#and look he was already dying but still I feel like this wasn’t a consensual euthanasia

[mossytrashcan]

I feel like we’re all kinda ignoring the fact that alys definitely fucking murdered an old man named after a muppet. this isn’t anti alys (love her) I’m just pointing out that she 100% killed that old man

[myungjaes-luvv]

I was thinking about bully! Sunghoon or Jay

One day he gets too angry and horny and decides to fuck you in an empty classroom or a bathroom stall! >_<

wow what a BANGER idea🫠anyway i wrote jay for this one hope you like it!

warnings: jay kind of forces himself on reader but it’s consensual anyway, the nickname ‘doll,’ semi-public?, unprotected sex (but its not explicitly mentioned), kind of rushed towards the end because i lost motivation oops

hard hours + requests: open (bnd, enha, &team)

the sound of the school bell rang through the halls as students scramble to get to their next class. you carefully zip your backpack and sling it over your shoulder, leaving the classroom to get to your last class of the day. at least today was almost over.

you kept to yourself mostly, having a bad tendency of looking at the floor as you walked, avoiding any and all eye contact. you also zoned out…a lot.

you were mid thought, wanting to go home already, to leave this hell on earth when-

“shit- sorry!” you apologized frantically, your notebook flying out of your hands and onto the floor. you didn’t even know who you were apologizing to until you looked up.

fuck.

of all the people you could have ran into, it had to be him.

“watch where you’re going, christ,” jay scoffed at you, watching you kneel down to pick your notebook up.

“sorry…i wasn’t looking-” you tried, but he cut you off.

“yeah, obviously. fucking klutz,” he rolled his eyes as you stood back up.

you went to walk past him to carry on from this horrible interaction but he had blocked you, putting his arm in front of you and pushing you back.

“hey- wait, what are you doing?” you asked him.

you looked up at him, making eye contact with him, confused, and maybe a little scared.

“i think it’s about time i finally put you in your goddamn place,” he scoffed at you.

you were about to protest or ask a question but you didn’t have time to even gather your thoughts before he was shoving you backwards into a dark and empty room, shutting the door behind the both of you.

“what the fuck are you doing jay?” you asked, more scared of your bully now than you ever have been before.

“easy, doll,” he said, sounding way too calm for the situation he has you in.

he soon enough had you backed to the wall, his hands on your hips as your bodies were impossibly close.

this was…weird, and wrong. so incredibly wrong…but why was it so incredibly hot.

you could feel his breath against your skin as his lips just barely grazed over your neck.

“jay what are you-” you tried, but were cut off when he pressed a harsh kiss to your lips. your eyes were wide open as you tried pushing him away, still confused out of your mind as to what was happening.

“damnit, i said i’m putting you in your place, can’t you listen to me?” he said, his voice low.

as if your body had a mind of it’s own, you nodded. why on earth did you nod.

it wasn’t long before he began to palm at your clothed core, you could feel the heat radiating off of you as you bit back a whine.

“wanted you for so long…” he said, hooking his finger into the waistband of your pants and pulling down.

“gonna finally take what’s mine, right, doll?” he asked, though you knew it wasn’t a question you were meant to answer.

his finger slipped between your folds, made easy by how wet you had become. you cursed your body for being so willing for him, feeling as though you had betrayed yourself.

you whined softly as he leaned in close to your ear, “all that because of me?” he teased.

you had a dying urge to push him off of you, but something inside was screaming to let him keep going.

he played with you for what felt like ages before he finally slipped a finger into your entrance, making your legs nearly buckle.

“already needing my help to stand?” he asked, his free hand on your hip to help support you.

you bit back another whine, “fuck…” you said beneath your breath.

he removed his finger, causing you to whine. it wasn’t long before he grabbed your waist and pushed you over one of the desk’s.

he sucked in a sharp breath as he put your ass on display for him, feeling you up. his cock was practically aching to be let free from his pants.

he palmed himself through the material before shuffling his pants down enough to let his dick free from the restraint.

he rubbed himself against your folds, causing you to whine, and not a thought of stopping him was in your mind, so desperate for his cock and you hadn’t even known until now.

“jay, please…” you whimpered.

“that’s right, beg for it,” he said in a low voice.

“please, need you so bad…” you begged him.

he finally slipped inside of you slowly at first.

you gripped the edge of the desk, feeling your legs threaten to give out as he entered you from behind.

he let out a shaky breath himself, “your pussy feels so tight around me, doll…” he commented, starting to push himself in and out of you.

the noises you had started to let out reminded jay of those from a porno, high pitched, whiny, and so fucking hot.

you couldn’t help but start to try and match his pace, fucking yourself back against him. he held your hips and used you for support, driving himself deeper inside of you.

your eyes rolled back as he moved a hand to the front of your pussy and began to rub at your clit.

“gonna cum for me? gonna cum all over my cock,” he teased, speeding his hips up.

you couldn’t even answer or get a thought straight.

“got you so fucked dumb you can’t even speak, so cock hungry,” he said under his breath.

you could feel yourself getting so close, and you craved your release so desperately.

“jay- oh god- fuck…gonna-” you tried between moans.

“go ahead, cum for me, make a mess,” he told you.

after a few more thrusts, you were coming, your legs shaking, needing his full support to keep you up against the desk. he fucked you through it heavenly and as you clenched around him, he neared his release.

“gonna cum, holy shit,” he panted, fucking you roughly, causing your vision to white out.

he pulled out, fucking his fist to get himself to release before coming over your back and your ass, the sight almost enough to get him hard again.

the two of you caught your breath and cleaned yourselves up in almost complete silence, and before he left, you were about to make a comment until he spoke first.

“watch where you’re walking next time, klutz.”

[echoghost1]

InvisoBang 2023 - Dawn Of Influence - Chapter 2

Title: Dawn Of Influence Chapter 2 Title: Headaches & How’ve You Been’s Summary: Danny is in his senior year of high school. His life, even with his still secret half-ghost nonsense, has settled down to a new, but manageable normal. That is until one day he starts to notice something is off. He doesn’t feel right, so he tries to find out what’s going on. His ghost form is changing but he has no idea what it’s changing into or why. Characters: Danny Fenton, Sam Manson, Tucker Foley, Jazz Fenton, Clockwork, Pandora, Frostbite Total Word Count: 17,010 Trigger Warnings & relevant tags: Mystery, Horror, Body Horror, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Ghost King Danny Fenton

You can find my fic on ao3 and read chapter 2 down below the cut!

Ch 1 | [you're here] | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7 | Ch 8 | Ch 9 | Ch 10 | Ch 11 | Ch 12

Once a week Jazz would call home from college. She said it was so she could let them know how things were going for her. That she didn’t want them to worry.

Danny was pretty sure it was more for her. To make sure he was okay.

He had a feeling if she could, she would have driven home every week. Thankfully she saw how insane it was to make such a long drive weekly. 

Normally he enjoyed catching up with her. He liked hearing about how much she was enjoying herself. 

She was thriving on the east coast.

She was doing even better when he was able to prove he wasn't going to starve to death or let their parents blow up the house while she was away. 

The first couple of weeks without her was a bit of an adjustment but he managed. He might not be good at much, but he was very adaptable. 

Plus he had another new weekly tradition of having family dinners at Tucker’s house. 

The problem with having a weekly call with Jazz was he never wanted to give her bad news.

He always made sure to have something positive, even if it was just something he was looking forward to later in the week.

This week he had nothing. 

Midterms were coming up and even if he wasn't in danger of failing it didn't stop the test anxiety he always got. Test anxiety that had only gotten worse after that whole bad-end future business. 

To top it all off, he had a headache.

He really wanted to have something good to say, but the more he tried to think of something, the more it made his head hurt.

By the time she called he had almost convinced himself to go out and miss the call. Almost.

He knew avoiding it would just make it worse. Somehow.

He couldn’t think of how. His head hurt too much.

Danny picked up the phone on the second ring. 

“Hi Danny!”

“Hey Jazz.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah, got a headache, but it’s fine. How are you?”

“You sure?”

“It’s fine. I’m sure there’s something you were dying to tell me about.”

“I can tell you about that later. Did you take anything?”

“Like what?”

“Headache medicine? For your headache,” she said in a way that pointed out just how obvious that was.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. I thought it would go away.”

“How long has it been?”

“Um,” Danny hesitated.

“Um? Why um?”

“I don’t think you’re going to like this answer.”

“I already don’t like it.”

“That’s fair.”

“That wasn’t an answer.”

He was hoping she wouldn’t notice that.

“Danny.”

“I don’t know, like a day?”

“A Day!?”

“Is that bad?”

“Danny!”

“What?”

“That’s not a headache, that’s a migraine!”

“I thought migraines were the ones that made you not like light.”

Jazz sighed heavily.

He really didn’t mean to upset her.

“Danny, go take something for your headache. There should be a bottle in the bathroom.”

“Sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“I was supposed to have something good to tell you but I just made you mad instead.”

“I’m not mad,” she said angrily.

“You sound mad.”

“I’m not mad at you.” she clarified.

“Are you mad at my headache?” Danny asked as he stepped into the bathroom.

“Yes, but also Mom and Dad.”

“Why are you mad at them?”

“The usual,” she said simply.

He just hummed in agreement. They were both well aware of the long list of things that made up The Usual. 

She probably didn’t mean the whole list right now, but he had a feeling that having a list was definitely a bad sign. Or at least not a very good one.

They may not have the best parents, but they weren’t bad on purpose. B+ parenting, maybe C average for when they got a little too passionate about their plans for ghost research.

One of the many advantages of having dinner at Tucker’s. He didn’t have to worry about the topic of ghost dissection at the table. Or ever. 

“Did you find it?” Jazz asked, bringing him back to the present.

“Just did,” he shook the bottle so the pills rattled for emphasis. “How many do I take?”

“Start with one, and see how that goes.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem. That’s what big sisters are for.”

Once he was done in the bathroom he went back to his room. He hoped the medicine both worked and kicked in fast.

Until then he’d chat with his sister.

He flopped on his bed and ignored how the movement reverberated in his skull. “So what are you getting up to in your exciting college life this week?”

Jazz was now more than happy to fill him in on her college life. She told him about a presentation she did, an event she went to, a couple of books she read, a guest speaker who came, and the things she did when she wasn’t in school.

He wasn’t sure how she found time to do all of the things she did in a single week.

Maybe some of these things were from last week.

Whatever it was, he was glad she was still having fun.

Still able to live her life.

That she was able to do what she wanted despite everything they’d been through.

“Danny.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s not true.”

“What?”

“Earlier. You said you were supposed to have good news for me. That’s not true. You can have bad days when I’m not around. It’d be a little weird if you didn’t.”

“I don’t want you to worry.”

“The thing about that is, it’s never going to work. You can’t stop other people from worrying about you. It shows they care about you.”

“I guess that’s true.”

“Of course it is. I said so.”

“Hope you don’t run into the doorway with that big head of yours.” Danny teased.

“Don’t worry, the doorways here are huge. Otherwise, the professors and half the students wouldn’t be able to get around.” she joked right back.

“Only half?”

“You’re right, it’s all of us.”

The siblings shared a few more laughs until there was a knock on Danny’s door.

“Oh, hold on,” he got up and found his mom on the other side of the door.

“Who are you talking to, Sweetie?”

“Jazz.”

“Oh, it’s Thursday already?”

“You want to talk to her?”

“Of course! Gimme the phone.”

“Alright hold on,” he said to his mom before he made sure Jazz knew what was going on.

“Hope you feel better Danny.” Jazz said in lieu of goodbye.

“Me too.”

He was glad she didn’t ask if his headache was gone.

[theplightofthepterodactyl]

Drugging Redheads

Note: Redheads require 20% more anesthesia than the average person.

It took Alina a hot minute to realize that there were fingers in her brain.

Surgically gloved, freakishly steady fingers, that is. And when she realized this fact, she did the logical thing and screamed for her mother, who was dead. She screamed so loudly that her addled brain got scared her mother might actually hear her and tell her to shut up, so she stopped screaming. 

“Excuse me, Doctor,” she said calmly, breathing hard through her nostrils. “I seem to be awake.”

Of course, the doctor already knew this. So did the anesthesiologist in the corner, who was saying things Alina definitely didn’t want her mother to hear. A few harrying seconds later, her vision started to fade back to a comforting black. 

After her surgery was over, the surgeon came to her himself to apologize.

“Ms. Evans, I am so sorry you had to experience that,” he said. “It’s just that… our anesthesiologist hadn’t accounted for you being a redhead.”

Alina stared at him, then pinched her arm to make sure she wasn’t still drugged.

“What. Are you talking about.”

“You see, redheads are more difficult to sedate than the average, uh, head. We gave you 20% less anesthesia than you needed,” he explained, nodding like that made perfect sense. Alina sighed.

“You know what? I don’t care,” she said. “Please get out of my room.” 

Alina had no strong feelings on being a redhead, but she would dye all the hair on her body blonde if it meant she never had to experience that again. Once she got out of the hospital, it took her half a year to fully recover from the surgery. Eventually, she dyed her hair bright blue, forgot about the incident, and joined a marching band. It was marching band practice she was walking home from when she noticed that a car was following her. 

It was white and silent, and Alina wanted nothing to do with it. She sped up, and the car sped up too. She graduated from fast-walking and started running. The car’s motors revved quietly and kept pace with her. Oh, bother.

Suddenly, she felt someone tap her shoulder and twisted to see an old man standing behind her. 

“Hello, young lady, can you help me with something?” he warbled, smiling a gummy smile. Alina glanced nervously at the car, which had stopped almost right next to her.

“Sorry, sir, I have to–”

She stopped and stared at the syringe protruding from her arm. She poked it, and it wobbled.

“Ha,” she said. “Ha, ha, ha.”

The old man grasped her shoulders and guided her gently into the waiting car, and shoved her inside.

“Ouch,” she said. This was a confusing situation. Alina looked up and saw that the driver was an old lady with a face like a soggy paper bag. She was picking at perfectly straight teeth, so they had to be dentures. What kind of kidnapping was this?

She looked down at the syringe still stuck in her arm and pulled it out. She felt a rush of dizziness, but nothing else. The realization dawned on her that whatever was in the syringe should have knocked her out, but it hadn’t. Why?

No, it couldn’t be.

There was no possible way. That doctor had probably lied to cover for the anesthesiologist. 

She coughed and tapped the old man’s shoulder. “Excuse me, sir, but I don’t think your drug is working on me.”

The old woman slammed down on the brakes, and all three of them rocked forward. They turned and stared at Alina like she was the Antichrist.

“It’s just that I’m a redhead, and redheads need 20% more drugs, or something,” she mumbled, tugging at her blue hair. The old man said some nasty words under his breath, and Alina was experiencing some serious deja vu. 

“Can I just… go?” she asked sheepishly, scratching her head. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m pretty sure I can take you guys.”

The two old people said nothing for a minute, then seemed to come to a consensus. The woman stepped on the gas, and they continued forward like nothing had happened. So Alina did the logical thing and punched the old man in the eye and screamed at him to hand her the drugs. She screamed so loudly that he pissed himself, and once she had the drugs, she swiftly injected a dose into each of their arms. Then she opened the door of the car, sat with her legs dangling out of it, and called the police. That night she washed the blue dye out of her hair. 

[1d1195]

STOMACH ISSUES?! bestie WE ARE THE SAME! I sadly have stomach problems too lol But Im glad that it wasn't anything too serious and that you feel better! Let's hope you won't get sick because it's already a bit tragic with the period lol oh don't even get me started on allergies!

I may have a controversial opinion but I feel like we should bring back skinny jeans!! of course people are allowed to wear whatever they want and it shouldn't matter if it's it trendy but I kinda miss seeing it more lol What sports did you play? I don't think you've mentioned that before but if you did im sorry! But it sucks that you did have some form of damage :( But wedges are cute! they are definitely more comfortable! I feel the same way about platform shoes/heels like idk something about it makes me feel so GOOD! If i could even wear a cute little mary jane heel everyday I would be happy lol But i can't do that due to walking way too much and I REFUSE to use an electric scooter on campus lol

Being a dentist is wild bc i could not do what they do 😭

My TA is still hot lol Didn't see him as much this week because our classes were cancelled due to the professor being out of town :( But ugh Sam he's so attractive like he's just existing and walking around lecture when we have to talk in groups and he just looks so 😵‍💫 My friend in that class pointed out that he has a nice nose which i once again DIDNT EVEN NOTICE 😭 so theres more evidence for my nose thing apparently 😔

YES TO SHOPPING!!!! Enjoy your weekend my love, you deserve it and more💗 I love you!-💜

SO I spent $180 and saved $130 which is honestly not that great in my opinion but could have been worse. I once got a pair of American Eagle jeans for $0.01 and I’ve been trying to achieve that high ever since.

I don’t have horrible stomach issues fortunately (my sister took that on for me thankfully 😅) I’m more of a headache girly lol. Every day at 3pm like clockwork. Is it head trauma or from teaching teens all day?? We’ll never know (it’s teaching). But my stomach is very sensitive sometimes (I think it’s hormones). Speaking of, no illness it’s just my period rn right on cue, first day of break ✌🏻

Omg please I hope they come back around I’m not exactly a petite lady so I can’t with the flare/boot cut jeans. They make me look so rectangular (more than I already am), short, and frumpy that’s why I like skinny jeans so much 😂

I love shoes I don’t even care what kind they’re so fun and I think they can pull a whole outfit together. It’s def wedge season now so I’m very excited about that. When I was a child I rocked a tutu and patent leather and Mary Jane’s for about a whole year of my life. It was the last time I wore them and I think cute little Mary Jane’s would be so fun for me now (but seem a little wintry so I’ll wait till the fall) ☺️ I love that for you and don’t blame you at all. There will be time when you get your career and you can wear Mary Jane’s everyday! I can’t imagine the electric scooter I would cry 🤣 I miss that most about college: all the walking. It was so nice (except in the snow/rain) but when it was nice it was cool everything was close by and walkable (I grew up in a rural-ish area so you had to drive to get anywhere).

I wasn’t full blown tomboy but my dad instilled Boston sports in my blood. I played soccer, softball, and volleyball for major periods of time in my life. Soccer was my favorite but ruined my ankles :( I loved fielding but hated batting in softball. Volleyball was by far the most fun but I wasn’t very good. I enjoyed back row. I love watching most sports 💕 I can cheer on any team the bar has a consensus of rooting for when I go out 🤣

I’m dying about the nose. But I love that for you 💕 I hope you get to see him more in the coming week. I think I would swoon if he walked by me during class being attractive AND smart. I used to be a TA actually. I don’t think any of them thought I was hot but to be fair who would ever like the weird math nerd 😂 I used to make them review sheets with math puns (Sum-things to Know was how I reviewed the chapter on summations)

I LOVE YOU

Xoxo

[evans-heaven]

Scene ; Joseph Quinn

Leave it to me to see one comment asking for a full fic based on one of my Moments drabbles and actually write that shit 😭 I've been working on this piece for weeks and I'm pretty happy with how I left it so here it is for your reading pleasure ;)

Before we start, a couple of things:

This is pre-Feelings (tho reader is very much in love here but doesn't realize it)

The death scene is from the POV of Stacey, your character, and is mostly my dialogue bc i tried watching the actual clip and got less than 10 seconds in before i started crying 🙃 so I'm not gonna torture myself like that y'all sorry lol

Reader is portrayed as having anxiety and overthinks a lot, kinda like in Feelings. I write her like this bc that's pretty much how I am in real life about my own thoughts, feelings, and basically everything else. Aaannnd that's basically it lmao

Pairing: Joseph Quinn x Fem!Actress!Reader

Warnings: Unedited content, strong language, ANGST, description of Eddie's death scene, mentions of blood, mild depictions of anxiety, some fluff, and touching, duh ;)

wc: 3.6k

I already linked the other two fics so read Touch here

Pt 2 here

Prior to this day, you had your assumptions that actors filming a death scene would be pretty tough. 

But, now that you were in a position where you yourself would be at the borderline center of one, ‘tough’ was kind of an understatement. 

‘Tough’ wasn’t nearly a suitable enough word to describe having to cradle your co-star who was covered in prosthetic wounds and fake blood as he sputtered out I love you’s and goodbye’s, and then ‘died’ in your arms. 

Maybe ‘tough’ would be the appropriate term here, if said co-star wasn’t your best fucking friend and the person you were undoubtably closest with on set. Him dying in your arms, even if it was just for the screen, was still an experience that would feel way too real-even if you tried to remind yourself that, at the end of the day, it wasn’t. No matter how true to life it would seem. No matter how damn realistic those wounds looked (why the fuck did Amy and her team have to be so talented?), and no matter how fucking incredible Joe Quinn was at pretending to die. 

The words ‘calm down’ echoed in your head like a broken record all day. They had blended into one, to the point where they were incoherent and didn’t seem to make sense. Thus, they did very little to offer comfort. 

The day had been frustrating, to put it lightly. But, at least you had Joe.

That morning, during your daily-or hourly-sanctioned bear hug, your heartbeat was so strong he practically heard it pulsing in his ears. That alone told him your anxiety would be working double time that day. It was a serious pain in the agss sometimes.

You and Joe had always been attached at the hip over the last year and some, always hanging off of each other in some way or another. And today, it was with good reason attached to it-not that (consensual) physical touch ever had to have a purpose other than wanting to be close. Having that gentle contact, even if it was just a hand on your shoulder-was more than enough to ground you and halt the overactive thoughts-even if for a couple of minutes.

Although he’d say he was only trying to comfort you, it was obvious your embraces and touches held mutual benefit. Just as he was able to sense your anxiety, you could sense his. The sweaty palms when your fingers laced together during breakfast and lunch weren’t from you, nor were the goosebumps you felt against your collarbones when he held you from behind after you got your makeup done for the scene. This showed you that, despite acting his ass off during rehearsals, it didn’t mean he wasn’t nervous.

But, in typical heartthrob-from-a-90s-novel-written-by-a-woman fashion, all his energy was put into making you feel better, comforted, and assured that everything would be okay. Even if he had no idea what the true driving force was behind your anxiousness.

You couldn’t have asked for a better on screen boyfriend. Stacey Miller-Rhodes was a damn lucky gal. Well, up until her boyfriend got chunks of his flesh ripped from his body by demobats. Meaning he died. Meaning Eddie was gone.

Calm down. Calm down. Calm down.

A sharp knock on your trailer door interrupted your useless mantra, as you jolted, just a little, before giving permission for whoever to enter.

In walked Matt and Ross, warm smiles on their faces. It didn’t do much to ease you, because you knew why they were here. 

“Hey, Y/N, you ready?” Ross asked. Matt stood by the door keeping it open, since it was time to go. 

You nodded. “Yep,” your voice was even, masking the heavy feeling in your throat. You were not ready.

“Figured we’d come get you ourselves, Joe’s busy with makeup on set, for, you know-”

“I know. Thanks,” you said quickly, cutting Matt off. “Let’s get going, then,” you said, standing up and walking past Matt, exiting your trailer. You heard the door shut softly and their footsteps following behind you.

You were being short with them, but that was because you really only wanted Joe at this moment. Unfortunately, he was currently being ‘deadified’ on set, which is where you were now headed. You two had a little cuddle session in your trailer, where he held you tight and layed kiss after kiss on your forehead, cooing that it would be okay and that you would both be fine. After that, he had to go to the makeup trailer to get his prosthetic wounds applied. The process had taken hours, and then he had to film the scene where Eddie actually got attacked by the bats. This meant it had been a while since you saw him last. So, his mamed and mangled appearance awaited you, when the last time you saw him, he was totally unharmed and at ease.

