#I warned you

[dez-ku]

Porty 🕺🎉

🚨CW: Suggestive🚨

[mr-urple]

tfw youre unaware of your own emotions and that one annoying girl you hang out with a lot starts to make your chest feel warm and fuzzy

@cin3maa i lied i wasnt drawing ff april 😁

[oxideblack]

[theside-b]

The online comments are mixed.

FIRST NOTE OF LOVE (2024) episode 4 - Let's make music together!

[naffeclipse]

[inkedells]

dub/non-con joel x f!reader drabble? sorry if this is too much i just need some toxic asf joel rn 😵‍💫

A/N: HUGEEE CW!! intense non-con featuring joel. he says and does a lot of alarming things here. there's blood and guns and toxicity in general. last warning, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!!!!

mdni!!! fr guys. | requests open but replies not guaranteed.

You moaned.

And you shouldn’t have, because you didn’t want this. Or at least you thought you didn’t; You did scream when Joel removed his gun from the confines of his belt, proceeding to hold the gun to your temple as his other hand yanked your jeans down to your knees and began playing with your pussy. “Better start enjoying yourself darlin’, because I’m takin’ my sweet, sweet time.”

And you did attempt to bite his hand when it found its way to your jaw, prying it open with his fingers and gripping it like a handle. “Go ahead,” he laughed, “Try telling me to stop now.” 

And yes, you stomped on his foot the minute he decided you just made way too much fuckin’ noise and shoved you downwards until your knees buckled, hands twisting in your hair as he pushed your face against his confined dick, using your face the same way a teenage boy would fuck his mattress. “Look a’you. Reduced to my fuck toy.”

His consequent smirk made your blood boil.

But, now, with his gun in your mouth as he fucked you deep and hard and fast, you felt wetness rolling down your inner thigh, and you worried it was your arousal. He’ll know I'm enjoying myself.

You didn’t know it was your blood dripping from your pussy, an effect of his brutal pace and unrelenting desire to feel himself bulge in your belly, until Joel swiped a finger through the blood to show you before bringing it to his own mouth.

“See, baby? I’m a gentleman, I clean up the messes I leave behind.” 

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if you enjoyed please remember to like and especially reblog! it's sososo appreciated!

[small-sinclair]

Her Ruby Plains

Whumptober Day 3 and 4: Set Up for Failure and Hallucinatons 

Corrupted!Gambit x sick!reader  

Kinda prof-read. Kinda not. Let me know with you want more Corrupted!Gambit :3

“I warned you” and “You’re still alive in my head”. 

The dark purple smoke that filled Gambit’s lungs and opened a flood gate to his powers. He could feel the energy in the room and felt every type of potential each objected held. He could easily take down the light, take down this whole town with a snap of a finger! Remy just wanted to watch the world burn with one card at a time. Everything was a pawn in his chess game. He could take the Queen with just a single move from a pawn. Even if he didn’t win, the cards are always in his favor. A life lesson he learned when his powers went down the drain and spiraled out of control.  

Everything he touched, whether it be cards or exploding a charge with a car battery, he didn’t care. He’ll have all of Louisiana at his feet and in the palm of his hand. It’ll teach everyone—teach them not to mess with what’s his. He didn’t care how he made it there as long as he made sure he made a statement. His dark brown jacket worn and battered, cards be damned, and a greedy glint in his eyes was all he had to offer as he looked over the town burning below. He made this beautiful mess, this bright and lovely messed. 

Then he thought of your smile and how you would beam when he came to your little cottage on the outskirts of the swamp, just near the riverbed. There, his guard would fall and allowed your love to wrap him like a blanket. If only he could put your light into a bottle, he would take you wherever his darkness went. Looking at you with the brightness of the moon over the waters and marsh filled him with unspeakable thoughts of care and love. He didn’t love you like a partner; he loved more like a divine being. If you allowed him, the Cajun would build you and alter in the hidden parts of the swamp.  

