#and when his teeth is clamped around their throat ripping muscle and skin they realize the truth: he's not kindhearted. he cant be.

[happyk44]

Jason as a wolf in sheep's clothing because he is so kind and compassionate and loving but he's also vicious and heartless and everyone is so used to the sweet boy consoling them they forget he's a child of justice, a child of order, a child of wolves.

[sashi-ya]

THE JAKDF VANS hibino kafka x f! reader. +18. explicit

⋆ requested by: @southside-otaku Hiya lovey, I saw your slots were filled on the Kn8 event but was wondering if you could open one more for a fem reader and Kafka using a praise kink (it goes both ways and they just praise each other through the whole thing)? Thank you so much for all your writings! ~South ⋆ tw: mdni. explicit smut. oral. car (van :P) sex. nipple sucking. praising both, loving each other so much, expressing their love through sex. ⋆ wc: 2.5K // event masterlist // tagging: @kpopluvr95

A soft smile flies his way. A big smirk reaches you from the other side. With Kafka is always that way; his presence is enough to make you happy.

A chill night has fallen and covered the sky with its dark mantle. Little shiny dots blink on it, as embroidered with silver cosmic thread. Sore muscles, sleepy eyelids; still some energy to rest with your squad comrades.

It’s become a habit of you all, to hang on the hills until dinner time. The little vans of the JAKDF bring you to the top of the hills within the Tachikawa base, and they are often used for your sweaty anti kaiju suits to rest aside. Sometimes, even, allowing you to prepare some food in case you decide to have some little picnic after training. Tonight, however, one of those little vans, will be useful for yet another purpose…

When most of the crew has left for comforting baths and a so needed bed, two of you have decided to stay for a little longer.

“The night looks beautiful…” Kafka says, coming closer to you once the last van except yours have parted.

“Indeed ~” you purr, crawling on him. You’ve been waiting for this, for your frame to be finally surrounded by Kafka’s. You’ve been waiting for your nose to bury on the crook of his neck, and for your palm to slid under his black compression shirt. He got the habit of wearing them from Soshiro, and you are happy he did.

“But not as beautiful as you, (Name)” Kafka continues, laughing like a silly boy right after.

Oh, you dumb, big, huggable, kissable, biteable man… 

You nuzzle on him, inhaling the scent of his skin. Delicious traces of manly effort, to become the best, to be a good soldier, reaches your nose. A desperate need to bite invades you, and so you do.

“Nom” you joke, carving your teeth on his flesh.

An instant growl ripped out of his throat came with your biting. His hands squeezing your waist, pulling you closer to him; shortening the distance -if there is any at all- in between your hips and his crotch.

“What a naughty kitty…” he whispers, sliding his hands down your buttocks until your thighs. Seconds after you are lifted up, surrounding his hips with your legs, clamped at him as he helps you not to fall.

“I can’t help it, even sweaty you smell and taste so good, Kafka-kun” you murmur, biting and kissing more and more. 

A shiver runs through the Kaiju hybrid; those words… the praising, the love, the adoration he is only used to show, it is now being shown at him, by a woman as beautiful as you, as strong and amazing as you.

Kafka needs you, right now, completely naked, all for him. Feral instinct taking over, that’s not exactly from his Kaiju side, but from his most inner, deep, dark desires.

He turns around with you still in arms and kicks open the back door of the van. Absolutely amazed, you realized he has not only became stronger than before in his human form, but the way he acts right now has nothing to do with his usual funny, cute ways.

“Listen, I know you deserve a king-sized bed with every possible luxury in this world. And I promise you’ll have it, but now, love… allow me to make love to you”

“There is no bigger luxury than being yours, Kafka~”

He sighs, loudly and needy, and your lips seal one with the other’s. A passionate kiss, that’s the type of those being censored on movies, takes over. Tongues dancing, wet playing… so lustful, so needy.

Out of breath, he puts you down for some seconds so that he is able to close the doors of the van. Now, both of you are safe to let your inhibitions go free.

Kafka invites you to sit on the van seats, he is aware there isn’t much space, but it is better than the dusty back used for storage. He sits first on the passenger seat and then extends his arms to help you sit on his lap.

“There we go…” he murmurs, sitting you comfortably on top of his crotch, allowing your core to experience how hard he is.

You squirm a little bit on top of him, making him painfully grunt. The way your leggings graze his trousers must be considered both a torture and a pleasure.

You reach for his face, placing each palm on each of his cheeks. Squeezing just a little you pull him closer to your mouth as you bend to reach for his lips.

“Aren’t you the hottest? Aren’t you the best?” you whisper playfully, allowing that man to breath those words in before attacking your lips.

“That’s just a little bit of everything you are, baby” he answers back, praising everything you are. His goddess; the woman he doesn’t even think of standing right by, but always under to kiss her feet.

Surely and dominantly, he pulls down the zipper of your boiler suit. Obsessed, Kafka smirks; how comes you are wearing nothing underneath? You took the anti-kaiju suit and only slipped inside the coveralls?!

“You like what you see?” you purr, brushing his hair back as you watch him get lost into the turgor of your chest.

“Ngh… more than that, babe… I’m obsessed” he grunts, cupping your breasts into his hands to play with them, to take them to his lips, to squeeze them with precise pressure.

Your muscles tense as he begins sucking on your nipples; little bites on one of them while his fingers pinch the free one.

Every window, every glass surface on that van, gets steamed by the heat of your needy bodies. An extra hint of privacy you both didn’t notice for being so into each other’s bodies.

Your muscles tense, and so your hips do as well. You begin jumping, grazing, going back and forth over Kafka’s lap. Over Kafka’s hardness.