You entered the building, in which there were only a chosen few people. It was a closed set, just you, Joe, and the necessary crew members. The Duffers believed that because a death scene with a couple was so intimate, you and Joe were the only actors that should be on set. 

That, you were thankful for. You were your best self when it was just you and Joe, so you could be your best ‘acting self’, when it was just the two of you as well.

Your eyes were immediately drawn to the ‘Upside Down’, a set made to look like the particular spot in the alternate universe where everything would go down. It was tinted blue and almost sent a chill down your spine to look at, from how cold uninviting, and eerie the general vibe of the scenery was. And a little depressing, which was pretty fitting. The backdrop was a blue screen, which would be used to add the background of the setting, to make everything look as real as possible.

You spotted Joe in the middle of the set, the makeup team applying fake blood to his very real looking wounds. 

“C’mon, we wanna talk to you and Joe for a second before we start,” Matt told you, and as much as that made sense, you wished Joe was more than just a few feet away so you could prepare a little more for seeing him….like that, outside of the context of the scene. 

“Okay,” you said as you three began walking towards him just as makeup finished up their job. When you got to him, you felt yourself tense up at his appearance as you lingered back, just a little bit. He stood awkwardly with his arms slightly hovering away from his body, clearly not wanting to disrupt the fake damage. You could tell from the sight before you that with how much fake blood the team used, those demobats would really do a number on Eddie.

You hated those little CGI bastards.

“Hey,” Joe said, gaining your attention, though his tone was light. You met his eyes, narrowly avoiding the blood streaking the lower half of his face.

“Hi,” you said back, feeling just a little bit of air release from your lungs, not even remembering when you took a breath in. You wanted to make a sarcastic quip to lighten the mood, but words failed you. You didn’t really feel like being funny right now.

“So, you guys remember how the scene goes, Eddie just sacrificed himself and got attacked by the bats, and Stacey runs up to him afterward and sees his body laying there, barely alive, covered in blood and wounds,” Matt began.

You curled your lips in and nodded stiffly, feeling the slightest of shocks run through your body. Calm down.

“I know you two are gonna kill this scene,” Matt continued. “No one understands or could have brought to life Eddie and Stacey better than the two of you,” he said warmly, clamping hands down on both your shoulders. Yours was tense under his touch and Stacey’s clothing.

You had to admit, though, he was right. You had a lot of input into Stacey’s character, taking her from Eddie’s shy girlfriend who was just a tool to enhance how eccentric he was, to a girl with a backstory and reasons for her reserved nature. Knowing Stacey’s history would make the scene even more gut wrenching to film. A girl raised in a household with a domineering step-father who believed women should be seen and not heard, who made her life a living hell under the watchful eye of her mother who did nothing to stop it. Upon turning 18 she left him and his toxicity behind, but carried the burden of years of being forced to subdue herself. Eddie got her to open up to him, but she still carried herself quietly around others. The fear of judgment was damaging.

Because of how much you put into Stacey and the influence you had on her storyline, you knew none of your nervousness had to do with how you’d perform in the scene. You were confident in your abilities as an actress and knew you could carry this scene with the help of Joe perfectly. 

“Thanks, guys, that means a lot,” you said to them, gripping the moto jacket you wore, canonically taken by Stacey from Eddie’s closet. 

“Yeah, truly, we’ve come a long way from me thinking I would completely ruin the show,” Joe chuckled, the smile on his face juxtaposed by the blood caking it. It was actually kind of off putting.

“Alright, well, let’s get this show on the road!” Mat clapped his hands and walked with his brother offset.

More like let’s get this over with. You were about to walk off to get in your spot, when Joe grabbed your hand gently, stopping you. You turned to face him, brows raised expectantly.

“You good?” he asked.

Deciding to keep this short and sweet, you settled for a quick nod, and a soft ‘yeah’. Satisfied, he released your hand so you could go to your place, just as one of the Duffers yelled “Places!” 

When you got to your mark, you looked over to Joe one more time, who was already looking your way. You could feel the intensity of his stare from where you stood, those gorgeous brown eyes and the way they sparkled no matter the lighting or setting. He gave you a smile, and you returned one, unable to ever not do so. It managed to give you a new found confidence you lacked just seconds prior. He took his position on the ground, and then, it was time.

There was no turning back once it began. Unless you swiveled on your heels and ran in the opposite direction, which was tempting. 

Once it happened, everything you were worried about could become a possibility to follow suit.

You sucked in an unstable breath and closed your eyes, savoring a final moment of calm before those two little word were uttered-

“And….ACTION!”

You took off.

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

Stacey’s heart was ramming against her ribcage the moment she re-entered the upside down, but when she saw her boyfriend lying limp on the cold, wet ground, she swore her legs would give out as her heart seemed to cease in its entirety. 

He had gone back. He wanted to be a hero. He didn’t want to run anymore, but God, she wished he did.

“Eddie!” Stacey called out, voice unstable and legs threatening to give out from underneath her as she sprinted towards him. Somewhere in the corner of her mind that was swarming with fears of what would happen to him, she began to pray to whoever there was that could hear her and help him.

Please let him be okay. Please. Please. Please.

“Ed, babe, oh my God,” Stacey whispered, and fell to her knees before his broken down form. His torso was torn to shreds, his Hellfire shirt almost completely soaked with blood from his wounds. She took hold of him and pulled the upper half of his body into her lap, feeling the red substance begin to seep through her jeans.

The demo bats surrounded the two of them, incapacitated, laying limp on the floor of the upside down-taunting you. Blissfully unaware that they had probably just taken the love of Stacey's life away from her, brutally, with no remorse, as he tried so desperately to be the hero, not the coward he convinced himself he was.

“Ed, are you with me? Can you hear me?” Stacey asked him softly, not wanting to scare him. She brushed his hair from his face and tried to meet his eyes, his gaze unfocused and teary.

Eddie’s voice came out shaky and weak from his blood coated mouth, his cheeks smeared with it. “I did it,” he choked out. “I didn’t run anymore,”

There was no denying he felt some semblance of pride at what he did, and because of that, Stacey couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, though the tension in the noise was palpable. “Yeah, yeah baby, you’re so brave,” she told him.

The proud smile he bore was distorted by a look of pain as he shifted slightly. “It’s bad, isn’t it?” he groaned, in clear discomfort.

One of her hands applied pressure to one of the many wounds that marred his torso as he shivered in her arms. “No, no babe, it’s fine, you're gonna be okay,” she stumbled out, trying to sound as confident in her words as possible, when everything about the situation told her that her words were not the truth. “We just….we just need to get to you to a hospital and everything’s gonna be okay, Ed, don’t worry,”

“No. I think this was it, baby,” he met his girlfriend’s gaze, his jaw trembling as more blood dribbled out the sides of his mouth as he took in barely there, labored breaths. “This was finally my year,”

Stacey choked out helpless cries, caressing his face, and shaking her head. This couldn’t be his year, this couldn’t be the way it ended. He was supposed to finally graduate and the two of them were supposed to get the hell out of Hawkins together, away from all the bullshit media propaganda and pearl clutching PTA moms. They were going to get out of there and be happy together. That was how it was supposed to fucking be, goddammit.

“No,” Stacey gritted.“This isn’t over yet, you’re gonna be okay, Ed,” she nodded stiffly, lips trembling as salty tears flowed into the seam. “We’re just gonna wait a little until the others get here, then we’re gonna carry you out of this hellhole and take you to a hospital, and the doctors there are going to fix you, baby, they’re going to make the bleeding go away, and stitch you up and give you some meds, and then you’re gonna be okay, you’re gonna be okay, you’re gonna be okay,” she chanted weakly as her cheeks became soaked with tears. She wanted to speak it into existence, even as reality clawed and fought its way to the front of her mind.

“Baby,” he cooed. He placed a cold hand on hers, the one that still pressed against one of his wounds, gripping it weakly. Always the one who wanted to comfort her, even if he needed it way more in this situation. “I’ve fulfilled my duty as Eddie the Banished, I didn’t run, and I saved the town,” he told her. 

“That town doesn’t deserve your sacrifice, Eddie,” Stacey argued pathetically.

“I saved you,” he stressed, making it known that this act was with only one person at the forefront as motivation, the rest of the town behind her. “And you’re worth it, Stacey. You’re so. Fucking. Worth it,” he said to her, lacing their fingers together, pulling the back of her hand up to his lips, and pressing a bloodied kiss to the cold, dirty skin. 

“I love you so much,” he said as firmly as his shutting down body would let him.

It hurt her to not say those words back, but she knew why he said them, and she didn’t want to accept this as the end.

“Ed, don't you dare say goodbye,” she told him through her tears, trying to sound strong and sure, but it wasn’t possible. “This isn’t the end for you, this isn’t the end for us,” she said.

“Stacey, baby, I want you to listen to me,” Eddie began, the wobble in his voice impossible to ignore now as he tried to raise his head as much as he could, wanting her to truly take in his next words. “When you go back, I want you to go home and pack all of your shit, as much as you can carry, and I want you to get on the next bus out, because you’re gonna leave that shithole Hawkins. You’re gonna tell that place to kiss your ass and you’re gonna run like hell out of there without so much as a single glance back,”

Stacey shook her head, understanding where this was headed, not wanting to hear a word more. “Ed, no-”

“You’re gonna find some place for the both of us, somewhere where the people aren’t shallow minded assholes, where we can be whoever the fuck we want to be with each other, and I want you to live your life everyday as you would have if I was there,’

“Eddie, I can’t-”

“Yes, you can. I don’t want you to cave back into yourself, baby. You’re the most beautiful, brilliant, incredible human being I’ve ever met and everyone deserves to know you and appreciate you as you are. Do you hear me?”His proclamation to her ended with that simple question, and he left no room for argument. 

She absorbed all his words, every letter, every syllable, struggling to accept that the life they wanted to have together, would have to continue on without him. The life she wanted with him would totally and completely absolve her from the one she had growing up. Could she do it? Could she move on?

Those answers remained to be determined, but the one thing she absolutely couldn’t do was argue with him anymore. She just didn’t have it in her to deny him his dying wish, or keep fighting what he had already accepted.

Closing her eyes, more droplets fell, mixing with his blood. She felt herself nodding before she could even consider another response in her mind. “Yeah,” she whispered in a watered down voice. “Yeah, baby, I hear you,” she opened her eyes and met his own once more. 

“Good,” he replied. “Good,” his voice was noticeably more floaty that time.

They fell silent. They just looked into one another’s eyes, exchanging so many words and feelings that would completely consume what little time they had left together. His hand was still laced with hers, pressed against his chest, where she could feel his weakening heart beat.

“I love you so much,” he repeated his words from earlier, breaking the hauntingly peaceful quiet. It was barely above a whisper practically mouthed, but she heard him, loud and clear. And as soon as those words came out, he looked ahead blankly, his eyes slowly beginning to lose the light in them Stacey loved so much.

“Eddie, no, please,” she gritted, tears dripping from her eyes uncontrollably. “Stay with me, baby, please,” she pleaded urgently, brushing more of his damp hair out of the way and patting his cheek lightly, trying to get him to remain alert….alive. She just wanted one more moment with him. Just one. 

But then, she felt it.

His body stilled.

His grip on her hand went limp.

His eyes lost any life left in them.

“Eddie,” she whimpered, hand remaining on his cheek. Her body shook uncontrollably as she let the tears fall freely onto him, her agony and pain taking over as she held his lifeless form close to hers. She repeated his name through her cries, trying to wake him, trying to make this nightmare end. She leaned down and pressed her forehead to his, wanting to feel him as close as possible, for what was the very last time.

“I love you, too,” Stacey whispered, her lips touching the skin between his eyebrows. If those words meant anything anymore, she wanted it to be at this moment. 

Because she truthfully didn’t know when-or if- she would ever say them again.

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

“CUT!”

It was like a switch went off in you, as reality made its presence known once more. 

The scene was done, the Duffers yelled cut, it was over.

However, the moment fully sank in when Joe rose up and took your hands in his, pulling you upright and bringing you into a warm embrace. You didn’t care about the fake blood that would get all over your front or the fact that his back was soggy and caked with damp dirt, you threw your arms around him and held on tightly, rivaling the hold he had on you.

“You did so incredible, babes, I’m so proud of you,” he whispered in your ear, his long fingers running up and down your sides lightly, almost tickling, but you reveled in it and his touch. You closed your eyes blissfully as you came down from your high, feeling the tears drying on your face, thankful makeup used waterproof eye makeup. 

“Yeah, you too,” you said back for his ears only, as the Duffers and the rest of the crew approached you both. You let each other go, though his arm remained on the small of your back, as everyone began delivering their praise. The voices became so jumbled you could barely register who said what. So, you just smiled and nodded and gave your gratitude along with Joe, whose hand rubbed soothing circles against your waist.

Now, to face reality.

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

Part 2 where Joe and reader discuss why she was so nervous coming Saturday 🥰 it was originally part of this fic, but it was getting way too damn long, so a split was needed lol. Stay tuned Joe girlies 😘

[giowritess]

dangerous games [javier peña]

masterlist. | javier peña

p a i r i n g | javier peña x female!reader

p l o t | being the ambassador’s daughter, flirting with agent peña has always been harmless and fun. but suddenly, it’s not so harmless anymore.

w o r d - c o u n t | 4,939

w a r n i n g s | NSFW, age gap (twenty years or something, but consensual), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it kids), dom!sub vibes, swearing, alcohol, choking, language, bit of degradation, cry kink? etc. you’ve been warned.

a u t h o r ’ s n o t e | ITS FINALLY HERE!!!! guys i'm so sorry this took so long, adult life doesn't give a shit if you're dying to write pedro pascal smut lol anyway, i had a lot of fun writing this and it's by far the longest thing i've ever written. i'm *also* thinking about a sequel if you'd be interested. let me know. this was beta'd by @amysteryspot also known as the love of my life. enjoy!

p l a y l i s t | click here

You used to hate days like these. Hot, sticky and windless. But somehow, after moving to Colombia, you were slowly starting to enjoy them.

Any girl your age would never trade the US for Colombia. You did have a choice: your dad wasn’t going to force you to come along, but you saw it as an adventure, so here you were. With your father being the American ambassador, your chances for adventure were cut out, and it didn’t take you long to figure it out. He allowed you some freedom—you had your own apartment, but there were bodyguards with you twenty-four hours, seven days a week.

Somehow, after being disappointed and pissed your first few weeks there, you managed to start enjoying Colombia more than you expected. Life was entirely different than you were used to, so that turned out to be an adventure in itself.

You managed to continue your studies, so that basically took all your time. When you weren’t in class, you were either at home or visiting the Embassy, where you liked to spend your free time. Like now. You were trying to get your father to eat healthier, so you often brought him lunch, especially since he never left his office. Married to the job, he always said.

It was only 1 p.m., but one of your professors had already managed to ruin your entire day after saying your Spanish sucked because “girls are naturally dumb”. So, you were hoping seeing your dad would make your day a bit less awful.

And it did. But it definitely wasn’t because of your dad.

His door was closed when you got there, so you knocked softly and waited until he said to come in.

“I hope you haven’t eaten yet, ‘cause I made you a very special lunch,” you said as you opened the door.

Two heads looked at you, but you hadn’t yet paid attention to the other person in the room.

“Darling!” Your father replied, getting up and hugging you. “I was just about to.”

You dropped the small bowl on his desk and finally turned.

“Agent Peña, let me introduce you to my daughter.”

Your mouth stood agape for a moment while you stared at those eyes, suddenly feeling over conscious about yourself and feeling as a tiny sheep being watched by a wolf. Somehow, you managed to shake his hand and blurt out a “pleasure to meet you”. You didn’t know how, though, because your body simply glitched while staring at the most handsome man you’d ever seen, and you tried your best not to look too dumbfounded.

“Pleasure’s all mine.”

With his deep voice full of a sexy accent, you snapped back to reality, your eyes never leaving his. Sometimes wandering to his lips, but always coming back to his eyes.

You thought this was the first time you met Javier Peña, but you were wrong. Later that same night, while you were laying on your back and staring at the ceiling, you suddenly realized you’d seen his face before, and it was far from the Embassy.

The memory was still clear as day. It was on one of the rare occasions your father authorized you to go out, so you went to a local bar not far from your apartment. Of course, your bodyguards disguised themselves and you had to be home by eleven—those were your father’s terms. You knew it was for your own safety, but it still was a hell of a bummer. Especially when you had just noticed the handsome stranger sitting alone in the back, a pair of yellow aviators hanging from the open buttons of his shirt while he sipped his beer, fatigue creeping over his beautiful features.

You had seen beautiful men, yeah; but he was on a whole new level of beauty that you couldn’t even try to describe. You caught his eyes once, then twice. That was when he sent you a drink and, for the next week, you couldn’t stop wondering what could have happened if you didn’t have to leave in such a Cinderella style, just a lot less glamorous.

Things were quite different now. You knew his name and who he was. After that, you started visiting the Embassy more frequently—the official reason? To see your father, of course, but you knew deep down it was because of Javi. There was no use denying the obvious: you had a huge crush on him. A man who was twenty years your senior and who worked for your father, but you couldn't care less. Besides, it was entirely one-sided: Javier would never look at you like that. Now that he knew who you were, you were probably nothing less than a silly girl to him.

However, you started to notice the way he looked at you. How his eyes took a moment longer than needed on your cleavage, or how his pupils swelled whenever you wore tight skirts. How nervous he seemed when you were just a bit too close to him.

Then, what started as a harmless crush took a twist and became full-on flirting—sometimes teasing too. Well, you knew it wasn't going anywhere. How could it? Only in your dreams, or late at night when you would touch yourself at the thought of him, and all the unholy things he could do to you. But it was still fun to flirt with him, tease him, rile him up with your short skirts, red lips and tight shirts. Swaying your hips when you knew he would be looking, slowly sucking a lollipop while staring at him. Of course, never in front of your father—in front of your father, you were still his baby girl.

There was one day, however, that was quite… different. It was a quiet day in the office, with only a few agents working. Javi was one of them.

"You just missed him," he said when he saw you leaning on his door, still focused on the paper he was writing.

"Actually, I'm here for you," you said, making his eyes shoot up to you. "Are you busy?"

He threw his hands behind his head, a glint of curiosity in his chocolate eyes.

"Never for you, princesa," he replied with his traditional smirk, and you tried to seem unaffected.

"Great," you said, proceeding to sit on his desk, your skirt hiking up involuntarily. "I'm doing a research for school and I'd like to interview you. It's about how Pablo Escobar affects different people's lives."

You knew his eyes were darting to the red lace of your bra, visible under your white shirt.

"Okay," he replied.

You got off of his desk and threw yourself on the comfortable brown leather couch in front of it, fishing the notepad and pencil from your bag. Usually, you were never this alone with him, and that made you a little bit ner­vous, but you did your best to shake off the feeling and go back to your usual sassy, teasing self.

The first questions were basic—name, birthdate, occupation, how Pablo Escobar had affected his life and why. You scribbled his replies on the paper, making the pencil and the ceiling fan the only sounds in the room. It could easily be one of the hottest days ever, and the fan wasn't being too effective, sweat making your hair stick to your forehead. You could feel his eyes following every move you made, as you put the pencil between your red lips to tie your hair in a bun and then opened one more button of your shirt. You caught his eyes for a moment—there was something thick in the air, and it wasn't just the hot weather.

"On a scale from one to ten, how stressed would you say you feel?"

"Easy. Ten," Javier replied blatantly.

Without looking at him, you crossed your legs so you could put the notepad on top of them to make it easier to write. But you knew this would make your skirt hike up and from this position he could, probably—most certainly—, see your matching panties.

You saw the exact moment he noticed, because he shifted in his seat and stared blankly for a moment before clearing his throat.

The expression on your face never changed, as if you hadn't done absolutely anything.

"And what do you do to deal with the stress?" you asked, naturally, and placed the pencil between your lips again.

"Alcohol. Cigarettes," he replied. "Sex."

Your eyes met at his last word, the pencil still hanging in your half-opened mouth. One second passed, then another, and your eyes never left each other's, the atmosphere between you getting heavier by the second, only the ticking clock on the wall and the ceiling fan being heard. And only God knows what could have happened if the telephone hadn't rang. Probably something you both would regret.

"Agent Peña," he answered the phone, but his eyes were still on yours. "Yep. Will be there in a second," he said before han­ging it up and clearing his throat. "Do you need anything else?"

You did. To be thrown against the wall and fucked hard by him, to be left without being able to walk the next day, but you kept those thoughts to yourself.

"Nope," you replied, "I'll let you know if I need anything else."

He nodded. The tension between you was becoming unbearable, you both could feel it. So he grabbed his gun and jacket and left, leaving you with a strange feeling deep down your gut.

After that, it suddenly seemed as if he was doing his best to avoid you. Every time you saw each other, he quickly disappeared, making you feel confused and disappointed. That was when you realized you were too invested in this, whatever "this" was. What you did know was that this wasn't just harmless flirting anymore, and you were going to get yourself hurt soon even without meaning to. So you tried your best to push Javi to the back of your mind, tried your best not to think about him.

Whenever you went to the Embassy, either to bring food to your father or just to spend time with him, you forced yourself not to look at him, forced yourself not to look for him. You even tried dating and going out with people your age. But pushing him away from your mind was a lot harder than you expected, and you felt so stupid for being so affected by nothing more than a stupid crush. It was even harder to stop thinking about him when guys your age were terribly bad at sex, and the only way you could come was when you thought about him. Needless to say, you were tired of giving yourself orgasms.

Surprise wasn’t the right word when he showed up at your door on a rainy night, the same aviators hanging from his shirt.

“Agent Peña,” you said. Javi was long forgotten in your vocabulary.

"Hola, princesa."

"How can I help you?" you asked, trying to act naturally.

He chuckled.

"Yeah, I suppose your dad didn't tell ya. I'm your babysitter for the night," he replied, and you stared at him in confusion. “Can I come in?”

You gave him room to enter, closing the door behind him.

“Care to elaborate?” You asked, raising your eyebrows at him.

He sighed.

“I can’t say much. There’s something big going on and your father needed me here,” he replied, seeming more irritated as the words left his lips.

“If it’s big, why aren’t you there?” You asked, certain this was why he seemed so pissed.

You crossed your arms over your chest and his eyes followed your moviment, and it was only then that you realized you were wearing nothing more than your black satin robe tied around your waist and panties.

How appropriate. Ironic would be a better word.

You cleared your throat and his eyes went back to yours.

“Because I fucked things up, so I have to be your fucking babysitter.”

You laughed right in his face. The look in his eyes was almost threatening, but you didn’t back away.

“So this is your punishment, isn’t it?” You asked, almost in a mocking tone. “Well. Okay. Feel at home, I guess.”

Definitely appropriate. Hell yes, you were pissed at him, and the fact that he had to spend time with you considering how hard he was avoiding you lately because of a mistake he made was like opening a Christmas present you didn’t expect to get.

You could see he was absolutely fuming, but you ignored him. You went back to doing what you were doing when he knocked, reading a book and taking notes. The soft sounds from the radio and the pouring rain outside became the only sounds between you two, and you watched through the corner of your eyes while he took his jacket off and rolled up his sleeves before settling himself on your couch, stretching his arms.

