#and the whole “as long as that bastard is still alive” thing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ponderingmoonlight · 1 month

Note

Ok this one might be weird but like the hashira men doing the knee thing?? Ifykyk THANKS

hehe we'll doing this

kny men doing the knee thing

Pairings: Sanemi x fem!reader; Tengen x fem!reader, Rengoku x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,4k

Warnings: it's not 100% smut but it's definitely not innocent so read at your own risk, it's getting heated y'all, not 100% proofread

for reference: this is the knee thing

Sanemi Shinazugawa

„That game is complete garbage, why are we doing that shit instead of training?”, Sanemi mumbles under his breath, his eyes set on the innocent bottle that rests within the circle of hashira.

“Teambuilding is important”, Shinobu explains briefly.

“And this is a lot of fun!”, Rengoku adds with his usual cheerful voice.

“Ah, I’m the one who spins the bottle next! Look, it landed on you, Sanemi!”, Mitsuri babbles.

“Yeah, don’t you fucking tell me…”

“Truth or dare?”

“I bet you’d never pick dare, yellow-belly”, you jeer from afar while sitting comfortably safe between Tengen and Rengoku.

Sanemi’s venomous eyes meet yours, his mouth twisted into a maniac grin.

“Oh yeah? Let’s make this interesting, then. I pick dare”, he announces.

“Okay, um…oh, I got it! I dare you to come up with the most creative way to get (y/n) to laugh within the next minute.”

“Why me!?”, you protest.

“Nothing easier than that.”

Faster than you’re able to react, he springs up, grabs your shoulders and drags you with him. You find yourself pinned against a nearby wall by none other than Sanemi Shinazugawa himself.

“W-What is this?”, you mutter, head already turning bright red.

“Making you laugh, huh? I know exactly what makes you laugh.”

His hand rests against your waist a little too long, eyes literally eating you up alive. And then Sanemi’s knee subtly rubs against your thigh.

“Just imagine we’d be here alone. Only you and me without those idiots. Me who takes his kimono off just the way you imagined 100 times already. And you-“

Your face flushes a bright shade of crimson as you try to stifle the giggle that bubbles up uncontrollably. You dart your eyes around, desperately seeking somewhere, anywhere, to hide, your stomach churning with embarrassment. In that instant, time seems to stretch, the spotlight of everyone’s attention feeling heavy and relentless. Yet, amid the awkwardness, you can’t help but find a small, rueful chuckle escaping your lips when he hits that sweet spot with his knee.

“I’ve won”, Sanemi announces with his knee still resting between your thighs.

“And I guess I need to leave for a few minutes”, he adds before stomping away.

“Me…me too!”, you breathe out while following him.

Uzui Tengen

“Can you just stop talking for a second? I’m having enough of your bullshit”, you jeer at the man you love more than anything else, your heart feeling like ripping any given second.

“Stop acting like this. That’s not very flamboyant-“

“Not very flamboyant? You know what’s not very flamboyant? That you fucking lied to me, that you made me look like a fool in front of everyone else while you were out with those women”, you now scream on top of your lungs.

“I’m a hashira, of course-“

“So what? Does that mean you have to stay at another woman’s side the whole evening while I’m at home, sick from worrying about you? Do you know what face Shinobu made when she told me?”

“Can you just let me e-“

“And now you’re standing in front of me like that, only making excuses! I’m having enough of this bullshit-“

“No, I’m having enough of this.”

Within the blink of an eye, you are trapped between Tengen’s muscular arms and intense gaze.

“You’re acting way out of line if you really think I’d do something this unflashy. You should know better”, he hushes between parted lips.

Heat starts spreading in your abdomen almost instantly. That fucking bastard who knows your body so well, who knows exactly what buttons he has to push to drive you insane. Gently, his hand cups your cheek while his skilled index finger traces the outline of your lips.

“You should know you’re my only.”

His other hand wanders right above your butt and keeps you in place.

“And that you’re all I think about.”

He shifts his weight, his knee now slowly but surely creeping up your leg seductively.

“Stop”, you whimper, your nails digging into his shoulders with every inch he moves.

“You really want me to stop? I haven’t even started yet”, Tengen mutters with low voice.

The second his knee rubs against your most sensitive spot, you feel like fainting and flying at the same time. If it wasn’t for his lips that now conquer your mouth without any mercy, you couldn’t hold back a heartfelt scream.

“You cheeky bastard”, you mumble between his lips while holding onto him for what feels like dear life.

“Please don’t stop…”

“Why don’t we move this to the bedroom?”, Tengen hushes and nibs at your ear.

“Oh fucking god, please just leave you freaks”, Sanemi screams from afar.

Kyojuro Rengoku

“Come on, (y/n), I know you can do it!”, none other than the flame hashira himself shouts towards you.

You feel like dying. Were you out of your mind when you decided on being Kyojuro Rengoku’s tsugoko? Probably too blinded by that oh so breathtaking face and physique. Just one look into his eyes was enough for you to agree.

A mistake?

Before you’re even able to steady yourself, his leg rushes towards your face again.

Sometimes it definitely feels like one.

With a swift motion, you manage to somehow glide escape the force of his leg, your back pressed against the soft grass before you maneuver yourself back up. Over and over, your arms, hands and legs defend his merciless slashes.

“You learned a lot, (y/n)!”, Rengoku praises you with that breathtaking smile on his face.

“Thank y-“

One hit is all it takes for you to lose your balance and trip over. You squint your eyes, desperately try to steady yourself with your waving arms. But you fall.

Directly towards Rengoku.

Directly towards the ground.

You land surprisingly soft on the firm ground.

“I’m sorry, are you hurt? I didn’t mean to hit you this hard!”

That voice is way too close, where is he?

When you open your eyes again, you stare directly into his face.

His oh so flustered face that is only inches away from your own while the heat of his body literally burns you alive in an instant.

“Are you okay, (y/n)? Let me help you back up!”

Kyojuro moves underneath you, is already on his way up when his knee brushes against your skin. Not anywhere, but there.

“Oh god”, you whimper when a wave of butterflies washes over you without any mercy.

No men ever touched you down there, not a single soul but you. And the fact that it’s him, the man you’ve kept an eye on since joining the corps…

Your head starts spinning, feelings all over the place while your flesh starts pulsating around his still resting knee.

“I’m sorry, did I hurt you?”, he questions again.

When he tries to move, you instinctively grab both of his arms in order to keep him in place. No, you’re not ready to let him go yet, not when you’ve been imagining what he might feel like for so damn long. You know you’re acting way out of line, that he’s nothing but your teacher.

But you can’t help it.

“(y/n)?”

His voice is now unusual low, pupils growing bigger and bigger with each passing second. The way his breath caresses your cheek, oh so kissable lips only inches away from yours while his knee, his godman knee, still rests so urgently against your sweet spot.

“I…”

You can’t find the words, can’t even form a single logical thought with his body resting against yours in a way it never did before.

“There is something I wanted to talk about for a long time”, he finally presses out.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You almost feel like fainting when his hands cup your cheek gently. Are you dreaming? Is this really happening? Your heart feels like exploding any given minute.

Is Rengoku Kyojuro really about to kiss you?

When his lips meet yours, you feel like exploding. You allow yourself to discover his mouth the way you always imagined while holding onto his uniform for dear life. Even if this is nothing but a dream, even if you might get caught, you couldn’t care less at the moment.

This is everything you ever wanted and so much more.

Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld

@froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso @poketrainer2270 @chaoticwinnercupcake

@lees-chaotic-brain @wordskeeper @polarbvnny @sugu-love @ryva @baku2345

@komelrebi-san @kentocalls @barbuse @sunshine7queen @lavenderdrxp

@yaninnaacu @hopefulbelievertimemachine @laurencrsnt @sanemifucker @blunderland

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cinnbar-bun · 2 months

Text

Monster (JoFoes x Reader)

Characters: Dio Brando (PB), Kars, DIO (SDC), Yoshikage Kira, Diavolo, Enrico Pucci, and Funny Valentine (sorry I have not finished JJL yet so no [spoiler])

Prompt: "He's a wolf in disguise / But I can't stop staring in those evil eyes."

Summary: Their "love" for you comes in many different, untraditional ways. Some more dangerous than the others.

Rating: Mixture of SFW + NSFW, but please mind the warnings.

Notes: Reader is GN! and no specific body parts are mentioned for them. Spoilers I guess for their plans? Reader is a human in all of them, Reader replaces Shinobu + Hayato's roles, not much NSFW for Pucci's part in all honesty, FV is a widower (no Scarlet involved).

Warnings: Toxic relationships, MAJOR power imbalances for all of them (maybe minus Kira's). Heavy religion mentions for Pucci (although Reader is not specified to be Christian). This isn't soft or lovey-dovey (but I can do one later), so pleaseeeeee do not read if those kinds of topics make you uncomfortable.

Word Count: ~4.5k (kill me I lost my mind writing this)

Read on my AO3 here!

Taglist (if you'd like to be added, fill out the form in my pinned): @adeadcreator @bruabbina @gingernut1314 @over--heaven

Dio Brando (Phantom Blood)

He most likely was pursuing you long before the mask ever took hold of him. He didn’t do it out of pure love- more likely it was for entertainment and as a chance to hold another thing over Jonathan.

Dio despises how Jonathan attempts to be friendly with you and often will do what it takes to turn you against the poor guy.

He doesn’t even know why he is so adamant Jonathan stays away from you, even more so than with anyone else. He feels a possessiveness towards you that cannot be contained or described in words.

He masks most of his disturbing thoughts and possessiveness for you underneath a facade of charming elegance. He’ll play the part of a picture perfect boyfriend for as long as he needs to.

But even he has to admit he has trouble holding back all these disgusting feelings for you. You frustrate him in a way few ever have and ever will.

Despite his haughty attitude over Jonathan and his eagerness to get ahead, Dio is actually grossed out by himself tremendously with you. He recognizes after getting wasted once again that he is just like his bastard of a father, Dario, and it settles in a gross pit in the bottom of his stomach.

It’s wretched, honestly. While he continuously acts bigger and better than ever to get you to fall further for him, he refuses intimacy or overtly physical gestures. Sharing Dario’s blood with this body makes him sickened at attempting to do anything like that with you.

Compared to his earlier brazen behavior, when he begins to get possessive and attached to you, he almost retreats and refuses to allow himself the chance at intimacy with you.

However… once he puts on the mask and rejects his humanity, Dio becomes a whole new wicked beast.

While he still has sentimental feelings for you, his aggressiveness grows almost tenfold.

Likes to have you sit on his lap while he strokes your head and monologues about his ideals or shows you horrifying imagery.

Blood. Lots of blood.

You’re the only one he attempts to keep alive and refuses to let the others feed off of. If you are to ever be used as sustenance, it is by him and him alone. He gets actively violent against his subordinates if they even think of touching you.

In this stage, he’s more open to intimacy. A bit more, but not at his full peak (we’ll get to that later).

However, the arousal he has is mostly fueled by his bloodlust and hunger. Feedings of you tend to occur after one of his many minions causes some chaos or he gets word of more destruction and feels a possessive streak.

He is pretty sensual, taking his time to showcase how much stronger he is, how much better he is now that he has become an undead horror of the night. But that sensuality is still layered with a hint of hunger and obsessiveness towards you that he cannot contain.

He’s less controlled about his feelings now towards you. His eccentricities make him more likely to just take you randomly at anytime without a care of what is going on around him. And he will verbally tell you them aloud now, enabled by his own inhumanity.

“I can smell your fear, darling. Your heart is pounding fast… tell me, do you desire something more than this innocent petting, dear?”

Loves to bite you and leave marks on you. He likes to have his fangs scratch against your skin before he sucks on that spot. His favorite places include your neck but also in more hidden places like your inner thighs.

Your blood is the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted. He’s addicted to the taste and savors it more than a fine wine. He has to remind himself to take it easy because as much as he loves your taste, you’re still mortal and he has to keep you alive.

Kars

As a Pillar Man, he does not think highly of humans like you. You are a mere mortal, and where you belong is below him. Hardly even worth a glance at all.

But for some reason, despite your status, he found himself protecting you from an encounter with someone trying to rob you late at night. He doesn’t even know why he jumped in to do so, but the look of reverence and awe in your eyes at his display of strength made him… intrigued.

He doesn’t hold back. He tells you everything, because, really, what are you going to do about it? You couldn’t escape even if you tried.

And now, you live your life as his human… pet? Partner? Servant? Thing…?

He’s very unclear about it. Some days he ignores you, and other days he mulls over his thoughts to you while he strokes your head.

Kars rarely ever gets aroused. He’s not a primitive beast and he’s very focused on his goals.

But, intellectually, he is curious about how you behave around him. He kind of likes the attention you give him and he recognizes how you’re affected by him physically.

One thing he’s super proud of? His voice. He knows how his voice can turn you on and drive you mad. He likes to get close to your and have his breath tickle your skin before he whispers words of praise for you doing so well for him.

“Oh, little one, you’re shivering. Are you afraid? Or are you excited?”

His favorite thing is to get you incredibly aroused while barely touching you.

Enjoys you riding his thigh- you look like a wanton little beast who can barely contain themself from him.

Kars likes you vocal, so that means you better be moaning, groaning, gasping, sobbing, and thanking him loudly. He doesn’t care who hears. If you try to hold your voice back he gets rougher to have you be louder.

Most of your intimate encounters will be him getting you off in order to humiliate yourself/hear you praise him. But in the few times he does find himself craving your body, be prepared.

He is huge. That doesn’t need to be stated but he’s big. Muscular. Strong. Tall. And he’s got full control of nearly every fiber of his body. As the perfect being, he knows he’s well-endowed and uses it to his advantage.

Some days he’s merciful and likes to take his time and prepare you. He’ll coo to you as if you are a mindless little animal (you probably will be after how well he stimulates you) and praise you for taking him so well.

“How precious. Control your breaths, pet. You can’t be this exhausted when we’ve barely begun yet. Now… relax yourself.”

Other days, he’s merciless and will use you without abandon. His cruelty and dominating nature comes out full force.

“Hmph, is this how you treat your new god? Beg better, or I’ll stop. You should be grateful I even deign to touch your mortal body.”

Although he insists he is not affected by your presence or that you are but a toy for him to entertain himself with, if someone were to threaten to harm or take you back (ie. Joseph/Caesar), he will step in and put an end to that foolish thought.

“It is unwise of you to think that you will take what is mine away from me.”

DIO (Stardust Crusaders)

A Dio fully in touch with his desires with little remorse or care. This new body of his makes him more confident and lecherous.

The many ‘victims’ that take up his bedchambers are usually fodder he disposes of quickly. And the ones that are ‘lucky’ enough to escape are very few.

You happen to be fortunately (or unfortunately) be his favorite. And being Dio’s favorite means many things.

You get special privileges almost no one else receives. Only you are allowed to caress and touch him so brazenly and easily, and only you can get somewhat mouthy with him.

He spoils you with fancier foods and drinks to fill you to your heart’s content. While others can argue over scraps, he gives you the opportunity to sit on his lap and feed him. And if he’s feeling nice, he’ll feed you too.

You also are practically immune to anything, so long as you keep remaining his favorite. If a minion tries something with you? Dead. Someone from the ‘harem’ insults you? Dead. Hell, a bird made too loud of a noise? Dead. He finds it hilarious to inflict damage due to his whims and somewhat twisted obsession with you.

“Hoh? Does it please you, knowing your lord is willing to go to such lengths to keep you safe? Now, what will you do to showcase how pleased you are?”

Most people catch on very quickly to stay away from you, lest they face an untimely death.

But it does mean he expects you to serve his every whim quickly. He’s so demanding with you, annoyingly so, actually, and he does it to mess with you. You’re his favorite but he will still be a joker with you.

He feeds on you often, but is in enough control to reign himself from taking all your blood. Sometimes he “jokes” that he just wants to drain you dry, but it’s up in the air.

Dio is pretty selfish in bed. Often he lays back and expects you to ride him, like a good pet should do for their lord. Go on, earn your keep.

He enjoys clawing at your skin and caressing the scratches he leaves on you later on.

Is not ashamed of making a public spectacle of you if he feels like it. Get used to him continuing to pound into you while Hol Horse attempts to give him a report update.

He takes his frustration and anger out on you physically. When he gets news that the Crusaders have foiled another batch of minions, he might go get his violent (and bloody) fill with a few random mortals, then return to you and sternly tell you to get on your knees. The stone cold expression on his face makes the room drop a few degrees and he will not talk much in these sessions.

Dio likes putting you in difficult situations for the thrill of it. Your reactions are always interesting, solidifying his interest in you.

He does admit that he’d probably never put you first above his plans (which he seldom talks about except when you two are relaxing after an intense night) and sardonically chuckles that he may enjoy you now, but it can all change if you stop being ‘fun’ for him.

But when Hol Horse attempts to grab you to threaten Dio, Dio’s face hardens in a way no one has ever seen before, and Hol Horse immediately aborts the plan. You’ve never seen Dio look that terrifying before.

He doesn’t speak of that event again, instead telling you to return to the room and stay there.

Expect him to keep him closer and have a tighter grip around you.

Yoshikage Kira

Hiding in plain sight has never been so easy for Kira after having his face switched with the poor sucker at Cinderella salon.

He could lie a bit longer, play pretend as a dutiful husband as this random man whose appearance he has taken.

He returns home to see you, the partner of the man he just took over, and he knows he’s in for trouble. He’s going to have to not only fend off suspicion from everyone else in town, but especially within his own home. He no longer has a safe space and it frustrates him.

He has never been in a formal romantic relationship, but he attempts to act ‘normal’, keeping some distance but still ‘polite’.

You don’t seem to suspect much- or maybe you’re just so happy to see some changes in your former husband- and always like to chat with Kira. At first he finds it dull and grating, despising how you talk about nothing useful.

But he can’t be too bland, so he’ll respond back. Usually one word responses and the like just to satiate you enough to get him off his back.

However, you’ll occasionally discuss a topic he is more interested in and then he’ll give you more of his personal opinion on the subject. Kira didn’t expect to find some comfort with having another person to share these discussions with.

And while he hated the fact his normal schedule before acting as your husband changed, he slowly starts to grow fond of his new routine with you. Waking up and receiving a goodbye kiss before he goes off to work has become his new morning energizer. Coming home to see the table set with you waiting for him makes the nights a bit more pleasant.

He’ll never really recognize if he enjoys this for real or if he’s doing this to keep up the act of a ‘good husband’. He’ll just let the days continue to go on like this while he loses the others off his back.

Although, one thing that really took him off guard was your heavy affection and sexual desires for him. You have nice hands, he’ll give you that, but he was so taken aback by your behavior. Apparently, throughout the whole night when you dressed up extra nice for him and made him his favorite meal and were complimenting him and swooning over him- that supposedly meant you wanted to take him to the room for some bed breaking action.

He honestly was so shocked that this was what your behavior meant and he had take a moment to recollect himself. Kira declined that first night because he truly has never had sex with another person, less so someone he was pretending to be married to. He was not mentally prepared for that to be thrown at him.

After calming himself down in a few days, he does attempt to be more physically intimate with you.

Yeah he’s mostly focused on your hands at first. He still doesn’t recognize if he actually loves you yet, but he won’t decline you giving him a handjob or stroking your hands over his toned body. And he’s always ready to be licking your hands.

After a few more times of these rather awkward and selfish sessions, he does pay it back and begins to explore your body more. He finds himself fascinated with how your chest rises and falls with every shaky breath and moan you let out. He likes the way your eyes roll into the back of your head.

His compulsive tendencies do appear in the bedroom, and he does let them out, but they honestly come off as roleplay. It’s kinda hot to hear your normally calm husband just huff and lecture you while he bends your body around roughly to ‘set you straight’.

“Enough of that. Seriously, can you not even put yourself together correctly? If you can’t dress properly, then don’t bother wearing anything at all.”

He’s way too deep into this marriage life with you, getting extra frustrated if anyone dares to disturb whatever you two have going on.

Diavolo

He falls in lust first. He hasn’t learned his lesson from the last time. Diavolo is a heavy believer in the concept of ‘Fate’, but he believes he is the ‘King’ who can overcome it.

Surely… ‘fate’ wanted you to be his subordinate.

You do a wonderful job, you never ask any questions that are unnecessary, and you never stray too far from what he’s asked. You always manage to get the job done in your own, unique way.

You’re his most trusted subordinate (underneath Doppio), and Diavolo can’t help but feel that selfish urge to contain you as a part of him forever. You’re attractive, so cunning, and so loyal to him- something that makes him believe you were meant to be ‘his’.

