#slight sequels to my done for piece | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

inneedofsupervision · 2 months

Text

Hey Mister Villain

Finally, I can present you the long-awaited Sequel to No Spilling Secrets. I recommend reading No Spilling Secrets first, as that is relevant for understanding the context of this story.

Summary: After getting out of the claws of Clint, Bucky, and Sam, Peter can finally take a rest. Or can he? A single glance at Mr. Stark is enough to let the teen know his mentor waits for an explanation, and it better be a good one. He really should have thought about how to get out of this one, didn't he?

Read on Ao3

"Care to explain why you hacked Friday, Peter."

Oh fuck.

"Not the words I would use, but that sums it up well enough."

The words had tumbled out before Peter could stop himself. At least May and Steve weren't here to catch that slip-up. Mr. Stark merely raises an eyebrow, leveling the teen with a glance. The man is still waiting for an explanation that Peter is more than dreading to give to his mentor. Heck, Peter endured the dishing out of the bird bros and Bucky. He couldn't fold now just because Mr. Stark came off as a little intimidating. Speaking of Mr. Stark, said man stands stern-faced in front of him, arms crossed over his chest as he stares down at Peter in a voiceless dare to keep silent.

Okay, cross that. Mr. Stark is more than a little intimidating.

But still, Peter has come too far to spill. His mentor wouldn't let him live that down, not after creating a whole archive of Peter's embarrassing moments. It is pouring fuel straight into the fire.

Mr. Stark steps closer.

With one hand casually placed in the pocket of his three-piece suit while the other pulls down his glasses, the man glances over the rim. Peter gulps. He has to lean his head back to meet his eyes. Mr. Stark studies him for a moment, and Peter wonders what exactly the man is searching for when the sound of the man sniffing catches his attention.

Mr. Stark straightens, pushing his glasses back up.

"These three didn't manage to, but I know how to make you talk, Parker. Don't let it come to that." Peter lets out a huff in protest when his mentor suddenly pushes him, causing him to lie flat on the bench. The teen stares up at the older man in surprise before Peter's face contorts into a grimace as he finally registers Mr. Stark's words.

"You saw all of that?" Peter asks, hoping Mr. Stark would break out into that smug trademark grin, laughing as he pats him on the shoulder and tells him he was only messing with him. Mr. Stark, of course, didn't give Peter that. Instead, he is met with a slight tilt of the head as Mr. Stark gives him an unimpressed look.

"This is my tower kid. What did you expect?"

The vigilante lets his shoulder sag in defeat. Of course, Mr. Stark watched the whole spectacle. Where is that hole in the ground to bury yourself? It's never there when you need it.

A finger flicks against his forehead.

"Don't go all kicked-puppy on me, kid. You wouldn't be in this predicament if you hadn't cracked the tower's system and left a security breach as wide as the Brooklyn Bridge. You bought this on yourself."

"Maybe that wouldn't happen if there was a better security system," mutters the teen under his breath.

"Excuse me, what was that?" Peter's mouth shut instantly at the look Mr. Stark was giving him. How many times did he manage to piss his mentor off today? According to Mr. Starks expression, it was at least one time too many. Sensing that this wasn't going in a favorable direction, Peter made a drastic decision.

He needs to escape.

Now.

The man standing in front of the bench raises an eyebrow as the teen suddenly angles his legs up, bringing them close to his chest and bending his back, body forming an alarmingly accurate globular form. Without his trademark suit, the kid always seemed so inconspicuous it was easy to forget his powers and traits, counting in that inhuman flexibility. The kid tilts sideways, beginning to roll down the bench with an easiness that left the man wondering if Peter had done this before, the thought of that being a possibility alone giving him a mild headache.

"What- kid, you are not some overgrown roly-poly. What are you doing?"

Skillfully ignoring the bewildered tone of his mentor, Peter tenses his muscles while bracing for the fall, tilting his arms to avoid landing on his still-bound wrists. Mr. Stark takes off his sunglasses to pinch the bridge of his nose, tired of Peter's antics, before pocketing them in his breast pocket.

"Kid, you're not getting away without talking about this."

The older man rolls his eyes as Peter ignores him, the latter robbing his way forward on the floor, apparently on a mission to put the two super-soldiers in their team to shame. But it still wasn't quick enough. Peter wriggles forward as if his life depended on it, blatantly ignoring the pair of shoes moving at the same pace next to his head as Mr. Stark walks reversely next to him, hands folded behind his back as he looks down at the teen with mild amusement.

"Having fun, kid? How's the air down there?"

The engineer shakes his head when he doesn't get an answer, not even a sarcastic or snappy remark from his mentee. The latter keeps wriggling with a determined look towards the door still ten meters away. "And Rhodey calls me stubborn. Peter, kid, come on. Stop being silly."

"Upfh!"

A tiny yelp escaped Peter's lips when he fell forward, courtesy of the polished dress shoe that pulled on the leg he had put on the ground in an attempt to stand up, only to fall flat on his stomach.

"Come one, Peter. This starts to get boring, doesn't it."

The teen doesn't need to see the man know that Mr. Stark is most likely rolling his eyes at him as he continues ignoring him, only to further shuffle forward on the floor.

"Friday, be a dear and give me and Mr. Parker some privacy."

Peter couldn't decide what let his heart beat faster, Mr. Starks words or the faint click of the door locking shut.

"Mr. Stark!"

The boy's eyes widen as the dress shoe from before pushes under his stomach. He gets flipped onto his back, gazing up at Mr. Stark standing above him with a raised eyebrow and a corner of his lip turned up in unsuppressed smugness.

Peter sucks in a breath at the sight.

"Mr. Stark, you look like a supervillain right now."

The man's lips qurik up as he strokes his clean-cut goaty.

"If it takes a supervillain to end this nonsense, I might as well adapt to that role."

"Mr. Stark, no!"

It doesn't take a lot for the man to kneel and grab the squirming boy's wrists, pinning them over his head with one hand.

"Are you ready to talk, Spiderman?"

Peter feels the adrenaline kicking in as his lips twitch upwards in anticipation, his eyes focused more on Mr. Starks free hand than the man's face. Mr. Stark notices the glance at his hand.

"You see this, webslinger?" asks Mr. Stark with a cold-toned voice that Peter hasn't heard the man using with anyone other than the press on a few occasions when reporters ask some too-invasive questions. He had even pulled the purple-tinted glasses back out and put them on, jumping at the chance to act like an actual villain, and Peter could only stare up at the man, feeling flabbergasted.

Sure, Mr. Stark could act playful.

But those mods were usually portrayed through a headlock with an easy way out, hair ruffling, and tons of jokes and banter. Occasionally, Mr. Stark tickles him during movie nights when Peter gets a little too sassy for the man's liking, ending with the teen nearly rolling down the couch giggling. Those moments usually last only a few seconds before Peter crawls back on the couch with Mr. Starks arm thrown over his shoulder, leaning against the man's side. Therefore, it was hardly surprising that Peter was a tad perplexed at the threat of getting tickled by his mentor. The latter seemed overly confident in getting Peter to talk, which results in the teen being curious and absolutely terrified at once. At least Mr. Stark didn't have super hearing, or he might have known just how effectively nervous his words alone were making Peter, going by how his heart was racing behind his ribcage.

Unaware of the conflicting emotions Tony has caused to tumble around his mentee's head, he continues playing his villain act with a worryingly amount of perfection. The man holds his free hand up for the teen to see, moving his fingers down one after another in a quick motion like some cheap magician before pulling a bunny out of his top hat.

"This is the only tool needed to get you chirping, Spidey," continues the man, looking at his hand as if it were some weapon he had built and was particularly proud of. It leaves Peter gulping heavily.

"You might ask yourself why this," Mr. Stark waves with his hand, "is the way to break you. Well, let me elaborate, my wall-crawling little friend."

Peter opens his mouth to interrupt the cliche of the villain explaining his evil master plan in front of the bound hero. He gets silenced by a raised eyebrow and quickly clamps his lips shut, letting Mr. Stark have his moment.

"I happen to stumble over some interesting information about you, Spiderling. Some would even say it is a bit of a weakness."

Oh gosh, Peter didn't like the way Mr. Stark was grinning down at him at all. The hairs on his neck begin to rise at the sight. Although his subconsciousness was aware of the lack of a threat, Peter's brain couldn't stop the funny feeling of anticipation from accumulating inside him, leaving his muscles tense as he could do nothing but wait for something to happen. It feels like just before his spidey sense kicks in, but without the wave of anxiety rolling over him. At this point, Peter wishes Mr. Stark would get over it, but the thought of asking the man to do something leaves the tips of his ears red in embarrassment. He feels like a child all over again, becoming flustered over something silly, like the prospect of getting tickled.

"From what I gathered, there are parts of your body which, despite your genetic altering, are rather-" Mr. Stark leaves a short pause between the following words as his lip twitches upward into a smug grin, "delicate."

Mr. Starks free hand shots downward.

Peter presses out a squeaky "noho!" while bringing his legs up to his chest to block the attack, eyes squeezing shut on instinct.

But nothing happens.

Peter lingers in that curled-up position, opening his eyes slightly to squint over his knees. The teen meets the highly amused grin of Mr. Stark, who wears the same expression as he does when he gets the affirmation of one of his more advanced calculations being correct, an expression of pure smugness.

"A bit skittish, are we?"

Before Peter could even think of an answer, Mr. Stark's hand found a way between his pulled-up legs and his middle, fingers digging without hesitance into his stomach. The sudden attack caught Peter off guard, the laughter pouring out instantly.

"Mr. Stahahark! Thahahahat's plahaying dihirty!"

The man tilts his head at his mentees' words, the latter trying to press his knees closer to his middle, but that did little to hinder the man from tweaking his sides, grinning at the little shriek it earns him.

"Oh, I didn't know this counts as playing to you. Might as well as much as you are enjoying yourself."

"I'm nohoht enjohohyinh anythIHIHng!"

Mr. Stark rolls his eyes and switches spots, his fingers working quickly on the teen's stretched-out underarms. Peter kicks his legs out at the ticklish jolt when blunt nails softly scratch over the fabric of his shirt that does little to protect his sensitive armpits. His laughter changes into cackling, and he tugs on his bound arms, actually managing to bring them down.

He only hears the click of a tongue, having shut his eyes when his armpits got attacked. He rolls on his side as soon as the tickling stops, trying to escape the attack, but gets stopped by a hand on his shoulder, effortlessly pulling him onto his back again. Not a second later, two hands are shoved up into his underarms, and begun to explore the spot, meticulously working on searching for weak spots. As soon as he found them, Mr. Stark kneads with his thumbs into the muscles, letting Peter jump with a squeak before bursting into another wave of loud laughter.

"NOHOO PLEAHAHASE! MR. STAHAHAHARK. Nohohot thehehere! I- I canahahan't ahahaha. I cahahahn't staAHAND ihiht, pleahashe nohohho!"

"That's unfortunate, as I don't show mercy to any of my enemies. And you, Spiderman, earned the privilege to stand on the top of my hit list."

He grins down at the teen who has his arms pressed to his side as much as his tied wrists allow it, body wriggling from side to side to avoid his hands, but Tony's fingers are following, never leaving up to pinch and flutter over all the places that bring out the sound of panic-laced giggles.

"No! No! Nonononono! ACK NOHO MR. STAHAHARK, NOHOHOHO!"

"Hm? What's this? Spiderman has a ticklish belly?"

Peter manages to sends a glare at his mentor. "I doho nohoht! J-just l leahaheve ihit alohohohne. Mr. Stahark, I sweaAHAHR, I- ohmygohohod dohohohnt!"

Peter lets out a high-pitched squeal as a finger dips into his belly button. His laugh goes silent for a few seconds, during which he arches his back as the ticklish feeling overwhelms him before he deflates into a heap of hiccupy giggles, begging Mr. Stark to do anything but please let his belly button alone. The man smirks down at the blushing teen. Tony would lie if he said he did not find Peter's reaction absolutely endearing.

"Now, that's just adorable. I almost feel bad having to end you."

"Youhuhu ahahre eheh- evil!"

"I beg to differ, Spidey. This -" Tony worms his finger into Peter's navel, wriggling it around teasingly and earning himself a snort followed by feet drumming against the floor behind him as the kid trashes around madly

"isn't evil. I'll show you what's really evil."

Out of breath and lying on his side, Peter, at first, didn't register what was happening, too busy to get back to pumping air into his lungs. When he finally glances up at what Mr. Stark is doing, the man is already gathering his feet in a headlock and pulling his tie around his ankles. Peter's eyes widened. He was about to yank his legs out of the hold, and he certainly would have managed to, but at that moment, Mr. Stark had already tightened the piece of clothing, successfully binding his legs. After giving it a closer thought, Peter's panic begins to subdue. A tie was no match for his strength. He could easily snap it if he wanted to.

"Before I forget it, that tie is a Christmas present from Pepper's parents."

Mr. Stark broke out in loud laughter at the sheer look of betrayal Peter sent his way.

"You are a monster, Mr. Stark."

Peter regrets the words as soon as his mentor grins at him before pushing him over, forcing the teen to lay on his stomach and pull his feet facing upward onto his lap.

"Finally, you are aware of the gravity of the situation, Spidey."

While talking, he let a single finger run down the arch of Peter's foot, grinning at the teen's toes curling up and the whole-body jolt the action brought. He repeats the action on Peter's other foot, getting the same reaction, which only encourages the man to let all his fingers, at once, drag over the wiggling soles. The feet in his lap squirm just as the rest of the teen trashes on the floor like an angry caterpillar, laughing his head off, occasionally shrieking when Tony pulls his toes back to scribble under them.

"NO! Nohohot the toes! Pleahase, anythihing buhut thahat."

Mr. Stark let up, giving the teen a short break.

"Not the toes, you say? Do you mean these toes? These ticklish little toes right here?" He takes one of them between his fingers, shaking them a little while speaking, but that is apparently enough to throw Peter into a giggle fit and try kicking him.

"Well, then I have to let these toes be. And tickle these instead."

True to his word, Mr. Stark left Peter's right foot in peace, only to jump onto the left one, resuming his relentless attack.

"ACK! I sahahaid NOT the toehes!"

"And since when do I listen to what my enemy tells me? Huh, Spidey, since when do we do that?" he teases the kid, letting up from his feet to pinch above his kneecaps. Peter shrieks and kicks his legs out as he laughs loudly, managing to roll onto his back. He quickly sets his legs up to press his soles against the gym floor, preventing Tony from getting a hold of them.

"You're trying to be smart about this? Well, what do you do about this then?"

Without pausing, Mr. Stark takes hold of the teen's wrist and softly but firmly presses them against the teen's chest to get them out of the way before pulling his shirt up, revealing his tummy.

Peter's eyes widen. He couldn't move much with his feet sticking to prevent whatever Mr. Stark was planning. He had an idea, but surely Mr. Stark wouldn't do something as childish as that.

Right?

Peter screams before hysterical giggles take over after the first raspberry is placed on his stomach.

"Nahaha, stahahahap. Nohot fahair, ihihihi thihihs isn't fahahahahair Mr. Stark!"

"Anything is fair in a fight with your enemy. Even this."

Mr. Stark places another long-lasting raspberry, making sure to shake his face into Peter's stomach as that elicits just the most adorable squeal he had ever witnessed from the teen.

"Now, what do you say, Spidey? Are you ready to fess up?"

Mr. Stark takes in the sight of his red-faced mentee with something akin to fondness. Peter's hair is messy from shaking his head from side to side, his chest heaving from laughing, and a wide grin spreads over his features. The teen surprises him as he squints at him from a position on the ground, a determined look on his face.

"Is that all you've got?"

Mr. Stark raises an eyebrow.

"Well, you brought this on yourself."

His head rushes down again, sending the teen into another ticklish frenzy. By the end of it, tears of mirth are gathering in the corner of Peter's eyes, which were Tony's clue to give up. Apparently, Peter didn't think his mentor would give up just yet, as he couldn't believe it when his hands and feet were free to move again.

"You're letting this go?" Peter stares wide-eyed at his free hands before directing his puzzled look at Mr. Stark, who flattens the wrinkles in his suit.

"As you are so determined to not let a word lose about it, I will let it slide." He sighs at the bewildered expression Peter sends him.

"I trust you, Peter. Whatever you have done must have been important, and I trust you would tell me if it wasn't, alright?"

Oh wow, now Peter feels like an idiot.

"Ehm, Mr Stark?"

The man in question glances at the teen, the latter rubbing the back of his neck with his eyes cast on the ground. Peter pulls his legs to his chest, biting on his lips as he wraps his arms around his knees, wanting nothing more than to be swallowed by the ground. He made such a big deal out of nothing, and now he has to admit to that and no other than Mr. Stark too.