His fingers bury on your thighs and ass, helping you go up and specially down; he wants your sex pushed against his sex, as lust blurs his mind and leads the way.

You can feel the twitching underneath you; how desperately those pants get wet, precum stained, probably a mess. You wonder if it’s difficult for him to tame his inner beast, to stop his wild secret to be revealed, to take over the situation… to make you a victim, to be eaten by the monster he hides inside.

And you are getting eaten, but not exactly but his kaiju side. It is him, his humanity that’s desperate…

“Come here, allow me… ngh” his words cut short by unstoppable moaning coming from your continuous humping.

Kafka wants every piece of clothing off your body; like a butterfly gaining his wings, a metamorphosis to turn you into his nymph… naked, exposed, flesh ready to be ripped, tasted, devoured… no! bitten, softly! Think straight Kafka, this is you… not Number 8.

As the suit gets stuck on your hips, your feral lover lifts you up from his lap and deposits you next to him; it is a blessing those vans have one chunky seat joined for both the driver and the passenger side.

Turned to face him, he finally rips the legs part off. Spread wide opened by his big hands, he finally gets ready to taste your dripping core. Soft moonlight filters through steamed windows, shining silvery reflections on your smeared juices.

“Just… how can you be that perfect, love?” he asks, kissing your inner thigh with more than care; Kafka is moved by pure adoration, by pure devotion.

“I’m desperate for you, Kafka…” you moan, curling a chunk of his black hair in between your fingers.

He comes closer, more and more to your hot core. Inhaling your perfume, already gloating at what he is about to feast on.

Your right heel falls on his waist, as he is bent on the seat, to lift your hip enough for him to be comfortable. And you to be, exactly, on a silver platter.

Kafka slides his index from your clit to your entrance, as his lips purse and fall on your whole core. He sucks; using his tongue while he does to wander the ups and downs of your sexual lands.

Gripped to the steering wheel, your nails carve marks on the leather material as your hips lift even further. His mouth gets glued to your femininity; getting his chin completely messed up with your juices, and probably the tip of his nose as well.

His index, that soon also gets accompanied by his middle finger, are also inside you. Pumping, going in and out, in beckoning motions hitting your inner walls.

“I’m gonna… I’m gonna mess the van- you- Kafka you do it so well- ngh…” you moan, pulling his hair to lift his face off your sex.

“Do it; I’ll clean it up” he mutters, cleaning from your arousal elixirs the commissure of his mouth with the tip of his tongue.  

You giggle; pulling him to top you completely.

“Shush, I want your dick inside of me…” you whisper, reaching for his now aching, desperate, about to burst bulge. “But first, I’d like to taste it… I’d like to feel the heat of it on my throat”

Detrimental for his mental health, those words were. If he still had some self-control, he had now lost it.

It was enough with your skilful hands to unbuckle the belt holding his pants up; a single swift motion freed him from that clothing jail. Toes to the rim of a completely messed up underwear, also enough to pull it down until strong thighs.

The perfect anatomy this man holds; the slight bump of his belly, so kissable, so deliciously tempting you to fall for deep maternal instincts… because he looks so much like the man you would love to give a child to.

“Let me give you pleasure, love. I – don’-“ he wants to argue, perhaps, on who deserves more than him. But you aren’t allowing it; if there is someone in this world who deserves to be praised and bathed in the most exquisite delights is none but him.

“Shh…” you giggle, surrounding his sex with your palm. There is something special on touching a man from underneath, with pumping motions coming in and out towards you; Kafka’s thighs begin to tremble, muscles spasming as your jerking off delight goes faster, increasing rhythm, increasing pleasure.

Slowly, but surely, you help him to sit back again. His forearm landing on top of his eyes, covering them, while his head gets thrown back.

You keep on pumping, up and down, with a palm coated in precum; with fingers drizzled as well. Kafka’s grunts and moans are like music to your ears, and now the tip of his dick is also a delight for your lips.

A stream of clear arousal forms in between the tip of your tongue and his purplish sex; Kafka’s eyes fix on it as you take some air to get ready to swallow his shaft entirely again.

“Babe… I won’t be able to hold…. Much longer” he grunts, trying to resist the urge to bury your head against his crotch.

Your eyes, teary from the many thrusts against your throat, meet his turquoise ones. Concupiscent look in yours, a frown tinted in depravity; like a demon, like a succubus, inviting that pure heart to sin.

“No, fuck it. Come here” he exclaims, taking the reins back again. He detaches you from his sex, helping you to straddle on top of him once again.

He hugs you, close enough to trap his hardness in between him and against your lower belly. A mess creating on your stomach, anticipating how warm it will feel once deep inside.

“I love you, my goddess” “I love you more, babe”

Almost without even trying and with a simple motion, his tip is already penetrating you. His chin, resting on your chest, right in the middle of your breasts. Pleading, and still dominant, he looks up at you. Your arms, pinned on the small of your back, held by one of his hands.

You begin to move, up and down, desperate. His hips wont let you do all the work by yourself, however. Thrusts destroying your insides, deliciously forcing your walls to spasm and milk his shaft.

Kafka attacks your nipples, out of control fucking you with no mercy. He doesn’t care if half Tachikawa hears your whines. In fact, he actually wants you to scream louder.

“God, you were made for me” he grunts, giving you the last few strikes. He can feel that indeed, your insides, were made for his sex.

