a gurgle. It’s followed by a cough. Something hot and metallic tasting comes up with it, coating the inside of his mouth and dribbling over his chin.

Maker, he’s screwed.

He hadn’t realized how much worse it was going to get until he was finally safe in the Crest. In a daze, he opened the med-kit only to find the last Bacta treatment in a shattered mess. In the fresher, he tried to stuff some remaining gauze into the gaping hole on his right pectoral. He really tried not to pass out. He wasn’t successful. He wasn’t sure if it was the exhaustion or the knife wound, but every breath exited in a fluttering wheeze he was barely able to push through. It must have punctured a lung. Fucker was able to get right up under the armor.

Delirious with blood loss, he could barely register the one-handed climb into the cockpit and typing in whatever coordinates first come to mind before he blacked out again. It was in and out from there. He thought he entered Naboo, somewhere safe and familiar and not teaming with others who’d like to do much more and worse than he had already weathered, but a glance at the red-orange slicked control panel told him he was quickly approaching an uncharted planet. His hands were uncontrollably shaking, covered in his own blood and who knows who else’s. He had no idea if the Crest has the ability to dampen the landing but it was too late to start asking favors of some higher power now.

“Sorry, kid.” It’s all Mando could think to say, voice barely registering over the modulator.

The child was fast asleep already. He had to mend Mando’s spine in order for Mando to drag himself back to the Crest once the smoke of the battlefield had settled.

Mando’s entire body was still vibrating from the energy of it, probably the only thing keeping his heart beating. He was barely conscious long enough to slide the shields shut on the child’s cradle before impact.

It had been a long day.

He woke, miraculously still breathing—if the futile gasps trying to be made around a collapsed lung could be called something like that. He swung his heavy head around, blindly grasping the child’s cradle and pulling it behind him. The child was still asleep—unharmed save for a dent on the side of his crib that sputtered with an occasional spark. It took Mando a moment to register the alarms blaring, the flashing lights and acrid smell of scorched plastic and metal.

He doesn’t remember staggering out of the Crest. Just that now he is in a field of some sort, staggering forward with the kid’s cradle following close behind.

It is only then that he hears the song.

An idyllic hillside stretches before him, tall grass dotted with small, yellow wildflowers reach to meet a light fog. In the distance there’s the shadowed suggestion of mountains. If he didn’t know any better, he would really think this was Naboo. Mando can’t even begin to comprehend how his brain is able to process any of it. Really? You’re about to take your last handful of breaths and you’re taking in the flowers of all things? Though maybe he isn’t, if he is able to. His head begins to fill with a kind of static where nothing makes any sense.

He can hear, at least. Very well. Well enough to recognize that there is some kind of singing, some kind of song, reverberating through the sensors of his helmet loud enough to bring him back to reality.

A song isn’t necessarily the right word for it—there are no words, or, at least, no words Mando could distinguish. Sound, more like. Melodious sound. Long, whooping notes of crisp sound. A siren’s call. So he follows the singing.

Mando doesn’t know how long it takes to reach its origin—between his quickly blackening vision or the equally disorienting fog, it is hard to navigate the expanse of green before him, let alone determine the time it takes to see the slight silhouette in the distance. Once he does, it’s a stumbling, panting race to reach it before his legs give out. Mando falls once, then pushes himself up. He doesn’t have the ability to call out around the useless, deflated bag of tissue leaning against the right side of his ribcage, so he keeps pushing forward. And it’s like he’s running in a dream, the pace as which he lurches forward, trailing blood and gore behind him. And he’s trying to move but he keeps almost falling and the figure is getting closer but it isn’t moving and he’s half certain he’s hallucinated it all and this is it. It’s over. All this for almost nothing and what about the kid. What about this kid if it’s over and. It’s over and. And.

And it’s you. Standing there. A long dress lifting slightly with the breeze. Your back is to him, hair swept over and through itself in an intricate braid. When you turn, your face is already contorted in shock.

And still, you are the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

The Mandalorian falls to his knees, colliding with the ground before he can even process losing feeling in the lower half of his body.

He can’t stop having dreams about a skinless figure.

In it, he is Din again. For the first time in a long time. He knows this in the way one just knows things, in dreams.

He can’t stop having dreams about a skinless figure.

He is kneeling before it, in defeat or prayer he does not know. It is one in the same, either way.

He can’t stop having dreams about a skinless figure.

It touches his face gently. When it does, he vomits ticks or leeches, depends on the day. They spill into his hands and he is left there. Staring at them. Writhing, they slip through the fingers of his cupped palms. He always wakes before they reach the ground.

On waking, the first thing he notices is that the grass is trying to reclaim the house.

He knows that he is in a house because of the soft mattress beneath him, pressing up and into his body as if in some kind of forgiveness. It’s a single room cabin, a dirt floor, a single bed, a kitchen to the far wall. Incredibly bright with three windows of varied size above the sink. As he opens his eyes, the first thing he sees are sparse but tall green stalks brushing the leg of a sturdy looking olbio-wood table, a messy collection of bloodied bandages, glass bottles, and bowls resting atop its surface. A flower dots the top of only one of the stalks, its petals no bigger than the nail of his thumb. He hears two soft voices, speaking from somewhere above him. Darkness clouds his vision as soon as he realizes he is awake.

When his eyes open again he is already in the process of sitting up, holding his shoulder with a grunt. He fully gains consciousness in the middle of the action, in time to barely recognize a cry of surprise as something clatters to the floor. He swings his head around, right hand automatically going to his holster despite the burning pain the motion conjures. Empty.

He turns sharply and it’s you. It’s you, again, looking all the more surprised at his sudden waking than you had when he was dragging his half-dead body towards you.

Your hands are pressed against your stomach, the wooden bowl of some sludge-like salve at your booted feet. Your eyes are wide, frozen as if he had a weapon to draw. The skin beneath them is puffy and discolored with exhaustion. Your dress is now smeared with what he can only assume is his own rust-brown blood. The dress presses tightly against your chest with your heavy breathing. Mando’s gaze catches there, for a moment, in spite of himself, before traveling again to your face. Wide eyes, plush lips slightly parted--your hair is in a loose bun that has barely managed to contain itself, escaped pieces gently framing your face. You’re one of the most beautiful creatures he has ever seen. His resolve hardens immediately because of it.

You press your lips together firmly in annoyance, almost in tandem with Mando clenching his own jaw. You stoop low to snatch the bowl and pestle from where they lay at your feet, irritation radiating off of you in waves.

“You’re taking my bed, Mandalorian.” Your voice is steady for the most part, but falters slightly with his name. It betrays the fear in your eyes, nearly masked by the tightness in your tone. Regardless, you persist. Straitening with the bowl pressed between your hip and forearm, you gesture with your free hand towards where he is still reaching for a non-existent weapon. “It is unbecoming to start our acquaintance with threats.”

“I was here with a… a companion,” his voice sounds absolutely ragged over the vocoder. Mando whips his head back around to scan the room, heart pounding. His shoulder feels like it is on fire. He begins to struggle to his feet. He fails.

“The little one is fine, resting.” You blow an offending strand of hair off your forehead with a frustrated, upward huff. “You’ve been out for days. We’ve been up every night trying to keep you breathing. Frankly, I could care less if you choked on your own tongue.” Your voice gets less biting when you’re facing him directly, as if the courage for your snark is dependent on not being able to see him. You continue, “Am’ile, however, is an old friend of an acquaintance of yours. You’d care to show her a little more respect.”

With another huff, you’re turning away and pushing through the piece of fabric that functions as a door. He watches you as you reappear through the wide window stationed just above the kitchen sink. Mando sags against the bed’s simple headrest.

There are little pieces of stained glass that have been strung from the tops of the windows, dripping down like raindrops. He watches them for a moment, clattering into one another. Mando swallows, shaking his head. He tries to take a few deep breaths before attempting to stand once again. He isn’t successful.

“I wouldn’t test that one, Mandalorian.” This voice is much older, slightly raspy in a way that automatically demands a lowered head or a knee pressed into the earth. A long-fingered hand pushes past the fabric still swaying from your exit. An elderly Bardottan woman enters, regarding him a moment. The child coos in the arm she cradles him with, his hands reaching out towards Mando. The Bardottan smiles, wobbling over to the bed and laying the child at his side. “She doesn’t like it when kindness is taken for granted.”

She turns, pulling out a chair from the table and sitting down with a sigh. He can tell her age by the halting way she walks, one four-fingered hand resting against her lower back, her leathered yellow-green skin’s pale stripes dulled by time. “Am’ile Dovalien of Naboo. I am an old friend of Caraynthia Dune, from her Republic days,” she takes her time with her words, and then even more to regard him. “You’re looking rough for wear, Mandalorian. I’d ease up on that shoulder before you put all the girl’s work to waste.”

An old friend of Cara’s. He doesn’t know why it’s surprising by any means. Cara’s discussed her time before the war enough, and it is not like she is… inhibited, he guesses, is the right word…by the Way. So of course she would have “old friends.” Good friends. Maybe it’s surprising because he feels like there are similarities between the two of them that he has not shared with anyone else, odd to think she is able to having something that he does not.

“Who is she? The girl?” The words leave his mouth abruptly, before he can think them through. They hang there for a moment before Am’ile answers.

The Bardottan says your full name, he’s noticed she has a habit of doing so. Between that and her syrupy accent, it lends anyone she mentions in the conversation a kind of regal stature that he can’t help but admire. “She is my student. I hope she didn’t… frighten you too much. It’s rare we get visitors from outside the local village. You’re the first of her kind she’s encountered in almost six years now.”

The child chirps, clambering onto Mando’s chest. The pain is sharp and immediate. The man makes a sound he can’t control, using his good arm to pull the kid off and tuck him into his side. “Thank you, for all of this.” He’s ashamed he didn’t manage to get it out sooner, his lips pressed together firmly under the beskar. “I… I had to retreat before I could complete the job. I don’t have many credits on me but—"

“Do not, Mandalorian,” Am’ile shakes her head. “I would be insulted if you do.” She stands with a struggle, using the edge of the table to help herself up and waddling to his bedside, extending both boney arms for the child. Mando does what he can to help prop him back into the crook of Am’ile’s elbow. “Keep resting, if today’s treatments take well, you can start repairing your ship by tomorrow morning. The locals are a secluded people, they do not like strangers staying for very long.”

“Thank you,” he says. She hums something low in her throat in affirmation, flicking her hand in Mando’s direction with her back already turned. The fabric of the door only stills after a few minutes of swaying.

After your first—well, technically second—encounter, you don’t really make conversation when you come in to check on Mando’s healing and clean up the medical station Am’ile and you had established on the kitchen table. It’s all matter-of-fact, from the tilt of your shoulders to the set of your jaw. When you do directly address him, he notices that you stare at the space just above his helmet, never into the t-shaped visor. Never right at him.

He deserves it, he supposes. Never one for talking unless necessary, he’s fine with the complete silence interspersed with: “Okay breathe in, breathe out,” as you check if his stitches can hold, or “try and stand up, walk around the table” hovering a few inches away in case he falls. It seems like Am’ile is the one who takes over the more internal matters, coming in to check on his lung capacity, if his ribs were healing in the proper place.

Apparently the child had to mend the worst of it, now all that was left over was a grinding, bone-deep soreness that comes with being put together from the inside out, as well as some particularly nasty scrapes, the surface remnants of the near-fatal stab wounds. The child had tried to heal those, too, later that morning, but Mando pushed his tiny hand aside, just as he had done the first time.

“No need to waste your energy, womp rat. Save that up for someone else,” he pats the kid’s head as he say this, placing him on the ground with a wince to toddle around the room in search of trouble.

You have your back to the both of them, washing a bowl once filled with Mando’s dirty bandages. You pause as he says this, head tilted slightly over your left shoulder as if contemplating turning around. After a beat, you seem to reevaluate and continue washing the blood out of the bowl, scrubbing at it with a brush heavy with soap. You’re wearing a different dress now, looser, cinched at the waist with a green-brown apron. You dry the bowl with the corner of your apron and start on the next object, a gleaming pair of surgical scissors.

It seems as if you’ve just come from a bath, hair wet and tucked behind your ears as you work. When you first entered, he thinks he heard you mention something about it, now that his condition had stabled. It was mumbled so quietly he almost believes he’s imagined it.

He wants to ask you where the glass hanging from the window is from, how you managed to string it up so perfectly that when the suns get to a certain place, as they were in that moment, it sent a kaleidoscope of colors onto the floor. A kaleidoscope of colors that dapple your face in such a beautiful pattern he half expects he’s in the middle of some torturous spice-dream.

When you turn to leave again, Mando turns his head to stare forward, feigning sleep.

When Am’ile confirms that the treatments have taken well, pointing out all the signs to you as you stand back with your arms crossed and nod intermittently, a diligent student. A part of him is okay with being a living anatomy model as long as it means you actually looking at him.

Once given the clear, he spends the next two days working on the Crest. It was, thankfully, in much better shape than he thought. A bit difficult to go about making the repairs the first day with one of his arms in a sling, but breathing is easier and the deep pain has been replaced with a dull ache that is less difficult to push aside for the time being.

You bring him meals and check his stitches at the crash site—you seem to continuously clarify that you’re only doing this because Am’ile’s hips cannot take the inclines of the hills anymore. Every time you hike up the grassy slope towards him you seem to get a little bit braver, looking him evenly in the eyes for short periods each time.

He’s grateful to see you each time. It’s been a long time since he’s eaten anything that wasn’t from a cantina or a freeze-dried bar. Even though he eats quickly, pushing his helm just below the tip of his nose to do so, he savors it all the same. You turn your back to him as he eats for privacy, playing with the child.

His third morning working on the ship, he gets up at dawn. He’s restless and wants to finish the build as soon as possible, get out of here before Greef Karga starts getting antsy with his absence. A very small, very weak part of himself also knows the longer he stays, the more he becomes a threat to a place like this. It’s too warm. Too gentle. He doesn’t belong here. Something about his presence is disruptive. He just knows this.

Mando still can’t bear the weight of the beskar against his bad shoulder. He pulls on the button-down tunic Am’ile had asked him to wear in order to get better access to his stitches with a wince. It’s a dark green kind of fabric, loose enough to fit both him and the bulk of his bandages comfortably. He’s still a bit light headed on his way to the Crest, but once settled beneath the hull he’s fine.

You come up with breakfast at around the same time as the previous day, setting it on the ground a few feet away from him as if he were some kind of cornered animal you were trying to lull into some sense of false security.

The child babbles something unintelligible from your arms as you turn your back and sit down in the grass. The child had been spending nights with you and Am’ile in the neighboring cabin, since Mando had taken the cabin you’d been sleeping in previously. Am’ile told Mando it was so he could get the rest he needs, without having to worry about the little one. One glance at the way you act around the kid makes it plainly clear that you’re absolutely smitten. It’s hard not to be.

Mando eats quickly, lowering his helmet and turning to give you the clear. You don’t respond, too consumed with attempting to thwart the child’s attempts to catch a hopping bug the size of your palm. You’re wearing a tank top and long, brown cargo pants, seated with your legs crossed and leaning forward every so often to plop the kid back into your lap every time he toddles too far.

There’s a moment where he allows his eyes to trace the elegant curve of your shoulders. Something in his throat tightens. Shaking his head as if to clear it, he pushes himself to his feet and resumes the task at hand. Leaning down to pick up a replacement panel, he straightens with a grunt.

“What are you doing?” Your voice surprises him enough to drop the paneling. It barely misses his booted foot. Small hands wrap around both his biceps, pulling him back. “Stars, stop that you’re gonna—”

And suddenly you’re in front of him, a whole head shorter yet already fussing over him like some family pet. You keep talking to yourself as you do so, maneuvering him to sit with his back leaning against the Crest, kneeling beside him as you pop the buttons of his shirt open. It’s like you started in a moment of complete vindication, and how have to keep up the act despite a deflating confidence. “I feel like the best bounty hunter in the galaxy could maybe use some common sense after getting fresh stitches, just a thought but you obviously could care less…”

You keep talking, he knows that because he sees your mouth moving, but after that last word your hands are against his chest, unwrapping the bandages to check the punctured skin underneath. Your bare hands, on his bare chest. Any possible thought he could have formed after the fact left his head instantly.

He couldn’t even remember the last time someone had touched him, especially like this. Before, when you and Am’ile started patching him up, he was out cold. When you checked on his healing wounds the day before, you had politely asked him to remove his shirt and bandages with an undeniable warble in your voice, standing with your hands clasped behind your back and only glancing at his chest before instructing him to refresh his gauze.

They are soft and a bit colder than he’d expected. So soft. One hand is wrapped around his right trapezius, thumb resting in the dip of his collarbone, and the other cupping his left ribs as if he was trying to get away somehow. Something in him instantly stills. You keep your hands like that as you observe the wound. You give another huff,

“Don’t move.” You turn away, scooping up the kid and walking back down the hill.

He’s not sure if it’s in obedience to you or pure shock, but by the time you return, mumbling something about Am’ile taking over babysitting, he hasn’t moved a muscle. You dab on another layer of ointment, rewrapping his bandages. Satisfied with your work, you sniff, placing your hands on your hips to look back up at him. “What do you need lifted?”

Mando blinks, pausing long enough that you narrow your eyes, chin raised. “Well?”

After a beat, he gestures to the panel he dropped earlier. You both work together, in complete silence, for the rest of the day.

When both suns sit low and heavy in the horizon, you raise your hand to your to your forehead and squint at the place where they are held by the two ragged lines of distant mountains. “It’s a strange kind of beauty, isn’t it.”

He looks at you, looking at the suns. When he doesn’t say anything, you wipe at the sweat and grease smeared across your forehead with the back of your forearm. Wordlessly, you brush your hands off on your pants twice before turning back down the hill.

Mando continues soldering wires. He only pauses an hour or so later, when he hears the song again. He puts down his tools and sits in the grass with his back to the Crest, staring out and into the mountain range before him, the two rocky faces cupping two entangled suns, one indistinguishable from the other. The song is as sweeping and ethereal as when he first heard it, heard you. He takes off his gloves, closes his eyes, and runs his fingers through the grass. He curls them into fists.

Later that night, he has to stumble out of the house and into one of the fields in order to keep the thoughts silent. He has the dream again, it is always impossible to keep sleeping after. He’d been up for hours at that point, trying to breathe through bursts of absolute, vision-blurring panic.

Usually he rests in hour-long bursts, whenever the time allows. He’s gone days without it, to the point that it’s more comfortable to refuse it than give in. It always gets worse when he allows himself to sleep at night. Whatever it is, it always gets worse.

But there’s nothing to fucking do here but think.

It’s the bed. There’s something maddening about your mattress. He hadn’t been touched by another, skin to skin, in so long--the trails of fire your gentle hands left made something in his lower abdomen squirm, restlessly. Hopelessly. Without thinking, he lifts his cock from the waistband of his pants.

Nothing in him can keep the images out. The curve of your knuckles brushing his collarbone. His hand rises in a hard stroke. The low hum you gave once you pushed aside his tunic, unraveling the bandages. Eyes searching for damage. Another stroke, this one even more forceful than the last. The light from the glass against your skin, against the elegant curve of your throat. His thumb comes up to catch the head, already seeping with pre-come. Your gentle palm, dwarfed by the bicep it was pressed against yet steady and determined all the same. He’s so hard it’s excruciating and—

That first morning. The way your chest pressed and swelled against the tight fabric of your bodice, your breasts nearly pushing themselves up and over the gentle ivory neckline with each inhale.

“F-fuck. Fucking sick,” he chokes out in horror as he finishes, his cock pulsing in his hand, his releases onto the damp ground before him. Shame settles itself in place of the writhing desire in his stomach. It is a much deeper feeling, he realizes, as he lowers himself with barely enough energy to tuck himself back into his pants, wiping his hand on the grass already wet with dew.

The girl is just trying to piece you back together and this is all you can think? But he really can’t remember the last time he was touched. With such kindness. Your hands were the softest thing to grace his body for as long as he could possibly remember. He already knows that this, whatever it is, will be devastating. Absolutely devastating. For this reason, something in him will cling to it for as long as he can.

The cold ground welcomes him, it’s the only measure he is given to realize his skin has quickly grown feverish. He almost falls asleep, right there on the ground. But there’s a gentle cry, from the neighboring house, just across the field from his—er, your—cabin. A gentle cry that quickly turns into an all too familiar hiccuping wail. From where he is curled on the ground, he can see right through one of the house’s windows as a lantern flicks on.

It’s just your silhouette, backlit by a warm orange light. You pace in small circles, bouncing the child on your hip, occasionally leaning your head down in what he could only think is to whisper something, just for you and the child. To press a kiss to the dip of his wrinkled forehead. He calms quickly afterwards, but you keep walking anyway. It’s a strange beauty, being able to watch your two forms, the way they bend and lean into the other, rendered indistinguishable by the lantern’s low light. Mando stays there for a long time.

“What is that sound?”

It’s almost nightfall again, the next day. Both Am’ile and Mando are seated at the table in your cabin. The Bardottan woman is playing a card game across from him that he’s been silently observing as they wait for one of his final treatments to sink back in. No bacta, here. Am’ile informed him on his first day. Too isolated of a planet. Her remedies are equally good if not better treatment, just needing some patience.

The singing has started again. It’s the only hint of your presence he’s gotten since the morning, when you unceremoniously plopped a plate of food at the food of his bed and told him you had informed everyone to steer clear of the cabin so he could take his time eating without “that thing on your head.” It was the best meal he’d had in a long while, sugared bread with a fruit jam and a piece of meat that tasted like some kind of mutton.

You start singing right as the healing muscles in his right shoulder have started to go warm and tingly with the salve Am’ile applied. When she doesn’t remove her gaze from her cards, he asks her again.

“What is that sound?”

Am’ile glances up, regarding him for a moment. She says your name, softly, turning her horse-like head towards the window to stare out into the gently moving grass, the empty orange of sunset turning the cut faces of the mountains a dull purple. “It’s a traditional song, from her home planet. It’s how they would call in the seasons, pray for the weather they needed to survive—the people here ask her to sing at nightfall. They say she summons a calm night. When she first arrived it… took some negotiating to allow her to stay.” Am’ile has the gentle, warbling voice of an old grandmother. There is another note from outside, long and slow and beautiful, ending in a sharp, high whoop that reverberates against the sides of the hills. “We look after their children when they go for hunts, it’s how we pay for our place here. This planet has been untouched for centuries, but the beasts are fierce. Would put any Endorian boar-wolf to shame.”

“And why is she here, with you?”

Am’ile is quiet for a moment. Her gaze remains fixed out the window. “She is escaping from a new kind of debt, Mandalorian.” The phrasing hangs in the air, static with its own weight. “The, ah… ex-Imperial officials who turned into warlords after the Civil War...” She looks like she does not want to continue any further. Mando waits in silence. She caves, they always tend to.

“The girl was a nursemaid, by label. They have drugs now, that tell your body you are with child. Lactation, pain of the body so deep it keeps you complacent. It’s a fetish for them, functional for their wives with babies they want nothing to do with. Miserable existence. Caraynthia Dune and I did much work trying to free as many girls as possible years ago, when she was still a soldier. I’d given up the fight, started this farm—began working as a healer for the locals, a peaceful people. The girl found me herself. I still have no idea how. She’s a fighter. Stronger than most any I’ve come across.”