You could hear his breathing, and from time to time you caught him staring at you. Well, only because you were staring at him too. When he wasn’t looking, you couldn’t help but get lost in the rise and fall of his chest, the open buttons of his shirt showing a trail of dark hair.

Every time you caught his eyes, you suddenly felt as if you couldn’t breathe. It almost seemed as if all oxygen had been sucked out of the apartment, and the only thing that there was left was Javier Peña. But something in the way he was shifting in his seat made it seem you weren’t the only one feeling this way.

He cleared his throat.

“Anything to drink?”

“Beer?”

Javier nodded.

As you got up and made your way to the kitchen, a new song started playing on the radio, and you chuckled when you recognized it. It was the same song that played that night, when he bought you a drink, and you couldn’t help but speak.

“You bought me a drink that night.”

He took a deep breath before replying.

“Before I knew you were my boss’ daughter.”

You stood in front of him and reached out the beer.

“And would that really make a difference?” You asked, staring deep down into his eyes.

A moment went by in silence, and then another, and you stood there still holding the beer.

When he finally spoke, looking in your eyes, there was a different, deeper tone in his hoarse voice.

“It’s a dangerous game, the one you’ve been playing.”

“But I’m not the only player, am I?”

You watched in silence as he took the beer from your hand and placed it on the floor. His eyes never left yours as his hands slowly cupped each of your thighs, bringing you closer until you finally fell into his lap.

His eyes never left yours. Taking all the time he could, Javier’s hands started to roam up your body. Going up your knees, your thighs, your waist. As he started to dive beneath your robe, you realized you were holding your breath, still not quite believing this was actually happening. Slowly, he finally untied your robe and dragged it down one arm after the other, until it fell to the floor.

As he stripped you, he also stripped you of all your mischievousness, all your courage, making you feel so small and bare under his piercing stare. His eyes finally left yours, wandering and admiring your body, lust and desire glistening in his stare. Suddenly, you didn’t feel so brave and bossy anymore, as you always used to be around him.

“God, you’re so fucking perfect,” he muttered, hands traveling your sides and spending some good time on your breasts.

You couldn’t help the breathy moan that left your lips as his hands kneaded on your hot flesh. But there was something bothering you, something that wasn’t right. You had gotten to know Javi, so you knew he was holding himself back. Holding himself from using all his strength, from being his real self.

“Javi,” you said, making him look up at you. “I’m not gonna break.”

You saw the moment he acknowledged what you meant when his pupils dilated.

He did surprise you when he grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled you down to finally kiss you. Finally, after so long, after wanting and lusting over each other until it almost hurt. The kiss wasn’t sweet. It was harsh, hot and wild, but so passionate. So much different than you’d expected it to be, so much better.

You moaned as he tugged at your hair, the sharp string of pain being more arousing than you expected. You couldn’t even control your body anymore, he could bend and break you at his will and you would gladly comply, even say “thank you”. That was the effect he had on you, the effect no one else ever had.

Javi placed open-mouthed kisses on your neck, sucking and biting sometimes. You realized you had a weak spot when you curled your toes as he sucked the fragile skin. You rolled your hips on his lap, feeling the hard ridge of his cock, strained against his jeans. The grunt that came out of his lips only made you roll your hips again and again, feeling a bit… powerful knowing you were causing that.

You were quickly knocked out of the feeling as his hands harshly wrapped around your throat, making you come to a halt on your movements as your oxygen supply started to decrease. You looked at him with doe eyes as his thumb found your bottom lip and you made quick work to suck it in your mouth, lapping and swirling your tongue around it.

“Fuck,” he grunted as he watched you, imagining if it was his cock in between your lips, feeling your hot, wet tongue envolving it.

The way he reacted only made you suck harder, and you knew it was getting more difficult for him to control himself. You could feel your panties sticking to your slit, flooded by your desire for him. And he’d barely touched you.

His rough hands left your neck to grab your thighs, sinking his fingers to the hot flesh. He got up from the couch and you wrapped your hands around his neck for support while his mouth found yours again. It was barely a kiss at all—it was a clash of tongue and teeth, both anxious to get more of each other—more to kiss, more to touch, more to explore.

“Bedroom,” he muttered in between kisses from your mouth to your neck.

“Left,” you replied, tugging at his hair and scrapping your nails against his neck.

In quick steps, you both were in your bedroom, only illuminated by the thin light that came from the lampposts below. The rain was still falling heavily outside.

If this was any other circumstance, you’d be terribly worried about your bedroom and what it looked like. Right now, you couldn’t care less.

Javier stole your breath as he dropped you onto the soft mattress and hovered above you for a moment, eyes linked with yours. Even when a lightning threw light to the entire room, his eyes remained on yours, almost as if entranced by a spell. And he wasn’t the only one. By a long moment you stood there, admiring each of his features, mesmerized. There, in that place, you couldn’t help but feel like a prey standing in front of its predator, about to be devoured. A chill went through your entire body as you thought of all the things he could and would do to you.

You were the one who finally broke the spell as you pulled him down by his neck for a kiss, letting your hands finally wander down his body. Now, you finally had some freedom to touch him, but you weren’t in control. He was, and you found yourself enjoying that far more than you should.

His mouth tasted like whisky and cigarettes, and that was so him. His mustache tickled and scraped your skin, but it was such a poetic contrast. As his tongue explored your mouth, you wondered what his mustache would feel in other places of your body.

You suddenly went numb when he grabbed you by your hair again, tugging at your skull making shivers go straight to your core. He took his sweet time at your neck, grazing his teeth against the skin, dragging his mustache through your pulse point.

Then, his mouth started to descend to your collarbone, doing the same path over and over. Kissing, sucking, biting, grazing... One hand still holding you by the hair, the other traveling up and down your thigh. Next, his lips attacked your breasts, earning a throaty moan from you.

“Javi…” you whispered, tugging at his shirt, his jeans.

The feeling of being practically bare in front of him, only one piece of clothing on your body, while he was still fully dressed was arousing, to say the least. It made you feel small, vulnerable, but it also made you feel his. Entirely at his mercy to play, bend and fiddle as he pleased.

He chuckled when he saw you writhing beneath him, pressing your thighs together in search of a release to the growing feeling in the pit of your stomach. But he wasn’t having any of that, pushing one of his knees in between your legs to keep them open.

“Impatient, princesa?” he mocked as his mouth went further down your body, this time kissing your stomach. “Well, I am going to torture you. Just like you’ve been torturing me with your little games, those red lips and those short skirts.”

Javier spoke slowly, each bit of his sentence after a certain amount of kisses. Well, his plan was working, no doubt. It was indeed torture the way his lips felt against your skin, the way it only made you want him even more. You never thought it was possible to want someone so much until you met him.

Unconsciously, you held your breath when his lips finally got to the band of your panties, anxious for his next move.

“I bet you’re already wet for me,” he muttered against your skin, his breath and the thick accent in his voice making you shiver with anticipation, “aren’t you, baby girl?”

All you could do was moan in return, his voice, his words and the pet name making you even wetter, if that was possible. Fuck, yes, you were. There was no way of denying it. You watched with lustful eyes as he expertly pulled your panties down your legs with his teeth, sending it flying somewhere across the room, and then spreading your legs open for him.

He didn’t even leave you any time to think before attacking your cunt mercilessly with his mouth. You gasped and arched your back off the bed with the shock, air leaving your lungs and your eyes closing shut as his tongue swirled your small bundle of nerves. You hadn’t even come yet, but you were already sensitive just from his teasing alone. The feeling of his mustache was new. The way it prickled your sensitive skin only added to your desire.

“Javi, fuck,” you muttered, grabing the sheets with all your strength.

Somehow, you could feel the grin in his lips.

Holding your thighs with his hands, you liked the painful way his fingers dug into your flesh. They dug in harder as his tongue started to speed up its actions, and all that left your lips were a chant of “fuck, fuck, fuck” and also “Javi, Javi, Javi” as the coil inside you finally snapped and you exploded into a world of bliss. But even after that, his skillful mouth never stopped its ministrations, working you throughout your orgasm.

“Javi, please,” you whined, using whatever strength you had to escape from his grip. Of course, it was pointless. His grip on you was like steel.

God, it felt so good, but at the same time it was too much, too high, a burning sensation taking over your entire body, making you feel as if you were being melted from the inside out and then put together all over again.

“Please what, princesa?” he said, steadily holding you in place as you squirmed under him. “Can’t take it anymore, can you?”

You could feel the mocking in his voice, palpable like flesh.

“Please,” you whimpered again, but you didn’t know exactly what you were asking for.

Or maybe you did.

“Tell me what you need, baby girl,” he commanded you, in a deep voice and an authoritative tone that could’ve made you come alone all over again.

“Your cock.”

Javier chuckled and finally let go of your abused cunt, the marks of his fingers on your thighs definitely bound to be purple the next few days. But you didn’t care. It’d be a small reminder that this wasn’t just a dream. A hot, steamy and wild dream.

You watched him through your half-open lids, mesmerized by the sight of that man, his lips and mustache slick with your juices, small beads of sweat prickling on his skin. Goosebumps crawled under your skin as you saw him lick his lips while staring into your eyes, and your arousal only grew more, if that was possible. You could never not be aroused by this man.

Propping yourself on your elbows, you watched as he made a show of taking his clothes off, piece by piece. Unbuckling his belt, pushing it out of the loopholes. Pushing his shirt out of his jeans and taking an eternity to unbutton it. You felt your mouth water as the shirt finally fell off his arms, your eyes focused on his hairy chest. Your attention quickly darted when his jeans finally fell to the floor and all you could focus on was his cock, standing proudly against his abdomen, so perfectly sculpted. Definitely bigger than you’d expected.

You met him halfway as he kneeled in the bed, wrapping your hands around his neck and kissing him hard, tasting yourself on his tongue. Diving your hand down, he growled and cursed as you enveloped his cock in your hand, bobbing it up and down, the pre-cum making it a lot easier. Untangling himself from you, he pushed you so your back met the bed and towered over you.

“Eyes on me, baby girl,” he commanded and you complied.

All air left your lungs when he finally entered you, aided by the pool between your legs, sheathing himself in your hot, tight walls to the hilt. The stretching burned, but it was so good. He didn’t give you much time to adjust, setting a relentless, almost cruel pace.

“Fu… fuck,” you muttered.

You couldn’t think. You couldn’t form a cohesive sentence, because Javier Peña and his cock had short-circuited your brain and the only words you knew were “fuck” and “Javi”. Your moans and cries of his name were the song of angels to him.

“God, look at you,” he growled, one of his hands finding its way to your throat. “You look so fucking good strecthed out by my cock.”

His fingers made their way to your mouth, forcing you to suck on them as his other hand grabbed your right thigh to wrap it around his waist.

“Fuck,” he grunted.

Your moans were muffled by his fingers. The sensations inside you were too much, they were starting to become unbearable, and you couldn’t help the small tears that left your eyes as he fucked you hard.

“Oh, is that too much, princesa?” he mocked, but made no efforts to slow down or ease up on you. “That’s how you wanted, wasn’t it? For me to fuck you hard and rough.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you replied as his fingers left your mouth to rest on your neck, but not pressing. “Choke me, Javi.”

You didn’t imagine the effect those words would have on him, his eyes becoming darker. He complied with your wish and started to put pressure on your skin, and as he started to choke you harder and cut your air supply, the more heightened every sensation became.

“Come for me, baby girl.”

His command was exactly what you didn’t know you needed, and you came with a shout of his name. Your second orgasm of the night washed over you like waves, one after the other, seeming endless as white pleasure and bliss installed themselves on you, making you feel on cloud nine. As if you were high on a drug called Javier Peña.

Only a moment later he came inside you with a grunt, painting your walls with his cum. His hands softly left your neck and he fell to the mattress next to you, both panting, your chests heaving in search of all the air you’d lost. As your breathing slowed down and the orgasm cloud started to dissipate, you finally managed to pay attention to the rain, still strong and relentless outside.

“Javi?” You called, your voice almost shy.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t leave yet.”

“I won’t,” he replied and snuggled you in closer.

And that was how you fell asleep, with the rain outside and Javi’s breathing next to you, resting your head on his chest. You didn’t know what the future had in store for you two, but right now this was more than enough.

t a g l i s t | @wickedfrsgrl

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Survival of the Fittest. 

Pairing: Yandere!Bakugo/Reader/Yandere!Kirishima (BNHA).

Word Count: 3.6k.

TW: Apocalypse/No Quirks AU, Unhealthy Codependency, Non-Consensual Touching, Mentions of Death/injury, Non-Graphic Violence, Imprisonment.

You were lucky Kirishima had been the one to find you.

‘Find’ might’ve been the wrong word. It implied that he was looking, that he wanted to discover you, bleeding and battered and bruised, cowering in a grimy corner of what used to be a grocery store. It must’ve looked pathetic, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be embarrassed by your torn clothes, your matted hair, the way you’d whimpered as he first approached, all wide eyes and open arms. Survivors were few and far between, and it’d been weeks since you saw another living, breathing person. Kirishima hadn’t seemed like a god-send, not in the moment, but he was a miracle. You’d been too shocked to thank him properly, as he pulled you to your feet and practically carried you out of the city, but you should. You wanted to. You owed him that, if nothing else.

You were lucky it’d been him, rather than Bakugo. You were grateful it hadn’t been Bakugo.

You’d probably still be rotting in that corner, if it had been.

He didn’t seem to like you very much, even if he had begrudgingly moved aside when Kirishima asked if he could bring you inside. It was a bunker, judging by the sparse furniture littered around the common area, plain cement walls only adorned with the occasional hunting knife or bat left to lean against them. The bench Kirishima had left you on was wooden, too stiff to ever be comfortable, but it was a practical choice. Fabric was a luxury to be stowed away and treasured, saved for things more important than a stranger’s comfort. You’d do the same thing, if you’d been in his shoes.

That didn’t stop Bakugo from glaring, though, perching himself on the edge of a nearby crate and refusing to take his eyes off of you, as if you’d already earned and lost his trust. “There’s no fucking advantage,” He started, but he wasn’t talking to you. You weren't worth his time, just yet, not while you were still just a stray Kirishima was too much of a saint to turn away. “We’re not a damn food bank. It’s not out responsibility to babysit every dumbass on the verge of death.”

“Don’t listen to him.” At least Kirishima was kind enough to address you as he slipped back into the common room, taking his place at your side and handing you something – a mug, cremated and unchipped and filled to the brim with something watery, steam still rising off the top. Your first sip was hesitant, but you couldn’t stop yourself from draining the cup once you recognized the taste. Coffee. Cheap, bitter, heavenly coffee, the kind you didn’t have enough clean water to risk trying to make. You could’ve kissed him. You might’ve, if the calm levity in his voice hadn’t snapped you out of it. “Katsuki’s just a little defensive, when it comes to guests. We’ve got plenty of supplies to go ‘round, and…” He trailed off, glancing over you. To the bruises circling your wrist, the stained bandages peaking out from underneath your shirt. To the spot where your ankle twisted just a little too far to the left for the angle to be natural, the evidence of a fall you tried and failed to break with something besides your own body. “I don’t think we can kick someone out in good faith with those kinda injuries. Not with all the crawler activity, lately.”

You flinched at the name alone. Crawler, creatures, the things that used to be people and weren’t, not now, not anymore. You used to think of them as zombies, but that wasn’t right. Calling them zombies would be an injustice, even if they did tend to rot if left to their own devices. Zombies weren’t that fast. Zombies weren’t that distorted. You’d encountered three or four, but you tried to avoid attracting them, when you could. It was easier, when you were on your own.

Bakugo groaned, bringing you out of your thoughts. You tried to stop your hands from shaking, as he spoke. “You’ve got a group to run back to, right? Nobody survives that long without one.”

You tried not to sound as small as you felt. Judging from the way Kirishima glanced away, it was a futile effort. “Nobody survives that long with one, either.”

Kirishima’s hand came to rest on your shoulder, and Bakugo crossed his arms, a sign that must’ve meant submission, judging by Kirishima’s optimistic response. “Just until your ankle’s healed up,” He promised, a compromise you hadn’t asked him to make. “You’ll stay until then, right? ‘d be a shame if we had to lose another person because of Katsuki’s bad attitude.”

There was a sharp ‘hey’, a barely stifled laugh, and slowly, you forced yourself to nod, immediately receiving a bright grin from Kirishima by way of reward. It was a practical choice, honestly – they had food, they had shelter, they didn’t seem to be grasping at threads just to get by. Even if Kirishima was a little too friendly and Bakugo wasn’t nearly friendly enough, you could life with that, you could get by. Once you’d worn out your welcome, you’d leave. As soon as you were fixed up.

You didn’t want to wait for things to go bad, this time.

~

Despite his reluctance, Bakugo didn’t take long to warm up to you.

Kirishima was still the approachable one, obviously. He was who you went to when you needed to find something, when you had a question about their ration system or weaponry or the parts of the bunker you weren’t allowed to go in, rooms with steel doors and deadbolts on the handle and a raw, metallic smell emanating from the other side, but Bakugo always seemed to be lingering just behind him, ready to scoff and roll his eyes before he took you by the wrist and explained that, if you expected to reap the benefits of their hospitality, you had to at least try to pull your weight. He was helpful, like that, his help less patronizing than Kirishima’s, albeit twice as easily frustrated. Still, he didn’t hate you. If anything, he seemed to—

“If you slow down one more time, I’ll feed ya to the damn bears myself.”

You sped up, reflexively. He didn’t hate you, but it wasn’t too late for him to start.

It’d been Kirishima’s idea for you to go hunting. You were still in a splint, the majority of your calf an abstract blend of medical tape and cloth padding, but you bit back the pain as you followed Katsuki down the rough, unpaved trail, gritting your teeth past the ache forming under your skin. It wasn’t a raid. If anything, you were only getting further from the city, working your way up the mountain their bunker was carved into the base of. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been concerned about the crossbow in Katsuki’s hands, the weapon already loaded and poised, but the hunting knife strapped to your thigh eased your nerves, as did his disinterest in doing anything but trudging forward. If he didn’t take the time to call back to you every few minutes, you might’ve thought he’d forgotten you were there entirely.

But, silence never suited you never well. Not with a near-stranger, at least. “You’re not afraid of crawlers?”

“This far out? Fuck no.” It was an immediate answer, quick and shameless. Like an amputation, if an amputation left you nursing a bruised ego rather than bleeding out. “There’s enough fresh meat in the city to keep ‘em occupied. Only the runts ever bother coming out here to look for scraps.”

“I would’ve been that meat,” You mumbled, absent-mindedly. It was an idle thought, more of an admission than an accusation, but judging by the way his posture slackened, how quickly his attention shifted to the foliage, he wouldn’t have cared either way. “If Kirishima hadn’t found me, I mean. God knows I look like an easy target.”

“You are an easy target. Just be glad he’s got a weak spot for charity cases.”

You opened your mouth, ready to ask what he meant, you lost your footing before you got the chance, slipping on the damp leaf litter as a spike of something agonizing ran from your heel to your knee. Bakugo didn’t flinch, letting you catch yourself on his shoulder as he raised his crossbow, barely taking a moment to aim before firing. You could feel the kick-back, a jolting reverberation that only seemed to make the wet thunk that followed a little worse, the sound of an arrow piercing skin and flesh.

You expected that. You were ready for it. But, you hadn’t been prepared for the deafening scream that came afterwards, heart-piercing and human. You moved to rush toward its source, but Bakugo only caught your arm, shaking his head. Like he’d missed, like he’d only killed a deer. Like there wasn’t a person thrashing in the underbrush, still crying out as he spoke over them. “Looters,” He explained, like that was an excuse. “We’ve been dealin’ with them for a while, now. ’s just a scout, but he would’ve been back with reinforcements if we let him run off untouched.”

Bile rose in the back of your throat. For your own sake, you chose to believe him. “So? We can’t just—”

“Yes, we can.” It wasn’t a question. He didn’t need your permission, and he didn’t want your compliance. He didn’t even bother to justify himself before he turned away, starting back on the trail as you stood, still too shocked to move. “C’mon, we’ve already lost enough sunlight, and I’m not wasting arrows on scum. The fucker can drag himself back to his hideout, for all I care.”

You could’ve argued. Bakugo didn’t seem to think the blow was fatal, but you could’ve checked, made sure, offer what might’ve been a dying man a few last seconds of company before he bit the bullet. You could’ve, part of you wanted to, but…

But then, Bakugo tossed a glare over his shoulder, and your attention was brought back to the crossbow in his hands, to the machete strapped to his belt, to how pitifully small your knife was, in comparison. You didn’t want to lose the trust you hadn’t really gained, just yet. You didn’t want to take that kind of chance, not when Kirishima wasn’t around to give you the benefit of the doubt.

So, you shut your eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to ignore the quiet sobbing in the background as you followed in his tracks.

~

Surprisingly, Kirishima was the first one to slip into your bed.

You told yourself it was a mistake, when he let himself into your room in the middle of the night, closer to sunrise than it was to sunset. None of the doors locked, thin plywood serving as more of a source of comfort than an actual barrier, and beyond your small collection of personal possessions and the bedside table you’d commandeered from storage, your room was identical to any of the eerily unoccupied barracks on the lower layers of the bunker. Still, you expected him to turn around, to see your sleeping form curled up in a corner of your cot and realize he had the wrong room. It was late, and he made a mistake. It didn’t have to be anything more.

But it wasn’t that late, and Kirishima never really made mistakes. He was too careful for anything like that.

At least he was being careful now, too, as far as you could tell with your eyes clenched shut, your breathing restricted to slow, shallow inhales that left your lungs feeling just a little too tight. He was gentle, if nothing else, wrapping a strong arm around your waist, pulling you against his chest and burying his face in the nape of your neck. You didn’t squirm, you didn’t push yourself away, but you must’ve been too stiff, too still, too rigid. He didn’t seem to buy the act, however desperate it was.

“’suki’s real proud of you.” His voice was tired, weighted down by exhaustion. Clearly, he wouldn’t be leaving. “He told me about yesterday. Says you were good, cooperative and all. He likes that kind of thing.”

You didn’t respond, digging your nails into the sterile, medical sheets. Your ankle throbbed, and you tried to focus on that, to justify it. To remember why you could still convince yourself to stay.

“He’s a big softie, though. We both are, but I don’t try to hide it.” There was a light squeeze to your side, the ghost of his lips over the crook of your neck. His breath was warm, compared to the bucker’s constant chill, and you tried to think of his smothering body heat as a small silver lining. “I think it’s sweet. Gets lonely ‘round here, y’know? You’re a good fit.” There was a pause, a chuckle. For a moment, you thought he might push a little further, hold you a tighter, but Kirishima only shook his head, going on with that same careless, tired lilt. “I knew you would be, when I first saw you. A fragile little thing like you could never survive out here, not all alone.”

He was half-asleep. He didn’t know what he was saying. He’d probably apologize tomorrow, if he even remembered. “I’m not going to stay for much longer. I’ll be on my own again, in another month.”

“We’ll see.” The cot’s barred frame creaked as he shifted, his weight coming to rest against your back – a constant, oppressive reminder of his presence. A memory flickered to life in the back of your mind, a familiar intimacy that’d been earned and asked for, but you pushed it away quickly. You didn’t want to think about things like that, not here, not when this was so one-sided, in comparison. “Get some rest. You haven’t been getting enough sleep, lately.”