You, about to lose control, can barely mumble syllables; Kafka is right, you feel like your insides were made exactly for him…

“Fill me up, love…” “Your wishes are orders, my sweet goddess”

[aspiring-house-husband]

it was feared in your village. they said it was half man, half monster. said it was beautiful and sung soft songs, but it was evil and would lure you away to kill you. they bring back bodies from the woods of men who were trapped by it and gored with its knives made of its own shed antlers. bitten by its sharp teeth, like a wolf’s, and ripped at by claws like bears’. they say that if you ever see it, run. hide. pray it does not find you. they say to stay clear of its woods, and never follow a voice into the trees. 

their fear of it gave you peace and quiet in the woods, for you had never felt in danger. you had always felt quite safe. you had seen the bodies, sure, but still you privately doubted the creature’s existence. a man with antlers? claws? fangs? 

“you are not one of them,” comes an unnatural voice behind you, one with too much clicking, like the tongue was extra zealous in the forming of the words. you whirl to see him, and his eyes glint like a deer looking into the fire. but he’s missing his antlers. 

“you look…”

“i take this form to better communicate with you,” he says, slinking closer to you. he stays low to the grasses and undergrowth as he moves, stretching long legs around to keep himself grounded. he’s smaller and lither than you would have imagined. “you don’t realize it, but you do the same, to speak with them. those humans. you are so much more than them.”

“what do you mean?”

“you are of mine, not theirs,” he tells you, and now he climbs your torso, cupping your face. he slots his lips to yours, and no sooner do you melt to the kiss that he slides his tongue into your mouth, invading it, tasting it. but he pushes further, and with shock and slight fear you realize that his tongue is long. it explores you, deep and filling your mouth, licking into your throat and obsessing your mind with his taste. when he pulls away, his face is sharper, like a canine’s, and he licks his fangs from both his drool and yours.

“this is what lives in you,” he says, and his eyes are slitted, and his antlers have grown in. he looks like the demon they warn you about, but he feels protective. like a friend. 

he grabs onto your shirt and pulls you to a rock not far away, sitting himself on it and lifting his legs to hook you between them. his ankles have lengthened out like a wolf’s, and he curls his fingertips to not slice through your shirt with bearish claws. 

“give in to it,” he growls, long tongue circling his jaw and salivating as he looks at you. he pulls you close with the grip of his legs and you match the motion by holding onto his hips. he draws his hands down your body, until his too-long fingers grip into your pants and tear them apart. your cock hardens against his thighs when he exposes it to his skin. 

“give in and be one with me,” he says, resting his forehead against your collarbone. 

“yes,” you breathe, your body on fire as you push closer to him, to his heat, his wetness. he opens his thighs to invite you inside, and it’s no effort to push into him. you grip into his hips harder as the pleasure washes over you, shuddering down your body. he squeezes to encourage you, and you almost go cross-eyed at the tightness. he’s so perfect around you, feels so lovely, so right. 

“let go,” he whispers against your chest, teasing his fangs across your skin, lighting it aflame everywhere his breath fans. you snap your hips into him, then again, and again, until he’s spread out on his back and arched his chest to the sky and he moans and whines and howls. it’s too good, it’s fire and adrenaline and rushing rivers and moonlit skies. it’s the wind of a hurricane and the autumn leaves bleeding red and the swell of blood flushing under his skin as his muscles tense around you. it’s the strong smell of his sweat and arousal and slick in your nostrils and the taste of his skin that you so badly want to bite and marr. it’s the feel of his hole around you, clamping down as though claiming you as his, your cock thrusting back in to mark him as yours. 

it’s when you’re too tall to fuck him comfortably that you flip him onto his side, clawed hands tangling into his hair and avoiding both antlers and fluttering ears to keep his head down so he can keep taking it so perfectly, watching your thrusts ripple in his flesh. he cums around you after he pulls his leg up and over your shoulder, and doesn’t let you pull out to let him recover. instead he grips onto your antlers to pull your head down to him and tangles his long tongue around yours, the two slipping over each other, mixing their tastes. 

“make us one,” he says, his hole still throbbing around you. his ankle locked behind you and still pulling you toward him makes the order hard to ignore. 

you pull out only when his legs go limp against you, and you’re treated with the sight of your cum slowly spilling from his hole. he reaches out with clawed fingers in such a soft motion that you couldn’t resist but to sunbathe on the rock next to him, letting him catch his breath by resting his head on your chest. 

“you’re so much more than human,” he tells you again, and this time, he breathes it like a prayer. his thigh over your hips is soft when your cock rises against it again, and his tongue leaves cooling tracks of saliva across your chest. 

[ambroziadelphine]

A Wink of Eternity Madara x Goddess of sleep! Reader

Part 1

"L-Lyria.. F-Fuck." He panted, I was on top of him after a few rounds, his hands on my hips as I rode him hard and fast. He'd started out so confident, but he'd never expected this stamina from a goddess, though he really should have. He'd already came inside me so many times, our thighs were soaked as I fucked him, he was already too pussy drunk to realize how vulnerable and submissive he was being for me. I moaned before kissing up his neck, his eyes rolling back as his head tilted to expose more of his skin to me. I couldn't help the shiver that ran through me, knowing a man so feared in life was now a flustered mess under me. Even if I was a literal goddess, the sounds he made and faces were ethereal in how turned on he made me.

"Madara~" I moaned, his cock was so big, I could feel it hitting all the right spots as I slammed back down on him, his arms weakly trying to push me down harder as he threw his head back.

"C-cumming.." He groaned, his cock twitching as I picked up the pace, his muscles tensing before he moaned out, almost in a cry as he squeezed his eyes shut. His hands bruised his fingertips into my hips as he stopped me, pressing me flush to him as he thrusted up as hard as he could, my own eyes rolling back as his seed flooded my womb. I felt my climax washing over me as I cried out his name, twitching and shaking from both my own high and the feeling of Madara's cock spurting thick hot ropes into me as we laid in the ritual room, the warm sun shining down on us from the intricately detailed open roof, perfect for viewing the sky at any time of the day.