Am’ile’s eyes grow sharp in a way Mando never expected they could. He’s taken aback momentarily, she can’t see his hands flex from under the table. “I have trained her to the best of my abilities, she’d be accepted as a distinguished medic at any Republic facility without a bat of the eye.” She doesn’t have to see Mando’s face to know that he’s in the process of rolling his eyes. “The girl is in danger staying here—they don’t care about what they’d consider to be former cattle as long as they don’t mock the warlords by staying sedentary. She may not be an engineer, but she’s professional--one of the best medics I’ve trained. Kindest, too. You’ll need someone to look after that lung,” Am’ile leans forward, resting a boney elbow against the table and extending a long forefinger to circle the space in front of Mando’s chest. She continues, “Amazing with children. Can hold her own well enough in a fight. Please don’t ever tell her I’ve told you this, but she has asked me to ah… propose this to you. Since the first night of your arrival she has asked to help on board. I know you’ve been looking for a… a… caretaker. The girl is it, Mandalorian. I know you’re an honorable man. I know you would treat her fairly, with kindness. It’s what she deserves. She’s all you could possibly ask for.”

The words hang in the air for a long time. Mando leans both forearms against the table, looking down at his loosely clasped hands. He takes five breaths, then looks back up at Am’ile. “One of the best medics you’ve trained?”

“The best,” Am’ile smiles to herself. It appears as if she already knows his answer. “Without hesitation, the best.”

“With that bedside manner?”

There is a beat of complete silence. Then Bardottan woman bursts into gleeful laughter, nodding her head as she does. The joy of it is enough to fill the entire room.

Mando looks down at his hands and allows himself a small, private smile. It was the closest thing to: yes. Absolutely, yes, that he’s brave enough to voice.

He can’t stop having dreams about a skinless figure. In it, he is Din, again. For the first time in a long time.

He can’t stop having dreams about a skinless figure. He is kneeling in prayer.

He can’t stop having dreams about a skinless figure. She touches his face gently. He reaches out to her.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #reader insert #i'll be here in the morning #i'll be here in the morning ch.1 #fanfic #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din and grogu #mando and grogu #grogu

387 notes · View notes

whump-a-la-mode · 3 years

Text

Hexbolt

Inspired by my own prompts? Maybe a little bit.

Summary: The former villain Hex makes a desperate choice to escape captivity-- only to realize just what they have gotten into.

CW//Solitary confinement, extreme isolation, attempted self harm, screaming, sensory deprivation, desperation, captivity, crying, syringes, trackers

The cell had been designed for them.

Hex had realized that the moment they’d been thrown in, though the implications hadn’t struck them all at once. The cage was six foot by six foot-- at least, that was how they’d approximated it, considering that when they stretched out, their head touched one wall and their feet brushed the other. It was the same in the vertical direction, giving them enough room to stand, but nothing else.

They weren’t claustrophobic. At the very least, they had been trying to convince themself that they weren’t for the last...

The last...

How long had they been in here?

There was no indication of night or day-- the walls, floor, and ceiling alike were all coated in a thick black rubber, devoid of windows of any sort. Even the single vent had been covered with a thin layer of black, allowing in only the smallest breaths of stale air. The door was the same. They knew there was a door, but it was only visible when open.

Hex had no idea how long their world had been consumed by black. Long enough that whenever the slot on the cell door was opened, it hurt their eyes, making them flinch back.

There were scared of the light, even as it sounded stupid to think about. Well, they weren’t scared of the light. Not exactly. Moreso, they were frightened by its implication.

Light meant attention. It meant that someone had remembered them, here in this hole.

Usually, it only meant this in a minor way: One of the guards had remembered to bring them food, or water. That might have happened on a regular basis, or it might have not. Without light, without human contact, they had no way of knowing. Sometimes, food came. That was all.

Sometimes they would catch a glimpse of a hand, or, even better, a face. Something, anything, to remind them that other humans existed.

They cried, those days. Even as they tried not to think about life before, about life before this little black box, they could not. They only knew the cage.

In a way, they hated just how simple it had been to contain them. With the ability to take hold of technology, escape should have been simple-- a matter of tripping a fire alarm, or, if their captors had been particularly careless, simply opening their own cell door remotely.

But they could not grasp anything beyond a rubber wall, blocking their signals. Their powers had a range, at the moment, of six feet by six feet. There was not so much as a light they could play with.

Only silence and black.

They screamed sometimes. No one heard. Slamming against the walls of their cell did equally little-- the rubber was too flexible to provide any sort of sound or injury.

A stupid little box. That was all it took to contain Hex. They had always thought the League of Heroes to be far too stupid to come up with something restrictive enough, strong enough to keep them contained. But they had. And it was a box.

Did their former foes even remember them? Timeline? Mantas? The Sentinel? Anyone?

Maybe they were dead. Maybe everyone they had known was, passed of old age while they were in this six by six by six foot cube. Perhaps, something in this cell was simply keeping them alive. Prolonging their loneliness.

And no one would ever remember them, ever again.

Hex shifted to a sitting position, back pressed against one of the rubber walls. Which one was lost to them-- they could not see in the dark, and there was no difference between the walls anyways.

They hugged their legs to their chest. When had they become so... thin? Was that it? Or had they simply forgotten what they used to look like? They knew they were getting lost in their own thoughts again, but they couldn’t help it. There was nothing else in here, nothing else to engage with.

If their foes had forgotten them, had their friends? All the other villains? Had their inside jokes turned into wistful memories? Their face a fixture in the background of ancient photographs?

They were crying. Maybe if they shed enough tears, dehydration would take them.

The very thought of it brought a warmth of hope to their chest. It was for the sake of that warmth that they allowed their tears to consume them, running down their face, their neck, their dusty grey prison uniform, until, at long last, their own sobs lulled them to a deeper, unconscious darkness.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Hex awoke to light. Hex never awoke to light.

So much light, it burned them, even as they scrambled to cover their eyes. They sputtered, trying to speak, but their attempts were of no use. Instead, they could only wait as their eyes adjusted to the new, blazing inferno before them.

It took far too long, but when they could at last see, their field of vision was filled by a figure, taking up the doorway.

“I asked, are you alive in there?” The idea of a human voice was so horribly unfamiliar, it took Hex a moment to remember what exactly speech was.

“I- I” Their throat was so dry, their words came out as a croak. “What’s going on?”

It was the figure’s next words that made Hex recognize them.

“Guess that’s as good of an answer as any. Long time no see, V-23.”

Why was the Chief here? They were always so busy, so secretive, so...

Why would they care about a forgotten, caged animal?

Their next words were stupid, they knew that, but they needed to know.

“A- Are there any others? Is anyone else still around?”

Uproarious laughter.

“You thought that your friends are anywhere near strong enough to take us out?”

No. They thought age would have taken them.

“I don’t know.” Hex whimpered. Even with the insulting, mocking tone with which they were addressed, they could feel tears beading at the corners of their eyes. Tears of joy, accompanied by a blazing warmth in their chest. “I don’t know.”

“Well, 23, have you enjoyed your stay?”

They were still in the box. They were still- and the door was open. The door was open! They could leave, go, and-

Hex could hardly believe that their legs could still carry their weight. They scrambled to their feet, surging forth, only to be struck.

A hand about their neck, a hand large enough to practically wrap all the way around. It pushed them back, making them fall to their back.

“What?” More laughter. “You thought your sentence was over? You thought you were leaving? Give me a break.”

The tears spilling down their face turned cold. Was their any purpose to this visit besides gloating?

“But, I suppose it’s good to see that you can still walk. Now, you know I’m busy, and I know that I couldn’t care less about you. Trust me, I wouldn’t be looking at your face if I had a choice in the matter. You see, I have an offer for you.”

“An offer?”

“Not that I enjoy dealing with villains, but yes. A deal.”

“A deal.” They repeated.

“Great job, you remember English. Crazy how that works.”

“Shut up.” No. Keep talking, please keep talking.

“Well, you do have that option, believe it or not. Let’s make this very, very simple. You have two choices. First option, I leave you alone. I close this door, and you go back to your little dog crate.”

No. Please no.

“Second option.” There was a horrid, wicked grin to the Chief’s face. “Second option, you switch sides. To put it simply for your little brain, we need a spy. A mole. And you’re just harmless enough to fit that role. You will return to your little friends, and report back.”

Hex felt their heart skip a beat, before beginning to race.

Back home. Back to their friends. More importantly, out of this box. Eating food that could be described as edible, instead of moist blocks of something grey. They could go home, again.

But...

It would mean going against everything. Everyone.

But if they were out of this box, they could do anything. They were sure of that. They could fly, breathe fire, pick up a car, anything, just as soon as they were out of this box. They could escape. Then everything could be like it was before!

And they would never again be placed in a box.

“Yes.” They gasped, exasperated.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“I’ll work for you.”

“Good.” The Chief smiled. “Come on, then. We will discuss this further somewhere else. But first, doctor?”

The first figure moved aside, making way for a second, less imposing one, draped in a lab coat. Hex skittered backwards, noting the item in the doctor’s hand-- a sort of broad- tipped syringe. They reached the back of the cell far too quickly.

The doctor stepped forth, and Hex felt their heart lurch to their throat. What did they want? In a moment of unprecedented agility, they darted around them, aiming for the door-- only to be caught in a strangling headlock.

Hex struggled, straining against the Chief’s arm with their hands, but their strength was minuscule compared to that of their captor.

“Where does it go?” The Chief asked gruffly.

“In the neck.” The doctor replied.

They nodded, and Hex felt a second arm wrap about their midsection, holding them still. They could not see the needle being inserted, but they could feel its pinch.

When the Chief finally allowed them to move, they skittered backwards, scratching at the skin that had been pierced. The pinch was only evidenced, now, by the tiniest puncture.

“W-What did you-?” Hex stammered, scratching more forcibly, as though it would remove whatever had been forced beneath their skin. “What did you do?”

The Chief smirked, letting loose a small chuckle.

“Well, we wouldn’t want our little doggy running away, would we? It’s only a tracker. Now, come on. We have a lot to discuss.”

#villain whumpee #trackers #whump #whump community #hero villain whump

60 notes · View notes

crimsonrose-monika · 3 years

Text

[Tokyo Revengers Fanfic] By Your Side, Always

If you prefer AO3 format, here’s the link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33160153

Title: By Your Side, Always

Pairing: Mikey & Takemitchy, Implied Mikey / Takemitchy, Takemichi / Hinata, Open to interpretation.

Tags: Manila Future Timeline Mikey, Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Tenjiku Arc, Mikey Needs a Hug, Song-Inspired Fanfic

Synopsis:

If Toman had gone bad, again and again, then it meant that Mikey’s heart had been corrupted, again and again. No one could reach Mikey. Takemichi could. He was by Mikey’s side, so why?

Only that he wasn’t. Takemichi wasn’t by Mikey’s side.

Realization slammed into him, fast and so unexpected that it almost knocked the breath out of his lungs.

Witnessing the dark future that awaited Mikey and the rest of Toman, Takemichi took a leap. He desperately wanted to save the invincible Mikey from himself. This time, he decided to stay.

This fanfic is inspired by a song 歩いていこう by いきものがかり. Parts of the song was inserted in the story. I translated the song and polish the translation myself to fit the English phrasing. (Putting my rusty Japanese to work here.) Feel free to listen while reading.

youtube

By Your Side, Always

“All my life, I’ve been suffering.” Mikey whispered, tears pooling in his eyes, but he smiled, as if his death was the best outcome he could ever wish for.

Takemichi felt his heart smashed into pieces as he watched life rapidly seeping out of his dear friend. Tears didn’t suit Mikey. A smile did, but not like this. Not the small tilt of his lips that amplified the crushed hope that lurked behind his deep, dark eyes. The best smile for Mikey was the full, satisfied one that smoothed the cease of his brows and made him shine brighter than anyone.

Without thinking, words rushed from Takemichi’s mouth. He didn’t care that he had been trying his hardest to not reveal his ability to anyone. He didn’t care what side effects admitting to time leap could cause. All he could think of was Mikey’s resignation. He wanted to erase that look from his eyes. He was to give this man hope.

What could have happened that made the invincible Mikey, who had faced down an overwhelmingly outnumbered fight with his back straight and his shoulders squared, felt like his death was the only happiness?

“Thanks, Takemitchy. Your words comforted me.” Mikey’s voice was calm. He stared up at the man whose eyes reminded him of sunlight hitting the sea surface, committing them to his last memory. Takemichi was crying again, ever the crybaby. Even when Mikey had held him at gunpoint, Takemichi still cried for him. “Even if you’re telling me lies...I’m happy.”

Blood from his head wound flowed into his eyes, but Mikey paid it no mind. In his last moment, he wanted to treasure the last member of Toman who didn’t lose their life by Mikey’s hands.

Takemichi’s tears fell onto Mikey’s shoulder blade. As his body slowly lost its heat, the warmth of Takemichi’s touch became clear. How long had it been since he had felt another person’s gentle heat on his skin? When was the last time Mikey had any kind of physical contact that lasted for more than a few seconds that it took his feet and fists to take down opponents? He had forgotten what it felt like to be close to someone.

“Your hands are so warm.”

Mikey’s eyes clouded over. All awareness escaped him as his breathing slowed to a stop. Feeling like the battered floor under his knees gave away, Takemichi brought Mikey close. As light shone through the time-worn holes in the ceiling, illuminating Mikey’s lifeless form like a silent eulogy, Takemichi’s memory of the man played behind his eyes.

“From now on, you’re my bitch!” Mikey had confidently declared the first time they had met, after he and Draken defeated Kiyomasa with ease.

“I’m going to create an era for delinquents,” Mikey had proclaimed his dream with determination alight in his eyes. At that moment, Mikey had stood with his feet planted firmly, ready for anything the world would throw his way.

“Boo!” In the bath house, after the fight with Mobius’ remnants at the festival, Mikey had smiled widely and played like a kid.

“You’re strong, Takemitchy,” Mikey, who was stronger than anyone, had acknowledged his respect for the crybaby.

Reliving the memories of Mikey brought a different kind of resolution to Takemichi. He clenched his fist to steel himself and plunged into the stream of time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Takemichi hated funerals. As an adult, he understood that death was an inevitable state of humans. But recently, he had attended too many funerals—had seen too many deaths—in all timelines.

Hinata, Atsushi, Baji, Mitsuya, Mikey, Emma, Izana, and even Kisaki, whose death Takemichi had thought wouldn’t make him feel anything. How wrong he was.

Why did people keep dying despite his best effort?

During the entirety of Emma’s funeral, Mikey didn’t cry. He stared at Emma’s portrait, where she laughed brightly without a care in the world, lost in his own thoughts. Sometimes Takemichi caught a glimpse of silent despair and anguish that he had seen swirling behind the future Mikey’s eyes.

It scared him.

Emma’s death wasn’t the trigger to Mikey’s darkness, Takemichi knew, because the leader of Toman was strong. Mikey would be sad. He would grieve, he would see the world crumbling to dust before him, and he would be lost, but he would come back. Just like he had come back to face Izana with a heart that was still bleeding, ready to love another brother despite the fresh pain that was etched into his soul.

But even the strongest man could fall once the loss of his precious people piled up in such a short time. In the span of Mikey’s teenage life, he had lost three out of four family members and half of the starting members of Toman, all of them sudden, without time to prepare or make peace. Some people would come back—Pah-chin and Kazutora—but the rest were gone forever.

Even to Takemichi, a somewhat outsider-turned-friend—because they were all his friends, but he would never compare his care for them to Mikey’s—who took in the situation with great shock that clung to every fiber of his body, Mikey’s life was like a cruel, heartless joke.

How could a person experience so much pain so young?

It was already a miracle that Mikey retained his sense of self this long.

After the funeral, Takemichi walked with Hinata, but they couldn’t seem to go anywhere. In the end, they continued walking mindlessly across the town. He registered the same store that they had walked past twice before, but he couldn’t bring himself to think. Hinata didn’t say anything either. She walked beside him wordlessly, offering her presence to Takemichi’s fleeting awareness.

They stopped at an empty park, where they sat on the swings as silence stretched. The sky already turned dark when Takemichi spoke.

“I couldn’t change Emma’s death. I was right there, but I still couldn’t do anything.”

Hinata listened intently, like she always did. Takemichi could feel her patient gaze on the side of his face even as he stared down at his hands that clasped together on his lap.

“In the future, Mikey-kun lost himself. After Emma died, Mikey-kun fell into darkness. He told me that he’d been suffering all his life.” Takemichi’s voice shook at the end as he remembered the future Mikey’s existence that screamed out to him in misery, begging him to put his own life to an end. “I knew all that, but I still failed.”

His breath stuttered as the beginning of a sob formed behind his throat. His eyes were hot.

At this rate, Mikey is going to end up the same. Toman members would all die. Nothing would change.

“I’m tired, Hina-chan. I’m tired of going back to find out that it is another bad future once again. They deserve to be happy, but the world keeps throwing pain at them. It’s not fair.”

Even as he blabbered on, Takemichi berated himself for talking like a child. It wasn’t fair? The world was never fair, but it was being particularly cruel to all his loved ones.

Takemichi roughly wiped his tears with the sleeves of his shirt.

He had been thinking. He had been changing the past. He had prevented Draken’s death that would change Mikey, but then Hinata and Atsushi died. Draken was on a death row. He had conveyed Baji’s intention to Mikey and stopped him from killing Kazutora, but Hinata and Chifuyu still died. Even worse, it was him who ordered her death. Then, he made sure that Hakkai didn’t join Black Dragons. It should have been the best future yet, but everyone died, and Mikey was living a life he would rather not have.

No matter how many times Takemichi changed the past, there still wasn’t a single future where everyone was happy. In the face of repeated failures, he started to think that maybe he had been looking at it from the wrong point of view.

When he was lost in his head, Hinata spoke up for the first time.

“Takemichi-kun, what do you think you are to Mikey-kun?”

What a strange question.

Takemichi lifted his head and looked at his girlfriend. Hinata smiled at him even though her eyes were red from crying at Emma’s funeral. She had grown quite close to Mikey’s sister.

When he didn’t say anything, she looked away and spoke what had been on her mind. “Hina might not know the people from Toman as well as Takemichi-kun, but Hina has been watching when you’re with them. Mikey-kun cares about you. There are many times when you said ridiculous things, Takemichi-kun, but he listened to you.”

Hinata started pushing her feet into the ground, propelling herself gently back and forth on the swing absentmindedly as she organized her thoughts. When she spoke next, she seemed like she knew something about Mikey that Takemichi didn’t. Her big round eyes looked straight ahead, away from Takemichi, but her voice made its way into his heart.

“Your voice reached Mikey-kun, again and again. You brought him back. You mean more to Mikey-kun than you think, Takemichi-kun. Maybe there is something you can say to him that will remind him to not give in to his darkness?”

Takemichi remembered. When he had said that he would become Toman’s top member to Mikey’s face, he was serious and determined. But deep down, he knew how ridiculous it had sounded. If it had been anyone else, Takemichi would surely get a jeer in the face. He wasn’t good at fighting. He got more punches in his face than he had landed. Anyone would have thought that he was a pushover.

But not Mikey. He had taken Takemichi’s words seriously and never once laughed at him for aiming high. The invincible Mikey had said that Takemichi was stronger even though Mikey could defeat him with one kick. Every time that Mikey almost lost himself in grief and impulse, Takemichi’s sincere words brought him back to sense.

If Toman had gone bad, again and again, then it meant that Mikey’s heart had been corrupted, again and again. No one could reach Mikey. Takemichi could. He was by Mikey’s side, so why?

Only that he wasn’t. Takemichi wasn’t by Mikey’s side.

Realization slammed into him, fast and so unexpected that it almost knocked the breath out of his lungs.

“Could it be that no matter what I did, Toman still went bad because I wasn’t there?”

When Takemichi jumped back to the future, what was left in this timeline was the young Takemichi who didn’t intimately know Mikey’s suffering. He didn’t want to admit the cowardice of his younger self, ashamed at how weak he had been until Hinata’s death in the first timeline had opened his eyes, but the young Takemichi wouldn’t be able to scold Mikey like he had been asked to. Only the future Takemichi could, but he wasn’t here when Mikey needed him.

That must be why. There was no one to pull Mikey back from the brink because Takemichi who could wasn’t there with him.

If that was true, then he could just stay to make sure that Mikey wouldn’t go down the wrong path. He would act as Mikey’s moral pillar, like he had been asked to after the fight on Christmas Day. That way, instead of jumping back to find that one or all of his friends met their premature ends, he could be with them and make sure that they were okay.

When Hinata tore her eyes from the park to look back at Takemichi’s face, she knew that her boyfriend had come to some form of conclusion. She wasn’t sure what that decision was, but she knew him. Takemichi was the crybaby hero. His determination to protect was more fierce than anyone. So she waited.

“Hina-chan, this time, I’m not going back to the future.”

Hinata wouldn’t say that what she heard was anything she had expected, but at the same time, now that it was said out loud, it was the most Takemichi-like answer.

“Will it be okay not to go back?” She asked, a little worried about what would happen to the body of the future Takemichi if his consciousness was here. Takemichi had told her that he came from the future to fix things and go back when whatever he was here for was corrected, but he didn’t go into how the time leap worked.

“It should be fine,” Takemichi replied. He seemed a little unsure as he spoke, but then he pressed his lips together and held his head up high. His blue eyes that were illuminated under the street light shone brightly. “When I’m here, my body in the future was on autopilot. Even if something happens, I’m still alive here. I can continue to make changes so that nothing bad will happen to any of us in the future.”

“Is that how it works?”

“I’m not sure, but I think it is my best option.”

Hinata watched Takemichi in silence. Time passed, and Takemichi was starting to think that maybe he got something wrong and Hinata didn’t agree when she nodded to herself and gave him a sparkling smile.

“Hina will support Takemichi-kun no matter what you choose,” she said with finality, as if it had been predetermined.

Takemichi felt incredibly lucky to have Tachibana Hinata, a girl whose heart was unmovable and understanding, in his life. “Thank you, Hina-chan.”

“Also, please work out your feelings.” At that very moment, Hinata looked like someone who held the secret of the world. She seemed to know Takemichi better than he knew himself. “Hina will be waiting okay?”

Again, Hinata said a cryptic message that Takemichi didn’t quite understand. But he nodded.

歩いていこう歩いていこう

Let’s walk forward. Let’s walk forward.

僕は「今」を生きていくよ

I will continue to live in the “present.”

君がくれた言葉はここにあるよ

The words that you told me are right here with me.

そうだよ歩いていこう

Yes, let’s walk forward.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few days later, Mikey called Takemichi to meet at the Musashi Shrine. He told Takemichi to wear his Toman black uniform, which Takemichi easily complied. March temperature had warmed up a bit from the freezing February, on its way to welcome spring, but it still wasn’t anywhere near warm enough to go out without bundling up. Good thing that Toman’s long sleeves and baggy pants uniform made it simple to slip another layer or two underneath.

When Takemichi arrived, Mikey was already there, playing with the puff of his breath that the cold, humid air produced. He wore his usual white long-sleeve shirt underneath his coat uniform that draped over his shoulders. Takemichi wondered if Mikey didn’t feel cold in this kind of weather.