With a twirl of his boe staff, he turned his back to the flames and headed towards your house, his home and world. As he walked, he scooped up the CVS bag of medicine. Before he burned everything down, you called him, slurring your words as you told him to get you some medicine. So, that delayed the firework show for thirty minutes because he couldn’t decide which one you needed and had to get help from someone to help. Out of kindness, he spared the CVS and the employees—just to show good on his word, he personally made sure none of his powers went to the corner of happy and healthy.  

He lit a ciggaret as he walked the path towards your home. With every step, his pace quickened until he found himself running. Inside him, something was building up that called for him to scream out in anger. Where this feeling came from was beyond him— 

“I warned ya that you’ll be too stressed over me,” he heard your voice say, replying a memory from a few days ago just as the sickness was starting. “You’ll get a headache one of these day, Gam-bees.”  

 He took his staff and charged it until it was burning a bright purple and red. He launched himself and used the charge to get him over most of the marsh. His shadow cast by the moonlight over the murky waters below. He could see all of Louisiana’s ruby plains and her beauty from this high up, and he couldn’t help be feel amazed how he could see it like this, see her in everything there was to offer. She would belong to him; she will belong to him...Louisiana waters and all.  

He landed lightly on his feet on the path leading up to your cottage. He never understood why you wanted a stone cottage out in the middle of nowhere, but he understood the honesty that came with it and the alone time. He just wished you would come to the town he's in and to the city lights, but that's not your speed. It never was your speed.

Gambit came up the steps of the wooden porch and went inside his trench coat for the key you gave him, which had a picture of 9 of Clubs on it. He takes the mail out of the mail flap on the side of the door and came into the house. He wiped his feet before heading to the back of the house to your room. As he walks pass the kitchen, he takes his coat off and hangs it on the back of a chair, gets a glass of water, and an empty bowl with a rag. If your fever hasn’t broken yet, he’ll have to help you.  

“Cher? You alive?” He called out before he came into your room. “I gotcha some medicine an’ water. Figured you...” his voice trailed when he entered your room until he was speechless. His red on black eyes filled with a glint of sadness as he looked over your shivering form. You looked so weak in his eyes, so frail and gone too far where he couldn’t follow. He didn’t turn on the lights as he entered your room. “Mon dieu, cher,” he whispers, setting the stuff on the nightstand. He place the back of his hand against your forehead. “Darlin’, you’re burnin’ faster than a gator on a spick.”  

You leaned into his cool touch, whimpering slightly. “Heya,” you managed to say, but your voice was so tired and frail that it hurt you.  

He sat close to you and brushed your sweaty hair back. “Rest, sunshine. Ya need t’get better for me, yeah?” His accent was thick and low as he spoke to you. He felt like he was telling you a secret. “Gambit brought ya some medicine an’ water. Can you sit up, cher?” He guided you to a sitting position and held you in close then resting your back against the wooden frame. “There ya are; good, very good.”  

“It hurts,” you whispered as his hand caressed your cheek. “Bones hurt.”  

“I know, I know,” he whispers. “But I’m here, mon cher. Gambit ain’t leavin’ ya tonight.” His hand left your skin and dug through the CVS bag then pulled out dark green medicine. “The lady said dis should help. Taste like shit but it works.”  

He opened the bottle and poured it in the little measuring cup. Gambit brought it up towards your lips and helped you take it. He kissed your forehead gently as a ‘thank you’ and put it aside to take the glass of water. “Slow sips, sunshine,” he whispers, guiding your hand up to your lips. “You’re doing so well, mon ami. Just need to take it slow.” He moved the glass away then kissed your forehead once more. “I warned ya ‘bout going outside without a jacket. Gets cold out here.”  

His lower hand guided you back into the bed, letting you rest under your blankets and stuffed animals.  

“...alive in my head...”  

“What’s that, darlin’?” He leaned his head down closer to you. “Gambit didn’t quite hear you.”  

“You’re still alive in my head,” you repeated. “Not gone or fighting...just being alive in my mind is enough.”  

“Sugar, I’m alive,” he reassured, letting a nervous laugh escape. “Nothin’ killed me yet.”  

“You’re really here?” His heart broke as your hand held his cheek. “Promise? No more fighting or nothing?”  