I panted with him, our chests heaving as sweat shone on our bodies, leaning down to lay my head on his chest, his arms slowly wrapping around me. I sighed and kissed his skin, the new faint scar from where he was killed adding to the dozens littering his skin. I slowly trailed my kisses across his scars, up his neck before I reached his face, kissing his cheek lightly. He smiled softly, closing his eyes as he pulled me closer making me giggle, his nose burying in my neck with his hair tickling my skin.

"I might have to keep you here in the palace after this." I mused, my arms wrapping around him as I kissed the side of his head, hearing his breathless hum in response making me grin. "You know, I'm the only goddess without any demigod children. Maybe I'll let you change that." I said, feeling his cock harden, he gave a small moan in response, his lips attacking my neck as I bit my lip.

"Gonna fuck a baby into you.." He growled, seeming to get a new wave of energy as he flipped us over, starting to pound into me without a second thought, pressing my thighs back into a mating press as I cried out, one of his hands rested on my lower stomach, pressing down making me mewl out. He could feel his thrusts beneath his hand, pushing on my core to let his tip bully my cervix while I clamped down on him.

"Madara!" I cried, feeling myself succumb to the pleasure once more. Madara grit his teeth, sweat dripping from his brow, holding me so tight I thought I'd snap as tears started to line my eyes. How could a mortal make me feel so overwhelmed?

"I'll spend eternity buried in you if you let me." He groaned, my walls clenching down on him as I pulled him down, our lips meeting in an emotional kiss when I felt myself start to shake from the pleasure.

I'd never kissed a mortal before, but somehow it felt like the best euphoria I could've ever felt, all from his thick cock pounding my poor cunt. I was crying out his name, legs locking around his waist as he fucked me like some breeder whore. My nails raked down his back, one hand tangling in his hair as I tugged, trying to pull him closer if possible, only for a low growl to rip from his chest. The hand on my stomach came to wrap around my throat, his fingers tighten, the blood slowing to my head in a slow build up of pressure heightened my senses. He hung his head, eyes watching the mess between us, sticky cum stringing between us as he made sure to get as deep as he could before he'd cum again.

"L-Lyria.. fuuuuuck." He groaned, filling me again as overstimulation hit him. He shivered, panting as he hovered over me, his eyes closed when I tilted his face up to me, his onyx, dazed eyes looking into mine. He eyed my tongue as I panted, his lips quickly finding mine as our tongues clashed and I moaned. My hands tangled in his hair when he set my legs down, wrapping me in his arms as I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer until he rested his head on my collar.

"Is this what all worship it like?" Madara asked, panting heavily with me as I chuckled, running my fingers through his damp hair.

"It's one of the most powerful ways to worship. Not the only way, but to protect a clan?" I gave a small amused huff as he looked down at me, lifting himself up slightly. "It takes more then one day of worship to generate that sort of power. So, you will be staying in the palace indefinitely then, I suppose." I mused, smiling as my fingers lightly trailed up and down his back as he looked at me.

"Would giving you a child be a form of worship?" He asked and I hummed, thinking about it for a moment before nodding.

"That, would probably be the most powerful form of worship you could give me." I said, Madara's lips pulling into a smirk as he gently massaged my body, a smug yet blissful look on his damp face.

"Never would I imagine being the one to make a goddess bare my seed." He mused, his cock twitching in me as I clenched, Madara letting out a hiss as he slowly rutted into me, his eyes closing as he turned his face to the sky in bliss. "Fuuuuck..." He groaned, looking down at me, looking at how I tried so hard to keep my eyes on him, only to arch my back and cry out as his thrusts turned harsher, still just as tauntingly slow. I turned up to look at him as his thrusts turned sloppy, his exhaustion seeming to have been catching up to him as his face and body was flushed red.

"Fuck, Madara! Please, don't stop!" I cried, the encouragement making him look down at me, leaning down to take one of my nipples in his mouth, his pace picking up again as he turned from moaning and groaning, to panting and whining in a mater of moments. "Want.. a baby.. Oh god! Madara!" I cried, my arousal soaking us both as Madara fucked me through my high, his thrusts getting almost painfully harsh the closer he got to release, until he was desperately thrusting as far as he could as he came. He let out a loud groan, his eyes rolling back as he gave me whatever he had left, letting go of my breast with panting breaths.

We laid there for a while, catching our breath and enjoying each others presence before he pulled out of me slowly, pushing my knees up to my chest, my ass almost in the air as he stared at his seed dripping from me. I couldn't help from involuntarily clenching around nothing, Madara's hand on my legs tightening as his other moved to spread my lips apart, a clear view of my swollen and leaking hole. He rubbed his fingers up and down my slit, suddenly feeling his lips attach onto my clit making me gasp, his fingers moving to stuff his leaking seed back into me as I moaned and whimpered. i cried out when I felt him nibbling on the bud, my body too sensitive as I quickly came, squirting all over his mouth and chin, the Uchiha viciously slurping any of it up that he could as if he was a man dying of thirst, his fingers making sure if this didn't take, at least I'd smell like him and be begging for more of his addicting cum later.

I was in tears and crying out when he stopped, no more of his cum dripping out as he set my legs down. He stared down at me, gently rubbing my thighs and hips as he smirked, leaning down to kiss me as I whimpered. I could taste myself on him and it was just so intoxicating to taste the both of us on his tongue, my hands threading through his hair. I could get used to this..