Takemichi told Mikey all about the future, from the very beginning when he was pushed onto the train rails. What he had changed up until now and its result in each timeline. He sobbed when he apologized for failing to save Baji and Emma, and broke into a cry when he told Mikey what had happened to his future self in Manila.

Mikey’s face was carefully blank as he listened. Takemichi couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but there was something that had been bothering him since he took his first step onto the stone paved path of the shrine. Mikey’s posture was taut, like a string that was stretched to the point of snapping. His words and his every move seemed calculated.

Takemichi didn’t like it. So when he finished the story and Mikey fell silent, eyes trained somewhere faraway, he announced his intention.

“Mikey-kun, I’m not going back.”

Mikey’s dark eyes snapped to him, surprised. His brows ceased as he contemplated. “If you’re worrying about everyone, I give you my words, Takemitchy. I’ll definitely protect everyone’s future. Hina too. I’ll make sure that the same future won’t happen, so you don’t have to be so reluctant to part ways.”

Mikey smiled, the same smile as that time when he said Toman would never lose because he was here. The one that was both confident in the outcome and self-assured in his own abilities. But Takemichi saw it, a hint of deep emotion that Mikey tried desperately not to show others. Takemichi would never have noticed before, but after witnessing the future in Manila, he became aware of little clues and changes in expressions that Mikey’s body couldn’t hide.

Toman’s invincible leader always smiled when faced with difficulties. But that wasn’t the smile that Takemichi wanted.

歩道橋の向こうに冬のまちが見えたよ

On the other side of the overpass, I could see the city in the winter.

ひとかけらの孤独を手に僕は明日をつないでいる

With the fragments of loneliness in my hands, I am reaching toward tomorrow.

「こころで笑えるかな」いつかの声が聴こえた

“Can you smile with all your heart?” I heard a voice from some day.

白い息が空に消える

The breath vapor disappears into the sky.

寂しくはない駅へ急ぐよ

I’m not lonely. I’m rushing to the station.

Takemichi knew that Mikey would keep his promise. As a leader and as a friend, Mikey treasured the trust that Toman had put in him and would do his best to respond in kind. He wouldn’t break his promise.

But protecting everyone alone was a task that even adults struggled to accomplish. No matter how powerful Mikey was, he still needed a place or a person whom he could fall onto when he needed a break. Takemichi was determined to be that person. He would help Mikey protect everyone and carry parts of his burden. He didn’t want to see the hopelessness in Mikey ever again.

“I know, Mikey-kun. But I want to stay. I want to be with you and the rest of Toman.” He explained, staring at the deep dark eyes to convey the force of his sincerity. “I want to help you. Please let me help you protect everyone’s future. Please let me protect your future.”

Although Mikey didn’t act like he needed it, his future was also important and deserved to be protected.

Takemichi hoped that his expressive eyes would persuade Mikey for him, to let him know that Takemichi wouldn’t back down. Like it had played out when Takemichi had announced his intention to become one of Toman’s top leaders, Mikey would have to acknowledge it.

Takemichi could see Mikey’s resolution wavered. He reeled in his weakness a heartbeat later, but that short moment was enough for Takemichi to catch on.

“What about Hina?” Mikey pressed, resorting to bringing up a girl whom he knew Takemichi would throw his life away for if it meant she would live well. “She’s waiting for you in the future.”

Despite the reminder, Takemichi didn’t back down. “I have Hina-chan here too. I told her my decision, and Hina-chan said she would support me.”

Mikey bit his lips, his eyes straying sideways. It seemed like he had his plan, but whatever that plan was, it was being shaken by Takemichi’s words.

“I have everyone I ever want here with me, Mikey-kun. I want to stay. Not just for you and for Toman, but for myself too.”

It was as if the wall that Mikey had built around himself crumbled down like glass. In the first place, Mikey objected to Takemichi staying because he felt that the other was putting others before himself. He didn’t want Takemichi to throw away his chance to live as he wanted just because he was worried about the people in the past.

But Takemichi had said that he was staying for himself too.

The stubbornness that lined Mikey’s lips eased into a soft smile. “You already made up your mind even before I said anything.”

Takemichi grinned at his Toman leader. “I’m sorry,” he offered without really feeling sorry.

There was the sound of motorcycle engines at the edge of Takemichi’s hearing, a sound that had wormed its way into Takemichi’s heart and oddly assured him of belonging and comfort. It got louder by the seconds, until it stopped somewhere to his right, in the shrine’s parking lot that was obscured by a row of trees. Dull marching steps replaced the engine sound as a crowd of black-cladded people strode up to the stairs where Takemichi and Mikey were standing.

Something cold fell on the tip of Takemichi’s nose, before another one planted itself on his forehead. He looked up at the darkened sky and saw white flakes falling down in fluttering dances.

“It’s snowing...” Takemichi muttered.

“Strange, isn’t it? The weather forecast said it wouldn’t snow.” Holding his palm up to collect a small puff of white frozen water in his hand, Mikey gazed at it as the hundred members of Toman fell into neat rows behind their respective captains. Mitsuya and Smiley were still in their wheelchair, but they grinned widely.

「帰らないと決めたんだ」

“I have decided to not go back.”

はじまりを告げるように雪が降り始めた

As if to mark the beginning, snow started to fall.

“Thank you, Takemitchy. I have decided.” Mikey straightened his back and squared his shoulders, the very picture of Tokyo Manji Kai’s invincible leader. There was a gleam in his eyes that made Takemichi nodded and went down to his place right in front of Chifuyu and the rest of the first division.

Mikey looked over them confidently as he grinned. “Listen up, everyone!”

The entirety of Toman snapped to attention as the voice of their leader carried through the air. Soft snow continued to fall gently to the ground.

“We have faced a lot of hardship in our fight with Tenjiku, but we overcame them and emerged victorious. Toman is now Japan’s top gang!”

As he listened, Takemichi felt his chest puffed up in pride, and he was certain that every single person who carried Toman’s manji on the back of their uniform felt the same.

“We’ve created an era that will be handed down to generations to come, an era for delinquents that we have dreamed of! Thank you everyone for sticking with me and making Toman the best gang out there. But our dream doesn't end here. Toman will continue to show the world the way of delinquents we uphold! I hope that you all will be with me on this journey.”

Then, Mikey relaxed his posture and spoke a little more comfortably. “To let you all recover from the fight, there won’t be a gang meeting for a while. I will end the meeting here. Be careful while you go home and rest well.”

They bowed, deeply and respectfully, to the leader who had led them through many hardships and who had lost so much, before the crowd slowly receded along with the booming sound of bike roars.

The captains and vice-captains stayed for a while longer, discussing among themselves the outcome of the Kanto Incident and speculating about the future that awaited Toman, but gradually, they bid farewell one by one until the only occupants on the shrine ground were Takemichi and Mikey.

“Today, I called everyone here to announce the disbandment of Toman.” Mikey confessed, a slight smile still on his lips as he scanned the spacious ground that was fully occupied a mere moment ago. “I thought about it, the future you told me. No matter what timelines, something always goes badly. The root of it all is me. Toman goes bad because I go bad. I thought that by disbanding Toman, everyone will still be able to live a happy life even when I inevitably fall into darkness.”

Takemichi almost stopped breathing. He had a hard time believing his ears. Mikey loved Toman. This gang was his pride and dream, but he was ready to throw all that hard work and passion away to ensure that everyone he cared about would have a good life.

“Mikey-kun...”

“But you give me hope. You changed my mind,” he continued, tearing his focus from the ground beneath the steps, and looked at Takemichi with pleading eyes. “That’s why, Takemitchy, when you think I am losing myself. You definitely have to scold me and bring me back, okay?”

Mikey’s stability was his responsibility now, but Takemichi was up to the task. He clasped his hands behind his back and looked straight at his leader and friend. “I will, Mikey-kun! Definitely!” He yelled confidently, putting all his determination into the sentence that he uttered.

Takemichi was rewarded with a big, wide smile that he had been longing to see on Mikey’s face. Mikey’s eyebrows smoothened, losing the sharpness that had permanently been etched onto them for a few seconds as the corner of his eyes relaxed with the movement of his cheeks. This Mikey was glowing, moonlight reflecting on the snow in his hair.

“You’re my hero, Takemitchy.”

歩いていこう歩いていこう

Let’s walk forward. Let’s walk forward.

僕は「今」を生きていくよ

I will continue to live in the “present.”

傷ついても何度も信じたいよ

Even if I get hurt, I want to believe, no matter how many times.

この手をこの日々を君と泣いて君と笑って僕は強くなれたんだろう

Within these hands, within these days, crying with you, laughing with you, has made me stronger.

君がくれた言葉はここにあるよ

The words that you told me are right here with me.

そうだよ歩いていこう

Yes, let’s walk forward.

[END]

#TokyoRevengers #東卍 #東リベ #東京卍リベンジャーズ #mikey x takemichi #hinata x takemichi #tokyo revengers #tokyo manji gang #sano manjiro #takemichi hanagaki #hinata tachibana #tokyo revengers fanfiction #tokyo manji revengers #Youtube

42 notes · View notes

nekokennedychan-blog · 3 years

Text

Medicrinn Chapter One

Self Insert F!Eivor/Female Reader. Intuition is something one should never ignore. The wind will always hint at what is to come.

Masterlist here.

Trigger Warnings: VERY Graphic depictions of violence, blood, and death. Themes of depression and solitude.

A/N: First ever fanfic. I don’t know what I'm doing. I have absolutely no idea how far this will take me, but I've been inspired by so many writers in this community and of course by lovely Eivor. This is the first chapter. Very little Eivor here. Some building up of our lead's personality and a little history. But don’t worry. Eivor is coming. And it’ll get sexy. Eventually. feedback welcome. I am newborn child with no idea what I'm doing. Please help me.

The setting sun painted the sky in hues of orange, blue, and purple, stars already twinkling in the darkest areas of the sky. A large crescent sliver sat on the western edge, the sight of the moon reminding you of a grinning wolf. There was something in the air tonight. Something that made your skin crawl, contrasting with the gorgeous end of the day. It unsettled you, though you couldn't pin point what the actual problem could be.

You bent down and continued to gather the calendula that grew on the hill here. You were running low as the monastery you lived on the edge of had recently begun to acquisition you for as much of your healing ointments as you could make. You didn't keep up with what monks of Beodoricsroth involved themselves with, but you were thankful for the patronage. It wasn't often the Holy men would seek outsiders for medical remedies, and they paid very handsomely. You had heard talk amongst your neighbors about some unrest due to some type of savage raiders.

Perhaps that is what has them panicked…

You gathered as much as your satchel could handle, and glanced at the moon. A burst of wind caused the unsecured pieces of hair to obscure your vision, bringing with it an icy chill. Rubbing your arms and pulling your furs closer to yourself, you turned to your dale. His large black eyes watched you closely as he huffed, seemly agreeing with your inner thoughts.

"We should get back, Fallon. The winds tell of misfortune today."

Mounting the tall horse quickly, you dug your boots into his sides and pushed him to a full lope, guiding him down the familiar path home with ease. As you got closer to town, dark clouds rolled across the sky, bringing with it sharp gusts of cold wind and the smell of coming rain. The familiar lighted windows of families already settled for the night greeted you are you slowed your steed on the main road of the outwr abbey.

You moved through the settlement quickly, to a lone house with a small stall to its left. Quaint but well kept, your home was the only thing left to you when your parents passed. Pink flowers peppered the yard, bringing you back four autumns in your mind.

Taken within weeks of each other, the fever and sickness did not take your parents swiftly enough. You could smell the posies your father had made you bring into the home. You remember crying as you gathered them, as your father had given you all his knowledge, as they would be used to hide the stench of their coming deaths. You couldn’t bring yourself to pull the bushes up.

Once grounded, you pulled Fallon into his stall, tossed him some hay, and hurried through your front door, carrying in your collections of the day. The strong smell of multiple herbs greeted you, and you fumbled for the candle you kept just inside. Once lit, the medical storehouse that was your home was brought into pale focus.

The flickering light, coupled with the feeling of dread pitting in your stomach, the made many candles, dried herbs, and vials laid out take on a sinister appearance. You hastened to light the hearth to dispel the illusion.

Notes in your flowing chirography littered almost the whole table you set your satchel on, each one depicting in detail different cures, remedies, and treatments. You liked being thorough and enjoyed carrying on your father’s work. It made for a very singular existence, as no sane man wanted an independent and intelligent woman. Perhaps spending so much time alone was making you nervous. The dark evening and spooky feelings were surely just your loneliness taking a toll on your psyche.

You slid the furs from your shoulders, hanging the coat over the small bench at the table. You sat on top of it, reaching down to pull the expensive leather riding boots from your sore feet. Unlacing the black outer dress at your chest, you shook it from your shoulders and let it fall to the floor, leaving you in the white underdress you would wear to bed. Lifting a pot of water, you hung it up over the fire and began prepping a small portion of meat.

A good supper and a night's rest through the coming storm would bring a better tomorrow. Or so you told yourself.

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

Acrid smoke. That is the smell that woke you from a dreamless sleep. Fumbling on the stand next to your bed, you managed to light a candle. Thick smoke filled your home, but the smell of it was of nothing within. Confused and sleep dazed, you tumbled out of your fur blankets and slipped on your simple house shoes.

Once standing, and with a gust of wind from the slatted window, it was clear that the smoke was being pushed inside. At the moment of this understanding also came the awareness of sound - that of screaming, metal on metal, and the terrible sound of a maelstrom, all entwined together. No sooner does this register for you, and before any decision or action can be taken, does the door to your home splinter violently open. An armored man tumbles through the ruined door, the red and silver armor marking him clearly as one of Aelfred's men. Frozen, you watched as the man raised himself to his knees, his brown eyes meeting yours through the opening in his helmet.

"Apothecary," he wheezed, reaching out a hand towards you, "we need..." The man never finished his sentence. With a whistling sound, an axe cleanly sliced through the male's throat, embedding itself in the wall next to the fireplace. You watched in horror as the man's mouth hung open and his head fell from his shoulders, rolling across the floor. Blood sprayed everywhere, coating the walls and ground. You dropped your light and rushed forward, sliding across the slick wood, trying to get to the only weapon you kept in your home.

A flash of lightening temporarily drew your attention to the now hole of a front door, and your heart stopped beating. Standing in the opening was a tall figure. Covered head to toe in sliver armor and black furs, stood a Viking. Braided blonde hair hung over the warrior's shoulder, the shaved side of her head decorated with tattoos. Fresh blood spatter danced across her scarred face, drawing your eyes to bright green ones accentuated with charcoal war paint. And in her left hand, from the peripherals of your vision, was an axe - one you were sure matched the one in your wall.

#eivor x reader #eivor varinsson #female eivor #f!eivor #lady eivor #eivor wolfkissed #eivor

69 notes · View notes

extremelyblackandwhite · 4 years

Text

handmaid - 35

PAIRING: mob!sebastian stan x ingenue!reader

WARNINGS: age gap, guns

A/N: once again i am veryyyyyy late but i rly don’t wanna let go of this fanfic. hope you enjoy this chapter x

NEXT CHAPTER

The static sound of silence and the full view of darkness was what she woke up to. She wasn’t sure when she had lost conscience but at the moment the only thing she could see was the flickering light of a single lamp dangling overhead. Sometimes breaking through the silence, the irritating and yet somber noise of single drops of waters hitting the ground would make themselves heard leaving Y/N to feel like she was in imminent danger. As she tried to move, she noticed her ankle was tied to a shackle bolted to the ground which grounded her in the reality she had found herself in. However, instead of screaming or wondering what to do her first instinct was to lay her freed hands on top of her textile covered stomach trying to almost feel for the wellness of life growing inside her.

Taking a deep breathe, she looked around, trying to understand where she was yet the low light room didn’t give much. However, the existence of a staircase a few inches away from her led her to believe she found herself in a lower floor than regular, maybe some sort of basement. Wherever it was, it was quite clear to the young handmaid it was a hard enough place to escape. The sheer chilliness of the room made her scared enough for her own safety, wondering what plans Mr. Williams had for her and if she would ever return to her life. What she’d give to return to the life she had known, in that sheltered, clueless mindset everyone believed she have.

She sighed, biting onto her lip so she wouldn’t start crying. Her mind kept rushing, rushing too fast even with the events and stories told to her by the same man who now held her captive. She wondered what all of these years were, they surely weren’t truthful yet unlike lies they were palpable, palpable years of being placed right under everyone, hearing whispers of several other high society people pitying the orphan taken under a powerful’s family’s wing. What good was it to train someone to be submissive for the rest of her life for her safety? It was useless as she was standing idly at the feet of the same man who had brought her mother’s demise.

All those thoughts did no little to help to tears remain in their ducts and soon, a few of those were rolling down her cheeks hitting the ground along. Along with this, one of her hairpins fell to the ground, the sound removing her from her pitying state. She grabbed it from the floor, looking at the details through the veil of her teary eyes. It was a rather sharp hairpin, she herself had noticed that prior when the hairstylist had stuck it into her hair, lightly scratching her scalp.

Her eyes moved from the sharp edges to the shackle around her ankle and the key hole just a bit centred in the metal. Shaking like a leaf, she inserted the hairpin into the keyhole, shimmying it enough to cause the lock to give in, freeing her in the process. She found herself dumbfounded with it before quickly getting on her feet and climbing up the stairs to the door. Her hand gripped the door handle and pushed it down, however, the door proved to be locked. She sighed, looking around the room for any exits but there were no windows or any other doors. There was a drawer unit and her most hopeful self hoped there would be maybe a pair of spare keys.

Her hands rushed through the drawers which were mostly empty except the very last drawer where a small razor phone was. She looked around, ensuring her safety before she grabbed the phone with shaky hands, sighing in relief once she noticed one small bar on signal. Y/N quickly pressed the number on the phone, bringing her nails to her mouth as she waited and waited for the recipient to pick up but nothing came out of it.

- Please pick up ... I really need your help, I ... - she interrupted herself as she heard steps from above her. Quickly, she stuffed the phone back on drawer, rushing over to the chain which she shackled on her ankle again.

The door opened rather fast, beams and beams of light streaming through the badly light room which hurt her eyes. Two voices were distinct and her eyes were glued to the door as Mr. Williams walked in with a smug look, however, it wasn’t him that made her heart beat a bit faster, it was Sebastian coming from behind. His pristine ironed suit was completely wrinkled, his tie loose enough to dangle around his neck, heavily wrinkled forehead, a very far cry from the put together man he normally was.

- You have a visit, birdie. - he stopped Sebastian from taking any steps further towards her. Ignoring her, Mr. Williams turned to face the mob boss, taking a particular pleasure in seeing him in agony over his own actions. - Told you she was safe. All it takes is just a signature and you can give her a happy ending.

- No, before I sign anything you gotta assure me that once you have that document she can go. - Sebastian wasn’t stupid. If there was a spark of his father that lingered in this psyche it was a very analytical and rational thinking, troubleshooting if you’d like to call it. For all he knew, he would sign those papers and Williams would do whatever he pleased with Y/N. The mob boss just couldn’t risk it with her. No, her safety came first. - She leaves, I sign it.

- Why should I believe you won’t just back away once she leaves?

- You’ll just have to trust me.

- You better not play me. Even if she’s out of this room, I have my own ways of making sure she doesn’t leave. - he threw the key towards Sebastian who strutted towards Y/N. Her gown was severely messed, almost a symbol of what he had done to her. It was his fault she was all over this mess, he could’ve protected her, he promised her he would protect her and here she was, shackled to the ground. He could feel his heartbeat pounding against his skull as he uncuffed her, hands still shaking.

- You’re gonna run. Okay, angel? You’re gonna run, run as far and fast as you can and you won’t look back, okay? - Y/N’s eyes didn’t seem as worried as he would expect, instead they held this creased look as her hand moved to cup the side of his face, the other hand pushing a piece of his hair away from his forehead.

- What about you? - her eyes quickly moved from Williams to Sebastian.

- Angel, it’ll be okay. You gotta run, okay? Run. - he helped her onto her feet, expecting her to start running the moment she was up. Instead, she stood a few seconds immobile looking at him as her mind told her something bad was coming. She could just feel it, nevertheless the push on her back by Sebastian caused her to start running up the stairs. If only she could get to Dan or Mr. Forrest, they surely could help Sebastian.

Sebastian watched her leave, his heartbeat calming down as he realised she was safe. It didn’t matter what else would happen, she was safe and that was all that matter. Maybe Williams was right, maybe this wasn’t the life for him, a life with her sounded better, a life with her just sounded ... simpler, easier. Just him and her somewhere in a small town starting a family. With that thought in mind, he has handed the document and a black pen, his eyes wondering to the line asking for his signature. It almost seemed to mock him, mock him for not being able to keep a dynasty and her safe. With his gaze away from the paper, he quickly signed it, handing it over to the despicable man.

Mr. Williams smirked out of delight, eyes turning upwards to the door, giving one of his men the sort of look that led some doubt into his mind. This quickly got confirmed as the door was firmly locked, the darkness barely lit by the lamp on the ceiling involving the two of them.

- You probably don’t remember her mother, you were too young but god ... does she resemble her, those beautiful eyes, exactly the same. Sometimes the universe does give you a second shoot. Maybe I couldn’t be with the mother but I guess the daughter will do just fine. - he raised his arm towards the now ex mob boss, pointing his gun at him. - After all why should I only control one family when I could control two?

- YOU FUCKING BASTARD! - before he could make any moves towards him, a shot burst through his leg, weakening his stance sending him against the floor.

- Did you seriously think I would let you go on and marry her? Get her family support and gain your position back? I didn't peg you for a gullible one but I guess I was wrong. - he chuckled taking another shot to the same leg. - I will take such pleasure in raising your kid. I will raise your child to know just how weak you were, how you never rose up to the challenge. You will cease to exist, gone, just like things should be.

His mother used to talk to him about death when he was younger, how people just shouldn’t fear it and that when it comes everything is white. Sebastian had to disagree as once another bullet hit him, this time close to his stomach, he didn’t see white, no, he saw her. He saw her, the very first time he saw her on the floor, he saw her eyes peaking from the covers whenever she would sleep near him, her touch, and her laughter. In that moment all he wished was for her to be somehow outside the house, to be safe, far away from all of this. Maybe it was this hope, this conviction that kept him pulling on the single thread belonging to his life. He really hoped she was safe.

- Drop it. - a feminine voice boomed through the room. Mr. Williams furrowed his eyebrows turning around to a scenario he never expected to experience. Y/N had her arms forward, holding one of his guns and point it at it. - I said, drop it.

- Well, well ... - he lowered down sightly, placing the weapon on the floor before putting his hands up. - What are you gonna do, birdie? You’re gonna kill me?

- Shut up. - her hands were far from being stiff, shaking with the fear of the situation she was standing in but still firmly holding her revolver.

- What are you gonna do, birdie? You’re gonna shot me? For who? Him? Listen to me, Y/N, you and I are the same. We work hard and those above us mistreat us. Join me child, you will have the power you deserve. You won’t serve anyone else, no more hand me downs, no more screaming.