He wanted to tell you the truth, but there was this desperate look in your eyes that called him to stop, that called for peace. Gambit lets out a deep breath and nods, pushing strains of hair away from your eyes. “Yeah,” he answers. “I’m still alive and going good. Gambit promises, Cherie .” There’s honor among thieves and the honor of keeping their sunshine bright with hope. Every thief knows this, well, every good thief.  “I swear it.”  

He stayed near, sitting close to watch over you. His eyes glowed in the darkness as if it was beckoning any type of misfortune to enter your home while you rest. Born into nothing but has something to call home...that's who Remy was. Compared to your ghosts and to his, his wealth to your simpleness, your bright smile with daisy rings around your body to his poison ivy and thrones. If he had to protect your from himself, he'll do it all for you.

Everything was for you.

Ruby fields of Louisiana will belong to him one day soon, but he’ll pause that adventure for you. He’ll live a lie that your sick mind needs him to live. If you need him to be an X-Men and need him to be better than the villains, he’ll do that. If it makes you better and get over your sickness, then he’ll do it until the light leaves your eyes. Once you're gone, lungs and all, he'll rage like nothing has before. He loved you too much to admit it, and it filled his lungs with swamp water and leeches.

As you slept into the night, he found a chair and came close to your bed, holding your hand the whole night. He would sleep now and then, nodding off into the abyss, but jerked awake when you started coughing all too loud and all too long.

"I'm here," he promises, smoothing your hair every time, comforting you the same why you would. "I'm right here."

"Still alive?"

"Breathin' as if it's nothin'," he answers. He'll kiss your forehead, saying, "Go back to sleep, darlin'. Gambit ain't leavin'."

"Promise?"

"With all my cards and scars, sugar." Let you have a space in his mind. He'll let you dance freely and openly. Just say when and he'll open like a coffin in the middle of the highway: fast, loud, and eager. "With all my cards."

[kybercrystals94]

Side Effect

Read here on Ao3!

Whumptober 2024 - Day 3 - Prompt: "I warned you."

Rated: G | Words: 100

“I warned you this would happen,” Crosshair growls, angered voice foiled by the gentleness with which he peels the damaged glove from Tech’s injured hand. 

“If I had not pulled the data stick out, it would have been irreparably damaged, thereby causing mission failure,” Tech returns through gritted teeth, trying to ignore the pain. 

Crosshair swears under his breath. “And what if you were irreparably damaged? You could have been killed.”

“An unfortunate side effect of being a soldier,” Tech says without remorse. “The mission always comes first.”

Crosshair’s eyes flicker up to meet his for a moment. “Wrong answer.”

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[quietlyimplode]

ignite your bones

After the fall of General Dreykov, and the remnants of the Red Room still at large, Natasha first year at SHIELD is anything but healing. Labeled a traitor and a turncoat, Natasha tries to find her footing in a strange new world.

Whumptober 2024: Day 3 - I warned you

Warnings: brief discussion of child trafficking/single line mentioning red room torture

Word Count: 1.7k (gif not mine)

Summary: Natasha is blindsided by a debrief, made to talk of her past and justify her actions.

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

.

The debrief room is different.

Clint looks to her in an apology as he leads her left instead of right, and stops at the door instead of following her in.

She balks at the change, halting her movements when she sees three men inside.

Looking back at Clint, a question on her lips, he just mouths he’s sorry, and nudges her inside.

She feels sick as the door bangs shut and locks.

She knows what three men in a room can do, and the advantage is not on her side.

Looking around for any weapon, all she has is the handcuffs on her wrists and maybe the long table.

The chair is bolted to the floor so that gives nothing by way of help. Maybe the fact that there’s three can work to her advantage instead of against.

She should never have trusted Clint.

He said he’d be here through it all.

He lied.

Anger and fear wells in her chest but she remains passive at the door.

“Sit,” the tallest of the three commands.

The three men stand as she’s seated and the imbalance of power feels overwhelming.

She has ways to play this.

Fight, fawn, play dumb, stay mute, let them talk.

The options play out quick in front of her.

Like a chess game, she needs to think at least three moves ahead; it’s just hard when she doesn’t know what this is about, or why there’s been a change.

“We are going to start by introducing ourselves, and then we are going to ask you some questions. After this you will return to your normal debrief. Is that understood?”