You’d leave when it was safe to. When you healed. When you’d worn out your welcome and become more of a burden than a benefit.

You wouldn’t stick around long enough for things to get suffocating, this time.

~

It was a mutual decision, when Bakugo and Kirishima stopped you from leaving the bunker.

They didn’t ask. That was the part that stung, really, the thorn that started working itself under your skin the moment you caught them standing in the threshold, an empty duffle bag slung over Kirishima’s shoulder and a baseball bat tucked under his arm. Bakugo had his crossbow, a pistol you’d never seen before holstered at his hip, but that bothered you less than the way they were muttering, keeping their voices purposefully low. Like they knew how you’d feel, if you saw them. Like they wanted to avoid the tension.

You’d never been very good at picking up hints, though. Much less those you were desperately trying to ignore.

“You’re going out?” You called, approaching them before you could stop yourself, suppressing a yawn as you made a show of rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. It was early, and you didn’t want Kirishima to know you’d already been up for hours. If he thought you were tired, he’d assume you were losing sleep, and if he thought you were losing sleep, he’d take it as an excuse to visit you at night, again. You… you didn’t like it, when he did. “Let me grab my stuff, it’ll only take a minute. If I knew you two were planning a raid today, I would’ve—”

Bakugo was the first to shut you down. “Sit this one out, alright?” It was a question, this time, but barely, his usual bluntness wrapped in a layer of kindness so thin, you could practically see through it. “’s just a quick supply run. We’ll be out and back before you notice we’re gone.”

“We’ve done this a thousand times,” Kirishima added, offering a small smile. At least he was trying to be nice about it, in his own, patronizing way. “It’s starting to get boring, honestly. It‘d be a shame to ruin all the progress you’ve made for something so minor.”

Right, your ankle. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d complained about it, the last time you’d been in enough pain to limp, even if Bakugo still insisted on tending to your ‘injury’ once a day, at least. The truth was glaringly obvious, even if they still made a half-hearted attempt to hide it, to let you avert your eyes and pretend you believed them.

You didn’t bother trying to hide your disappointment, your expression dropping as your nails bit into the meat of your palm. “You don’t think I can keep myself safe.”

In their defense, neither tried to deny it. Bakugo only looked away, and Kirishima smiled apologetically, his hand already pushing against the bunker’s metallic door. “We don’t want to risk it,” He explained, like you were a liability. Like you hadn’t survived out there for months without their help, injured or uninjured. “If something happened to you, if someone got to you, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. We both care about you, even if Katsuki doesn’t want to admit it.”

“It’s practical.” Bakugo didn’t look at you. It was a small mercy, really. At least he was self-aware enough to be ashamed. “You need more time. You fucked yourself up bad before Eijiro found you – all that doesn’t go away overnight.”

Expect, it hadn’t been a night. It hadn’t been a day, or a week, and you were starting to question if it’d even been only two months. It was hard to keep track of time, but the weather was already turning, every scrape and bruise Bakugo could’ve concerned himself with was already healed, and you’d already let yourself get comfortable. You’d stayed too long. You’d let them get attached, and you’d failed to make it clear that you weren’t.

You had to get out. Now.

~

Or, you could try to get out, at least.

You’d waited too long for Bakugo and Kirishima to just sit back and let you walk away.

They were stronger than you’d assumed. It was easy to forget what the human body was capable of, when you were so used to be exhausted and half-starved, but it wasn’t difficult to remember, not with Bakugo’s hands wrapped around your wrists, one of Kirishima’s arms splayed over your knees, stopping you from thrashing as they shoved you against a bed, a real bed, the frame wooden and the mattress more than just sponge and stuffing. It was one of theirs obviously, and if you’d stumbled onto it at any other time, you might’ve felt insulted, left out.

Right now, the only thing you could feel was terrified.

“Fucking bitch.” It was a grunt, a growl, followed by something close to a snarl as your elbow connected with his check. He was the one who’s caught you gathering up what little you had to take with you, a canteen already filled and strung across your back. It was on the floor, now, the metal dented and the contents spilling out, but if either of them minded wasting clean water, you couldn’t tell. They were busy, now, too busy dealing with you to worry about something so minor. Too angry to care, leaving you as the center of their rage. “We tried to be nice. We tried to give you a choice. You just couldn’t take the fucking hint, could you?”

“Let me go.” You couldn’t bring yourself to raise your voice, but you tried to come across as frantic, desperate, as betrayed and as disgusted as you really felt. “You’re both fucking crazy. I don’t want to—”

Kirishima didn’t let you finish, he’d never really bothered to. He was already shifting, leaning on one of your calves while grabbing at the other, calloused fingertips pressing into your newly-healed ankle, the remaining bruises still raw and tender. You cried out, more out of instinct than agony, but Kirishima only grit his teeth, rubbing circles into your skin, like that would be enough to soothe you. “We’re just taking care of you, alright? We’re just doing what’s best.” It was pointless to say, but the didn’t stop him from going on, rambling like he was going to convince anyone, including himself. “It’s dangerous, out there. You just need a little more time to realize that. You just need to see that ‘suki and I are your best option.”

They weren’t. They weren’t your best anything, but you didn’t have a chance to retort before Bakugo cursed under his breath, gathering your wrists up with one hand and forcing the other over your mouth, cutting you off before you could protest further. “Just do it,” He spat, all-but ignoring you as he spoke to Kirishima. “There’s no point in trying to explain this to someone so irrational. Let’s just get it over with before we have to do something worse.”

For a moment, you went still, a series of worst-case scenarios flashing before your eyes before you could rationalize them, before you could tell yourself to stay calm. For a moment, there was panic – pure, unadulterated, brutal panic.

And then, something cracked under Kirishima’s hand, and you forgot how to think of anything at all.

You let out a stilted, faltering sob, something akin to liquid fire running from your thigh to your calf to the point where everything stopped – everything below your ankle numb, disconnected, dead meat that still managed to hurt. The rest of your body went limp, your survival instincts gone and replaced with the unbearable desire to curl into yourself and cry, but Bakugo was still holding you, his arms strung around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest as Kirishima slotted himself against your back, cooing soft nothings as you fought not to break down completely. They were talking again, both of them, but you couldn’t seem to listen. It didn’t matter.

Your ankle was broken. Not sprained, this time, not bruised, but broken. Shattered. Dislocated. Forced into a position that meant you’d be forced to stay, voluntarily or otherwise. Whether or not you could still stomach looking at Bakugo and Kirishima, let alone living with them.

You couldn’t leave, and you were beginning to think they were never going to let you.

[windblooms]

childe scenario – after the golden house

you, an ex-fatui executive, decide against your better judgment and tend to the wounds of the near-dead 11th harbinger following his duel at the golden house.  spoilers for the 1.1 archon quest.

gender-neutral reader.  enemies to lovers  soft spot syndrome.  sfw, but contains mentions of blood/injury.  also childe briefly in foul legacy armor.  canon-divergence.  2669 words (nice).  

with the fatui’s nails so deep into the city, staying in liyue probably wasn’t your brightest idea in retrospect.  

you blame your sentimentality of liyue on the exact same thing that caused you to leave the fatui in the first place: wanting to live without fear.  while the fatui treated you well enough, as you were considerably efficient in your ranks, being part of a partially underground, partially illegal business wasn’t exactly the most liberating practice either.  it didn’t take long for you to realize that, behind their scheming and pretenses of fair economics, the fatui would have their underlings wound so incredibly tight around their fingers that their violent tasks would rapidly become suffocating. 

that is, once you were in the fatui, getting out would be akin to scaling qingyun peak with one arm tied behind your back.

the only reason you were able to?  because you ran.  you were desperate for a new life, sure, but also you weren’t below realizing when something was out of the question.  it took a few months to shake them off your trail, having to move constantly between fontaine and mondstadt, but you finally settled in liyue.

it was a quiet, peaceful city.  the governing body was fair enough with its jurisdictions, and after a year of hiding, you were able to enjoy the lantern rite festival without fear.

that is, until the northland bank sat its obnoxious ass down the street.

archons, really, once you found a place you thought was safe enough, you’d have to start moving again.  initially, you reasoned that it had been over a year, and that the fatui surely wouldn’t go hunting for a runaway executive.  hell, you weren’t even that high on the ladder.  however, a few run-ins with scaramouche and pulcinella had left you paranoid enough that, if they spotted you, they would surely put an end to your traitorism. 

honestly, you should’ve ratted them out to the knights of favonius while you were in mondstadt.  make a quick bargain, have jean toss a few coins your way, and you would be set.  it would’ve definitely been worth the trouble, now with the knowledge that the fatui were your neighbors.  

now, there’s no time to dwell on what you could’ve done.  it’s either run again, or hold your ground right under the fatui’s nose.  you might, sort of, maybe, probably do not have the funds to move for the third time in a row, but maybe counting couldn’t hurt –

no, yeah, it hurts, you grimace as you slide the coin bag back in your bedside drawer.  outside, it’s dark, and the sky seems a bit more disturbed than usual.  it isn’t usually overcast in liyue, and the blue lightning does nothing to quell your unease.  the streets are also empty, but lights illuminate each building.

from your window, a quick glance towards the northland bank reveals to you that it is uncharacteristically dark.  no lanterns, no lights.  you frown, troubled that the individuals you were so alert to monitoring, had a lifeless stronghold.  not typical of them at all. 

so, you decide while your long-time enemies are plotting (or whatever they’re doing that prompts them to close an entire bank for), now might be the best time to potentially make a run for it, light coin bag be damned.

hastily, you rid your apartment of personal belongings by unceremoniously shoving them into your bag.  if it’s one thing you were grateful for in this world, it’s archon magic.  you don’t fuss over the science behind it, but whatever made your bag feel like a bottomless pit was an actual life-saver.  packing is extremely efficient with it, and in less than fifteen minutes, you’re ready to go.

all that’s left is to write a thank-you note to the liyuen couple who let you stay while their son was out exorcising.  at the time, they assured you that you would be no trouble for you to take up a guest room, but nonetheless you tried to pay them with whatever you had left over after commissions.

you grab a writing utensil, still feeling a bit rude to leave on such short notice, and swear to yourself that you’ll visit in the future.  for good measure (after sullenly looking into your coin bag), you leave an acceptable(-ish) amount of mora on your former bed.

all right.  now, time to leave, with your foot out the door and wind scratching at your face, as if the odd overhead weather wasn’t already an omen.

you’re barely past liyue harbor, headed towards the luhua pools, when a comet shoots above you past mount tianheng.  no, not a comet, you realize as it dips from the sky, headed for landfall around a kilometer away.  a comet of water?

if a dead northland bank wasn’t the nail in the coffin, this surely is.  you’ve been around enough in the fatui to know that whatever fell from the sky has to be the work of a vision user, or some more powerful being.  turning towards where you estimate to be the crash site, you weigh your options.  you’re already outside of the city, and the fatui are probably preoccupied.  you can manage a detour for now and inspect the hydro-apparition.  regardless, you deem that the farther away you are from the water you are, the safer you might be from what’s about to happen – you look back towards liyue harbor, and nearly shudder at the rising tide and choppy waves. 

after about fifteen minutes of walking in the rain, you find yourself between the slope of the dunyu ruins and mount tianheng.  it’s vacant, save for the weathered ruins, and a sizable crater meters wide.  cautiously, you approach the edge, summoning your sword with one hand and conjuring your vision in the other.  you’re not going to let curiosity kill the cat, especially not if this turns out to be a prank by the archons.

in the center of the mess is, well, another mess.  you blink a few times, wary, as you discern that an individual lies in the rubble.  they’re actually conscious, you soon find out, as they righten themselves from the fetal position into a kneel, supporting their body weight with their arms.  their body is covered head-to-foot in dark, purple armor, and a red mask with a broken, center orb gleams faintly in the night.

it is only when you the individual looks up at you, straight at your head, do you realize that you should not be here this was a bad idea –

and then they collapse.

“shit,” you murmur to yourself, vision still pulsing in your palm, which has become increasingly sweaty.  you step back from the edge as an orb of water surrounds the armored-being, encasing him like a cocoon, before dissipating to reveal a much more vulnerable, tired man underneath.  his hair is matted to his face from the rain, yet a much smaller mask rests on his eyes; his clothes are somewhat torn (you suspect that whatever had happened, his armor absorbed most of the damage), and you can very faintly see his chest heave. 

but, ah, speaking of his clothes,

they were the colors of the fatui.

“no, no, bad idea,” you tell yourself over and over again, sword put away yet vision still bouncing in your hands.  you walk away from the crater briefly, before walking towards it again, peaking down to check on the fallen man, and then scamper back.  the whole idea was to run away, not go straight to them, as if you had managed to doom yourself after all.  

pacing back and forth, you contemplate for another minute.  he’s clearly injured, with how he’s laying on the ground and not moving, so the nice, not-so-hardened part of you wants to help him.  if he was a regular civilian, surely you’d already be down there and trying to take him back to liyue and patch him up, but he’s with the enemy.  no way someone who can transform into armor is just an underling, so he’s probably someone exceptionally powerful –

“i see you,” a voice comes from the crater, and your vision nearly explodes in your hands from your nerves.  summoning your sword quicker than you ever have in your life, you steel yourself towards the bottom of the crater.

except, he’s not holding a weapon to your face, or threatening to skewer you into a million pieces.  except, he’s not scowling at you, or demanding you assist him at once before he blows something up.

instead, he’s on his knees.  looking up at you with the desperation of a man completely robbed, crippled from something he can’t speak of yet wants to scream about.  his eyes, now free from the mask, pierce into you with a vividness that could rival the richest hues of luhua, and archons damn it do you melt. 

you melt, and realize you should run away.  you melt, all while cursing yourself, that this man might not be so kind as to spare you in the future, when he’s back at his full health.  you melt, thinking that, well, you haven’t seen him before, so maybe he doesn’t know who you are either.  you melt, even as you extinguish your vision and put away your sword, and slide to the bottom of the crater to lug his limp body back to the top, to the shelter of the ruins, and rummage through your bag for medicine.

he hasn’t said anything for the past ten minutes, and you’re thankful that there’s finally someone from the fatui who can keep their mouth shut, even if this is half-beaten to death.  “you’re not dying on me,” you insist, as if your words could will him back to full consciousness.  “not when i’m risking my life for someone like you.”

as you work on bandaging his arm, out of the corner of your eye you swear you see his mouth twitch.  is he trying to speak?  no, you want some silence for a bit longer, but pause as you notice a gash on his torso.

“this is medically consensual, okay?”  you wait two seconds to see if he objects, before unbuttoning the lower part of his coat and applying pressure on the wound.  the blood has soaked through his clothes, and just as eagerly, seeps into the cloth you’re shoving against it.  the man stirs as you continue to clean his wounds, and when his eyes open, you’re too preoccupied with your short supply of towels to notice.

when you’re aware of a gaze on you, however, you turn towards him with a hardened face.  you already know what you’re going to say.  even if he doesn’t know who you are, you’re going to make it clear that, for your own satisfaction, you won’t help him back to liyue and he’ll have to make the walk himself.

“you were out there,” you say simply, motioning towards the crater with a nod of your head.  “i’ll patch you up, but you’ll have to get further help yourself.”

the man with eyes of the deep regards you, but you busy yourself by applying gauze.  he’s propped up against a pillar, and you’re crouching at his side.  when you’re about finished, only then do you meet his eyes.

he beats you to whatever you’re about to say.  “i didn’t think,” he starts, and you’re already frowning, “that you’d come back.”

ah, referencing when you practically left him in the crater.  his words are vague enough when he says that you ‘came back’ that you aren’t too tense, and you indulge him in a bit of silence before responding.  “not like i’m used to rescuing people who fall from the sky.”

despite his injuries, the man manages a laugh.  he seems almost flustered at your statement, although you can’t understand why.  underneath his soaked bangs, his eyebrows rise, and he seems almost . . . nervous?  you can’t possibly fathom as to why, but dismiss your curiosity.  the more small talk he coerces you into, the longer you’ll spend with him.

you finish sealing the gauze, tossing the roll back into your bag before commanding it to disappear.  blood has soaked into the ground at his sides, also you’re sure that it’ll was away with time.  you’re about to stand up, satisfied with your good-samaritan duties for the day, when he stops you by locking his fingers around your wrist.

he’s in the middle of saying something, but you refuse to let him, drawing your sword and pointing it directly at his throat, his mouth agape as he releases his hold on you.  you consider each other, and when you’re certain you have the upper hand, you draw your line.

you spit the words like venom.  “do not touch me, fatui.  i’ve done what i can for you, and you won’t be getting anything else from me.”

your blade doesn’t lower from his form, and as you stand above him, you regard his hands, as if he might summon his own weapons in an instant.  if he’s smart (which you think he is yet simultaneously pray he isn’t), he’s probably plotting how to get out of your sword’s reach.  you’re not going to let him, after you’ve been so self-sacrificing, putting your life on the line for someone affiliated with the organization that suffocated the life out of you.

a tilt of the head, yet silence from his mouth.  he seems surprised that, while you allowed him to laugh mere moments earlier, you’re now pointing your weapon at him, although something in the ease of his facial features tells you that he’s not concerned in the slightest.

“i wanted to say thank you,” he breathes finally, and you look as if he’d just punched you in the gut.  “being in your position probably isn’t easy, and i’m the last one you wanted to see, but you still . . . ”

fuck, no, not this.  you don’t know if he’s a prophet, if he knows who you really are, or the ‘i’m on the run’ stamp on your forehead is that obvious, but you aren’t going to fall for the fatui’s words.  your fists clench, and you once more prepare to denounce his organization,

and you’re disarmed in an instant, sword thrown to the side and fingers restricted by his larger grasp.  archons, you couldn’t even see him move, what a deceptive bastard, feigning injury –

“stop,” he hushes, and despite your fury you register it as a plea, not a command.  the man repeats himself, before continuing,  “we won’t haunt you any more; i’ll make sure of it.”

five seconds, then ten.  you had determined that his grip was too strong to break free of, and are left in no position to move unless he releases you.  he holds your gaze without a hint of malice, even though you try your hardest to find any in his eyes.  

when he does let go of you, fingers skimming past your flesh, you run faster than you ever have before.

you run, past the ruins, past the harbor, and until you can’t see liyue behind you any more.  you run, unable to see a palace fall from the sky and crash into the ocean, and until you’re surrounded by mountains and there’s not a ginkgo tree in sight.  you run, unsure if his words are true, but certain that he knows who you are.

you won’t trust him.  as you lay on the ground, wheezing to catch the air that’s left your lungs, you once again swear to yourself that you can’t trust the words of the fatui.  

as the northland bank lights ignite themselves in welcome of its master, childe presses a hand to his bandaged torso.  a spark of your vision lingers between his fingers, and he observes it before it disappears.

he’s already hurt enough people.  he heads to the second floor, and erases your name from the fatui files. 

[youryanderedaddy]

Kindness

Yandere! Belphegor x reader

tw: spoilers for lessons 14 - 16 of Obey me!; implied non - consensual somnophilia, lots of manipulation, cruelty, mentions of bullying, obsessive behavior, mental isolation

Yep, I got back into Obey me! and I’m a little bit obsessed lol. Maaybe I will write something for the other brothers too, not sure yet, still, enjoy~

 Belphegor wanted to believe he didn't hate you, at least not anymore, now that he knew you were somewhat related to Lilith, his precious little sister. He was finally out of the attic, his brothers accepted him back, his life was finally falling into place, yet something still bothered him and kept him up when he should have been long asleep in his cozy bed. Even after everything that had happened between the two of you, you still refused to show him your vulnerable side. Of course, the demon wasn't stupid, it was quite obvious why you were avoiding him at any cost - he tried to kill you after all, but he already apologized so many times and promised to never hurt you again. The Avatar of sloth was trying his best to be sweet and nice to you, yet you made it so goddamn hard in the way you acted like an ungrateful, petty human. Why couldn't you understand that he was making an exception just for you? That he was fighting years of hatred and prejudice against all of mankind just so he could look you in the eyes without feeling his chest tighten in disgust? You should have been honored and shown some meek forgiveness, instead you were being a stuck-up little bitch, the type of person the demon hated the most, simply because they mirrored his own behavior to an extent.

 Belphegor wasn't a patient being. He was always so tired and sleepy, already grumpy and yawning, snappy and frustrated, even before he had the chance to hear your sickeningly - sweet voice first thing in the morning. The demon watched you from afar silently, unable to shake off his old habits of observing you and creating different plans to trick you, to manipulate you into trusting him with your heart. Unfortunately, you seemed to have learnt your lesson the second time he tried to use the same technique to lure you in. You only smiled at him for a second, just to be polite, and walked off while he was burning a hole in your back with his deep, dark lilac eyes. It was decided then and there - you obviously wanted him to play the big bad villain once again and that was exactly what he was going to do.

 The demon wished to feel your gentle gaze on him so he had to resort to drastic measures. He knew just what to say and which strings to pull to make you cry and whimper in misery. Belphie pushed you around just like he used to do while he believed you to be just another pathetic excuse of a human. His pale cold hand never seemed to leave your vulnerable neck and his piercing cold eyes pinned you in place for hours on end until the man decided that he had had enough fun for today and finally let you go. The demon wasn't above insulting you, calling you a disgrace to the exchange program, a failure his brothers tolerated only because Diavolo wanted them to. The Avatar of lust liked playing with his prey before digging his claws deep and ravaging it. He lied to you, twisting your narrative, messing with your memories and slowly, but surely, isolating you from the others. Soon enough you were doubting Mammon's loyalty, Lucifer's dedication, Asmo's affection, every word seemed to have a hidden meaning, you felt like everyone was trying to deceive you, to hurt and use you. Sometime along the way you had started believing Belphie's harsh painful affirmations.

 The demon didn't want to admit just how much he liked the tears in your eyes, the uncertainty in your heart, the way you finally, finally, looked only in his direction. He just couldn't stop himself from grinning when you looked so cute crying in your sleep, so adorable and tiny, so hesitant and unsure about your surroundings. The man enjoyed emmersly all the deprived little sounds and whines you gave out while he let his freezing hand roam all over your form, exploring every little curve, playing with your warm body like it finally belonged to him even if that wasn't the case. The best part, though, was the panic written on your face every time you woke up with a new bruise or a love-mark, staining your beautiful skin. You never suspected the actual culprit since you believed that he found you disgusting and repulsive, but his brothers were fair game. You didn't want to see any of the demons in such a terrifying light, desperate to keep the last precious pieces of your scattered friendships but paranoia had already crept its way into your heart and it wasn't leaving any time soon.

 In those terrible moments of fear and anxiety you were truly alone, with no way to contact your parents, your friends or anyone back on Earth. That's why you often found yourself drawn to Belphegor, despite his cruel treatment and poisonous tongue. You wanted comfort more than anything, you craved a warm embrace and a few reassuring words - that you weren't going insane, that everything was going to be alright sooner or later. The spiteful youngest brother didn't provide you with any of these things yet he never seemed to leave your side, and for better or worse, that was enough.

 You were soft and vulnerable in front of the demon, confessing everything like a dying sinner, all your pesky, lowly human thoughts, feelings and fears. It was clearer than a day that you were afraid, dancing on the edge of a sword every day. The man smiled at you for the first time in a while, realizing that his words had really gotten to you. He had you right where he had wanted you all along, naked to your very soul, exposed, broken down for his greedy prying eyes.