- I will not join you, you’re not powerful, you’re a coward. You’ll never be anything other than a coward even if you become the head of the family. You’re a coward, only cowards murder innocent, only cowards are so insecure in their own skin they would crave power. - she lowered her weapon. - I will not be the one to kill you.

- Well, isn’t th ... - he was interrupted by a gun shot echoing through the room sending him onto his knees leaving only a very weak Sebastian holding the same revolver he had placed on the ground.

- She won’t but I will. - she had never seen this side of him. He sounded cruel, cold yet she couldn’t blame it, what she could do was be worried about him as he held a weapon with one hand and the other hand held onto his gashing wound. - I will kill you, slowly, painfully. Before you’re dead, I will make sure all your stupid bastards are dead, all your men are dead, and I will have you front and centre to their deaths.

- Y/N .. - the man winced in pain from the gunshot, eyes looking up to the handmaid who had took a few steps back.

- Don’t you fucking say her name! - he shot him once more, no sign of mercy in his actions.

- Sebastian. - she called out to him, effectively gaining his attention. There were no words exchanged, she just looked at him, her lip trembling ... disappointment even.

There are moments in your life when you can chose to be the villain or the hero of your story. You can either live being the villain or others can tell your story and keep it on. Sebastian looked at her, from her eyes to her hands laying on top of her stomach. No, he wouldn’t be the villain, he wouldn’t be his father. He lowered his weapon, cuffing the man he most despised where he had just had the woman he loved captive.

Once that was done, whatever was left of the adrenaline keeping his wounds from hurting ran out and the pain overtook his muscles, sending him against the ground. Y/N rushed from her standing position, lowering herself to catch him before his head hit the ground. She pulled him over her lap, pushing his hair away from his face.

- C’mon, you have to get up. - she spoke softly but he could hear the underlying anxiousness. - You have to get up, we have to get out of here, okay? Just you and me.

- No, angel. - he reached to his pocket, her music box still there, and he placed it softly on her hand. - I don’t think I can. You can, you can go, take the next plane out of this place, go to France ...

- No. - she threw the box away. - You have to get up, you will get up, you’ll come with me to France. Just us, no one else.

- You deserve everything you’ve ever dreamed of.

- You are my dream.

tag list: @lilya-petrichor @xoxohannahlee @irespostthingsiwanttoseelater @nikkipea @madisonpillstrom @cevans98 @thelostallycat @sideeffectsofyou @anxiousdreamersworld @captainchrisstan @lookiamtrying @sarge-barnes-sir @stuffforreferences @thebadassbitchqueen @sebastianstansqueen @nsfwsebbie @strangerliaa @emzd34 @everything-is-awesomesauce @dreams-in-blxck @krismeunicornbaobei @buckysteveloki-me

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan/reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan/you #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan/y/n #sebastian stan au #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastian stan drabble #mob boss!sebastian stan #mob!sebastian stan #mobster! sebastian stan #mafia!sebastian stan #mafia boss!sebastian stan

322 notes · View notes

blackvelvetwriteson · 4 years

Note

Hi, could I get a one shot fem! black reader x Kakashi, please? (can be nsfw or fluff, it's your choice)

Hey there! Thank you for the request 🥺🥺 I had a bit of a roadblock with this one simply because I couldn’t think of a prompt, BUT I eventually thought ‘why not write about the holidays’ so I got into a groove with it! Once I got into it, it was a really fun write! I hope that this is what you expected and/or lives up to your expectations!

𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄𝐒

( ~ Kakashi Hatake x Black Female Reader Insert ~ )

GENRE: Fluffy Fluff!

FANDOM: Naruto Shippuden

TRIGGER WARNINGS: There really are none for today, it’s pretty fluffy for today!

SUMMARY: Reader-Chan wants to celebrate the holiday season this year because she never got to, but she doesn’t necessarily know how to approach Kakashi about it since he never celebrates the holidays (or ever even heard of them for that matter.

WORD COUNT: 4303

(Headers are mine, but the art inside of them are not! Please don’t steal or repost without credit!)

For some reason, you were in an incredibly festive mood this time around. Maybe it was something about how the gilded sunlight made yours and Kakashi’s home feel more… Well, home-y. Maybe it was the remnants of your food that you’d made earlier for your lunch still lingering around the house, or the kids of the village running around outside of your windows, whether subliminally training or not undeterminable, reminding you of your youth. Time had gone by so fast, and already you’d been in Japan for about two years and a half. You already knew that, in general, the people of the area didn’t celebrate Halloween, and actually it was a week AFTER Halloween would’ve taken place in America, but something about today… Something about today made your festive bone quiver and you decided to do SOMETHING to celebrate.

Since you’d picked up on the shinobi not celebrating American holidays like you were used to, you avoided asking Kakashi about it. Come to think of it, he never really did anything you were accustomed to besides the staring thing; and when you got together he tried to give you food related nicknames. You had to sit down and explain to him why it wasn’t okay and why it made you uncomfortable and then he thoroughly apologized and left it at that. He didn’t really have any nicknames for you, and from research you found that most women in Japan (and men) only go by their given names with -chan/san at the end which was cute, but if everyone had to call you that then it’d lose meaning and it wouldn’t be as cute.

Even still, though, you decided that today would be the day that you participated in the festivities of the holiday season that, in America, would be fast approaching. The only question for you was who you were going to dress up as and suddenly a thought formed in your head as you popped up from the couch and scurried to your guys’s room. You’d dress up as your hero, your boyfriend Hatake Kakashi! He wouldn’t expect it, you’d be able to see how everything fits, AND it’d be cute- at least you thought- and it’d give you something to do so that the crisp, perfect day didn’t go to waste.

You sifted through the closet with eager eyes as you hummed softly, some of your curls coming loose and falling down by your face, your dark brown beautiful eyes twinkling as you pulled out the parts to the outfit he wore from day to day, your eyebrows knitting a little as one corner of your lip lifted a little. “This man, so help me black Jesus,” you whisper softly noticing how much heftier your wardrobe was than his. He had the same outfit to go over about 5 or 5 times, black sweatpants, black shorts, and 3 different headbands all crushed, neatly, together on one side of the closet while your clothing took up the other half. You shook your head and closed the door with your hip once you were sure you had everything you needed for your little plan. You looked it over excitedly, your slender auburn fingers contrasting almost perfectly against the colors of his uniform. “Damn… I never noticed that till now,” you laugh softly as you remove your shirt and start to pull on articles of the outfit, trying to mimic exactly how you saw Kakashi wear his so you didn’t accidentally disrespect him. Of course he only had 2 masks and a shirt with a mask that you’d sewn onto it, and you decided not to mess with any of it. You didn’t want to hide your face at all whatsoever, especially behind masks that might’ve well have been your boyfriend’s comfort items. You had pretty much everything on, the worn out navy blue bringing everything together, the green brightening your pretty almost black eyes. You giggle softly as you look in the mirror and decide to do something with your hair before it dried completely- you’d taken a shower only 30 minutes prior and your hair was a little damp. You scurry off to the bathroom with the bandage and garter in one hand, your yellow hair pik in the other. You looked extremely excited, for once taking a moment to completely love and indulge in yourself. Being in an area where your existence was offensive to others to suddenly going to a place where absolutely nobody looked even close to you was an extreme shift, but Kakashi made it okay, literally brawling with anybody that so much as looked at you the wrong way. You had a small bit of tummy, but he loved that about you; and it’s not like it slowed you down any, made you unreliable, or made you any less attractive than you were. In fact, to some people it wasn’t even really noticeable unless you were wearing certain things. You also had to drop the American style and adopt the Japanese locale and honestly, while that was a HUGE shift, Kakashi helped with that too. Sometimes you’d get yourself in trouble with how you spoke though; that American lingo that’d been generationally passed down to you finding its way showing up and showing out, especially when someone wanted to make fun of your hair, or your physique and compare you to the other local girls, most noticeably Ten-Ten, Lady Tsunade, Sakura, and Hinata. They argued that the more pale girls were more attractive; because you could play in their hair and you wouldn’t have to worry about one slowing you down- at which remarks you stuck the shit talkers to a tree with your kunai for hours after you thoroughly cussed them out and ribbed them a little, telling Kakashi what’d happened so he could go cut them down. On the flip side, the kids absolutely adored you and loved when you were out so they could play tag or ask you unnecessary questions or get some treats from you.

You quick-washed your hair in the sink and started to blow-dry it deciding that you’d give yourself an at home blowout so that you could complete the look. Being the multitasker you were born into being, you found something to prop the blowdryer up while you piked your hair out quickly, smiling as you watched your hair fluff up, watching your coils straighten and then get bigger until it couldn’t anymore. Then it hit you; Kakashi hadn’t seen your hair blown out except once and that was while you were braiding it back and his eyes were fixated on your fingers as he wondered how a person could do that. At this point, your hair was halfway done, and while you let the tool dry your hair even more, you attempted to wrap the bandage around your thigh and it only BARELY made it, your thigh utterly choked in the process. You looked down at your leg and then pensively looked at the garter and decided that wouldn’t fit around your leg and you let out a frustrated sigh. “That man, is fine as fuck, but why he built like a bean pole,” you huff quietly as you let the bandage loose from trapping your thigh before your mind wandered to him. “…. Aight so maybe he got a LITTLE bit of muscle, but we aint talkin’ about that right now,” you laugh softly before looking at your phone seeing that he sent you a text signifying that he was on his way back from training for the day and that he was fine. You smiled cheerily at your text and tilted your head some at yourself, using your pik to fluff your hair out more before you scurried back to your guys’s room and snatched one of his spare headbands up, securing it quickly and tactfully. You looked at yourself in the mirror, your hands coming up and sliding into the arm holes of his navy green vest. You turned to one side, then to the next, then finally you looked at yourself from a front profile and your eyes glistened a little. “You’re… so heroic,” you mumbled under your breath before you heard some clatter coming from outside of the room.

“Oh right… You can do that,” you say as you open the door and watch him freeze completely in his spot, his eyes slowly raking over you from head to toe then back up again, his stoic expression unchanging from what you could tell. “H-Heyy… Honey,” you smile nervously as you wave with one of your gloved hands. He walked towards you and slipped one side of the headband over one of your eyes and then he stifled a soft grunt under his breath.

“It’s Kakashi. We’ve talked about this,” he said softly before he looked over his shoulders, his hands sliding in his pockets again as his back straightened out some. “….Why are you wearing my clothes,” he asked with a slight edge to his voice, meanwhile you were still frozen in place, your legs starting to quiver some. You didn’t know why he was being so cold to you and it made you just a little insecure. “Particularly… Those,” he said as he stared at the wall below the TV you both had, his legs crossed as he leaned back into the couch.

“Damn so you not gonna say ‘hi.’ Or ‘I missed you,’ or nothin’ like that hm? Well… My bad, I guess I’ll just go take it off,” you say softly, the spirit of the day becoming crushed. He mused softly and his head only tilted a small bit. He didn’t even look at you and you noticed this. The whole time you were here… The whole time you were together the only thing you wanted was his eyes on you and his praises. You were struggling and it was on you for the most part because you hadn’t reached out to him for help. He was a real big one for “say what you mean or need,” or something like that. You LOVED the idea behind the last stretch of the year; the days designated for giving thanks, hanging out with the ones you love, amazing food, and gifts, and movies, and music. All of it… But having come from where you had, you never really had good times or a good chance to make memories. Now that you were old enough to have someone of your own and actually be able to create memories, you wanted to… But instead you’d been trying to force it out of your life to make your man happy, however you weren’t having it anymore. You just didn’t know how to bring it up.

“Mm.. What’s-“

Before he could even finish speaking, you’d vanished back into your guys’s room and shut the door behind you. He sat back in the seat and he let out a low drawn out breath and then stood up. Within one second he vanished from the living room and appeared right in front of you with his arms crossed.

“I asked why you were wearing my clothes, not that you had to take them off,” he said as he looked blandly at your hurt expression. “And I was trying to ask what was up with you,” he said as he reached one hand out and gently tipped your head up, his free hand reaching for where your bangs covered your eye but then he stopped as he usually did and he tilted his head some. “May I?” He spoke from behind his mask. You push his hand out of the way and move your hair out of your face by yourself, your sharp eyes peering into his. This time his eyebrows rose a bit more noticeably and usual and he waited for you to talk so he could listen, his hands now in his pockets.

“Yknow… I’ve tried to work what is normal to me out of my system… And when I was younger, that would’ve been… Easier. But now, it’s not… Kakashi, when you don’t look at me it makes me feel undesirable… Because nobody else looks at me unless they’re making fun of how flat and wide my features are… or how damn burnt I look even though this is my natural skin tone! I just… Want you to call me your baby once in awhile damnit! I want to call you *mine* and not just… Ka-ka-shi. Everybody calls you that… And… I get jealous when I see the other people hanging out with you, the cooler people with the sharingan variants, or the cool eyes and the people with the slim builds, or the people with the advanced shinobi skills that are greater than mi-“ You hadn’t noticed that while you were talking, Kakashi pulled his mask down, then you were interrupted with a kiss. It was a soft, but soulful kiss; the kind where one of his gloved hands had you by the chin and the other by the back of your head. The kind where you could feel his body heat completely wrapping you up. The kind where you felt his trembling breath break his completely calm composure. Your hands were gently pressed against the back of his arms, one of your hands at his elbow as he pulled away and allowed his eyes to slowly open. His shadow was cast down onto you and you saw his eyes squint a little, his smile hidden by the mask he’d pulled back up after the kiss. On the other hand, your eyes were wide and your lips were barely parted, your eyes glistening as you looked over his mostly hidden smile. Your knees buckled under you and he helped make sure you didn’t fall, his chest pressed against yours.

“You done?” He asked as he helped you stand upright again. You were dazed just staring at your man and he smirked a little as he pulled his mask down again still standing close to you. “I see… You want everyone to know that you’re mine and vice versa? That’s it? That’s why you’re wearing my clothes today…? You want me to… Call you mine? Right?” He spoke quietly, he was ONLY talking to you, his deep voice getting a little more hoarse as he continued to drone on, his hands on your hips pulling you closer to him, his intense gaze still cast into your eyes. You swallow hard and nibble the inside of your cheek. “You want you to call you my baby? My beautiful, perfect baby girl? Hm? Is that why you’re acting out? Or… You want me to show you that I care more, right? Maybe… You want me to make dinner once? Or bring you flowers? Or watch you train? Or… Cheer you on? Right? Perhaps tease you a little… Or hold you this close all the time?”

You nod slowly and then look away already knowing what this was sort of leading up to but his slender fingers forced your gaze back on him.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, baby,” he said softly as he tilted his head a little. “If you wanted that… Why didn’t you just say so? I can’t read minds… And I’m still relatively new to this whole… Romance scene,” he said softly as he gently stroked your cheek with his thumb. “You know this. I’m a little… Dense? I’m not sure if that’s the proper word. But…. You’re just… Ugh… I didn’t know that me hanging around people made you jealous- perhaps it’s in my best interest to just tell you how much you mean to me all of the time. You’d want that too, right? I know you would,” he said softly as his fingers gently trailed up your back. “Or… Maybe you want to have a little bit more sex? Is that apart of it?” The question made your eyes wide, skin burn with an invisible blush, and your jaw drop a little. He let out a hollow laugh in turn, gently pushing your jaw up to close your mouth with the tips of his fingers. “Baby steps. I got it. For now, let me just say this: You’re beautiful… All of your scars, curves, marks and all. Those coffee colored eyes of yours are so much more… Stupefying than any sharingan I have seen and will ever see…. The little spark they get when you’re determined, or that soft glisten when you get embarrassed,” he said as he looked over your whole face. “Your body… Your whole body… Is amazing… You don’t have to be slim to be an amazing shinobi; and so help me, my beautiful queen,” he says softly as he leans down so he’s eye level with you. “If you ever discredit yourself like that again, I’ll work you out so that you’re not able to move for the next week. You’re right on the fast track to be a fine shinobi- possibly even the greatest at that. Well… Not greater than me, but that’s another story and another conversation,” he said quietly as you were pushed back onto your bed while he stood over you. “Are those idiots getting into your head again?” His eyebrows furrowed a little as his hands slipped back into his pockets.

Finally you were able to find your words again and you crossed your legs out of habit. “Y-Yeah… For… Like… The past 3 weeks they’ve been telling me that I’m too slow… Or I’m too… Wide… Or making fun of me and my eyes, or making fun of how dark I am… Or making fun of my hair! My damn hair! It hurts… A lot… And we’re together, but I don’t want to be known as that abnormal girl that calls on her boyfriend every time she needs saving. I got it… Aight? I can handle that… But… That’s why I need YOUR praises…. To validate me I guess… I already know I’m THAT… girl… But I want to hear it from you… I want you,” you mumbled softly. “And the reason I’m dressed up like this is because I’m dressed up for Halloween- In America it’s a day where people dress up and do their makeup and hair and have fun at parties or go trick or treating to get candy and stuff! I’ve always loved it despite not being able to… Participate much,” you say softly as you rub your arm. “I dunno, I guess I just wanted to celebrate the holiday season this year- even if we never do it again, I at least want one memory of a great holiday season with mine… With you,” you say softly. He listens to everything you say with an opaque grin on his face.

“If that’s what you wanted, then why didn’t you just say that?” He said softly as he climbed over you, his hips barely resting in your lap as your heart skipped a beat. He pushed you to lay down on the bed and his hands rested right by your head, your eyes peering up at him with a soft grin rested on your face.

“I-I d-didn’t w-want to get told no… I d-didn’t want to… Bother you with something that seemed so insignificant… I didn’t want you to think of me as weak,” you say softly as he gently kisses your neck. You shuddered a little and bit your lip as you tilt your head up some.

“Well now’s your hot seat,” he huffed quietly against your neck. “Tell me what you want, tell me everything you want, and I’ll do it until you tell me that you don’t want it anymore,” he said as he looked back into your eyes, your hands rested against his chest as you thought for a moment before speaking again. “W-Well… I want you to call me your baby and vice versa… Or come up with a nickname or something… I want you to watch me train and root for me, I want you to let everyone know who I belong to, but allow me to show who you belong to, too… I want you to tease me and hold me close… Everywhere… I want you to go on dates with me and do holiday stuff with me… I want you to make me feel wanted and loved… I just fucking want *you* Kakashi…” you say softly as you look up at him. Upon gazing, you notice that his expression had soften significantly, and the hold he had on you was more protective than ever. “A-And I guess more s-sex would be cool,” you say softly and he chuckles quietly in return. You reach one of your hands up and gently cup his face, your thumb gently caressing his cheek. “You know… You should smile more… You’re quite handsome when you do… Well I mean you’re fine as hell either way, but I like it when you smile… And laugh like that…” you say softly as he leans his head into your hand a little more. He kisses your clothed palm and smiles just for you and suddenly you took on a breathless expression, your eyes halfway open as he blushed a little and you just took this moment to adore him, everything about him. “That’s what you want from me? Okay,” he said softly before moving to pin your hand weakly to the bed above you, his eyes both gazing into yours- well as much as he could anyway seeing as your hair practically swallowed your face leaving your bottom half of your face exposed for him. You could see him just fine, he just couldn’t see you… And for the moment that was fine. His gentle lips pressed against yours from above and your eyes fluttered shut as usual when this happened. You felt a little touch starved because he didn’t like contact very much, but he was warming up to it a little more. You wrapped one of your arms around his waist and pulled him closer, and then the two of you melted into each other on the bed in a fit of grunts, deep, passionate, soft kisses, dulcet giggles coming from the both of you, his hand wandering up your waist up the natural curve of your body as yours tried to find where his clothing allowed you access to his skin. You found it, your warm fingers contrasting against his lukewarm skin. He jolted a little and let out a groan before looking at you again, nibbling your lip gently before he pulled away. “You’re amazing,” he whispered quietly and breathlessly against your lips as you tried to control your breathing again.

“Says one of the most notable and historic ninja warriors of all time,” you say with a soft chuckle, moving your hair out of your face so you could look at him and so he could look at you.

“You know… Paths like that carry plenty of… Skeletons in the closet, right?” He said softly as his gaze intensified only a little bit.

“Yeah, and? You still made it… Everyone looks up to you… You’ve killed people and seen plenty of your own killed… And people that couldn’t handle it… Y’know… But, Kakashi Hatake,” you say softly as you turn his head back towards you and your own expression hardens a little. “No matter what, I’ll still love you like the day that I met you… Just like that day you first came to protect.. Well the other person- after they were bullying me… After you checked to make sure I was okay… Baby I love you, and as long as you love me too, I’m gonna be on your side. I’m your woman- I’m your queen, right? A queen needs her partner in royalty, and this house is our kingdom. You’re my king, and unapologetically mine… And I’m the same for you,” you say quietly as you sit up and smile a little. “I know you haven’t been sleeping, Kashi,” you say softly as you gently kiss his lips. “I’m not a super heavy sleeper… You’re safe now, though,” you say softly as you run your fingers through his hair. “Let me go make dinner tonight and… C-Can I decorate?” You whispered softly, expecting a no as you turned and gently pushed him to make him lay on the bed and he chuckled softly, gently grabbing your hand.

“If decorations are what you want, then I don’t have a problem with it,” he said softly, kissing the back of your hand gently. Your skin burned with an invisible flush and you pulled the covers up on him, trying to make the room just a little more homey so that he could sleep better.

“I… Wow… Um… Okay,” you say softly, lighting a candle and setting it on the nightstand, standing in the doorway. “I d-don’t know if I said this already, but I’m gonna make a hot pot for dinner… And I’ll go see if there are any pumpkins in the area… I’ll make us some pumpkin bread and make some cookies for the kids,” you say with a beaming smile, looking at your sleepy man who was already cuddling a pillow on his way to sleep. He admired your soothing voice, able to relax for the first time in a long time, and how the golden sun gave you a gilded glow that made your skin twinkle and your eyes illuminate the room. He had never felt so lucky to have someone as good as you to him, and that was the last thing he saw- or thought- before he slipped off into dreamland and you disappeared behind the door to excitedly start dinner.

#black velvet x naruto #requested writes #kakashi hatake #kakashi hatake fluff #kakashi x you #kakashi x reader #kakashi x black reader #kakashi x black female reader #kakashi hatake x female reader #black velvet asks #jenesis answers

73 notes · View notes

spicymayo1983 · 3 years

Text

Hiya. This is chapter 13. You return to Yavin 4 where Poe has a surprise planned for you.

As your pregnancy advances you couldn't be more uncomfortable.

Warnings, angst, XXX smut, female ejaculation, pregnancy, pregnant sex, not for anyone under 18.

Yavin 4

Poe's big surprise was an elopement to your lush, jungle covered homeland.

Neither one of you wanted a large ceremony or reception, it felt inappropriate to you.

You did, however, want to wear your mother's wedding dress.

The morning of the ceremony feels bittersweet. With tears in your eyes you twirl around in front of a mirror, wearing the stunning white gown that your beautiful mother had worn decades earlier.

It fit you like a glove, no alterations were needed. It looked like it was brand new too.

Deep down, you always knew that this day would come, and that your husband would be Poe Dameron.

It was written in the stars, it was your destiny. He was your soulmate, after all.

You were going to have a few kids and live a comfortable, happy life as husband and wife.