His fingers tighten into the fabric of his pants before he finally finds the courage to confess to the man.

"I did it because I was embarrassed."

The words came out mumbled as Peter pressed his face into his knees.

"I didn't quite catch that, Peter."

Using his name and not some nickname meant Mr. Stark had caught onto the mood. The man slowly steps closer, making only a bit of a show of sitting beside Peter and muttering about his joints.

Peter licks his lips, glancing at Mr. Stark before directing his eyes onto a stain on his jeans before repeating himself.

"I was embarrassed. Do you remember that folder, emh, the- the one where you let Friday save all that dumb stuff that I did? In the lab? Well, I know you like to tease me about that, and I usually don't mind, and I don't want to come off as whiny. I know everyone teases everyone on the team, and that's cool, yeah. But, you know, sometimes, I-" Peter stops to take a deep breath. Mr. Stark keeps sitting next to him, listening in silence, and while Peter is thankful for it, he still can't look at the man.

"Sometimes I get this fear that you'll show that stuff to the others, and they'll make fun of me. I know that shouldn't bother me. I'm not a little kid or anything. But this stuff that happens in the lab, I don't mind you seeing me do dumb stuff because, well, that's you Mr. Stark, and I trust you, like sure you'll think I'm silly, but when it's you, I kinda don't mind that? But if the others know I blow up the lap three times a week, that makes me kinda uncomfortable because everyone always calls you, Dr. Banner, and me the smart ones, but what will they think of me when they see all the messes I produce daily? I'm supposed to be smart and not blow stuff up and- and stumble over stuff when I'm literally Spiderman and yeah, I guess I'm insecure about that. I'm really sorry I hacked into Friday to prevent more footage from being taken, Mr. Stark. That was dumb, and I should have known that it was a bad idea, really."

Peter lifts his head, finally meeting Mr. Starks eyes, who had been patiently waiting for him, witnessing him stumble over his words.

"I'm really sorry, Mr. Stark." Peter's voice grew quiet, close to a whisper.

He watches Mr. Stark running a hand over his face, a sigh escaping the man, and it causes Peter to tighten to hold on to his knees. He is taken by surprise at the weight of an arm thrown over his shoulder before he gets pressed into a warm body, melting into Mr. Starks side as the older man pulls him closer.

"Peter, I want to apologize for making you feel that way."

Peter opens his mouth to protest but gets cut off by a hand squeezing his shoulder.

"Uh uh, broadcast break for the Spiderling." The teen huffs in light amusement, and Tony takes it as his sign to go on.

"I want to apologize for taking it as far as it causes you to feel like you had to do something on your own rather than talk to me about it. I would have never shown it to anyone, but I should have considered that it could make you uncomfortable. I'll delete everything and stop Friday from saving further videos, alright?"

"You would do that for me, Mr. Stark?"

"Of course. I might be an asshole most of the time,"

"Language."

Tony raises an eyebrow at the rude interjection. His hand slips down to poke the teen in the side as a warning, which earns him a giggle.

"but I want you to feel comfortable and know you can trust me. That you can trust anybody on the team, okay?"

Peter nods with a small smile playing on his lips.

"Hey, Mr. Stark?"

"Yes?"

Peter grins up at the man.

"I'm really glad you're not a villain."

Mr. Stark squints at him before a sly smirk appears on his face.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that, Peter. We still haven't talked about the consequences of you creating a giant security breach."

Before Peter could crawl away, Mr. Stark had already slung an arm around the teen's middle, and for a third time that day, Peter's laughter echoed throughout the gym, this time a little brighter than before.

#marvel tickle fic #ticklish! peter parker #ticklish peter parker #tickling #marvel fanfic #marvel #peter parker #spiderman #tony stark #iron man #lee peter parker #ler tony stark

57 notes · View notes

dean-winchester-is-a-warrior · 5 months

Text

The Breaking Point

This fic is a sequel to To Be His Good Girl

Edit: I've removed my SPN kink Event bingo card, because I was reminded that Soldier Boy isn't part of SPN. 🤦‍♀️ The story hasn't changed at all.

Summary: Y/N has been acting up for days, and she won't explain herself to Ben. He may just reach his breaking point.

Warnings/Explicit 18+: Smut. Pretty filthy smut. BDSM. Dom/sub. Dom Ben (Soldier Boy). Sub Reader. Disobedient Reader. Crying Reader. Lots of talk of punishments and discipline. Spanking. Paddling. Pussy Spanking. Mentions of Caning (breasts). Slight Bondage. Intense pain as pleasure dynamics. Light Fingering mentioned. Sir!kink.

Pairings: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Reader

Word Count: 3,925

A/N: Okay, so "To Be His Good Girl" was supposed to be a one and done fic. However, I've had a few requests to carry on the story, and then I found the above bingo card, and I thought it fit into Ben and Y/N's story pretty well. There is a third part to this little story. It's called, "When is it Enough?" and it will be out on Wednesday, January 10. It will fill my BDSM square for the above card. Hope you enjoy, and I know this story won't be for everyone, so PLEASE heed the warnings. ❤️

The dividers used here are created by @silkholland

Y/N and Ben moved in together not long after her first round of discipline. They spent a lot of time in the first month testing boundaries, pushing Y/N’s limits of what she could take. Ben was amazed by her constantly. They had regular discipline sessions, where he would test her and push her to see if she would continue to obey him no matter what, and she almost always did. When she failed his tests, she took her punishments well. Even if she was being punished for purposely acting bratty, which had only happened a handful of times - mostly just to get a rise out of him - she quickly became remorseful when he corrected her behavior.

Their discipline sessions had never failed to leave both of them sated and happy.

Then one random Tuesday, four months into living together, Ben came home to find Y/N completely withdrawn. He thought maybe she was just hormonal, as women tended to be once a month, and he let the attitude slide for a day or so. When she didn’t improve, he threatened her, promising her if she didn’t smarten up, he’d make sure she couldn’t sit down for a week. The effectiveness of the threat barely lasted the day however, and by the next morning, she was back to grouching and sulking around the apartment.

Ben awoke that morning as he felt her shifting out of his arms and getting up. Then he heard her growl angrily as she stubbed her toe on the bedside table. “Piece of shit.” She grumbled to herself as she fell back to the mattress she’d just risen from. He reached out to rub her back but she stood up again, pulling away.

“Hey.” Ben said, voice still croaky with sleep. “What’s wrong?”

Y/N just shook her head. “Nothing, I’m just running late.” She told him, and she rushed out of their room to shower.

When she came back to the room, wrapped in a towel, Ben was gone, and she sat at her vanity and brushed her wet hair, shivering as cold droplets of water dripped from the ends. She glanced in the mirror and then quickly away. She didn’t really want to look at herself at the moment.

Ben came back into the room with a tray of delicious smelling food. Y/N frowned. “You cooked?”

He snorted at the ridiculous question. “Of course not, I got the doorman to order us breakfast from Santino’s.”

Y/N nodded, but her frown stayed in place. “You know, that’s not really his job.” She said, voice chiding.

Ben looked at her for a minute. “Well I tipped him a hundred dollar bill, so I don’t think he minded.” He shook his head. “What’s going on with you? You’ve been in this mood for days and I’m getting fucking sick of it.”

Y/N shrugged and mumbled. “Sorry.”

Ben set down the tray and caught her wrist as she stood up from the bench. “No, I mean it now, seriously Y/N, what’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing. I told you. Jesus, just fucking drop it.” She barked at him.

Ben’s scowl darkened and he quickly sat down on the bench she’d just vacated, yanking her across his lap. He pushed her towel up so her bare ass was exposed, swiftly cracking his palm down onto her damp skin.

Y/N screeched and fought against his hold. But he subdued her easily and delivered five more blows. “Explain your attitude right now.” He demanded.

Y/N sniffled. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m just…I've just been sleeping badly.”

Ben turned her in his arms so he was cradling her. “Yeah, I noticed. What’s causing the bad sleep?”

Y/N just shrugged and wiped her nose. “I dunno.” She said in a small voice.

Ben knew she was lying, but she looked up at him with her big, sad eyes. “I’m really sorry, B-, I mean, sir. I’ll behave myself, I promise.”

He knew he was being too soft with her; the attitude she’d been giving him for days now demanded punishment. But he found himself reluctant. He knew she was hiding something from him. She’d been fine on Tuesday morning when he left for the Tower - her usual sweet, bubbly, occasionally precocious self - but when he returned that evening she’d been moody and closed off.

This brief spanking was the only consequence he’d doled out so far even though she’d been snapping at him and unresponsive for days. He contemplated flipping her back over and continuing the spanking, but her jutting bottom lip and watery eyes worked far too well on him and he sighed and stood her up beside the bench.

“Get into bed, eat some food, and then get some more sleep.” He ordered.

“Yes, sir.” She said, obeying reluctantly.

But over the next two days nothing really improved. She wasn’t snapping at him as often, but she was still quiet and subdued. Ben tried a few times to distract her, kissing her and touching her gently, but though she never denied him, her responses were far from passionate and Ben wasn’t about to force her to sleep with him.

Finally, nearly a week after her moodiness had begun, she pushed Ben a step too far, and he realized he had no choice but to take action, for her sake.

They were eating dinner and Y/N started to pour a cup of coffee to have with dessert. But Ben stopped her. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be drinking coffee so late in the evening. You’re having a hard enough time sleeping as it is.”

She shrugged. “I’ll be fine.” She said as she poured herself a cup from the carafe on the table.

“Y/N, I said no.” His voice was firm, but she just ignored him and took a deep gulp of coffee.

He grabbed onto her wrist to stop her drinking more. “Did you hear me?”

Y/N yanked her arm out of his grasp, her face thunderous, temper ignited. “I heard you, but why do you fucking care?” Y/N screeched. She threw the cup of hot coffee at him and it smashed against the arm he held up in front of his face just in time.

As he lowered his arm he saw Y/N’s jaw drop, almost as though she was unable to believe what she’d just done. “Ben, oh god, I don’t…” She trailed off, her hands covering her mouth.

Ben brushed away the chips of pottery that clung to his shirt from the smashed mug. His voice was ice when he spoke.

“Get into that fucking bedroom, and get into position. Right fucking now.”

“Ben -”

“Now!” He bellowed and Y/N bolted out of the room.

Ben bent to pick up all the broken pieces of the cup and sank into his chair. He shook his head; she’d left him no choice.

***

Y/N sat on her knees in her bra and panties, head bowed, waiting for Ben to come dole out punishment. She knew she deserved whatever she got. She couldn’t believe it had taken him this long to correct her behavior. She knew she was being insufferable and incredibly disobedient. But she couldn’t pull herself out of this place she’d sunk after the phone call on Tuesday morning.

Ben walked in and Y/N’s breathing picked up. He came to stand directly in front of her but she kept her head lowered until he spoke.

“Look at me.”

Y/N looked up and the unrelenting anger on his face made her shiver. He was dressed in his green super suit as he always was when he was disciplining her.

“Obviously,” he started, “I’ve been far too lenient with you this week. I was hoping that little spanking the other day would be enough to straighten you out, but I was very wrong. So now…it’s clearly time for something more severe.”

He walked away but Y/N didn’t let her eyes follow him, dropping her gaze back to the ground. She could hear him moving things around in their closet and knew he was digging out the instruments of her punishment. She heard the snap of a leather belt and closed her eyes.

After five minutes of silence Ben returned to stand in front of her and tilted her chin up so she was looking at him again. “My over-the-knee spanking clearly wasn’t enough to set you straight, so I’ll have to try a little harder.”

He snapped his fingers and she knew that was her cue to stand. “Bend over the end of the desk, arms out to the sides. Hold on.”

Y/N did as she was told. From behind her, Ben continued explaining.

“I’m going to spank you in three different ways. There's power in threes, it really drives home a point. First, I'll use a wooden paddle on your ass. Then, my leather belt on your pussy, and lastly, a cane to your tits.”

Y/N felt her breath kick up and fear lodge in her throat.

“You will receive a total of sixty strokes. Thirty with the paddle, twenty with the belt, and ten with the cane.”

Y/N’s stomach flip-flopped. “Sir, please…” she began, but Ben cut her off.

“And since you seem to enjoy quiet so much this week, you will take every single stroke without making a sound.”

Y/N’s eyes widened and she looked over her shoulder, “Sir I-”

“Starting this second!” Ben barked out, immediately silencing her. “Face front.” He ordered and she swung her head back to face the door of the bedroom.

“I mean it, you disobedient little brat. I don’t want to hear a single word from you, not a whimper. If you cry, you'll do so silently.” He leaned close to her ear and growled his warning. “You disobey me again and you will regret it. Do you understand? You may speak to answer.”

“Yes, sir.” Y/N said, almost breathless.

“What will be the one exception to my rule of silence?”

“Belgium.” Y/N answered in a whisper, stating her safe word.

“That’s right.”

He straightened up and moved away to get the paddle. “Now, you’ve been paddled once before,” he said from across the room, “that time you came home late and didn’t call. But that was only ten strokes. No doubt, this will make a bigger impression.”

She heard him move into position behind her and then heard the familiar sound of the heavy wooden board whistling through the air before landing with a hard thwack on her ass; her white cotton panties offered very little protection and she bit down on her lip to stop from crying out.

“One.” Ben counted.

Once again the paddle whooshed through the air before it smacked hard against her ass, the sound of pine hitting skin reaching her ears just before the burning pain spread out across her ass cheeks.

“Two.”

And on he continued, spreading the blows across her whole ass, along with a few to the very tops of her thighs.

After the fifteenth blow, Ben stepped back and admired the red he could see blooming just under the bottom of her panties. The red of the spanking contrasted with the white cotton very nicely.

After giving her ass a moment’s break Ben gave his order. “Take your panties down. Leave them just at the top of your thighs.” He instructed not wanting to lose the pretty color contrast.

Y/N shifted painfully and pushed at her panties until they were down over her ass and framing her cheeks.

When he started in again Ben targeted the thickest part of her ass, just above her thighs. He maneuvered the paddle in an upswing and landed an incredibly stinging blow, making her flesh jiggle.

“Sixteen.”

After twenty strokes, the heat was radiating off of her ass like an oven. The apples of her ass cheeks were stained purple and red, thick welts decorating her soft skin. Ben could see her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

But he hardened his resolve and delivered the last ten strokes, the impact so hard that he raised her feet off the ground with every blow.

“Thirty.” He said as the last one landed. He moved away to set down the paddle and then came back to rub his hands across her bruised and battered ass.

“All of this could have been avoided, kitten, we could have been having a much more pleasant evening if you hadn't decided to act like such an unbearable brat all fucking week.”

Y/N nodded, remaining silent, and Ben sighed. “Stand up. Pull up your panties.”

She obeyed and when she moved to face him, Ben saw the pain that spasmed across her face and he wiped away some of the tears that still fell. “That’s gonna hurt a long time, baby. You’re probably gonna wear this lesson on your skin for a week or more.”

Y/N lowered her gaze and Ben recognized her look of true contrition. He tipped her chin up. “You may speak. Tell me what’s going on in your head. Why are you being so disrespectful?”

But though she had permission, she remained silent, merely shrugging and shaking her head.

Ben sighed again, more frustrated than ever. He shook his head and spoke with firm resolve. “Okay, you need more pain to remind you who you answer to, I guess.” He pointed angrily at the bed. “Lay down flat on your back, with your ass at the very foot of the bed.”

Y/N complied immediately. When she was laying flat, grimacing from the pain of the pressure on her abused ass, Ben approached, holding a rope, and grabbed her right ankle. He raised it high in the air and spread it out wide, strapping it to the bedpost tightly. He repeated the action with her left leg so she was stretched wide open, her cunt on full display.

Ben moved to the table where Y/N could now see he had his implements laid out. He picked up a particularly thick leather belt and brought it over to where she lay.

“Okay, kitten, same rules. Keep your mouth shut, or you’ll regret it. Belgium is there for you to use, always.”

Y/N nodded and closed her eyes, biting her lip. She’d had her pussy whipped a few times, but it was never more than a few strokes and even then the pain had been incredibly intense. At least these strokes weren’t going directly onto her clit.

But as Ben brought the leather down to crack against the incredibly delicate skin of her pussy, it didn't feel like much of a difference. She raised her hips off the bed in an instinctive need to get rid of the sting. Again her thin cotton panties were no barrier as Ben rained fire down onto her cunt.

“One.” He stated in a firm voice and Y/N wanted to weep at the idea of starting the pain over at one.

As Ben continued the punishment at a slow but steady pace, Y/N considered using her word and making him stop so she could spill her heart out to him, and try to make sense of the pain that had been sitting in her gut for a week, pain that stung almost as much as the blows landing on her skin.