 And you were finally looking at him.

[bubbleteaimagines]

AMERICA’S GOLDEN TOY

summary || steve makes good use of you after kidnapping you from a hydra base

pairings || dark!steve rogers x reader

warnings || this post contains dark content (noncon) smut, swearing, dracaphilia kink, loss of virginity, non-consensual filming

notes || continuation of this imagine

MINORS DNI // 18+

you heard the sirens before anything else. they blared all over the facility, distracting you from your work and causing you to drop your graduated cylinder.

“shit!” you cursed in german and quickly began to gather yourself.

you knew what the sirens meant — your father had forced you to participate in every emergency briefing there was. he was a high level member of hydra and quite proud that you, his daughter, were following in his footsteps.

at only twenty years old, you were already a renowned scientist. often, you created remedies and such for hydra to use on their victims. you helped caused terror and chaos, but of course, you didn’t see it that way.

you quickly began to gather all of your important files as the sirens got louder. your whole lab was flashing red, causing your vision to be skewed.

you stumbled around in the red light, your heels not making it any better. you grabbed hard drives and anything else you could think of before quickly bursting out of the door, joining the chaos in the hallways.

all around you, hydra personnel was being scattered about, some running and others fleeing towards the fight. you didn’t even know what the threat was, but if it was enough to activate the emergency sirens then it had to be deadly.

“y/n!” in the midst of your running, someone called your name and pulled you to them. you yelped, but quickly calmed down once you saw that it was your father.

“papa,” you looked at him, shocked. “what’s going on? where is all this chaos coming from?”

“the avengers,” the answer made your blood run cold, “they are here. they have found us. we must get out, quickly!”

he wasted no time in pulling you towards the safety exit, one that only the most important memebers knew about. you stumbled as you struggled to keep up, your hands tightly clutching your precious research.

somewhere along the way though, you had accidentally dropped one of your drives. you let go of your father’s hand for one second to retrieve it, but that turned out to be the biggest mistake of your life.

a flash of blue in the red light could be seen as you bent over to grab it quickly. but you weren’t fast enough, and by the time you had come back up and started running again, it was too late.

steve rogers caught you easily as your father yelled behind him for you. his armor cladded suit pressed against your frame and you struggled against the muscular man.

“y/n!” your father panicked, wondering if he should run or help you.

“papa! go, please! it is too late for me,” you cried as you struggled in steve’s arms. “go!”

your father looked hesitant, but a nod from you urged him to keep running. that left you, helpless as the avenger glared at you fiercely.

“tony, nat, i’ve captured a prisoner. her father managed to escape but i think you can still catch him,” he spoke into a device.

“roger that, cap,” the voice of an unknown man came back.

you glared at him as you thrashed in his arms.

“there are no prisoners with hydra!” you yelled out, releasing the poison hidden behind your teeth and preparing to swallow it.

however, before you could steve already had an antidote shoved down your throat, knowing that this was common with those captured.

“you’re not dying today,” he snapped at you, as the concoction also knocked you out cold. “not before we make some use of you.”

-

when you woke up, you were in a moderately decorative room.

it was furnished with a dresser, a nightstand with a lamp, a tv, and a king sized bed that you were currently laying on.

as soon as you came to, you tried to hop off the bed and escape. but you were wildly unsuccessful, seeing as your hands and feet were tied and you were gagged.

“help!” you still tried to call out for someone, through your sounds were muffled. “somebody please, help me!”

there was shuffling out in the hallway and you paused, foolishly thinking it was your father or another hydra member coming to save you.

but quickly, you realized that wasn’t the case when the same man that kidnapped you walked in.

“well well, i see you’re awake,” his deep voice filled the room as he sauntered in.

you glared at him.

“let me go!” you yelled through the gag, trashing even though your movements were limited.

“what was that? sorry i can’t hear you,” he smirked. your hatred for him increased even more as he mocked you.

“asshole!” you cursed in german. “let me go, now! before i kill you!”

steve seemed to get tired of your muffled screaming so he finally removed the gag. when he did, the first thing you did was spit on him.

“filthy scum! how dare you tie me up like an animal!” you yelled.

you were met with a harsh glare and slap so hard that it knocked the breath out of you. steve fumed as he wiped the spit away, rasing his hand threateningly.

“do it again and i swear to god...” he trailed off.

“what do you want from me!” you resisted the urge to cry as your face stung from the violent blow.

“information,” steve said almost immediately, as if it were obvious. “we decided not to throw in you in a cell because you could be useful to us. tony figured you’d open up more in a more...comfortable setting.”

“go to hell,” you immediately spit, causing steve to raise an eyebrow. “i’ll never tell you anything. i’d rather die!”

“well then it’s a good thing you were already carrying these,” steve said coolly, holding up an object.

you gasped when you noticed it was your drives. the very ones you risked capture for.

“give those back!” you cried, struggling even harder. “those belong to hydra! those belong to me!”

“not any more,” steve said. “everything in that base now belongs to the avengers. including you.”

you didn’t like the way his eyes sized you up. it made you uncomfortable, scared even but you weren’t about to show it.

“you can keep me here until i starve. i won’t give you any more information,” you said.

“oh we know. we’ve been known that everyone in hydra has tight lips,” steve chuckled. “but you see, we started to figure out why. and do you wanna know what we came up with?”

you said nothing.

steve continued anyways. “see we figured it was because hydra never had anything to lose. their files are encrypted. everyone is willing to die for that scum organization. we the avengers have never had a way to gain leverage over them. but after we took you...we realized that now we do.”

“what do you mean?” you asked dumbly, though you feared the answer.

steve answered by stalking towards you. slowly, you began to try and back away as his face came down to yours, his voice dark and dangerously low.

“it means, it wasn’t an accident i took you over you father. i could have captured you both. but i let him go free, just so he and the rest of the scum can witness this. you, tied up in captain america’s bedroom, helpless,” he smirked.

“no!” you exclaimed, horror seeping through your veins.

“say hi to daddy and his colleagues,” steve chuckled, pointing towards the tv.

you didn’t know how you missed it, but on the dresser stood a camera, and on the tv itself showed live footage.

of you, handcuffed on steve’s bed.

“oh, i can’t say i won’t enjoy finishing this mission,” he shook his head. “it’s the first damn time i’m getting something in return.”

“get away from me!” you screamed at him as he undid your cuffs, yanking you closer to him.

the delightment of being free was replaced by utter panic at the pending situation. you tried your best to get up, springing off the bed but steve only pushed you down, laughing.

“did you forget who you were dealing with?” steve asked. “everything is this room will prevent you from escaping. the doors won’t open without a code. there’s no windows. and of course, you’d have to get passed me. but i’m not letting you leave until i get what i want.”

“you monster!” you punched his chest as he gripped you harshly, dragging you to the edge of the bed.

but your assault seemed to do nothing against the super soldier, merely egging him on as he reached for your clothing.

“nothing but a skirt and a blouse. not even pantyhose,” he tsked. “you must have been prepared for me, then.”

tears of humiliation began to form as he grabbed your skirt and shirt and tore them off. the black bra and lacy red panties that you were wearing were durely exposed to the camera, where your father and all your coworkers were watching.

“can you feel it now?” steve asked, dodging your blows and pinning you down with his arms. “the sheer panic creeping in your veins? the knowledge that there’s only one way out of this, and that’s by me taking control of that little pussy of yours?”

your eyes widened as he voiced his plans out loud, the reality of situation finally sinking in.

“no please!” all your life you had been taught not to beg. you had been taught to never give into the enemy, to always choose silence and death over the weakness of pleading. but this was steve rogers you were talking about. you thought he was one of the good guys. you thought he was america’s golden boy. “don’t!”

“what’s this, a little hydra slut begging for her life?” you cried out as steve ripped the bra off, too, leaving you completely exposed. “that’s definitely new. but i gotta say, begging wont get you anywhere now. it’s too late, i’m gonna make use of america’s golden toy now.”

“i thought you were a good guy! the avengers are supposed to be the good ones! you’re not supposed to do this!” you said while steve began to shed his clothes.

“good?” he chuckled as he stood over you. “that’s funny. i guess it just depends on the perspective.”

you stared at each other as he began to free his cock. it was impressive really, how he managed to get both of you naked all while holding you down.

you had never felt more powerless in your life. you were a scientist after all. you were smart and brilliant and on top of the world at hydra. but here though...

here you felt like nothing more than a simple speck of dust.

“open up, slut,” steve suddenly shoved his cock in your face as you jumped back, startled. “let’s show daddy how well your mouth works.”

“no!” you refused to open your mouth for him, you refused to even look at him, turning your head to face the wall.

but steve was quick to a solution; he grabbed your jaw and forced your lips open, backhanding you to get you to comply.

“i’m not gonna ask you again,” he said lowly while you sobbed. “open up.”

shakily, you obeyed. you opened your lips and slowly steve began to push his cock in, moaning at the feeling of your tight lips wrapped around him.

“ah, fuck,” he grabbed a hand full of hair to steady himself while you stood still. “go on, don’t be afraid. suck my cock like the little whore you are.”

you would have rather chosen death than blow steve rogers but that wasn’t an option. what was though, was moving your head back and forth, trying to take his impossibly thick length in your mouth.

“there’s a good girl,” he cooed as your head bobbed. “take me. take all of it!”

you resisted the urge to gag as he shoved himself in the back of your throat. gripping his hips, you sobbed on his dick, tears falling down your face as he throat fucked you.

“that’s it...nice and deep,” steve moaned. “god, i can’t wait to see what your pussy feels like.”

he was cumming in no time, the combination of you sucking and playing with his balls sending him over the edge.

he panted as he pulled out, his hot seed trickling down your throat. you gagged immediately as he released you, feeling absolutely and utterly disgusted with yourself.

“you see that, dad?” steve smirked at the camera. “your little girl just drained my balls dry. and she’s about to do it again. watch.”

you cried out as steve roughly pulled you up and flipped you on the bed. you tried one last time to escape, crawling on your knees away from him but it was all too easy for him to pull you back down.

“a fair warning to all hydra personnel, this is what happens if you mess with shield,” he growled.

you were a blubbering mess as he forced your legs open, pleading and begging for your release. you didn’t wanna be taken, not like this. you didn’t wanna lose your virginity to this man.

“you can’t save her now,” steve looked directly into camera, “but maybe when i’m through with her you’ll learn your lesson.”

he positioned his thick cock, lubricated with your spit, at your entrance. and then, before you could even comprehend what was happening, he slammed into you.

a scream bubbled up in your throat and ripped out as your pussy was violently desecrated.

steve filled you nearly to the brink, moaning and whimper at the tight fit.

pain exploded all over your body. your pussy felt like it was on fire. you tried to claw your way away but steve held you tightly in his arms, disabling you to move.

you were trapped, tears falling down wildly as steve began to fuck you balls deep.

“so tight,” he moaned while you let out a gutteted sob. “so fucking good to me. you’re squeezing me baby. you’ve must have never taken a cock a before, have you?”

“no!” you screamed out as steve pounded into you at a jarring pace. “p-please! please!”

“virgin,” steve realized, knowing why you were so scared. “god that’s so hot.”

“please...please! captain stop!” you begged, not being able to take it anymore. you couldn’t take him. your pussy wouldn’t even let him get all the way in. you were straining so much, but yet he fought. he fought so hard to make sure all but his balls were inside of you.

“well, since you asked so nicely,” steve smirked.

he flipped you over again but before you could cherish the release he was slamming into your pussy again, this time forcing on you top of him with your back laid against his chest.

steve cooed in your ear as you took his merciless pounding, reminding you of what a filthy whore you were.

you wanted this, he told you. this was your fault. you wanted his cock deep inside of you. wanted people to watch. you wanted people to know how much of a slut you were.

“tell them!” steve shouted, his balls slapping your pussy. you sobbed for his mercy. “tell them how much of a whore you are! tell your daddy how much you love captain america! tell him!”

“papa,” you blubbered towards the screen. you saw yourself, looking pathetic while you sat on captain america’s cock. he filled you to the brink, your stomach pretruding out to show just how deep he was. “i love him! i love captain america!”

“atta girl,” steve kissed your neck, his beard scraping your shoulder as he buried his face in your neck. he held you tight, the sound of him battering your little pussy echoing throughout the room.

finally, he turned your head towards him and kissed you. one last humiliating act before he finally came, shuttering to a stop as he drained his balls directly into your womb.

“how’s that for a mission accomplished,” steve laughed while you slumped against him, clinging to him for dear life. your pussy was battered, filled to the brink his cum. your mind was gone.

you could hardly think. you searched for a sense of safety. for a sense of warmth. you cuddled yourself closely to him, taking shelter in the arms of your abuser.

“please...please...” you sobbed against him.

steve held you tight in his arms, kissing your temple. he knew he had broken you. he knew that you were beyond recovering now.

“it’s okay,” he whispered, still buried deep inside of you. “you’re with the earth’s mightiest heroes now. you’re safe. nothing’s ever gonna hurt you again.”

[simpcxty]

Y/n Kaminari

TW: smut, marijuana use. Characters aged up to 21! Shiggy discovers his quirk doesn’t work when he’s having sex, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding kink shiggy, consensual sex,

I realized I had been neglecting my dear villains, so. Shiggy Fuckers, because I know you’re out there. I’m one of them. Don’t say I don’t love you. Here you go.

READ RESPONSIBLY PLEASE

Part 1 -

PART 2

It actually ends up being a month later till you see him again.

But not in the normal alley. No.

Right outside his hideout. So he thinks he must be seeing things. His brain must be showing him what he wants to see.

But then he sees two friends next to you and he realizes that’s not the case. It’s Saturday, he shouldn’t be surprised.

He wants to touch you, or at least have you look his way.

How desperate does that sound? So he keeps walking, walking towards his destination, which just so happens to be two stores past you.

Well damn.

Were his eyes deceiving him? Are you wearing his hoodie again? Fuck. You’re gonna kill him, and that baby blue skirt with fishnets? You’re gonna give him a heart attack. You’re going to give him a stroke. Because the way his hoodie scrunched around the skirt pulled the fabric up and you seemed to be getting irritated with the blue skirt.

He’s almost relieved when you don’t look up from whatever it is your friends are showing you as he gets into the dispensary, finally able to take a breath.

“Damn Boss, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He rolls his eyes at Dabi and walks behind the counter to get what he needs. Dabi mumbled something about a smoke break as he walked downstairs and Shigaraki nodded.

He mostly just needed a joint refill and a new cartridge but he grabbed an eighth anyway and sighs as the bell to the door signals someone had walked in.

“We’re closed for-“ but then he’s shutting up because as he stands up from behind the display, he sees you. Beautiful, right in front of him, perfect, squeezable, lovable you. Right in front of him and his eyes must be deceiving him right? You didn’t even notice him as he walked past. Right?

“Well damn, and I was hoping to get a few things-“

“Not to you- never to you.” Your eyebrow quirks at that.

“We’re never closed to you.” He’s blushing and you smile.

Tomura’s mouth went dry. He had already stuffed his new weed products into his hoodie pocket and was about to head downstairs to get prepared to be absolutely gone until he went looking for you tomorrow.

“Do me a favor and lock the front door? I’m going on a smoke break after this and I don’t know how long Dabi is going to take.” You blushed.

“How will I leave then?” You did it anyway and he just chuckles.

“You think you’re leaving babe?” Did he just? Yes. Yes he did. Oh my god he did.

If only he could just take you downstairs right now.

He was almost shocked when he heard what you were getting but then he felt you tug on his sleeve and he’s immediately forgetting that he’s supposed to be grabbing your products.

He seems to forget how to breathe when he finally urges himself to look at you. Really look at you. You’re so fucking beautiful and he knows that but he can’t help just wanting to fall asleep and wake up next to you, you’re so beautiful he can’t handle it at times. Your dyed blue hair had started to fade and it was fading into a pale little baby blue like his at the tips, still fairly dark at the roots. Needless to say. He was living for it, and the way you’d occasionally lick your lips and drag your tongue over your lip piercings.

When he finally wills himself to grab your chin he immediately leans in, and he wants to kiss you so bad but this stupid display is in the way, and he’s almost tempted to hop over it.

He doesn’t, instead opting to quickly grabbing the shit you ordered, stuffing it in a bag and dropping it on the counter. You grabbed it of course, but after that he’s leading you around the counter and grabbing your chin again with his pointer and thumb, just like every other time.

You’re the one that connects the kiss and after that he’s wrapping his arms around your waist and tapping your thigh.

You took the hint pretty quickly and let out a cute little ‘hmph’ as you slightly hop and wrap your arms and legs around him. Tomura only broke the kiss to walk down the stairs.

But you. You on the other hand. You were shoving your face in his neck and sucking dark purple marks that’d be visible to anyone who ends up looking his way tomorrow and the following days of the next coming week.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to take so long. I missed you so much.” He tightens his grip around you as he makes his way to his room.

You stop your attack on his neck and your legs seem to tighten around him involuntarily.

“It’s okay Shig, I know you can’t control it.” He groans at that. Why do you have to be so damn understanding? It’s frustratingly hot.

“Gonna fuck you so nice and full. How does that sound baby?” Baby? The whine that comes from you when he says it has him pulling you closer. Accidentally but not so accidentally pushing your waist closer to his, making his already hardening member in his uncomfortably tight jeans twitch.

He closes and locks his door behind him when he strides into the room, thanking god for Kurogiri cleaning the rooms today.

He’s gonna have to start working on his messes and get used to cleaning them up of course. Just not this one.

“I’m gonna make such a beautiful mess of you babe.” Babe too? The way he pinned you to his bed so quickly had your cheeks flushing.

“I think I wanna start with your pretty legs pushed to your chest huh? How does that sound baby?” You nodded quickly.

“Please Shig, I’ve been dreaming about it, please fuck me-“ he chuckles and a hand wraps around your throat with the obvious exception of one finger, and he grinds his hips against yours.

“You don’t have to worry baby, I’m definitely going to fuck you, but I have to make sure it’s good don’t I?” You nodded and he’s tearing through the crotch of your fishnets earning a whine from you.

“Shiggy! These are new!” He laughs.

“I’ll buy you new ones, look at how pretty they look on your legs. I can’t help but want to ruin you in them.” His four fingers drag across your legs, the soft fabric of the fishnets dragged across your legs and you sighed contently.

“I got them for you.” He pauses at that and his cock twitches in his jeans once again.

“What did you just say?” Your cheeks are flushed and you’re looking away timidly.

“I thought you’d like them. I guess I was right?” He nods quickly and he’s finally undoing his jeans and shoving them down just enough to pull himself out.

“I fucking love them.”

“I’m gonna make this fun baby, you’ll be too wrecked to even go home tonight.” If your legs would have been around him, you would’ve tightened them around him, he could feel the way your thighs tensed while he held them against your chest.

“Awe and your parents will probably be so worried!” You whined at that and you’re finally looking down at his throbbing member. He’s way bigger than you were expecting, but not scarily huge.

The moment he pushes your panties to the side and starts sliding in, you’re wrapping your arms around his shoulders and clenching around him and he’s trying not to cry because you feel so good. You’re letting him do this and you like it. You want this just as much as he does, and because of that. He just can’t help the words that spill out of him.

“F-Fuck, s-so good, s- oh fuck, you’re heavenly!” And tears pool in his eyes as he and you both adjust because the euphoria you’re both feeling from just this is driving you both insane and his hips twitch forward.

“M’gonna move okay?” You nodded and as soon as he had placed his hand down on your thigh, he pulled away and halfway out of you, but the intensity of it all as he did it kept him from leaving your warm cunt.

“SHIT! Shit, Shit, Shit! Are you okay?” But you’re fine, in fact not a single scratch on you, and you’re just confused, but he’s too scared to risk it again.

“S-Shig, please move.” Suddenly he’s reminded of who you are. Where you both are. You’ve got tears in your eyes as you lead his hand to your neck, the same hand you should be decaying from currently. With his middle finger in your hand he squeezes your neck with a tighter force than you’re expecting but you moan and he’s dropping it. It wasn’t enough to hurt badly at all, it just caught you off guard, and apparently him too, his brain is rattled, you should be partially decayed right now.

“That was new.” He nods. Something seemed different in his eyes. He can’t focus now, not that he could before.

“I need to try something. Do you trust me?” You nodded and he goes for it.

He can pull away, is what he tells himself. But his whole hand is touching- no squeezing your thigh and nothing happens. So he puts his other hand down experimentally on your other leg and nothing happens.

That’s when his hands are pushing your thighs back to your chest and he’s plowing into you and you gasp and throw your head back.

“Shit- f-fuck Tomura slow down.” He halts his movements all together and bottoms out inside of you.

His hands let go of your thighs and you let out a breath of relief as you put them down. You were so incredibly full right now. On his end though, he’s holding on for dear life. The grip your cunt has around him is suffocatingly sweet and he’s trying to keep himself from cumming too soon.

“Hoodie off. As pretty as you look in it, I need to touch all of you.” He does the same, stripping his shirt and the same time, and twitching inside you when you take off his hoodie to reveal you were only wearing a bra underneath.

“You’re so beautiful. I need more of you. I need you so fucking badly it hurts.” You choked out a gasp when he twitches inside of you again.

“I’m here, I’m all yours, please move Shig I didn’t want you to stop.” You wrap your legs around his waist and the slutty shy moan you whine into his ear has him smiling.

“No Princess, you asked me to slow down. So I’ll take it nice and slow for you, okay?” He’s taunting you. You know he is, because his hands come in contact with the skin of your waist and the tears that had pooled in his eyes are slipping down his cheeks, but he wipes them quickly and pulls out to finally kick his jeans off the rest of the way. He’s just as desperate for this as you are. He’s just teasing you about it.

The slow thrusts he gives you once he’s inside you again make you actually start crying.

“Shig, please! Fuck me faster! I didn’t mean this slow plea-“ and you’re cut off by your own moans as he starts to pick up speed, bottoming out with each thrust and holding you against him for a good second every time your hips met.

“What would your parents think of you right now Y/n? Such a slutty little girl for your special villain huh? Fucking me in my dispensary and wrapping your thighs around my face in an alley? You’re all mine, isn’t that right pretty girl?” You nod quickly, but the words that come out of your mouth make him love you even more than before.

“I’m all yours Shig. I don’t care what my parents think, just want you, just wanna be with you.” His thrusts start to stutter at that but he recovers and suddenly grips your waist harder and thrusts quicker.

“Wanna be with me? Babe you are. You’re mine. No one will ever hurt you while I’m around.” His hips are stuttering and your legs are tightening around him as he spills into you and he’s wrapping his arms around you. Tears pool in his eyes once again and he’s holding you tightly against him as close as he possibly can while he fills you with his cum, and when he sees the way you’re looking up at him.

He goes feral.

“Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine! Mine!!” Your vision blurs when he thrusts into you at a specific angle bottoming out once again as he stills and you cry out quietly but desperately while you cream around his cock.

“You’re all mine. My special girl. I love you so much. So fucking pretty when you cum babe. You’re so tight and warm. Gonna fill you so nicely and give you a baby. How’s that sound?” You nod quickly and he smiles.

“Good. So good for me babe. Gonna make you a mommy. You don’t mind, do you?” You’re whining and your legs are tightening around him, as well as your cunt. So fucking warm and welcoming, and he’s reveling in it.