Natasha nods.

The verbal schedule of events helps to dampen the anxiety that’s building.

“My name is Director Thompson, next to me is Agent Fury and Agent Coulson.”

She remembers the latter two from her debriefs but it feels good to know their names.

The Director is new. She suspects he’s always been behind the two way mirror, just never showing his face.

He pauses.

“State your name.”

Natasha looks at the three of them.

“Natasha Romanoff.”

He nods.

“Do you remember your charges?”

Natasha doesn’t answer as the charges are read again.

Espionage, murder; it’s nothing new.

She takes the time as he’s reading, to look at the three men.

Fury hasn’t stopped watching her.

Though he has one eye patched, it’s uncanny how scrutinized she feels by the other. Coulson looks up from his notepad every now and then, writing something before looking back at her.

Thompson, however, is the one that has black eyes, suspicion and anger alternating as he reads from his notepad.

“You’ve been brought here under the protection of laws that our country has for defectors. Do you plead guilty?”

Natasha frowns.

Not willing to answer, she doesn’t move.

“How do you plead?”

Natasha considers the question.

There’s no doubt that it’s not that simple. She could say the words they want, but in a moment of compulsion, she feels herself start talking in defense.

Frustration and anger at the last month of being interrogated, of her food having ground glass, and the water being contaminated with something she couldn’t pick, of the constant debrief, and fear that battered her psyche.

“I was born into the Red Room,” she starts, staring down Thompson.

“Every day of my life, we were told who the enemy was.”

“You.”

“This.”

“Here.”

“It was beaten into us, to know that western propaganda would poison us.”

“Do you know what that’s like?”

“Do you know, what’s it’s like to leave that behind and for every day to feel like you’re betraying everything and everyone you’ve ever known?”

“I’m under no delusion, Director Thompson, that what I have done under their regime falls under terrorism, espionage or whatever you want to call it. But do you want to know what they call it?”

She lets the words hang.

“Glory.”

“Do you want to know what that gets you in the Red Room?”

She looks to Fury and Coulson.

Thompson may not understand, but for some reason she thinks they might.

“Reprieve.”

Quieter now, she leans forward.

“You fail and the world falls out. Beaten, raped, tortured, for the failure of a mission. There’s a reason they traffic women. Girls.”

She feels anger and grief swell at the vulnerability of herself and those that came before; and pauses to catch a hold of herself.

“And you do anything to make it stop. Even become the best at something you hate, so that it never happens again.”

She underestimated how much this conversation would take and immediately regrets talking in the first place.

“I didn’t fail. I can’t fail, and yes; if that means that from your point of view I am guilty for doing the things you say. But from mine, it means that I didn’t die.”

Director Thompson shuffles his paper and stands.

The room is silent.

“I do not like you, or trust you,” he starts.

His voice is neutral but there’s a note of anger.

“I think you are a liability, and I very much hate the position Barton has put us in, by bringing you in. That being said, given the information you have already conceded, the information you have promised, and your statement will be taken under advisement. But I warn you Romanoff, I am warning you, that one step, one toe out of line, and the full wrath of SHIELD and the American government will rain down on you.”

His chair bangs as he stands to leave; giving her one last look.

Fury looks to Coulson, with a slight nod, he stands, moving behind Natasha at a strange angle where she can still see him, but obscured by the camera.

She eyes them suspiciously, her heart beating audibly in her ears.

Fury is first to talk.

“He’s an asshole, but he’s not wrong. He will put you into prison if there’s ever anything that they deem as a toe out of line. You’re never going to get a fair trial and this is probably as good as it’s going to be for a while.”

Natasha stares at her hands, hating that she gave up on her own freedom for this.

She feels so angry at Clint and his kind words.

She should have just run.

The allure of the protection of America, too great in her desperation.

“But that’s not to say it’s all it’s going to be. You are a great asset to us,” Coulson continues, softening the words, and giving a small smile.

“And we want this to work. That being said, the psychiatrist reports tell us that you haven’t been talking, and the debrief reports, well, we know you’ve been holding back.”

He leaves the statement hanging.