It seemed like a fairytale, "seemed".

The only thing missing were your parents. You had always assumed that they would be there.

You felt like you had taken their existence for granted. You still felt like you could've done more to be there for your terminally ill mother in her final years.

You struggle to push aside these negative thoughts as you admire yourself in the mirror with a hint of a smile on your face, Poe was right, you were starting to show just a teeny bit.

"Baby, I hope you're doing well". You tell your unborn child as you lovingly pat your belly. "Mommy and daddy just want to hold you, we love you so much".

The ceremony was held at the ancient temple that you had both spent your formidable years exploring. It was a familiar place with many memories for you. There were only 3 other people there besides you and Poe.

Your best friend, his father Kes and the justice of the peace that was officiating the ceremony.

Poe looked devastatingly handsome in his dress uniform. His face was shaved smooth (but in less than a week you knew he would have a full beard) and his thick, curly hair was styled neatly.

He looked better than a fairytale prince. You couldn't believe that this stunning man was going to be your husband for the rest of your life.

He took one look at you, in your mother's gown, and tears immediately began to well in his velvety brown eyes.

"You're so beautiful, oh my gods". He whispers into your ear.

After exchanging your vows the two of you run off to your honeymoon.

Your honeymoon is scaled down but still very romantic. A beautiful tent had been set up at the edge of the rainforest.

Maybe it's the euphoria of your wedding day but you actually didn't feel like death that evening.

You've been intimate with Poe many times but that night it feels different. You're preparing to make love to your husband and the father of your child.

The two of you slowly, teasingly remove each other's clothing. As Poe kissed and nibbled on your neck he whispered into your ear,

"Lay on your back".

With a smile on your face you follow his command and relax on your back.

He knew that your breasts were still extremely tender so he wanted to do something to make you feel better.

Poe's rough hands on the silky skin of your tender, engorged breasts felt divine. He began to gently massage them in a circular motion, leaning down to suck on your sensitive, darkened nipples lovingly.

With a content sigh you spread your legs wide, revealing your silken folds glistening from arousal.

It didn't take long for his head to find it's way to your sweet spot. Before Poe started to eat you out he stopped and planted a series of soft, fluttering kisses on your lower belly, right where your baby is growing.

The sensation of his full, sensual lips tickled, the gesture itself was so soft and beautiful.

The skin on his face felt unbelievably soft and smooth.

Poe was giving your baby their very first kisses from daddy.

You, on the other hand, receive very different kisses.

He absolutely devours your pussy, licking, sucking, tongue fucking you until you writhe and scream in absolute orgasmic bliss.

You experience a gushing, squirting orgasm all over his handsome face.

Poe closes his eyes and licks his lips, enjoying the taste of your warm, salty fluids.

"That is literally the hottest fucking thing ever". He tells you with a slight laugh as he positions himself on top of you and penetrates your soaking wet hole with one swift movement of his hips.

Poe's cock feels especially large and hard that night as he's making love to you.

Your erect clit brushes against the thick, dark hair surrounding his the top of his shaft, making you curse under your breath.

His balls were soaked in your juices too. You already had no problem getting wet but being pregnant intensified everything.

Your pussy is gripped onto his perfect cock as you experience an out of this world, g-spot orgasm.

Poe cums deep inside of you, you can feel his cock tense up and release.

The rest of your wedding night is spent relaxing and talking about the future.

Mainly the arrival of your baby, both of you are convinced that your little one will be a boy.

"I'm terrified". You tell him with a slight laugh. "Not about giving birth or anything but what life will be like once he's here".

"I'm just thinking about the day when I can start giving him flying lessons". Poe tells you with a slight smile as he leans over and kisses your belly.

"Ugh, only you would say something like that". You tease, laughing and rolling your eyes a little.

"I can't believe you got pregnant the first time we had sex in 20 years". He continues, smiling. "I've never gotten anyone pregnant before, well, to my knowledge I haven't".

"It's been a roller-coaster ride so far and I'm just slightly over the 8 week mark". You explain, smiling softly. "I hope things smooth out a little".

Six months later

You are now nearly 8 months pregnant with your first child.

Just as you had both suspected you were having a little boy. He was strong, healthy and extremely active in the womb.

Poe loved to talk to your belly and kiss it. He also loved to feel every kick and movement.

You just knew that he was going to be gorgeous like his father.

You've experienced the gamut of pregnancy symptoms and couldn't wait for it to all be over with.

Weight gain (50 lbs) a sore back, swollen feet, mood swings, sore, leaking breasts, you've experienced it all.

Poe was on paid paternal leave but he was on standby in case him and the black squadron were needed in combat.

He's been caring for you, cooking, giving you massages and even helping you bathe.

All while he dealt with the burns on his body, which had, at long last, healed.

Your sex drive has been through the roof too. Despite the discomfort you're experiencing in late term pregnancy you've never wanted Poe sexually more in your entire life.

He's more than happy to indulge you too. Mainly he's been pleasuring you orally because intercourse was just too awkward.

Poe was indeed the perfect husband and was going to be an even better father. He was caring, considerate and totally devoted to you and his child.

It's late, and you are two days past your due date. Both of you have been discussing ways to jump start labor, sex being your last option.

Side by side with shallow penetration was your only option, his penis was too long to penetrate you fully because of your sensitive cervix.

Poe had to insert himself carefully, inch by inch, it felt like absolute torture.

You're able to take 6 inches, but you can tell as he's thrusting that he's frustrated that he can't be fully inside of you.

"Fuck it, go deep". You beg him, as his thick cock stretches your sensitive, wet walls.

"Are you sure? I don't want to hurt the baby". Poe replied as he kissed you on the neck.

"If anything it might send the kid a message to get out". You tell him with a laugh.

Poe indulges your whim and carefully slides fully inside of you, immediately his large cock hits your cervix but instead of pain you feel intense pleasure.

"Oh gods that feels incredible!" You moan, closing your eyes and biting your lip. "Don't stop, go harder".

He thrusts hard into you, as you cum hard your wet pussy grips his cock and you squirt all over him.

"Wow". Poe gasps as he's drenched in your fluids. "That will never not be the hottest thing ever".

Your own climax triggers his, he's filled you with a huge load, so much so that you can feel it run out of you.

Afterwards, as Poe cuddles you nude, you laugh a little and say,

"This kid needs to get the message and get out already, I'm not kidding anymore".

"He'll be out when he's ready". Poe replies back quickly as he kisses you.

Poe was joking but you really weren't. You couldn't wait for the pregnancy to go ahead and be over with..

End of chapter 13

#poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron smut #star wars #star wars smut #poe dameron x you #poe dameron imagine #fanfiction #fanfic smut #fanfic #romance #reader insert

11 notes · View notes

the8thsphynx · 3 years

Text

*Insert Seinfeld Slap Bass*

Prologue | Chapter 1 |

Characters: Grimmjow Jaegerjquez, Kugo Ginjo, Kukaku Shiba, Kisuke Urahara, Ichigo Kurosaki, Shukuro Tsukishima Pairings: Grimmjow/Ginjo, Kisuke/Yoruichi Genre: Comedy, Romance, Family, Government Espionage Warnings: Mature language, s3xual humor, fighting/violence, alcohol, mentions of death, rap battles with government officials

Chapter 1:

‘Shaking a Bag of Catfood Outside of the Shiba Residence’

The air on the outskirts of the Rukon District always had a lighter feel to it. Kukaku had seldom stepped away from her fireworks shop to enter the inner districts by the Seireitei ever since her brother’s passing, but even so she would occasionally indulge herself by standing outside of the Shiba manor to take in the sight of the mountain-like structure in the distance. The wind blew gently through the field of grass and Kukaku cursed herself for not wearing her prosthetic arm today to help protect her smoking pipe.

Through the whistling of the wind, she heard the front doors of the manor clatter open and someone approach her. By the familiar light jingling of a silver chain, she identified her visitor without even turning her head.

“I’m taking it by how soon you’re back, you couldn’t fix it?” she remarked with a puff of tobacco smoke.

The voice that replied was deep and male, “Don’t know what to tell you. I said I’m not familiar with pyrotechnic equipment since I worked with cars.”

Kukaku waved dismissively at him with her right stump, “Bah, I already told you not to try and explain that modern living world stuff to me. If you can’t fix my launcher then I guess I gotta pay someone to look at it. Anyways, did you let the cat in, yet?”

There was a pause from her visitor, followed by a shallow and sharp breath. Removing her kiseru from her mouth and flicking the ashes into the wind, Kukaku turned to face him and raised one eyebrow.

“You didn’t hear me or something, Ginjo?” she said with smoke coming from between her teeth, “I like that cat. I like his regular visits. Almost as nice to have come by as Yoruichi. Has he come by yet and have you let him in?”

Kugo Ginjo tossed a rag blotched with black stains over his shoulder and looked away from Kukaku, “Yeah, and I told you he’s irritating as hell.”

The head of the Shiba clan stuck her pipe between her teeth and wrinkled her nose, “Gotcha. Hang on before I go through with your request, lemme find the slip of paper that says you pay the rent to have an opinion over me.”

The chutzpah in Kugo fractured and by the twitch of his eye and clench of his jaw he knew he was backed into a verbal wall. He fixed the collar of the haori that the Shibas had lent him as he bit his tongue to avoid saying something he shouldn’t to the head of the household.

Unfortunately, with being ‘dead’, that meant he had come to the Soul Society with the clothes he had died in and nothing else. When Kukaku took him and his other two companions in, she offered him clothes that resembled a Meiji-era style, but unfortunately for Kugo this was the closest to ‘modern’ the styles got outside of very expensive custom-made clothing orders. This particular outfit was a fern green kimono with a scale pattern and a dark grey haori. Not that Kugo had any room to complain to begin with, but at least this one was bearable to wear.

As he opened his mouth to respond to her, the front door clattered open again and two men nearly double his size in twin uniforms disregarded his presence completely and bellowed to Kukaku like two henchmen to a yakuza boss.

“MY LADY, WE HAVE FOUND THE CAT IN THE EQUIPMENT STORAGE ROOM TODAY,” they thundered, “SHALL WE BRING HIM TO THE PARLOUR, MA’AM?”

Kukaku flickered her slate grey eyes from the giant men to Kugo and gave a wink, silently flaunting her intuition for the ‘cat’ having just arrived. She flicked the ashes in her kiseru into the wind again and began moving back inside of the Shiba manor, on the way smacking Kugo’s arm with the back of her hand.

“Storage room?” she mused, then waved her hand, “Nah, I’ll meet him there. Probably was looking for this guy, anyways. Koganehiko and Shiroganehiko, set things up for us in the parlour and we’ll be up shortly. Come along and help me greet our guest with me, Ginjo.”

One of the guards held out an open box with a fitted silk interior to Kukau and the other a small ceramic bowl with a wooden lid. To the ceramic pot Kukaku dumbed the rest of her ashes from the pipe and then carefully placed her kiseru in the silk-lined box. After closing the containers, the two giant men bowed to her and then went off back inside of the manor with shockingly light footsteps for their stature.

Kugo grimaced and followed behind her down a flight of stairs, “...Hey, at least he didn’t end up outside like the first few times.”

The Shiba residence was certainly a fascinating structure; from the outside it looked like little more than a shack aside from Kukaku’s gaudy, ever-changing outdoor decorations and the massive sealed ‘chimney’. Directly inside, however, there was a staircase that lead to a labyrinth of lower levels, lit by a strange light-emitting herb that the Shibas planted inside of the walls and left open with shelf-like holes in the ceilings.

She lead Kugo to a specific sliding door on left hand side in the middle of the hall. The rest of the doors were normal, everyday-average sliding doors, but this one had a window beside it with a panel in place that said ‘CLEAR’ likewise with an opposite side that would say ‘WORK IN PROGRESS’. This was where Kukaku and her pyrotechnics team would construct, prepare, and store every manner of launchers, mounts, or casings for fireworks that were ordered. Despite the sign currently displaying ‘CLEAR’, Kukaku still knocked.

“Heeeyyyy, Grimmjow!”she called as she began pushing the door open, “You in here? We’re coming in!”

Being perfectly content with his distance from the room, Kugo had remained behind Kukaku with his gaze fixed into a half-annoyed glare looking away from the storage room door. It wasn’t that he outright hated Grimmjow, it was just… well…

The sound of the wooden door clattering open was enough to cover the sound and of course neither of the two were paying attention to their surroundings, so a black figure was able to successfully swing down from a hole in the ceiling where the light-emitting herbs were.

“VIBE CHECK.”

Perhaps it was his keen intuition or his reflexes honed from nearly two decades of combat, but Kugo was just barely able to catch an assailant’s foot before it came in contact with his head. In the space contained in a half-second, Kugo turned from confusion to burning irritation. Gritting his teeth, he yanked his attacker’s leg towards him, throwing them off-balance and sending them to the ground. Without missing a beat, Kugo used his free arm to come down with his forearm full-force on the attacker’s neck; they were just as fast as he was, though, and threw one arm up to brace the blow as they were slammed intot he ground with a residing ‘THUD’.

Kukaku was frozen for a moment at hearing the attack behind her, but then turned on her heels and snapped at the two, “GOD DAMMIT, I SAID NONE OF THAT IN THE HOUSE.”

Kugo didn’t look up at her, instead keeping an unamused scowl at the being below him. Bright blue eyes like lightning stared back at him and were paired with a grin more animal-like than human.

“Heheheh. You’re gettin’ slower,” a gravelly voice chuckled, “Careful, all you need is one misstep and you die, Ginjo.”

The fullbringer grit his teeth, “You’re a little late for that, Grimmjow.”

Kukaku slapped her one hand against the wall, making a noise loud enough that the two men separated begrudgingly and stood on their feet. The humanoid being that stood before Kugo was very clearly not human; not persay for his wild blue hair or the jawbone mask on his cheek, but for the air about him… a look in his cobalt eyes that gave the sensation that you weren’t talking with another person so much as facing a wild animal. What was it that Tsukishima told Kugo this feeling was…? Ah, right, the ‘uncanny valley’; a survival instinct in humans to recognize something that looks like a human but isn’t.

Kugo knew the origins of Grimmjow and what he was classified as, though, as thanks to Tsukishima-- his former mentee and current fellow guest of the Shibas--having used his complicated ability to see into others’ pasts to learn about Hollows, arrancars, and the Espada from others who had encountered him. Of course he couldn’t register Grimmjow as a person, for the pure fact that Grimmjow was the end of a long chain of congregation, mutation, and evolution of thousands of Hollows-- dead and forsaken or vengeful souls that became one person with their own unique personalities, typically with a lack of human emotion or empathy. It wasn’t as though Kugo was completely disgusted in such an existence, though; after all, a Hollow was the only reason that he was born with his own particular powers.

“Did you bring me my delivery, Grimms?” Kukaku piped up, holding out her one arm and beckoning for the blue haired man.

Grimmjow kept his eyes locked on Kugo and wore a flat expression while fixing his short jacket and collar. Still maintaining eye contact, he reached inside of his black zip-up shirt and retrieved a white envelope packed full and thick.

“Right here for ya,” Grimmjow responded, “And you can uphold your end of this deal, right, Shiba woman?”

Kugo blinked at the arrancar and then turned to shoot Kukaku a questioning glare. He was no stranger to deals of a certain nature happening regularly outside of the club or even down the street from where he lived, and typically he didn’t care, but… was this really what was happening between Grimmjow and Kukaku? She didn’t seem like that kind of person.

...However, she seemed to ignore Kugo completely as she grinned back at Grimmjow and rested her hand on her hip.

“That’s a good man,” she nodded, “Knew I could count on ya to deliver for me. Alright, now before we talk this out let me get you upstairs and settled into the parlour. It ain’t right for me as lady of the Shiba clan to not treat a business partner with hospitality. You hungry, Grimmjow?”

Kukaku didn’t wait for a response before turning around and heading back down the hallway. The arrancar gave Kugo another glance, warranting another small scowl from Kugo which caused Grimmjow to smirk. Folding his arms behind his head and locking his fingers in place, Grimmjow meandered down the hall in the same direction as Kukaku.

He scoffed, “I told ya I don’t need to eat human food unless I’m in a gigai. Although… if you’re offering to feed me regardless, you ain’t gonna like what I tell you I can eat.”

Kukaku waved her hand, “Forget it, then. It’s other Hollows, right? At least that’s what I heard from Tsukishima. That’s not really an easily accessible game for people like us for a plethora of reasons but I mean hell, who knows? If I’m satisfied with my delivery I might just have to send Ginjo out to grab me a few of those little bastards for you. What’s a former Soul Reaper for if not odd jobs like that?”

Kugo begrudgingly found his way behind them and felt his eye twitch slightly again, “Excuse me, so now I’m just your live-in Hollow exterminator…?”

“Hollow catcher,” Kukaku corrected.

Grimmjow curled his lips and made a noise in his throat, “Ugh, as if I’m such a poor hunter on my own that I need an already half-assed fighter to catch a meal for me. No offense, Shiba, but if you’re gonna make this guy do anything for me I’d rather you get a--”

A stub of an arm was pointed back at the arrancar, “Business in the parlour. I’ll listen to you fully, but if I’m trying to maintain a system here I can’t go about making deals in my storage rooms.”

Kugo felt a familiar muscle in his left shoulder tense up as it normally did with stress. As he reached up to try and give himself some relief to it, he debated if he should make another remark to Grimmjow and Kukaku that he wasn’t just some chore boy or exchangeable item… then again, with how weird and wild these two were, his words would fall on deaf ears, anyways.

--------

A/N: This chapter took longer to come out than I intended simply because in the time frame I wanted to finish the last five paragraphs I ended up getting a looottt of work piled on me, but fortunately it’s up now! Next chapter will hopefully be only a few days behind it!

#bleach #kugo ginjo #grimmjow jeagerjaques #fanfic

9 notes · View notes

passable-talent · 4 years

Text

within the world of markiplier lore... set during the events of A Heist with Markiplier.

this fic is based off the brilliant and fascinating comic by @iiipeashy , using his character insert for the canonical y/n. this will all make a little more sense if you’ve read the comic, so please do... good shit!!!

I got permission before I used it! and if you’re at all interested in the additional backstory (more than I go into here), DEFINITELY check it out. fascinating plot, FANTASTIC art, and FOOD for all of us damien lovers out there. all the love @iiipeashy !!

Griffin knew that making a deal with Mark was akin to making a deal with the devil, but he didn’t realize just how bad it would be.

He should have known when Mark mentioned Damien that any reunion wouldn’t be the one he wanted, but he couldn’t help but take the deal anyway- if Mark could get him out of the mirror, wouldn’t the price be worth it?

Whatever the price may be?

Living in the van was annoying, and dealing with Mark even moreso, but ultimately, the job wasn’t so bad. He was out of the mirror, and he could walk again, live again.

You wouldn’t think you’d miss the sound of footsteps. You do.

Being used as bait, though, wasn’t quite as appetizing. Griffin hadn’t known what Mark meant at the time, but he would come to.

Thirty-one different endings for his little choose-your-own-adventure. One of them even involved Wil, which was quite a shock, but ended up being quite nice, to see an old friend again. Even if he wasn’t the same as when Griffin had seen him last. Thirty-one different endings, and it took weeks, agonizing weeks to film them all. Finally, though, Griffin was filming the last one- number thirty one. This time, he was going to be ‘murdered’ by the sewer cult, faceless figures that Mark conjured up, or roped into his game, just like Griffin. He knew the script, he knew the turns he had to make, he knew what he had to show to the camera strapped to his chest.

But things started going off script.

Immediately, Griffin’s head started pounding, and he looked down, shutting his eyes tightly to try to regain his balance. When he looked up, his surroundings had changed into a old hallway, one he swore he recognized, but he couldn’t place from where.

It was obvious that this wasn’t something Mark planned. That wasn’t Mark’s style- confusing Griffin like this would just lead to more takes, which would lead to wasted time, and Mark didn’t care for wasted time. Whatever this was, it wasn’t Mark’s doing.

A clank from his left made Griffin flinch, and turn, and the sight before him was something that rattled him to the core. On this bleary, colorless brick wall, an ornate frame, lit by a single light- with Mark’s personal chef pictured within it, his eyes scribbled out. Griffin’s head pounded, an echo punching through his skull, of the chef’s words, one of the last times Griffin had talked to him.

“I thought I told you to stay out of my kitchen!”

The phone that Mark had given him as a prop vibrated in Griffin’s pocket, and he fished it out immediately- it wasn’t even supposed to be on. But from an unknown number, he read an unsettling text, his eyes straining to pick out the words on a bright screen against his pounding headache.

Aren’t you tired of it?

Tired of what, Griffin begged to ask, but the dark hallway and the pounding headache made him drop the phone to the side, hoping to focus on one problem at a time. Another clank, this time from his right, forced him to turn, this time to see a photo of the butler, who disappeared from the mansion before Griffin was shot.

“Master would be so displeased! If only he were still alive!”

Every word rocked its way through Griffin’s head, splitting it open with a headache like none he’d experienced since... since he was put in the mirror, actually, all those years ago. When Damien and Celine left him there. The forced expulsion from his own body as it was taken by the siblings had driven a nail between his two temporal lobes, and he hadn’t felt pain like it since. Until now, that is. What was going on?

Another text, and Griffin lifted the phone again, focusing on the words as quickly as he could through the blurriness of detail around him. He didn’t need his glasses anymore, not since he’d gone in the mirror, but with his headache, the pixels of the letters blended together.

Don’t you feel like you’re running in circles?

Well, yeah, but wasn’t that Mark’s point? Who was texting him, anyway? How was this possible? The phone wasn’t even meant to be on.

A light to his left made Griffin look over, and he found a portrait this time of the detective- Abe, his one-time partner. He was an oddball, but Griffin wished him the best... didn’t Wil shoot him?

“I knew I shouldn’t have trusted someone so god-damn gorgeous.”

Once again the phone vibrated, cutting through his splitting headache, which pounded through every echo of every word that Abe said, the sound swirling around him. It wasn’t from some speaker, but it wasn’t inside Griffin’s head, either. It was some combination of the two, hallucination, yet, experience.

No one seems to question it.

The end of the hallway was approaching fast as Griffin stumbled down it, and the last painting within the room was of Wil, his old friend. That weekend at the manor was all the time Griffin had ever gotten to know him, but he felt fondness for him, for all that he went through. Besides- he was the only one who was as willing to fight for Damien and Celine as Griffin was, when everyone else was ready to leave. He not only had his eyes crossed out, but also, the pink mustache was drawn large and curly over his face. Wilford Warfstache, as he had become. Griffin’s eyebrows turned up, his headache making him squint, but still feeling regret at the fate that Wil had suffered, descending into his madness.

“I thought that it was about time that we got to know each other. Far from the prying eyes of...”

The noise continued, but Griffin fought through it, reading the last text he received, this one making four. And he didn’t even know who’d sent them.

But I thought you’d see through it.

All that was left was a door at the end of the hall, and Griffin pushed through it, hoping to find an end, or at least a reprieve. He wasn’t so lucky.

“...anyone else.”

He emerged into a black room, vast yet confining, the whole of it impressing a feeling of both claustrophobia and vulnerability onto Griffin. Spotlights clicked on, leading him forward to one final painting- of Mark himself. Now he was sure that Mark wasn’t behind this.