“F-Fuck! Don’t d-do that, gonna make me cum again.” He’s whining and groaning in your ear as he pulls you closer and you push your hips up.

“I need you to fill me up Shig, I wanna walk around with your cum soaking my panties like you said, please, I need it Shig plea-nngh~” he’s thrusting again quickly.

He really didn’t need to hear anymore once you had said that.

“That sounds so hot babe, but you’re not leaving tonight. Not when it’s so dangerous at night, there are criminals. Don’t you know?” You let out a breathy laugh as he rolls his hips.

“You are that criminal Shig.” He leans forward, chest pressed against yours and his hands are suddenly roaming around your whole torso, squeezing and groping the skin as he wholeheartedly just feels you.

“Imagine the headlines Shig- Can’t you imagine? ‘Daughter of Pro Hero Electoplant gone missing?!’ Only for me to show up at home a few days later.” You’re laughing when you say it and he even chuckles with you, but the more he thinks about it the more he picks up the speed of his thrusts.

“Don’t want to leave you again. Just wanna cuddle all night and keep you warm.” His voice is cracking and his thrusts seem to slow stilling inside you as he shoves his face in your neck.

“Need to make sure you’ll come back to me.” He’s pressing his lips against your neck and it’s so foreign. Normally it’s his hands that wrap around your throat that makes you whine but as he nips gently and sucks roughly on your neck, you clench around him and he whimpers as he sucks harshly.

“If I’d have known that you loved me abusing your neck so much, I’d have started sooner.” Your legs tighten around his hips and it’s then that he realizes he stopped thrusting.

“S-So tight, fuck m’gonna cum again.” His voice is higher and he’s whining with each soft thrust as he pushes into you slowly again. The way you’re sucking him in has to be a crime because you’re so warm and squishy, and tight. He’s already convinced himself that he’s sleeping like this, buried inside you, that’s what he wants. needs.

“Gonna breed you. Fill you so nice and full. My beautiful baby. Gonna make such a beautiful mommy.” You’re cumming around his cock again as he says it, he had started to pick up his thrusts now and the thought of all of this was turning you on beyond belief.

You never really wanted kids, now thats different though of course. He’s changed everything.

“Doing so good Shig-“ he’s interrupting you before he himself can even register what he’s saying.

“Tenko. You say Tenko.” Your eyes bulge a bit as he picks up his speed.

“P-Please g-go harder Tenko plea-hnnGh~” Your whines come out desperately after that. You couldn’t seem to get a hold of yourself as he drills into you at a seemingly inhuman pace.

“F-Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck fuck! M’gonna cum. Gonna fill you so nicely with my cum and cockwarm you after.” His hands squeeze your hips and the sight of your mouth agape, tongue lolled out, and eyes crossed seems to engrave itself in his brain.

“Say it again babe. Call for me, say my name.” You gasp out a desperate whimper and your arms wrap tightly around his shoulders.

“T-T-Tenko, please! F-fuck-“ you’re cut off by more whines and moans as he drills into you harder.

“So close. S-So fucking close babe.” He tightens his grip on your hips even more and you’re squealing as you squirt around him and he fills you up one final time.

“Shit, you’re so fucking tight Y/n.” He lays his head on your chest and catches his breath.

“Can I stay? Feels so good.” He lifts his head to look at you and you nod quickly.

“M’so full Shig-“

“Tenko. Never forget what you’re allowed to use that others don’t know.” You blushed and clenched around him earning a nice gasp from him as he looks down to your connected areas.

“Tenko you’re so pretty.” Your hand reaches to cup his cheek and he tears up.

“W-What..?” He looked like he was going to cry as he looked into your eyes now, which ultimately wasn’t your goal.

“T-THAT’S NOT A BAD THING-!” You sputter and kiss his forehead while wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I know. I just- I’ve never- I never thought that-“ he cuts himself off by shoving his flushed face in your neck.

“You’re so fucking pretty Tenko. You keep me so safe and make me feel so special. It’s weird but if I didn’t have you I think I’d be losing my mind being stuck in that stupid pro-hero family.” He snickers.

“Don’t you have your license?” He’s snickering as he says it and you nod.

“Yeah, but I’m not an active hero, I only use my quirk when people are actually in trouble and I see it. Sorry but I’m not gonna become a hero just to be a shitty one.” He nodded. He admired your opinion on it to an extent. But why did you think you’d be a shitty one?

That’d be a question for another day, because his level of fatigue is finally starting to hit him and he’s falling asleep on top of you.

The next morning he’s still buried inside you with his arms wrapped tightly around you, but your phone is blowing up with messages from your friends, mom and dad, and Denki and you can’t reach it without shifting a bit.

“Damn it.” You felt the man on top of you managing to tighten his grip on you.

“Don’t leave me. Not yet. M’not ready yet.” His voice cracks as he says it, and you send your family group chat a quick message.

‘I’m with a friend. Be home soon.’ You were moving out in a few days anyway. It’s not like they could ground you.

“I’m not leaving Tenko. Just had to text a few people.” You’re reminded of those people as they start to spam your phone again.

Demanding that ‘NO! YOU NEED TO COME HOME RIGHT NOW YOUNG LADY!’ Not that you listened.

“I’m moving.” He tenses, and you can tell he’s scared to ask the question.

“Where?” You smiled.

“You know the apartment complex right across the street from my favorite sweets shop?” Please. Because if you’re playing with him, it’s not funny.

That’s five minutes away from here. He nods and you gasp as he makes a move to finally start pulling out of you.

“So there?” You nodded quickly and he chuckles.

“Come shower with me. Nothing else, I promise.” You nodded and you could stand. It was the feeling of his cum starting to move that mad you sit right back down.

He snickers and picks you up with the exception of his middle fingers again.

“Having issues?” You simply let out a cute little, ‘hmph.’ So he decides to leave it at that.

“Thank you.” You’re confused when he says it.

“For what?” He sets you down in the warm water that he had started running and the familiar feeling of his cum starting to run out of you comes back as he steps in.

You should be disgusted. Grimacing in fact. But as his cum finally starts to leak out of you he can’t seem to answer you for what he’s thankful for.

“That’s- I uhm, I-“ his face flushes and he shuts up when he realizes you’re just as flustered as he is.

“Y-Y-Fuck. You look so pretty like this. So vulnerable all for me.” He whispers it in your ear and the thought of you grabbing his dick never even crossed his mind. But then you do it, and he can’t help but fall a little more in love as you run your thumb over the slit of his tip, earning a loud whine as he bucks his hips forward.

You both eventually get out of his room. After more sex of course and more of his cum being stuffed inside of you.

What you really weren’t counting on however, was running into Pro Hero Hawks as you leave Tomura’s room, as he comes down the stairs.

“Y/n? What are you doing here? Your dad said that you haven’t been answering your phone-“

“Well- I mean, it’s weird. Using your phone in a dispensary and all.” You shrugged and he chuckled.

“For a whole day?” You coughed and sputtered before speaking again.

“Well! I should be on my way! Don’t wanna keep the pro heroes waiting!” You gave him little finger guns and Hawks grabs your wrist only for you to yank it away quickly.

“Don’t touch people for no reason Takami. It makes you seem pervy.” He goes to grab you again but you swerve past him to walk up the stairs.

“Kaminari! Are you a villa-“ you laughed before he could finish.

“No. I’m just fucking one-“ you cut yourself off by slapping your hands over your mouth.

“Welp. I outta go.” You’re up the stairs and out the door before he can say anything else, and it’s then that he sees Tomura leave the same room you came out of.

“I’m sorry. What?!”

[kyberconfessions]

No Matter Where You Go, I Will Find You. Part 4

Hello All! Sorry for the delay! My Hubby and I have had a busy month of July and I wasn’t able to keep to my schedule like I wanted too. Sorry about that. From Baseball games to Comic-Cons to Disney trips, we’ve been stupid busy. I am working furiously on the other chapters and hope to at least have some words on Cody soon! Y’all, not going to lie, the fact that there has been ZERO mention of him on The Bad Batch is killing me.

As Always:

This will eventually be a 18+ older fic and deals with anxiety, death, sex,  PTSD, murder, loss, found family, Order 66, and coming to terms. This is not just a fluff fic. It will very much be dealing with very dark and hard themes, so please, if that is something that can be too hard for you, don’t read.

Pairings: Rex x Reader x Cody (polyamory) I should say this is NOT a Rex x Cody fic. There will be ZERO Clonecest on this blog or story. Reader is a consensual relationship with Rex and with Cody. Yes they share, yes they will eventually have sex together, but Cody and Rex are NOT in a relationship nor will they be intimate.

Rating: 18+

TW: Death, Murder, infanticide, death of the Jedi, PTSD, Loss, Anxiety, eating disorders, sleep disorders, Order 66. I will add other things as I think about them

Part 4: It’s You.

You waited with your back to the door on Hondo's ship; another one was docked right outside, carrying the crew that had something either of you wanted. You took a deep breath, adjusting your blaster in your thigh holster and checking over your clothes before putting on your helmet. The base of it was a black Ubese helmet, edged with black dyed bantha hair and painted to resemble a Kaleesh skull in white.  The edges of the white skull were rimmed in a dark red and the faux eyes were painted an electric green, almost making them glow.The breather of the helmet was pointed down, tapering at the end and etched with designs reminiscent of a certain Kel Dor. Twin points also came down from the sides,  once again resembling a Kel Dor breather, but painted to look like the fangs of the Kaleesh skull. When you wore it, you were an incredibly fearsome sight to behold. 

Hondo had stepped out of the cockpit while brushing off his clothes, but when he saw you he went on and on in a poetic manner making you snort behind your mask, "Pretty Lady must you put on that horrid thing? How am I supposed to gaze upon your beautiful Visage? How am I to write songs of your shiny eyes if you insist on covering them? How am I to chant loudly into the heavens about the glory of your smile when all I see is that ugly thing staring back at me?" 

The sound that came out of the modulator was a loud crack of static. It wasn't lost on him though, and he waggled his brow at you, knowing he made you laugh.

"Hondo, one of these days I'm going to launch you out of an airlock. Then you'll be Wild Space's problem."

He laughed loudly, but before he could give a retort, the door-lock opened and the crew from the other ship began to board.

Immediately the hair on your neck stood up and your hackles raised. It was time to go into heartless bounty hunter mode, another mask that became easier and easier for you to put on.

Hondo noticed your posture change and went to greet whoever had come aboard, stepping in front of your turned back. Whether it was to hide his best and most terrifying asset or to put space between you and them for your sake, you never knew. You liked to think it was his way of still protecting you, even after all these years. It probably was.

"My friends! My friends! So good to see you again! Ezra Bridger! It has been too long!" 

You heard the cacophony of voices greeting him in a less than enthusiastic excitement. If these people were your friends, you would have laughed again. But you didn't have friends.     From the sound of it, there were four people behind you. Nothing difficult to take down, but not something you should be careless with. There was something off about one of them though, you couldn’t put your finger on it, but they were...familiar.

"Allow me for introductions! This tall, imposing creature behind me is my associate, bodyguard, smuggler, chief pilot, chief mechanic, artistic muse, platonic soulmate, oldest friend, and beautifully deadly bounty hunter, all rolled into one.  And this band of colorful characters are the crew of the infamous Ghost!" Hondo waved his hands in a grandiose manner between the group and your back; this was a well rehearsed situation that you both had done several times, though for whatever reason, he decided to over exaggerate your titles. Normally he would do the talking and you would scare the clientele. And if you had too, if they had something that you knew belonged to them, you'd kill them. Nothing would keep you from the last remnants of the ones you loved and lost.

"Ahh, Hondo? Does your associate have a name? Or talk? Are they even awake? Are they just going to stand there?" You heard a boy's voice, a cockiness only found in the young lacing every word. 

"Ezra." A woman, probably someone important, chastised the boy.

You waited for Hondo's signal for you to turn, but the door opened once more and you heard one more set of boots and something soft, furry, stepping across the steel. A voice spoke. A Lassat. Dangerous creatures, you had seen a few when you were still a young Padawan with your old Master. Before the war. Before they died. Back when your biggest concern was the eventual Trials. You knew a fight wasn't going to be easy and you hated the idea of killing an already dying race. But you would if you had too.

The Lassat male was arguing with someone about something, but you weren't paying attention.

Hondo touched your shoulder softly, your signal to turn. He had spent the time making pleasantries and lulling them into a false sense of comfort, probably. He could have been talking about the weather on Jakku for all you cared. You were more concerned about making sure the straps on your holsters were open, giving you easy access to draw.

Slowly you moved, letting them see just how dangerous you were, how in control of your body you were, how much they should fear the creature behind the helmet. But, you halted mid spin.

All of the blood drained from your face, your mouth went dry, your throat tightened up, and you were overcome with such anger and gut wrenching sorrow you thought you would snap.

The man that walked in with the Lessat was wearing HIS armor. The armor you had spent 15 years looking for.

You blanked. 

Somewhere there was yelling and cries to stop, but you couldn't make it out. Your head was spinning and it felt like there was cotton in your ears and as tunnel vision took over, everything knocked your senses for a loop. You didn’t realize you were doing it, but you grabbed both your blasters, turned fully, and pointed them at the man. Half the crew jumped out of the way, the others pointed their weapons at you, and Hondo tried to reason with both sides, standing with his back to you while the man had his own blasters trained on your head. Hondo quickly got out of the way of the four barrels, still trying to diffuse the situation. You couldn't understand what he was saying, everything sounded so dull and muted.

No, wait. Those weren't just any blasters. You would know those DC-17s anywhere. 

"HOW DARE YOU!"

 Someone was screaming. You couldn’t tell who it was or where it was coming from. It was garbled and cracking, a mechanical sound. It hurt your head. You just wanted everything to stop, just for a moment. But the world kept spinning and you felt like you were going to pass out any moment. You just wanted everything to be quiet, you needed to think, you just wanted a moment to figure out what was going on. Why was it so loud? Why did everything hurt? You just wanted everyone to just be still. Just be still, if only for a second. 

You could feel your breathing pick up, that tightening fear in your chest, that ache that gripped your heart and threatened to pull it from your body. ‘Just be quiet, please, please, be quiet. I can’t...I need to think, I need to think..’

"HOW DARE YOU WEAR HIS HELM!” More screaming,  “DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHO HE WAS?! DO YOU?! HOW DARE YOU WEAR HIS ARMOR AS YOUR OWN! HOW DARE YOU STAND THERE AND KNOW NOTHING OF HIM!" Maker, the screaming was coming from you. You were yelling at him, venomous spit falling from your mouth, words meant to shame and kill. Your blasters were trained on his chest, fingers laying on the triggers. 

"TAKE IT OFF OR I WILL RIP IT FROM YOUR BROKEN CORPSE!"

You could feel something wet on your cheeks but you didn't know what it was or where it came from.  Did this man kill Rex?! Did he rip his beloved armor from his broken body? Did he leave him to rot in some cursed field? Or did he just take it from his already forgotten skeleton? Your heart beat a mile a minute, you were sweating and your whole body shook in anger, but your hands never wavered, blasters trained perfectly on the man. How dare this cretin dishonor Rex, dishonor his memory. 

"YOU WILL NEVER INSULT HIS MEMORY AGAIN! TAKE IT OFF!!"

You were panting and your modulator was straining under the volume of your voice.

No one lowered their weapons. No one spoke. No one moved a muscle. All that could be heard were your wheezing sobs through the helm.

 There was a beat. And then another. And then the man did something unexpected.

You just knew you were going to have to kill everyone. You just knew you were going to peel bloodied, beloved armor from some backwater nothing. 

But when he slowly lowered his arms, holstering the DC-17s, you faltered. Was he giving up so easily? Perhaps he didn't want bloodshed after all. Good. But it didn't make you lower yours. Nor did it make the others lower theirs.

Slowly, like he was trying to coax a scared lothcat, the man raised his open hands to the old helm covered in hatch marks with jaig eyes and pulled it off. 

First you saw weathered skin tanned from the sun, a white beard trimmed nicely, then a strong nose and finally golden eyes, eyes you had seen a million times before. Eyes that haunted you every time you went to sleep. Eyes you thought you would never see again.

When he had taken the helm completely off and tucked it under his arm, he spoke. And everything inside of you shattered.

"My name is Rex. Captain of 501st regiment in the Grand Army of the Republic. This is my armor that was issued to me almost 20 years ago. I don't know who you think I am, but I can assure you, this is my armor."

The others watched you, weapons trained. No one moved, no one spoke, no one breathed. You, on the other hand, felt everything rushing back at you full force. When he spoke, his voice was a punch to your gut, knocking the wind out of you, causing you to hyperventilate.  Your blasters, still trained on him, began to shake violently in your hands.

You were panting and your eyes blurred from all of the new tears. Panic rose high in your throat, cutting off your breathing. It can’t be. How could it be? He died. The Empire recorded him dying after Mandalore. You were there, you saw the absolute destruction. No one survived that.

Involuntarily you dropped your weapons and they clattered loudly to the durasteel ground, but your arms were still stretched out, still holding onto phantom guns. 

You inhaled sharply, your modulator cracking in a loud hiss. Slowly, trying to control the tremors that wracked your body, you moved your hands to your own helm and unlatched the buckles on the sides. There was another hiss as the airtight seals released the pressure and vented.

"What's going on..." the young boy started. "Hush, Ezra Bridger." Hondo cut him off, silencing him with a hand on his shoulder as you and Rex stared one another down.

You lifted your helm up and then let it fall to the floor, a loud clank shaking the silence between you all.

Rex sucked in a breath and released it in a harsh shudder, his mouth hanging open. "Mesh'la," he whispered; he could feel his knees giving out, causing him to stumble forward and push his way through his crew.

His eyes were as wide as saucers and glistening. Fat, heavy tears tracked down his face and fell into his beard as he reached shaking hands out to you. He paused for a moment, afraid that if he touched you, you would disappear like every dream before. But carefully his hands gripped your face, gently turning it side to side, taking in the scars and faint crows feet and wisps of grey hairs you now sported. Your age and harsh life showed, but you were still just as beautiful, just as ageless, just as perfect as he remembered. Still the same eyes that he dreamed of every night. 

You couldn’t breathe. It felt like all the air had been sucked out of your lungs and every nerve ending burned. You could hear your blood pumping in your ears, creating a painful rush like being thrown under the oceans. Every part of you felt like it was on fire. You couldn’t think, you couldn’t move. Slowly your shaking hands gripped his wrists and held him close. Your body tried to take a shuddering breath, but it only came out as a choked sob while you squeezed your eyes shut.

As the noise left you, Rex pulled you close, his mouth over taking yours in a passionate kiss, full of tongue and teeth. Your hands left his wrists and wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer as he continued to hold your face.

"Rex. I thought....I thought you were...Rex," you whispered into his lips between kisses.

"I searched for you, Cyare. I looked everywhere. I thought you died. I thought Cody.."

Your breath hitched at his name, making Rex pull you impossibly closer. You both stood there, wrapped in eachothers arms, crying, kissing, whispering love to one another, completely oblivious to the others. 

You weren't sure if your knees failed you, or if it were his, but one of you fell to the floor, taking the other with them, still wrapped in each other, crying and holding on for dear life. 

The Twi'lek woman quietly ushered the others, a man and a Mandalorian girl, along with the boy and Lessat, out. Hondo followed behind, a smug smile on his face, ridiculously proud of himself, giving you both much needed privacy.

[eddiemetalheadmunson]

THE DYING OF THE LIGHT, CHAPTER VI: IN FLAMES

TW: brief sexual/non-sexual non-consensual elements towards the end of the chapter (not in the typical sense, just being cautious). graphically described intentional self harm (unrelated to mental illness). graphic depictions of blood and consuming it.

Buckle up, kids. This chapter gets intense. Hope you enjoy! ♥

keep your confessions, ‘cause babe, i’m no saint / we’re playing with fire, but i like this game / and i know your devils; i know them by name / when you look my way, oh, i’m not afraid.

✟ LISTEN TO “IN FLAMES” BY DIGITAL DAGGERS HERE.

✟ PREVIOUS 5 CHAPTERS CAN BE FOUND HERE.

She’d hardly slept a wink since the night of the storm.

A week has passed and she still feels no closer to understanding or fully believing the story the priest had told her in his little living room as both of them faced each other from opposite sides of the room, a charged energy hovering between them. All she’s been left with is a terrible feeling of unease, as if he’d passed off the weight of his impossible predicament and set it upon her own shoulders. She staggered with its weight when he spoke of stumbling upon a cave-like structure in the middle of the Judean Desert during a terrible sandstorm, and what lurked inside of it defied all rational belief. Something ancient. Something that certainly wasn’t mentioned in any scripture she’d ever come across.  

She could see it in Father Paul’s eyes; the almost desperate attempt to explain it to her, but mostly to his own self, as something holy. A miracle, a gift, given to him as a direct message from God that spoke of prophetic divinity and an army of God’s holiest apostles.

An angel. That’s what he’d called it.

Forgive me, Father, for I believe you’re full of shit.

The last time she’d dipped a toe into religion, however shallow the waters of her attempt may have been, she couldn’t recall ever coming across anything like the terrifying winged creature he described to her in graphic detail. Demons could fit the description, she supposes, but why then would it bring someone back to life after killing them? Why would it shave off decades from an aging body and mind and let that restored body just walk free?

There was no lack of war, murder, rape and incest in the bible, sure. The slaughter of newborns and plagues and the drowning of millions, absolutely. Angels that both inspired terror and awe, yes – but the last she’d heard, they didn’t rip people’s jugulars out of their throats and somehow trick death, the only thing guaranteed to us from birth, into becoming everlasting life.

That weight on her shoulders had her knees buckling when he then confessed that he’d brought it back with him. He’d brought this fucking...thing here to Crockett Island, so he could share its “gifts” with others. Apparently, he’d already begun to do so, though he didn’t specify how. She humored him out of pure morbid curiosity at first, the skin of her wrists still tingling from where he’d gripped them to pin her down, asking him how old he was before he came across this supposed messenger of God. He saw right through her – saw that she thought him out of his mind and in need of serious help, and that she didn’t believe a single word coming out of his mouth.  

It rattled her, seeing the momentary despair that flashed within his eyes at her sarcastic inquiries, but still, he answered every question. Eighty-nine years he’d walked the earth when the angel turned back time and forced him to drink its blood. By the end of her interrogation, he was sitting with his head back against the wall, eyes closed, looking utterly defeated. The color still hadn’t returned to his pallid face, and even though she’d been across the room, she remembers seeing the tight clench of his jaw and the stiffness in his posture, as if he was still in quite a bit of pain.

It made her take pause, going against every individual instinct that was frantically waving a red flag within her mind to leave this be. Leave this be, get on one of the ferries and go home. Even still, that flutter of ambiguity kept beating its wings inside of her, keeping her from totally discrediting him until she’d learned more.  

Learned more of what? Haven’t you learned enough? He’s obviously not in his right mind.

But she couldn’t. And she was hung up on trying to understand why that was.

She barely knew him. She had no reason to trust him, man of the cloth or not. But she’d be lying to herself if she didn’t acknowledge the fact that this was different than any other relationship she’d ever had with a man. She’d never felt a connection so strong happen so effortlessly; there was something about this Priest that had a hook in her. So, she asked him for time. It yanked at her heart, the way his head had jerked up to look at her with such glaringly apparent hopefulness that she’d bit her lip and turned away from him, resolved to at least try not to run straight to the Sheriff after what’d happened that night.