Natasha chooses to say nothing. What is it she can say? They’re not wrong.

“As it stands, we expect more from you. Engage with the psychiatrists, do better at debrief.”

Fury waits until she meets his eyes.

The warning is clear.

“If you do, we can start to think about moving you out of the glass box.”

Natasha sighs inwardly, wondering just how much more she can give without losing herself.

The two men stand, and wait for her to do the same.

They frog march her back to the glass dungeon, Fury standing at the door, taking the handcuffs off.

“I warned you when you first came in, to not make me regret this. Do better,” he says gruffly, “and we can do more.”

Taking two steps back as she does with Clint, she watches them leave and then sits on the floor, legs crossed and things to think about.

.

Clint stands at the glass and watches her.

He waits until she looks up at him, her face unreadable.

“I’m sorry,” he starts. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know they were going to do that. I got told as we entered that they were waiting. I’ll try to make sure it doesn’t happen again… not without warning at least.”

He pushes dinner under the latch and she looks at it.

Everything is packaged.

There’s no loose foods.

Natasha frowns at the food, and she wonders if he knows.

“It seemed safer?” he confesses. “Can I come in?”

Natasha shakes her head, just slightly, but the meaning and loss of trust clear.

She doesn’t expect him to stay there.

But he does.

It shouldn’t be a shock, but it does surprise her, to have her wants respected.

Clint nods, perhaps understanding that she’s not ready to forgive him just yet.

“I’ll leave it here then. They’ve told me debrief is tomorrow at 9am, I’ll be down here at 8.30 same as always. Maybe we can have breakfast together?”

Natasha looks to the food, the prepackaged safe foods that she doesn’t have to think about.

“Yeah,” she says quietly.

“Okay.”

There’s a smile on his face, one that feels genuine.

“Okay, I’ll see you then.”

He stays for a second longer and then leaves.

She waits until she hears the second beep, and then lets her breath go.

It’s been a harrowing day and she places herself back to her position on the floor.

Sitting down, she closes her eyes, ignoring the pangs of hunger that bite at her.

.

Natasha thinks it’s around midnight when the second nightmare wakes her, and she looks to the food still on the floor.

Sighing, she drinks the bottled water and eats the packaged cheese and crackers.

He can’t know that the food’s been unsafe. Unless it was him, which she doubts. Nothing has been fatal, just warnings, she thinks.

The glass in breakfast foods, the slight taste of bleach in soup broths; it’s kids games compared to what she’s used to.

Before everything became what it was in the Red Room, the older girls used to bait the younger ones. Poisoning food with laxatives, sprinkling eggshells in rice, making the water undrinkable were all ways of weakening the others, keeping them hungry and dehydrated.

An easy way to get into your opponent's psyche.

She thinks about Clint and the small kindnesses he’s shown, and as she eats the sweet chocolate bar, then of Coulson and Fury, even Maria. The four people that she’s had most contact with, have not been unkind.

What she’s unsure of is the wider compound.

She’s not sure where her food comes from, who’s watching behind the camera and who has access to her psych reports. There are too many things she does not know and does not like.

She thinks of the warnings of the day, both spoken and not.

Natasha feels stupid.

If today is anything to go by, Natasha knows she needs an ally; she’s too vulnerable in the world here for her not to.

And Clint is about as close as she’s going to get.

.

<3

[cosmicobubisi]

Cosmic's Malleyuu Whump vs Flufftober Day 3

wrongfully arrested | "I warned you" / Favorite Scent

They didn't know how they'd gotten here.

It had all been a mistake. Just someone in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

Was this an error, somehow? Had they slipped through the cracks of some system, or was this a possible case of mistaken identity?

Right now, it didn't matter. No one was coming to save them. They couldn't call for help, because their phone had been kicked across the floor by their captor.

"Yuu," that very captor grumbled.

What was his intention? To rip them to shreds, devour them whole? To hold them hostage, and random them off? Yuu didn't have anything valuable, any it's not like they were worth much.

"Yuu," that rich voice rumbled again.

They didn't even know if the best move was to fight back, or let their captor have their way with them. Which move would give them the best chance at-

"Yuu."