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

Calling for the advice of my sisters was never a fond moment for me, but with the possibility of having a child, they are the best to ask. This was why I was currently staring into a large basin, waiting for my sister Nila's answer; she was the Goddess of the harvest and sun. She also has 8 children, so I think she's my best bet.

"And to what do I owe this surprise call, hmm?" She asked upon answering, looking at me for a moment before she blinked. "Is that a hickey on you?" She asked, making me blush, covering my neck with my hand as she chuckled.

"What is it, little sister?" She asked after a moment, dropping her teasing tone as she looked at me softly.

"How did you know when you were with child?" I asked her bluntly, never really knowing how to talk to my siblings besides directly. She looked surprised, then her gaze softened and she smiled.

"If you are trying to have a child, Lydia, just know this. Your whole empire will feel that shift once you know you're with child, and your lover should prepare. You already have children born of your magic, but children of the womb are different. A demigod, is different." She said softly, and I nodded, already having figured this.

"Your songbirds and ravens stay young forever, innocent forever." She said, her smile getting slightly sadder. "A demigod is not given that pleasure. They grow, and they become adults and experience all the emotions of a human. It will be your responsibility to raise this demigod to follow a good path, no matter what they may turn out to be the god of." She said, and I sighed, nodding.

"Do not mistake me for not thinking this through, but I feel I have a good opportunity with my current position." I said, making her raise a brow.

"A good opprotunity? Mind telling me what that is?" She asked and I bit my lip, grinning.

"Seems the head of the Uchiha clan called upon me in death. He is here and has asked me to protect his clan while he is no longer living." I said, her eyes widening as her grin grew.

"That takes a lot of power." She mused before she seemed to understand what my opprotunity was. "You figure he can give you a child as an offering to protect his clan, and you are guaranteed a strong child." She concluded as I smiled, nodding to her.

"Everyone gets what they want." I shrugged before snickering. "I won't lie and say the sex isn't something im also looking forward to. He's quite the man, sister." I chuckled, her own small laugh ringing out.

"Maybe once you are with child, I can bring your nieces and nephews down for a little introduction. How would you feel about this?" She asked, and I chuckled.

"I have a feeling we will not be slowing down just because I am pregnant. He seems quite determined to try and break me in bed." I laughed, my tone light as I looked out the window, my songbirds off to paint the sky for the sunset. "You all may have to wait until after the child is here. It will depend on how this all goes. He is still a mortal, after all." I said. She sighed and nodded.

"I wish you wouldn't be go guarded with mortals." She said making me sigh.

"My issues with mortals are completely reasonable, but that doesn't mean I dont make my own exeptions." I said, crossing my arms as I looked away from her. "Besides, It not my fault humans have proven time and time again to choose their greed and sadistic nature over others." I said, Nila going quiet.

"Not every mortal is like Jasper." She said quietly, my eyes closing as I ended the call abruptly. I dont need to be reminded of him. He's dead, long gone. I dont need to think of him anymore.

I can't think of him anymore.

[wkemeup]

The Only Kindness

summary: In the early days of Bucky’s captivity in Hydra, the only comfort he knows is the kindhearted doctor assigned to mend his wounds. At least when he's with her, he knows he isn’t alone. pairing: bucky x reader word count: 9.7k warnings: torture, canon level violence, unwanted sexual advances, hydra's attempts to brainwash bucky, hella angst, a/n: this is meant to sit in the world of canon and what we know eventually happens to Bucky at Hydra sooo do with that what you will. I am genuinely really proud of this one so I hope you can forgive me for the pain I cause

The first thing Bucky remembered every morning when the sting of florescent lights woke him in a cold sweat was that the arm attached to his shoulder was not his own. The realization of it hurt worse than the day before; with unforgiving metal seared into his skin, leaving behind bubbled scars and a revolting, oozing smell.

It weighed him down, slumped on his spine, pulled at his neck, and he struggled to even push himself upright. Sitting upon the thin mattress laid amongst an otherwise baron room, Bucky supposed he might have preferred the floor if not for the dark red stain at the center of the concrete.

Then, the familiar clicking of locks echoed against the walls and Bucky gritted his teeth as a stout man with rounded features and an arrogant grin strolled into the room – no, the cell – alongside two men strapped with rifles.

He clutched to the solid metal of his arm as if holding it might take the pressure off his shoulder, might subside the pain as it spread through his veins, or stop the twitching in his cheek as he tried to stifle the pain, but it was no use. He held on anyway in favor of wrapping a hand around the scientist’s throat.

“Ah, good morning, Sergeant Barnes,” Zola greeted, though there was something unpleasant in his tone. A threat, perhaps. A taunt. It was always something of the sort.

Bucky could barely muster the energy to look the man in the eye, but as he did, it was hidden under a dark, loathing glare. He spat on the floor by Zola’s feet.

“Go to hell.”

Zola jumped back and brushed at the toe of his shoe. It was amusing, at least, to see the rage boil in the man’s chest; all red faced and round and steaming from the ears. Though Bucky’s triumph was shorted lived as Zola waved a single hand at the armed guards beside him.

They lunged forward and with heavy hands, clawed Bucky into their grip by his biceps. He met concrete within seconds; the red stain laid beneath him. His knees barely had time to heal from the day before and they stung as he struggled under the guards’ grasp, raw skin and blistering burns shielded by paper thin fabric.

His face was pushed down into the stone and for a strange moment there was relief; it was cool to the touch, a break from the feverish heat on his brow.

But then, while a guard pinched at the nape of Bucky’s neck, nearly choking the air straight out of him and the other jabbed a knee to his spine, he remembered there was no relief within Hydra.