But she was ashamed, she felt worthless, and she realized in that moment that she’d been egging Ben on all week, practically begging to be punished. She wanted to feel this pain, she couldn’t articulate her other pain, but this she could understand. She knew how to take this - this pain obscured the rest.

“Ten.” Ben called out with the latest blow. She knew what was coming before it happened as he set down the belt beside her head. He grabbed hold of her panties and shredded them as he ripped them from her body.

He looked down and clicked his tongue. “Jesus Christ, baby.” He pushed a finger through the dripping slick that glistened on her reddened pussy lips. “This is a punishment. You are not supposed to be getting off on it.”

Y/N felt her cheeks flush. She couldn’t help the way her body responded to Ben’s punishments. The pain never failed to blossom into heat that swept through her whole body and made her pussy weep.

Ben tutted again before picking up the belt to continue. The next blow landed on her bare pussy and the agonizing, fiery sting made her bite her lip till it bled to stop from making a noise.

“Eleven.”

By the time he reached nineteen, Y/N had also curled her hands into such tight fists that there were crescent moons cut into her palms from her fingernails. And then he brought down the last stroke and it landed so hard that a short squeal burst out of Y/N's throat despite everything she was doing to keep silent.

Ben dropped his arm to his side and Y/N could hear the actual disappointment in his voice when he spoke; it made her want to cry.

“You are just determined to disobey me over and over. I thought you were my good girl. What's happened to my good girl, huh?”

Y/N pushed up on her elbows so she could see Ben's face. She opened her mouth and then closed it.

“Speak.” Ben said briskly.

“I didn't mean to sir. I'm so sorry. I'm trying to be your good girl. Please don’t hate me too.”

The words just slipped out of her and she hadn’t even known they were there.

Ben’s face darkened. “What are you talking about?” He asked. “Who said anything about hating you? I’m just disappointed. Disappointed that you’ve been disobeying me over and over, and yes, angry at your disrespect.”

He ran a soothing hand over her raw pussy, pushing his middle finger into her slick folds to tease her clit. Y/N gasped and then met Ben’s gaze and saw the truth in his bright, beautiful green eyes as he spoke.

“But Y/N, I discipline you because I care about you, so that you know I care about what we mean to each other, about our roles in this relationship. I punish you because I care about how you conduct yourself. And sometimes I discipline you with pain because I know you crave it, crave the release of it.”

Tears streamed down Y/N’s face as she realized just how right he was. She had been craving the release of pain, the release of the pain that sat unmoving in her heart. All week since the phone call with her father she’d been down, heartbroken and feeling worthless.

It had been almost a year since she’d spoken to him. He’d made it clear a long time ago that he thought she was just a pathetic loser, and he was ashamed of her. But she’d called to tell him that she was dating THE Soldier Boy, that they lived together in a fancy apartment and she was spoiled and cared for. She thought it might make him see her as valuable - the fact that someone important wanted her.

Instead he’d told her he wasn’t interested in hearing about her whoring ways, that he didn’t want to know what rich old man was acting as her sugar daddy. He’d called her disgusting and an embarrassment. He told her he didn’t want her associating with his new family, he didn’t want his children soiled by her.

The words had sunk deep into her skin and had been cutting her ever since.

Now, as she laid there, exposed and completely vulnerable, in the most visceral and literal way possible, she began to confess everything. Ben quickly untied her legs from the bedposts so he could sit beside her and pull her into his lap. She told him everything, whispering her father’s cruel words, embarrassed by how true they felt.

When she fell silent, Ben shook his head. “Y/N why wouldn’t you tell me this earlier? I would have handled your punishment very differently.”

She shook her head. “No, I wanted to be punished. I deserve it.”

Ben kissed her forehead. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t have punished you. You disobeyed me all week and refused to let me into your problems, you do deserve to be disciplined. But I told you, I would have done it differently.”

Y/N sniffed. “How?”

Ben smiled. “I would have taken you over my knee again. I would have held you close to me and reminded you over and over that I’m only punishing you because I know how special you are, because I know what a good girl you can be. I would have made sure you know that if I didn’t care about you,” he paused and then pressed a brief kiss to her lips, “if I didn’t love you, I wouldn’t discipline you, I wouldn’t care enough to.”

He wiped away her tears. “And I would have made you come on my fingers between punishments to make sure you know that even though you might deserve to be punished sometimes, you definitely deserve to be pleasured all the time.”

Y/N’s tears ran unchecked once again as Ben continued. “Instead I was disciplining you harshly because I didn’t know what was causing your terrible behavior and I needed you to know I wouldn’t stand for it endlessly. I gave you so many chances this week, why didn’t you reach out to me?”

Y/N shrugged. “I was embarrassed. I was afraid that…” She buried her face in his chest, the material of his suit rough against her cheeks. “I was afraid you’d hear his words and think he was right.”

Ben huffed. “Ridiculous.”

“And,” Y/N continued, “and honestly I just couldn’t understand how I was feeling to even try to explain. Part of me wanted to not care about him, and part of me wanted to crawl into a ball and cry forever. So,” she shrugged again, “I just acted out.”

Ben sighed and then kissed the top of her head. “Well, I’d say your discipline has been severe enough. That can be all for tonight.”

But to his surprise Y/N shook her head. “No, don’t…you set out a punishment, I shouldn’t get out of it just cause I cried and finally told the truth. You taught me that. Once a punishment is set, it needs to be seen through, no matter how sorry I get after.”

Ben frowned. “But Y/N, I told you, if I’d known the truth, I would have disciplined you a lot less harshly.”

“But you only didn’t know the truth because I kept it from you.” When Ben opened his mouth to argue again, Y/N interrupted him. “Please, Sir.” She said in a whisper. “I need the pain. And I need you to…to show me you care enough to correct me when I do wrong.” She shrugged. “I also made a noise when it was forbidden to do so, so I need to be punished for that too.”

She looked up at him and her eyes were misty. “Let me show you that I can be your good girl again.”

Ben took a deep breath and nodded, pride shining in his eyes. “Then get down on your knees, kitten, and show me how good you are.”

Jensen:

@lyarr24

@lacilou

@deans-spinster-witch

@globetrotter28

@suckitands33

@akshi8278

@evznackles

@jackles010378

@impala67rollingthroughtown

@krazykelly

@candy-coated-misery0731

@envyaurora95

@spnwoman

@deans-baby-momma

Any/All:

@kazsrm67

@slut-for-evans-stan

@sexyvixen7

@nancymcl

Everything Incl. Fan Edits:

@k-slla

@leigh70

@eevvvaa

@kickingitwithkirk

@foxyjwls007

@notinthislife50

@roseblue373

@mishkatelwarriorgoddess

@avanatural

@eevvvaa

@mrsjenniferwinchester

@all-alone-he-turns-to-stone

#soldier boy smut #spnkinkbingo #spnkinkevents #soldier boy x reader #ben x reader #bd/sm kink #dom/sub #heed the warnings

115 notes · View notes

tickle-bugs · 11 months

Text

Chase the Memory of it Still

Summary: Clark is deeply, madly, head-over-heels in love with the one person he can't have. What happens when he can have him, if only for a little while? Fake dating friends to lovers superbat hehe

this one's for @fickle-tiction as payment for being a goblin in her dms LOL love ya!! the sequel to this is in progress >:) also it literally doesn't matter but vicki has a jersey shore/boston accent to me. i won't justify it.

Edit: now with a sequel, But You Were Mine

Clark has never really cared much about his paycheck—not in the grand scheme of things, anyway—but fuck he really doesn’t get paid enough.

“Sorry, Mr…Kent, but no press is allowed at the event. You’re more than welcome to wait outside with everyone else.” One of the guards—a bald fella who looks way too excited to turn him away—crosses his arms.

“…in the freezing rain.” Clark attempts to wipe his glasses on a dry part of his outfit. All he does is push the water around on the lenses. His suit’s about three shades darker from the storm. Why didn’t he wear his coat?

“You all seem quite dedicated. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” The guard smiles at him and shifts his weight, looking straight ahead as if all six feet of dripping Kryptonian have just vanished. The doorman reopens the door and shows Clark his people—a swarming mob of reporters hunched behind metal barriers in windbreakers, using plastic bags to keep their livelihoods safe.

“Thank you, gentlemen.” Clark clenches his fist until it shakes. Inhale, hold…exhale. He came all the way out to cold, rainy Gotham—wait. Gotham.

He glances past the guards and sifts through the noise of the gala until he finds the one heartbeat he knows better than anything. He smiles.

“Oh, my mistake. I thought he hadn’t shown up. My partner is right there.” Clark points. They both turn to look—would’ve been an excellent time to subdue them if he was feeling more brash—as he waves across the floor at Bruce.

He looks spectacular, honestly. His hair is doing that ‘I woke up this perfect’ messy thing, his shoulders are unfairly crisp under a three piece suit that’s probably worth more than Clark’s rent, and he just…glows. He’s chatting with a young woman who looks more than happy to fawn over him. Clark’s no longer staring but gazing, he feels it, and there’s absolutely nothing he can do. Maybe Bruce should stop being so…distracting.

He sees the surprise and hears the murmured ‘Clark?’ under Bruce’s breath. He thankfully doesn’t say anything else as he approaches, just glides over with a glass of champagne.

It’s at this moment that what he’s done, what he’s implied really sinks in, but it’s too late to turn back now.

“Hey, I left my invite at your place and these…upstanding citizens can’t find room in their heart to let me by. That’s what I get for showing up to support my partner, huh?” He hopes his emphasis isn’t too much, but he really, really doesn’t want to stand outside after all of this effort.

Bruce’s expression lands somewhere between pleasure and disbelief, minute and restrained as always. It’s only the uptick of his eyebrow and the slight narrowing of his eyes that gives him away. Bordering on amusement, but not quite.

“That’s unfortunate. What seems to be the problem?” Bruce sips. The guards shift uncomfortably. Clark tries to quell his shit-eating grin.

“I guess they think you’re outta my league.” Clark can’t help but snort a little. Bruce rolls his eyes.

“Mr. Wayne, can we see your invitation please?” Baldy clears his throat and plays official, knowing damn well it won’t make a difference. Bruce hands it over without a second glance.

“You look handsome.” Clark winks at him. He could smell Bruce’s cologne before he even walked over. At this proximity, he’s starting to get a little weak in the knees.

“You don’t look too bad yourself.” Bruce reaches past and adjusts Clark’s tie. Nice touch.

“Alright, Mr. Kent, you can enter.” The guards shuffle aside. Just to be an asshole, Clark shakes all the water off his form like a dog, splattering both the guards with the rainwater they tried to keep him in. Their shouts of confusion and disgust are the perfect soundtrack to his entry.

Bruce offers an arm as if he hadn’t seen a thing and leads him over to the coat check, as if he would have a coat to check. He takes Clark’s glasses off his nose, dries them with his kerchief, and puts them back. Clark wrinkles his nose at the gesture—it’s so Bruce to just…do it himself.

“Thank you. I’m so sorry,” Clark sighs. The lenses are terribly smudged. He plans for a headache.

“You owe me. Boyfriend? Really?” Bruce passes him a glass of champagne.

“I know, I know. I tried to get by as press and when I saw you, I panicked. Lex is here and Lois and I have been trying to corner the bastard for weeks—“

“Hold my hand.” Bruce extends a palm. Clark chokes on his drink. If champagne wasn’t trying to migrate into his lungs, he would’ve taken a serious crack at x-raying and double-checking it was really his Bruce.

“Clearly you’ve never done this before,” he murmurs, the very same palm sliding down Clark’s back. “Casual affection is key. We’re being watched.”

Bruce subtly laces their fingers together as they walk through the crowd. Clark tries to appear as put-together and boyfriendy as possible, but when he looks around, every single eye in the place is on him and Bruce. He starts to sweat and doesn't take another breath until they arrive at a little private corner on the far side of the room.

“So, you were saying about Lex?” Bruce leans against the wall, scanning the room over the rim of his glass. His eyes catch back on Clark, warm and intense.

“I, uh…he’s here.” Clark swallows. He’s starting to feel dizzy. This is a lot. He’s used to the grit of Batman or the gentle gruffness of Bruce. Bruce Wayne is a whole different creature.

“Mhm. He’s looking for R&D investments again. I was told it’d be rude for me not to attend.” A wry smile crosses Bruce’s features. He breaks eye contact to scan and it gives Clark the wherewithal to finish his thought.

“Lex is pulling his whole ‘get rid of anyone with superpowers’ shtick again. Really mad at me specifically, as usual. I’d bet you ten bucks he has a Kryptonite ray upstairs. He’s probably in the process of building more…or something worse.”

“You have a plan?”

“I was going to go up there and, yknow—“ he mimes smashing something— “but I can hear about twenty people whispering about us and I don’t want to make you look bad. Not that you look bad, you look great! I just know your reputation is important and I put you in a weird spot and I’m sorry—“

Bruce shushes him. Clark blinks and splutters, because who shushes people, but suddenly Bruce is so close that he can’t think. He can see the tiny scar on Bruce’s lip, the one he lies and says was from a household accident. Clark wants to brush his thumb over it.

He feels entirely normal about Bruce Wayne.

“Stop overthinking. You’ll hurt yourself.” Bruce roughly pats Clark’s cheek. Clark has to actively shift his focus from the calloused warmth of Bruce’s hands to his eyes.

“Okay, ouch.” Clark rolls his eyes. “I’m just…this is your element. I’m not good at this.”

“If you’re uncomfortable, you don’t have to stay.” Bruce tilts Clark’s chin down. Brushes some schmutz off his face.

“I got us into this. It’s alright.” Clark can’t look him in the eye. He’s so painfully aware of all the ways Bruce is touching. A perfectly choreographed performance for the outside eye. An act.

For a moment, he indulges himself, allows his mind to wander to a different world where Bruce might do this for him anyway. Somewhere so gently domestic that their rituals of touch are sacred. He wonders what it might be like to have a Bruce that’d dote on him like this, even while fussing at him.

Of course he has it now, but it’s not the same. Not when the eyes of hungry spectators cling to them from every shadow.

“I’ll arrange for someone to pick you up.” He already has his phone out and is halfway through dialing by the time Clark can grab him. Bruce spins out of the hold and starts walking away, still dialing.

“Bruce.” Clark yanks him back by the bicep. “I can survive mingling for a few hours. It’s no different than using a cover. What do I need to know?” Clark releases him only when it’s clear his stubborn streak is done rearing its head. Bruce works his jaw for a while and then sighs.

“When you’re talking to these people, they’re going to try and get to the center of you. Try not to lie. The truth will always be easier to remember. Just repackage it.” Bruce adjusts the clean lines of Clark’s suit with his fingertips, procedural and routine. Clark wonders briefly how many times he’s done this.

“Makes sense. Anything else?” Clark takes a measured breath.

“We have to sell this. People need to see easy affection before they believe that we’re…doing okay. Now, imagine someone’s watching us—“

“Are they?” Clark tries very hard not to scan the room. He starts to sweat.

“Shh. Someone’s watching us and you notice. They’re definitely gossiping. What do you do?” Bruce raises an eyebrow. The light of the obnoxious chandelier on the ceiling gives him a gentle glow. His eyes crinkle at the corners just slightly, even without a smile, and it’s beautiful. He’s beautiful. The surge of emotion in Clark’s chest knocks him off balance.

“Well, staring isn’t—“

Clark kisses him breathless.

Bruce leans into it, one hand cupping the back of Clark’s neck. There’s a perfect sunburst of giddy adrenaline—his hands find Bruce’s hips and pull them closer. Bruce’s heart thunders in his chest yet his hands are steady as they brace against Clark’s back. Clark cups Bruce’s jaw and brushes his fingers through the gentle stubble there, lets it tickle at his fingers.

Clark breaks them apart with a quiet, triumphant chuckle—years worth of watching, waiting, and yearning all cresting towards this one moment. He can hear their comfortable status quo shatter as he does, but it’s worth it. It has to be.

“Wow.” Bruce smooths his hands down Clark’s chest. He can’t tell anymore if the heartbeat thundering in his ears is Bruce’s or his own but he doesn’t care to know—if it’s the former, he’ll combust. Or faint. Somewhere in there.

“How’d I do?” Clark manages to adjust his glasses without snapping them clean in half.

“I might have a few pointers,” Bruce clears his throat and looks away.

“We have plenty of time.” Clark steals another kiss and thanks the universe that Lois isn’t here to talk some sense into him.

……..

“So, you and Mr. Wayne, hm?” A blonde woman with a massive fur shawl wound through her arms sidles up with a glass of champagne. Clark freezes at the snack table.