They jumped a bit in the arms of their kidnapper.

"What?" they bit back.

"What are you thinking about?" he grumbled, straight into their neck. Malleus's breath tickled the hair on their neck.

"Oh, I was just monologing to myself," said Yuu.

Ok, maybe they did have some clue of how they'd ended up here.

Not very many, though. All they'd gotten a few days ago, aside from stood up, was a cryptic text message telling them he wasn't showing up to their usual walk tonight, and not to come by.

Yuu hadn't taken that lying down, and had insisted on having some sort of face-to-face conversation, which had caused them to head to Diasomnia.

They'd believed him to be running from their budding connection, and that had made Yuu awfully upset.

Yuu had already freaked out about it on their own, with their friends. Malleus wasn't allowed to freak out now.

Speaking of their friends, their phone rang, and Malleus gave off an unhappy groan.

"Let me grab my phone. No one ever calls me unless they're dying, or they think I'm dying."

"I warned you," he mumbled, yanking them back quite harshly.

He did. He said not to come by.

Apparently, he'd been hit with some sort of magnetism spell, and needed constant touch. He, and the rest of Diasomnia, knew he'd want Yuu first, so he'd told them not to swing by so as to not create any trouble while the spell worked its way out of his body.

When his dormmates wouldn't let Yuu see him, or even let them wait in the common area, Yuu... may have taken it more than a little personally.

Maybe they'd stomped away, and walked the perimeter of the dorm with Goodram, one of the few beastmen in Diasomnia, heckling them as they tried to look for the third year floor and then for Malleus's window.

It was almost surprising to see how much Diasomina had rallied around their dorm leader, but it also warmed Yuu's heart. They knew Malleus had expressed a lot of insecurity at his role, feeling a distance between him and his perceived subordinates, but at least Yuu knew they were for sure loyal.

Anyways, after calling for Malleus a few times, he'd ended up poking his head out of his window, and Yuu had gotten a glimpse at him. The next moment, they'd been in his room, snuggled up with him in bed, and then Malleus had explained the whole potion thing.

"C'mon," whined Yuu. "The sooner I answer, the sooner it goes quiet. Just let me let them know I live."

Malleus groaned, but summoned the phone in his hands and practically threw it into Yuu's hands. They picked up.

"Hello?" they said.

"Yuu! Are you ok? What's wrong?" It was Ace's panicked voice.

"Oh, I'm all good now! Thanks for checking in," they quickly replied.

"Yuu." They thought that tone was trouble. "You said you were arrested."

"Well," they said, "I was being detained."

"Ugh. Whatever. Call me back later."

"Bye," they said, "and I really am glad you called."

Ace didn't say anything before the phone clicked, but Yuu could basically hear his sideways smile.

"Mmmmm," said Malleus. "Finally. You know, your intoxicating scent drives me to madness."

"Yeah," said Yuu, as Malleus started nuzzling at him. "I can tell."

[idk-how-to-name-it]

Sooo I made this art-blog just to post this pics, yeaaaah...

I love @spicedmilk3's Bellini couple!!! Their designs fit perfectly in TNMN universe and they look adorable! Couldn't help myself, so I drew them(Also I hope I didn't mess up with their colour palettes)

And @t-m-o-axel's lovely fankid Buttercup with her dad

[sinners-go-to-drink-the-wine]

and what if i said (horrible smutty thought below the cut)

danny would hold sam's hair back while sam ate you out

[first-and-last-neocount]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Deadpool (Movieverse), Wolverine (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Logan | Worst Wolverine (Deadpool Movies)/Wade Wilson Characters: Logan | Worst Wolverine (Deadpool Movies), Wade Wilson Additional Tags: Nightmares, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, heavier on the hurt than the comfort this time sadly, Canon-Typical Violence, Blood and Injury, Trauma, Oblivious Wade Wilson, logan would really like to stop accidentally stabbing people he cares about, wade fucks up a bit in this one but he is trying So Hard guys, Pre-Relationship, Implied Past Jean Grey/Scott Summers/Logan | Worst Wolverine Series: Part 3 of Neocount's Whumptober2024, Part 3 of Won't Somebody Come Take Me Home? Summary:

Things had been going too well so far; Wade should have known it wasn’t going to stay such smooth sailing for long. He really did only mean to help. Unfortunately, the patented Wade Wilson Lack of Impulse Control has come back to bite him once again.