“You have a long day ahead of you,” Zola announced, a smirk growing upon his face as Bucky let out a hollowed whine. It slipped past his lips before he could smother it down. He knew then that he had lost whatever game they were playing; the win-lose of a man in chains to his captors with scalpels in their hands and venom on their tongues.

He didn’t know how long it had been since the fall; since icy waters and plummeting down to a ravine he wished most nights had swallowed him whole. He didn’t know how many times he was cut open in an unsterilized room, thrown onto a rusting metal table and operated on with cheap anesthetic. He didn’t know how many times he was strapped into a chair that set fire to his veins and left him feeling numb and empty, how many times he felt a lingering sense of dread he couldn’t quite place.

He didn’t know much at all, really.

But he knew his name. He knew his serial number. He knew Steve would come for him like he did before. He knew he’d get through this. He had to. He didn’t have a choice.

“We have much to do,” Zola announced, admiring how Bucky’s face pressed down into the concrete, how the prickles in the stone scraped against his cheek and cut at his skin— pleased to see a man brought to his knees, bowing before the greatness of Hydra. It brought Zola a sense of pride whether the Sergeant resisted or not. He would give in soon enough.

The guards didn’t loosen their grip on Bucky’s arms as they yanked him back to his knees. They didn’t give him a chance to stand either before they started to drag him from the cell.

The grip on his right arm was sure to leave bruises behind, ones to accompany the mess of blue and purple coloring his skin, but it was the pain on his left that rendered him paralyzed. It felt like his arm was being ripped straight from his body, pulled at every nerve ending until they snapped. He could hardly move.

It wasn’t until Zola made a sharp left at the end of the hall that a familiar sense of dread dropped into Bucky’s stomach. Whether it was fear, panic, resilience, he wasn’t sure, but he started to fight back as they neared a dark red door with six locks running up the side.

“No,” he gaped, barely a whisper, but it caught Zola’s attention.

Bucky thrashed in the men’s grip, using his weight as leverage despite the searing pain in his shoulder and the blood trickling down his ribs from where metal fused to flesh. His heels dug into the concrete, trying to catch against the wall to slow them down, to stop what he knew was coming.

Zola merely smiled.

It was no use, and perhaps Bucky knew that from the start, but he couldn’t be strapped into that chair without a fight. He still didn’t know its purpose but he knew it brought him pain. It disoriented him, made him forget his own name and the monsters that chained him. It forced him to remember all over again that he was held prisoner, thousands of miles away from home, presumed dead, and he couldn’t -- he couldn’t do it anymore.

“Please,” Bucky gasped and it sounded foreign in his own voice – broken. He hated it. He despised how his voice cracked, how he fell to his knees in front of his captors and begged.

Zola grabbed a firm hold of Bucky's chin, stump fingers digging into his cheeks and demanding attention. As he pulled in closer, Bucky caught sight of something strange in the reflection of Zola’s glasses.

He didn’t recognize the man staring back at him; hair grown and wild, unkept beard on his face, dirt and blood covering most of his skin. Amongst the scratches in the glass and the clouds of dirt, the reflection of the man looked tired, with hallowed eyes and sunken cheeks. He wasn’t strong enough to fight back. He wouldn’t survive if he tired.

Bucky slumped in the guards’ arms.

“That’s what I thought,” Zola jeered, a lingering chuckle etched into the trail of his voice. He waved a hand at the guards and Bucky was placed into the chair, all dead weight and positioned like a doll.

Thick, metal bars strapped down around Bucky’s wrists, his biceps, his ankles to hold him in place. He did his best to let go of himself, to find somewhere far beyond the walls of this room, away from the men who ripped him to pieces and broke him to the bare bones. He imagined something better, safer, where he was clean shaven and in fresh clothes, where Steve was waving from the end of the street and the war long behind them, but the dream was torn from him as soon as the panels clamped against his temples.

Electricity jolted through his system and his whole body tensed. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

But he could scream.

It ripped through his lungs and he was certain he’d break straight through the mouth guard and shatter his teeth if they didn’t turn off the machine soon. The sound echoing through the room was strained, broken, and Bucky might have mistaken it for nails to a chalkboard if he didn’t feel the burn in the back of his throat.

He started to lose time, unsure if it was on for seconds or hours. It was blinding. It was all-consuming. It was swallowing him whole.

“Enough!” a voice broke through. A woman’s. It wasn’t one Bucky recognized.

“No, keep it on! He can take more.” Zola.

“Are you insane!” the voice shouted again. “You’ll kill him!”

Let them.

The thought startled Bucky but it slipped from him in the seconds it took to arrive; searing pain, white hot fire washing through every muscle down to his bones. His eyes began to flutter closed, a strange sort of emptiness pulling him under, a darkness he couldn’t place, and he welcomed the escape.

There was yelling again, though this time it was coming was across the room. The machine began to power down, the whirring sounds of electricity in his ears leaving him with a numbing silence. The dizziness took hold, the hollowness, and he was surprised to find a woman staring back at him, her hands wrapped around the lever that pulled him from the fire.

“What the hell are you doing!” Zola roared, accent thick and slurring his words together. He bounded forward, attempted to push past the woman but she held her ground, hands planted on her hips.

“I’m saving his life,” she grunted back, unfazed by Zola’s finger pointing up into her face. She swatted it away, ignoring the shock upon his rounded features. “You brought me here for a reason, didn’t you? Let me do my damn job.” She glanced around the room, eyed the men with guns aimed at the ready, barrels trained in her direction. “Give me the room.”

“Not going to happen,” Zola snapped but quickly silenced as she shot him a glare that had him cower several steps in retreat. His cheeks were burned red.