“Hm?” He hides the multiple horderves in his hand behind his back. He’s very acutely aware that he shouldn’t be unsupervised right now, but Bruce is being flocked by investors with no hope for escape. He sneaks a pleading glance in Bruce’s direction.

They do lock eyes above the crowd, but the horde encircling him has the tenacity of seagulls on the boardwalk. Bruce apologizes with his eyes. Clark resigns himself to perish.

“Phyllis Hough, a pleasure.” She extends her hand to him and he takes it out of practice, kissing the knuckles. Her skin is so dry and clammy that he has to bite back the urge to gag.

“Clark Kent, Daily Planet.” He presses his lips into something like a smile.

“Forgive me for intruding, but you’ve been the talk of the party since you arrived. How did you and Bruce meet?” She sidles too close, like they’re sharing a secret about someone else. Her demeanor reminds him too much of the foxes that used to terrorize his chicken coop growing up.

The truth is always easier to remember. Just repackage it.

“Well, he…needed my help. We met through work. We realized we worked well together and after that, everything sort of fell in place.” Clark shrugs.

“That’s just darling. My husband and I met on a mission trip to Ghana.” She points to a deflated puddle of a man who’s leaned up on the bar, looking like he’d rather disappear than be here.

“A mission trip? That’s so…necessary.” Clark smiles and tries not to throw up in his mouth.

“I adore helping the less fortunate. It’s a hobby dear to my heart.” She places a hand on her chest, showing off the obnoxious diamonds on her bony fingers. Diamonds likely stolen from the same places she claims to ‘help’.

“Ah, Mrs. Hough. Looking lovely as always. Do you mind if I steal Clark from you?” Oh thank god.

Bruce gives her a quick spin, using the move to squeeze closer to Clark’s side. He winds an arm around Bruce’s waist. Bruce rests his hand overtop Clark’s and he can’t help but grin like an idiot. He’ll never get over the little zing of his nerves every time they brush hands.

“So soon? We were just getting to know one another.” Mrs. Hough tries to slide back into their space. Bruce stares her down, but not unkindly—just a blank, mannequin-like stare and a smile that almost looks real.

A tense silence blooms between them. Clark’s sure if he listens just a bit harder, he’ll hear Bruce cursing this woman to high-heaven in his head. The silence stretches on.

“Forgive us. We haven’t spent much time together this week. I’ll admit I’m a little clingy. I never like to be far from him.” He cups Bruce’s cheek and gives him a quick, chaste kiss. Bruce chases his lips and lingers longer. Clark actually gets a little lost in it until a feeble cough splits them apart.

“Well, who am I to interrupt love?” She strains the word strangely. “I best take my leave. I’ll see you around, gentlemen.” She waves over her shoulder and traipses back into the crowd. As soon as she leaves, Clark heaves a deep, weathered sigh.

“How do you do this? I’d rather chew off my own fingers than rub elbows with these people.” Clark takes Bruce’s glass from his hand and downs it. The fizz is nice, but it might as well be water. He starts munching on his poached horderves.

“Trust me, it’s not fun for me either.” Bruce grumbles, plucking a cracker with crab dip from Clark’s little stash.

“Why do it then? Why pretend?”

“It’s part of the job. You know that better than anyone.” There’s something so very tired in Bruce’s eyes. Even as he smiles, it’s empty and rueful—the light doesn’t make it to his eyes.

“You don’t have to do that with me.” Clark squeezes his shoulder. Bruce’s gaze drops to the floor and his shoulder sag minutely, the tiniest give in his guard that Clark’s privileged enough to see. For a moment, he’s not Bruce Wayne but Bruce.

He doesn’t lean to catch Bruce’s eye—he knows he hates that—so he just stands there and rubs circles into his shoulder.

“I like who you are under the mask.” Clark offers him another cracker. Bruce takes it and taps it against Clark’s last ones, as if they’re holding glasses, and pops it in his mouth. Clark snickers. Only Bruce could make something so dorky look so charming.

“Am I dreaming, or is that you, Bruce?” A feminine voice cuts through the din with ease. Clark catches the moment that Bruce’s muscles lock up and the eyeroll before he turns around. Just like that, Bruce Wayne returns.

A woman in a long green gown slinks across the floor. Her posture sets her aside from everyone else in the room—her stance is powerful and lithe.

“Vicki. It’s been a while.” Bruce gives her that practiced smile he’s been wearing most of the evening. His posture is so unnecessarily rigid that Clark rubs his back before he can think better of it.

“How’ve you been, Brucie? Hear you’re gettin’ into some interesting trouble. Speaking of trouble—“

“Vicki Vale, Gotham Gazette.” She sticks out her hand to shake. Tall, blonde, terrifying eyes—yeah, he could see how she would be Bruce’s type. Definitely an ex.

“Clark Kent, Daily Planet.” He shakes her hand. “I thought press weren’t allowed in.”

“I have my ways. So do you, it seems.” She winks and passes him a flute of champagne. He graciously accepts.

“Ah, well. Perks of being around this guy I suppose.” Clark bumps Bruce’s hip a little. Bruce looks so startled by the motion that Clark can’t help but laugh a little.

“Listen, Clark, I’ve been with Bruce before and—“ she leans in close but doesn’t whisper, like she’s giving the world’s most public secret— “He’s honestly a softie under all the suits and cars.”

“I am not a softie. I can hear you.” Bruce shoves his hands into his pockets. Even though he’s turtling, there’s a levity to it.

“He has a thing for stubborn asses who get into trouble, ‘cause he is one. If that’s anything like you, you’ve got a good thing going here.” She smacks Clark’s chest with the back of her hand. Her honesty is…jarring, but not unfun.

“Oh, do you now?” Clark raises an eyebrow at Bruce over the rim of his glass.

“It’s not a thing. I don’t have a thing.” Bruce grumbles, the faintest hint of pink tinging his cheeks.

“Kinda sounds like you have a thing, Brucie.” Clark grins. Bruce scowls. He might be pushing his luck but it’s the only fun he’s really had all night.

“You two been together long?“ Vicki snatches a fresh glass from a passing waiter like a viper.

“Few months. Feels like longer.” Bruce doesn’t skip a beat. Clark hopes his smile makes Bruce’s tone sound less under duress.

“Wow, that’s pretty serious. Congrats.” She raises her glass in salute. Clark wants to cut in—that absolutely felt sarcastic—but Bruce gives his hand a squeeze.

“Can’t imagine life without him.” Bruce gives him such an earnest look that Clark has to avert his eyes before he gets too hopeful. His stomach twists. Play the part.

“Do you got somethin’ you like most about him?” Vicki locks onto Clark and he jumps a little. She dissects him with her gaze in that way only journalists can. He does his best not to shuffle under her scrutiny.

“Vicki, I hope this isn’t an interview.” Clark gives her his best stern stare.

“If it was, you botched it.” She bumps shoulders with him. “I’m kidding. Off the record. I haven’t seen Bruce glow like this, ever. Just lookin’ for your secret.“

That sends a sweet, traitorous flutter through his ribcage.

“Do you want to dance?” Bruce abruptly turns on his heel and shoves his hand into Clark’s personal space.

“Do…you want to dance?” Clark furrows his brow. Bruce looks like he might explode.

“Come on.” Bruce pulls Clark onto the dance floor.

“Bye, Vicki!” Clark calls over his shoulder, but Bruce is spinning him into the gentle embrace of violin song faster than he can resist. They glide far, far away from that corner of the room, losing her verdant silhouette in the crowd.

“Be honest. Did you just run from your ex?” Clark laughs, trying to keep in time with Bruce’s steps. He’s always had two left feet, but Lois had forced him to go to ballroom dancing classes with her enough times for him to pick up some semblance of rhythm.

“No.” Bruce leads just a little too fast for the music at hand. Clark drags his feet in an effort to slow them down.

“I don’t buy it. You would’ve been happier to see Harley than Vicki.” Clark almost dips Bruce on autopilot. He course-corrects pretty quickly and pulls a tight-lipped Bruce close instead. Nearly cheek-to-cheek, Clark takes the lead as easy as breathing.

Clark isn’t sure when he started humming, but he lets the music take them both. Bruce allows him to maintain the lead, surprisingly, and he guides them languidly around the dance floor. He even twirls Bruce, shocked he gets away with it, but he’s too wrapped up in whatever this is to question anything.

When Clark pulls back a bit to tease, Bruce is staring at him with those wide, pretty eyes.

“What?” Clark can hear the gears in Bruce’s head turning, even when there’s nothing to say. A remarkable talent.

“I…didn’t know you could dance.” Bruce shifts his hand from Clark’s shoulder to his back.

“I’m full of surprises.” Clark grins. Their form slowly morphs from proper ballroom to a casual, dance-in-the-kitchen kind of waltz--Clark links his fingers with Bruce’s and leads them by the hands, they somehow find a way to get closer to one another, and they end up in a slow, gentle sway.

“We should dance more.” Clark spins Bruce again and they end up back-to-chest, arms crossed over Bruce’s torso.

“You can’t be serious.” Bruce’s ears are adorably rosy. Clark chooses to remain alive and not comment on it.

“It’s good for you, Bruce! Lord knows you could use the smiles.” Clark spins them again, back to proper form. Bruce’s whole face scrunches and he stops in his tracks. A tinnitus-like sound ringing gently from Bruce’s ear and into their personal space makes Clark wince a little.

Of course he’s wearing comms.

“Diana’s got Lex cornered upstairs.” Bruce leans in and murmurs low in Clark’s ear. He fights tooth and nail against a full body shiver.

“Diana’s here? You called for backup?” Clark adjusts his glasses.

“If anything we’re her backup.” Bruce scoffs. “We need people to see us disappear so we have an alibi. Act natural.”

Clark walks away. Bruce yanks him back by the bicep and leans in close.

“Flirt with me. No, no—Clark, like you mean it.” Bruce compensates for the awkwardness by messing with Clark’s tie, but it starts to look like a tic more than anything else. Clark caresses Bruce’s cheek but it looks more like he’s wiping something off his face.

“I’m trying!” He huffs. “This isn’t exactly my skillset.”

“You had all of…that a minute ago—“ Bruce gestures at him— “where’d it go?”

Clark tries to summon ‘that’, whatever that means. The best he can do is scowl uncertainly and lead them back into an awkward sway.

“You could at least pretend like you like me,” Bruce huffs, uncharacteristically petulant. Clark almost gives himself away then and there.

“I’m not good at this.” He swallows and averts his eyes.

“Come on, American Pie. You’ve gotta be working with more than those doe eyes.” Bruce’s devilish smirk genuinely tears the breath from Clark’s lungs. He takes a ridiculous inhale to buy him time until—yep, there it is, the smirk disappears.

“Nope. This pie is fresh outta doe…eyes…that was going to be a dough joke but I think I should let it die.” Clark lets his forehead collide with Bruce’s shoulder as they sway, relishing in the comforting pat on the back that he gets.

“That would be merciful.” Bruce laughs.

“Did you just laugh?” Clark perks up.

“No.” Bruce’s jaw tightens. He can’t kill the sparkle in his eye though, no matter how hard he tries. It’s there and it's stunning, like the cosmos in its depths.

“You actually think I’m funny. You laughed at my joke!” Clark doesn’t realize that he’s dipped Bruce until they’re nose to nose, sharing the space of a breath. He quickly pulls him back up.

Enough dancing. Clearly he can’t handle that.

“I think you are…moderately amusing.” Bruce rolls his eyes. Clark squints.

“I think you are super…man.” Clark drags out the pause. Bruce all-but-scoffs.

“Seriously?” He shoves Clark’s chest. There’s a fondness to the gesture that makes his heart ache.

“You wanna laugh. I see it in your eyes, you do this squint—“ Clark pokes Bruce’s nose, mostly because he can’t do anything about it.

“I don’t want to laugh. I want to punch you.” Bruce gives his best scowl. Clark’s finger on his nose cuts most of the threatening aura.

“You’re smiling though. You are!” Clark scritches beneath Bruce’s chin as a fond gesture, something Lois often does to him.

Bruce squeaks.

“You are beyond immature,” Bruce huffs, jerking away from the touch. Clark’s brain struggles to reconcile what he just heard with what he’s seeing, as a suddenly perfectly-stoic Bruce adjusts his suit jacket.

Clark reaches out to do it again and Bruce latches onto both of his arms to push him away. Clark pushes back with no strain, as if the grown man clinging to his wrists weighs no more than bracelets, and repeats the gentle tickle.

Bruce smashes his chin down to his chest as a couple of scratchy snickers force their way free.

“No way.” Clark beams.

“Don’t you dare. Do not. Clark—Clark.” Bruce starts to back away. Clark snakes an arm around his waist and holds him tight.

“What? I’m flirting.” Clark presses his fingers into the curve of Bruce’s waist and it earns him a headbutt—thankfully avoiding the glasses. He finds a spot beneath Bruce’s ribs that gets a snort.

“You’re so cute. I wish you’d smile more.” Clark worms his fingers beneath the curve of Bruce’s jaw, chasing that squeak that opened up such beautiful horizons.

“I am not cute, you dick.” Bruce tries to bite at Clark’s fingers.

“Mmm, I disagree.”

“I’m going to bury you in the shallowest of graves.” Bruce grits out, curling into Clark’s shoulder. A strangled squeal flies out upon contact with his ears and Clark stays there, fascinated by the degree of squirming happening in his immovable arms.

“I’m sure you will.” He persists until finally, finally, a choked giggle emerges. It’s quiet enough to float beneath the ambient noise of the gala, but it rings loud and clear in Clark’s ear.

“Are you coming? Otherwise, I’m taking him to Arkham myself. He’s…irritating.” Diana’s voice is a tinny pinprick in Bruce’s ear, but Clark still picks up on her message. He stills his fingers.

“On our way,” Bruce murmurs. As soon as the connection is severed, Clark steals one more squeeze at his side before they vanish to the service corridors to meet Diana.

…

“Boys. You’re late.” Diana looks up from where she’s been braiding the Lasso of Hestia. On the other end, Lex Luthor hums an irritating tune.

“Busy day,” Batman grouses, flexing his fingers. He makes his way over to the contraption in the corner and starts picking at the wires.

“Whatcha got over there?”

“A highly concentrated laser stocked with a rainbow of Kryptonite strands. We were right on time.” Batman dislodges something with a mighty crack. In his hands, a glass capsule full of suspended Kryptonite crystals glitters in the light. The lenses on the cowl flick blue as he analyzes them further.

“Well, Lex, you’ve just made me ten dollars richer.” Superman puts his hands on his hips. He can feel the faint, crawling fatigue starting to burrow into him from the proximity of the Kryptonite, but he resists it. He yanks a handful of wires free from the machine, crushes the focus, and kicks the motherboard hard enough to disintegrate it.

“I hope your investors don’t hear about this,” he tuts, crossing his arms. “I’d hate for Wayne Enterprises to leave you in the dust for the…what, sixth year in a row?”

“We’ll see who’s laughing soon, Man of Steel. Your supposed altruism is nothing but your own selfish desire, fueled by greed—“

Superman knocks him out before he can finish.

…

“What the hell do you gel your hair with? Cement?” Bruce ruffles Clark’s hair again with a scowl. It doesn’t move.

”Mrs. Duvet’s Quick-Dry Iron Hold gel. Otherwise it gets super obvious when I’ve been out flying.” Clark carefully starts pulling strands to the front, mimicking Bruce’s helmet hair.

“Of course you do.” Bruce continues carefully messing with his hair. Clark shivers at the fingers on his scalp.

“I can just wet it and shake it out real quick?” Clark grabs for the sink handle and starts sizing up how to fit his head into the basin.

“I’d rather not leave a soaking wet bathroom for the custodians.” Bruce runs his hands beneath the tap, then holds them towards Clark. “May I?”

He nods numbly. Bruce runs his hands through Clark’s hair and he utterly melts into it. Oh, it’s a crime this won’t last.

“Looking like, uh, we had sex is a lot harder than I thought it would be.” Clark starts fiddling with his tie. He can feel his face heating up at the idea of it.

“There is an art to it. Here, let me.” Bruce takes the ends of the tie and gives it a quick full Windsor with practiced hands. Then he loosens it just right.

“Honestly, Bruce, no one will notice if I sneak out. I’m just some reporter they’ve never heard of.” Clark’s eyes dart to Bruce’s lips for a moment.

“These people have nothing but time and wealth—they’re always looking for gossip. We disappear and you don’t come back? In two days, someone will find you and hunt you down for the exclusive on our ‘tumultuous relationship’.” Bruce fiddles with Clark’s shirt collar. Undoes a button.

“So I’ll tell them we went our separate ways. Big deal.” Clark clears his throat.