...

Day 3 is up! :)

[chaotic-orphan]

Whumptober No.3

Set up for Failure

Wrongfully arrested // fingerprints // “i warned you”

TWs in the extended tags

Ohhhhhhh kay, this one is really super fucking heavy? It’s really fucking dark, it’s emotional it’s very heavy, so just pre-warning to the — i did cry writing it? I don’t think I’ve ever done that so —

Do not read if you cannot handle grief and very intense pain and loss, please

*~*~*~*~*

Villain ran his hand through Vigilante’s hair who was kneeling beside his chair, every now and then catching the ends in a fist and tugging Vigilante’s head back so their eyes met with Vigilante’s throat exposed. Vigilante glared at Villain, but it’s not like he could do much with his hands cuffed in front of him.

“Are you ready for your surprise, pet?”

Vigilante just glared. Villain smiled. He loved the strong and silent types. Loved to watch them suffer even more. Make them crack, make them cry, but Vigilante? He was special. He was different.

He wanted Vigilante to speak.

Then, he wanted Vigilante to suffer.

Feel the same agony that he left Villain with.

The doors at the end of the hall opened and two Henchmen marched a half-conscious Hero in between them. Vigilante looked down, almost bored, and then, he lurched forwards. Villain tightened his hold in Vigilante’s hair until Vigilante was only able to look down his nose at Hero, eyes wide and filled with fear and Villain saw it all.

“See, darling? I told you, you’d love it.”

Hero peered ahead through bleary eyes. Their heart stuttered to a stop before life flooded their body and they ran forwards towards Vigilante.

“Vigilante?!” Hero cried, hobbling as a sob tore through their throat and the Henchmen had to yank Hero back to keep Hero between them. “You’re alive?!”

It was a heartfelt shriek, like a mother at a child’s funeral, a mix between pain that couldn’t be spoken and grief and sorrow, and a disbelieving surprise at the possibility that this could be happening to them. Why them? Why their child?

But Vigilante knew.

“Hero,” Vigilante croaked, his voice barely above a whisper. His voice sounded like shoes scuffing gravel from disuse. In all the time Villain held Vigilante prisoner, Vigilante never spoke, refused to scream or cry, became an emotionless shell of a human but seeing Hero… Vigilante forgot they could feel anything anymore.

How could— how did Villain know? They couldn’t know, Vigilante made sure to keep everything secret! That’s what he did, the last things he did before he went after Villain’s lover. He knew it was a suicide mission, but he— he protected every crumb, every minute detail about Hero, and Hero’s secret identity and their —

Hero fell to their knees, wailing. “I knew it. I knew you weren’t dead… I’ve been looking for so long,” Hero gasped and oh.

Oh.

He didn’t… Vigilante forgot the person he loved — the person who had his heart, his soul, his reason for living — was resourceful too. He was an idiot. He was such an idiot.

A breath on his cheek and Vigilante flinched. He actually flinched, shivering suddenly, desperate and he turned to look Villain in the eye, searching for any sliver of humanity left in him, but Vigilante had cut that out long ago.

Villain’s expression turned into a cold sneer, tears in his eyes as he glared down at Vigilante with the fury of a thousand gods and righteous men. Vigilante shook his head slightly, begging, silently pleading.

“Please,” he whispered. His voice like a recording of a broken man. Foreign and strange even to his own ears, he had forgotten what he sounded like, it was a shock— it would’ve been a shock if Hero hadn’t been marched in the door in chains, covered in blood.

Villain leaned in close, roughly grabbing Vigilante’s cheeks in one hand and squeezing them harshly, yanking his head towards Villain’s who was seething with a stolen hearted rage.

Every word was a dagger in Vigilante’s heart, a ripping of his chest and body and life, every syllable a death sentence, and spoken so softly, as if he was afraid he would split his larynx if he spoke above an inside voice, spittle flying, in Vigilante’s face as Villain kept his head wrenched back with his free hand in Vigilante’s hair.