The woman turned back to the man in the chair and he slumped limply in its clutches, her narrowed eyes centering on the rapid rise and fall of his chest. She held up two fingers, eyeing him carefully before she slowly moved to press them against his throat.

He winced before she could even touch him, flinching at the air itself, and she paused, bringing her hand back to her chest. She gave him a minute to watch as she demonstrated what she was trying to do by pressing the tips of her fingers to her own neck.

She tried again and this time she held his stare; calming aura nestled between the vibrant shades in her eyes, a gentle kind of patience he didn’t expect, and he hardly noticed her fingertips against his skin as she felt for his pulse, feather light and paper thin. They were cool to the touch, a comfort in the burning heat of metal surrounding him and he caught himself before he could lean into her palm.

“His heart rate is through the roof,” she said tensely, turning back to Zola and withdrawing her hand. “Unless you want your multi-million-dollar project to go to waste, clear out before he has a goddamn heart attack.”

Zola eyed her suspiciously in what appeared to be a competition of wills. She straightened her back, arms folding over her chest, and she towered over the scientist’s small frame. He glared up at her and the fury was palatable on his face; upper lip twitching, eyes narrowed, hands curling into fists.

She held her ground.

“Fine,” Zola grumbled, waving a hand to the line of men behind him until they bring their weapons down to their sides. “Give the doctor the room.”

As if she were waiting for the men to leave, she exhaled a breath like she had been holding it for quite some time. When she let her hands come back to her sides, puncture marks were left in her palms.

“I’m leaving a man behind for your safety,” Zola threw over his shoulder at he reached the door, almost like a threat.

She swallowed; jaw clenched. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Maybe not today, but it will be.”

Then, he was gone.

The door locked shut behind him and a single guard remained by the door, positioned with his finger on the trigger.

“Finally,” she exhaled, turning back with a gentle smile on her face that felt almost unsettling to be in such a cold and unforgiving place. “Can you tell me your name, soldier?”

“Uhh,” was all that left his lips and he hardly recognized his own voice. He searched in the back of his head for the answer, felt it on the tip of his tongue, and still… nothing. He glanced back up at her with clenched teeth because he knew what would happen next, what always happened next.

But instead of a harsh hand to the side of his face or the blunt edge of a weapon to his crown, she nodded, offered him a sad sort of smile, and simply said, “that’s alright.”

She glanced down at the clamps restraining him to the chair. His skin was raw underneath, bleeding a little, and she frowned. It crinkled up into her forehead, pursed out at her lips, and he decided he liked it much better when she smiled.

“Your name is Sergeant James Barnes,” she said fondly and it sounded familiar as she said it, but it still felt distant— wrong in some way. She seemed to notice the contemplation on his face. “It’ll come back to you soon. Might take longer than the last time, but it will. They haven’t perfected the science of the chair yet, it seems.”

There was a resentment laced into her words as she glared back at the armed man standing guard with disgust. She softened as she turned back to face the man she called James. It was within that moment the anger washed from her features, a kindness replacing the hatred, and she ran her fingers on the edge of the chair before she pulled away.

“I’m going to undo these, okay?” she told him and he was surprised that she waited for his nod before adjusting the mechanics on the machine until the metal snapped open and a rush of cold air swept against the blistering skin. He hissed at the sting of it.

“Come,” she requested, gesturing to the examination table in the corner of the room. “Let’s get you out of this thing, huh?”

He was thankful for that. He couldn’t stand the sharp edges anymore or the blistering heat of the arm rests. Her touch was so gentle he wondered if it could push right through him as she bent down to help tug his right arm over her shoulders.

Just as she nearly had him positioned well enough to get him to his feet, the guard standing in the corner of the room stepped forward, gun raised.

“I wouldn’t do that, ma’am.”

She clenched her jaw. “I’m fine. Let me work.”

“He’s dangerous,” the guard grunted back.

“He’s not going to hurt me,” she argued. There wasn’t a trace of hesitancy in her voice, even as she turned to the man hanging off her arms. “Are you, Sergeant Barnes?”

He shook his head.

“See?” she gestured. “Now leave us be.”

The guard stepped back, lowered his weapon, and she smiled.

“Alright then, James,” she started, “think you can help me get you to that table over there? I know you’ve lost some muscle mass but you’re still pretty heavy.”

A short ghost of a laugh escape as he let himself lean on her shoulder, allowing her to guide him towards the table. It surprised him as it left his chest, the feeling of laughter, because he hadn’t so much as smiled since the fall. It hurt, almost. But it was a nice kind of hurt.

She helped him sit on the table, just high enough to give her decent leverage, and he spotted a bag filled with what appear to be medical supplies. It contained with what he would expect; a stethoscope, bandages, depressors, but there were also needles, and shiny metal tools that made him clench his hands around the lip of the table.

“I’m a doctor,” she said, noticing his stare. “I won’t hurt you.”

“Zola’s a doctor,” he muttered back feebly, sharp images of lying awake on a cold, metal table much like the one he currently sat upon plagued his mind, memories of scalpels in his shoulder and needles in his arms.

She nodded, contemplating what he said before she frowned and countered, “Zola’s a mad scientist with a God complex.”

A smile tugged at his lips. It broke a little, but it remained.

“You can call me Y/n if you like,” she said as she began digging through her bag. She found the stethoscope and placed the ends in her ears. “I’m going to press this to your chest, alright? It might be a little cold.”

She exhaled a breath on the side of it for a moment to try and warm it, rubbing it with the palm of her hand. He was mesmerized by the small details; how she positioned herself strategically between him and the armed guard behind her, how she told him exactly what she was doing before she did it, how she gave him time to prepare, how she hadn’t once touched him without asking first.