Seven days ago, a priest had rescued her from a storm and then attacked her in his home.  

Seven days ago, he’d bared his teeth down at her while his eyes glinted like that of a wolf, preparing to dine.

Seven days ago, her life stopped making what little sense it’d managed to make before Father Paul had brushed his lips against her skin; one hand fisting itself in her hair and the other gently tilting her head to the side as she presented her neck to him like a lamb come to slaughter.

Maybe he really was a wolf in sheep's clothing. It fit in a morbidly ironic way. Priest or wolf, both were keeping an eye on the flock, seeking out that one little black sheep that foolishly strayed too far. The only difference between them was that a priest hunts for lost souls to guide them back to the light. A wolf hunts for lost souls to devour them. The thought sends a shiver down her spine.

Which one is he, then? Is all of this worth the risk?

It was, and very much still is, enough to run like hell. She huffs a laugh that carries only the driest of humor and rubs her palms against her eyes in frustration. She suddenly feels very alone on her couch after yet another day has gone by without any online interest towards her Great Grandfather’s property online. She slams her laptop shut and tosses herself back into the couch cushions with her arms crossed, stewing.

She’d inherited enough money to stay here for at least a year to try and sell the house, but she hadn’t anticipated it taking more than a few months. One month in and she has nothing to show for it. She has a brief realization that if it doesn’t sell, it’ll most likely be bulldozed due to its age (and let’s be honest, its ghastly location isn’t doing her any favors, either).

That’s not going to happen. I have time. I won’t abandon this place.  

This resolution does nothing to solve the obviously much more pressing matter she’d recently stumbled across. She’s had the nagging feeling since waking this morning that she should go to Father Paul, knowing that he'd most likely assume she wanted to be left alone to take everything in that he’d told her that night. He wouldn’t be wrong. Her mind was at war with itself, still battling against both skepticism and belief. If he was being genuine and somehow all that he confessed to her was the truth, she’d be standing by doing nothing to help, watching this island of people get picked off one by one by whatever it really was that had made itself at home here. She thinks of Pike’s leg that day on the beach, how something had torn into his skin in an attack so swift she never even caught a glimpse of it.

Slapping her hands down on her thighs, she nods to herself resolutely and decides to meet the challenge head on, hoping beyond hope she won’t pay the price for it. She quickly runs a brush through her long red hair, leaving it down to provide some extra warmth against the still windy island, and throws a big hoodie on over the black tank and dark gray leggings she’d been lounging about the house in all morning. After swapping her Hello Kitty boot slippers with her pair of white converse shoes, she steps out into the chilly evening, locking up the house before she begins her walk to Father Paul’s house.

The wind whipping through her hair feels rather nice considering the last time she’d felt it, it was accompanied by pelting rain and an impromptu dog rescuing mission. She snorts at the memory of plowing into Joe and realizes then that she hadn’t checked up on them both since the storm, too caught up in her own absurd predicaments to even brave leaving the house. She makes a mental note to visit them later today now that she’s finally crawled out of her coffin to be a part of society again. She’d practically made it through an entire show on Netflix in that time...something about a haunted mansion that scared the hell out of her and had her bawling like a baby by the end. One line in particular had her unraveling, and the ache of missing her parents and wishing she’d spent more time with her Great Grandfather while he was here was brought to the surface of her mind. A character from the show who’d passed away was explaining to her family, who were all still alive, how time doesn’t work the way people think it does. And there was something about confetti...

She’s lost in thought as she approaches the house, but promptly resurfaces from her deep inner dialogue when she sees that the front door is open, letting golden light from inside spill across the porch. She slowly walks to the opening and hears the sound of scuffling, and without thinking twice, she runs into the house, freezing on the spot as her eyes fall upon Father Paul holding Joe in a tight grip that could almost pass as a tender embrace. Except Joe was struggling against him, babbling about leaving and obviously panicking at the unwanted contact. Fear bubbles up inside of her as she runs to them in a split moment decision, attempting to shove herself between them.

“Stop it, Father! Just stop! Let him go – now!” She yells, both of them freezing on the spot for a moment before Father Paul’s arms slacken just enough for Joe to instinctively push him in the chest hard enough for him to stumble backwards, barely catching himself from falling. Joe turns to her, eyes wide and expression completely dumbfounded, but before he can speak, she shakes her head, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath to gather herself.

“You need to leave, Joe. Now. I’ll be fine. Please...just go,” she says as she fixes her gaze on Father Paul, that same expression of shock and fierce regret from the night of the storm slowly saturating his features while his eyes flit rapidly between her and Joe.

“Like hell am I gonna leave ya’ here! You didn’t see what he just – “

“Joe. As a friend, I’m asking you to go home. Give Pike some pets from me. We’ll figure all of this out tomorrow, okay? Please...” she reasons, turning to face him, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder for reassurance.

He seems at war with the decision, and she can’t help but chuckle fondly before gently tugging him towards the door, remembering the last time she was pushing him towards his home in the pouring rain. He gives Father Paul a look that brooks no misunderstanding about what will happen should he hurt her, then turns to look her in the eye warily.

“I’ll be stoppin’ by your house to check on ya’ in the morning, then,” he grumbles with a resigned sigh, slowly backing out of the door, but not before looking at Father Paul again with blatantly obvious distrust.

“It’s a deal. I’ll make sure to have a pot of coffee going, then.”

He almost cracks a smile at that, but instead he accepts defeat and departs, casting his eyes back to her several times as she stands in the doorway before he’s far enough away that she knows he’s really going home. She closes the door with a soft click, taking in a deep breath before turning to face him with arms crossed and back leaning against the door.

He’s on the floor near the fridge with his long legs bent and his elbows perching upon his knees, holding his face in his hands despairingly. Almost as if he’s hiding from the world. Hiding from her.

She decides without hesitation that she’s done dancing around the insanity of everything that’s happened in the last week and lifts her chin defiantly, marching over to him and crouching down to eye level, gently pulling his hands away from his face. He hisses through his teeth and then groans, yanking his arms away from her to grasp her shoulders, keeping her at a full arm's length away.

“I don’t have the strength. Not today. You need to go. I can’t — Lily, please, just leave,” he whispers hoarsely, and she can feel the muscles in his forearms coiling tightly beneath her fingers as she grips them.

“Why do you keep doing this, Father? Why does it keep happening? I’m not leaving until you give me some fucking answers.”

He does look up at her now, blinking several times as if he’s astonished that she cares enough to ask after what she’s just witnessed, but his expression soon twists into one of bitter despair.

“Didn’t I... I thought I told you last week...did you not understand? Of course you didn’t, you’d never come near me again if you did. I should’ve known not to hope –” he mumbles, his voice growing weaker and his posture sagging. When she doesn’t respond, giving him a moment to collect himself, he clears his throat lightly and opens his mouth to finally speak. She cuts him off before he can venture too far inside of his own head.

“Paul? Enough of the bullshit. Only the truth from here on out, no matter how – well, no matter what it is. I’m really trying, here. I’m scared shitless, but I’m trying.”

He lifts his head and his beautiful, dark brown eyes lock onto her green ones, making her pulse quicken the way it always does when he so much as looks at her. Tentatively, he manages a small smile that resembles more of a grimace, and lets his grip fall from her shoulders to lift one hand, pinky out, between them.

A surge of affection runs through her as her mind plays through scenes from last week before everything took a drastic turn for the worst. How he’d been there for her and listened to her. Held her hand as she told him things that she’d never shared with anyone else before. Saw the genuine care shining in his eyes as they concentrated on only her.

She smiles at him, and this time it comes as easily as it did before things went South seven days prior. She lifts her hand for him and he takes her pinky firmly in his own, sucking in a tight breath the moment her skin makes contact with his in a way that sends an unexpected jolt of heat through her veins. Her heart skips a beat when she looks into his amber eyes again, and there is something dark there, just beyond the sparkling flecks of gold that catch the light.

He grits his jaw and drops her hand, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. She instinctively puts a little more space between them and then sits cross-legged on the floor with him, hands patiently clasped in her lap. She’s not sure what to expect. But she knows it won’t be anything she’s ever dealt with before. She hardens her resolve and lets him take the time he needs.

He was there for you. You can be there for him, too.

“I haven’t had the angel’s sacrament for weeks, now. It feels as if my body is... is eating itself from the inside out. The hollowness is so sharp and so constant. But it’s...tolerable. The pain, I mean. But the desire – the compulsion that feels as natural as breathing when it gets this strong, is becoming impossible to ignore. Lily, I... I fear I’m going mad.”

Lily swallows hard, trying to understand how the angel’s “sacrament” has anything to do with him assaulting her and Joe. She understands the compulsion he speaks of, however. She knows it intimately and walks hand in hand with it every day. Perhaps what he’s actually experiencing is addiction to...whatever it is this angel is supplying him with. It would explain his delusions and his willingness to harm others, things that she somehow knows aren’t his true characteristics. No, he was a good man. Of that, she was sure.  

Can’t he just...ask for more of this supposed sacrament, then?

He chances another glance into her eyes and quickly ducks his head down from her gaze when he sees her obvious confusion. The silence goes on for a while until she can’t take it anymore. She has to know.  But as she lifts her head and opens her mouth to speak –  

“Blood. I need blood, Lilith. I don’t...I don’t eat the way I used to. I don’t drink the way I used to. I don’t live the way I used to. And I become more terrified by the day that the angel has abandoned me. That God has abandoned me. That I’ve failed to spread this precious gift He bestowed upon me to share. And now... well, I’m afraid I’m rather lost,” he chokes out the last of his words, and she’s startled to see that he looks as if he’s barely holding back tears. It breaks her heart, which is beating rapidly now at his rather terrifying confession.

“Okay. Okay, so... you need blood to... to what, to drink? Father, that’s – that’s not possible... and if it was, it doesn’t sound like a gift to me,” Lily quietly replies, eyes cast downwards and brows furrowed in deep thought.  

It didn’t make a damn bit of sense. He’d basically just told her he was a fucking vampire. The Twilight books drift across her mind and she has to hold back the nerve-induced laughter bubbling up from her chest. Now was not the time to become hysterical.

When she looks up at him, he’s studying her. His expression is pained, but a small, affectionate smile accompanied by a tenderness in his eyes makes him look more like himself than he has all night. She can’t stop herself; she shuffles forward on her knees and tentatively reaches out her hand. His smile promptly fades, and she sees the fear in his eyes now as they bore into hers with intensity. She swallows nervously and doesn’t miss the way his eyes dart down to watch her throat work as she does.  

Steeling herself, she places her hand gently upon the side of his face, her palm cupping his cheek. He sucks in a ragged breath at the skin-to-skin contact and jerks as if he’s been slapped. Afraid that she’s somehow hurt him, she moves to pull her hand away but he snatches her wrist as fast as lightening and returns her hand to where it had been, keeping his own hand on top of hers to pull her closer yet. He’s obviously at war with something inside of himself, and as she looks at his face that’s scrunched up with effort and his eyes that are squeezed shut tightly, something within her shifts.  

She believes him. Or, is certainly starting to. The realization astonishes her, rendering her momentarily frozen in shock. She doesn’t know why; the same reason she doesn’t know why she even came here tonight after everything that’d happened between them. Father Paul has proven to be as terrifyingly deep and as breath-takingly beautiful as the ocean, and the further down she swims, the harder it becomes to resurface. The less she even wants to. It feels as if an instinct that had been sleeping quietly inside of her for years was awakened the night she looked into his eyes. An instinct to trust him.

An instinct to have faith.

She knows what she has to do. What she’s willing to do, for him. Seeing him this way tears at her in a way she can barely withstand, and if she can offer him some relief, she’s certainly going to try.  

“Father... would it help if – well, if I gave you some of mine?”

His eyes snap open, pupils dilating, and there it is again. That iridescent, predatory gleam in his eyes that fill her with a visceral fear that snakes its way around her heart, squeezing it tight. It’s the same hair-raising, instinctual terror that comes with being the prey.  

A sheep caught in a wolf's stare.

He squeezes his eyes shut again, dropping her hand and gently, but firmly pushing her away by her shoulders.

“Don’t,” he croaks, shaking his head back and forth as if he’s trying to shake the offer from his mind.

“I’m just trying to – “

“STOP IT, LILITH! Just... just go! Leave! Now.”

She stares at him in shock, tears prickling in her eyes at how much it hurts for him to cast her away like she means nothing to him. Like she didn’t just offer him her actual fucking blood. Anger flares inside of her, sizzling through her veins and hardening her resolve.

“No,” she replies, sounding much braver than she actually feels. She tries to keep herself from fidgeting nervously.

He slowly lifts his head from his hands. A vein in his forehead throbs with barely contained self-control and the look in his eyes may as well have been a slap to her face. He looks as if he’d love nothing more than to eat her alive.

Before she can weigh her chances of survival, he’s crawling towards her with an unnatural speed and pinning her beneath him, holding both of her wrists in one large hand above her head with a strength that shocks her considering how weak he appeared just seconds ago. She feels one of his legs in between hers, his knee dangerously close to nudging against her core. Though her heart is beating wildly, she feels that instinctive tug in her stomach telling her to stay calm.

Have faith. He won’t hurt you. Have faith.

His free arm holds him up as he curls himself in on her like a predator until he’s merely inches from her face, their noses almost touching.

“Is this what you want? Are you so eager to die that you’d gamble your life this foolishly?” He hisses, his breath fanning across her face. She wills her heart to steady itself, and takes a deep breath, in and out, before allowing her eyes to flutter open and face him.

His usually tender gaze has been razed by something feral inside of him, eyes glinting in a way that would be rather beautiful in any other scenario but this one. The grip on her wrists tightens a fraction when she nervously licks her lips, and her heavy breathing causes her chest to brush against his with every inhale. She refuses to look away, knowing that if this is going to end with her throat still in intact, she couldn’t show weakness. This is obviously the worst the craving has been, and she knows that he’s right; it is a gamble. But she’s not going to give up on him.  

“Father... it’s okay. I’m here. Let me help you,” she whispers gently, watching as his body shudders above her in restraint. He shuts his eyes again, his forehead etched with lines from the inner battle he’s fighting and allows his head to hang low for a moment.  

“I can help you. We have to do it my way, though, okay? You’ve got to get ahold of it. This isn’t you, and you know it. If you’re going to surrender to something, let it be my words. You can do this. Please, Father...”

His grip spasms against her wrists, making her grit her teeth together at the sharp sting that follows. Something between a sob and a frustrated groan rips itself from his throat, and she can feel now that he’s actually shaking in his effort to hold back.

“Don’t give into it. I know how hard it is. Trust me, I know. But I have faith in you,” she tells him firmly, only able to see his head of curly raven hair from this angle. He lifts his head to look at her, tears swimming in his amber eyes and his lip curled in what appears to be an agonizing effort to not begin tearing into her flesh.

His grip loosens slightly on her wrists and she feels the instant relief of her blood flow rushing back into her numb hands. He doesn’t completely let go, so she, as gently as possible, wiggles one hand free to slowly but steadily push some of his hair back from his sweaty forehead, coming to rest against the side of his face.

“I trust you, Father.”

This proves to be his Achilles heel. His body seems to give up the fight entirely as his body sags onto her, knocking the breath from her lungs. He quickly pushes himself off of her with shaking arms to flop down on his back next to her. He’s panting hard, as if he’s just finished a race, and brings a clenched fist to his forehead in what she can already tell is all-consuming guilt. They can’t waste any more time. He’ll have to save the self-loathing for later.

She pushes herself up and stands, her own legs feeling rather wobbly after quite possibly skirting death, and reaches a hand out to him. He looks up at her, expression saturated in all of the apologies no doubt brewing in his mind behind eyes that shine with regret.

“Come,” she gently requests, feeling the nerves she’d conquered earlier with the aid of adrenaline start to come creeping back to the surface of her mind.  

He swallows and eyes her hand warily for a beat or two, but then takes it, allowing her to help hoist his weak form into standing.

“Sit.” She gestures towards the couch and doesn’t wait for a reply, turning to start opening drawers in the tiny kitchen area until she finds some knives. All of them are far too blunt, so she continues to carefully dig through the silverware until she sees the silvery glint of a small paring knife. Her heart stumbles clumsily inside of her chest as she picks it up, feeling doubt for the first time since she’d walked into the house that night. She glances back at him and his head is hung low, shoulders slumped as if he’s too weak to even sit up straight on the little couch. His hair is a mess, curtaining his face and blocking his expression from view.

She sighs, and decides, setting the knife down on the counter to yank her hoodie off, leaving her in only a thin, black tank top. A shiver courses through her body at the chill of the house as she balls up the hoodie and sets it on the counter, exchanging it for the little knife. She gives her mind no more time to dwell before pressing the blade against the skin of her pale forearm so that it sits horizontally; high enough from the tender veins of her wrist to stay alive and low enough to hopefully produce enough blood flow to satiate his need. She takes a deep breath in, letting her eyes close, and presses down firmly, sliding the blade through her fragile skin as quickly as she can. She lets the knife fall from her shaking hand, watching as the incision begins blooming a bright red. It’s almost pretty, in a morbid way. When she turns to check on him again, he’s staring at her piercingly with darkened eyes, his back now rigid and straight, and every one of his six senses zeroed in on only her.

She almost runs. Almost.

He’ll end up accidentally hurting someone if you don’t go through this.

She finds herself walking around the coffee table to sit next to him, his locked stare never wavering in a profoundly unnerving way. She tentatively sits down, pulling her legs beneath herself to sit on, and turns to face him, her arm now dripping her lifeblood onto the rug below.

“Father. You have to stay in control. For me, please, please try and be strong. Promise me. Promise you won’t hurt me,” she demands shakily, alarm bells ringing shrilly in her head that maybe she’s gone too far this time. Maybe she’s had just a bit too much faith in him. She’s not ready to die. Not yet.

He looks at her, however, and within the strain of desperate need coursing through him is a glimpse of the man she knows and trusts, just beyond the hunger. He can only manage to jerk his head forward in one terse nod before he’s reaching for her arm. She meets him halfway, and he grips her arm tight with both hands, yanking on her roughly to close the distance between his mouth and her skin. His lips are soft and warm against her arm, but she can’t hold in the small whimper of pain from the sting of his tongue darting out of his mouth to lap at the bleeding wound.  

His eyes slide closed in reverence while he laps at her gently, as if he's trying to savor the way she tastes, then outright moans in apparent ecstasy. Lily turns her face away from him to try and discourage the thoughts that are rapidly surfacing from the deepest parts of her mind. After a few moments his head starts bobbing deliberately with the motions of drinking and releasing – letting the blood replenish itself on her arm again before he dips back down to consume it. Her head is spinning and she feels a sharp pang of guilt when she realizes that his actions have her heart practically pounding inside of her chest, while her free hand digs into the fabric of the couch for purchase. The steady rhythm of his suckling sends pulse after pulse of heat searing through her veins and directly into his hot mouth.

She turns away from him again in utter self-disgust, but it does very little to slow the molten gold inside of her veins from slowly slipping downwards until she’s squeezing her thighs together. What started as a simmering heat pooling in her lower stomach is now directing its path between her legs in a steady current, making her bite down on her lip to keep herself from accidentally moaning aloud. She shivers as his teeth slide into the crease of the cut at its deepest point, causing her to suck in a tremulous breath at the pain of new skin tearing beneath his sharp, white canines. His following rapturous whimper turns into a long, low groan, causing goosebumps to erupt across every inch of her body as fresh blood springs forth under his teeth. She feels as if she’s on fire, burning hotter with every blissful sound he makes and every lap of his warm tongue that continues to slide across her tender skin. She lets him continue to take what he needs as the minutes inch by, her desire and guilt mounting in tandem with every passing second.

What the hell is wrong with me? What would he think of me of he knew?

She chances another glance up at him after a spike of fear reminds her that she needs to keep ahold of the situation and stop him from going too far. The periphery of her vision has started to soften, the light of the room bending in an odd way that has her squinting, as if trying to stare through a dense fog. The blurry border of her vision is slowly closing in, leaving a smaller and smaller window of sight, while, her hands have started to tingle and numb. The sensation quickly begins to creep into her arms and legs, and she concurs rather suddenly that she has to end this; she’s on the verge of blacking out.

“Father, I... I really need you to stop now...” She gently requests, and begins tugging her arm to free herself from his grasp only for him to respond by yanking her back beneath his mouth again and suctioning more firmly onto her skin.

Oh, no...no no no.

“Father Paul. Listen to my voice – you promised me. Let me go, right now, or – or I might die. Please, Paul, you’re stronger than this,” she says as firmly as her rattling nerves allow, pulling her arm back with more force than her first attempt. Without so much as looking up or slowing down, the arm that’s closest to her quickly shoots out to snake around her waist, roughly yanking her body against his own and shifting her until she’s straddling his lap.

Fresh panic sizzles through her body as she squirms above him, trying to use her knees that are resting on the couch on either side of his thighs to push herself away. He easily thwarts the feeble attempt, his arm wrapping itself around her back possessively to lock her into place against him as he stretches her injured arm upwards, his mouth still feverishly feeding off of her dwindling life force.  

Her head feels as if it weighs a hundred pounds while a ringing noise invades her ears, as if her body is trying to alert her that this might be the end. She shakes her head rapidly, trying to clear her mind of the terror slowly snaking itself through her entire body and wills herself to conjure up a wave of adrenaline-induced strength. She pushes against the couch again, thighs straining as her free hand pushes against his shoulder with all of her might. Just as she begins creating some space between them, he lets out a frustrated groan, slightly muffled from his mouth remaining latched to her arm, and promptly jerks her back down onto his lap with an animalistic grunt.

Her frenzied heart almost stops mid-beat at the sensation of her center being pressed down firmly against him, causing her to yelp in startled disbelief when she feels the unmistakable hardness of what must be his erection. Even with her senses becoming muddled and her energy steadily waning, nothing can hold back the choked moan that escapes her lips when he roughly bucks his hips up from beneath her to grind his clothed cock against her sensitive core. Her head is fuzzy with slowly dwindling consciousness and rapidly growing desire, and her heart is stuck somewhere in between, beating like a drum from the attack on both her body and her mind.

Get ahold of yourself! You’re going to fucking die if you don’t stop him!

Without another thought, she takes her free hand, rears it back, and slaps him across his face as hard as she possibly can. His head snaps to the side from the force, leaving him blinking dazedly and her wincing at the tingling pain that’s erupting within her hand. He’s still holding onto her arm, but his mouth is finally off of her now, and she feels hope course through her as he turns to gaze at her in bewilderment. She watches him grapple with his slowly returning stages of cognizance, his expression morphing into one of shock at realizing she’s perched upon his lap so intimately, then concern as he studies her ashen face and heavily-lidded eyes trying to stay open, then sheer appalment as he looks down and sees her bloody forearm still clutched so tightly in his hand that his knuckles have turned white.

She tries to stay alert as she fades, or just stay awake at the very least, but she feels the dark blanket of unconsciousness start to wrap itself tightly around her. Her body is both too hot and too cold, and her arms and legs feel as if they’re filled with static from her body fighting against the looming darkness.