“Vicki and I broke up eight years ago. To this day, she still gets harassed by paparazzi on her way to work. Maybe that doesn’t bother you, but what are you going to do when people with cameras and time start realizing how much you disappear from the Daily Planet?” Bruce makes an exasperated hand gesture that seems to lack a target.

“Fair enough.” Perry and Lois can only protect him so much. Bruce, regrettably, has a point.

“We’re playing a part. After this, you won’t have to worry. I’ll give a statement that we quietly split and in a week or two, you’ll be left alone. Let’s focus on getting out of here.” Bruce returns to fiddling with Clark’s hair.

Clark takes Bruce’s hands in his own. His breathing stutters a bit.

“Can I kiss you, Bruce?” Never has a question felt so heavy, so precarious.

“Is there someone in here?” Bruce’s voice drops low, eyes darting to the stalls.

“No! No, I just thought it’d be easier to…y’know…rather than faking it.” He can’t bring himself to look Bruce in the eye. He loses track of whose heartbeat is thundering in his ears. He feels like he’s back in high school and fumbling his way through practicing in the mirror.

“What?” No going back now.

“It would just be for a minute or two. It might be more effective than pretending. We could kiss a little. It doesn’t have to mean anything.” Clark shrugs. Yeah. Logic is good. This is strictly a business arrangement. Friends kiss sometimes. They’ve been through hell and high water together, this should be easy.

Bruce stares at him for a long while, long enough to make him sweat, to make him sick. Years of friendship and trust suddenly hang in the balance and he’s not ready for that. He’s not ready to lose that. What the fuck has he done?

“I—“

“Are you…reasoning your way through making out with me?” Bruce puts his hands on his hips, expression utterly unreadable.

“Maybe?” Clark swallows.

Silence envelops the bathroom. Clark starts running through ways to retcon the worst mistake of his life—passing it off as a joke? Yeah, that might work. He starts to fumble his way through the syllables of an apology, when—

Bruce laughs. Hand on the wall, shoulders shaking, laughs. He tips his head back as the last snickers float and echo. He looks at Clark down the length of his nose, still beaming. It’s the rarest thing he’ll ever see and he commits every detail to memory.

“I don’t think anyone’s asked so nicely before. Is this how they do it in Kansas?” Bruce unravels Clark’s tie in seconds. He wraps both ends around his knuckles idly, hanging his wrists off of Clark’s shoulders.

Clark grabs both sides of Bruce’s head and kisses him deeply to shut him up. Bruce tilts his head and pulls Clark roughly forward, slamming them both into the wall. He lets out a beautiful little noise as his hands slide beneath Clark’s jacket and absolutely ruin the clean press of his shirt. Clark has half a mind to hoist Bruce onto one of the sinks, but he resists.

He’s beautiful. It’s the only clear thought that runs through Clark’s head as he starts unbuttoning the buttons of Bruce’s shirt. He tilts Bruce’s jaw up and presses tender, lingering kisses down the column of his throat. Bruce pulls at Clark’s hair, forcing his head up, and catches his lips with a growl.

“That’s how we do it in Kansas.” Clark breathes, hovering in Bruce’s personal space. His glasses are fogged and smudged but he can still see the tantalizing tilt of Bruce’s lips.

“Again, I have a few pointers—“

This time Clark does pick him up. Bruce’s eyes go wide.

“Nevermind.” Bruce pulls him back in with a forearm around the neck. Clark surges forward and mouths beneath Bruce’s jaw. He can feel Bruce’s heartbeat nearby and he hunts for it, spurred on by the storm of his own want. When he finds it, he sucks slow and steady against his warm, soft skin until he’s sure it’ll bruise. Bruce lets out a keening whine that stutters into a gasp, gripping Clark’s shoulders. His thighs clench around Clark’s waist.

Clark’s better judgment grabs him and he breaks them apart. Bruce doesn’t move away and that lights his brain up like a Christmas tree. He hovers there for far too long, fighting tooth and nail against the urge to chase the adrenaline. Bruce looks utterly sinful in his grip, flushed in a way Clark hasn’t ever seen.

The concept of self-control comes to him in a whisper like it’s foreign. He remembers himself.

“Are we…good?” Clark vaguely realizes he’s still holding Bruce and sets him down. He’s buzzing from head-to-toe, like he’s just taken a full day’s nap in the sunlight. He’s not entirely certain he can feel his face. He touches his own lips reverently.

“What? Oh. Yeah, c’mon.” Bruce grabs him and leads them through the venue.

When Bruce pulls him through the party and towards the front doors, he doesn’t even process the prying eyes and whispers. All that matters is Bruce’s hand gripping his own.

Clark’s determined to catch this shooting star in his hand, even if it doesn’t last. Even if it burns him down the line.

#my fics #dc #superbat #bruce wayne #ticklish!bruce wayne #clark kent #diana is here im not tagging her #SORRY I FORGOT TO ADD #ask to tag

297 notes · View notes

sofasoap · 1 year

Text

Wrenching heart

Pairing : Din Djarin x f!reader. slight description of injuries on Reader otherwise no other physical descriptions.

Summary: part 2 to heartbreak. Going into Reader’s backstory.

Slightly AU-ish, Din didn’t get N1 after Razor Crest got blown up.he got something similar.

Warning: Mature theme. strong languages. Mention of sexism, misogyny ,angsty.

English isn’t my first language, so I apologise for any mistakes.

A/N : I seem to be writing all the Din fic for the University students at the moment to push them on ( Trust me, I know your pain. been there done that) @groguspicklejar and @deakyjoe, this is for both of you.

MASTERLIST for part 1 and sequel to this series

Since leaving Din that night, you've been planet hopping, doing odd jobs here and there, helping out at cantinas when they are short of staff, fixing up any broken mechanical stuff for people. Scraping in any credits you can before moving onto the next location. You are pretty sure Din wouldn’t be coming after you, but you can’t bear the thought of staying one place too long, making connections with people, getting hurt again.

Back to your old life, you thought. Running away from problems.

Before the fall of the Republic, your family was well known in Naboo for its wealth and connections with both the political and underground world. While Naboo was relatively untouched, like most people during the rule of the Empire, they didn’t come out unscathed. Your parents, eager to climb back up again socially, spare nothing to provide you and your brother the best education, getting the best tutor in the system. History, language, art, culture, music, politics, science. You name it. While you were thankful for the comfortable lifestyle and education your parents have provided you, you can’t help thinking, do they love you because you are their child? Or there is something else they want out of you.

Being the good obedient daughter you are, you work hard to please your parents. Your real interest is exploring the galaxy, to be an expert mechanic. In what off time you can spare, you often secretly sneak off to the garage and workshops in the city, or searching on holonet, reading and learning about the latest models of ships and transports there are in the galaxy.

You told your brother about your dream once, he laughed his head off at the idea. “ Dream on sister, you think father and mother will let you do that?”. He sneered. “ Your job, as a woman,” He pointed at you, “ is to be a good trophy wife for someone else, look after your husband, and carry a child for them. That is why they have you. Helping to revive the family name.” That’s the first time the seed of doubt has been planted in your heart. Still, you work hard, chasing for approval from your parents. Their reaction every time makes that seed grow and grow.

“That is still not good enough.”“ That is your responsibility.”“ That is what you meant to do isn’t it?”

The reality came crashing down on you when you were travelling back from an excursion to the Gungan territories, the transporter you were in was involved in a serious accident. While you survived, you didn’t come out unscathed. The accident left a deep scar across your face. Not once your parents visited you while you recovered at the medical centre. When you return home, you can sense your parents and your brother looking at you differently.

With disgust. You made the decision to run away when you were walking in the corridor one night preparing to sneak out again, and you heard the servants talking discreetly. You hid behind a pole, eavesdropping. “..... Master is thinking of sending her away. She’s no use to them anymore….. The accident…. The scar…” You shuddered. Is that what you are to your parents? Just an object that they can use to achieve their goals? Now you are what they considered “ damaged goods”, they were going to throw you away, like a piece of junk. You ran away that night. Eventually settled down in Coruscant, a little workshop owner took pity on you, agreed to give you lodging in the small store room behind the workshop, and let you be a helping hand cleaning around the workshop, after you promised you wouldn’t cause them any trouble. Being a fast learner, you watch and learn, soon the owner notices your talent, agrees to let you start fixing small easy problems, and from then on, business blooms, the workshop is famous for fair prices they charge and quick reliable work. The owner treats you like a daughter more than your biological family ever did. First time in your life, you were really happy. Doing things you want, earning your own wage, having someone really cares about you. Happiness doesn’t last. Few cycles later, your boss got sick, and despite doing all you can, they passed away. Their relatives took over the business, and things went downhill from there. Until the Mandalorian came into the shop one day. You ran off again, this time with The Mandalorian, after begging him to let you tag along. With him and Grogu, you feel like you found a family again.

The naive heart of yours thought there was something between you two. He isn’t a man of word, he lets his actions do all the talking. You and Grogu want something? He will get it. You need a certain part for the ship? He will hunt it down for you. Grogu wants more frogs? He will find the nearest market to get it. He gave you the vibroblade, with his clan signet on it. Does it mean something? You rack your brain through all the lores and stories you've been taught about the Mandalore culture from your tutor, but nothing came up. When he pushes you away after Grogu left with the Jedi, you feel like a failure again. He doesn’t want you anymore. Just like your family. You are no longer used to him. Piece of junk. Away you go again. With another scar added to your already broken heart. You hitched a ride with a trader, who can only take you as far as Tatooine. From there, someone recommended you to seek out employment with Peli Motto in Mos Eisley. Peli was impressed with your skills, and agreed to stay on as her assistant. You were planning to stay for only a few weeks, to be honest, a dry, hot desert planet isn’t your favourite place to be. Especially growing up in Naboo, it’s such a big contrast. But something made you stay on. If you were a true believer of the Force ( maybe you are? After seeing Grogu and Luke’s show of power.) You will be telling people later on it was the force that has pushed you to make the decision. And here you are, running into Din again. Damn the universe and the force.

“So, what is going on between you and Mando?” Your hand stopped for a second where you were trying to pull the engine lines out. “... I used to work for him.” your hand continues to move as you reply Peli, not elaborating any further. Peli gave you a look but didn’t press on. Din comes back to the workshop everyday, watching you work but doesn’t interact with you. You can always feel his eyes following your every move. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be Mando? Doesn’t the Daimyo want you to do some job for him?” Peli asked him every day. “ I need the ship for that.” Was always his reply.

“Well here you go Mando, all fixed up for you. Your engine shouldn’t give you more trouble unless you decide to run the ship to the ground. Your carbonite freezer coolants have been replaced as well, it's a bit hard to source the stuff so I have to charge you a little bit more for that.” Peli commented. After handing over a bag of credit without complaint, he walked over towards you, where you were putting away your tools back into the tool box for the end of the day.

“Your ship is fixed, as promised. Now leave me be.”

“...........”

“if you got something else to say, spit it out now Mando.” Not even turning around to face him, you mumbled. After travelling with him, you have learned to read his body language. He always stands there and looks at you if he wants something from you. From the corner of your eyes, you see him flexing his fingers, but still, not a word. You sighed. Standing up, you unhook something from your belt. “By the way, I think you should have this back.” Pressing it into his gloved hand, you turned around and yelled towards Peli. “ I am going to go to the Cantina and grab our dinner, I’ll be back soon!”. You walked out of the hanger, leaving him standing there, without a goodbye. Din looked at his hand, it’s the vibroblade that he had gifted you. He feels like his world is crumbling down around him again.

…. I did not expect I will be making a part 3 for this. Looks like i have to. Oops. Tag list : @frogtits1, @READINGFAN, @memester-png

I absolutely love Peli. I think apart from Karga and Cara, Peli is probably the closest thing Din has to a big sister/aunty figure.

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #grogu #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you

293 notes · View notes

annaberunoyume · 4 months

Text

How would Nezha react to being offered help from a Naga!Reader to sleep?

It would probably take a long time to feel comfortable being helped...But he may figure that it may help him be a better guardian...So, he sits on one or your coils...And let your spirals do the magic...Hands on his knees. At first, his eyes simply widens in surprise at the spirals...But then they mimic the dancing lights patterns...But it is only when you begin to hum that his eyelids begins to feel heavier...You smile cheekily...And to gently taunt him, you sing the song "Stay Awake" (Mary Poppins)...Soon...his head begins to lower but he snaps it upright again, only for it to wobble anew...You smiled, findig it adorable...Not wanting to spook him awake, you keep gently singing almost in a whisper...tilting your head as Nezha begins to topple to the left...You wrap your tail lightly around his chest, reassuring him: "Let me help you lie down." "(Slight yawn) Ok...", he breaths out. You keep humming as he now lies atop your coils limply.

"This feels nice...(Yawns) Should have...Done it...sooner."

"Happy to know that...(lies down, facing him) I can make it more relaxing...If you want."

"H...How?", he yawns, again.

"By wrapping you...Like a blanket."

He shivers. But he smiles at he beholds your spirals... "...Go on.", he says.

You resume humming and singing...Maneuvring your coils so that he is wrapped loosely from mid-chest to knees. He humms and curls up a little, delighted by the heat, the warmer the coils becomes.

You scoot closer, as the lotus prince's eyes are bobbing up and down..lazily opening and closing...

"Sleep...Lotus Prince.", you almost hold his hand.

He closes his eyes at last and sighs...You take it and give it a peck. You could swear you saw him blush as he huddles more into the warmth...A lovely sight to behold.

Inspired by this piece:

UPDATE (02/04/2024): I could also imagine Reader singing these lovely chinese lullabies to Nezha, as well.

youtube

UPDATE (02/14/2024): Here is a sort of sequel to the above fanfiction I wrote:

26 notes · View notes

full-loup · 3 months

Text

Her Poor Back!

A sequel of sorts to that other Krystal piece I did, this one done with traditional drawing! Here's a bit of a story to go with it as well.

Krystal groaned and grunted as she lay upon the large bed of straw the Earthwalkers had prepared for her. A friendly CloudRunner, the same that had spotted her from the air, ambled over to her, a jug of water held in its beak. Clutching the vessel by its handle, the Saurian tipped it carefully, just enough so that a tiny trickle of water fell between the vixen's lips.

She drank gratefully, waving the jug away with a slight gesture of her paw once she'd had her fill. The small movement sent ripples through her engorged form, but she still made sure to whisper her thanks to the CloudRunner as he set the jug down next to her bed. She'd been stuck in that bed for three days now, and she doubted she'd be leaving it anytime soon. "I needed that..." The woman panted, gathering breath to continue to speak, "But I also need a cure for my... hufff... condition... please tell me somebody has... huff... found the idol...?"

"Not yet my dear..." A familiar voice responded as the CloudRunner turned to face the entrance to the room and bowed in respect. This action was enough to confirm to her that the EarthWalker Queen herself had come to check in on her, even if she couldn't see the massive dinosaur past her tremendously bloated chest, "I'm afraid we may have to accept that it could be lost forever." The words had stung Krystal enough for her to wince, but she expected them. Days ago, she had come across the fertility idol, a Cerinian artifact left in a shrine her spacefaring ancestors had built on Sauria ages past. The relic was an odd one, a small clay statue depicting a vixen with exaggerated proportions, but Krystal hadn't paid much thought to the figure's cartoonishly large breasts. Simply happy to have found a piece of her people's history, she had stolen it, unaware of the true price she had paid for the discovery until it was far too late. As her once sleek and athletic form began to take on a much more matronly aspect, Krystal had dropped the idol in shock. By the time she'd connected it to her dire predicament, her fate had been sealed: The idol had tumbled down into a deep ravine and her growth showed no signs of stopping. She was fortunate that the CloudRunner had found her before any SharpClaw had, but by the time he did her body had come to not only resemble the massively exaggerated proportions of the statue but to surpass it. Her buttocks and hips had bloated so much with flab they had snapped the loincloth from her waist, her belly having grown heavy and large enough to force her thighs to spread as she lay pinned helpless to the road. The worst changes, of course, had been those caused to her bust. Each jug was massive, filled thick with heavy fat but still obscenely perky as they loomed and wobbled over her, filling her field of vision at all times. Within minutes of her transformation, her breasts had utterly destroyed her skimpy top, leaving them to bounce and swat pendulously before her with each desperate, waddling step she took. By the time she had become immobilized by her own girth, Krystal was sure that each one weighed as much as her whole body used to. The CloudRunner had alerted the nearby EarthWalkers, and it had taken the mighty dinosaur almost a full day to drag her bulk back to their shelter at Thorntail Hollow. "All I wanted was a piece... of Cerinia's history... something else... mmnnffff! ...to remember it by..." The massively bloated vixen moaned, angry tears welling in her eyes as she spotted the fat nipples cresting her fat tits, bare for all to see now, "Not this... indignity...!" "We're sorry... but we will need to find another way," The EarthWalker Queen sighed, "There must be a way for us to break this spell though! What kind of a statue was this?" "A... fertility idol," Krystal said, blushing, "You don't think that...?" The EarthWalker Queen did not answer for a moment, and Krystal could sense her own embarrassment at the awkward but likely theory, "I do not know for certain... but though the growth has slowed, you appear to still be swelling... we don't know if it will ever stop. As she thought of the potential cure, Krystal felt the burning between her bloated thighs only growing even more intense. She shifted them uncomfortably, sighing as it caused her titanic tits to wobble in her face. "If it could reverse this... even stop this..." "I need to find a mate..." Krystal sighed, more longing in her voice than she expected as she licked her lips and moaned, "Well, fuck me..."