He’s run from his past for so long, but that makes him cocky. If you were to somehow lose his interest, he surely would overcome this ‘challenge’ and defy your fate, too. You’ll never know what hit you. Not to mention, he completely believes he’ll be able to keep you in check and under his thumb. He’s learned that much from his time.

So he lets himself be known to you, after all, good servants deserve some ‘rewards’ from their king, do they not?

He is a cruel man in bed, doing almost everything in his power to exert his control over you and dominate you.

Bondage, toys, threats, punishments, and even using King Crimson are not too out of line for this sadist.

He enjoys overstimulating you, loving the way you babble nonsense and tell him it’s ‘too much’.

The louder and messier it is, the better. Anything to show you who is the one in control and in charge, and where your proper place as his most devoted servant is.

He insists on a BDSM lifestyle outside of the bedroom too. Diavolo is not short on funds, so he’ll gift you an expensive accessory (probably with built in tracking on it) as a ‘reminder’ of who you belong to.

But knowing Diavolo, it’s a veiled threat. Fail to comply with his demands, fail to be entertaining to him, or worst of all, fail to keep his trust- you’ll be dealt with swiftly. Choose wisely when he ‘graciously’ lets you roam free.

He’s pretty giving otherwise. His constant jumping from villa to villa or hotel makes him take you with him and allow you some luxuries in those areas. You will always have a private suite away from the rabble and be able to relax.

Diavolo finds it sweet that you’ll trace the paisley tattoos/markings on his arm (sorry I like tattoos so uh-). He’ll let you do it for a bit, all while smirking down at you in amusement.

“Enjoying yourself, tesoro mio?”

Gets incredibly angry at the thought of someone touching you or finding you. Not purely out of love- but as a desire to keep you to him. If someone figured out your relationship with him, he’d have to swiftly deal with them and possibly you to keep himself hidden.

He does trust Doppio to escort you and take care of you, allowing him to be perhaps the only other person to see you physically and take you around wherever Diavolo needs you to be taken.

Surprisingly, Diavolo likes to listen to the opera and will play some records for you both to listen to while you both unwind or he is working on mundane things for Passione.

Enrico Pucci

A master manipulator who believes everything he’s doing is for your own good. He meets in the prison- you’re down on your luck, but you’re earnest and seeking redemption. How could he not want to give you the peace you’ve been searching for?

As the chaplain of Green Dolphin, he does get more access to you than others get, as well as allowing you the chance to take a break from your prison activities to talk or assist him.

He believes the chance meeting with you, you who was so pitiful in the chapel and begging for anything to comfort you in your hard time, was another mechanization of “gravity”.

It was simply fate to meet you, and it was fated that he had to be the one to save you. Perhaps this was a second chance at something he needed to do to be redeemed. Perhaps this was him seeing a kindred spirit within you.

Pucci takes it upon himself to offer you counsel or give you a moment of reprise. Once you two get closer, he begins to encourage more discussion and debate from you.

“Humans are powerless to oppose fate. Wouldn’t you agree on that?”

But Pucci is obviously not the completely helpful priest he acts as, as his more sinister and rough behaviors come out the more he is ‘pulled’ to you.

Pucci does continue to use Whitesnake as a mouthpiece, often to voice more ‘warnings’ to you so you do not get scared of Pucci directly. Obviously Whitesnake is just a separate being from Pucci, and you have nothing to worry about, because you obviously were not planning on doing anything to jeopardize Pucci’s goals or ideals, right?

He uses his authority and standing in Green Dolphin to get his way. Whether it is ridding of annoying prisoners or guards who bother you, or having you isolated as ‘punishment’ for perhaps doing something he didn’t like, Pucci will pull as many strings as he must.

Only he has your best interests in mind, and only he is the one who can give you salvation and the hope you long for. He is your ‘fate’ so long as you comply.

He has to admit, he is curious to get your Memory DISC to see all your memories. But he recognizes that would possibly be a step too far (he has some boundaries, he thinks) and attempts to get you to admit your memories on your own.

Incredibly attentive and will recall anything you’ve told him with 100% accuracy. It can be comforting and nice when you want to vent or talk to him. Do not think you can lie your way around him, though. Whether you’ve intentionally lied to him or not, he will promptly correct you and tell you to be truthful.

Pucci believes the Heaven Plan will save you and make you more willing to accept your fate. He confesses to you that what he’s doing will make you happier, will make you more free, and will make your tears dry up.

Although he says that, sometimes, when he looks at you, he does get those same feelings from before he met Dio. Those dreams of running away, running far away and committing blasphemous acts with you, much like those of the novels he’s read. He brushes them aside and counts prime numbers to rid himself of those ideas. He’s so close to his goal.

“Enough, Pucci. Enough. You’ve committed to this. You’re doing this for the good of humanity. Even if it’s hard, they’ll understand. They’ll come to learn to love their new life and accept their fate with a smile.”

Funny Valentine

Funny prioritizes public appearance and his goals over his private life. Despite Scarlet being gone from the picture, he isn’t all that distraught. But being a ‘widower’ does give him some sympathy from the public that he uses to leverage good PR.

And you are such a helpful assistant to him. You always have everything under control, every plan together, and whatever he may need quickly finished and given to him without him having to utter a word.

That competence is quite attractive to him, more so than your physical features (which he does enjoy and did catch his eye before).

He thinks to himself as a joke that he’d just adore having multiple copies of you running around the White House (and in the room) thanks to D4C, but he knows how dangerous it would be to play with your life like that. You’re so useful to him now, so he’ll care for you.

Funny pulls lots of all-nighters, especially during the Steel Ball Run, and that means, likewise, you are too, as his devout assistant. This does mean he’s more tired, but also more personable than his stern public face.

Sometimes he rambles about anecdotes from his time in the army or working as a senator. Sometimes he’ll tell a bad joke that makes you laugh from the fact that the strong president would say such a strange thing out of nowhere. But sometimes, he’ll admit how lonely it is, being the most powerful man in America. Especially without anyone beside him.

He takes advantage of the sob story he has to get you to be more vulnerable with him. And when you comfort him and offer him some help, he is quite happy internally that you did exactly what he hoped you’d do, but outwardly acts humble.

“How kind of you, dear. You needn’t worry about my nonsense, though. You aren’t on my payroll to be my personal therapist. I already stress you enough, as is.”

But you insist and who is he to deny you?

It doesn’t take long after that for your relationship to go beyond professional boundaries. A touch here, a longing gaze there- and Funny has to admit he enjoys the thrill of having a secret affair going on with his assistant right under the nose of the rest of the workers there.

And, scandalously, Funny is a freak. A really freaky guy.

Don’t get fooled by his professional nature and good posture that he displays for the newspapers. Funny is perhaps the most experimental and freaky man on the list, willing to try almost anything at least once (and it does give a good excuse to take you to his chambers).

He indulges in plenty of kinks; bondage, domination (whether you or him), roleplay, exhibitionism- it doesn’t matter.

But he will try to reign himself in because he is the president, even if he’d love nothing more than to have you on his desk and weeping for him. His biggest kink is roleplay, and in private, he will want to be addressed differently. This must go on at all times behind closed doors. Failure to adhere to his rules or attempting to embarrass him publicly will result in punishment.

“You little brat! Have I not been clear on what you were to do? Or were you hoping I would take matters into my own hands? Hm, since you seem to enjoy acting so improper, perhaps I shall reteach you manners. Lay down, now. I hope you’re prepared for what’s coming.”

Funny can look calm during any arguments he has with you, thus making him a tough man to debate. He is authoritative and believes he knows what’s best. While some backtalk is fine for the most part, after a while he puts his foot down and tells you to stop.

But then you two see each other after you’ve calmed down, and he holds you while apologizing. He’ll insist he loves you very, very much, but he’s just under so much stress and while you may have your heart in the right place, there are some things that just can’t go as you like.

Possessive when it comes to you, keeping you monitored by guards and by his side almost 24/7. You weren’t planning on betraying the country you love so much, were you, dear?

359 notes · View notes

jiminrings · 7 months

Text

fail-safe (2)

pairing: yoongi x reader

wordcount: 8k

glimpse: yoongi got everything he ever wanted and you've heard nothing about it, so you're thankful.

alternatively, yoongi reminds you of home in more ways than one.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale ]

[ a Lot of angst, brother's best friend AND single dad au, eventual fluff, a lot of yearning but For What, they reunite but at what cost rlly, jealousy, self-loathing, unrequited love (initial), deja vu but in the worst possible form, eventual redemption in the next parts ]

notes: i am So sorry for this .

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! even reading ur thoughts in the tags give me life :) | series masterlist

FIVE YEARS LATER

The trip back home wasn’t as rough as Yoongi expected it to be.

Somehow, there’s a huge difference between sitting in economy seats versus first-class seats, even if they’re situated on the same aircraft. When he left, Yoongi was irritable (amongst other things) to keep bumping elbows with everyone else; now that he’s back, he almost misses the ruckus in the cabin that’s far too cramped for everyone who could afford it.

Yoongi used to hate people like himself — atleast the version that he is now. He hated bastards sitting upfront in seats that reclined all the way back and ate off plates instead of noisy, flimsy plastic containers. Back then, deep down to his very core, he wanted that lifestyle for himself. To become bigger and better than he could ever imagine for the life ahead of him was always the goal.

Now that he’s at the peak, maybe even being the peak himself, he feels weirdly homesick.

“You need to bundle up all the way, Haneul. They’re gonna scold me if you’re not covered from head to toe,” Yoongi playfully chides his son, the insecurity and nervousness underneath his tone flying right over his head. It’s not even that cold, but still, a huge part of Yoongi worries.

He worries everyday if he’s a good dad to his four-year old. He worries if he’s good enough to be a solo parent because after all, he’s the one who has main custody of Haneul anyway. He worries and worries, but there’s nothing quite like the trepidation he feels being back home with everyone who has ever known him prior to all this success, suddenly seeing him come home.

It should be the opposite way around, that’s what everyone says to him. Yoongi had been queasy the whole flight back home despite the flight being one of the smoothest trips he’s ever been on in his life. He’s nervous to be back where he had been born and raised and he doesn’t know what’s that supposed to mean, except for the fact that he has an inkling of what the weight in his chest pertains to.

He’s back because it’s your mother’s 60th birthday. He’s back because her and Namjoon had asked him to, and he obliged without even thinking about it. Yoongi had offered numerous times to throw a party for the woman who had practically raised him alongside his closest friend, and even if Namjoon had backed him up on the grand idea for such a large milestone, she said no. All she wanted was for everyone to be back home, and Yoongi couldn’t say no.

Neither could you.

Yoongi is not the most modest person alive, but he is at his humblest when he drives the long way home just to delay the inevitable. He’s happy to the point he could be sick. He can’t tell if it’s the joy or the anxiety in his chest that makes it tighten, almost unbearably so, that he makes Haneul reach up to his forehead to check if he has a fever.

Yoongi’s home.

Not Los Angeles home, and not New York home. Not his home with a closet that’s the size of his childhood house’s living room, and not his space with the big windows and concierge downstairs.

Yoongi’s home — where the streets are narrow and the stairs are creaky; where this time, it’s all of him and none of you.

Enduring is different than working.

You’ve realized that the two concepts are drastically different as soon as Yoongi left, leaving you to survive the remaining years of your degree before you had to face the reality that you had to work to the bone for the rest of your life if you wanted a shot at living an average, food-stocked-in-the-fridge kind of life.

You didn’t know anyone who was connected to someone of importance one way or another, your family had zero ties, and you graduated from a university that raised more eyebrows in confusion than it tilted heads in awe. Your degree does havehigh promises as far as everyone in your town was concerned — it does and it should be, if only you were born and raised in different circumstances.

There’s not one acclaimed and high-profit company that would ever accept the likes of you. You worked hard and even if there were no exchange student agreements and Latin honors to show for it, you really did. You gave your best to graduate with a degree you never really liked and was only forced upon you, all for the promise of a future. It didn’t matter if it was extremely good or bad — everyone else just said you had to have one.

Your misfortune is what it is. It’s empty and haunting and the two weeks you had spent in the city right after graduating is truly something you never want to relive.

In hindsight, gambling the rest of your pocket money on a bus fare in your last day of job-hunting in the city at the time was a stupid decision. It was impulsive and irresponsible and everything your family scolded you for, what Yoongi hated you for, but it ended up being the single best gamble you’ve ever made, even above entry-level lottery tickets.

The same circumstances that held you back from where you’re supposed to head ended up propelling you to somewhere far, far different. Your degree became completely irrelevant, and the fact that you had nobody of significance in the city– no person to pass malice and gossip onto— made you a manager.

It had been a gamble to go work for an unknown entertainment company, much more a sinking one. It was an insult to have busted your ass back in your hometown, studying and working at the same time, only to work professionally in the city for a field that you didn’t even study about.

Your fate is what it is. You’ve endured and worked hard enough to the point that you had finally lucked out. Being the manager of someone who had later turned out to become the biggest actor in the industry, even in Hollywood, became your biggest break up to date.

Your way back home feels like an embrace you’ve denied yourself for far too long. You’ve mainly stayed in Seoul apart from the several hundred times you had to come with Jungkook for filming outside of the country, yet you could only count on one hand the amount of times you came home without anyone telling you to.

Coming home had become foreign to you as much as leaving it had become familiar.

“I’m near, Joon,” you hum to your phone, taking a quick glance at the cake you’ve strapped to your front seat. “It’s only us, right?”

“Yeah. Just us.”

Maybe it’s your fault for changing what us meant throughout the past five years, but Namjoon’s definition never changed. Maybe it’s your fault for not clarifying what he meant when you’re still kilometers away, when you can still leave, but nonetheless, you were cornered.

Us meant what it used to be when you were a kid in your childhood home — when Yoongi was still in the picture and you didn’t hate him for it.

In the grand scheme of things, you realize that Yoongi was right — nothing valuable was left for him in your hometown anymore. He was as right as you were wrong every time he went on a monologue of how he thinks there’s no problem in him admitting that he’s full of envy. He had been right for being bitter that there’s people who have and get much more than him, more than what they deserve, by not even putting a fourth of the effort that he does.

In the same way that he was right, you were wrong for thinking each time that Yoongi would soon outgrow his ambitions and instead, see things for what they are. You were wrong for thinking Yoongi would stoop down to your page, much less ever think of it.

Yoongi was right for saying that his stomach’s made of steel, and you were wrong for trying to convince him otherwise. He’s always had the appetite for more, the digestion of whatever life throws at him coming easy. Yoongi can choke down the reality of leaving Namjoon, your brother, who’s been buddies with him even before they could talk. He could forgo the only brother figure he’s ever had in his life if it means making something of himself.

He doesn’t get constipated from the reality of no longer having the homemade meals your mother would make that the younger, more innocent, and less ambitious version of him would literally jumps fences for. In fact, Yoongi’s palate craved something more foreign and sophisticated; not familiar, hearty meals served in dinnerware dulled from years of routine.

His stomach doesn’t turn thinking about how the skyline he said he’d never get tired of, wouldn’t appear in his new side of the world. The little, unassuming, and far too comfortable version of him who used to chase sunrises with his bike as a child and chase sunsets with his car as a teenager, doesn’t feel like he’d be poisoned if he were to see the sunlight in a high-rise instead of a run-down pavement.

Yoongi’s right when he said he had a tolerance because he doesn’t even get heartburn when you cry for him to no longer leave. You’re not in the position to beg him to stay (and you probably never will be) because as you’ve come to realize, he would only stay for the big things.

The only thing that would anchor Min Yoongi into place and dissuade him from chasing more is by being the most. One would have to be extremely significant, even bigger than Namjoon’s brotherhood, your mother’s impact, and what your hometown has to offer. You can’t even hold a candle to the aforementioned.

In Yoongi’s grand plan that’s as big as the galaxy, you’re merely a speck of dust that had the luck of hovering around him. You realized it back then when you blew over and fought with him right before his flight; right when Yoongi was clutching his one-way ticket, right when one foot was already out of the door.

“But the future that you want is not easy, Yoongi!” you gritted through your teeth, the grip you had on his suitcase too visceral that it bends under the pressure. Yoongi snatches his luggage from you in a blink, nostrils flaring in annoyance.

“Of course you’d be the first to say that,” he seethed, eyes wild and unforgiving. He drills his finger into his temple, inching towards you with an anger he had never shown before. “You don’t work as hard as I do, Y/N! You always settle. You always go for mediocre. You never put your head into anything because you’re too immature for any of this shit!”

“I’m not immature, you asshole!”

“Yes you are, you dipshit!” Yoongi scoffed, throwing his head back. “You cave and you bend and you let the whole world fuck you over, then you come running to me whining. You don’t have a passion in life, Y/N! You’re begging me to stay in the same predicament that you’re in now, what’s not immature about that?”

“When you leave now and decide to come back one day, Yoongi,” you spat with resentment, the tears that pour down your cheeks no longer out of sadness but instead, out of promise. “Nothing will ever be the same.”

“Good,” Yoongi clipped, turning his back on you for the last time. “Good for me.”

In the grand scheme of things, you realize that when Yoongi left five years ago, he also took the large chunk of your soul that had been shaped over and over again the entire time that he stood by you. He’d gotten his hands on the security and contentment you used to take pride in, weaponizing them against you.

You’re unsure if you have to thank him for that, the uncertainty being on par with the insecurity you had felt when he left you with his truth.

When you visit your mother for her birthday and see Yoongi emerge from your childhood bedroom, hand-in-hand with a toddler that looks like an exact carbon copy of him, you’re unsure of what to do either.

You’re not hysterical in the same way you stood before him when you even considered ripping up his plane ticket, but on the other hand, Yoongi’s inconsolable in the way he flounders before you.

“Y/N,” he says breathless, the lump in his throat even bigger than the tiny fist that grips his hand. “I… I-I didn’t-…” Yoongi tries again, his mouth dry at your appearance. “You came home.”

“I’m only visiting,” you answer, the curt smile on your face that Yoongi recognizes to be the one you’d give to strangers making his blood run cold. “I don’t plan on staying.”

You’re numb if that’s the word for it.

Your chest buzzes emptily the same way your fingers clench around nothing. You look at everywhere and everyone but Yoongi and his son. It’s nauseating to even think that everyone’s eating dinner as if everything’s okay; what’s even more sickening is that somehow, you’re willing to settle for it.

Yoongi is your mom’s cross-stitch project of a teddy bear that she hung up in your room one day when you were in school that you never took off by the time you came home. He’s a dent at the corner of your gate that could’ve only been made by Namjoon when he was practicing his soccer skills. He’s a Snellen chart that nobody really uses, stuck to the side of the refrigerator that you walk past.

Yoongi’s here, there, and everywhere, but you don’t question it. He’s simply there in your orbit and even if he exists, you don’t follow up on him.

You stay quiet at the talks of the sleeping situation because it turns out that Yoongi’s family had long sold their house. You never knew that throughout the several times you came down to visit.

Frankly, you’re relieved to barely know anything about Yoongi these days.

“You and Haneul can take my room,” you half-heartedly offer, not because it’s Yoongi who tugs at your heartstrings and demands your pity, but his child instead. The two, three (?) year-old baby (read: you’re too hesitant to ask what his age is because if it’s anything higher, then that meant Yoongi had moved on earlier than you did) you didn’t even know existed because you’ve completely cut off Yoongi from your life and refused to listen to Namjoon every time he talked about him, will be sleeping in your room; it just happens that he’s with his dad.

Yoongi’s awed at your preposition but he’s even more worried. He can’t tell a single thought that’s going on behind your eyes nor a single hint behind your tone. You’re formal; neutral. You’re detached even when you utter Haneul’s name and gesture them to your bedroom as if he hasn’t spent years and years of his life in your home.

“Where will you sleep?” he furrows his brows, his hand that had been rubbing circles on Haneul’s back faltering.

He’s asking because he doesn’t know anything about you at this point. He can’t tell if it’s the indigestion he has from resisting to talk your ear off at the dining table (like he’s always did when you were young) because you barely even spoke to him, or if it’s the overwhelming feeling of being back home with everything feeling familiar but you — either way, Yoongi thinks he’s gonna be sick.

“I’ll sleep at my mom’s,” you purse your lips, leaving him at that.

Between the yearning, demanding looks you get from Yoongi, the nosy and concerned glances from Namjoon, and even the guilt that you get from keeping all of your emotions from your mom when you used to confide in her religiously when you were younger — you’re drained. The urge to wash off all your anxiety can’t be done in your childhood home’s small bathroom. You can’t with the faulty water heater (you have to keep one finger pressed on the button at all times to keep it running) because you can’t even cry in peace under the either scorching or freezing water.

You can’t evade everything by grabbing a drink from the fridge that runs loudly as if it’s excavating oil from underneath your floors. You can’t curl up on the couch that’s become worn with age because there’s dents of you and Yoongi, the only two people who had sat on it the most every late night for years on end. You can’t romanticize any of the things in your home that have brought you joy all your life at this point in time.