“But it’s not about me... it’s about you! And who knows... I could be dead tomorrow.”

The eerie laughter and crumbling of the portrait made Griffin cringe away, as though the words he was hearing was putting him back into the mindset he’d had, so long ago, when he didn’t understand Mark’s villainy, nor any of the supernatural forces pushing and pulling at both Griffin’s destiny, and everyone else that Mark surrounded himself with. Griffin hadn’t known, that night, that he was speaking the truth of his own future, through a plan he was acting out. He was always acting.

“Same snake... different skin.” Griffin found that these words didn’t come with a headache, and shut his eyes tightly to push away what he felt, in that moment. Because he would recognize that voice anywhere. That voice, that he’d first heard when they were roommates in a university, and again when they were both trying to make a career in public service. That voice, that belonged to his husband, who chose him to be the district attorney shortly after being elected as mayor.

Damien?

“Always spinning his yarns, his webs... his lies.” Griffin whirled to his left, finding that familiar figure, but instead of the peaceful and honest expression he was so used to seeing on Damien’s face, instead he saw an eerie smile, and Griffin’s eyes fought against the red and blue shift of Damien’s figure in front of him. When a duplicate appeared, like a shadow, with it came a sound that slammed against Griffin’s ears, the force of it almost knocking him sideways.

“I always thought that you were... t̵̮͊r̶̯͒ả̶̮p̴͚͠p̴̗̋e̶͚͐d̵̗͒ in his games.” The sounds continued, always accompanying some terrifying change in his appearance, like he wasn’t really supposed to exist in the three dimensional world.

“Perpetually p̷̙͑l̵̠̋u̵̻̾ṇ̷̋ḡ̴̲i̸̠̍n̸͎̈́g̸̓ͅ down the rabbit holes of his stories.” There was something about this that seemed familiar to Griffin, the way that Damien’s words echoed around him, and back, but deeper, darker.

I am, Griffin tried to say, but found that when he opened his mouth, no sound would come out, and Damien didn’t even react as though he’d tried.

“Helpless,” Damien said, and Griffin tried again, trying to say the same words, I am, I am trapped, but nothing would leave his throat, as though someone had flipped the ‘off’ switch on his voice box.

“Lost.” Damien’s words now seemed only to mock Griffin as he lifted one hand to his throat, and tried again, to force out any sound he could, but he just couldn’t.

“I̸̠͛ ̵̦̏k̵̪̉n̵̩͌o̷͈̐ẅ̷͇ ̴̠͛t̷́ͅȟ̴͕e̶͑ͅ ̴̢̇f̶͎̌e̷͚̊e̸͔͘l̴̝̃i̵̻͗n̴͚̊ḡ̶͍,” Damien growled, his glitching and shifting intensifying, hammering more pain through Griffin’s skull, worsening his feelings of helplessness, because he couldn’t cry out in pain, like the pain itself was shifting between dimensions, just like Damien’s form, just like Selene’s voice.

“Perhaps I̶̬͆'̴̹̉m̵̠̕ the crazy one,” Damien suggested, and finally Griffin realized where he had felt this particular pain before, where he had seen such shifting and glitching.

When Selene brought him to that... shadow realm.

“Perhaps we’ve met a hundred times already, and you simply don’t remember it.” Griffin gripped at his throat again, not moving and yet keeping pace with Damien as he walked, trying to just break through to him- this tortured being who he was once married to.

Damien, he tried to say, but he couldn’t make a sound, and Damien continued on, apathetic, indifferent.

“Perhaps you’re tired of me repeating myself, over, and over, and over, and over, a̸̡̓n̶̠͋d̶͓͌ ̸̭̀ō̵̪ṿ̸̊è̶̡r̷͋͜ ̵̱͗ă̸͕ğ̶̠ä̶̟́í̶̹n̵͚̑.” Every echo and screech and ringing in the massive and yet confining room felt like a needle into Griffin’s brain, and he gripped his throat tighter, his other hand trying to put pressure onto his head, as though it would help.

Damien, please-

“Maybe you just miss my pretty face.” Damien’s eyes went dark, and Griffin found himself on the verge of tears, the powerlessness of his position breaking him down. Damien was in pain- and he didn’t even talk as though he knew who Griffin was. Didn’t he?

“It doesn’t matter. People like you only want one thing.” A red shift beside Damien let out a scream, making Griffin flinch backward, his chest feeling so heavy.

Damien!

“And it’s disgusting.” Damien zipped around, his form reappearing closer to the table he now stood behind, and reached down to pick up a wine glass full of something that didn’t really look like water. “You want answers.” He looked down, losing that eerie smile, and Griffin wondered briefly what such a break in his expression could mean.

“Well,” Damien lifted the glass, and the higher he raised it, the more black the liquid inside became. “Games were always ẖ̷̎ḯ̸͜ș̴̈́ forte.” He paused to drink, and phased for a moment, his stance changing.

“But allow me this one moment of self indulgence.”

Damien, please, fucking hear me-

Griffin was thrown backwards, smacking his spine against the wooden back of a chair, and he realized he was sitting in front of the warden’s desk from the prison set. His vision shot around, trying to pick up any sort of clue, but then it landed on the box, in Damien’s hand. That damn box.

“So much trouble, all for something so small.” He phased into the warden’s chair, sitting across from Griffin, and looked down at the box.

Griffin tried to scream. But he couldn’t.

“Do you really want to know what’s inside this box?” And truthfully, Griffin couldn’t care less. He didn’t care for the silly little setpiece that Mark had conjured for his delusional, rabid fans. Maybe he would have been curious, once, but not with his tortured, lost husband in front of him. Not now.

“The truth. Not the lies he’s told you. The truth.” Griffin ground his teeth together, the hand on his throat still clutching on as though if he squeezed hard enough he could hit the ‘on’ switch of his own voice box.

“Well, I know how much you love good games, and all.” He shifted around, and Griffin’s eyes struggled to keep up with wherever he ended up, the movement throwing his headache against his temples.

“Throughout this... heist, I’ve hidden codes. Several codes.” The symbols blinking behind Damien made a cold realization sink into Griffin’s skin.

Damien wasn’t even talking to him.

“Find them all, and...”

Griffin wasn’t even there, to Damien. He was a vessel to speak to Mark’s audience.

“You’ll get your truth.”

Damien had no idea that he was so close to Griffin, so close, all of this was to talk to the audience, not Griffin. Did Damien even know that Griffin was alive?

“But that’s all I’m gonna give you.”

Out of the void surrounding Griffin came sounds, like the room around him was falling down, crashing to the floor. Rumbling, and Damien was fading away, his expression no longer angry, but fading into quiet sorrow.

No! Griffin tried to yell, and he tried to hold on, but whatever or whoever was pulling him out or pushing him away was too strong for him. Damien faded from his vision with screeching and rumbling and creaking...

And when he opened his eyes, he was on the steps of the museum, at the beginning of the ‘heist’ script.

“No,” He murmured, his voice hollow, and the triumph of hearing his voice again was trumped by Griffin’s soul-consuming anger, sadness, grief, that he’d seen Damien again, but didn’t get to speak with him, and now he was gone, and Griffin had no way back. He fell to his knees, letting the same word rise to a scream of anguish, of defeat, as he looked up at the colorful, happy windows of the closed museum.

Damien had called out, and he’d reached Griffin. And he hadn’t even known it.

Griffin’s resolve hardened, his heart hardened. Any fondness that he may have still been grasping on to for his old friend Mark was gone, and he vowed that he’d destroy Mark.

For what he’d done, for using Griffin to lure in Damien, for everything.

He was going to destroy Mark.

-🦌 Roe

thank u, @iiipeashy , for singlehandedly restoring my motivation to write, if only for an afternoon

#reader insert #y/n #damien x y/n #damien x reader #wkm #wkm damien #wkm y/n #wkm darkiplier #heist with markiplier #a hiest with markiplier #a heist with markiplier #heist darkiplier #heist damien #heist da #wkm da #who killed markiplier #angst #spoilers

47 notes · View notes

jaeknightorbats · 3 years

Text

Tunnel Caprica [M] part 5

Pairings: Baekhyun x Sehun (SeBaek)

Ratings: NC-17

Genre: Smut, dark romance, Rich!Sehun, Convenience Store Worker!Baekhyun

Description: It was a normal day for convenience store worker Byun Baekhyun when Sehun—a seemingly wealthy man—entered the store, only getting overdosed by drugs afterwards. It was the encounter that would change Baekhyun’s life. It was the encounter that introduced him to a world that should never exist in this already problematic world.

Warnings: Graphic sexual content(!), substance use, drug overdose, alcohol, and strong language

Chapters: Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3 , Part 4, Part 5 (NEW!)

Synopsis: Tunnel Caprica connects two cities under the huge and long mountain ranges of the country Ioca [a-yo-ka], making it one of the longest tunnels in the world with a distance of nearly 40 kilometers. However, people choose to drive the 3-hour long pass than driving through the tunnel, because driving through the tunnel can be claustrophobic—an hour drive with nothing but repeating images of the never ending tunnel. But through the tunnel also hides the entrance to another world that Baekhyun is yet to find out.

Part 5

Word count: 5.7k words

Chapter warnings: Explicit language, mild graphic descriptions

‘Why the fuck did I say yes.’

Baekhyun was anxious all afternoon.

He couldn’t get his head off of the possibilities that could happen later that night at High C’s, the club downtown that Sehun talked about. Baekhyun had never been there since it was an exclusive place. He’d barely been in that area, especially at night—where he had heard stories that the driveway was often packed with sports and luxury cars with people coming out of it in the weirdest fashion, both literally and figuratively.

Baekhyun was never really the type to hang around in bars or clubs frequently, he only did so when a friend invited him on some occasions, and it’s a good excuse to socialize and let loose. But it had been months since he was last invited, he had been too focused on his own commitments.

‘I must protect Yuri,’ he thought. ‘I must protect myself.’

Sehun wasn’t picky with his prey. He didn’t discriminate. He would insert his damn cock to whichever hole he wanted. That was what Baekhyun was afraid of—Sehun’s unpredictability.

He couldn’t tell Yuri what kind of a person Sehun was because that would only reveal what had happened between him and Sehun.

‘Or maybe I’m overthinking things?’ He wondered. ‘He seems harmless outside the bed.’

“What the hell am I complaining about? He gave me 4K,” he mumbled to himself as he twisted the shower knob off. He was in the shower.

Water dripped from the tips of his hair falling to the wet tiled floor of his bathroom. And his eyes noticed the bush that was going around down there, protecting his dignity. If he still had one. Not after what had happened the night before. Then he remembered Sehun’s—that looked alluring. Baekhyun wondered if he had his cleaned, he wondered would it look as pleasing?

Baekhyun suddenly couldn’t get the idea off his mind, suddenly having the urge to cut his bush down right that moment. Maybe it would make him feel better, more confident about himself. And it may be convenient to cut it down this moment than later.

‘I’m not doing this for anyone.’ Baekhyun thought to himself. ‘I’m doing this for myself. No, I’m not trying to impress anyone. Not because we’d meet later.’

“Just a trim,” he muttered to himself, staring down.

‘Just so it happens there’s a party tonight. Just pure coincidence.’

“Just a trim,” he repeated.

“What took you so long? Did you sleep there?” Yuri asked, eyeing Baekhyun when he stepped out of the bathroom, as she hooked a large hoop earring on one ear.

Baekhyun scratched his crotch over his shorts, and topless. He stretched his neck from side to side from the sore he felt while doing the procedure. He then stroked his stomach and answered Yuri’s question, “Upset tummy.”

Yuri looked back at the mirror, convinced with his answer.

“What are you wearing?” Baekhyun asked with a frown while he was drying his hair with a towel.

After she hooked the other earring on her other ear, she turned to him with an open arm and said, “Well, how do I look?”

Baekhyun stopped drying his hair, a bit stunned, while he evaluated Yuri’s look when she faced her whole body to him. The first thing he noticed were her perky breasts under her string strapped red cropped top. Then she’s also wearing a black high waist mini skirt, revealing a part of her abdomen, finishing it with a black heel. “That’s too revealing,” Baekhyun uttered.

Yuri looked down over her outfit. “No, it’s not,” she retorted. “Besides, this is my best clothes. And this is the only thing I brought.” They had stopped by at Yuri’s place to pick up some of her clothes earlier. She continued, looking back at the mirror in front of her, “You have no choice. If you only listened to me, we could’ve bought clothes earlier.”

Baekhyun arched his brow. “With what?”

She looked at him over the mirror, opening her eyes wide open as if the answer wasn’t obvious.

“The money?” Baekhyun answered himself, referring to the money he received from Sehun.

She raised her shoulders. “Yeah. What else are you going to do with it?” She then gasped, eyes glimmering, “Oh! We can finally go on a trip, Baek!”

“A trip?”

“Yeah!”

A trip, something Baekhyun hadn’t thought about. Then images of white beaches and warmer climate appeared in his mind since his country, Ioca, was full of mountains and lands. They could totally afford to go a much less-earthy place with the money he gained. “That doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” he agreed with a wondering smile.

Yuri’s lips curved upwards, delighted that Baekhyun seemed to like the idea. So she walked towards him and wrapped her arms around his bare shoulders. “Right?”

Baekhyun stared down at her and wrapped his arms around Yuri’s waist. She smelled good with the usual Eau de Cologne she wore, her eyes looked strong with the dark eye makeup she had. “You look pretty.”

Yuri blushed, and tiptoed to reach for Baekhyun’s lips. “I love you, baby.”

Baekhyun kissed her again, then said, “I gotta get changed.”

“Okay, my handsome boy.” She stared endearingly at him while gently stroking her palm across Baekhyun’s buffed chest to his slender stomach that tickled him. Her hand kept stroking down until she got a hold of his shaft, and squeezed them. Baekhyun grunted, his stomach tensing, suddenly feeling weak. She bit her lower lip and moaned. Then suddenly, she slightly jumped from her position, jerking her hand away from him, as if she got pricked by a thorn. Then Yuri gazed at Baekhyun with a frown, studying him. Then she said slowly, “Okay, go get changed.”

It was past nine in the evening, Baekhyun and Yuri had finished preparing. Baekhyun was wearing a pair of black jeans, a tacky denim jacket over a white shirt. Yuri was looking at him quizzically by the door.

“You don’t like what I’m wearing?” Baekhyun asked, approaching Yuri.

“Shouldn’t you be wearing something more… suave? Like the one you wore to his party?”

“Babe, it’s a club. No one would see me there.” He added, “People sometimes go to clubs with just shirts.”

“I know, but have you seen that man?” Her eyes opened wide, and jabbered, “That suave looking man who just stood out there outside your place this morning? That man? They’ll probably be in their suits.” Baekhyun didn’t speak, but he began to think twice. Yuri huffed, “Just make sure don’t ridicule us in front of them.”

Baekhyun shrugged and opened the front door of his place. He left his car parked on the side of the street after he and Yuri came back from Yuri’s place, picking up Yuri’s things.

“Don’t you think we should call an Uber instead?” Yuri asked, looking at the car with contempt.

“What’s wrong with my car?”

“I mean, you may never know what could happen. You can’t drive if you drink,” she said, implying that there could be a possibility they’d drink.

“We’re not gonna drink,” uttered Baekhyun firmly. No, he had no plan on drinking. Not after what had happened that night.

“But you’re not sure about that, babe.”

“Well, I’m not gonna drink,” he retorted.

Yuri went quiet, then she pouted, “I’m telling you, baby—I’ve said the same thing myself before. And I always end up drinking.”

Baekhyun sighed, because he himself was guilty of the feeling. He always ended up drinking. However, this time, he felt so sure about not drinking even though he could drive. “No, I promise I won’t drink. I have a job tomorrow, remember?” Although Sehun's job for him was in the afternoon, he couldn’t take any chances to have another hangover.

Yuri grunted in frustration. “Can we just call an Uber?” She pulled her phone out of her tiny purse that could only hold her large phone, a compact powder and lipstick, not even her wallet could fit. She only brought bills.

“You don’t like going there with my car?”

“Yeah, I don’t,” she grumbled as she tapped on her phone. “Baek, these are rich people. Have some self-respect. At least make yourself look presentable.”

“Babe, the car’s not going inside. We’re just going to park it somewhere.”

Yuri gave Baekhyun a side-eye, glaring at him, then looked back at her phone. “Ha-bloody-ha. Very funny.” Then her mouth circled when something popped out on her phone, someone took her booking. “We got a Mercedes Benz.” She smirked at him. “Two minutes.”

“Benz? You took premium?”

She arched a brow. “Of course.”

Two minutes came by, the shiny black sedan parked outside Baekhyun’s place. Yuri grinned when the vehicle came by, Baekhyun only gently smiled at his girlfriend, shaking his head. It didn’t feel overwhelming for Baekhyun when they entered the luxury vehicle, and it also seemed a bit old. At least they could tell they had ridden a Mercedes.

Yuri sat closely to Baekhyun, cuddling herself into his shoulder, and Baekhyun wrapped one arm around her waist. “I’m excited,” she said. “It’s been so long since we went out like this at night. Did you miss it?”

Baekhyun scoffed. “Not really.”

“Why? You’re so fun when you’re drunk.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know, you’re just so fun.” She looked up at Baekhyun and closed her eyes, pouting, for a kiss while quietly humming an ‘Mmmh.’

Baekhyun gulped, staring down at his girlfriend. He avoided her lips but instead leaned closer to her ears, and whispered, “Baby, we’re in someone else’s car.”

Yuri’s eyes remain closed. “So what?”

Baekhyun glanced at the rear-view mirror of the car and caught the driver looking at them, then they both avoided each other’s gazes. “Yuri, c’mon.” Baekhyun slightly pushed her away, then looked through the window.

But Yuri still leaned her head on Baekhyun’s shoulder. “But isn’t he so handsome?”

Baekhyun looked at Yuri. “Who? Sehun?”

“Yeah. He looked like a celebrity. He’s so tall!”

Baekhyun almost thought the same thing on his first encounter with Sehun at the convenience store. He had thought Sehun was lost inside the convenience store.

“Baek, what does he do?” Yuri questioned.

Baekhyun was lost in his thoughts when Yuri asked a question, then slowly, he understood it. “What?” Now that he thought about it, he never really knew. “I don’t—I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“Maybe business?” He guessed.

“What the hell did you do to his party then? You didn’t even get to know him?”

“Get to know him?” He repeated her question with a hint of mockery. Why would he want to get to know him? Then, in a snap, he remembered everything about Sehun. Every-thing. Regret consumed him that left him wordless. But he immediately snapped out of it. “Oh! I remember it now,” he exclaimed, pretending that he remembered what Sehun does for a living. “I was a bit tipsy that time when he was talking about it. He, uh,” he was thinking of a lie to stop Yuri from asking more questions, “he’s in the art business. Selling art.” He remembered the man named Chen from Sehun’s party who was trying to sell his art to Sehun, and used this story to cover himself.

Yuri arched a brow. “That’s it?”

“Y-Yeah, rich people like to buy art.”

“Where’d you even learn that?”

“That’s what he said. ‘Cuz they have nothing else to do with their money.” Saying that himself suddenly made Baekhyun envious of these rich people’s lives, even if it was only a wild guess. If he only had that kind of money at his disposal.

“Really?” Even Yuri was surprised. “How much do they—“

“I have no idea, Yuri. Like I said, I was tipsy.”

“Gosh. Imagine if I was that rich, too.”

A loud muffled music and rowdy people from the outside caught Baekhyun’s attention, so he looked through the window and saw a convertible passed by them with people throwing their hands up while the music in the car played so loudly. “I think we’re close,” Baekhyun said.

Yuri detached herself away from Baekhyun and exchanged looks between the windshield and the window. They were beginning to see a line of shiny luxury vehicles and sports cars in bright red, pearl white, pitch crystal black, opulent blue—one was even in lime gold—parked along the street. Baekhyun was now feeling thankful for Yuri’s suggestion to take an Uber. Because driving along this street of wealth with his car would eat him alive, the same thing that almost happened to him when he had gone to Sehun’s mansion.

They were finally approaching the infamous High C, people were coming in with such manner and glamour, and people coming out on someone’s shoulders, walking wobbly. Baekhyun even spotted one throwing up already at the sidewalk. Baekhyun clenched his jaws; being in a club was all fun but it wasn’t the safest place at all.

After paying for their fare to the Uber driver, Baekhyun and Yuri got out of the vehicle and they were already feeling the party with the unruly people outside—shouting, smoking, one couple were making out. People in such peculiar and questionable fashion coming out from a vintage Mustang, two-seater sports cars, still sober. All those vehicles that Baekhyun only saw on the internet, now these cars were having a feast in this street.

Yuri bit her lips, Baekhyun could see the excitement in her eyes. There was always a certain feeling to be in a club—a sudden boost of arrogance and confidence, high sex drives, and ready to forget about themselves for a night.

“Wooh,” Baekhyun heaved. He couldn’t contain himself, he knew this would be intense.

Baekhyun and Yuri held hands as they approached the bouncer that was about 6 foot tall with large muscles and broad shoulders. But the bouncer blocked the entry door without saying anything, and he didn’t need to say anything—him blocking them was already intimidating.

Yuri courteously smiled at the bouncer and said, “We have a friend inside, uhm, Sehun?” She glanced at Baekhyun. “Oh Sehun?” Baekhyun nodded at her as confirmation. Yuri looked back at the bouncer. “Oh Sehun. We’re with him.”

The bouncer frowned at the couple, studying them. “Go to line,” he simply said under his rough voice. Baekhyun and Yuri turned their heads to their right and didn’t notice there was a long line going on to enter the club.

“But, mister,” persuaded Yuri, “I’m telling the truth. We have—”

“Line.” The bouncer couldn’t be swayed, even with Yuri’s beauty.

Yuri looked at Baekhyun. “Baby, do something about this. Call him.”

“I-I—“ Baekhyun pulled his phone out of his pocket, nervous.

“Go make your call at the line. Don’t block the way,” said the bouncer.

“No, we’re going to stay here ‘till we meet our friend, Oh Sehun.”

“Get in line,” said the bouncer more firmly.

“C’mon, Yuri.” Baekhyun pulled Yuri’s elbow..

“But, Baekhyun.”

Then the bouncer suddenly smiled, stepped aside, and let a couple enter the club without even lining up. The man slid something on the bouncer’s jacket pocket—perhaps a tip—and patted the bouncer’s back as they entered the club.

“Baek, maybe you can bribe him,” Yuri suggested while she was getting dragged at the back of the line.

“No, we’re not gonna bribe anyone.”

They finally reached the end of the line. Yuri grunted in frustration. “But, baby, we’re going to take ages here. By the time we get in, it’ll be the closing time.” Then she asked, “Are you calling Sehun?”

“He’s not picking up.”

“Ugh. Maybe the music’s too loud inside.”

It was already 10:30 PM, Sehun had said 10 PM, yet Baekhyun and Yuri were still at the line, barely moving. Yuri was frustrated, and Baekhyun’s patience was also getting tested.

“Why isn’t he picking up?” Yuri complained.