#fat furry #fatfur #weight gain

10 notes · View notes

purplefangirl42 · 9 months

Text

Keep You In Sight

Summary: Brasso wants you to stay safe, and stay where he can see you.

Pairing: Brasso/Fem!Reader

A/N: This is a birthday gift for my beloved friend @sherwood-forests 💜 A sequel to the other Brasso piece I wrote for her called "Port in the Storm". Takes place during the events of the Andor Season 1 Finale.

Tags/Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Fluff, Slight Angst

Divider by @saradika

The rain pattered against your roof, the sound echoing through your whole house as you sat by the window looking out into the street. You hoped it would let up soon and wouldn’t continue to be like this tomorrow. The last thing you all needed was to have to trudge through mud. This was going to be hard enough as it was.

Brasso had stopped by to let you know what the plan was going to be for the next day. The Empire had put all sorts of stipulations in place as to what could be done and what couldn’t. They had said only 40 people could be present, which you knew would never hold up. Anyone who knew Maarva, which was almost everyone, would be there. You were sure of it.

Before he had left, Brasso had given you a quick peck on the cheek before quickly escaping into the rain to head home. Things had been a bit awkward since the first time he had kissed you. Despite the feelings rushing through the two of you, despite the first step already having been taken, you were both at a loss about where you stood. All you knew for certain was that you cared about him so much that your heart ached in his absence. That single peck had sent a shock down to your toes that you could still feel hours later.

You shivered and wrapped your arms around yourself, taking one final glance out at the rain before turning away from the window and walking towards your bedroom. You knew sleep wasn’t likely with how wired you felt, but the sooner you at least tried to sleep, the sooner tomorrow would come and you could all say a proper goodbye to Maarva and hopefully move on as a community.

A knock at your door the following morning grabbed your attention from where you were putting the finishing touches on your appearance for the day. You walked over and opened the door to reveal Brasso standing on the other side.

“Can I come in?”

You stepped aside and gestured for him to enter. You were surprised that he wasn’t in his uniform yet, and even more surprised that Bee wasn’t with him.

“Is something wrong?” you asked. “What’s going on?”

Brasso stopped, his gaze facing the interior of your place rather than you. You could see the tension rippling through his shoulders, even through his clothing. Moving around him to stand before him, you placed your hand on his arm gently.

“Brasso?”

“He came back.”

You felt your brow furrow in confusion as you tried to figure out what he meant. Who had come back? After a few moments of contemplation, you realized exactly who he was talking about.

Cassian.

He must have heard about his mother’s passing and come back to pay his respects, which was the last thing he should have done. Everyone would be better off if he stayed away and never came back, at least while the Empire had a presence on Ferrix.

“Is he insane? He’s going to get arrested, or even worse, killed. Did you meet with him?”

Brasso nodded, still avoiding your gaze. You felt anger and frustration bubbling up inside you at his confirmation. It was bad enough for Cassian to put himself at risk, but the fact that he continued to put others at risk was even worse. You bit your lip in an attempt to keep the angry words you wanted to shout from escaping.

“You’re upset, I can tell,” Brasso said, finally looking at you. “You always bite your lip like that when you get mad.”

Your glare must have been enough to confirm his suspicions. Brasso sighed and stepped towards you, taking your hand in his own and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“It’s alright. Nobody saw us.”

“You don’t know that,” you hissed, trying to pull your hand from his grip. “We still don’t know what’s happened to Bix. I don’t want to lose you too. Which is exactly what will happen if you do something stupid.”

Brasso refused to let go of your hand, tightening his grip and pulling you towards him. You struggled slightly, but eventually gave into his wishes and let him pull you to him. Once you were close enough, he released your hand and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against him.

The awkwardness was nowhere to be found, only the warmth that had always been there. You returned Brasso’s embrace, burying your face in his chest. You could hear his heart beating against your ear, a reassuring sound that you hoped wouldn’t go away anytime soon. The two of you stood together, wrapped in each other’s arms, for several minutes before Brasso finally pulled away from the embrace.

“I should go get ready. I came to get you so we could arrive together. I don’t want you out of my sight when all those Imperials are around.”

“That will be hard since you’ll be marching with the funerary stone. This ceremony is more important than watching me, Brasso. I won’t be in any danger.”

Brasso lifted a hand to caress the side of your face, his eyes boring into yours. His statement about not letting you out of his sight felt a bit more serious than you thought it had originally been intended to be. The feelings bubbling up inside you were overwhelming, forcing you to break away from his intense gaze. You lifted your hand to place it over his.

“We’ll stick together as much as we can, I promise. Now let’s go show these Imperials what Ferrixian loyalty is all about.”

It was early afternoon, much earlier than the time the Empire had allotted, when the first clang of the anvil rang through the town. Everyone had gathered in the streets, preparing for the march down Rix Road. The Daughters of Ferrix and the band stood in their uniforms, ready to begin their trek to the center of town. You stood amongst the other townsfolk, waiting for the signal to begin walking.

“It’s time,” Brasso’s voice said from beside you.

You felt his hand brush softly against yours as he passed, a simple reassuring touch. Remembering his request that you stay where he could see you, you took a place on the edge of the crowd as it began to move, keeping him nearby.

The band began to play its mournful tune and the entire crowd of gathered people slowly moved down the street in an organized procession. Anyone that wasn’t marching themselves moved out of the way, allowing the crowd to pass unstopped. In the background, you could hear the clang of the anvil every so often, its deep resonating tone blending perfectly with the music of the band.

As the procession got closer to the center of town, you could see a line of troops clad in black blocking the street. The Empire was clearly unhappy with the change of plans and would not allow anything to go further than absolutely necessary. The crowd came to a stop, the music stopping along with it. Your eyes followed Brasso’s form as he walked through the crowd to the front, Bee wheeling along behind him.

Once he reached the front, the stone held in front of him, the band began to play again. Gone was the sorrowful tune they had been playing before, replaced by one much more upbeat. One that spoke of unity. The crowd began to move once again, walking straight towards the awaiting troops. Your voice joined the chant of “stone and sky”, repeating the words over and over with each step.

Just before reaching the wall of shields the Imperials had erected, the band began to turn, forming a circle around Brasso and Bee. Following the lead of the crowd, you line up outside the circle, never letting Brasso out of your sight. You felt his sentiment echo in your heart, feeling that need to keep him before you at all times. Once again, everyone came to a stop and the music came to an end. Those gathered, Ferrixian and Imperial alike, waited silently.

A soft whir sounded before a brilliant blue light shot up into the sky from the holoprojector on top of Bee. A giant image of Maarva Andor stood before the crowd. The sight was enough to pull your gaze from Brasso, wanting to honor the woman you had all gathered to remember, wanting to hear what final words she wanted to say.

You listened intently as the hologram of Maarva spoke. She spoke of the history of Ferrix, of how they had flourished. How everything had changed with the Empire. The fighting spirit you had always admired in her shone brightly in her expression as she told you all to stand firm and to fight against those that would push you down and trod upon you.

A shout pierced the crowd as an Imperial officer pushed his way past the shielded troops towards Bee, pulling his cloak from his shoulders to cover the projector, an attempt to silence Maarva’s call to action. He failed, however, to mute her final words.

Fight the Empire!

At those words, the officer shoved Bee over, knocking him on his side. You barely had time to react before you saw Brasso move forward, kicking the man in the chest and knocking him to the ground. You felt your heart stop as two troopers stepped forward to restrain him from attacking the man further. They didn’t get far before he swung Maarva’s brick at them, hitting one in the face.

You felt more than heard the yell he let out, surging forward with the crowd towards the line of troops. You had no weapons, but you could feel the energy of the angry crowd pushing you forward, willing you to do something. Willing you to follow Maarva’s call.

The troops fought back, keeping their shields up to prevent the crowd from getting too far. The loud tones of the anvil sounded above it all, encouraging the townspeople, rallying the fight. After some time had passed, you noticed Wilmon moving closer to the Imperials, his hand in his bag. Before you had a chance to react, he pulled something from it and threw it over the line of troops.

The first explosion nearly knocked you off your feet. The following ones from the grenades reacting did. Your ears rung, all sound around you disappearing. Smoke covered everything and you couldn’t see a thing. Including Brasso. A deep panic settled in your chest as you crawled across the ground, trying to get away from the center of the commotion. Eventually, you reached a wall and braced yourself against it.

Through the haze, you swore you could see a large red shape fighting off ones of white. You had no way of knowing who it was, no way of knowing if Brasso was safe or even if he was still alive. A figure appeared in your field of vision, one clad in red, but not the one you searched for.

“Come on, girl!” Jezzi shouted, pulling you to your feet. “We need to leave!”

You let her guide you into an alley, nearly running into another pair as you ascended the steps. You felt your knees give out and a sob of relief escaped your lips as you saw Brasso dragging Wilmon up alongside him by the collar. With his other hand, he tightly grabbed yours and the four of you ran as fast as you could to the edge of town.

When you reached the shipyard, you found Pegla waiting for you. He had pulled Bee from the chaos and placed him on a ship. Waving erratically, he ushered the rest of you aboard. Jezzi and Brasso worked together with Pegla to get the ship going as you guided Wilmon to sit on the floor of the cargo hold. It wasn’t long before another pair emerged from the edge of the shipyard, moving quickly towards the ship.

Cassian and Bix.

You helped Cassian maneuver the weakened Bix onto the ship and guided her down to sit beside Wilmon. You could hear shouting behind you, but paid no attention to it, hearing only “Gangi Moon” and Cassian’s shout to get you all out of there. Before you knew it, the ship was rising into the air and you, Wilmon, Bix, Jezzi, and Brasso were flying to Maker knows where.

Leaving the two on the floor, you moved towards where Brasso sat panting against the back of the ship. He looked up at you with the most relieved expression you had ever seen cross his face. He reached for you and pulled you down into a tight embrace.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispered into your hair. “I saw you go flying when the second explosion hit and then you disappeared and I couldn’t find you.”

No words could express the relief you felt when you saw him on the stairs, likely the same he felt at that moment if he thought you were gone. Unable to find anything to say, you squeezed your eyes shut and rested against his chest as he rocked you back and forth. You could swear you heard him muttering something else, repeating over and over like a mantra, but you didn’t dare hope he was saying what you thought you heard reach your still ringing ears.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

A/N: Give this a like, comment, and reblog and let me know what you think!

#star wars #star wars fanfiction #star wars andor #andor 2022 #brasso andor #brasso x reader #brasso

17 notes · View notes

signalwatch · 6 months

Text

Godzilla Minus One (2023)

Watched: 11/29/2023

Format: AMC IMAX

Viewing: First

Director: Takashi Yamazaki

Where to start?

Over the years, Godzilla has been many things. Like Batman, he's been a children's character while also being a thing adults could appreciate. But he's also been cast as a walking analogy in two very, very good films (Gojira and Shin Godzilla), a villain in others (Godzilla Returns and Raids Again), a dad (Son of Godzilla) a hero (most of the Shōwa era), a goof, a buddy, a ruffian...

The American-produced Godzilla movies have done well financially, but, to me, struggled with an actual story until Kong vs. Godzilla. But it would be misleading to say the Toho Studios produced films didn't struggle with same. The Toho movies responded to the challenge by getting progressively crazier as the need to fill screen time with something other than expensive monster fights (models and custom 7' rubber suits are not cheap) became a clear necessity.

To fill that run time*, both US and Toho films needed a story for humans - humans that Godzilla likely will not even be aware of during the course of the film - that is compelling and meaningful. But, man , have the results been mixed. You get aliens, faeries, conspiracies, what-have-you. And some of that is great! Final Wars is like a party of a movie. Watch it sometime.

Meanwhile, Toho seems to have taken the licensing of Godzilla to Legendary and the US produced releases since 2014 to take a step outside of themselves and think about what would make a kick-ass Godzilla film. Heck, what would make a *film* rather than an entertaining outing for the kiddies (and, let's be honest, me). Thus, a few years ago, we got Shin Godzilla, which was absolutely terrific, in my opinion. Harkening back to 1954, it was a modern solo Godzilla outing, and more about how the humans on the ground deal with a huge analogy for recent world events (at minimum for the Fukushima disaster and Japan's official response) wandering through their backyard .

Sure, the Godzilla in it seemed like a mindless engine of destruction and looked weird as hell, but that movie just works. I dug the leads, the story, the analogies, the whole ball of wax. The human story was compelling and frightening, Godzilla a force of nature.

I figured we'd get a direct sequel, but that isn't what happened. Instead, Toho took a step back, and said "eh, let's just do it fresh again". Which - respect, man. Do whatever you want.

So, Wednesday, I made The Admiral go to the movies with me, and we saw an IMAX screening of Godzilla Minus One (2023).

I'd seen good, early reviews, but these were mostly die-hard G-fans, and I didn't particularly expect to get a straight answer. There's a difference between "a good movie" and "man, I like watching monsters on a screen", and that differentiation isn't always made in the Godzilla-sphere (and, often, the genre-media-sphere in general).

What I can say is that at the end of this year, Godzilla Minus One will be in my top 5 movies seen in 2023. Which - no shock, Shin Godzilla got similar high marks. But, it's also true that I'm not sure I didn't like Godzilla Minus One (2023) a slight bit better than Shin Godzilla.

As trailers would suggest, G-1 is a period piece. The movie takes place roughly between late 1944 and end of 1947, I think. The "Minus One" of the name is that, hey, Tokyo is already devastated, or at zero. And then G shows up, and, well... it just got worse. We're now at -1.

The movie centers on a Kamikaze pilot who chooses not to fulfill his mission, whether it's fear or a sense this is a waste of his own life here at the end of the war (both, really) he heads into a small island airstrip/ repair hut where he's violently introduced to much smaller version of Godzilla than what we're used to. This is Godzilla's original, dino-sized form.

As one of two survivors of the incident, and a survivor of the war (and one tapped to explicitly *not* survive and protect Nippon), Shikishima is dealing with PTSD and Survivor's Guilt, mixed with his uncertainty of who he is in this post-war world. Stumbling across a young (let's be honest, beautiful) woman. Noriko, who has picked up a loose baby in the wreckage of Tokyo, the three form a sort of family unit, building a shack and then home as Shikishima finds work on a boat clearing the sea of mines laid by both Japan and the US.

Shikishima forms a bond with his boat-mates, and life is beginning to turn around, even if he can't let go of the war and his need for closure. That trauma is preventing him from pursuing his feelings for Noriko and rejecting the baby as a surrogate daughter.

Meanwhile, unknown to all, Godzilla was hanging out at Bikini Atoll when the US thought to test a bomb, and we get our now Jumbo Sized Godzilla - going from T-Rex size to G 1954 size.

Anyhoo... Godzilla does show up.

Like I say, Godzilla has been many things over the years. Here, he's a raging, atomic-fueled engine of fury, not the hauntingly eye-dead monster of Shin Godzilla. He's well aware of what he's doing and why you need to get the @#$% out of his way as a large creature claiming new territory and not liking all these little humans who are in his way with their stupid buildings. It's not personal, but that doesn't mean he has a passive bone in him - this Godzilla is not to be crossed.

The design is closer to the 1990's style than Shin or Monsterverse Godzilla, and that's a good thing. There are definitely unique characteristics - plate placement, head size, scaliness - but most noticeable to me was the eyes. The suit Godzillas began having more expressive eyes in the Hesei and Millenium era, but here, there's a deadliness to his stare His eyes track the humans or any perceived annoyance or threat, and they are red/ gold eyes of a very pissed off creature.

For what this movie is about - the melodrama/ drama of the survivors, fallout of war, and the need to now combat a legitimate threat to all of Japan (this is an oversimplification, but bear with me) - this depiction of Godzilla is perfect. The monster is a product of the war and man's folly - mutated by the bomb, he reflects some of the 1990's take on Godzilla's WWII origins. But as a character, he's really a weapon of mass destruction with an agenda, and that agenda does not care about humans. If he is a "god", he's not concerned with us, and much like bugs living in your house, he's going to get rid of these humans.