To sleep under the same roof with your mother and brother again after so long feels foreign. It’s a language you can perceive but can’t translate and the frustration that comes with it seeps into your bones. There must be some common ground between the three of you; it should be anything and everything. With Namjoon being a world-renowned football player and you being somewhat accomplished and decorated in your field, you’ve managed to retire your mom early.

The three of you are doing fine. Not one interaction in the past five years has ever felt this tense and unfamiliar, but if you could pick just the odd one out, the very reason why you feel like falling to the floor and crawling your way out of your own home because you feel like you don’t belong to it — it’s Yoongi.

You feel awkward in your own four walls, whereas Yoongi finds your nightlight that you keep tucked in your closet without breaking a sweat.

Namjoon tugs you right when you’re about to call it a day in your mom’s room, his hushed whispers taking you back to when he pleaded for you not to rat them out whenever he and Yoongi crashed at the couch drunk.

“Give them this,” he shoves the can of bug spray into your hands, your immediate reaction making him wrestle with you just to push you closer to your own bedroom.

“No, Joon. You give it.”

“Y/N, no. You give it,” he whines, purposely having given Yoongi extra sheets and blankets earlier without the bug spray so you’d have something to take to him.

“I don’t wanna see Yoongi,” you whisper, trying to pathetically regain your footing even if you know your attempts go futile against an athlete for a brother.

“You think I don’t know that?” he snarks, giving you one last shove with a stern finger. “We’re gonna talk about whatever the hell happened between you and him, but right now, you’re gonna offer him bug spray like the gracious hosts that we are!”

You crash too far to your door that it could be mistaken as a knock, making you hiss because you know you can’t retract it. You actually knock this time, being met with nothing but a quiet Yoongi behind your own door.

Even when he opens it fully, even when it’s your own room — you enter hesitantly.

Yoongi’s already made a home out of your room. He knew where your nightlight was, knew which good extension cord (that didn’t spark every time it shifted) to plug into the wall, and even knew where you kept the magazine that you had to wedge between your windows whenever they didn’t fully close.

“Namjoon told me to give you this,” you put your hand out, looking at everything but Yoongi. You could look at Haneul who’s sprawled in the middle of the bed, but it isn’t any different than looking at his dad himself.

Yoongi, on the other hand, can’t see anything but you. He feels like an intruder who just happened to know the confines of your life almost better than his own, holding bug spray and the remainder of whatever recognition you have left for him.

“Will we ever be alright?” he whispers, not for the sake of keeping Haneul asleep, but for the sake of his sanity. If he makes his voice any louder, he’ll spill all his grievances and question if he had ever meant anything to you.

“We’ve always been alright,” you smile tightly, wrapping your hands around your back.

“You know what I’m talking about,” he pleads, swallowing the lump in his throat. “When did you ever give me bug spray? When did you have to knock on my door, o-or when did you ever have to treat me like I’m some guest and not a huge part of your life?” Yoongi stumbles over his words, correcting himself with a huff. “Most of your life.”

The sarcasm that coats the last of his words makes you twitch, the clench in your jaw being unmistakeable. Yoongi almost forgot what you looked like whenever you argued with him — talked to him, even. “Why are you only bitching about this to me and not to Namjoon? He’s the one who told me to give you the bug spray.”

“This is not about the bug spray!”

“What is it about then? Is this, is this some sort of long-winded euphemism that involves bug spray? What is it Yoongi, are you gonna hound me for an essay about it?” you spit, exhaling heavily. Haneul twitches in his sleep from the corner of your eye. “You grew up and so did I.”

Yoongi flinches like you’ve shot him.

“Don’t do this to me, kid. Don’t do this to us.”

You flinch because anything is better than to have him dig up his old nickname for you as if he’s close; as if he’s still the Yoongi that you chased, as if you’re still the Y/N he looked out for.

“Don’t call me that.”

( ♡ )

Yoongi’s in the kitchen with your mom.

He looks domestic this way, hair tousled and pajamas loose. Even if you have unbridled internet access (courtesy of the high-speed package you split with Namjoon for your mom even if the most she does online is repost motivational quotes, reels of Namjoon and his team, and clips of Jungkook where you’re seen), you can’t muster the courage to search Yoongi’s name and what he’s made of himself.

You’re too scared to search up articles about his success as a producer because if you do, you’re terrified by the thought of accidentally clicking a link that leads you to a page of him and his ex-wife.

You’re too weak to search up the songs he’s had a hand in (that is if you hadn’t heard them before) because you fear that if you even listen for a single second, you might hear how perfect his life has been ever since he left behind everything that he’s ever known.

Even now, you’re too uneasy at the sight of him. He’s in your home and he looks like the version of himself that had never left. The Yoongi in front of you, sitting on your seat at the dining table and peeling tangerines with your mom, resembles the Yoongi that would top off your glass with water whenever you ate with him.

It’s as if you’ve always been in touch for the past five years; it’s as if Yoongi has never aged and you never drifted apart.

“You’re awake,” he remarks, greeting you first before your mom could even register your presence.

“You’re still here,” you reply, the exhale that leaves you making you deflate in reflection. Breakfast isn’t ready yet, but Yoongi’s already slid over a plate to you.

“There. Just how you like them.”

There’s tangerines with barely any pith on them, and iced tea that had more ice cubes in them than there are in the freezer.

Yoongi smiles at you like you’re the old you again; the one who is more forgiving, and the one who is more hopeful.

( ♡ )

If it wasn’t for your brother guilt-tripping you into joining the impromptu road trip, you never would have come.

You didn’t want to come with them in the first place because the very thought of hanging out with Namjoon and Yoongi like old times, this time with the addition of the latter’s son, was too close; too familial. The three already knew each other and had kept in touch and you’re the odd one out. You’re the only planet out of the system and once you’ve come to think of it, that bit of their galaxy never failed. Whether you were in it or not didn’t matter — atleast that’s what you thought.

Yoongi got everything he ever wanted and you’ve heard nothing about it.

You blocked his number and on every social media account he had to his name. Even with Namjoon as a prominent variable, you’re amazed to how you’ve heard little to nothing about Yoongi ever since he left your hometown. You still talked to your brother, of course, but there was an obvious difference to how your conversations went because none of them ever went to Yoongi.

You didn’t tell him to not talk about Yoongi at all. You didn’t instruct him to never utter a single word about his closest friend whom you also grew up with. You never told Namjoon anything concerning Yoongi and what unfolded between the two of you before you left, and yet, it’s almost as if he had already been in your mind and knew exactly what to do.

You’ve come to realize that the prospect of growing up never used to be in your cards. The whole concept of it sat at the very back of your mind, the only times you used to pay attention to it being whenever Yoongi picked at your brain.

You thought your world would have ended when you were 19. You didn’t think you would grow up and see past high school. You didn’t think you would finish college, much less pick a degree to pursue in the first place. You didn’t think of having a future — you didn’t think you’d be living it now in this way.

“Joon,” you mutter, voice barely being heard at the expanse of the balcony you’re in. It’s his balcony in his vacation house he barely stays in, overlooking the waves by the beach he isn’t even that fond of to begin with.

Yoongi and Haneul are already asleep, the father-son duo knocking out way ahead than everyone else. They stayed with the two of you in the balcony hours ago, the bug spray in both the adult and kid edition being proof of it.

Tonight, alone, felt different. It’s as if the younger version of you was gazing out to what was supposed to be your future, except neither the past nor present variant of you could have ever had it for yourself.

“Hm?” he hums, sipping the last of his drink while he’s sat at the far end. You know about each other’s presence, and while years ago, the two of you would’ve been giddy staying in a house as grand as this whilst drinking behind your mom’s back, you and Namjoon grew up. You didn’t fight or anything — you simply grew up and grew apart.

“I never said it before, but thank you,” you exhale, clenching Haneul’s towel as you try to warm your hands. You may have spent the better part of the day not even acknowledging his dad, but you did fawn over him like you would with any other child. “Thank you for not telling me a thing about Yoongi.”

“You’re welcome,” Namjoon finally speaks as soon as he grasps what you were talking about, the smile on his face only lasting for a second. “If it were up to me though, I would have told you everything.”

“Good thing it’s not up to you, hm?” you laugh uneasily, running your hand through your hair. You didn’t know how much you had to be grateful for until Yoongi came back and reminded you of how little you knew about him.

Namjoon breathlessly laughs, looking up at the sky to try and condense everything that has happened through his words before you leave again. “I would have told you that he confessed what happened that time you ran away from home a couple years back, and I beat his ass. We didn’t talk for like, I don’t know, three months? Even when I was still training in the US that time.”

Your lack of a reply is what makes him take notice, the stunned look you have on your face making him snort.

“What?” he questions, eyebrows furrowed as he throws a stray bottle cap at you. “Why are you so shocked? I love him like a brother, but you’re my actual sister,” he confides his loyalty to you, yet you don’t even have a second to express your awe before he opens his mouth again. “I would have told you that I became the best man at his wedding. Even mom was there.”

“You can stop telling me these things now.”

Namjoon exhales, already feeling deep in his chest that you’re gearing up to leave. He wants to get the last word in, not to prove himself, but to try and vindicate you and the quiet suffering you endured without telling anyone.

“I would have told you that Yoongi kept trying to come back to you.”

( ♡ )

Haneul wakes up before Yoongi does.

You’re confused for a second because the moment you hear the lightest footsteps that you ever could pad along the kitchen, you become completely disoriented. There’s a child that looks like Yoongi, wandering off to where you are.

For the briefest second, your heart drops because the whole situation resembles a vignette. In another lifetime, it could’ve been your child, your Haneul, waking up before his dad, trudging to the kitchen where you are is if you’re his mom.

He’s an observant kid, far too trusting unlike his dad who used to scold you to hell and back for even entertaining strangers that asked you for directions. He’s friendly to you; to someone Yoongi had introduced as appa’s close friend. There isn’t even a single hint in how he introduced you to Haneul that the two of you stopped being close. Yoongi didn’t leave the faintest indicator to him that you most probably hated his guts and would probably choose a lifetime where he hadn’t even been in your life at all.

Haneul is innocent to yours and Yoongi’s history and it’s going to stay that way. You don’t meant to change whatever he introduced you as because by the time your mom’s birthday week is over, or by the time Yoongi takes the hint and leaves your hometown again, you would be a fleeting persona in Haneul’s life.

You’re not his mom. You’re not anyone of significance to either him and his dad.

“Good morning,” he greets shyly, his diction telling of how just attentive Yoongi is as a dad. You mostly listened to whatever Namjoon told you last night anyway, tuning out the parts where he rounded to how Yoongi had been miserable not having any contact with you (you don’t believe that at all), and instead zeroing in on the large details that you’ve missed. “Auntie.”

You smile tightly, patting the empty seat beside to you to which he climbs effortlessly.

Haneul doesn’t know you, but you do know him. You know that his dad is a doting, slightly paranoid one whose current dilemma is whether or not enrolling him in kindergarten early or waiting for one more year. You know that Yoongi doesn’t want him to know about the existence of iPads for probably ever, so he spends almost every waking moment talking to him to the point that Haneul’s eloquent at speaking for his age. You also know that Namjoon’s his godfather, and that he had looked after him for a whole day by himself when Yoongi went to settle his divorce.

Haneul doesn’t know you, but you know his parents. You know Yoongi is his dad, and more importantly, that Hyewon is his mom — the same Hyewon who had been with him in your room before, and the same woman Yoongi shared his success with when he made it big.

“Hi,” you greet him softly, handing him his bottle for him to drink from. It’s a warm, domestic vignette for a split second. You’ve watched Yoongi far too many times at the corner of your eye to know where he gets the distilled water. “Why are you up already?”

“Uncle Joonie promised yesterday we can watch the sunrise together,” he says in between sips, letting you comb his hair into order unconsciously. You didn’t even think of it before your hand sweeps the strands scattered on his forehead, the hum you have at the back of your throat pausing when you realized what you’ve done.

“He’s still sleeping right now. He had uh, a long night,” you mutter, at a loss for a child-friendly alternative word for hangover. You keep your hands to yourself because you fear falling into the domesticity that isn’t yours to relax into; if you think about it for a second longer, you’d think that Haneul is yours and Yoongi is the final piece to your puzzle.

“Oh. But I, I wanna watch,” Haneul frowns, brows softly furrowed at your revelation. He’s not close to throwing a tantrum, but the upset expression on his face keeps tugging at your heart to cave.

“You can take your dad with you,” you offer, willing to knock on Yoongi’s door if it meant his son smiling again.

Haneul shakes his head at that, looking up at the ceiling as he recalls the events of last night before being tucked in. “Nuh-uh. Appa had a long night too. He just kept crying.”

A part of you wishes that Haneul didn’t speak so clearly.

“What?” you clarify, heart skipping a beat the more you replay his words in your head.

“Crying?” Haneul repeats, tilting his head as he tries to figure you out. He says it again for a third time as if you needed any clarification of the word and not because of your disbelief that his dad was capable of it. “Like this,” he adds, pretending to bawl with his hands wiping at his eyes.

The scene before you is your brief moment of reprieve, making you chuckle breathlessly as you try to regain your senses. Whether or not Haneul was sure of what he was saying, if Yoongi had cried, it’s most probably not because of anything that has to do with you.

“Oh. So that’s what it means. Thank you, Haneul,” you laugh lowly, patting him on the head until you retract your hand again in realization.

Haneul thinks nothing of your trepidation; he thinks nothing of the yearning behind your eyes, and thinks nothing of the tremble in your voice.

“Can we watch the sunrise together?” he asks, eyes looking up at you as if doing so would be the equivalent of hanging the stars up for him in the sky.

(Read: it probably is, and in another lifetime, or in the far-shot that it happens in this one, you’d do it if he asks you to do so.)

You want to ask Haneul why it’s you who he wants to accompany him, but you don’t. You can wake up either Yoongi and Namjoon to go with him instead, but you won’t.

In another lifetime, this would have been your son, your Haneul asking to watch the sunrise with you. There’s a Yoongi-shaped hole and a Haneul-shaped vacancy in your chest, but you don’t prod about it further.

You don’t question what’s happening, and maybe, just maybe, there’s a tiny part of you that wants to fully accept it instead of hesitating to do so.

“Okay.”

Haneul puts his hand in yours, but you don’t pull away. You just hold him tighter.

( ♡ )

A large part of you forgot that for as long as Yoongi’s here, he’ll treat every interaction you have with Namjoon as an open invitation for him. He had always been this way; for as long as you could remember, he’ll include himself even if he isn’t needed nor wanted.

You can’t count the amount of times your mom had berated Namjoon for something and oddly enough, Yoongi also happened to be there. Whether it was to rat out on his own best friend or being at the receiving end of said scolding, Yoongi jumped at every opportunity to come along as a package deal.

When you asked Namjoon to drink with you at the balcony two days ago, Yoongi butted in and asked what brand of alcohol he should buy you at the convenience store. When you were on the way home and asked your brother what he wanted from the rest stop, Yoongi said he wanted the biggest can of coffee you could find.

And when you asked Namjoon what time you should come to the stadium to watch him practice, Yoongi said he’ll pack you an extra cap while Haneul bonded with your mom.

Sometime long ago, you and Yoongi saw each other eye to eye. You can’t determine when and how exactly, but there was a point in your life where everything you had to say to each other was what the other was thinking all along. Nowadays, you can’t even look at Yoongi in the eye while all he wanted was for you to return his gaze.

If there’s just one thing though, one single variable that remained unchanged between the two of you, it would be Namjoon.

The way Yoongi engages you in conversation this time around is not to trap you and to ramp himself up to apologize again, but purely, it’s to talk about your brother. Namjoon’s a lot of things, and one thing you pray would remain unchanged is the love you have for each other.

“Who would have thought, right?” Yoongi nudges, asking you sincerely. “Who would have thought that the Namjoon who had knockoff cleats years ago would become this world-famous athlete?” he chuckles, shaking his head as he once again tries to digest the fact that this very stadium in your hometown had been built and refashioned in his honor.

You laugh genuinely, the sound being the first he’s ever heard in such a long time.

“Abibas.”

Yoongi has his lips parted, shocked that you were even answering him.

“Abibas. That was the brand of his knockoff cleats,” you chuckle, bowing your head as you try to contain your laughter. “He could’ve bought the original with his allowance and everything, but he split it so he could also buy me knockoffs.”

Yoongi laughs at the memory you jog up in his mind, remembering distinctly how Namjoon kept asking for his opinion repeatedly on which colorway of the knockoff pair he should gift you.

Even if things are still tense between you, even if Namjoon is the only salvation that Yoongi could bring up in a conversation to which you don’t run from, nothing from the past five years could ever take this moment away from you.

The three of you have grown up. Some faster than they’d like, and some because they had no choice but to — nonetheless, in this moment, it’s the three of you back at home like it used to be.

“Namjoon was always meant for greatness. Even from the start,” you murmur, your attention waiting on Yoongi’s response even if your eyes were on Namjoon in the field.

“You are too,” he interjects quickly, voice defensive at the lack of your name to your own sentence.

“No I’m not,” you snort, crossing your arms. You’re not angry when you say it; in fact, you’re calm as if you’ve always seen it coming. “You told me I’d amount to nothing.”

You’re calm, seemingly at peace with what you just said and what Yoongi had ingrained in your head before, but he’s the furthest thing from it. His mouth hangs open, chest tightening impossibly as he shakes his head eagerly.

“I never said that!”

You’re about to counter him when you hear a familiar holler reach you at the lower section of the bleachers, eyes perking to see a familiar figure who isn’t blood-related to you.

“Y/N!” Jimin runs up to you faster than to whenever he passes the ball to Namjoon, engulfing you in a massive hug that forces you up to your feet before you know it.

“Oh my god, Jimin! I didn’t know you were gonna be here!” you awe at the sight of him, unwilling to break away from the embrace until he does so. It’s been ages since you’ve seen him, the second-best player in the team (you’re biased because of course Namjoon had been the best player to you since you were kids) being the closest member to you out of everyone.

Jimin doesn’t care for Yoongi. He knows of the guy and he doesn’t want to know any more than he already does. He doesn’t even acknowledge the guy’s presence; all he does is squeeze you tighter and twirl you briefly in his arms.

“Fuck, me neither. Heaven must’ve healed my ankle quicker so I could come here and see you,” he flirts playfully, earning a well-deserved eye roll from you.

“And you know, play for Korea.”

“Eh. That too, I guess,” he shrugs, sitting at the seat beside you. He looks straight at you and only you — Jimin only pauses to snort to himself when he notices that Yoongi’s squirming in his seat, beyond annoyed and frustrated.

( ♡ )

On the fifth day of Yoongi staying over at your house, there’s a power outage.

The sound of everything shutting off together in sync makes you jolt, the collective groan you hear outside from the neighborhood comforting you in solidarity.

You can only make out a grunt from Namjoon and a gasp from your mom until you hear the trembling voice of Haneul, the sound of a cry that crawls up his throat putting everyone on their feet.

“Oh baby, it’s okay, it’s okay! It’s just a little dark, that’s all,” Yoongi pipes up instantly, scooping him up in his arms without having to fumble for where he is because he could practically locate his son in his sleep.

You didn’t want for it to be a power outage, but oddly enough, you feel sorry that it happened while you’re here. “It’s okay, Haneul,” you whisper as consolation, the dark of the night shielding you from how Yoongi’s eyes widen at your cooing for his son. “Mom, where did you put that generator I got you?”

“About that,” she sheepishly shrugs, turning on her phone to illuminate her shyness. “I donated it last year to the public school nearby.”

“It’s gonna get so hot,” Namjoon groans, the sound of him clumsily feeling around for the lights alerting Haneul briefly. He comforts him instantly, finally turning on the torch in his phone instead of relying on his instincts. “Don’t cry, Haneul, alright? Uncle Joonie’s gonna get the candles and the flashlights.”

“I’ll go try to find a guy,” you get up as soon as Namjoon hands you a flashlight, your contribution to help instantly being shut down.

“You can’t just try to find a guy, Y/N. That’s dangerous,” Yoongi scoffs, putting a hand on your forearm to pull you.

“I meant on my phone, Yoongi,” you grit. “I was gonna go outside to try and look for a signal.”

“That’s still dangerous,” he narrows his eyes at you as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Give me a break,” you mutter, removing his hold from you. You’d save your pride and actually go outside if not for your mom interjecting that she knows an electrician from her contacts.

Namjoon comes back after his quest for battery-powered fans and flashlights, unaware of how Yoongi’s protective streak for you practically never disappeared; in fact, it came back twofold. “Whole neighborhood’s out. Must be a broken transformer or something.”