“Lily?! What did – how – what did I – ?!“

He’s abruptly silenced when her far too heavy head starts falling towards him and knocks their foreheads together with a dulled “thunk”, causing her to giggle a bit in her delirious state. He gently takes her face in his hands and helps guide her head onto his shoulder, quickly wrapping his long arms around her securely as her body begins sagging sideways with fatigue. She hums contentedly at the warmth he always seems to exude, as if the sun lives in the lining of his skin, and snuggles into him closer. The muffled sound of his frantic voice floats in and out of her awareness as her consciousness starts to drift into the ether, while her eyes finally lose the battle of staying open any longer. Deeper down she floats, smelling both him and the coppery scent of her own blood before an ocean of oblivion opens itself up and swallows her whole.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Angelic.

Pairing: Yandere!Diavolo/Reader.

Word Count: 3.8k. 

Synopsis: You like being an angel. You’re proud of it, of your wings, of your faith, of all you’ve done to earn your place in the Celestial Realm. Diavolo doesn't mind your current state, of course not, he loves every part of you. He just thinks some modifications may need to be made, before he can love you properly.

TW: Violence, Kidnapping, Prolonged Imprisonment, Non-Consensual Touching, Blood, Possessive Mindsets, Slight Dehumanization, and Mentions of Non-Con.

Michael used to say only the bravest angels earned their wings.

It was part of the reason they were so rare, after the Celestial War, after Lucifer and his brothers took their wings and distorted them into leathery, spiked, perverted evidence of their new, tainted loyalties. You didn’t have to be the toughest angel, but you had to be devoted, you had to be dedicated beyond a shadow of a doubt, and you had to be brave enough to put that dedication on display. You were just a messenger, a servant to much more deserving candidates, but you still had a pair sprouting from your shoulder blades, just heavy enough to give you a reason to straighten your back, whenever you started to lose faith in your divinity. You’d earned them, and you were proud. You’d managed to keep them, and you had no plans to give them up.

Only the bravest angels had wings. That meant you were a brave angel.

It meant you could be brave enough to survive Diavolo, as long as you had your wings.

They were warm, too, forming a soft, white shell around your upper body, helping you to block out that unignorable chill that came hand in hand with the Devildom. It’d been a temporary discomfort in the past, something you could brush aside whenever you were asked to carry a letter to the Demon Lord’s castle or invited as a make-shift ambassador in the absence of a proper representative, but after days trapped in the domain, your shining sun replaced with layers of stone and rock, there was little you could do to escape it, and Diavolo seemed hesitant to offer his aid. His kindness had stopped at a silk gown, black and thin and just teetering on the edge of purposefully sheer, the fabric fine enough to slip through his fingers as he toyed with the hem, perched on the edge of your bed, edging closer despite your obvious attempts to melt into the headboard.

He said you’d have your own space, your own room, that he wanted you to feel comfortable enough to welcome him in willingly, when you were ready. He said he would give you time.

Obviously, he’d been lying, and you weren’t quite why you’d ever bothered to believe him.

The silence was tense. There’d been a greeting when he came in, a gesture of good will you hadn’t returned, but if Diavolo was bothered, it didn’t stop him from smiling, a simper tugging at the corner of his lips as he glanced towards you, attempting to catch your eye while you glared at the sheets. That didn’t stop him from speaking, though, attempting to clear the air and only making the atmosphere more poluted, as a result. “I take it you don’t care for my hospitality.”

His tone was light, jovial. Less of an attempt to coax you into a comfortable lull and more of a genuine fondness, regardless of whether or not the object of his affection returned the sentiment. “I don’t want to…” You wanted to go home. You wanted him to undo whatever spell he’d cast on the door and the windows and all the other exits that wouldn’t open, no matter of how many times you slammed yourself against them. You wanted him to let you go, but he wouldn’t. He’d already done enough to prove that, just by coming to you so happily. “I just don’t like it here.”

He dropped your gown, humming as he let his touch drift to your thigh, instead. You only pulled your legs closer, your wings tightening around you, attempting to provide another layer of reassurance. It was a futile pursuit, but still, you could appreciate the effort. “You’re cold?” There wasn’t a point in trying to avoid conversation, so you didn’t try, just nodding as he scanned over you. His skin was warm against yours, but unpleasantly so. Like taking a step too close to an open hearth and letting the heat become searing, rather than soothing. “It gets easier, with time. Angels usually have a difficult time adapting, but you’ll get used to it. And if you don’t…” He paused, his grin growing just a bit wider. “There are plenty of ways to speed up the process.”

Right. You’d almost forgotten. It wasn’t enough for him to just have you. It wasn’t enough for him to just keep you trapped here, against your will and so far from your natural element.

He needed to make you a monster, too. Something just as demonic and just as disgusting as he was.

You were thankful your face was hidden. He wouldn’t have taken it kindly, if he caught the way you grimaced at his suggestion. “I mean, I don’t like it here, Diavolo. It’s not just the cold. I don’t like being underground. I don’t like not being able to leave.” He wasn’t an oblivious man. He knew what he’d done, he knew how you felt about it, but for whatever reason, he refused to acknowledge your rejection. You couldn’t expect him to be kind, but you could expect him to be reasonable. “I don’t want to be a demon, or a fallen angel, or whatever you plan to turn me into. I’m just… I’m not supposed to be.”

“That’s one of the wonderful parts of having power, isn’t it?” It was a chuckle, a breath of a laugh. “I can help you change. With my assistance, you could be something greater than what you are, now. You could be a ranking demon, a name known and feared in—”

“Your servant.” You didn’t bother letting him finish. He was touching you, and you wished he wasn’t. The sooner this ended, the sooner he might stop. “I'll be your servant. Just as I’m Michael’s servant, now.”

Diavolo didn’t bother trying to deny it. “You'll my lover, as well. Isn’t that worth losing a few feathers?”

“I’m sorry, I just…” You didn’t want to be his lover, or his servant, or any role he had to offer. You wanted to be a messenger. You wanted to live a life you could be proud of, you wanted to feel the sunlight on your wings, and you didn’t want to give that up for the first crazed prince to take an interest in you. You didn’t want to give up your wings. Not to him, and certainly not for a prize so undesirable.

Your head lulled to the side, and for the first time since your arrival, you let yourself smile as you spoke.

“I like being an angel.”

~

Michael used to say only the most faithful angels earned their wings.

Only the most faithful, only the most trusting, only the least likely to be led astray by awful rumors and mortal temptations, by all the urges that’d drove so many of your brothers and sisters to abandoning the Celestial Realm entirely, trading it in for more forgiving terrains. You trusted Michael. You trusted every cherub, every seraph, every throne, every angel. Before, you’d trusted them to guide you, to correct you when you were in the wrong, and now, you trusted them to save you, to come for you, to do something to bring you home and as far from Diavolo as you could possibly be. You trusted them. You trusted them with your life, let alone your freedom.

And, you trusted that Michael had a good reason to wait so long to rescue you, too.

You were starting to lose track of how much time had passed, since you’d been abducted. It felt like two weeks, maybe three, but with Diavolo’s sporadic schedule and no sun to dim or brighten, you really didn’t have a way to be sure. His paperwork didn’t help, sprawled across his desk, all messily written notes and correspondences too personal to need dates or signatures. You looked regardless, doing what you could to search through the mess from your awkward position on his knee, your wings folded stiffly against your back. It had to be here. You knew it’d be here, you just had to—

On the corner of his desk, a letter with its envelope still sitting on top of it. A letter you didn’t remember delivering.

A letter with Michael’s insignia pressed into its torn surface. The insignia you’d dedicated your life to. The insignia you’d continue to dedicate your life to, as soon as you got away from Diavolo.

It would’ve been better to stay quiet. It would’ve been better not to say anything at all. It would’ve been smarter, but your mouth was already opening, your lips already moving, and before you could stop yourself, the question you’d been dying to ask was already spilling out. “Does he know?”

Diavolo hesitated, the constant scrawling of his quill going silent. Even then, he took a moment to answer, his tone suddenly much more patronizing than it had any right to be, for such a simple question. “Darling,” He started, his hand falling to your hip, rubbing circles idly into your side. “Michael’s a smart man. I’m sure he’s realized where you are, by now.”

“I know.” Michael had to know. You couldn’t take a step out of line without earning a lecture for your ‘disobedience’, most days. “But, you’re lying to him, aren’t you?” It was more of a hopeful thought than an accusation. Something you just wished he’d be kind enough to tell you, rather than honest enough to disregard. “He doesn’t think I’m… He doesn’t think I’m here like this, right?”

There was a pause, and his hand stopped moving. 

This time, he didn’t try not to laugh.

It was an awful feeling, his chest pressing against your back, just the hint of his weight forcing you to slouch as his lips ghosted over the dip of your shoulder, warm breath fanning over your skin at every chuckle, every wistful sigh, every painful word you couldn’t beg him not to say, not without losing your dignity, too. “What do I have to lie about?” You shuddered as he kissed you, the gesture fleeting, but no less repulsive. If Diavolo noticed, he didn’t seem to mind. “I’m taking care of you. You’re housed and fed and looked after, and you could be entertained, if I trusted you to wander out of my sight. He’s aware of my feelings for you, and if he asked, I’d be happy to tell him all about my stubborn little dove and spoiled you’ve become, with me.”

‘If he asked’. You were used to the way he talked about you – like a pet, like something to be adored and cooed over and cared for, but you’d be lying if you said something didn’t crack inside of your chest at that, at the implication that Michael hadn’t asked, not yet. It could’ve been a tactic, a strategy to guide Diavolo into a false sense of security. It could’ve been part of one of the many ‘greater plans’ your superior had always been so endeared by.

That, or he just didn’t care. It wasn’t like you were the only messenger in the Celestial Realm.

Diavolo must’ve caught your worried frown, the half-hearted, distracted glare you couldn’t seem to completely suppress. His next kiss lasted longer than his first, lingering against the nape of your neck. Temptation, poorly guised under the pretense of comfort. “Angels are fickle creatures, Michael especially. You’re dear to me, you know that, but I can’t say everyone is quite as emotional.”  He gave you time to respond, but you didn’t take the opportunity. You didn’t have anything to say, not when he got like this. “It might be a little less painful if you—”

“I like being an angel,” You snapped. It didn’t have anything to do with Michael, or his approval, or whether or not he cared that you were stuck in the same frozen, sunless hell he’d sent you to, trapped by the same devil he’d insisted that you see day in and day out despite your complaints, despite the lasting touches and the prolonged visits and that awful, possessive glint in Diavolo’s eye, when he looked at you. You didn’t care about Michael, not when it came to this. Not when you already knew what you were. “I’m an angel. I’ll always be an angel. I’ve never wanted to be anything else.”

It was the truth, but Diavolo only sighed, your wings straining not to lash out as he pulled you closer. Straining not to protect you, however necessary their service was beginning to seem.

“We’ll see.”

~

Michael used to say only the strongest angels earned their wings.

Strong in will, strong in mind, strong, whether or not you had any place on a battlefield. Out of all Michael’s compliments, it was the rarest, saved for soldiers and generals and magicians of the highest order, communicated in sparse bits of praise you felt lucky just to overhear. Maybe if you’d ever gotten your second pair, he would’ve said it to you, too. Maybe if you’d ever sought to be more than a messenger, he would’ve thought you were worthy of it. Maybe, if you escaped on your own, he’d smile and place a hand on your shoulder and celebrate your strength, your wings, your perseverance, you.

Maybe, if you escaped soon enough, you’d still want him to.

In your defense, it’d taken you a month just to get this close to the outside world, just to be able to see the Devildom beyond the walls of Diavolo’s castle, albeit still restrained to a balcony. It was brighter than you expected, the landscape below glowing with floating lanterns and glinting streetlights, ancient estates and modern stores standing side by side, a testament to the contained chaos of Diavolo’s domain. It was beautiful, even if you must’ve seen it a hundred times before. It was breathtaking, if only because it wasn’t the same stone and mortar, the same bedrooms and offices and grand ballrooms too empty not to come off as uncanny. You haven’t even asked for it, not unprompted.

It was a gift. It was a reward for your good behavior, not unlike your wings.

You pushed the thought out of your mind as soon as Diavolo’s armed wrapped around your waist. You’d wanted your wings. You’d worked for them. You’d never wanted this.

Still, you didn’t push him away. You wanted more time to take it in, another minute of feeling that humidity against your skin, another second of breathing fresh air. As long as you got that, you could ignore his unnatural body-heat, the feeling of his lips against the side of your neck, trailing towards your jaw while you bit back your usual complaints. That was his reward, for being such a considerate captor. He got to touch you, actually touch you, and for once, you had a good reason not to fight back.

Your wings had never liked to listen to logic, though. Despite your grit teeth, your white-knuckle grip on the low guard-rail, your right wing still plastered itself to your side, wrapping around you protectively while its twin hovered behind Diavolo, at your side, caught between the urge to push itself between you and a perceived threat and your commands to relax, fall back, do something that didn’t make your shoulders ache and your spine cramp every time you shifted. Fortunately, Diavolo seemed unfazed, only bothering to brush your wing away when it bumped against his back, reacting to every nip to your jaw, every brush of pointed fangs against your jugular.

He barely pulled away to speak, his voice coming out muffled. “I’m starting to think you don’t trust me.”

“I can’t really control them,” You mumbled, your grip growing impossibly tighter around the guard rail. Diavolo was pulling you closer, now, his hold not quite crushing, but still as suffocating as it’d ever been. “I… I think I’m just nervous. They start to get fidgety when I’m on-edge, y’know?”

There was a laugh, a peck the corner of your lips. You couldn’t stop yourself from flinching back. It wasn’t the most intimate thing he’d tried, it wasn’t even the most invasive, but the fact that he felt comfortable trying at all wasn’t a good sign. “Are you still scared of me, my love?” It was a question, but he didn’t give you time to answer, only tugging you towards him, his knee slipping between your legs as you were forced to face him, abandoning your railing and your only source of stability, in the process. “I think I’ve been kind, and you must see that I’m being patient. I’ve trying to be gentle with you, despite how cold you’ve been, since I took you in.”

A hand dropped to your thigh, and your vision tinged black around the edges. He must’ve been able to feel your pulse racing, but he didn’t seem disturbed by your sudden anxiety. “Only because I haven’t given you permission to be anything but gentle, yet.”

Something sparked in his eyes, a dark sort of fire. “I don’t need your permission for everything, you know.”

For once, you and your wings were in agreement.

It helped that he wasn’t expecting it. You’d always been passive when it came to action, too timid to fight back in any meaningful way, so when you lashed out, when you wedged a strong wing between his body and yours and shoved, he was caught off-guard, letting you go out of instinct alone. You didn’t bother trying to subdue him. He was a head taller than you and twice as strong, but you were faster, you were frenzied, and whatever he might’ve expected, it couldn’t have been what you did next. In the space between one second and another, you were on top of the railing, struggling to keep your balance as your wings stretched to their full length for the first time in weeks. You felt a hollow throb, a pang of discomfort, but you weren’t deterred. You needed to get out of here. You needed to fly. You couldn’t leave his kingdom, but as long as you left him, you’d be alright. You wanted to fly. You had to fly.

But, as soon as you’d jumped, a fist wrapped around your ankle, and you were thrown back onto the balcony before your wings could do so much as flap.

It hurt. More than anything, it hurt, from the new crack in your ribcage to the spot where something shattered in the arch of your left wing. You curled into yourself instinctively, a faltering whimper turning into a broken scream as Diavolo’s foot caught the bend of your fractured wing, still fluttering pathetically in an attempt to aid you. “I’m trying to be nice,” He snarled, but he didn’t sound angry. He sounded disappointed, exasperated, tired of you and your refusal and how little he seemed to respect either. There was an airy, exhausted chuckle on his part, then a ragged sob on yours. “Would it really be so awful to be with me? Have I really done something monstrous enough to deserve this?”

Yes. It was, he had, yes. That’s what you wanted to say, what you meant to, but your tongue refused to form the words. “I d-don’t—” You slurred, instead, only to be cut short by your own hitched cry. “I… I like being an angel, I don’t wanna— I can’t—”

“I know.”

His heel pressed into your wing, blood seeped from matted feathers, and something hot and agonizing shot from your injury to your brain. Like lightening. Like liquid mercury. Like fire.

You didn’t even have a chance to close your eyes before the world went dark around you.

~

You used to say you’d rather lose your head than your wings.

It was one of those stupid, short-sighted things people liked to say when they were feeling bold, when they were safe, when they’d just gotten something new and shiny and hadn’t grown tired of showing it off. Sometimes it was an arm, some days your legs, and when you were feeling particularly brave, you’d say your heart, despite how useless your wings would probably be without something so vital. It might’ve been different if you were ever actually up against a threat that wanted to take one or the other, but it still would’ve been your choice. That was what you were stuck on, really. You thought you’d get to choose.

But, you hadn’t.

Diavolo must’ve grown tired of letting you make the wrong decision, all while he tried to be so helpful.

You felt hollow when you woke up, lying on a bed you’d never seen before. Lighter than you should’ve been, sliced open and carved out, missing something necessary and warm and filling. Your throat felt dry, your eyes stung, and when you tried to roll onto your side, when you tried to move at all, it felt like every tissue, every tendon, every cell in your body was trying to tear itself apart. The pain was all-consuming, and it only seemed to get worse as you shrunk into yourself, your arms wrapping around your sides and your wings following—

Oh.

It was kind of funny, how long it’d taken you to notice.

You didn’t have to look. You kept your eyes shut, a cracked sob slipping past your lips as you tried desperately to move your wings, to lift them, to flap them, to do something beyond digging your nails into the sheets and cursing, panting, waiting for anything. The pain dimmed, numbing into something distant, something unimportant as you tried to push yourself up, but a strong hand clamped around your shoulder before you could make any progress, not forcing you to lay down, but urging you to, not giving you another choice. 

That seemed to be a trend, lately.

You tried to thrash. You tried to struggle, but Diavolo just clicked his tongue, the mild sound of disapproval serving as your only warning before he sat up, an arm soon thread underneath the small of your back and the bend of your knees, lifting you into his lap without the option to pull away. “Please, try not to move.” As always, he was gentle, hushing your weak protests before you could think to vocalize them. “Your wounds are still healing. It’d only be more painful if you tore your stitches, and the mess—”

“What—What did you do—” You were stuttering, stumbling over your words, but it didn’t matter. You were desperate, and you needed to do something. “I can’t… Why can’t I feel my wings?”

There was a slight pause, the smallest hesitation. You swear, you could feel his smile burning into you, as he started to speak. “You said you wanted to be angel, my love.” It was a crime, how soft his voice was, how tenderly he held you. A captor masquerading as a caretaker. A demon as a doting lover. “But, I couldn’t have you trying to fly away. Consider this a compromise, an alternative to keeping my little songbird locked in a cage.”

You might’ve preferred a cage. A cell, a prison, a chain around your ankle, anything over the strange dissonance that came with having half of yourself ripped away and discarded. But, Diavolo hadn’t given you the choice. Michael hadn’t saved you, and now, after you’d been damaged so severely, you doubted he ever would.

You liked being an angel. You really, really liked being an angel. You’d never wanted to be anything else.

You just weren’t sure if you could be an angel, without your wings.

[jaskierswolf]

My Contribution to the non-sexual consensual use of Axii ficlets! @elliestormfound and @hailhailsatan. Have some mutual pining. TW: injury and canon-typical violence

___________

“Geralt!” The bard’s voice carried like a siren’s call over the noise of the battle.

Geralt pulled his sword from the drowner he was facing and spun in a pirouette to lob off the next one’s head before it could attack. His senses focused and he searched through the crowd of dead drowners, looking for the bright lilac doublet that Jaskier was donning. He growled as he spotted Jaskier on the ground. He should not be on the ground and he should not be so close to the fight. A drowner caught Geralt on the arm and he hissed as he spun again to slash the monster’s torso open. He did a quick spin with his sword held high and ready but thankfully that had been the last one. The battle was over. He charged over to where Jaskier lay on the ground. “Jaskier! Fuck.” A patch of blood was blooming amongst the soft lilac on Jaskier’s stomach. “I told you to run!”

Jaskier whined. “I tried, they cut me off. Fuck, Geralt.”

Geralt tore apart the expensive fabric in seconds and inspected the wound as he pulled Jaskier into his arms. “Fuck.”

“Oh gods, I’m dying aren’t I? Geralt, I’m too beautiful to die!”

He was too beautiful die. Geralt agreed with that, but unfortunately, in Geralt’s experience that meant shit all.

Jaskier began to wriggle in Geralt’s arms, aggravating the wound and causing it to bleed more. “Stay still!” Geralt growled. “You’re making it worse.”

“I will not spend my last minutes on the Continent on the dirt!” Jaskier snapped and then winced as his twisting pulled on the wound. . “Oh bloody hell. That hurt!”

Geralt sighed and ran his finger along the edge of the claw mark. It was deep and bleeding profusely. Jaskier wasn’t wrong. If they didn’t fix this fast then Jaskier would likely bleed out. The image of Jaskier lying pale and cold in his arms was not one he enjoyed. “I need to stitch it.” Geralt muttered. “Now.”

“Won’t that hurt?” Jaskier pouted but Geralt could see the glimmer of fear in his usually bright eyes. His face had gone incredibly pale already and looked like he was about to be sick.

Geralt frowned as the idea hit him. “Maybe not.”

“Maybe… Geralt? What, what does that even mean?” His voice was shaking now, barely above a whisper.

Geralt hummed, trying to keep the growing panic out of his voice. “I can take away the pain, with Axii. It doesn’t have to hurt.”

Jaskier looked down at his stomach, where Geralt’s hands were pressing against the wound to try and slow the bleeding as best as he could. Jaskier choked and looked away. Geralt swallowed. His own hands were covered in the bard’s blood. It was a sight he’d hoped he’d never see. Jaskier nodded weakly, still not looking at Geralt; eyes closed tightly as he bit his bottom lip. “Do it.”

Geralt nodded as he made the sign of Axii. “You don’t feel any pain now.” He murmured quietly.

Jaskier’s breathing eased almost immediately and his face smoothed into a blissful expression. “Thank you…” He practically purred. “Oh that’s. that’s much better.”

“Hmm.” Geralt carefully laid Jaskier down on the ground and brushed his fringe from his forehead before going to get his healing supplies from Roach’s saddlebags. It didn’t take long to stitch up the wound, and he helped Jaskier drink a healing potion they’d brought for emergencies last time they’d encountered a healer. Jaskier had a tendency to get himself into trouble and Geralt had just known something like this would happen.

Jaskier wrinkled his nose as he gulped down the brew. “Urgh. That is. That’s disgusting.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “You lost a lot of blood. Drink.”

Jaskier grimaced but finished the last of the potion. “I feel fine.” He huffed. “Better than I have in ages in fact. There was this weird feeling in my chest just here.” Jaskier held his hand over where his heart was in his chest. “It’s been all achey for a while, every time I look at you, which you know, just isn’t fair, because you are so beautiful to look at.”

Geralt stilled at the bard’s words, tumbling from his lips as if he were drunk off his head. He knew that feeling well, it was the same feeling Geralt had when he looked at Jaskier, especially when the bard was off wooing barmaids and stablehands. “Jaskier.” He said in a low voice, a warning to his friend before he said something he would regret.

Jaskier sighed with a soft smile on his face and stared up at the sky as Geralt finished bandaging his stomach. “That ache has gone now. Thank you, Geralt.”

Geralt hummed, the ache in his own chest only intensifying at Jaskier’s words. “You’re welcome.”