They were so close their noses touched.

“I warned you,” Villain seethed. “Remember that? Remember how I begged you not to do it, Vigilante? Do you remember what you said? It had to be done.”

Vigilante dissolved into sobs. “Please, Villain. Please don’t do this. Please, please.” Vigilante pulled against the cuffs that were hooked to his ankles but he couldn’t move in any real way like this. He couldn’t defend Hero. He couldn’t get to Hero and even if he could he wouldn’t be able to stop Villain in his vengeance.

“Do you remember when I said those exact words to you?” Villain whispered, agony creasing every muscle in his face. “See how much comfort they bring you. You have nobody to blame but yourself, and trust me when I say: you will blame yourself.”

Villain slammed Vigilante back so he fell onto his side and he screamed: “WAIT!” Then a desperate: “HERO RUN!”

Vigilante righted himself, throwing himself forward, the small chain between his wrists and ankles pulled taut but he launched himself forwards, desperate and clawing and crying.

“Villain PLEASE! PLEASE DON’T DO THIS, Please! Hero, Hero! HERO I’M SORRY! Please don’t, please oh god, please!”

Hero seemed like they were already cast in the glow of heaven’s light, ethereal, serene, had Vigilante ever appreciated their beauty enough? The small dimple that appeared in their left cheek when they smiled, even now when their cheeks were flooded with tears, glistening, their eyes crinkled as they found Vigilante’s.

“I won’t die,” Hero told Vigilante softly, as he scrambled forward shaking his head. Don’t say those words. Don’t say those words! A soft breath as the henchmen released Hero’s arms. “I won’t die, my love, because you have my heart. You always have.”

“Hero— Hero, I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you run please, please, Villain. Let them go,” Vigilante wailed, desperation fuelling his movements, as he grunted between sobs, they were so close. Hero was so close if he wasn’t chained he could reach out and grab them and shield them with his body.

Villain appeared behind Hero, a hand on their hair pulling their head back. “You have my he—”

Hero choked on the words as Villain sliced a blade across their throat. Vigilante flinched as blood spurted and sprayed Vigilante as the carotid was sliced through.

Vigilante who was reaching for Hero, arms out as Hero fell, convulsing on the way down and Vigilante pressed his hands to the wound.

“Hero! Hero! HERO! HERO!” Vigilante cried, trying to staunch the bleeding with their shirt, their hands but the blood kept pooling and the stench of iron filled their nose, their mouth, their body. “Oh god, oh god, oh god Hero, no. No, no! NO! Hero— please, stay with me. Don’t leave me here. Take your heart. Take your heart I can’t— I don’t want it if you’re not here with me, Hero. Hero.”

Vigilante’s hands gripped Hero’s cheeks, trying to keep their eyes open. “Hero look at me, look at me baby, please.”

He was sta— his— the blood, oh god he was staining Hero’s face, their beautiful face and the more he tried to wipe it away the more the blood smeared and it was still pooling and spilling from the wound and Hero was dead. Hero was dead. Hero was dead and he was staining their face—

Hero.

Vigilante hunched over Hero’s body, sobs wracking through him like earthquakes, shattering every bone, every nerve, every source of light in his being.

A hand settled on his back. Vigilante stiffened, grabbing hold of Hero and not letting go. “You know,” Villain said, sniffing himself. “I’m happy Hero had your heart, Vigilante. It’s satisfying. It’s like killing you twice.”

“Kill me,” Vigilante whispered, no, begged, wailed, pleaded. It was all the same now. All this opaque too full emptiness that permeated his body, leaving an absence between his lungs, under his skin, in all the empty space that Hero filled. “Kill me too, please.”

The hand patted his back.

“Oh, no, Vigilante. You and I— we’re not meant to die young. We carry the weight of our past, no. Only the good die, and we’re too wicked to be taken yet. Trust me,” Villain said hollowly. “I’ve already tried to end my grief, but I won’t give you the chance.”

Villain leaned in closer, his hand going to the back of Vigilante’s neck and squeezing it. “You will live with your guilt until the gods decide it’s your time.”

[uncontrol-freak]

shrinefucking