Your mom consoles Haneul in her arms.

Namjoon waits by the gate for the electrician.

You and Yoongi clean the fridge up before anything spoils.

In between getting food out and embracing Haneul every now and then who insisted on obediently sitting atop the counter so he’s closer to his dad, Yoongi holds your hand.

“That’s my hand that you’re holding,” you murmur, assuming that he had mistaken yours for Haneul’s as he’s always chuckled how yours always seemed to be small against his.

Yoongi only hums.

“I know.”

( ♡ )

You’re falling back into your old routine.

Maybe it’s how your mom has to shake you awake because otherwise, you’d sleep through the afternoon and would therefore be unable to sleep through the night. On the other hand, it could be Namjoon who either hounds you to hang out with him or tell you off for clinging to him too much.

Maybe, it’s just Yoongi. It’s him who’s tricking your brain into thinking that has nothing changed with the way he keeps peeling fruits for you and telling you to be safe even if you’re only buying ice cream from the convenience store.

It’s only been a week and a half of almost normalcy, save for the fact that there are certain things and connections you can neither reverse nor rekindle.

You’re convinced, almost fully convinced that history is repeating itself except for the bitter, ugly parts of it that you never want to pop in your head again.

Like the past, Namjoon blocks you for whatever reason in his head but this time he does it to you while you’re on the way to your room, on the quest to retrieve your charger for your phone that you barely even used for work purposes.

“It’s my room. Why can’t I go in my room?” you furrow your brows at him, your amusement turning into annoyance the more that Namjoon pushed you with actual strength instead of playfulness.

“Are you hungry? Let’s go out for dinner,” he changes the subject quickly, turning you towards the stairs.

You shouldn’t have questioned him further — you should’ve left it at that.

“I guess? I’ll just get my purse,” you concede, dodging his attempts to haul you downstairs.

“I’ll pay,” Namjoon insists and although it’s not out of the blue for him, his franticness is what keeps you on edge.

“I still need my-…” you counter, being interrupted when he holds you firmly as you attempt to walk towards your door. Namjoon grips you with a silent plead, one that you can’t even decipher. “What the fuck is going on with you?”

You finally break off his grip at once, walking into your room with a renowned determination.

It’s not only your routine that falls back into place, but it’s your whole worldview that does.

Love is terribly human. It’s a loose thread on your shirt that gets snagged on your doorknob. It’s a coat in your closet waiting to be worn for the supposed perfect time, and when you do, you realize that it no longer fits you.

Love is terribly human, and it is terribly Yoongi, Hyewon, and Haneul.

Love is terribly human and fragile, and it’s Yoongi, Hyewon, and their son sleeping on your bed.

#target audience im on my knees IM SO SO SORRY HOW R U FEELING!!!!#yoongi imagine #yoongi oneshot #yoongi oneshots #yoongi series #yoongi angst #yoongi angst imagine #yoongi fluff #yoongi x reader #yoongi x y/n #yoongi au #min yoongi imagine #min yoongi scenario #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x you #bts yoongi imagine #bts yoongi x reader

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alicerosejensen · 11 months

Text

Together forever pt.3

Warning: Yandere!leon; kidnapping, forced cohabitation, stalkering, fem/reader, age difference, pet names.

A/N: I wrote this earlier, but I will repeat it again so that there are no complaints: I do not approve of this in real life. What is written here is simply fiction, if you have any psychological trauma associated with this or do not like such content then DO NOT READ!

Part 1

Part 2

He really didn’t want to resort to force, but you simply left him no choice...

Flashback to weeks earlier, when you weren't yet under his protection, Leon was analyzing everything about his sweet angel. Well, ultimately, carrying your once again unconscious body back to bed, of course, the last thing he wanted was for you to get injured, but you never know what stupid thoughts could come to your mind after waking up again, so putting you into bed, he pulled out the handcuffs and chained your hand to the headboard of the bed. Not very comfortable but you can sleep.

Don't get him wrong, he doesn't want to keep you on a leash like a dog at all, but Leon has noticed for a long time that you are in constant danger. Back in that dusty archive, when you reached for another folder, the laces on your worn sneakers were untied. Darling, you don't know how to tie your shoelaces at all! He immediately thought that you could have fallen and broken your neck or any other bone, you could even have died by your own negligence! It's good that Agent Kennedy was around, right?

Looking at how you sleep and your eyelids twitch in your sleep, Leon threw the blanket back over you. He knows that your sleep is restless, in fact, he almost knows about nightmares, but you didn't need to be afraid anymore. Nevertheless, Leon was well aware that a sudden change of situation and getting used to the new rules that he created to protect you would be stressful for some time. However, it was still better than wandering through dark unsafe alleys alone on the way home, drinking drinks in cheap bars with your friends who didn't even bother to call you a taxi. Leon doesn't know who to thank for the fact that you're still alive and haven't been raped by some asshole who would break your whole life. Despite the fact that the DSO pays its people well, this rather applies to agents and various informants who risk their lives, but small archivists like you do not interest them at all. Therefore, his angel could not afford a nice apartment in a decent neighborhood without bastards and drug dealers who would gladly get you hooked on some trash. The door of your apartment was indecently easy to open Leon would have done it without a lock pick without any problems, but he didn't want to scare you, however…

It is now his house completely at your disposal. The refrigerator is filled with high-quality products and not cheap instant noodles whose packages were lying in your trash. Money was really tight, wasn't it? A mug with a touch of tea or coffee that for some reason you didn't want to wash well, an unmade bed with your smell that he liked to inhale so much. The moment he plopped down on your bed, the desire to hold you in his arms just took root in him.

He wanted your scent to sink deep into him, to penetrate into every cell of his body. He just needed to possess you. That's why Leon couldn't wait, especially since you never let him become anything closer than just a colleague with whom you chatted during lunch. At some point, knowing where you live, he even came up with the idea that you were really offended, but there was nothing about it from your correspondence or medical records. Like you just liked being alone.

He was watching you to keep you safe. He walked you home ready to become a savior at any moment, it's not the first time he's saved a lady in trouble, despite the fact that you weren't actually that lady. Not according to Leon. Sometimes he came to your apartment and leafed through your books that he didn't like, but he didn't judge. He was taught to be quiet and inconspicuous, so it was extremely difficult to understand about someone else's presence. The only thing that really started to bother you is that things sometimes rearrange themselves and the old traces of coffee on your favorite mug magically disappeared. Robberies were not uncommon in this troubled area, but the only valuable things in your apartment were a laptop and a game console. Actually, it was important for Leon to know about all your preferences!

Now it was all in the past. You're safe here with him, away from all the shit that can hurt you. And in fact, you no longer need to worry about bills and how to live until the next paycheck. Leon doesn't consider himself a psycho when he lies down next to you, inhaling the scent of your body, pulling you to him, kissing your temple. After all, if you want, he will become the hero of those stupid books for you.

"I will definitely take care of you," he whispers, making you shudder in your sleep after hearing this insinuating voice that leaves no chance of salvation.

💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙

Your resistance is really annoying. You are still sitting handcuffed to the bed and there are already bloody marks on your wrist from the skin erased into blood after a steady twitching of your hand.

"I just need to dress you up," Leon says in a calm voice, while his patience still allows him to hold in his hands cute clothes for his angel.

Skirt, tights, and a warm sweater. Of course it's warm at home, but he wants to be sure that you have everything you need. That's just you kicking, yelling at him and crying incessantly ignoring the pain in your wrist.

"Baby, don't make me use force. Enough of this moaning!"

"Let me go!" you shout on the verge of pulling the hated handcuffs even without looking at him. Over the past two days, hysteria has been covering you with your head constantly not allowing you to think clearly.

Leon sighs. In any case, he doesn't want to stuff you with drugs anymore, and then what he was trained as an agent comes into play. He needs to break the will of the enemy or rather his beloved. He didn't want to take emergency measures, but you just forced him. He comes up to you squatting down and takes your face by the chin, forcing you to look into his cold eyes. The prepared clothes fly to a chair that is too far from the bed to reach it, but it doesn't matter anymore.

"To be honest, I didn't think that you would calmly react to the move," you were outraged when you heard his words

"Moving in with you?!" you cry out. Tears are spurting from eyes. "Since when is kidnapping suddenly called moving?! I'm not a stray animal for you to just pick me up and stab me in the neck with various rubbish!"

"I could have been slower, but you just left me no choice. Seriously, I could no longer watch you live in that anthill and spend 10 hours in a dusty room earning yourself asthma. Although considering your problems with shoelaces, I would bet that you would have killed yourself earlier by falling off a stepladder or would have been crushed by one of those huge boxes with folders."

“what?.." a guess flashes through your head.

Of course, he could probably somehow get a dossier on you and find out the address of your residence, but… rearranged things, a mug… Did he break into your apartment? You've heard that Leon was one of the best. Patrick even once mentioned that the president himself constantly praised Leon and his services to the country could not be called insignificant. There are many successfully completed missions behind him, but you have never really cared about it. At least until you yourself become one of these successful missions.

"Your poor stomach won't thank you for stuffing it with these disgusting noodles and chocolate. You need to eat right, honey," his words make you angry "You need a proper daily routine, good sleep, fresh air and balanced nutrition. I can provide you with all this, but you only need to be my good girl."

Leon's hands grab you by the face and his forehead presses against yours when he closes his eyes, stroking your cheeks wet with tears with his thumb, then briefly and gently kissing your lips, which is why you try to turn away from him.

"Heal your head!" another shout and insult. "As an agent, you're probably supposed to have some fancy psychiatrist or psychologist!"

"It's true," he easily agrees, biting his lip and getting back on his feet. It still didn't work out in a good way to solve the issue "One way or another, you will obey me. I just wanted us to come to this without unnecessary conflict and tantrums, but if you like it more, then fine. Sit alone for a couple of days without food and water. And I'll come back later and you'll tell me about your decision."

"Wait!" You called out to him almost at the door when he had already turned the handle. Leon turned in anticipation of your words and probably there was still a glimmer of hope in him that you would accept his love right now without radical decisions. "You can't keep me here! My family and at work will be looking for me. No one will believe that I just disappeared!"

Leon only grinned briefly.

"Oh, sweetheart. People disappear every day and believe me, many don't care about them, and as for your family, they could take better care of you, but if they didn't, then this care falls on my shoulders"

The hope that it was just a way of intimidation for further submission glowed deep in your chest. No matter how much the soul did not want it, the brain still suggested that Leon was never the one for whom he could be mistaken. The sound of his footsteps quickly subsided and occasionally you could catch some rustling and knocking on the ground floor. Didn't want to know what Kennedy was doing there, but fear kept throwing up ideas about some sadistic torture room and the fact that he wanted you to forcibly become his girlfriend made you suspect of possible sexual abuse after which it would be impossible to become the same.

And yet the wounded deer jumps higher, fights more desperately. You tried to somehow take off your handcuffs, and to be honest with yourself, your hand was really hurting mercilessly that you wanted to howl. It will be quite difficult without an analgesic. The search for some kind of paper clip, an accidentally lying nail under the bed or something with which you could unlock the lock was not successful. However, you didn't have the hacking skill either, and the handcuffs definitely weren't from some sex shop. Steel bites into the skin until it bleeds, and it would be worth listening to Leon though in this: no need to make sudden movements. Moreover, there are already enough bloodstains on the bed linen, but you were so absorbed in despair that the brain simply ignored part of the pain, but very soon it will be very hard.

Add to that the fact that Leon decided to starve you.

At first, everything was even tolerable. The stomach began to cramp from hunger only in the evening add to this the fact that you are being kept locked up handcuffed to the bed makes your body exhausted. You cried for several hours, but Leon's mercy did not descend to you. It really wasn't a prank and he kidnapped you for his own purposes, which you didn't want to know anything about.

"Leon?.." is quieter than you wanted, you called him again.

It all seemed like a nightmare. Time dragged on so slowly that it was unbearable and scary from the unknown. You were hoping that Leon had made a mistake somewhere and the police would find you very soon, the main thing at this moment is to stay alive and not dead because you definitely won't be able to win by force against a government agent who has undergone professional training and completed many successful missions. When your nerves calmed down a little, you started thinking about how to deceive him. It may not be possible to escape, but send an SMS or make a call to the rescue service. You've heard these stories when a girl called under some pretext and was rescued, but will Leon trust you with the phone?

Later you heard footsteps. Probably Leon was listening to the sounds that you could make, but you were silent, looking at the door with the eyes of a frightened doe. However, nothing happened.

He's probably gone.

The throat was dry. You tightly squeezed your eyes shut trying to calm your breathing and come up with a plan of action. If hunger helped at first, then as time went on, the thought of food and water constantly stirred your thoughts.

there was one maddening silence around. Your wrist began to itch and throb painfully, the blood clotted, but at the slightest movement it began to bleed. It got dark outside again and it started to get cold. You carefully crawled under the blanket, covering your frozen feet with it, trying not to think about the desired water, especially since you had of blood loss. How long can you live without water? 3 days? 4 maybe 5 days?

"Please?" you whispered softly, starting to cry again and giving in to panic. "Leon?"

You needed painkillers. It was a bad idea to actively pull with your hand, but people often do what is not necessary when they panic and you had enough reasons to worry, but in the end there was no point in protesting. Not when you are on someone else's territory under the power of a physically strong person. And yet, most of you wanted to scream and scream, beat him and fight, and not invent plans to escape and naively rely on his mercy, which probably does not exist.

"Leon!" you called again louder in a plaintive voice, licking your dry lips. "Please… at least give me some water."

Drugs and stress perfectly lead to dehydration. Especially the first one considering that you were sick earlier. But Leon was still deaf to the pleas, it was generally quiet downstairs. Maybe he was already asleep?

By nightfall, the condition only worsened. You wrist was swollen and even the slightest movement caused hellish pain, throat was dry and your stomach hurt wildly that it began to seem that he began to digest himself. Maybe agents can safely endure such trials with dignity, but again, you have never been interested in this. You didn't even have the strength to cry.

Actually, it didn't take him two days because his heart was just bursting with pity for you.

Leon looked at you with such a puppy-dog look when you were sitting on the bed with your head bowed and trembling. Well, one day would be enough for his princess, and he sincerely hoped that this punishment would be more than enough.

Click.

You shuddered from another flash of pain and when you opened your eyes, you shuddered with fright when you came face to face with him again.

However, the handcuffs were removed.

"poor girl, I really didn't want anything," he threw the handcuffs on the bedside table, "But sometimes we have to do things that we don't like, right? if you hadn't screamed, things wouldn't be so bad right now and your arm wouldn't be swollen."

He stretched out his arms to lift you up, but noticed another resistance when your tired body moved away from him, which made Leon look at you with a threatening look again.

"Do you want to sit like this for another day?"

You nodded your head negatively and out of fear allowed him to lift you up to lower you to the first floor.

"Give me some water, please…" by God, this was the only thought in head

"Be patient angel" Leon's lips touched your temple when he put you on the sofa.

The glass of water handed to you turned out to be so desirable that it seemed you were a traveler lost in the desert who found an oasis. And yet Leon didn't limit you to one glass, allowing you to drink as much as you need, BUT in small sips. Given the thirst, you ignored his words and eventually choked, starting to cough while covering your face with your hand. Of course he didn't like it.

"Sure it's my fault, but you have to listen to me!" An irritated male voice made you shrink and look at him with those cute eyes that Leon loves and hates so much because you are afraid of him.

He put the first aid kit next to the table and took your wrist carefully, first examining the deep abrasion. You screamed loudly when Leon treated her with a disinfectant solution and then wrapped her in a bandage. having previously smeared some ointment, but it did not hurt less from this. And then he kissed you on the forehead like a brave child for whom it was a feat to endure such a thing.

"What do you want from me anyway?" you asked, afraid of the answer anyway, because your presence here did not bode well. "I didn't do anything wrong to you"

"I didn't say you did anything to me. I just want to take care and keep the one I love safe. In this case, it's you."

"Me?"

"Exactly," he smiled, sitting closer, "I wanted everything to be like everyone else, but you didn't give me a chance. Good for Patrick, too. And yet, to see how you walk everywhere where there is a potential danger… I just couldn't, Princess. I just couldn't take it anymore. But now I promise that I will take care of you and I know you better than you know yourself! Just leave all the tantrums of the fight. No more bumps or bites. I'm serious!"

Yes, there was a good mark of your teeth on his hand.

Although you didn't smile and were actually horrified by the human diversity, one thing was clear for sure even through fear - he wasn't going to kill you or…rape. The latter is not accurate, but the soul hoped for it.

"Just let's do it in order." You reluctantly nodded knowing that you have no choice "First we will put you in order, I will make you a bath and you wash, then you will eat and we will have a good rest and in the morning I will tell you about the rules with a fresh head. I will give you everything you want: books, clothes, cosmetics, whatever you want, but in return, no resistance, okay?!" Leon's hand stroked your tangled hair and at the same time pulled you closer to him against your will, but even despite a little resistance, he pressed you to his chest. "I won't be in a hurry. We will go slowly, there is no need to be afraid for me, the main thing is your safety, and there will be time for the rest"

And hear the joyful beating of his heart, you hoped only that you would have enough time to find help or escape, but for now… you may have to be not an obedient but a cunning girl, otherwise the consequences can be fatal.

For now, you need to wait for the moment and find its weaknesses.

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precious-little-scoundrel · 8 months

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Dear John || Pt.1

Masters of the Air Fanfiction

Requested: ☑️ My sweet Bri begged for a love-letter-centric Egan fic and with her wonderfully infectious ideas this was produced, the first part of many.

Summary: Major John Egan wasn’t the pen-pal sort but a couple of hours into a dark night full of writing condolence letters, he finds himself wondering why he never tried his hand at the nicer forms of correspondence. Who better to reanimate his numb inspiration than the glamorous Miss Lana Tierney? -the army’s girl next door, the pinup so prolific she was practically a wall paper print and Bucky’s long-standing cinematic crush. It’s not like she’ll read it anyways, tucked up in luxury in Beverly Hills with carts of tedious fanmail burned in her back yard each day, his letter will get lost in the mix. It’s harmless. That thought -and the booze- may loosen his pen a little too much but it’s alright, it’s not like she’ll read it. Right? Right.

It was specified in the request to use or create some of those old WWII dirty acronyms, so in here you have Bucky making up his own for his starlet crush (acorn). I’m ripping off a few ladies here, Lana Turner, Betty Grable, Hedy Lamarr to name a few -the moodbaord is for general aesthetics, I try to keep my fem!readers and oc’s as ambiguous physically as possible. (Besides the fact Johnny Egan finds you mouthwatering, which -be honest with yourself here sweet thing!!- he would.

Rating: 18+ this is the letter writing, vintage form of sexting. i kid you not, this man swings wildly from sweet as pie to downright filthy and vintage slang for anatomical parts is used freely. This would make a better shameful diary entry than a letter but he’s a rogue and he’s in a war, cut him some slack.

Fun game: how many times can Major Egan manage to mention Buck in a horny fan letter to his crush?

Dear A.C.O.R.N.

It is highly unlikely that you remember me, but, all the same, we have met. Now, hear me out, I’m sure fellas say that to you all the time but my point still stands and to match them I’ll do you one better, seeing as how I am not buttering you up for something in return -I have met you, yes, but I have also sung to you.

There. Said it.

Not that you’d recall that either, but then again maybe you would, but either way it doesn’t matter as the entire reason I am writing to you is because it is entirely unlikely you will ever open this god-awful endeavor made of pen and ink.

I am quite drunk, you see.

A necessary medicine. And they do make good whiskey here, one of the few joys they haven’t rationed yet. It’s got me wondering what’s your poison of choice. Something fruity? Or are you an olive sucker? Like that salt on the rim? Or maybe you go for somethin’ silky and warm goin’ down your throat? Which-ever it is, I bet you’d be a surprise, sweet ACORN, I just know it. You were a surprise at the canteen. Back in Jersey? Before shipping out? I know you were on a whole tour and kisses were goin’ for dollars but still, you were a surprise.

A lovely one, really. And that’s the point of this letter. To tell you that you're lovely and while I’m not the pen-pal sort, I’ve written home 80 letters tonight to families whose boys I was supposed to bring home. It got me thinking: Bucky, why the hell don’t you write nice letters? Whyd you only write ‘em now that you gotta? And it occurred to me then that the one silver lining in this whole Air Exec job is the desk, the lamp and the office.

I could write anybody from here. I could write you.

And you wouldn't read it so I could write anything. And it could be a nice letter. ‘Cause I don’t know anybody of yours to tell you anythin’ sad about them and you don’t know me except that I’m alive and drunk. Which is better than those poor eighty two bastards. Which reminds me, I’ve still got two more but maybe Buck will take those, he took seventeen off to his bunk to write from there. Buck doesn't have a desk because he’s not as important as me and he has all the luck.