The break to the third act occurs after Godzilla's Tokyo debut, reminiscent of the 1954 film and directly referencing it in visual, audial and musical queues. With modern CGI, it's not a suit actor stepping through sets, it's a living being wandering through Ginza as the locals, truly rampaging rather than clumsily knocking stuff over.

And, his atomic breath in this film may not be the spectacular laser-light show of Shin Godzilla, but it's an extension of his mutation coming from the bomb, and - narratively - an extension of the horrors of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. I won't go into detail here, but it's *scary* when you see G charging up (with a really innovative charge-up sequence) and cut loose.

He also seems, by all counts, invulnerable. It's not just his sheer size, but that he seems to heal from wounds with no trouble. So, do all the damage you want, he's going to come back from it and be pissed as hell you even tried.

All of this feeds into the actual plot of the film, which is really about dealing with the loss of WWII and the damage the war (which this movie freely indicates Japan started) did to the country and to the people. Survivors of the war come home to find their homes gone, their relatives dead. And for what?

I've spoken with my fellow Godzilla fan, Stuart, who has a better grip on Japan than I do (he resided there for a bit), and his feeling was this was a surprising take - and perhaps a very modern/ recent one. Centering the film on a "failed" kamikaze was not something he felt Japan would have done 30 years ago, but I think - narratively - it's an amazing choice. The Imperial dreams of Japan now long in the past, Toho can reframe the story to be about choosing to fight when the fight is a good one, even if seemingly hopeless.

And, man, when Godzilla is done with Ginza, it sure does feel hopeless, and any plan you put on the table is bound to fail.

I don't know a ton about Japan's feelings about how its government selectively issues information, or how they feel about the US as an occupational force in the MacArthur or modern era, but the film sidelines both. The Japanese government seems frozen by the attack, and the US is concerned large-scale naval maneuvers will trigger a war with Russia (not an unreasonable concern). While a US version might be about bringing all three together to fight Godzilla, this film is about the veterans overcoming their grief and shame to fight again.

Oh, and there's a very real semi-experimental plane that I was vaguely aware of, but thought was a German design, that appears in the back 1/3rd of the film that got my aviation-buff dad to make an audible "wow!" when it showed up.

Anyway, the movie drew a thunderous round of applause from my audience, which was - I will say - an audience of surefire Godzilla fans and their friends dragged to the movie. Lots of Godzilla shirts and whatnot. But it was also the 5:00 PM show on the day of the movie's release.

SPOILERS

Look, sometimes we outsmart ourselves and think we're too clever for the emotional levers that can get pulled in a movie, and if a movie has too much of a feel-good ending, it doesn't feed our desire to feel like film fans who can't be duped by emotional manipulation. But... gang, that's emotional manipulation, too.

I won't say I openly wept during the movie, but I did get choked up a few times. In a Godzilla movie! Because it's really about dealing with trauma, so seeing Shikishima deal with his, receive forgiveness and a path to happiness when I was 90% sure this movie was about to show a noble sacrifice... man. It really says a lot about what the movie-makers wanted to convey. And stuff that at the end of the day I personally want to believe.

END SPOILERS

I've watched a *lot* of Godzilla movies - probably all but one or two of the overall output of 30-odd movies over 70 years. At the end of the day, why I liked Godzilla Minus One this much was simple: story and character.

Call it melodrama, but the drama of this movie is really taking place inside a tiny house and on a boat, the cast has issues that understandable, is a solid mix, and I cared about everyone on screen. The performances are heightened a bit, perhaps, but the characters are likable and feel believable. And, much like Jaws or other movies that work despite the sci-fi, horror or other elements, you can both draw in your audience and sell something wild if the audience is pulling for these people on screen. And that's something Gojira understood in spades. As does this movie.

Anyway, this is now my second favorite Godzilla film. If it's better - to me - than Shin Godzilla, it's that the movie works so well not just as analogy, but as a deep character film while also providing genuine thrills with the Godzilla sequences.

I've tried to spoil all that as little as possible, because I'd encourage you to go see it. It's just a solid movie all around.

* we also have to ask the realistic question of "how exciting would it really be to watch two rubber monsters fight for 90 minutes?".

The Signal Watch blog posts regularly!

#godzilla #gojira #godzilla minus one #godzilla minus 1 #toho #toho monsters #movie review

10 notes · View notes

wickedwizdom · 1 year

Text

Lets talk Knights of the Zodiac:

This review will be mostly positive based on my own experience but I still will have my criticisms as I go along. To begin I want to be very transparent here and say after watching this movie: It is NOT--I repeat--NOT “Dragon Ball Evolution 2.0” like many people claim online. This movie's characters, script, dialogue, action, and story are leaps and bounds more faithful to the source material it is adapting and showing respect for it all the same. I'm positive those who keep claiming that it is have never watched the movie or are just speaking utter nonsense because let’s be real: Dragon Ball Evolution is beyond bad and KOTZ—objectively—is not.

This movie is perfectly fine; very fun I might add. It definitely stands up there with the likes of Alita: Battle Angel in terms of anime adaptations and as a movie it gets the job done.

Now for the fans going into this story expecting it to be verbatim like the original animanga, you are not going to find that here. This movie is very much an origin story for this particular universe of Saint Seiya with its own key lore and world building that takes influence from the Netflix reboot but actually executed those aspects better in comparison to how the CG show did it. I certainly appreciate this movie trying something new with its setting and story in comparison to LoS which told a very rushed rendition of the Silver Saints and Twelve Temples arc and I believe if this movie did the same thing, my expectations would be significantly lower and my criticisms far more harsher.

From an objective standpoint, this movie’s pacing definitely could use some improvement. I definitely appreciate what the writers and directors could give with the runtime they had but when it comes to character such as Nero and Seiya and Sienna’s time spent bonding, there’s definitely something to be left desired, Nero especially but we’ll get to him later. The script itself is okay, can be basic in some areas, cheesy in others but never anything that made me actually cringe. The movie’s music is otherwise really good. The orchestral Pegasus Fantasy rendition was definitely a highlight of the film for me and the music that plays through a lot of the action and somber scenes is really atmospheric.

To add, I know there were some fans that complained that not all the bronzes were here but I’m pretty sure that was for the movie’s benefit. Introducing so many characters all at once would mean that audiences would have no time to connect with them and the story would have been bloated and full of plot holes. I love how they kept the core cast as just Seiya, Nero, and Sienna for the time being to get us more familiar to their world before moving onto the others.

As for other things, the set pieces and CGI aren't terrible. It's definitely a step above most tokusatsu shows and movies but not on the level of something like Alita or some MCU movies. It's passable but definitely not a complete eye sore.

Some shots are a bit goofy but they don't linger too long and I think it adds to the charm of this being an otherwise fun action film based on an even more zany and violent anime. The fights are all well-choreographed and filmed. I saw some complaints about the lighting being dark but that's not the case here. Everything in the movie is well lit and it's obvious who's who.

I thought the armors looked pretty okay and knowing that Kurumada actually approved them looking more medieval and archaic rather than how they were in the original animanaga makes for a nice creative detail that gives this movie more uniqueness in the StS verse.

Slight spoilers here but it is confirmed and shown in the movie that the armors do in fact evolve like how they do in the original manga and anime so if this movie does get its potential sequels, I look forward to seeing how they translate that.

⚠️SPOILERS FROM HERE ON OUT⚠️

To move onto characters I enjoyed a majority of the main cast throughout the movie. Everyone not only understood the characters they were portraying but giving them their own charm and nuances to make them feel more like individuals.

To start with the main man Seiya, he's a lot more reserved here, because he is a lot older, but some of his attitude from the animanaga still remains like his brash attitude and his unwavering resolve to never give up. His character is quite complex with this movie going further in detail about the conflict he has with losing his sister, his obsession with finding her, and his hesitance to accept Sienna as a goddess until he witnesses it for himself. I appreciate them putting more and more time into emphasizing Seiya's relationship with his sister and Seiya at a crossroads between finding her and protecting Sienna all at once as opposed to how the anime/manga did it.

Seika is almost forgotten after the first few episodes/chapters of the original so it was nice to see that she had more of an impact on Seiya's character here.

Next, we have Sienna and I'm going to say that she is the best iteration of the Saori Kido character. While some of the pacing of her scenes were a little off at times, it didn't matter because I was engaged with what they did with her in this film. This story focuses on Sienna's humanity as opposed to the original where Saori has pretty much already accepted what she is and we never truly get to see a lot of her struggle with her heritage and most of that was relegated to the very beginning of the series. Here, Athena is the equivalent of a malevolent spirit that Sienna is constantly trying to drown out. From the way, she speaks about Athena to her parents and how that separated them feels real. She is a toung woman who’s not only caught in the middle of a broken family she cares for but is essentially a ticking time bomb. She accepts that she may not be herself one day but you can tell that deep down she doesn't want to believe that. She starts off as the typical haughty rich girl towards Seiya and while I do think that their relationship could have used a few more scenes of them getting used to each other, it still feels plausible that he cares for her I’m the end. I would be a bit of a brat too if I was going to become doomsday incarnate one day. Here she suffers loss but in turn finds a new purpose and reason to keep living. At a core it is her human side that matters most.

I also adore that Sienna starts off not in complete control of her cosmo. It gives more presence to the gods in this scenario and how dangerous their cosmo is to a regular human. It makes me really excited to see what gods late like in this universe but only time will tell.

Moving onto Alman and Guraad since they're basically two sides of the same coin. Making Alman a morally ambiguous man who is not all good fits very in line with the Mitsumasa in the original animanaga. The slow unraveling of the truth that he first and foremost only cares about his daughter is perfect and sets up the domino effect that will extend to all the children he used as a means to an end.

Guraad on the other hand is a MILLION times better than the Guraad in the Netflix reboot. Not only does she feel appropriate as an antagonist but she gives better layer to the conflict of fighting against the gods and at the same time having to come with the burden of killing her surrogate daughter to do so. Sienna and Guraad share a bond that feels genuine and when her maternal instincts shine it's wonderfully executed. It adds so much more emotionally weight knowing that a complete accident on Sienna’s end pushed away who she considered family and Guraad realizing that to makes her attempt to save Sienna feel earned.

Now we have Nero. I love Ikki in almost every universe and here it is no different. The mystery behind his character and past along with him as an antagonist is one of the best but weakest aspects of his character in this movie in my opinion. His true motives are unclear but from what a lot of people have speculated and based on Diego himself, his motivations largely have to do with Shun. Potentially Nero does not know where his brother is and I think that would make for a great parallel between Seiya and Nero if this series is to continue. He definitely has a vendetta against the gods and has the Sagittarius armor in his possession but at what ends? His character toward the end leaves more questions than answers and I wish we got a fair balance of flashbacks from his perspective to compare/contrast with Seiya’s. He is a threat through and through and the movie does well in establishing the bar that is set between him and Seiya. He's definitely a character I want to see expanded upon more in the future and what ulterior motives he has going on as it seems that Guraad was a stepping stone for things to come. I want more of him and I hope to god we do.

Marin is, dare I say, perfect. Everything from her nonchalant demeanor, to the way she trains Seiya, THE WAY SHE GOES TO SLEEP and her presence she's easily another favorite of mine in the movie next to Sienna. We get just enough of her to see what she's all about but like Nero, I hope we do see more of her. She serves the purpose she’s meant to in the story and I was quite confused about her “bound to this island by destiny” schtick (which was really an excuse to keep her out of the third arc) but overall she’s just awesome.

And last but not least Mylock. Easily he's better than Tatsumi by a country mile. The writers actually managed to make a dull asshole of a character into a fun and entertaining one. His action scenes were a highlight and were just classic king fu action that I just adore.

The story overall centers around the ideals surrounding family, humanity, and fighting through a destiny that’s not completely set in stone. It’s very anime but at the same time is personable and relatable in some way or another.

To conclude : Knights of the Zodiac is a fun film with great action, solid writing, a talented main cast of characters, and I was genuinely surprised at how much I ended up liking it. It shows respect or to the source material while doing its own thing and that’s honestly the best route it could have gone. It could have been way worse.

It’s a solid 7/10. Had some bumps in the road but it managed to make it to its destination safe and sound. Regardless of performance, I will definitely watch sequels.

#saint seiya #knights of the zodiac #kotz #sts #pegasus seiya #sienna kido #phoenix ikki #andromeda shun #kotz live action #kotz movie

21 notes · View notes

warabidakihime · 2 years

Text

Invisible Strings: Final Chapter

Characters: Uzui Tengen x Reader | Modern AU Synopsis: Sequel of Parallel Lines Content Warnings: profanity, smut, sleep paralysis, eventual violence, blo0d, slight manga spoilers (tho i strayed away from the original plot but yeh), can be a bit psychologically triggering for some so proceed cautiously.

Previous Chapter: Prologue Next Chapter: Chapter 2

a/n: I can't believe we've made it to the finale of Invisible Strings! I'm not going to lie, I'm a little sad that it's over. This is not my first story, but it is the first in which I have put so much time and effort. My writing isn't great yet, but I'm pleased with how this turned out. Thank you so much to everyone who took the time to read my work and provide feedback. They were one of the factors that aided me in writing this piece.

Don't worry, there's still an epilogue, so stay tuned for an update soon! I just got a little busy at work, so updates are a little sluggish this time.

Again, thank you so, so much! Ily!

The demon slayers had meticulously prepared themselves, honing their skills and steeling their resolve for the battle that lay ahead. Their determination was unwavering, fueled by the fervent belief that they could triumph over the malevolent forces threatening their world.

But, as the saying goes, some things are easier said than done. In a mere blink of an eye, Kibutsuji Muzan, the sinister figure they had sworn to vanquish, single-handedly reversed the tides, shattering their hopes and turning their valor to dust. Though not at his full capacity, Muzan's present state proved more than enough to render the valiant demon slayers utterly worthless.

A cruel smile twisted across Muzan's lips as he stood triumphantly over the maimed bodies of the fallen warriors. Tengen, his newly 'recruited' right-hand man, loomed menacingly over your broken form, his insatiable craving for your blood mirroring the unquenchable thirst of a newborn demon. The Demon King cast his eyes down upon the battered demon slayers who had dared to stand against him. Their injuries were grave, their fate hanging precariously by a thread. Without a miraculous intervention, their lives would soon be extinguished.

With a surge of adrenaline, Tengen unleashed his wrath upon Muzan, seeking to avenge your suffering after the demon king's resurrection. His strikes were fierce and resolute, managing to land a few powerful blows that severed Muzan's limbs. Yet, to their astonishment and dismay, the demon's body regenerated instantaneously, mocking their fleeting victory. Tengen, like his companions, bore the weight of his injuries; his wounds were deeper and more severe, having borne the brunt of Muzan's savage onslaught.

And then, in that moment of unfathomable disbelief, the unthinkable occurred. Muzan revealed a twist in his dark machinations. Rather than snuffing out Tengen's life, he saw fit to twist fate itself, offering the grievously wounded warrior an unholy alliance—Tengen would become his new right-hand man. A cruel fate had befallen the demon slayers—a treacherous turn of events that would forever alter the course of their struggle against the forces of evil.

Why?

Why would Muzan go to such lengths, keeping you alive, only to spite you?

The answer revealed itself in a chilling realization—he had given you a sufficient dose of his blood before the battle, a twisted experiment, believing your body would respond favorably to it. Muzan's malevolent plan became clear: if you were able to rise once more, he would wield you and Tengen as weapons, aiming to eradicate the demon slayers in one fell swoop.

"Kill me now, Sanemi! Fucking kill me now!" Tengen's plea roared across the room, desperation lacing every syllable.

"No, I'm not going to kill you!" Sanemi's voice quivered with a mix of anguish and defiance.

"Do you want Y/N to die?!" The words tore through the air, weighted with the unbearable stakes.

Sanemi stood frozen, his grip on the hilt of his sword tightening, torn between the excruciating choices that lay before him. Meanwhile, the other demon slayers strained against Tengen's relentless grip, and their futile attempts to separate him from you met with failure. Tengen, a towering force of strength, overwhelmed them all, save for Gyoumei, who managed to push him back with all his might, despite the deep wound that marred his own arm.

Unbeknownst to Tengen, the insidious truth loomed over him—Muzan had also transformed you into a demon. Emerging from your unconscious form, all he saw was a haze of crimson, blinding him to the imminent danger that lurked within.

You remained still, seemingly at peace on the surface, while your very being writhed in unrelenting torment. Muzan's blood coursed through your veins, a malevolent force ravaging you from within. You fought desperately against the abyss, determined not to succumb and perish.