Baekhyun clenched his jaws, also annoyed at Sehun. Annoyed being in line. Baekhyun then saw in his peripherals a tall vehicle cruising in the street. And a sudden relief washed over him in a wave when he saw that black G-Wagon that he once drove when was saving Sehun. This must be Sehun. It should be, he desperately thought, already pissed off standing outside for so long.

And without fail, a long legged man stepped out of the vehicle after parking his car on the other side of the street. It was Sehun. He was wearing a white button-up shirt over a black and white suit--half white and half black, and a pair of white slim dress pants that amplified his height.

“Oh, my god. That’s him, isn’t it?” Yuri moans, also relieved.

“Yeah, that’s him.”

Sehun crossed the street, eyes on the bouncer, ready to enter without lining up.

“Sehun!” Yuri yelped out of desperation, raising her hand to get his attention. At this point, Baekhyun didn’t care if Yuri embarrassed them, he just wanted to come.

Sehun stopped from walking from a distance and turned his head to their direction. He narrowed his gaze, still not moving. Baekhyun threw his hand up, maybe Sehun could recognize them. And Sehun’s face relaxed after recognizing Baekhyun. He waved, signaling them to step forward to him. And it was such a relief to finally get out of the line.

“Hey!” Sehun greeted them when the couple reached them. “I almost forgot I invited you tonight. Have you been here long?”

“Yes—“ Yuri.

“No, we just got here, too,” Baekhyun lied out of politeness. Yuri glared at him.

“That’s good.”

“I thought you don’t like late people,” said Baekhyun.

Sehun scoffed. “This is the club, man. The later you are, the better.” Then Sehun paid attention to Baekhyun’s outfit. “What are you wearing?”

“What’s wrong?”

Sehun frowned, slightly shaking his head in disapproval. Then he looked at the people in the line and walked towards one of the people in the front. “Hey, how much would you take to trade with my friend’s jacket?” He asked a younger looking man about Baekhyun’s size in a sheen gray blazer.

“What?” The man exclaimed, confused.

“One hundred dollars?” Sehun asked even if the man didn’t understand Sehun’s question.

“Whose jacket?”

Sehun pointed at Baekhyun. “His. So $100?”

The man peeked at Baekhyun. “No, my suit’s not for sale.”

“One-eighty dollars?” Sehun offered higher, the man had gone silent.

“Tw-two hundred,” the man countered.

Sehun scoffed. “Two hundred?” He repeated, amazed by the man’s audacity as if Sehun wasn’t bold enough to ask for some stranger’s suit. “Fine.”

The man pursed his lips. And just like that, the man said, “Deal.”

Sehun snapped his fingers at Baekhyun who was standing behind him, Baekhyun immediately understood so he removed his tacky jacket and exchanged it for the better-looking suit.

“Come,” then Sehun said, walking back to the bouncer with the couple, after giving the man some money. Then Sehun placed a hand on Baekhyun’s shoulder after Baekhyun put on the suit. “I like my associates to look presentable in front of my friends.”

Baekhyun only listened, then Sehun walked past by him to face the bouncer. “They’re with me,” Sehun said. The bouncer did not say anything and unhook the velvet rope to let them enter. Sehun quickly shook the bouncer’s hand and patted his back. “Thanks, Taec.”

Loud music drowned the noise from the outside when they entered the dark place, and lights only came in the flashes off the dance floor. The club was packed. Conversations were only possible by screaming. Sehun led the way, followed by Yuri, and Baekhyun was holding Yuri’s hand while they walked past the jammed crowd.

Baekhyun leaned to Yuri’s ear and shouted, “Aren’t you cold?” It was also ice cold inside and Yuri was wearing clothes that revealed too much of her skin.

“No, I’m fine,” Yuri shouted back while they followed Sehun. “I’m going to drink anyway,” she added.

Sehun then stepped to a staircase leading to the second floor of the nightclub. Baekhyun had never been into the second floor of any nightclub since couches and tables were usually much more expensive to pay for due to its exclusivity (if they wanted a much more private place). He barely even sat into any couches on the first floor, he and his friends only paid for the high tables—those without chairs (so they only stood)—when he used to go out at nightclubs. Music was much less harsh on the second floor so they didn’t have to use all of their voices to talk. And it was also much less packed. They could overlook the dance floor from above.

Sehun finally stopped in front of a table with a U-shaped couch, and people in that table began to greet him.

“Hey, man!” Sehun did a man handshake with a man that seemed to be as tall as Baekhyun. And Sehun did another with a man taller than Sehun that could reach him. The table was almost full with men and women in it.

Sehun stepped back to present Baekhyun and Yuri to the table. Sehun patted Baekhyun’s chest, “This is Byun Baekhyun,” he looked at Yuri, “and his girlfriend, Yuri.”

Baekhyun and Yuri received Heys and smiles.

“These are my friends,” Sehun gestured at each man at the table, “Lay, Kris, Tao, Luhan, and Kyungsoo. Also known as…?” He drawled, smirking at the table, waiting for them to complete his sentence.

“BBC!” The men in the table shouted proudly.

“BBC?” Yuri asked innocently.

“Billionaire Boys Club,” Sehun answered smugly. Yuri’s mouth opened. Even Baekhyun was in surprise.

“Hey, Sehun, how much is your net worth again?” A narrow shouldered man questioned provokingly.

“Oooh,” A blonde man reacted at the take.

“Very funny, Kyungsoo,” Sehun yapped, then mocked, “Hey, I heard your family is taking it hard with the stocks down.”

A man reached for the man named Kyungsoo’s shoulder and sympathetically patted them with a heavy hand while Kyungsoo’s eyes stayed round open.

Sehun scoffed then he gestured at the women at the table. “And, of course, these are their girlfriends.” But not everyone seemed to have brought a girlfriend since the number of women in the table isn’t proportional to the number of men. There were only three women besides Yuri.

People at the table cramped themselves to give seats for them. Yuri sat first, followed by Baekhyun, then Sehun sat last, sitting at the end of the couch. Best seat, in Baekhyun’s opinion— easy to get out of the table. The people in the table were wearing such colorful and patterned suits, women wearing intricate hairstyles and strong make ups. Baekhyun and Yuri were totally underdressed. But nobody seemed to pay attention but themselves.

“So, what do you do?” A woman shouted from the other end of the couch, asking Baekhyun.

Baekhyun suddenly felt intimidated with eyes all on him. He didn’t want to answer the question, especially if he would shout it across the table.

“He works for me,” Sehun answered for him. Then adds, “And why do you care?”

The woman arched her brows sassily—her cheeks already pink, her eyes already in a daze, drunk. “I just wanted to know.” Then she looked at Baekhyun as if evaluating him from face to his upper torso. And Baekhyun felt he was being judged, especially with how simple he looked.

Sehun then put two shot glasses in front of Baekhyun and Yuri and poured them with Absolut vodka that was already opened on top of the table. It seemed like the people on the table had been there fairly long with the half empty bottles and glasses scattered across the table. “Drink up,” said Sehun. Sehun only poured himself a glass of champagne. Yuri took the shot. And Baekhyun didn’t even think about it twice, he also took the shot. After the frustration he felt at the line, a shot of vodka felt deserved.

“What time did you land and you weren’t able to come to my party?” Sehun asked a tall man with black hair and hawk eyes who sat at the center of the chair who had a girl around his arm.

“I landed this noon,” he yelled over the loud music.

Sehun only nodded as a response while he sipped his champagne. Then he leaned over to Baekhyun’s ear and said loudly but not loud enough for everyone to hear, “The girl on his arm is not his wife. It’s his girlfriend.”

“What?” Baekhyun screamed. And after the buffer, he understood what Sehun had said. “He’s cheating?” He screamed in Sehun's ear.

“Don’t talk too loud!” Sehun shouted.

“But I can’t hear you!”

Then Sehun put a finger on his lip, smirking, shushing Baekhyun. One shot after another, Baekhyun could feel his body heating up but his mind was still sharp, he thought. People at the table laughed and talked loudly. Baekhyun and Yuri tried to socialize with them, especially Yuri, who was taking shot after shot—tasting all the alcohol in the table. And she was already looking red.

People were standing outside their table, minding their own business—partying, dancing, flirting, and whatnot.

Sehun was standing in front of a table with a glass of champagne at one hand, telling a story about a trip he had years ago. The hawked-eye man, Tao, complained that he had heard this story from Sehun, but Sehun liked telling his stories, so they had to endure him.

Some in the table were minding their own business, some were listening to Sehun, like Baekhyun and Yuri.

Baekhyun’s eyes then travelled to a pale white skin woman in black minidress with see-through sleeves who might pass by their table. Her hair was neatly ponytailed, her lips alluring red, and she wasn’t wearing too much makeup. Baekhyun thought she looked beautiful and elegant. And to his surprise, the woman stopped at their table, and that was also when a tall man in black suit and pants emerged from the dim lights who was with the woman. Baekhyun noticed that they were holding hands.

Sehun was in the middle of talking when the woman (or couple) stopped, and Sehun found himself somewhat dumbstruck.

The couple smiled and waved at the table, and people seemed to be delighted to see the couple with their cheerful greetings. Some threw their hands up to wave at them. The blonde hair man, Luhan, did a manly handshake with the tall and tanned man in black who was with the woman.

“Nayeon,” said Sehun, staring at the woman. Baekhyun noticed from the side that the woman’s dress was also backless, flaunting her white skin.

The woman turned her head to Sehun and quickly smiled. “Sehun.”

Sehun leaned forward to air-kiss the woman and gazed at her. “Beautiful as always.”

The woman chuckled gracefully, and Baekhyun thought that looked beautiful. She smiled, “It’s good to see you, Sehun.”

“It’s good to see you.”

Then the man with the woman interrupted, handing over his hand to Sehun, and called his name, “Sehun.”

Sehun hesitated to take the man’s hand for a shake, but then later took it, “Jongin.” They did a quick but firm handshake. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

The tall man named Jongin smirked and chuckled, ignoring Sehun. Then he assisted the woman by holding her back to sit at the other side of the couch.

Sehun went from nonstop talking to a suddenly composed man. He unbuttoned his suit as he sat next to Baekhyun opposite the couple. He then leaned to Kyungsoo, who sat at the corner, next to Yuri and said, “Why didn’t you tell me they were coming?”

“They told us the last minute!” Kyungsoo answered loudly.

Sehun hissed, shaking his head, and sat straight. He leaned to Baekhyun, eyes glued at the woman, and said, “That, my friend, is my ex-lover—Park Nayeon.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. Let me tell you something,” he pointed a finger at Baekhyun so Baekhyun leaned closer, “A real keeper, she is. I was serious about her.”

Baekhyun was in slight surprise to know about this information about him. “What happened?”

“What happened?” Sehun scoffed, repeating Baekhyun’s question. “What happened—well, you know women. I don’t understand why she’d go with that small dick Jongin when I’m the total package.” He poured himself a glass of Johnnie Walker gold label and drank it in one shot.

Baekhyun looked at the couple across the table. Jongin’s hand was resting at the backrest of the couch, while Nayeon was leaning against his chest while they chatted with Luhan who was sitting next to them. “They look good,” said Baekhyun.

Sehun scoffed, cocking a brow in disapproval. Then he took his flute glass of champagne, leaning his elbow against the backrest of the couch. “Jongin!” He yelled. But Jongin didn’t hear him over the loud music. “Jongin!” Sehun yelled again and everyone’s attention was at Sehun’s.

The man in black suit and black silk button-up that showed his chest and collarbones raised his brows after hearing his name.

“Why are you always in black? Are you some sort of grim reaper or something? Are you going to kill someone?” Sehun scoffed and laughed, looking across the table. Some also laughed with him. Baekhyun nervously chuckled.

The woman with him, Nayeon, pulled Jongin’s inner arm to whisper something to him. However, Sehun and Jongin locked eyes at each other intensely.

“I didn’t see you in fashion week in Paris last two weeks,” Sehun shouted, somehow changing the topic yet their eyes were telling differently with their dead stares. Even Baekhyun could feel the tension that was exuding. “I thought I’d see you in Versace’s show.”

“We were at Pilati’s,” Jongin answered, composed.

Sehun squinted one eye, leaning forward, as if he didn’t hear what Jongin had said over the music. “Who?”

“Pilati.”

“Who?”

“I think he said Pilati,” Baekhyun said to Sehun.

“We were at Stefano Pilati’s show, Sehun,” Nayeon said loudly to Sehun.

“Pilati, oh! Is that what you’re wearing tonight?” Sehun said directly at the male. Sehun scoffed, “No wonder.”

“Hey, hey, hey!” The tallest man with the deepest voice in the table, Kris, clapped his hands loudly to get everyone’s attention. “We’re having a good time here, a’right?”

Sehun took a deep breath and so did the man on the other side and looked at his woman. Sehun finished his drink with a bitter face.

“How ‘bout we make a toast, a’right? For a good life?” Kris raised his glass of champagne, and a lot followed him with their own variety of drinks. “A lot of us haven’t seen each other for a while. Let’s bury what’s in the past, and be grateful for what's now, you sons of billionaire bitches.” People at the table laughed, easing the tense atmosphere with Kris’s short speech.

“Cheers to that!” Shouted Lay.

“Cheers!” Most people exclaimed, Baekhyun did so timidly.

Baekhyun totally ate his words about not drinking since people kept pouring his glass and yet he didn’t ever refuse a single shot. How could he? What power did he have to refuse such powerful people? Yuri was becoming louder after every shot and was becoming friendly with Lay, his girlfriend, and Kyungsoo.

“Yuri.” Baekhyun held Yuri’s waist from behind, feeling protective over her.

But Sehun then wrapped his arm around Baekhyun’s neck and pulled Baekhyun to him. His cologne was strong, and in the influence of alcohol, his cologne smelled stronger, amplifying all of his senses. Everyone started to look attractive, everyone started to sound funny. “Are you enjoying the party?”

“Y-Yeah. Thanks for inviting us.” Baekhyun cleared his throat. “Why did you invite us anyway?”

Sehun released Baekhyun from his arms. “Why can’t you be just grateful, Baekhyun?”

“No, I’m grateful. Thank you, Mr. Oh.”

Sehun guffawed, slamming one hand at the table. “Mr. Oh.” He shook his head, still laughing, wiping a fake tear off of his eye. “You’re way too serious, man. Anyway,” he lightly slapped Baekhyun’s chest, “How was it?”

“How was what?”

Sehun glanced at Yuri, cocking his brows, then his eyes travelled back to Baekhyun. Baekhyun immediately understood. But before Baekhyun could speak, Sehun said, “Have you found your true colors?”

Baekhyun wasn’t expecting that type of question. “What do you mean?”

Sehun leaned closer to Baekhyun, “I mean whom did you enjoy more—me or her?”

“What?” Baekhyun’s eyes were wide in horror. “What type of question is that?”

“You’re always so defensive, you’re too obvious.”

“How am I defensive?”

However, Sehun changed the question, “So how did it feel like to be inside a woman? Great?”

Baekhyun evaluated his experience with Yuri. “Yeah, it’s not so bad.”

Sehun scoffed. “I know. Fuck,” he grunted, cocking his head, as if he’s suddenly turned on. Then he asked, “Did you make her cry?”

Baekhyun raised a brow. “Cry?”

Sehun patted Baekhyun’s thigh heavily. “You, my friend, are gifted. Unlike this motherfucker,” he quickly pointed a finger across the table, pointing to the male in black talking to his woman as if the couple were the only people in the world with their eyes glimmering at each other. “That needle dick, Jongin,” he hissed. Then he looked back at Baekhyun, “I feel sad for her. Really.”

“Maybe it’s not all about the size.”

Sehun howled. “Baekhyun, Baekhyun, Baekhyun. I know lots of people who would kneel for someone like you.”

“People?”

“Women… and men.”

Baekhyun’s face was in utter disgust. “What the fuck?”

“You’re not glad to hear that? It’s a huge compliment.” He pulled his Juuls that he was holding to his mouth and inhaled a deep smoke. He offered the tiny, sleek e-cigarette to Baekhyun if he wanted a smoke but Baekhyun declined as Sehun puffed the smoke out of his mouth and hose. It smelled fruity. “You don’t want it? It keeps your head straight with all these booze.”

Sure, Baekhyun’s head was all over the place but he didn’t feel he needed the smoke.

Sehun then smirked at Baekhyun, “That face you’re wearing is certainly not the face you had when I was inside you.”

Baekhyun’s face went blank. How should he feel about that?

Sehun stood up from his seat, he didn’t seem he had a lot of drinks as he still could stand straight and button his suit. He then told Baekhyun, “Come with me.”

A/N: Real sorry for the slow (and super sloppy) updates :-( But do let me know your thoughts, send notes, it does make me remember that I have to update this. Thank you!

Follow me on twitter @/jaeandbats

Ask me anything - Ask Box

Previous chapter / Next chapter

Tunnel Caprica: Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 (New!)

18 notes · View notes

lunarrwolf · 4 years

Text

black butterflies [colby brock]

fandom: sam and colby/traphouse

pairing: colby x self

word count: 1,963

part(s): one

summary: after a prank gone wrong, colby and his friends meet another youtuber during her meet and greet in hopes it will cheer her up

A/N: this is a self-insert because it’s a fic that was started for my own personal pleasure. it was supposed to be shared last year on my fan account after a poll was done but never was bc i ended up not feeling ready to do so. i figured since i‘m ready to share it now, it would be best to do it here since it’s pretty detailed

ONE

“What’s up guys?! It’s your girl Kirsy here, and today we’re going to be entering Freetown State Forest. Otherwise known as The Cursed Forest of Massachusetts.” The girl looked into her camera brightly, the excitement of finally being able to explore her home state’s most bizarre places setting in as she recorded.

“Wait - cursed? You didn’t say anything about that.” Her best friend and roommate exclaimed, red locks shaking as quickly as her head was. Casey had been interrupted during a well credited movie of theirs when her friend decided she wanted to go out and take advantage of the fact that neither of them had any plans for the weekend. And as usual in their two bedroom home, no morning schedules meant the freedom to explore the best-worst possible places and capture it all on film for both social network and personal use.

“Didn’t I?” Kirsy chimed, turning the camera toward her roommate who only glanced into the object before shooting her friend the middle finger. She laughed and followed the retreating figure toward the path that would eventually lead them into the actual forest. It was a widened road of dirt and rocks, causing the two of them to nearly trip every so often. The sun was just beginning to set, so the scenery on the other side of the camera was something the green haired girl was glad she was able to capture as she filmed. They continued to walk down the barren path for about forty-five minutes - trees starting to surround them after a half hour - and by then the sun had set quickly without notice and the night began. She could hear Casey muttering about how the place was significantly creepier, and an idea popped into her head. She turned the camera to herself and glanced up to make sure no attention was being brought to her before looking into the lens. “So we’ve been walking for nearly an hour. Casey is already kind of freaked out because of how dark it is, so as her best friend I thought it would be fun to do a little prank on her.”

“What are you doing?” She looked up to meet the narrowed eyes of the redhead that caught her speaking lowly to the camera.

Casey’s eyes didn’t falter from their current state as she continued to glare at the other girl. “Kirsy, I swear if you’re planning something-”

Kirsy scoffed, “What would I be planning out here? Your murder? No thanks - too much work.” She finished off, laughing lightly at the expression she received before the girl with reddish brown locks turned back to survey their surroundings. Kirsy did the same thing for the following ten minutes of their walk. The only sounds they heard so far were forest animals and the wind rustling through the loose leaves of the trees. There was the occasional crunch or branch snapping, which unnerved both of the girls until they would see some small critter scattering to another bush or inside a hole somewhere. She really wanted to pull a practical joke on her friend after not being able to do one on her the whole month she’d been gone on a trip prior to this night. It seemed to be quiet enough to where she wouldn’t really suspect a thing. As long as comments were made from behind her, Casey wouldn’t notice.

She took the opportunity when they were nearing a fork in the pathway and jokingly said something about the atmosphere of the place that would make her friend give her a knowing look. And that was just what happened. However, when Casey turned around, the main star of the channel the video would be posted on was nowhere to be seen. She turned in a full circle slowly, being even more aware and extremely careful where she stepped so she wouldn’t disrupt the sudden silence of the area. “Kirsy.. Kirsy.” She hissed out, moving toward the edge of the path. “I swear to god if this is one of your pranks-” A twig snapped from directly beside her once she got to the natural line that separated a way back to civilization from unpredictable darkness. Her heart was pounding, and tears were springing in her eyes. It had been too long of a time since her last appearance in one of her friend’s scary videos; she forgot how frightening things could get within minutes or hours of arriving somewhere.

There was an obnoxiously loud rustling coming from the same direction, and she approached the bushes to her right cautiously. Reaching a reluctant arm out, she started to move stuff away from her so she could peer behind the plant. As her face got closer, someone jumped out and screamed a scream that was deadly enough to be included in a horror film. “Shit!” Casey jumped back, almost falling to the ground if she hadn’t been able to balance herself.

She glared up at the girl who was trying hard to hold on to the camera as she held her stomach in laughter. “Holy crap, you should’ve seen your face!”

“Dude. What the fuck!” Casey stood back up and snatched the camera away from her friend, marching away as she ignored the calls of the hysterical girl running to catch up.

A small group of friends sat on the leather couch in the living room, watching a fellow YouTuber explore a haunted forest with only one other person. It was entertaining to say the least - the amount of times the media influencer messed with her friend was endless, and it only got better when payback would be put into order. One of the darker haired males shook his head, a smile on his face as he shared an amused look with his friends. “I need to marry this girl.”

“Marry who?”

Brennen looked up to see a brunette enter from upstairs, looking at the group of them with curiosity written all over their faces. “Kirsy, dude. Not only is she rocking the new hair, but she obviously knows how to have fun.” Colby didn’t hesitate to join the others on the couch once he heard the name. She was very well known in their industry; a skyrocketing vlogger who stuck to the same several categories of videos and never failed to deliver quality content. She was known to go above and beyond for her fans after having been one herself for years before deciding to dive into the world of explorations. At a recent milestone of 500,000 subscribers, she not only released new merch, she also scheduled a last minute meet and greet that had the sidewalks and almost half of the central park of Boston flooded with local fans of hers. She was someone the members and friends of the trap house admired, as she wasn’t afraid to be herself even when others put her down and criticized the way she behaved on camera.

“Guys, check it out. She added something at the end of this.” Jake brought the guys’ attention back to the computer from their phones. She wasn’t smiling and didn’t hold a bright aura like she usually did when adding bits recorded after her adventures. When she spoke it sounded normal, but after having watched her for the past three years, the boys knew when something was off. They watched the girl give the lens a wry smile before clearing her throat, glancing away as she dove right into the point of the additional bit.

“So this part was recorded a couple of nights after we went into the forest. Casey hasn’t been with me since we got back.” She started off. “I did realize after the fact that she was genuinely mad at me, and I do feel really bad about it. She’d been gone for a month before then. Which meant she didn’t have to deal with abandoned houses, restless spirits, or me and my stupidity - so she wasn’t prepared to be brought back into the swing of things so quickly. I take full responsibility for any actual fear I caused her, and I want to apologize for doing this to her right as she got back from what I know was a good, relaxing trip for her. I did apologize off camera as soon as I caught up with her and she did say she forgave me. However, she uh- she won’t be in videos anymore. And I’m going to be honest with you guys...” She trailed off, and Colby’s heart lurched when he noticed the glossiness in her eyes, “I don’t know where our friendship stands. We know each other’s limits, and while I didn’t go too far, I think she just got tired of me doing all of this. So... yeah.” She gave a dry chuckle, tugging at the end of her sleeves.