You’ve met Buck, too, Acorn. He was the appalled pretty one with the straw colored hair pulling me off you after we had our duet. He objects to your nickname, see, even though you didn’t seem to mind. You were lovely, A.C.O.R.N. And I’d not wanna ruin this letter by telling you what it means, not now that I’m actually writing to you and determined to be nice but Buck knows and while he agrees with me as much as any man in the nation that you’ve got the most robust rack on the silver screen -he has objections, you see. So it wasn’t the song or the canoodling he didn’t like, and I still say, he broke up a little love affair that night. Bastard. So I’m writing to you now because as the acronym suggests, I’ve got a goal in my mind in regards to you. I tell myself -Bucky, there’s reasons to make it back.

Reasons, Bucky, reasons. Like Acorn and her halo of gorgeous hair that smelled like coconuts and the way she thought my new lyrics were pretty clever. That’s what you said, acorn, you said they were pretty clever. Now I may have been a little drunk then, too, but I think you might’ve been tipsy, that coke smelled too strong to be straight. I still have the straw you gave me, it’s bent to hell but I’ve taken it up each mission. I’m not counting on it for luck so much as a reminder of the aforementioned reasons. To come back. Your lipstick has mostly worn off but I figure it’s still the same.

You had your precious lips around it. That’s what matters.

And that’s the sorta sentence that makes Buck think I shouldn’t write letters.

But what he can’t accuse me of is being dishonest or vague. I’m being straight with you. You deserve that much, you were lovely and very straight shootin’ yourself, dear little girl. I could pinch your cheeks right now, you’re so sweet. And don’t think me a coward for sayin’ all this under assumption that you won’t read it. I hope you don’t since it’s not worth your time and if you do I wish I’d written less about me and more about you but I need you to know if we were face to face I’d say the same:

You were lovely, you ARE lovely!!!! and I think all your work for us boys is swell and you’ve got the bestest set of knockers any of us have ever seen and I’m stayin’ alive in hopes to see ‘em again some day and while the girls here are swell and sweet they aren’t zippy like you. At least not the ones who’ve put out so far. And if I had you face to face, I’d find a way to make you laugh again and I’d tell you to your face you’re lovely and if I’d been David Nivin in Love Trap with you, I’d have stayed in that little kitchen with you and ate all your burnt flapjacks and watched you in your apron and made babies with you till we were old.

Anyway. It needed saying. And maybe I’ll say it to your face given the chance again. I was working my way up to a proposition for burgers and milkshakes when Buck ruined it. But maybe you’ll tour? Here!! Over here. In England or maybe in Europe once we kick the Nazis bastards out.

Now that’s motivation. That’s a reason! -clear out a nice little swath of land through fortress europe so Miss Lana Tierney can sing in the city of lights surrounded by nothin’ but wine and good food and a buncha boys who love and appreciate her.

Because we do, ma’am. We do.

And make no mistake, I do this to keep the country safe and try to bring as many boys home as I can but every second I also think - it’s where you are too, and so I must continue keeping it safe.

If you, by some godawful chance, do read this letter, please don’t feel pressed to respond or pull out a restraining order. Think of it this way, it’d just be one more “Dear John” letter and the system is clogged as it is. You just deserve a nice letter and my wrist is past sore, one more doesn't matter. And being unable to deliver nice, I’ve written this.

~ I am ever your respectful (and hammered) admirer, Maj. John Egan

P.S. if you do happen to read this I’m sorry. Buck told me not to do this but I just had to Acorn. You’re just too swell and I really have got to get myself to a theater before long, I miss your Angel face.

Masterlist

Thank you for reading! This was entirely out of my usual comfort zone but I’ve had fun writing it and I’m trying to tune my ear to pick up his voice, that’s been stretching. This series will have many letters in it but there will also be fic, so fear not. I’ve got some plans already figured out for this series but I do love a suggestion or ten so have at the inbox with what you’d like to see play out.

Hope you enjoyed, if you’d like to be tagged in future MOTA fics, drop a note below.

#masters of the air #callum turner #john egan #Major John Egan #Bucky Egan x reader #callum turner x reader #masters of the air fanfiction #mota fanfic #hbo war fanfic #Bucky Egan #mine #archive

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absolute-flaming-trash · 1 year

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Been a hot minute, my friends, and I'm sorry for that.

This is something that has been sitting in my drafts for a bit and with how long it's been taking me to get other work out, I figured why not even if I'm not fully pleased with it.

I hope you enjoy regardless 💛

Pairing: Yandere!Chrollo x Reader

SFW

Word Count: 910

Warnings: Yandere, Kidnapping, Forced relationship, Murder (mentioned)

Please be nice, I don't write for this man often

“May I ask you something?”

It was a simple question, but one you regretted the moment it left your lips because of how it silenced the room.

Gone was the soft scratching of pen against paper as Chrollo looked toward your seated position, his expression thankfully that of neutrality mixed with a hint of slight intrigue.

You swallowed and looked down at your lap. Better than annoyance, you supposed.

“I just… I can’t stop thinking about it, and I have to ask...” Your fingers picked at the frayed ends of the couch while your graze returned to his. “Why me?”

He arched a brow, amusement creeping into his eyes. “Why you?”

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

“Yes.” You replied with a little more conviction in your own tone this time. “Surely keeping one person alive when the rest were doomed to die is more trouble than it’s worth.”

“Are you saying that you would’ve preferred to have shared the same fate as the rest of your fellow party go-ers?”

Your cringe followed by a beat of silence was more than enough of an answer, but you felt obligated to continue since you were the one who started this conversation in the first place.

“...No.” Your teeth found your bottom lip while you tried to gather your thoughts in a way you hoped would make sense, all while pushing the memory of the fundraiser-turned-bloodbath out of your mind. “I’m saying I don’t understand.”

Chrollo leaned back in his own seat, still looking directly at you. “You’re here to keep the police from doing anything foolish.”

“I know that!” The frustration in your chest made itself known. “But you could have taken anybody. One of the sponsors of the damn thing, or even some other random woman, yet you kept me alive. I want to know your reasoning for it.”

He didn’t seem upset by your outburst, if anything it just served to increase his growing interest in the conversation.

Likely because these were the most words you had ever spoken to him at a given time.

Bastard.

“I liked you.”

Such a simple answer, and one you did not expect from someone who typically played their cards so close to the chest. It threw you off whatever balance you mentally had, and you recovered with a scoff.

“You liked me?”

“Yes.”

A twitch went through your eye when he didn’t expand on that - the sound of pen on paper filling up the room once more. You refused to let the conversation die there.

“I don’t believe you.”

That was a lie, but one you were willing to risk if it meant bringing the topic back to life, and boy did it work.

Not only did he stop writing, he set the pen down on the desk in front of him and turned his whole body to face you. “Oh?”

Shit.

“I mean, I don’t know how you could decide using something like that in a situation that was such a spur of the moment.”

“What makes you think any of what I do is ‘spur of the moment’?”

That made you pause. He had a point there. In the short time that you knew him, he had proved himself to be anything but impulsive…

Your temples throbbed with a quickly encroaching headache.

“If it wasn’t, then what? Your choice was made before the bloodshed started?”

The words were spoken sarcastically, but you had no idea just how right you were until you saw his expression change from amused neutrality to one of…

Come to think of it, you had no idea what to call the look on his face. Admiration came closest to mind, but that didn’t feel right.

“You catch on fast, well done.”

You made a face, not a fan of the condescending tone. “So, what? If I’m not sacrificed to the cops in a hail of bullets, you’re going to keep me as some kind of pet?”

Amusement crept back onto his face. “Is that what you think?”

“If it is, I hope you know I’ll fight that with every fiber in my being.”

He hummed lowly, your promise of violence completely brushed to the side. “As intriguing as the notion is, I have no intention of doing such a thing to you.”

“Then what do you intend to do?”

A small smile appeared on his face, but he didn’t answer, allowing you a moment to draw your own conclusions.

When you did, you frowned.

“Not a chance.”

“Why?”

You gave him an indignant look. “You can’t seriously expect me to willingly be with you after everything that has happened.”

“I don’t, hence your current circumstances.”

Silence filled the air again after that. A nice reminder that whatever outcome you could’ve hoped for during this exchange, you were doomed to lose regardless.

All you could do was shake your head in malcontent and pick at the frayed ends of the couch again, unable to come up with anything further to say.

More amusement flickered across his face. “You do not wish to be my pet, nor to be my lover.” He sat back ever so slightly in his chair. “Tell me then, what do you wish to be?”

“Free.” You replied without a sliver of hesitation, locking eyes again with him once more. “But we both know that will never happen, will it?”

Chrollo threatened to genuinely smile at your answer and he shook his head once.

“No. It won’t.”

#riri writes #Chrollo x Reader #Chrollo Lucilfer x Reader #tw yandere #tw kidnapping #tw murder #tw forced relationship #Chrollo #Chrollo Lucilfer #HxH #Hunter x Hunter #Reason I'm not a fan of this is I think I made him too talkative here #but c'est la vie

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wuxiaphoenix · 3 months

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Worldbuilding: Outliving Emperors

There’s a common tendency in a lot of fantastic fiction portraying long-lived races or individuals interacting with shorter-lived types. It often defaults to, “they have a mindset of slow and patient consideration in the face of Problems. After all, they have plenty of time.”

(Until, of course, they don’t, and the Evil Overlord obliterates lots or possibly all of them.)

It’s a valid way to portray a fantasy race, I guess. But I think it misses a critical consideration of sapient life. And that’s pattern recognition.

To boil it down - if you’ve lived a long time, and you pay attention to what’s going on around you, sooner or later you will recognize when things are about to go nastily sideways. The river-folk down there and the mountain-folk up there have had a new generation grow up without bloodshed; sooner or later some young buck out to make a name for himself is going to dig up the old feuds all over again. Or, we’ve had three years of bad harvests in a row, I bet the nomads think we’re weak now, let’s watch for raids. Or (and much worse), this guy is making speeches about a Glorious Past and Restoring the Nation to its Rightful Place in World Affairs... right, time to duck, world war incoming.

If you’ve had time, you’ve seen things happen. If you’ve had enough time, and survived it, and even a little breather afterward, you can sift back through the history leading up to When All The Maps Got Arrowy, and try to see what set the whole mess off. So if you see similar precursors go off again....

Slow and patient consideration might not actually be your preferred plan. Instead, you might opt for, find the bastards and shut them down, fast.

Someone slaps you? Walk out now, no matter what anyone else thinks. Squatters on your land? Find them and toss them out on their ears so hard they bounce. Sabers rattled your direction? Make it absolutely clear there will be heavy weapons firing back - as soon as fired on, not “two years later after we’ve deliberated it to death”.

Because if you’ve lived for a while, and you anticipate living a lot longer - think about it. “I’ll be a slave for a decade, then die,” is bad. “I’ll be a slave for a century, and that’s only if they let me die-”

Yeah. That’s worse.

With a long lifespan, the number of Bad Things that can happen to you automatically increases, just by virtue of your being alive to have them happen. Why would you want to give any avoidable Bad Thing a chance to happen?

Wouldn’t it be possible that an elf, cultivator, dragon, or other creature who might live centuries, might actually be quicker to act than regular humans?

I have found this in one fantasy setting. In Lejentia, by Flying Buffalo Games, the Aelvan Nations finally beat down and imprisoned the Hyl Sudiar (Hellish Seducer) and the demon who possessed him, and breathed a sigh of relief. Some centuries later, said demon persuaded another person to become the next Hyl Sudiar... and the Aelvan Nations declared war immediately.

Human kingdoms: “Whyfor you do that?”

Human kingdoms a few centuries later, after despite all efforts the Hyl Sudiar’s armies have conquered half the world: “...Oh.”

I have to think about this, given I have a story that has at least one nearly three-hundred-years-old vampire, and a somewhat younger cultivator who has still outlived three emperors and is working on a fourth. (Zhengle, Jiajing, Longqing, and Wanli, if you’re interested.) They’ve seen threats to their people. They know, over and over again, what it is to lose people to the actions of evil men. What it is to live on, while those you love die, and it never stops hurting....

Long life might not mean slow and deliberate action. Just a thought.

#creative writing #worldbuilding

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violetastridhotd · 25 days

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Lawful v. Moral/Team Black v. Team Green

Rant incoming. (This is Fire and Blood centric, not HotD centric, but most of it applies to both)

So, I have always been a firm Rhaenyra supporter for the Dance. And for a long time, I couldn't understand how people could legit be "Team Green" outside of liking individual characters or their portrayal. And then I realized:

Team Black has a moral mentality and Team Green has a lawful mentality. Follow me here.

Rhaenyra and Aegon both have legitimate claims to the throne by birth and by law. So, we essentially have an ethical dilemma on our hands. With many ethical dilemmas, the "right" solution is based on an individual's perception of morality.

(Example of Lawful thinking v. Moral thinking: You catch a woman stealing food to feed her children. Do you put her in prison (she broke the law) or do you let her go (because letting children starve is immoral)? Also, please note this is purposefully a simplistic example.)

In Defense of Team Green:

The biggest argument for Team Green is "They weren't wrong. Jace, Luke, and Joff were literal bastards. Rhaenyra was trying to trick everyone by passing off bastards as true-born heirs."

And this is facts. Rhaenyra is committing high treason for having an affair and passing off her bastards as legitimate. As far as the law is concerned, this is a black and white issue. It doesn't matter she was Viserys' favorite. It didn't matter that Corlys and Rhaenys didn't care. None of it mattered because Rhaenyra didn't even try to hide her affair or even have the decency to make sure the father had features similar to her husband. What Rhaenyra did was not only high treason, but the fact that she wasn't careful about keeping it a secret because she knew Viserys would turn a blind eye, made it all the more offensive.

Especially to Otto, who relied on the strict laws of the court to enact his plan to obtain power. Especially to Alicent, who was a victim of these strict laws as a woman who "did her duty." Especially to Aegon and Aemond who were ignored no matter what they did in favor of their sister. Rhaenyra's actions were a huge, cruel middle finger to everyone on Team Green (except Otto, but fuck him).

In Defense of Team Black:

For the good of the realm, Rhaenyra needed to have that affair.

Hear. Me. Out.

The alliance between House Velaryon and House Targaryen was the Big Picture Problem, not who would sit the Iron Throne. Now, we have to remember that Corlys married Rhaenys while her father was still alive and it was assumed that she was going to be the next Queen. This is important.

When Rhaenys was passed over for Baelon for heir, Corlys was pissed. When the Great Council chose Viserys over Rhaenys/Laenor, he was pissed. When Viserys married Alicent instead of Laena, pissed again. Now, Corlys being upset is Not Good. Corlys has the largest naval fleet at this point. It is made clear several times that repeatedly pissing off Corlys is not the move to be making because he was rich, powerful, and had an entire fleet (and two dragons) and could make things very difficult for King's Landing if he felt frisky.

Cue Rhaenyra and Laenor getting married. Corlys no longer has a reason to beef with House Targaryen. Laenor will sit the Iron Throne. House Velaryon will now be tired directly to the Iron Throne and will practically be unstoppable. Team Viserys v. Team Rhaenys no longer matters because the two lines are coming together as a power couple.

And then Rhaenyra and Laenor struggle to conceive (which, as far as Fire and Blood is concerned, I fully believe Jacaerys is Laenor's son, but that is a whole other rant). This is a problem. If Laenor can't have children (because he's gay, infertile, etc), then that means his marriage to Rhaenyra needs to be annulled.

(In Fire and Blood, Alicent wanted to marry Rhaenyra to Aegon. Viserys denied it to keep the Hightowers from getting on the throne. If Rhaenyra's marriage with Laenor falls apart, Alicent would have pushed hella hard for her to marry Aegon)

Rhaenyra was either the heir to the Iron Throne, or she was a valuable bargaining chip for the heir. She would not be allowed to remain in a unfruitful marriage. If their marriage is annulled...we are back at square one. House Velaryon is powerful and pissed off for the fourth time. There was a very real possibility that shit would go down between House Velaryon and House Targaryen.

Conclusion

The Dance of Dragons is an ethical dilemma and no one is right or wrong. And that is the whole damn point.

So don't be weird and have such intense, Twilight-esque, beef with each other. I'd love it if the TB v. TG could be fun like Team Valor v. Team Mystic discourse, but some of ya'll really try to make one side right and the other wrong, one side morally superior and the other moral degenerates, and its super cringe.

#hotd rant #house of the dragon #team black #team green #fire and blood #dance of the dragons #rhaenyra targaryen #pro rhaenyra targaryen #anti rhaenyra targaryen #pro team black #anti team green #pro team green #anti team black #pro aegon ii targaryen #anti aegon ii targaryen #house of the dragon stans #team black stans #team green stans

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ghcstao3 · 11 months

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There’s something almost comical about the fact that Ghost lives in a classic horror movie house, Soap thinks.

When Soap is invited to join Ghost on leave at his place, Soap doesn’t hesitate to say yes. It’s a bit embarrassing, looking back, the enthusiasm with which he accepted the offer—but seeing now as Ghost drives up the obnoxiously long gravel driveway to his home, Soap is wondering if this is where he gets murdered.

Like Soap had immediately thought—the house is straight out of a thriller. Deep red brick walls covered in sprawling ivy, windows with chipped white trim and a black roof that needed to be retiled, even a rusted retro bike leaning against the side of the house—it screams I think this will be good for us just days before yet another family is brutally murdered by some evil demon within the home’s confines.

All that’s missing, as Ghost unlocks the front door with a calm familiarity, is the lightning strikes in the background while the door creaks open into a dark hallway.

At the very least, when Ghost flicks on the light, the home seems a little less in disrepair. A little less haunted, if only coated in a layer of dust since the last time he’d been out here.

Soap has to keep himself from gawking at the house’s interior and its vintage decor. It’s very not-Ghost, yet at the same time it very much is.

“Thought the whole dead-man-skeleton-motif persona was just a work thing,” Soap remarks, closing the groaning front door behind him. His other hand keeps a tight grip on the handles of his duffel.

“It is,” Ghost says, perfectly casual. “Why?”

Soap blinks. He shuffles awkwardly on his feet under Ghost’s gaze. “Nothing, I just… you really live here?”

Ghost frowns at him, wonderfully, miserably maskless, and folds defensive arms over his chest. “Yes. Is that a problem, sergeant?”

Soap is quick to shake his head. He has to remind himself that he agreed to be here, and should be grateful for the opportunity even if he’s ninety percent certain he is not making it out of this leave alive.

It doesn’t help that something suddenly thuds upstairs.

“No, it’s no’ a problem at all, just—this place is fuckin’ haunted, LT.”

Ghost snorts, arms falling loosely back to his sides, that calm, peaceful demeanour Soap had grown to know and love mercifully reappearing in place of the dark look that had briefly shadowed Ghost’s face. “It’s not haunted, Johnny. You’re a soldier—shouldn’t be afraid of the sounds of an old house settling.”

“Yeah, right,” Soap scoffs. “Settling is what makes those noises.”

Ever the bastard, Ghost cocks his head. “What noises?”

“Jesus Christ,” Soap mutters under his breath. He rolls his eyes, and tries to ignore the scratching he definitely hears coming from nearby baseboards. “Just show me to my room, then. But if I find bloody handprints on the mirror after I’ve showered or some shite like that, you’re driving me to the nearest hotel effective immediately.”

Ghost’s lips quirk upward. “Whatever you say, Johnny.”

Soap just might have to strangle the lieutenant himself—if he’s still alive by the next day to do so, of course.

#committing to the bit is ghost’s number one job #although there is also the possibility that there is in fact a spirit living there #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #ghost mw2 #soap mw2 #ghost x soap #soapghost #ghostsoap #ghoap

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glimmeringtwilight · 5 months

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Daffodils p2 | Yandere Diluc x Reader x Dottore

this might be incoherent. i still dislike the ending but atp if i keep chipping away i'm going to abandon it lol

CW: referenced reader death (from p1), angst, captivity, yandere themes, body horror (mild for. y'know. my usual), minor character death, NSFW (not super explicit, and no specific wordage for uuu parts), cuckholding, blood, non-consensual voyeurism (diluc), dubcon, unhealthy relationships, unhealthy coping mechanisms (do not imitate)

Word Count: 2.6k

It’s a dreary autumn day when the master of the winery returns with you in tow.

The manor is quiet, still as the Snezhnayan winter that he trekked through for the past several sleepless days and nights to get you. More quiet, however, is you, who hasn’t spoken a word since Diluc dragged you out of that dimly lit, dilapidated lab stinking of chemicals that he found you in.