"Sanemi!"

"Will you shut the fuck up?! I already told you, I am not going to kill you!" Sanemi's voice cracked with a mixture of frustration and resolute determination.

"Don't worry about me; slit my neck already! Didn't you say you were coming for my head the instant I put you in danger?" Tengen implored, your voice laden with a mixture of desperation and resignation.

"I did, but..." Sanemi's voice trailed off into a barely audible murmur. "There has to be another way."

Sanemi's gaze shifted uneasily from Tengen to you, his pink eyes searching for a solution. As his gaze settled upon you, his lips quivered, and a desperate whimper escaped him—a sound of anguish echoing through the tumultuous air.

Why did it have to come to this?

Why were the choices so heart-wrenching, forcing Sanemi to decide between you and Tengen?

Why did history repeat itself in such a cruel manner?

Sanemi had foreseen the impending calamity and braced himself for the worst, but this level of despair surpassed his darkest expectations.

It was utterly ridiculous.

"I don't want you to die, and I don't want to lose any of you." Sanemi's voice wavered with the weight of his love and torment, his devotion to his comrades etched into every syllable.

The Sound Hashira, though touched by the unwavering resolve of his friends to save both him and you, knew that it was only a matter of time before his demonic strength spiraled out of control, threatening to bring about the demise of all those involved.

But as Sanemi had uttered, there had to be a way.

For heaven's sake, it was the twentieth century—a time of boundless advancements, where the human spirit triumphed over countless obstacles.

In the aftermath of Muzan's reign, Shinobu remained vigilant, tirelessly developing antidotes to counter the insidious curse that had plagued their world. Her foresight now bore fruit, as she possessed the means to administer the life-saving drug to both you and Tengen. However, the very person capable of providing salvation lay sprawled on the floor, her body broken and battered. Fractured ribs threatened to puncture her delicate lungs, making each movement a treacherous dance with death.

Yet Muzan, determined not to repeat his past mistakes, launched a vicious preemptive strike, targeting those who posed the greatest threat to his nefarious plans. Shinobu, Kanae, Tamayo, and Yushiro bore the brunt of his assault, their bodies left almost lifeless from the sheer force of his relentless aggression. Yushiro, bleeding profusely from a deep gash on his back, bemoaned the loss of his Blood Demon Art, his bitter chuckle punctuating the grim scene as he lay helplessly in a pool of his own blood.

Kanae's limbs twisted at grotesque angles, her once graceful form reduced to a painful contortion. Tamayo, flung mercilessly against a heavy apparatus, suffered a grave concussion, rendering her immobile and disoriented.

Unrelenting, Muzan continued his assault, turning his attention to the other Hashiras once he had incapacitated the doctors. Rengoku and Giyuu bore the brunt of his fury, their bodies marked by severe injuries. Rengoku, his eye lost in the chaos, narrowly escaped losing a limb thanks to the intervention of Tanjiro, who rushed to his aid. Giyuu, much like Tamayo, found himself hurled across the room, his strength drained, and in a swift, cruel gesture, Muzan shattered his sword with ease, rendering it useless in battle.

As the onslaught persisted, Tanjiro, Zenitsu, and Inosuke fought valiantly, their bodies enduring varying degrees of pain and injury in their desperate attempts to aid the Hashiras. Inosuke, his nose broken and hand shattered, grimaced through the searing agony, clutching the hilt of his sword with unwavering resolve, for the stakes at hand left no room for weakness.

On the other end of the spectrum, Nezuko bore the marks of Muzan's deliberate and prolonged torment. Bruises marred her once pristine form, serving as a twisted reminder of his grudge against her for eluding his clutches. Tanjiro and Zenitsu, fortunate enough to sustain only minor injuries, stood alongside their comrades, resolute in their shared struggle. Mitsuri and Obanai, consumed by urgency, labored tirelessly to tend to Kagaya's wounds, their unwavering determination a shield against despair. Failure was not an option—they would not let him slip away.

Tengen, gasping for air, fought the relentless onslaught of thirst that gnawed at his throat, a relentless reminder of his waning strength. Agonizing pain coursed through his veins, threatening to overpower his will. Tears streamed down his cheeks, a testament to the torment he endured.

When his eyes scanned the room, falling upon you and the broken forms of his comrades, a suffocating sense of humiliation washed over him, chilling him to the core. The weight of his helplessness bore down on his shoulders, leaving him adrift in a sea of despair. For the first time in an eternity, Tengen, the unyielding pillar of strength, felt the suffocating grip of hopelessness tighten around his heart.

Muzan, basking in his premature triumph, cast a wicked glance around the chaos he had wrought, his deranged laughter reverberating through the air. Approaching Kagaya, whose visage had become unrecognizable under the onslaught of the Demon King's merciless blows, Muzan knelt, gripping his hair with force and unadulterated contempt. His eyes brimmed with venomous triumph.

"I win."

Kibutsuji Muzan had not tasted the sweet nectar of victory coursing through his veins in centuries, and he reveled in the electrifying sensation that surged through him. Relinquishing his hold on Kagaya, his demonic gaze shifted towards you. Strangely, the seething rage that consumed him on the night you betrayed him seemed tempered, replaced by a sinister curiosity that danced within his demonic eyes.

Gratitude, an unexpected emotion, swelled within Muzan, directed solely at you. In some inexplicable way, he found himself indebted to you and perhaps even drawn to your presence.

With an air of arrogance, Muzan closed the distance between you, his steps echoing with sinister purpose. He then pivoted to face Tengen, his expression seething with contempt at the defiant gaze he received. In a display of power, Muzan backhanded him with a resounding crack, a direct response to the perceived insolence in Tengen's eyes.

"Lower your head, you wretched imbecile. Learn how to address your master," Muzan sneered, his voice laced with venom.

Tengen's eyes blazed with a murderous glare as he defiantly retorted, his words dripping with disdain, "You are not my master, and I would rather bite the dust than serve a lunatic like you."

Unfazed by Tengen's venomous defiance, Muzan instead found amusement in his audacity. The Sound Hashira's resistance only served to further stoke his interest. Oh, how well he had chosen his vessel.

Once again, Muzan struck Tengen, this time with a brutal force that left an ugly dent on his face, a grotesque reminder of his wrath. The blow was potent enough to nearly sever Tengen's head from his body in a single, devastating strike.

"Keep your distance from y/n," Muzan hissed, his voice dripping with possessiveness. "She belongs to me now. Your filthy hands have no place near her."

A sinister smirk crept across Tengen's bloodied lips as he defied Muzan's claim. "You underestimate y/n. From what I've gathered, she holds no affinity for men like you. In fact, she despises individuals of your kind. So take a hike, you useless corpse of the past."

Muzan's eyes narrowed, a flicker of intrigue mingling with his unbridled fury.

"Is that so?"

Muzan retaliated with a swift, brutal act, severing Tengen's limbs. Agonizing pain coursed through Tengen's body, causing him to howl like a wounded animal. Before he could even begin to recover, Muzan ruthlessly seized a fistful of Tengen's hair, pulling so tightly that blood trickled down his scalp. Tengen gritted his teeth, refusing to show any weakness in the face of such cruelty.

"Who says her words hold any value to me?" Muzan sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "Worthless and disposable women like her, who prance around like bitches in heat, would betray the very hand that feeds them. They have no rights whatsoever. Their only purpose is to sit, look pretty, and serve me for eternity."

Those words were the final straw.

Tengen's determination surged within him like a raging inferno. Without hesitation, he charged toward Muzan, challenging him to an all-out brawl. At this point, Tengen had nothing left to lose—they were both demons now. Among their kind, it was commonly understood that engaging in a fight between blood-sucking monsters with monstrous power and durability was futile. Hence, they seldom bothered fighting their own kind unless Muzan specifically commanded them to do so.

As Tengen and Muzan grappled with each other, their bodies crashing to the floor, it created an opportunity for the others. They could exploit this distraction, seeking an opening to strike back against the Demon King. However, there lingered the underlying threat that Muzan might choose to end Tengen's existence completely. After all, it was Muzan who had transformed Tengen into a demon, granting him life and power; thus, he possessed the ability to revoke it and deliver a fatal blow.

Tanjiro and Zenitsu reacted swiftly, assuming their battle stances, joined by Obanai and Mitsuri, who had skillfully tended to Kagaya's injuries. Though still severely wounded, Kagaya was no longer in immediate danger.

Within the confined space, the room transformed into an absolute bloodbath within a matter of minutes, intensifying the already macabre atmosphere. Tengen fought valiantly against the Demon King, fueled by his newfound determination and unyielding spirit.

In the face of this relentless assault, Tengen could dare to believe that victory was within his grasp. If he could sustain this momentum, there might be a chance to save not only himself but also the lives of those he held dear.

I'm here again, huh? But this time I can't see a damn thing.

Am I actually dead this time?

"Please, wake up! Y/N, wake up!" The desperate voices of Hinatsuru, Makio, and Suma resounded in the emptiness, tugging at my consciousness.

But my eyelids refuse to obey; they are heavy as lead. My entire body feels weighed down, as if trapped in an abyss. I'm sorry, Hinatsuru, Makio, and Suma. I can sense that it's you who have been calling out to me. Even after all this time, your voices are familiar and comforting, like a balm for my soul.

"Y/N, you must resist Kibutsuji Muzan. Do not let his cells take control of you again." Hinatsuru's words echoed, her concern palpable. Makio chimed in, her voice filled with urgency, "Yes, y/n. You're not a demon anymore. You never were. Lord Tengen would be devastated if he lost you again."

"And we haven't forgiven you for leaving us!" Suma's voice wavered, a mix of grief and disappointment. "We were overjoyed when we returned from the Entertainment District, thinking we would see you again. But instead, we discovered you had perished."

The weight of their words bears down on me, sinking into my consciousness and stirring a sense of remorse. I understand, and I am truly sorry for abandoning you.

"Y/N, please... don't leave Lord Tengen again. He cannot bear another loss." Hinatsuru's voice trembled with a poignant blend of sorrow and pain, her words piercing through the emptiness.

Hinatsuru... Makio... Suma...

Tengen...

Everyone...

Your eyes flew open, and you gasped for air as consciousness rushed back to you, seizing your senses.

"What—?" you managed to utter, disoriented and dazed.

Beside you, a voice exclaimed with evident relief, and as you turned your head, you found Obanai's face filled with an unusual mix of frustration and triumph. It took a moment for your groggy mind to process the situation and catch up with the whirlwind of events unfolding around you.

"It worked. It fucking worked," Obanai muttered, his voice laden with both disbelief and satisfaction.

What worked? Your mind raced to comprehend as your gaze followed Obanai's intense grip on the syringe he clutched so tightly. The answer began to crystallize—it was the antidote. Obanai had taken charge of administering it while the others focused on bringing Muzan down.

Shinobu had predicted that Muzan would first attempt to dispose of her unit, so she wisely delegated the responsibility of distributing antidotes and poisons to another capable individual—Obanai.

Meanwhile, the battle raged on. Tengen, Gyoumei, and Rengoku valiantly kept Muzan pinned to the ground, limiting his mobility and minimizing his threat. With fierce determination, they unleashed their strength, their combined efforts serving as a formidable barrier against the relentless demon.

Giyuu, wielding his sword, aimed for Muzan's eyes, his strikes resolute but blunt. Tanjiro and Zenitsu, their resolve unwavering, sliced through Muzan's limbs with precision and unwavering resolve. Every action they took was a gamble—a high-stakes wager between life and death. They knew the risks and understood the potential sacrifices, but they refused to falter. Their goal was clear—to bring Muzan down and protect the world from his insidious wrath.

None of them hesitated, for they knew that victory demanded unwavering resolve. With each push, each swing, each punch, and every resounding battle cry, they fought as if their very existence depended on it.

But Muzan, despite the odds stacked against him, remained defiant. He clenched his teeth, his gaze filled with a menacing intensity as he glared at Tengen.

"No way I'm letting some peon like you impede my plans," Muzan hissed through gritted teeth, his voice laced with venomous defiance.

Tengen, undeterred by Muzan's threats, met his gaze head-on and spat back with equal conviction, "You no longer have a place in this world, Muzan. It's high time you accepted reality."

A dangerous glint flickered in Muzan's eyes as he retorted, "We'll see about that."

In this pivotal moment, where the forces of darkness clashed with unwavering determination, the stage was set for a battle that would determine the fate of their world.

Muzan's arm recoiled, ready to strike the Sound Hashira with devastating force. Tengen braced himself, preparing for the impact that never came. Instead, a sinister sneer twisted across the Demon King's face, a triumph evident in his eyes. In a moment of cunning deception, Muzan had seized the opportunity to infiltrate Tengen's body, seeking to enslave him from within.

Time seemed to freeze as the realization washed over Tengen. A scream tore from his lips, mingling with the agonized howls of pain as he doubled over, feeling Muzan's presence coursing through his veins like vile poison.

"He's going to use me to hurt all of you!" Tengen's voice cracked with desperation, his words echoing through the air. Every fiber of his being writhed in anguish as he struggled to convey the urgency of the situation.

Before he could continue, blood erupted from his lips, reminiscent of the horrific moment when Muzan attempted to seize control of your body. Tengen's gaze darted to Sanemi, whose face reflected a blend of fear and panic as he stood resolutely, guarding you.

"I won't ask so politely this time! If you don't want everyone to die, you have to kill me!" His plea reverberated through the battlefield, addressed to all yet holding a particular weight directed at Sanemi.

"But—"

"No!"

Your words reverberated through the room, cutting through the tension and drawing every gaze towards you. Relief washed over the faces of your comrades as they laid eyes on you, their expressions filled with a mixture of gratitude and joy. They were undoubtedly glad to see you safe and well, reassured by the efficacy of the antidote that had restored you to a state of remarkable vitality.

Tengen's gaze met yours; his eyes were no longer the ones you were accustomed to seeing. They held an otherworldly quality; his once vibrant complexion was now pale and sickly, and his fangs protruded from his once luscious lips. It dawned on you that he had fallen victim to Kibutsuji Muzan's vile transformation, his love for you shining through even in his altered form. The sight tugged at your heart, filling you with a bittersweet mix of adoration and despair as you feared for his very existence.

In the midst of this turmoil, Tengen's hasty plan ignited a surge of apprehension within you. You couldn't bear the thought of losing him, not after the arduous journey it had taken for you to be reunited. Determination welled up within you, overshadowing any pain or weakness that lingered from your recent surgery.

Without hesitation, you pushed yourself out of bed, paying no heed to the stability of your own legs or the protests that echoed around you. Crawling forward, you summoned every ounce of strength, your arms enveloping Tengen in a fierce embrace. The soreness in your knees from the impact against the cold, unforgiving floor went unnoticed as your sole focus rested on the man you loved.

"I refuse to let you die, Tengen," you whispered, your voice filled with unwavering determination. "We've fought so hard to be together again, and I won't stand by and watch you waste your life like this. Tengen, find that inner strength within yourself. Don't succumb to the likes of Muzan. Fight back with every fiber of your being."

As your flesh made contact with Tengen's, he inhaled sharply, his grip on sanity teetering on the edge. The torment of Muzan's presence within him was amplified by his insatiable thirst, and your proximity only intensified his struggle.

"Y/N—no, don't come near me. You'll get hurt," Tengen pleaded, his voice tinged with desperation, attempting to tear you away from him. But you clung to him, refusing to let go.

"No! There must be another way!"

Agony flickered across Tengen's face as your words echoed Sanemi's earlier plea. Just as he was about to respond, Muzan's malevolent presence surged to life, casting everyone else aside and leaving you vulnerable and alone with the towering brute.

"Y/N, please, run while you still have the chance! Sanemi, kill me now!" Tengen's voice cracked with anguish and determination, his plea filled with a mixture of love and self-sacrifice.

"No!" Your voice wavered with both fear and defiance as you locked eyes with your cousin, who stood prepared to strike, battling his own conflicting emotions.

"Sanemi, don't!"

Tears welled in the eyes of the Wind Hashira as he clutched his sword tightly, his heart torn between honoring a dying friend's wish and hoping against hope for a miracle. The weight of their helplessness pressed heavily on everyone, rendering them momentarily powerless in the face of this convoluted situation.

If only they could find a way—a sliver of hope amidst the chaos. But time slipped through their fingers like sand, and the urgency of the moment left little room for deliberation.

"SANEMI!"

Disregarding your objections, Sanemi unleashed a heart-rending war cry, swinging his Nichirin sword with all his might.

TAGLIST: @babygirl-panda19 @hypnocountrymusicfunnyfan @exodarkwolf16 @qdreamueen @vesta-ro

111 notes · View notes