“Damn.. she must be crushed right now.” Mike commented, glancing between his friends as they all gave their agreements.

“I can’t even imagine possibly losing you guys.” Sam added.

“And over a prank - Casey’s pretty cold.” Corey brought in, changing his position on the couch and leaning forward when the girl began to speak again.

“Anyway, I’m sure you guys didn’t keep watching just to see me get all emotional. So on to the good news!” The green haired girl continued, clapping her hands together and smiling brightly at the camera as if nothing happened. Still, they could see the look in her eyes, and it was unsettling to see the otherwise outgoing Dominican that way. “I'll be going to Los Angeles in a few days on business, and am happy to announce that I'll also be having a meetup at Santa Monica Pier. I haven't set the exact date in case my schedule goes out of whack, but I will be bringing along someone special. I expect that our family's policy of acceptance will be applied to him.”

“Wait wait wait - my girl's got a man?”

Mike rolled his eyes, smirking at Brennen. “If she was yours, wouldn't she know you exist?”

There was a short amount of silence while the targeted guy looked over with a playfully offended look on his face. “That was cold.” The guys laughed and chuckled, but deep down they still felt bad about what they just heard. The ginger had been by the brunette's side since the start of the channel. Though Casey was mostly the support and a guest in abandoned vlogs and some other types of videos, she would speak out as her friend's defense and help out in any way she could. Some would have figured that a month off would have her ecstatic in going back into working with her best friend. However, it sounded like that time away made her less for the type of content Kirsy had and more against it. The latter of the two must have been devastated at that moment.

“We should go meet her.” Sam announced. “Sounds like it's free - and Brennen could use an ego boost if she does know he exists.”

“You guys gotta give me a little credit here. My channel's pretty big.”

“Yes, but has she acknowledged it?” The dyed brunette questioned, laughing at the glare he received in return. It seemed like it was a unanimous agreement to take a short trip to the pier when she arrived, but everyone was vocal except for Colby. Sam shook his best friend's shoulder, and the young man blinked, switching his gaze over to the former blonde. “You alright?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, glancing back at the screen. “I agree. We should go meet her.”

58 notes · View notes

be-ready-when-i-say-go · 4 years

Text

Walk Away (Part 2 of Addicted)

There’s a certain kind of strength to walk away from a bad thing. Calum thought he had done that; but the past always comes back around. Female Reader Insert. No specific race of the reader.

CW: Drug Use/Drug Mention (Tobacco/Cigarette). Alcohol Mention.

Enjoy my masterlist | Part 1-Addicted

Support me on kofi.

____________________________

Here of all places, of course. Here when he’s wearing old basketball shorts and a sweatshirt. Here when he’s just trying to tune up on his car. Here of all places, of all times. She approaches the front desk. “I really hate to do this. But my car’s making this really weird noise. I have a long drive tomorrow. It just started earlier today. Can you take a look at it?”

He hasn’t seen her in months.

He’s worked hard not to run into her. He avoids the old bars that they used to frequent. Not together. Never together, but the ones that she would beg him to come too, just she wouldn’t have to drive to get her fix. He doesn’t visit her side of town, no matter how inconvenient to him. He made the occasional sacrifice for when the boys wanted to hit up a place near her, but he never broke the rule on avoiding those old bars. Never. It didn't matter how annoyed anyone was at it. He had to stick to that one. Because if he didn’t, with any amount of alcohol in him and her presence, he was sure to crumble. He was tired of her.

But the sight of her in those light wash distressed jeans and snug cropped top make him almost forget all the trouble she’s caused. Calum forces his gaze back to floor as she and a worker leave the shop. He’s praying she didn't spot him. He’s praying that she will not come back into the shop. She disappeared on him after the last time he went over to her place. She hasn’t left a text, phone call, or voicemail. Calum told himself he wouldn’t send her one either. It was a part of her game. But she didn’t even tell him that she had found someone new, someone she wanted to pretend to be serious with. Normally she did and that made Calum suspicious; it worried him. So after about three weeks, he caved. He sent one message, What happened?

He was met with silence. Three days worth. His fingers wanted to type more and they did. He drafted several paragraphs worth. How could she just drop him? How could she just walk away from him? What was he supposed to do now? Nothing replaced the feeling of her. He had tried that avenue before. What the hell was supposed to happen next?

More days passed and his bleeding heart paragraphs sat unaddressed. The smoking which had died down, increased again. Calum drank something most often too, not a lot, not enough to be fucked over the next morning. But he wanted to shut down the part of his brain that craved her. The silence of her was deafening, but the buzz of alcohol gave his brain something else to focus on for the moment. He’s since slowed on both those habits thanks to time and this album they’re working on. Ashton’s helped too. But Calum tries to keep himself occupied as much as possible. Doing any and everything he can, just so his brain can’t wonder.

The door chimes again. She sits along the wall to his left. He’s sitting so he can see directly back into the shop, directly across from the front desk. He has four rows of seat in his view. He can’t not see her. She plays at her phone. How can she act like this? The least she could do is say hi. The least she could is acknowledge his fucking existence as a human being.

His gut twists, in that all too familiar flip of desire. She’s still got him wrapped around her fucking fingers. Those beautiful, slender fingers. He remembers the way the feel dragging down his bare chest. He knows the pinch of her fingers around his nipples. With a deep exhale, the ghost of her touch skirts down his chest down to his groin. Fuck, no, no don’t start imagining this. It’s been four months since those text messages. Four; he cannot slip up now.

Pushing up from his chair, Calum walks to the bathroom. It’s thankful to Christ, that it’s close to his seat or that walk past her would be the end of his resolve. Splashing cold water onto his face, Calum grips the side of the sinks, staring at his reflection. He traces the line of a water droplet down from his forehead, around the curve of his eyes, over the bridge of his nose, and fall off the tip of his nose.

He’s never been too fond of the chub around his cheek, everyone else has squeezed and squished them. He’s over it. But he remembers the way she used to pat his left cheek. Always the left one. It wasn’t hard, wasn’t condescending. She’d cup the flesh, lifting her fingers before gently bring them back down. Her hand would slide down his flesh then, sometimes she’s give his chin a squeeze. Most times she scurried out of the door. Water drips from his chin and onto his sweatshirt. Thankfully it’s black so the wet spot won’t show too badly.

You cannot go back to her, Calum thinks to himself. You cannot go back. You cannot go back. She dropped you--she does not want you back. He drops his head. She doesn’t want him. She never did really. She was just using him. He thought he was just using her. He thought it was just sex. But god, his heart races even still just at the thought of her. His lungs ache occasionally to inhale her scent. She does not want him. He inhales. That’s okay. She doesn’t need to want him. He always envisioned him alone anyway. Calum dries his face and walks back out.

She’s up at the small desk where stale coffee is sat out. He knows because he had a cup. It’s not his usual, but he needed something-anything to keep him from going insane while staring at pristine gray painted walls and too brightly waxed white floors. He admits it makes sitting in a car shop nice that it’s so clean, but it always threw him off. The smell of motor oil and greasy towel mixed with the stale coffee and whatever wax they used for the floor always made his head spin upon his initial entrance.

Settled back into his seat, Calum flexes his fingers. He needs something to do, something to take his mind off her--how close she is, how good she looks. He did not miss the soft pink lipstick on her pouty lips. Fuck, those lips are so goddamn kissable too. Calum snatches the magazine next to him from the dark brown wooden table. He flips to a page and runs his eyes intently over the article on muscle cars. This means nothing to him, but he can’t keep thinking about her. She walks past him, shoes silent on the floors, the only thing that gives away any movement is her waft of perfume hitting Calum’s nostrils.

He expels every ounce of air in his lungs. Do not inhale. Do not inhale her in. Do not break. “Mr. Hood,” his mechanic calls out.

Calum snaps his head up from the magazine and tosses it back onto the table. Finally. He gives a tight lipped smile as he approaches the counter. “What’s the damage?” he asks with a soft chuckle.

“None. You’re in good shape. She still runs smoothly. You did need an oil change, so we took care of that for you.”

Calum nods. He can feel her stare burning holes into the back of his head. Calum digs out his wallet, sliding his card across the counter. Now she watches him, when he can’t see her gaze. Calum thanks the man once again for his work and places his wallet back into his pocket. As he turns, her head snaps back to the floor. He stares at her this time, lets her know that he knew she was watching. She won’t look up; she wouldn’t be so emboldened, he figures. It as his sneakers squeak right in front of the door that her gaze lifts. They lock eyes for two seconds. Neither one gives an ounce of recognition facially.. Just slow blinks between not even lover, but not quite strangers. His heart booms in his chest, he can feel the thumping on his veins in his neck

Calum steps through the door and keeps his shoulders square. His car is parked right outside the door. Thank God. His head is starting to feel disconnected from him. Are his lungs even working anymore? Another mechanic hands him the keys. Calum gives him a nod in thanks. As the engine turns over, even through the door and the window of his front shield, he can still feel her gaze. He looks at her one last time. She doesn’t give a nod, a smile, a wink--nothing. She just stares. Did she expect him to grovel at her feet like before? Did she expect him to apologize? What the hell did she want from him? He wouldn’t give it to her, but it would be nice to know for once what was going on in her head. What her thoughts were, what kept her up at night.

The air is still nice, so Calum rolls down the windows. Only when she sees the passenger side window rolling down does her face crack. She gives the faintest of smiles and start pushing up from the seat. Calum presses onto the gas and rolls down the pavement. He wasn’t giving in. But it makes him just a smidge happy to know that he might have toyed with her like she did to him. He can’t give into her. He’s doing alright by himself His body wants to cave. It’s been two months since he’s slept with anyone. Not the longest he’s gone. He hadn’t even thought about the last time until he saw her. Until he thought about the way she begged beneath him, face buried into the pillows, him pulling her arms back behind her, so her arch couldn’t falter.

No, his stomach flips again. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He doesn’t have a pack on him either. He stopped carrying one due to Ashton’s insistence. Now he needed some nicotine. Anything to take the edge off. There’s a gas station right next to the shop, but he doesn’t stop there. Calum drives through the streets; he’ll drive to a station a bit farther out. He’s still too close to her. Yeah, just keep driving. He winds through the streets, about twenty minutes longer than he anticipated. Settled in front of the station, he exhales. He blinks once and his vision clears for a second before it blurs. Tears. Fuck, he’s crying.

Resting his head against the steering wheel, he lets out a shaky breath. Does he even want a cigarette or does he want to burn away the parts of him that still hold onto her? Does he really want alcohol or does he wish to drown the memories of her? He reaches for his phone situated in the cup holder. Unlocking, he pulls up Ashton’s U.S. number. It rings once in his ear. Twice. A third time. Right before Calum pulls the phone away, he hears the call connect. “Need a ride?” Ashton asks.

“I don’t need a cigarette, right?” Calum hears the own distress in his voice. He can hear the strain as he tries to swallow a sob.

“Mate, what happened?”

“Just tell me I don’t need to walk into this gas station. I don’t need a cigarette. I don’t need a drink. I can’t even drive if I drink.”

“Calum, you don’t need a cigarette. You don’t need to go into that gas station. You don’t need a pack. You don’t need a drink either. Where are you?”

Calum sits up, pressing his freshly cut hair into the leather of his headrest. He doesn’t want the nicotine. He wipes at his cheeks. “Not even sure. I just started driving.”

“Wanna come over?”

He wants to be over her. He wants to know why she walked away without warning. He wants to know if this is love, because if so, he wants nothing to do with it ever again. He never wants to be this broken, this easy to crack ever again by one person. He wants nothing to do with this scam called love. “Thanks for the offer.”

Ashton knows it’s a no. But he presses on. “If you show up, I’ll have some movies waiting. Maybe grab a quick lunch. There’s a new sushi place. I’ve been eyeing for a while. Heard it’s good.”

Calum just wants a way to forget her. He wants a way out, he’s been trying to escape, run away. Maybe he needs a way through. Ashton’s offering that. Calum feels like Ashton should be telling him to just get over it, to forget her. He has to know why Calum called anyway. Ashton takes the silence as Calum’s resistance.

Ashton presses on again. “Or a hike. You said you wanted to take Duke up through the trails again. We probably won’t be able to go too far with him and the heat, but it’s something.”

He needs to walk away from her. He needs a way through. Calum exhales. “A hike sounds good.”

Ashton sighs in relief. Calum’s not going to say what triggered this. Though Ashton figures it something to do with her again. “I’ll meet you at your place then.”

“Okay,” Calum’s voice is soft a little rough with the tears that are choking him still. The call ends and Calum throws an arm over his face for a moment. His phone chimes from the cup holder. He thinks it’s Ashton texting and doesn’t lift a finger. It chimes again, then a third time. A call. Looking down her number lights up his screen. Now she can call. Now she can remember he fucking exists.

Calum wonders if her latest boy toy dropped her. He wonders why she has the nerve to call him now, but not speak to him thirty minutes ago. He doesn’t answer. He watches the call ring and ring and ring before it finally stops. He waits, barely breathing. She’ll call again. She always does. He waits, staring at his black screen. A notification pops up. New Voicemail. Voicemail? She’s never left a message. Calum stares his phone. What did she say? Was it an apology? Biting his lip, he unlocks it and another notification comes in. This one is from Ashton.

I’ll be to your place in another 20 minutes. Had to run and take care of some errands first.

His hike. Duke needs to be let out. Calum drops his phone back into the cup holder. His little man. That’s what he focuses on. Duke is waiting for him. The drive back home is strangely quiet besides the sounds of wind rushing and cars zooming past. Calum normally puts on the radio, even if it’s down low. But now right now he’s afraid songs will remind him of her. It’s not like the drive isn’t already doing that, but he can drown out those thoughts. He can listen to the whirring of tires over asphalt. He can think about Duke. He can listen to his mind’s replay of Duke’s whines this morning, needing to go out to the backyard.

Calum can think about what he needs to grab for his hike. He’ll need to bring water. Bags just in case Duke has to go while they’re out. Maybe a couple protein bars. He needs to change shoes. His vans won’t cut it for the walk. He’ll have to put Duke in his harness. Calum needs to remember the dog treats too. As Calum pulls into his driveway, he spots Ashton already parked to the side.

Ashton climbs out of his car after seeing Calum park. “Took you long enough,” he jokes, watching closely. He’s watching to see if Calum grabs anything else. He doesn’t see anything but his phone and keys.

“Sorry about that. It should only take me a few to get ready.” The two men shuffle into the house. Ashton notes the slight puffiness to Calum’s eyes and cheeks. The slight pink tint to his nose, the fading pink to his eyes. Duke happily greets Calum at the door, jumping onto the man’s calves. “Hey, sorry that took longer than anticipated, bud.”

He moves to greet Ashton next. Calum walks to the backyard, finding his workout shoes next to the hall closet. As Duke rushes to his corner, Calum switches shoes. “Wanna talk about it?” Ashton asks, settling down on the ledge the back porch and the inside of the house. He watches Calum, squinting at the sun.

Calum shakes his head, cleaning up after Duke. Back inside, Calum fills his two biggest water bottles, throws in some protein bars, and finds Duke’s leash. It hits him as he clips on the harness he still needs the bags, treat, and his portable bowl. Spinning around he spies, Ashton placing the portable bowl into his backpack. “Thanks, mate.”

Ashton nods. “I put treats inside too. Some bags were already inside. Not sure if they’re enough.”

Calum wishes he had more words than thank you. But all he can do is nod and take the backpack. Back outside, Calum locks up. Ashton drives. Calum can feel his phone burning a hole in his pocket. But Duke’s resting in his lap. He can’t reach for it now. It’ll have to wait. It will have to continue to light his skin with a fire. He hopes it burns him, so it proves how much she hurt him. How much pain she’s put them through. It’s so much easier to treat a wound when it’s physical.

As they past the cities and head for the mountains, Duke pops up from his curled position, front paws resting on the door, hind legs stretched as far as his tiny body can go. Calum smiles, scratching at his head. “Yeah, bud, we’re going to the mountains again.”

“You didn’t buy a pack, right?” Ashton asks after a minute or two of silence.

“I didn’t.”

“You’ve been doing good. I’m proud.”

“Thanks,” Calum whispers. He knows the compliment is genuine, but he feels terrible for almost breaking it today. He feels like shit for breaking this far down that he considered a drink. Cigarettes are one thing, but a drink. The drinking is scaring him.

The rest of the ride is quiet, Calum’s chest starts to hurt. He keeps thinking about that voicemail. What the hell could she have possibly had to say to him? Why did he care so fucking much? He’s going to burst inside his car. They pull up to the foot of the trail and Calum opens the door before Ashton fully brakes. All the air pushes out of his lungs. He heaves, tears biting at his eyes. Ashton hurriedly brakes and climbs out. Calum clutches Duke to his chest for a second.

“Calum, what’s happening?”

Inhaling deeply, Calum squats down next to the car. Duke turns in his hold, licking at Calum’s cheek. “I saw her today,” he huffs, trying to keep the tears at bay. “I fucking saw her. And I swear to God, I thought I was over her. I thought I had walked away, but all I had done was hide from her.”

“It’s okay.” He places a sturdy and firm grip on Calum’s shoulder. “You’ll find a way through this. It’s okay to hurt. It fucking sucks. But it’s okay.”

“She called. Left a voicemail. I haven’t listened to it.”

“Do you want to?”

Calum swallows, still heaving for a good breathe. “I have no idea.”

“Let’s walk. Walk and we’ll figure it out. Talk to me, mate. I know it’s not your cup of tea. But for fuck sake, I am right here.”

Calum nods, running his hand over Duke’s head. Ashton helps him up and Duke stares up from the ground to Calum. “I’m sorry, I’m okay,” Cal reassures the dog. But Duke knows something is very wrong. He walks over and settles right on top of Calum’s foot, fur brushing softly over his calf. Calum finds a treat for Duke. He holds it for a moment before Duke moves to take it. “Thanks for caring, love,” Calum says softly.

The three start up the trails. They’re about a fourth way up before the silence is broken. Calum continues to stare up at the windy and rocky path in front of them. The trees waft off their scent in the breeze. Duke sniffs everything, so they have to move a little slow. “I texted twice,” he states.

“Today?”

“No, when she first disappeared. She didn’t respond and I didn’t text again. I just wanted to forget her. So I dodged all the places I knew she’d be.”

Ashton hums though it turns up into a grunt as he lifts his weight up to stand on a rock. He holds his arms out to steady himself. He watches the way Calum gazes at him. Part in concern, partly still lost in his own world. “And you tried to bury her, you didn’t try to get through it,” Ashton continues. Calum nods. “The question remains. Do you want to actually walk away from her? Do you really want to be done with her?”

Calum slides off his bag and pours some water for Duke. The small dog happily laps at the cool drink. Calum settles onto a small rock. It’s scratchy and a little sharp against his skin. “I don’t think I can answer answer that until I figure out what’s on that voicemail. But I can’t listen to it. I can’t hear her voice right now. I’ll crack. She might as well cut my heart out, just split me open and stolen the fucking organ because clearly my brain’s not winning this battle.”

Ashton jumps down from the rock and holds out his hand. “How about I give it a listen and relay the important stuff to you?”

Before the question can fully leave Ashton’s lip, Calum digs in his pocket for phone. By the time Ash finishes, he’s holding Calum’s unlocked phone. It’s killing Calum not to know what’s happening, but he can’t listen to it himself. Ashton taps the only voicemail not viewed and holds the phone to his ear.

“It was nice to see you today, Calum,” her voice starts in Ashton’s ear. Her pitch purposefully low, he notes as he turns around. He doesn’t want to give anything way. “It was rude of me not to say hi. But even ruder that you took off without at least waving goodbye. Let me make it up to you being so ill-mannered this last few weeks. You know the time and place.”

The voicemail ends and Ashton turns back around, but not before deleting the message. “She basically wants to apologize for being an ass by having you fuck her again. She’s no good for you.”

Calum drops his head, taking the phone. “And I’m no good at letting go.”

“I deleted the message. Walk away, Calum. She’s only going to drag you down. Even more than she already has.”

Calum knows Ashton is right. Duke settles down in front of Calum. “Should I walk away, bud? Should I cut ties with some ounce of dignity?”

Duke pants up at him. The little dog is just happy to be outside. Calum scratches at his fur. “If you love this, then I gotta take you to the midwest. You’ll love it there. Or even Oregon or Washington. Nothing but trees and nature trails.”

That’s what he’ll do. He’ll plan a mini getaway, maybe it’s just a weekend. He can write, he can get away from her, he can get her out of his system. That’s the problem. She’s still in his system. When he walks into the studio, when he journals at night, he tries so hard to forget her. He tries so hard to pretend like she didn’t hurt him that it only hurts him more. You can’t forget a person if they’re all you’re thinking about.

Calum never really mattered to her anyway. He was only a fuck. He was only a toy that would always be there when her newest one broke. He finds the missed call, clicks on the tiny i icon and then scrolls to the bottom. Block this Caller stares back up at him. He taps it, no shaking this time. It pops up again, Block Contact or Cancel. Calum presses Block Contact with an exhale. She won’t give up. Not even if he starts ignoring her. But this is a start, he can start working though all the shit she did.

“Ready to head back?” Ashton questions.

Calum collects his things, shaking his head. “Let’s go to the top. Little man here deserves the sight.”

With a soft smile, Ashton starts up to the top. Their pace is still slow due to Duke’s exploration. Halfway up up they stop again, and Calum slips Duke into his arms. “I should've bought a second bag and let you just sit in it,” Calum teases at Duke. Ashton offers his bag, they could consolidate all into Calum’s, put Duke in Ashton’s bag, or vice versa.

“He’ll sit for all of like three minutes before wanting out.”

It’s sometime later maybe an hour or so, Calum’s lost track of how long, when they reach the top. The sun’s just starting to dip down. They settle in a small spot off to the side and Calum sits with Duke between his legs, staring out at the blue ocean of the sky in front of him. Part of him wants to dive into it, wash himself of her, wash himself of the heartache. But it’s not that easy. He wishes he had heard what she said exactly just so he had the satisfaction of saying no to her directly. Not through word of a friend, not through someone else’s interpretation. But at least he knows now that she wouldn’t ever care. He could pretend when he had no clue before. He could pretend that she was just busy. He could pretend and make all the excuses he wanted.

But not now. Now he knew. It hurt. It fucking hurt. Getting through this wouldn’t be flicking off a switch. It would be pain and tears and time. But maybe he could walk here, he could sit here and watch out over the sky and think about the heavens washing over him. He could think about a hand reaching down from through the clouds and comfortable. He could get through it. He could walk away here to the heavens.

#calum hood #calum hood imagine #calum hood fanfic #calum hood fic #calum hood blurb #calum hood 5sos #calum 5sos #5sos fanfic #5sos fic #5sos imagine #5sos #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer fanfic #5 seconds of summer fic #5 seconds of summer imagine #h writes #ashton irwin #luke hemmings #michael clifford

31 notes · View notes