He’s tried everything he knows on the journey back. You didn’t struggle once as he carried you back home– didn’t try to run when he’d rest with you in his arms– but you didn’t say a single thing to him no matter how hard he tried to get you to speak.

That’s fine. It’s shock, he supposes. He doesn’t know what that madman did to you, and if he didn’t have such precious cargo he would have gone back there and burned that place to the ground; charring the snowy, lifeless landscape surrounding it.

But he has you. He has you now, and that’s all that matters. Even if your skin has lost some of its color now, dull and cold. Even if there’s a quiet ticking in your chest in place of a heartbeat. Even if you only ever look through him, now. It’s enough.

This is what Diluc tells himself as he returns you to the room that had been your prison for months, as he dusts off the bars of your gilded cage before locking you back inside.

You don’t say anything. But it’s enough, just having you. It’s enough, he thinks.

Adelinde keeps checking in on him now that he’s returned. Her face is always pinched with a quiet concern when she speaks to him, and the servants in the manor part like the sea against jagged stone when he walks past them in the halls.

The estate seems to hold its breath around him; no longer a ghost, but perhaps something worse. As though the light he’d held against the darkness was snuffed out, and the shadow cast in its wake was long. But he’s fine. He swears it. He’s fine, now that you’re back. He’ll be perfect for you, the perfect gentleman; the man he swore he was but could never seem to be, before.

It’s enough to just have you. To hold you every night as he lays next to you, still in your bed like a corpse, listening to the ticking in your chest like a clock counting down to nowhere. Diluc finds himself dreading the ticking and seeking it out all the same.

Weeks pass like this, with Diluc unraveling slowly as he tries to cling to the crumbling memory of you, bastardized by his selfishness and immortalized in the husk of you he keeps locked in your room.

None of the servants are allowed to see you. He hears them at night, whispering to each other when they think he’s gone to sleep.

“He’s lost his mind.”

“Are they even alive, in there? I haven’t seen them at all. Adelinde said they–”

“Keep your voice down– are you trying to wake him?”

He hasn’t lost his mind. He has you here now, to ground him, to make him whole. Even if your body seems to be crumbling, tearing apart with every passing day.

You don’t say anything anymore. You don’t eat, but you choke down whatever food he forces down your throat, teeth clacking against silverware as you stare off into nothing. Most of his days are spent taking care of you, keeping you together, stoking the fireplace in your room to keep you warm.

You don’t seem to mind the cold, but he still forces you to sit by the fire, warming you up in a facsimile of living flesh. He tries everything– cleaning you carefully every morning before dressing you, tending to the sutures that never seem to heal.

But he can’t seem to bring you back fully. Can’t seem to warm the skin that cools quickly when you’re not kept by the fire, can’t seem to wipe that glassy look from your eyes, can’t seem to drown out the ticking in your chest.

Adelinde comes home one day from running errands to find all of the clocks in the estate smashed and left out on the front steps, some of the servants already tending to the mess as the master of the estate slips back inside the manor like a shadow of the setting sun.

He can’t figure it out. You won’t talk to him, won’t hardly look at him unless he takes you by the jaw and forces you. He can barely stand to hold you.

It’s enough. It’s enough. It’s enough.

But he knows it isn’t. He can’t bear living with the ghost of you, settling for the corpse he keeps in his bed. He wants you to smile at him like you used to. Needs to hear your voice again. Holding you close while you’re still so far from him is driving him mad.

It’s another dreary day when he finally breaks. Rain pours against the roof of the estate, blazing trails down the window panes. You’re sat by the fire again as you always are, most days.

Diluc kneels at your feet, his head buried against your knees as he begs you to speak.

“I love you,” He says. He reaches up, pressing a trembling hand against your cold cheek. He can’t seem to chase the snow out of you. You don’t respond. He tries again. “I love you.”

Your eyes flick to his, the barest indication of life in them– but you look through him all the same, as you have been for weeks, now. He sits up, eyes wild, and leans over you, grasping your face desperately. He can’t bear to look at it anymore.

Diluc pulls you close, burying his face against your nape and gritting his teeth at the smell of chemicals clinging to you. You still smell like that place. Like chemicals. Like the Doctor. No matter how many times he bathes you, no matter how hard he scrubs. It’s there. Always there. Faint, but still there.

“Please come back to me,” He whispers, clutching you against his chest like you’ll slip through his fingers at any moment. …Like you haven’t already. “Please. I’ll do anything.”

For the first time in weeks, you speak. Your voice is hoarse, quiet and wispy from disuse. It’s like the sun peeking through the clouds after a long storm, a refreshing wind–

“Take me back.” You rasp, and his blood runs cold. When he doesn’t respond, you repeat yourself. “Take me back.”

Diluc stays there a minute, gasping through clenched teeth as grief and anger rattle through him. You don’t mean it. You can’t. You let out a quiet, pained sound from how tight his grip on you has gotten, and he pulls away like he’s been burned.

He can’t look at you. There’s a ticking behind your chest, behind his ears– whatever it is the Doctor replaced your heart with– he can’t unhear it. Without a word, he leaves swiftly, locking the door behind him as he goes.

When he returns, the fire in the hearth has dimmed to embers, and you’re still perched exactly how he left you. Like a doll. He breathes a shuddering sigh and moves you to the bed, laying you down and tucking you in with all the tenderness and care his trembling hands can manage.

Instead of begging you to speak, he slips out of the room again, instructing Adelinde to look after you while he’s gone.

He knows how to fix this: it must be your heart. Must be that facsimile of a beating heart stuffed into your chest that’s causing you to act so hollow and lifeless. If he can just find it, he can bring you back. He’s sure of it.

Diluc journeys for another several days and nights, returning to the lab he’d found you in and tearing the place apart until he finds what he was looking for– your heart, preserved in formaldehyde and kept in a jar like some sort of sickening keepsake.

There’s no sign of the Doctor anywhere, but Diluc doesn’t have enough mercy left in his heart to spare for the Fatui grunts unfortunate enough to get caught in his path. Blood stains his jacket an even deeper shade of red, sinking into the stitching deep enough that he’s certain even Adelinde wouldn’t be able to remove the stains.

He burns the place down once he’s finished, true to his word, leaving the smoldering building behind as he makes the journey back with bloodstained boots and clothes, carrying the final piece of you; the missing puzzle piece in his hands.

Biting winds at his back keep his pace hurried as he rushes home; he has barely slept by the time he finally returns, the sun rising over the peaceful estate of the winery like a promise of hope.

He’s delirious and exhausted from hardly pausing to rest throughout the entire journey home, but he has it– he has what he knows will fix you, bring the light back into your glassy eyes.

The manor is quiet when he steps inside, and Diluc freezes when he sees Adelinde’s body laying at the bottom of the stairs, neck twisted at an unnatural angle and her expression frozen in horror.

No-

His first instinct is to find you, stepping over Adelinde’s body despite the pang of grief that lances through his chest. Every step only turns his blood cooler in his veins, cutting through exhaustion and delirium like a blade.

The door to your bedroom is cracked and he throws it open, freezing as he sees what’s there.

You’re smiling. For the first time since he lost you, you’re smiling, eyes crinkled with warmth as the number two of the Fatui Harbingers looms over you like a malaise.

Floorboards singe underfoot, but Diluc isn’t given time to act before hands snatch his arms, ripping his Vision from him and tossing it aside. Whatever angered curse he was going to say is cut off by another pair of hands shoving a gag into his mouth, and it takes several agents to drag him into the room and force him into the chair set up by the bed.

There’s the sound of breaking glass as the struggle knocks the precious cargo he’d carried all this way from his hands, shattering against the floor. Whatever grief he may have felt at the sound is drowned out by the sight of you as the Fatui grunts forcibly sit him down in the chair and start to tie him down.

Rope cuts into his wrists and his legs as he’s tied to the chair; two of the pyro agents stay behind to keep him from thrashing or knocking the chair over as the rest slink back into the hallway.

It isn’t until the last of the rope is secured, leaving the frazzled wine tycoon seething from behind the gag but unable to do much else, that Dottore finally speaks up.

“I’m glad you could finally join us, Master Diluc,” The Doctor drawls, words dripping with condescension and cyanide. “I was beginning to worry.”

A knowing smile tugs at Dottore’s lips when he turns to see Diluc’s expression, distress creased in the lines of his brow as his attention remains fixated solely on you.

Diluc sees now. That bastard is sitting in your bed, the bed you’re meant to share with him, as gloved fingers lazily toy with your nipples. The clothes you were wearing are haphazardly strewn about the floor.

Dottore readjusts. Takes hold of your legs and wraps them loosely around his hips as he situates himself more comfortably on the bed. Diluc feels nausea roiling in his gut.

He can’t tear his eyes away when Dottore’s fingers drift downward, tracing over your stomach before dipping between your thighs. The soft sound you make burns him.

It’s torture, listening to you. He’d wanted so desperately for any sound from you– anything at all– these past few weeks, but not like this. Not while you’re looking up at that monster like he’s the moon– the most life Diluc’s seen in your eyes in weeks– as he defiles you.

Every noise seems to chip a piece of him away, cutting deeper than any blade could hope to manage.

As much as it rends him to watch, he can’t tear his eyes away, taking in the sight of you shuddering and moaning softly in response to another man’s touch.

Something acrid and bitter swells in his chest– he can’t help but think that if it weren’t for him, you’d never be here. If he hadn’t stolen you, held on too tight so that you’d run away the first chance you’d gotten, you never would have died… Never would have wound up under the Doctor, on his operating table or in this bed.

Worse, still, is the selfish insistence he still feels. If he hadn’t taken you, he fears the worst may have happened to you– as though the worst hadn’t already come true. He did all of this to protect you– yet he’d failed to do even that.

You eventually shudder in a way Diluc recognizes and he sags against the chair, feeling something crack inside him. This is killing him. As much as pain rips through his chest, he can’t help but cling to that rending heartache, tolerate it if it means he gets to see you smile again. You’re still in there– not a doll, not a ghost.

He loves you; he always will. Even this will never make him hate you– it’s not your fault that you’ve been caught up in the jaws of a monster. It’s not your fault that he’d failed you.

Dottore adjusts, and whatever self-loathing Diluc had felt starts to wither at the sound of rustling fabric. No. No-

He tries to thrash in his chair, held down by the two agents standing behind him with a firm grip on his shoulders. He tries to turn away, to close his eyes and shut out the world as the whimper from you that follows sears him like a brand. Hands dig into his jaw, prod at his eyelids with a force that threatens to blind him until he unwillingly opens them again.

Months ago, when Diluc thought you’d finally settled, finally adjusted to your new life here, there was the barest beginnings of warmth in your eyes. Acceptance. Love, his heart hoped. He’s reminded of that again; you have the same embers of warmth in your gaze as you once did before the sky fell.

That same look you’d once given him, but now it’s directed at the monster grinning down at you. He never thought that warmth could ruin him, but the grief that settles into his bones is a worse pain than one he’s ever known.

The hope that he’d journeyed home with withers and dies at his feet like the heart the Doctor had stolen from you– to know it wasn’t merely literal is agony. His greed had been the undoing of you both.

In the garden, the daffodils had died months ago; it was the end of their season. They’d planted sunflowers near where your grave once was instead, but those are dying too, afflicted by some disease or pest.

Diluc had once hoped you’d go out into the garden to see them, but ever since he’d brought the ghost of you home you’ve only ever haunted this one room; days spent staring at the hearth instead of out the window like you’d used to.

Jealousy is ugly and loud in his head, clinging to his throat like tar.

Perhaps he’s damned; he wishes that you hadn’t found the light that he’d stolen from you in another man.

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citrus-lamb · 5 months

Note

HEY UHH CNA I REQUEST?

Logan x reader but the reader is very good at martial arts

So like maybe a headcannon or a story?...

a/n : hello! i got a little too into the story so it's pretty long, but i hope you enjoy! i tried my best with the martial arts thing, but the language could be wrong so i do apologize for that! it might be a bit ooc, as i'm trying to write these characters still. i enjoyed writing this, so i hope you enjoy reading it!

song : unspoken (dex)

Arcades are generally boring. You wouldn’t pick this place to hang out with the group, but everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, so you didn’t mind that much. You were zoning out, staring at the group and making sure no one got hurt.

“Hey, are you alright?” Logan asked, stepping away to talk to you. Your head snapped to him, being brought out of your thoughts quite quickly.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just bored.

“HEY GUYS! LET’S DO THIS ONE!” Aiden screamed, pointing towards a boxing-style game.

“Nevermind.”

The entire group decided to try the machine, just for the fun of it. Ben’s score was impressive, Ashlyn’s was good and so was Tyler’s. The group cheered you on as you stood in front of the machine. You hit it with your fist as hard as you good, and ended up with a score that rivaled Ben’s.

“WOO!” Aiden cheered. He slung his arm around you and started bragging. You saw Logan smile in the corner of your eye, and you smiled back. You heard the door of the arcade click open. Barron and his goons stood at the entrance.

Logan soon noticed this as well, going from watching Aiden bury himself in tickets to sweating over the fact that Barron was here.

Let’s be clear. You hated Barron. If there wasn’t any repercussions he’d already be in a ditch somewhere because of you. You would fight him over and over again to make sure Logan would never have to deal with that bastard. And you would win every. single. fight.

You watched him exit out the door, a shy kid in a blue hat trailing behind. That kid almost reminded you of Logan. That made you more angry. Fists clenched, almost snarling at the door they just left from. Oh, Lord, you thought, Hold me back.

“…I want to at least warn him.” Logan said.

“Well, go do what you gotta do.” Tyler said, “We’ll be here to help you if you need it.”

“Are you sure you don’t want anyone to come with you?” You asked, unsure about this whole idea.

“Actually… Could you come with?”

“Of course!”

You opened the door and held it open for Logan, allowing him to go first. You didn’t want to speak for him—as he was getting better at standing up for himself every day. This was a step in the right direction, you just wanted to make sure Barron didn’t pull a stunt you could prevent.

“Haha, wow! That caught me off guard. I never would’ve expected to see you here, four eyes. And who’s this lovely person you got with you?” Barron said.

You clenched your fists—almost enough to make you cut through your skin—and stared straight into his soul. Logan looked nervous. About Barron? About you starting a fight where there didn’t need to be one? Logan wasn’t stupid. He saw your score at the boxing machine. He saw you training with Ashlyn’s parents. You mentioned to him once that you had martial arts experience. He had seen it first hand. If a fight started, Barron wouldn’t be the one winning. He might not even make it out alive.

“It’s been a while, pal, how’ve ya been?” Barron smiled, as if he didn’t bully the shit out of Logan every day for at least a year.

Logan ignored Barron, turning towards the kid in the blue hat. You continue to glare daggers into Barron from where you were standing. “My name’s Logan.”

“Oh… I’m Noah.”

“…Is he making you do his homework? Because you shouldn’t have to do that.”

“H-he’s not making me… He just asked for help.”

“And you felt guilty saying no, right?” The conversation Logan was having with Noah faded into the background as you watched Barron intently. You watched him get up from the trashcan and walk over to Logan.

“Who do you think you are, twerp? Stop interfering.” Barron started jabbing Logan’s head, and continued, “You’re just a useless loser whose parents didn’t even want you.”

You stepped forward, ready to axe-kick this guy to the floor and beat him to a pulp, but Logan didn’t need your help. He swatted Barron’s hand away, “I’m useless? When you’re the one that refuses to do your own work and forces others to do it for you?” Chills ran down your spine at Logan’s words. “When you so pathetically waste others’ time while they are actually working for a better life?”

He was practically shouting now, “When you have nothing to give, not even a simple thanks?! You only take and harass and look down on others! If anyone here is truly and utterly useless it’s—”

Barron grabbed Logan’s hair and pushed him away, bringing up his arm to throw a punch at Logan. Logan quickly twisted him and threw him face-first into the concrete. His hands were pinned to his back by Logan. Barron struggled to get out of Logan’s grip. The lights flickered. You panicked.

“I think it’d be wise for you to start caring.” Logan said.

This place felt like the phantom realm all of a sudden. You turned to the door that opened with more of Barron’s friends. They held him back but you were at your limit. Logan can’t get himself out of everything. Ben felt the same as you watched him come out from behind a wall and grab the red-head’s face. You performed a quick back kick on the blonde.

Full hell broke loose.

The group was fighting others, and you were taking on upwards of three people at a time. Your teacher always taught you that violence was never the answer, but you disagree. You were kicking and hitting with more precision than ever before—even better than when you were in class.

You heard a scream sounding like Ashlyn. She fell to the floor gripping her ears, headphones scattered across the pavement. You ran over to her, defending yourself from Barron’s goons as you went. You grabbed her headphones as she screamed, “CALM DOWN!”

Barron and his friends left quickly after. You gave Ashlyn her headphones back and beelined to Logan. “Are you okay? You’re not too badly hurt right? I wanted to help you more but you did amazing on your own so—”

“I’m alright, don’t worry. But, you’re bleeding.”

“…Fuck.”

#sbg x reader #sbg #school bus graveyard #school bus graveyard x reader #logan fields x reader

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ghoularaki · 10 months

Text

the lonely district

↠ summary: In the years after the slime monster incident and Midoriya's disappearance, he had come back to haunt both you and Bakugou. He no longer was the boy you once knew, but a villain ready to take what was his. Revenge was best served cold, afterall.

↠ word count: 7, 523

↠ pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader x midoriya izuku

↠ genre/warnings: smut, angst, prohero au, DARK CONTENT, villain deku, yandere, shock collars, implied stalking, kidnapping. NSFW (NONCON, sub! reader, (reluctant) switch! katsuki, dom! izuku, fuck or die, loss of virginity, creampie, spanking, overstimulation, slight orgasm denial, blowjob, no aftercare)

↠ a/n: this is an old fic i have been trying to finish since 2019 so im sorry if the writing feels inconsistent. i just really wanted to finally finish it since it was half finished. also excuse the very outdated villain deku trope rip

It’s been a long day and honestly you just wanted to go home. For some reason, your supervisor thought it was a good idea to pair you with Dynamight or rather Bakugou Katsuki—your childhood friend. If you could even call him that. For the longest time, you both had not gotten along, but since you had the mutual friend of Midoriya Izuku, you had to interact. That all changed when Bakugou got his quirk and he turned into a cruel bully. The dynamic and interaction formula was always the same: Bakugou would torture Midoriya in any way he could, Midoriya would just let it happen and you would defend him, turning it into a full blown brawl between you and Bakugou. It stayed like this for a while until that day Bakugou was held hostage by that slime monster and Midoriya went missing.

After that you had clung onto Bakugou in a desperate need to make sense of both of them getting hurt on the same day and the loss of your best friend. Surprisingly, Bakugou let you. But not without string of degrading names following. Despite his harsh words, he never once pushed you away anytime you silently sought comfort. Even though he didn’t act like it, he too was affected by Midoriya’s disappearance. Maybe he felt guilty, maybe he just missed his punching bag, or maybe he finally matured.

You would never know since he was so emotionally constipated. It was a bitch and a half just to get him to admit that you were one of the most important people in his life. Even now as you are both pro-heroes in your early twenties, it’s difficult for him to call you his best friend. Sure, he would be concerned if anything happened to you—that worry built with your childhood friend missing—he would rather die than confess to that.

Thing is, Midoriya didn’t stay “missing” for so long. No, he wasn’t found nor was his body. No, he never returned to his poor mother after years of being gone with open arms. No, there was never a “welcome back” sign, but his face plastered on every wanted poster within Japan. The bastard had joined the League of Villain with a big ol’ grin on his freckled face. That cursed day when you met with those emerald eyes again had haunted you forever. Tears streamed down your face, watching him be reborn into a whole new person. He didn’t have an ounce of guilt in his bones, he only gave a maniac smile, mocking you.

Didn’t you miss me, N/n-chan? You look a little… sad, He drawled out with a smug look, glee coursing through his veins as you sob as if you had found him dead instead of him breathing, finally alive.

It was when he had escaped that Bakugou for once let you clutch onto him, holding in his own sorrow as you openly sob into his shirt. And he did it again when the League of Villains was supposedly defeated but Midoriya or rather Deku still ran rampant.

That’s where you two are now, there was another sighting of Deku in the area and you were assigned to bring him to face judgement. You knew what would become of him if you caught him. Still clinging onto the memory of an innocent child, you almost hoped that you would never find him.

Bakugou had other plans.

Since day one he had wanted to find that bastard (his words, not yours) and give him absolute hell for becoming a villain.

“It’s probably just another false alarm, just like the other seven,” You sassed him as you both walk towards an alleyway.

“Doesn’t fucking matter, we still have check just in case this time it’s not,” Bakugou growls stopping away.

You rolled your eyes and made a face at him from behind his back.

As if he had a sixth sense, he barked, “I know you’re being a brat. I would stop if I were you or else you want your ass blow into the fucking stratosphere.”

Once you both got to the alley way only to be met with a dumpster, you pivoted and raised your brow at Bakugou. He rolled his eyes at you and went towards the dumpster. He opened it to see if there was any hints or evidence Deku even here. Still standing near the entrance of the alley, you the hair on your neck rose. A primal instinct that you were being watched set alarm bells ringing in your head. As subtle as you could, your eyes bounced around the enclosed area in hopes to find the danger before it finds you.

A bad feeling sunk in your stomach like a rock does in water. Hesitantly you said, “Hey Dynamight, I think we should leave.”

“And why the fuck should we, Umbra,” He spat out your hero name.

“Because,” you strained, still observing your surroundings, “I have a bad feeling about this. I think we should leave and get some back up.”

He slammed down the lid and stalks up to you, venom in his voice, “Are you running away from a fight.”

“No—” You started, but he cut your off.

“Oh really,” He mocked, “Because to me, it seems that you are.”

“Can you not be an asshole for a couple seconds and listen to me?” Your voice pitched, not understanding why he’s being so difficult.

“Listen to you? Now why would I listen to you when it seems to me that you are avoiding any place that could have him in it?” You were about to start defending yourself when he cuts you off again. “It’s almost like you don’t want to find him.”

Your eyes widen at him, you couldn’t even feel offending knowing it’s the truth. Though, you rather not fuel Bakugou’s already large ego and denied him. “I’m just trying to make sure none of us get hurt!”

“I don’t need your fucking concern, I can beat any asshole including him easily,” He boasted.

“Oh get the fuck over yourself,” you barked, scowling at him. “Stop acting like you’re the fucking best, asshole.”

“I’m sorry what was that, Number Seven Hero?” Bakugou stepped closer until his face were mere centimeters away from yours. You just glare up at him, not caring that the height difference made you seem less intimidating.

“This isn’t the time for a dick measuring contest, something doesn’t fucking feel right here and I just want to make sure neither us get seriously injured.” You jabbed your finger in his chest to emphasized your point.

“I don’t need your fucking help!” He roared and grabbed on your wrist to throw it away from him.

You ran your fingers through your hair and then pull at it in frustration, “Why can’t you just let me help you—help us for once! You don’t always have to be the savior,” You let out a growl before finishing, “Fleeing isn’t being a coward, it’s being smart enough to analyze the situation and your own weaknesses!”

“So you’re call me fucking stupid now, you shitty brat,” he bit.

“That’s all you got from that?!” You screeched before letting out a laugh that held no humor, “You’re fucking helpless.”

“Helpless? I’m the helpless one? You’re the one that wants to fucking run away just because you ‘have a bad feeling’.” He did air quotes around what you had said.

“Oh God, Lord fucking forbid, I’m just looking out for both of our asses since you want to play big macho man!”

As you both start a screaming match with each other, you failed to notice the emerald eyes stalking you like a cat does a mouse.

“You’re so fucking clingy just like that damn Deku, hop off my dick,” He snarled and clicked his tongue at you as if you were a misbehaving child.

Rage built up within your chest at his ill words. Syllables that were only meant to maim almost leave your tongue when you heard a noise a little too close to comfort. Adrenaline coursed through your bones, knowing your suspicions were right. You grabbed onto Bakugou’s wrist and turned towards the dark corner of the alley to fade into the shadows in hopes to escape. You ignored how he starts to yell profanities at you. Before you could even take two steps, you were pulled back by your hair into a firm body.

You let out a grunt at the sting from the strands being pulled from their follicles.

“Not so fast,” The voice whispered in your ear.

Growling, you elbowed the person in the stomach and jump away from them before they could grab you again. When you turned around, you jaw dropped in shock.

“Izu-chan?” You stuttered out.

“In the flesh,” he taunted with arms raised to the side.

You couldn’t help but stare at him. He had matured so much since the last time you saw him. His hair was shorter but still as unruly, his jawline was chiseled along with his cheekbones, he still wore a dress shirt with a vest and tie, but for once it was tied properly.

“Finally decided to fucking show up,” Bakugou seethed.

Midoriya pouted as he lets his arms drop with a whomp sound against his outer thighs.

“Oh come on, Kacchan don’t be like that. I thought this could be like a family reunion,” He gives a grand smile before it dropped, venom in his tone, “Didn’t you miss me?”

“Sure, miss you so much, you shit stain.”

Midoriya fiegned hurt and clutched his chest in dramatics, “Oh, how you wound me so, dear Kacchan.”

Bakugou straightened out his back and got in a offensive position, “Enough with the fluff, Deku. It’s time I send your ass to jail.”

Cheek twitching, Midoriya glanced at you still shellshocked. Bakugou came at him, arms positioned behind him to perpell him at the shorter male. Right as Bakugou raised his fist to blast Midoriya in the face, he grabbed you and placed you right in front of him. Bakugou skidded to a halt with widened eyes, not wanting to hurt you in the process. You locked eyes with him. Your knees wobbled from being manhandled so easily.

“Using a girl to shield you is low.”

Midoriya simply shrugged and brought a hand up to cradle your throat. His fingers tightened when he felt you gulp underneath his gloved hands.

“Scared, Love?” He slithered in your ear. He looked down at you, before peered up at Bakugou. At his enraged expression, he licked the shell of your ear. You whimpered and flinched away the best you could.

This was exactly why you didn’t want to meet Midoriya. Even before he disappeared, he was smart and cunning. He knew how to get under Bakugou’s skin, and render you useless. Tears bubbled up as you faced the fact the boy you once loved had died long ago. Pretending to still trembled, you subtly widened your stance. Bringing a hand to Midoriya’s, he took it as you sniveling.

“Shh, don’t cry.”

Looking at Bakugou, you hardened your expression. Quickly, you gripped Midoriya’s wrist and with all your might you stepped forward and used his weight against him to throw him over your shoulder. When his back hit the ground, he let out an irritated grunt.

Wasting no time, you grabbed the quirk cancelling handicuffs on your belt and raced towards him. As you went to straddle him, he kicked your feet from under you and you fell with him. Bakugou took your place and was on top of Midoriya in no time. With acute flexibility, Midoriya spun around and kicked Bakugou in the face.

“Gah! Fuck,” Bakugou growled while gripping his face.

Wind still knocked out of you, Midoriya focused on Bakugou.

“You were always stupidly resilient,” The villain seethed. “I’m done playing games.”

“Good, because so am I.”

Bakugou lunged at him, ready to blast him to kingdom come. Midoriya side stepped his attack. Huffing, he went at him again. The two of them stayed the dance for a while. Any attack Bakugou attempted to do, Midoriya merely avoided with such leisure. The asshole even had his hands behind his back.

Watching as you got up to join the fight as well, Midoriya sighed. “Stubborn, the both of you.”

With such grace, he grabbed Bakugou’s hair and slammed his knee into his face. Stunned, the hero stumbled back. Before he could process the hit, Midoriya kicked him in the head, rendering him useless. Your mouth gaped at Bakugou being so easily taken out. His lids flickered as he struggled to get up.

“R-run,” He commanded, before falling.

Scrambling away from the villain, you sucked in your breath as you go to phase into the shadows. Before you could, Midoriya gripped you again. This time, his hands wrapped the column of your throat and squeezed. Frantically, you slapped against his forearms.

Adding more pressure, he leaned over you as you form slacked to the ground.

“Sweet dreams.”

Bakugou was the first to come to his senses. He squinted his eyes to adjust to the light that hung above him. He groaned as he observed his surroundings, noticing that he was in a dingy basement. There wasn’t much besides a queen size bed near the corner along with a door that he had no idea where it led and an opening with stairs peeking around the corner from where he saw.

Clutching his head, he turned to see your still slumbering form not far from him. Panic built up in him as he scrambled over to you and sighed in relief when there is no sign of vital injures. He starts to shake you awake, trying to think of a plan to escape.

After a couple moments, you let out a hum and your eyelids fluttered open. Just like Bakugou your eyes squinted at the sudden light probing at your pupils.

“Katsu,” You groaned, mind still fuzzy so the old nickname slipped out. Your throat killed.

Bakugou shakily exhaled, glancing towards the concealed stairwell, “Yeah, it’s me.” His hands are gentle as he helped you up into a sitting position. You lean against his chest, body to exhausted to even hold yourself up. Which was odd to you since you were sure that Bakugou got the brunt of each hit that Midoriya landed.

“Where are we?” You asked huskily despite knowing that he probably was just as clueless as you.

“Why the fuck would I know that, brat,” He bit, before sighing and apologizing. He’s just irritated that you both were captured.

“It’s fine, it was a stupid question, anyway,” You smile up at him.

Bakugou looked down at you and then furrowed his brow when he sees the collar around your neck along with a prominient bruise. Now that he thought about it, he felt one around him, too. You seemed to also notice as you reached towards him and traced the collar, confusion written on your face.

You and him were clad in different clothes as well. Instead of his hero suit, he now adorned plain sweatpants and a black t-shirt. You were wearing the same, but shorts instead. What a fucking perv.

Before you two could question each other, the thud of door opened and closed, followed by rhythmic footsteps coming down the stairs. Your heads snapped to the sound and Bakugou took a defensive stance to see Midoriya strut into the basement with a valiant smirk. You scrambled to stand with Bakugou, but your legs give out for a second and he had to catch you. Once you were sure on your feet, you glared at the man in front of you.

“Aw why such aggressive faces,” The villain pouted.

“You know damn well why, you fucking bastard,” Bakugou seethed, tiny explosions crackling in his palms.

You glanced to the shadows creeping up the walls. Shifting your attention to the stand off that the two men were having, you only hoped Bakugou could distract Midoriya enough for you to slip passed him. Ignoring the way your heart pounds at the thought of joining the darkness once again, you raced towards the vantablack. Almost like predicting your movements, Midoriya grabbed your wrist and pulled you to him. His arm snaked around your waist. You struggled as best as you can, but his grip got so tight a squeak left your lungs.

“Aw, N/n-chan, you so adorable,” He nuzzles into your neck. He trailed his cold nose up the slope your neck, purposely digging into the bruise, up to your cheek so he could whisper in your ear, “Have you ever heard of cute aggression? It’s quite a funny concept. Humans when we see something cute, we just find the need to squeeze it until it cries or even die. Funny, right?” As he speaks his grip only got tighter and you stand straight as a pole as he licked the shell of your ear, again.

“Get the fuck away from her, you freak.”

Bakugou took a step towards you, but Midoriya dropped his hold on your wrist, to fish something from his dress pants pocket. The hero observed the other man, not wanting to be too brash when your life is on the line. He won’t make the same mistake twice.

Midoriya started to fiddle with what looks like a remote between his gloved fingers. “I would be careful what you say, Kacchan, because the results may be… shocking,” He smirked to himself at his own little inside joke.

“What was I saying, my angel?” Midoriya began, but you kneed him in the crouch and jumped away from him.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” You commanded, ready to fight your childhood friend—no, this villain.

Instead of instantly attacking, Midoriya stayed bent down, clutching his stomach as he giggled. A shiver crawled up your spine at his laugh that lost all warmth it once had. He was insane. He cackled for what seemed to be ages before he stands up straight and all humor gone from his face.

“Interrupt me one more time, and I swear to god,” He snarled, his doe eyes dropped into menacing slits. “As I was saying,” Midoriya reached for you again, but you slapped it away.

“I said don’t touch me,” You spat at him.

“Fine be like that, fucking brat.”

Searing hot pain was all you felt. You screamed at the top of your lungs as you collapsed onto the cement floor in front the villain. Bakugou could only watch in horror at your shrill howls. You desperately clawed at the collar around your throat as it felt as if liquid fire was shot into your veins.

“What are you doing? Fucking stop it, you’re hurting her!” Bakugou practically begs as your body withered in agony.

Midoriya only shrugged, “I believe that dwindling down the pain is the best way to train."

You gasped for breath, struggling to get even an ounce of oxygen.

“She’s not a damn dog!” Bakugou felt so helpless as he watched you struggled to inhale and he growled when your face starts to turn vermillion. “She can’t fucking breathe, you bastard!”

Cold washed over your body. Falling onto your side, you sucked in as much air as you can try to ignore the urge to vomit.

With such a disgusting poise, Midoriya beny down and sat you up. He forced you to lean against his chest just as you did with Bakugou. “Poor baby, you tried so hard to save you and Bakugou. You even attempted to use your quirk. Isn’t it scary? You still sleep with the lights on, don’t you?” He cradled you and his tone was just so condescending but you couldn’t do anything about it.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Bakugou questioned.

“Oh, he doesn’t know,” Midoriya teased, keeping his eyes on you. He felt twisted arousal at those tear stained cheek and how you lips shimmered with spit. “The poor, little baby is terrified of the dark. Absolutely terrified!”

"What?"

"Pretty juvenile, isn't it?” He mocked, then turned his attention to the hero a couple feet from him. “To be honest, she didn't plan ever using her quirk again after that incident when she first got her quirk. You remember it, right? She was missing for hours, poor thing was stuck in the shadows all alone. But, after seeing you captured by that slimy fuck and my 'disappearance' poor thing blamed herself for not being strong enough. That day on she promised to become stronger to find me and make sure her dear friends will never be harmed again. Isn't that just sweet. The perfect hero story."

Multiple emotions flashed on Bakugou’s face; confusion, worry, anger and guilt. "Why— why would you become a hero for such a stupid reason, huh?! I can protect myself!" His words were sharp as he glared you down, hating how dazed you look. Despite his declarement, guilt tugged at his heart. He couldn’t help but think if he was just a little stronger and didn’t fuel your need to be a hero, than either of you would be in this situation.

Softly, the villain started to wipe away the drool that pooled in the corner of your mouth and the tears that had yet to dry from your face. You furrowed your brow and tried to focus on Bakugou and answer his question that sounded more like a plea.

"I just wanted to be strong, too. You and Izu-chan always protected me so I wanted to return the favor." The words were slurred but it still stirred something in both of the men.

"And just how sweet," Deku seethed, now gripping your cheeks so hard your lips became puckered. He pulldc your face close to his before he clicked his tongue and pushed your face away, letting your body dropped as he stood.

“Fuck,” you hissed. Your reactions were slow so your head hit the concrete with an audible thud.

Bakugou attempted to go to you to check you were okay, but Midoriya held up the remote.

“Ah, ah, ah,” He tutted at the hero with a wagging finger, “If you haven’t noticed, I get to say what goes and I don’t think I said you could go near her.”

Bakugou only growled like a feral dog but doesn’t move in fear of seeing you in such misery again. “You’re a bastard I hope you know that.”

“And what does that make you, Kaccan,” Midoriya’s tone was cold, so cold that the temperature dropped.

You stared down the remote, formulating a plan. If you could only grab the damn remote then he won’t hold so much power you both and you can move freely. Seeing that he was distracted by Bakugou, you pushed yourself up to stand. Not caring how your bones screamed to rest, you slinked up and reeled your fist up to punch him with all your might. A whoosh came from how fast your went to strike. Your breath caught in your throat as Midoriya seize your fist without even looking at you.

“You stupid, stupid girl,” He sung without any emotion. He snatched your jaw and shook your head, amusement in his eyes as you tried to kick and squirm. Without any effort, he threw you away and you fell to a heap onto the floor. “Stupid, stupid girl,” He repeated and then he pressed onto the remote.

A loud grunt cracked and echoed into the basement. You watched in horror as Bakugou crampled to the cement, trying his damndest to get the collar off. A shiver ran down your back, knowing exactly how he must feel.

“He didn’t didn't do anything!" You screeched.

"Right now he didn't," Midoriya shrugged, watching how the mighty fall with a smile.

Bakugou let out a shout he tried to hold back, not wanting to give Midoriya the satisfaction or to worry you. It was too late for that though as you crawled over to the villain. You clutched onto his pants, begging, “Please just let him go. Just make it stop please.” New tears started to form watching the most important person to you crumpled over in pain on his knees.

A gagging noise rings in your ears as his face is now red like a rose.

“Please!” You screeched, now hugging Midoriya’s legs and gazing up at him with watery eyes. Snot and tears ran down your visage as you repeated please over and over again. “I’ll do anything, just please let him go, he can’t breathe!” You babbled pleases as if it was the only words you know.

Midoriya’s eyes lit up a maniac green seeing you gravel at his feet. God, you were so fucking pathetic. His cock twitched as you begged you were made to.

"Anything?" He drawled out, not caring how Bakugou choked. It was only background noise to him.

"Yes, anything! Just please stop all of this, I'll do anything you say." There was clear desperation in your voice.

Midoriya let out a hum before answering and turning off the collar, "Call me Izu-chan again like you used when we were kids."

You tilt your head at the simple command. It was easy enough, you were about to reply then Bakugou gasps out, "Don’t do anything that sick bastard tells you to!"

Pure ire flashes on Midoriya’s face. He snarled as he looked at Bakugou’s quivering form trying to suck up oxygen and was about to press the button again until he hears your heavenly voice.

"I-Izu-chan, Izu-chan please don't!" You pulled yourself closer, so close that your breasts squished against his shins. You kept gaze up at Midoriya, trying to look innocent as possible to please him. Honestly, it was working because as you looked up at him with those teary eyes, he can’t help but notice how beautiful you look at his feet. Worshipping him as if he is a god. Midoriya reached down and cradled your cheek within his gloved palm. You closed your eyes and snuggled further into its warmth, trying to seem inconspicuous as you hear Bakugou start to stand. Pouting, you laid it on thick praying he kept his attention on you. "Don't hurt him! He-he's just being brash like usual. Please he doesn't know any better."

“You’re right,” Midoriya stared at you with adoration, but it fell when he locked gazes with the hero inches away from punching him in the face, “He doesn’t know any better.”

Bakugou’s eyes widened as he froze at how he was able to catch on so fast. He was about to send an explosion towards the villain when Midoriya kicks you further away from Bakugou and pressed the damn remote again.

You could only whimper out a little, “Katsu,” that breaks his heart. He went toward you again but he felt that pain once again. He fell to the floor not too far from you. Body exhausted, he just collapsed to heap on the floor. The shocks were gone as fast as they came, but before he could even attempt to crawl to you, Midoriya straddles his back. He tries to buck him off but his arms were grabbed and harshly forced behind his back.

“Get the fuck off of me!” Bakugou tried to say but the hand not holding his arms, pushed his head into the ground. He grunted when the side of his face hit the concrete, leaving him immobile. Midoriya adjusted himself so that he was now stranding the back of Bakugou’s thigh, spreading the hero’s leg.

He giggledvwhile cruelly shoving his knee into Bakugou’s crotch, "Now if you are both done interrupting me, we can finally get this show on the road."

A huff left Bakugou at the stimulation that grinded against his groin.

“What are doing you bastard!” Bakugou barked, slight desperation in his voice as his cock started to spring to life. Midoriya only ignored him as he pressed hard, reveling in the tiny groan that left Bakugou’s chest. “I said, what are you doing?” Bakugou squirmed more, but nothing happens.

Midoriya pressed his front into Bakugou’s back and whispered in his ear, “How does it feel to be the one pushed down. Not so fun is it?”

“What is this? Some sort of fucking revenge fantasy, sicko?” Bakugou groaned, hating how his body was betraying him.

Humming, Midoriya kept his knee grinding into the hero. Bakugou tried to scramble away, not wanting you to see him so weak, but Midoriya got a lot stronger with age. An uncanny amount.

Against the small of his back, Bakugou felt how hard Midoriya was. The need to vomit built up in his throat. Shuffling himself, the villain put himself between his childhood friend’s hips. Through the thin material of his sweatpants, Midoriya’s length rubbed against the line of his ass.

Leaning down so his lips brushed against the hero’s ear, Midoriya’s breath stuttered. He had been waiting for this moment for so long. His tip leaked in the confides of his slacks, begging to sink into Bakugou or your heat. The way Bakugou struggled against him only added more stimulation.

Not wanting to get too ahead of himself, Midoriya opened to see you crawling to the shadows on the wall. Sighing into Bakugou’s ear, the man under him shuddered. Still grinding his cock into Bakugou’s withering hips, he pressed the remote to see go slack against the floor. Your whimper had Bakugou turn his focus to your writhing form.

“S-stop,” His words had a double meaning.

Giving one last harsh thrust that if there weren’t clothes between the two men, his cock would have surely breached the hero’s hole, Midoriya got up. He clicked off the eletricity and followed how drool foamed out your mouth.

“Get on the bed. Sit at the head and wait, if you don’t,” He waved the remote in front of Bakugou’s flustered face, “You know what will happen.” Midoriya pointed with his chin at your form.

As Midoriya pulled his weight and grip from Bakugou, he went to the bed as instructed. Heaven knew he wanted to knock the motherfucker out, but your life was on the line. Settling into the metal bars of the headboard, he watched Midoriya go to your pliant form.

Or so he thought.

When Midoriya bent down to grab you, you snapped your foot up and kicked him right in the nose.

“Shit!” He cradled his nose, tears flooding his sight.

Sprinting to Bakugou, you reached for him and prepared to barrel into the darkness. Falling onto the bed, Midoriya quickly recovered and pinned you underneath him. You screamed and clawed at the bedsheets. Kicking and squirmed, you did anything you could to get him off you.

Midoriya grabbed your head and smothered your face into the cushions.

“Don’t,” He bit. Not at you, but at Bakugou who got ready to fight. “I’ll fucking snap her neck and make you fuck her cooling corpse.”

Grinding his teeth, Bakugou could only watch as Midoriya maneuvered your thrashing form. Sitting at the edge of the bed, he placed your body across thighs so you were butt was perked up on his lap.

“Damn, I thought Bakugou would be the brat, not you.”

“Fuck you!” You screeched.

You were so sick of being antagonized by him. Adrenaline in your system had you acting out of character. Wrenching your arms behind your back, Midoriya ripped off your shorts and your panties. Terrified, you fought more, not liking where this was going. Before you could move more, a thundering slap burned in your bare bum. Screaming, you whipped your head to Midoriya.

Tears pierced your waterline. He- he just spanked you like you were a child.

His face stone-cold, he didn’t offer any comfort. Bringing his hand down again, your feet kicked pathetically at the sting. He hit the same place again. Sobbing, your head fell into the bed. The fight in you left as quick as it came.

Seeing you were more calm, Midoriya rubbed his large, calloused hand over your burning bum. “You done?”

Whimpering, you nodded your head.

Despite your form sagging, he doesn’t lift you up. If anything, his hand wandered until his fingers brushed against your slit. Gasping, your head sprung up to try and make eye contact with him. He ignored you to spread your legs and get more of a view of your cunt.

“S-stop it,” You begged.

Midoriya dipped into your hole to gather some of the wetness that unwillingly spilled from you.

“Why stop when your pussy is so wet for me?”

Swirling your clit, your legs twitched from the stimulation. Going back to your hole, he breached you with two fingers. You winced from the intrusion. Thrashing, you didn’t want someone to touching you there, especially for the first time.

Midoriya caught attention to your flinch, “Oh, are you a virgin?”

A shit-eating grin spread across his face when you sob, not stopping shoving his thick fingers further into you. Looking over at Bakugou, he isn’t ignorant to how the hero’s nostrils flared. “Aww poor Kacchan, you wanted to get to her first, didn’t you?”

“Die,” Bakugou snarled, but his eyes didn’t leave the fingers splitting you open.

Midoriya huffed a laugh, and leaned down to you, “I bet he would have made it real special. Too bad all he’s gonna get is my sloppy seconds.”

Ripping his fingers from you, you gasped at suddenly being empty. Licking your escense from his appendages, Midoriya forced you up. Roughtly, he ripped off your shirt so you were completely bare. Without care, he threw you down between Bakugou’s legs, a pillow below you. Getting behind you, he propped your hips up so you were face down and ass up.

Not giving two shits what Midoriya says, Bakugou gripped onto one of your hands as a small form of comfort. You clutched onto him, fear turning your tummy in tiny twists.

Midoriya unzipped his pants and brought them down to pull his cock from the tight cloth. Sighing in relief, Midoriya stoked himself with a few weak pumps. One his knees, he dragged himself closer to inspect both of your holes on display for him. With thumb, he ran it down from your ring of muscles over your hole and to your clit. Brushing it, he went back to your hole, he hooked his thumb inside and pried you apart.

A shuttering moan left at being exposed for his greedy eyes. Not caring you weren’t prepped enough, Midoriya brought his cockhead to your pussy.

“W-wait!” You begged, but he only bullied his way inside.

Only the tip was inside and you were being ripped apart. Bakugou gasped your hand tighter. More and more of your ex-childhood friend shoved himself inside. At halfway, he pulled out until it was just the head, and then slammed all the way to the hilt.

Screaming into the pillow, you cried as he tore his way into you. His balls slapped against your clit as he started a brutal pace. Your nipples chaffed against the rough texture of the bedding.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” Midoriya moaned.

He didn’t hold back his noises. Fucking into you, he groaned and whimpered, loving to finally be inside you. He had waited for years to feel how warm you were. When he was still a hormonal teen, he would spend hours yanking his cock to the thought of tearing you open. Who was he kidding? Even well into his adults years, he still fucked himself to you.

And him getting to you before Bakugou was the cherry on top.

A petty, insecure him wanted to shout, ‘I win!’ right at the man in front him. But staring at him, as he silently seethed at watching you get fucked by the man he hated, was much sweeter.

Crowding you, Midoriya leaned down to groan in your ear, “Look at you. Your sloppy cunt molding just for my cock. You were made for me.”

His head leaned down further to suck the length of your neck. Kissing the nape, he harshly bit into it and you screamed at the piercing ache. Tilting his hips, he hit the spongy part in you, a moan finally leaving you. He kept abusing it as his hand went down to your clit. Instinctively, you spread yourself further for him. His cock stretching you past your limits had your brain fog up in pleasure. Mouth gape, you whimpered into the pillow.

Working you over, Midoriya didn’t stop his pace or how he twiddled your clit. Too fast for your liking, a tightness tugged in your lower stomach.

“N-no.”

Midoriya caught on to how you scrambled away from the pleasure, “Oh, are you- fuck- are you gonna cum?”

In denial, you shook your head.

Laughing at you, Midoriya didn’t stop, just kept going as he was. Pinching your clit, your legs spasmed. You bit your lip to hold off the orgasm, but it was too late.

With a pound into your g-spot, you moaned as you came all over the villain’s dick. Groaning, Midoriya’s hips stuttered, but he was far from completing with you. Licking your neck, he bit into your flesh.

The pleasure quickly turned into pain as he didn’t stop. “Stop, it h-hurts!”

“Good.”

Ramping up his thrusts, you screeched into the pillow. Clutching onto it with your free hand, Bakugou stroked your hair to help you work through the agony. Tilting your head up, you looked up at the hero with bleary eyes. Drooling dripped down from your lips for a different reason.

From your fucked out expression, Bakugou almost came just from that. He knew it was wrong, but his cock has never been harder. You looked so beautiful ruined. If only it was him splitting you apart until you were crying.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you prepared for the next orgasm that threatened to rip through you. Midoriya’s thrust turned sloppy, he finally let up on your clit to focus on his own end. Gripping your hips, he forced them back to fuck you further on him.

You screeched and clenched around him when he bumped your cervix. At that, Midoriya stilled his hips. Cum shot out from him and deep in your cunt. He didn’t move until all of his cum spilled inside you. Your body hummed and twitched.

Sagging down, you were exhausted. Midoriya pulled out from you and you whimpered at being empty after being fucked open. Though, he didn’t leave you alone. His hand cupped your cunt, not letting any cum dribble out.

“Your turn,” Midoriya addressed Bakugou.

“What?” The hero asked stupidly.

“I did say you would get my sloppy seconds, didn’t I?” He tilted his head, mocking him. “Unless you don’t want to.”

Steeling his resolve, he agreed, “Fine.”

Like a puppet on strings, Midoriya pushed you onto Bakugou’s lap. Hand still cupped over you cunt, Bakugou tugged down his sweatpants and boxers. Sighing as his cock slapped against his clothed stomach, he grabbed your thigh to bring you closer.

With Midoriya’s help, you were positioned over his cock. Pressing against your back, you noticed he didn’t put his own away. Ignoring it, you locked gazes with Bakugou. He returned it.

Taking the reigns, Bakugou tugged you from Midoriya’s grip and he let him. Pulling his hand from your cunny, Bakugou replaced it with the blunt head of his cock. Cum spilled down to your thighs. Using it as lube and still stretched open, Bakugou slipped inside you with little resistance. He was a little bit bigger than Midoriya and thicker. Despite that, you didn’t wince as you sank down to the hilt.

Grasping you, Bakugou cradled your face. With little patience, he began thrusting inside you. Moaning, you didn’t stray away from his ruby eyes. Here, in this moment, you could pretend it’s just you two. Maybe the tension between you finally bubbled over and he took your virginity like you secretly wanted. And maybe, just maybe, Bakugou could take it like he longed for as much you did.

Matching his momentum, Bakugou brought his thumb over you parted lips. Dragging it across your bottom lip, he slipped his thumb inside. Moaning, you licked at the oddly sweet skin.

Midoriya cut into the moment, “Don’t you dare cum until I say so.”

Glancing at him, you see him sitting at the end of the bed, working himself back up slowly. His hand twisting over his length a lot slower than Bakugou’s thrusts.

Hooking his thumb on your bottom teeth, he brought your attention back to him. Eyes not straying from his, he let his hand slither down to hold your throat. The grip gentle. You sunk into his hold, it so much softer than you ever expected.

His other hand went to your neglected clit, circling it. Moaning for him. your thighs shook. Hands on his plush chest, you traveled down to grip his wrist. If he kept going, you would cum and you didn’t want to know what Midoriya would do.

Bakugou took at as encouragement and pressed further.

“I- I can’t!” You hiccupped.

Taking mercy on you, Midoriya said with a wavering voice, “Cum. Now.”

Not wasting a moment, Bakugou pushed you down onto the bed. Hand still on your throat, he hovered over you. In the tangle, his cock fell out, but he quickly fucked it back in you. Like a man starved, he slammed his dick in and out of you.

Groaning, you tilted your hips to encasing him inside you more. With his knees, he spread you further and went back to your bundle of nerves.

“You’re so pretty,” Bakugou leaned down, and bit right where Midoriya did before. He tried his best to cover all of that bastard with himself.

His sweet words had your vision swarm. Kicking your feet and curling your toes, his next bite did you in. Cumming with a loud moan right in his ear, Bakugou quickly followed. His cum mixed with Midoriya’s.

Flopping on top of you, he kissed where he bit you as an apology. Deep in you, his cock softened and fell out. Whimpering, you welcomed being empty once more. Your hips were battered and bruised.

“How cute,” Midoriya mocked.

From under Bakugou, you stared at the man who towered the both of you, still stroking his own cock. “I’m far from done with you two.”

Twisting his head to the villain, Bakugou sneered, “Fuck off. We did what you wanted.” He refused to move, covering your form with his to protect you.

The shorter male’s face dropped. “If both don’t get to work sucking my cock, I’ll shock you until you’re fucking stupid and nothing more than little fuck dolls.” Hand tight around the remote, you didn’t take his threat lightly.

Crawling out from under the hero, you went down on your knees on the cold concrete floors. The bones already ached. Glaring at Midoriya, Bakugou didn’t break eye contact as he got on his knees right next to you. It was comically how his form swallowed yours.

Sitting at the edge of the bed, Midoriya had you two between his knees. Raising his brow in impatience, you leaned over to lick his cockhead. Bakugou copied you to focus on his balls. Sucking one of them in his mouth, Midoriya bucked up forcing you to take more of his length.

“S-so good,” With both hands, he gripped you and Bakugou’s hair.

Pulling off his cock, you kissed furthered down until you met with Bakugou’s mouth. Departing from Midoriya’s sack, Bakugou licked up until your mouths connected. Over his dick, you both made out, tongues brushing against each other.

Your moan vibrated against Midoriya causing him to shutter.

“For a virgin, you are a natural.”

Clenching your eyes closed, you tuned out his voice and went down to his balls. Taking your place, he went to Midoriya’s cock and took it all in one go. Leaning over you, your lids went half mast, watching Bakugou swallow the villain causing him to give a girlish moan.

Moving to his other ball, you gave it attention, sucking it your mouth. Your tongue swirled around it. Bakugou moved up and down his cock with expertise, smirking when Midoriya whimpered again.

“F-fuck!” He groaned and pulled you both off him.

Ripping his hand from the one in Bakugou’s hair, he stroked his cock and aimed it at you. With two pumps, he came all over your face. You flinched back as it almost hit your right eye.

Releasing you, he leaned forward as shame washed over you. Cum still spilled from your cunt. Being the only one covered in cum and naked, you felt dirty. This time, tears did pour over as you refused to make eye contact with the man above you.

Sensing your shame and pissed at being degraded, Bakugou glared at Midoriya. Hatred seeped from his pores.

Midoriya merely smirked. Tapping your collar, you were forced to look at him.

“It’s going to be so much fun completely breaking you two.”

#yandere bnha #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere midoriya #yandere deku #yandere x you #bakugou x reader

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bensonoliviasstuff · 5 months

Text

“Turning Page”

Chapter One! “ ‘I'll never leave’, never mind”

Masterlist for “Turning Page”

Bucky Barnes x fem! Reader

Summary: Once Bucky regained consciousness and was no longer the Winter Soldier, all he missed from the 40s was his wife. But maybe she's closer than he thought.

Warnings: English is NOT my first language, so I'm sorry if there are too many errors. Futhermore i don't think there are many warnings, a little bit of angst, memory loss, betrayal, trauma, Insecurities and other things that you will discover throughout the story. And the best part: Thanos doesn't exist here

The infirmary doors were opened in an angry shove, making a loud noise as the metal of the door met the wall. A nervous Bucky walked past with hurried steps.

“Bucky, Wait!” Steve shouted trying to keep up with his friend's steps. “No one can enter the room yet, they are carrying out tests”

“I need to see, Steve!” He shouted in a broken voice as he continued his way through the corridors of the compound's medical wing. “I need to see with my own eyes...”

The sentence died down when he stopped walking, facing the glass window of the hospital room.

It was you.

Bucky had the image of you memorized perfectly in his head, he could describe everything that had changed since 1940 with just one look, your hair was a few inches longer, there were a few small scars on your face. But it was still you.

He felt like his heart had stopped beating for a few moments.

He ran a metal hand over his face, holding back the sob that threatened to escape his throat. “It’s her Steve” Bucky placed a hand on the glass, almost as if he could feel it.

“It's her, Bucky” Steve said cautiously “But... We don't know what happened to her this whole time, we'll only know how she is when she wakes up.”

That's when realization hit Bucky, his fist closed against the glass, about to punch the wall.

“I’m going to kill those bastards” Bucky said, unable to calm the anger he felt towards those men, what if you went through everything he went through? All the torture he had to endure for years and years? The thought of you suffering like he did made Bucky's heart sink towards his stomach.

“Natasha is interrogating the man who told us she was there” Steve said “She’s waiting for us.”

“I was waiting for you” your voice echoed through the room before Bucky took you by the waist and gave you a kiss full of love. “Sergeant Barnes now then?”

You pulled away to take a good look at your husband, he was wearing the brown suit of a WWII soldier.

“For you it’s always ‘my love’, doll” Bucky said taking you in his arms, this was something you loved about your relationship, even after so long together you still acted like teenagers who had just started a fiery passion.

But Bucky didn’t fail to notice when you lowered your head to hide your teary eyes.

“Hey, doll, what’s wrong?” He already knew the answer, he knew it and it left him almost inconsolable before going to sleep.

“I’m afraid Bucky, what if you don’t come back?” Her voice became lower and lower as the doubt became more terrifying in her mind.

“I will come back doll, I promise you, not in a million years i'm leaving you alone” He placed a hand on your neck, forcing you to look at him.

“You can’t promise that” You said unsurely. “You don’t know if you’re really going to come back. ”

“Then you can marry Steve” He tried to joke to lighten up, and you couldn’t help but let out a tearful laugh, punching him in the shoulder.

“This isn't funny, you know?” You said wiping away your tears. “I know, I know” he apologized pulling you into a tight hug. “I will never leave you doll, that's the only thing I'll keep in mind while I fight: I can't leave my princess behind.”

“How did you know Y/N Barnes was alive?” Natasha asked the man chained in front of her, Bucky and Steve were on the other side of the mirrored glass.

“She was never dead, Hydra has been with her since Steve Rogers was presumed dead” Steve looked down, he still blamed himself for that, for leaving you alone even after you losing your husband.

“What did Hydra wanted with her?” Natasha asked coldly, leaning over the table. “Why did they taked her?”

“Even after we erased the Winter Soldier's memory, he always ended up remembering her at some point, we wanted to create an advantage in this regard, if he decided he was no longer on our side, we would threaten to kill her”

Bucky kicked the nearest chair, cowering in rage. He was ready to go into that room and kill that man in the most violent way ever recorded. “And why didn’t they do that when he disappeared?”

“He was already gone, we couldn't find him, but she didn't lose her usefulness, during the time she was at the base, she made a lot of noise after finding out that James Barnes was alive, sometimes she could spend an entire day screaming for her husband, it was irritating, so we decided to erase her memory, it became much easier to experiment on her after that.” The man was dismissive, he had nothing left to lose, he was already sentenced to prison, now he just wanted to see Sergeant Barnes suffer.

“Still, she always remembered him eventually, we also used it to test the soldier's memory, every time after we erased his memory, we took him to her, only to see he didn't recognize her, she would cry for days.”

At this point, Bucky was curled up in the corner of the wall, holding his head as the tears fell. You called out to him, you spent days screaming for him, you were in the same place as him all the time and he was never even able to recognize you.

It was tearing him apart, it was breaking everything inside him. He was about to leave, unable to listen any longer, when Natasha's question reached his ears.

“Experiments? So she has the super soldier serum?” Bucky turned around, waiting for the answer “No, but we trained her, she was very good at carrying out the missions she was sent, Y/N Barnes killed a lot of people”

That was the final straw for Bucky, they made his precious sweet girl spill blood.

He walked into the room, ignoring Steve's comments about calming down. He grabbed the man by the collar of his clothes and pushed him violently against the wall, starting to throw punches with his metal arm, he could spend hours beating and it still wouldn't be enough, but Steve ripped him off before the man's face was deformed.

“Never put her name in your mouth again! Your bastard! I'll kill you!" Bucky screamed trying to free himself from Steve, Natasha got in front of Bucky and ordered Steve to get him out of there.

Steve left dragging a nervous Bucky. “Look, I have the same desire as you, I wanted to go in there and finish him off, but that’s not how you solve things Bucky!”

Bucky sat on the chair he had kicked minutes ago, putting his head in his hands, everything in him was shaking, a mixture of hatred, anguish and guilt. “They put her through hell, Steve!” He stood up abruptly, putting his hand over his mouth. “All this because I left her alone, I forgot about her! I promised I would always be there for her and I just forgot about her!”

Steve looked at his friend with a very strong tightness in his chest, this whole situation hurt him in a way he couldn't even explain, imagine how much it was hurting Bucky? How much did it hurt you, going through all of this alone?

He still remembered when he had to break the news to you.

“Steve!” You said happily after opening the door to the apartment you and Bucky shared. “Oh, I'm so happy to see you! I still haven't gotten used to the fact that you're taller than me now” You walked forward giving Steve a hug, noticing that his face wasn't looking good but you wanted to ignore all the crazy theories in your head. “Where is my husband? Why didn't he come with you? I already said you can't steal it from me” You joked, despairing when Steve didn't laugh.

“I'm so sorry Y/n... Bucky...” Steve started to speak but you interrupted before he could finish his line of reasoning. "No! Don’t say that Steve, it’s not true, it can’t be true, don't you dare to lie to me!” You said taking steps back, with your hand on your stomach, feeling like you were going to throw up.

“He promised... He told me he would come back!” You started to cry as Steve walked over pulling you into a hug.

Your legs no longer had the strength to keep you standing when you started crying and sobbing in Steve's arms. “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry” Steve kept repeating, even though his heart was breaking more and more.

“He promised me Steve! He has to come back” You repeated between sobs, Steve didn’t know what to say when your pain seemed to be consuming you.

That day, he laid you in bed, made you some tea and sat next to you until you Say a sentence that ended that super soldier.

“The worst lie I’ve ever heard: ‘I’ll never leave.’” You sighed with heavy eyes “Never mind”

After saying that you fell asleep, Steve couldn't put into words how painful it was to see your red and swollen face sleeping.

“I promise to take care of you Y/n, I won’t leave you alone, for Bucky”

Even so many years later Steve's heart hurts knowing that if he hadn't left, maybe you wouldn't have been alone, and now he feels even more guilty knowing that if he had been around, Hydra wouldn't have taken you.

He felt like it was his fault, even if it wasn't.

Steve's thoughts were interrupted by the door opening.

“Sergeant, Captain” Tony appeared in the room, a curious and relieved look on his face “She woke up”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #sebastian stan #marvel mcu #mcu #marvel #the avengers #iron man #tony stark #natasha romanoff #black widow #steve rogers #captain america #imagine #writing

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