He didn’t understand her or why she was here, but he was thankful.

He nodded at her and she leaned in closer, pressing the piece to his sternum. It had a slight chill to it but he could still feel the warmth left behind from her breath. He took a deep breath in as she instructed. She took her time, slowly moving to his ribs, and then his back. He took more deep breaths, felt the pulsing of his heart steady under her touch.

“Looks good all things considering,” she told him. Her eyes drifted to the burn marks on his right wrist, fingers ghosting over the reddened marks and her lips tug down into a frown. She masked it as she faced him again, pushing out a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Might as well attend to this, too, don’t you think?”

Yeah, might as well.

He offered her his hand.

He sat quietly while she worked, listening to her hum softly under her breath. She was impossibly gentle with him, so delicate he could hardly feel it until it was gone. Her hands were a little cold but he found them soothing against the burns. The alcohol she placed on the wound stung, made him grit his teeth and grip to the table’s edge, but she moved quickly, wincing at the way he sucked in a harsh breath as if his pain meant something to her.

When she was finished, she wrapped his wrist with a bandage from her bag and gently tapped on his knee.

“Not a lot my patients would have sat still through that without some kind of numbing agent,” she grinned, praise in her voice, smile on her lips, and it sent a flutter through his chest. “You did good, James.”

He didn’t want to tell her that he’d known worse, that the pain of alcohol to his wounds was nothing in comparison to the mutilation on his arm or the electricity of the chair. So, he focused on something else, a distant memory edging its way back to the surface, something that didn’t lie within the pages of Hydra’s files.

“Bucky,” he choked out, voice a little dry. She raised an eyebrow. “My name… it’s Bucky.”

She smiled at that.

“Bucky,” she repeated, testing it on her lips, “it’s nice to meet you.”

***

It wasn’t the last time he saw Y/n.

No, he found himself under her care more days than not. It was a simple system, it seemed. Hydra would do its best to break Bucky to pieces and they’d send in Y/n to stitch him back up; glue him together with needle and thread or scotch tape and paper mâché. She did her best to heal him and while she could not cure every wound on his body, she gave him something he didn’t have before – something to look forward to.

A kind smile. A gentle hand. A voice so soft it nestled deep into his chest and warmed the hollow ache that had made a home by his heart.

Even through the pain, through the chair, through the long hours he spent overworked in a boxing ring, he knew she’d be waiting on the other side. It didn’t hurt as much when he thought of her, he realized – the only kindness he knew within Hydra.

They hadn’t attempted to use the chair on him in a while and for that he was grateful. To save him from the pain of the electricity and the emptiness that followed, but lately, to allow him to hold onto her memory. He didn’t want to forget her name, her kindness, her light within the darkest corners of hell.

He only ever saw her in short glimpses, brief moments when the guards pushed the boundaries too far and cracked open a scar that wouldn’t stop bleeding or dislocated his arm again or fractured another bone. They’d drag her into his room, rough hands on her wrists that made a knot form deep into Bucky’s stomach, and give her minutes to work before they hulled her away.

He healed quickly, he came to find. Certainly faster than he should. Maybe in another world he would have been pleased with this. A perfect soldier. Always ready for battle.

In this world, it meant shorter recovery between trainings. It meant pushing him beyond his limits and testing the extent of his newfound abilities. It meant few and distant meetings with the kind doctor whose smile made it impossibly difficult to despise every last ounce within Hydra.

***

A few weeks since their first meeting, Bucky found himself dragged by his wrists on a familiar path into what looked like a room much like his own, only there were a few small comforts inside; a bed, a desk, a lamp, and a series of books piled on a small dresser.

Y/n jumped up from the desk, pen falling to the concrete as she stared back at the guards, agape. “What the hell did you do to him?!”

They dropped Bucky to the ground, his own arms too weak to hold himself up, and felt the harsh crack of concrete to his jawline. Blood dripped down into his eyes, clouding his vision with crimson pools of red, but he could hear the quick patter of your bare feet as you slid down to the floor beside him, shooing away the guards.

Hands ghosted over his shoulders before you paused, watching the way he sighed into the cool embrace of concrete. She glared back up at the guards, waiting on their answer.

“He’s weak,” one of the guards spat, thick accent spewing down to land on Bucky’s bare skin. “The fist of Hydra is an embarrassment. He crumbles under pressure. He needs to be pushed, to be taught what he is.”

Bucky couldn’t quite register the way her hands curled up into fists or how a harsh exhale burned deep in her chest, but she swallowed it the best she could as she muttered, “get out.”

A toe nudged at Bucky’s leg – one of the guards behind him – and he groaned as it dug into a dark purple bruise from the days before.

“You’ve done enough,” she pressed again, swatting away his leg as he tried to push Bucky over to his back to see his good work. "Now leave.”

“You don’t give us orders, princess,” the other guard smirked, yellowed teeth bared.

“We’ll be back for him soon,” the first one said, nudging his friend to stand down. “Make sure he’s ready to go again tomorrow.”

The door slammed shut and within the echo, Bucky felt the cool touch of a breeze nestle against his skin. It was a relief, as kind as the concrete, that sat in sharp contrast to the burning heat on his skin.

“Are you alright, Sergeant Barnes?” an angelic voice called. It sounded muffled, and a bit distant, but it was one he recognized.

He nodded slowly, though the concrete scratched at his skin.

“You don’t look alright,” she countered, a touch of lightness in her tone and it came as a welcomed relief.

“You kidding? I look great,” Bucky teased, half muffled by the ground. She laughed, pressing a hand over her lips, and Bucky swore for the smallest of moments that all the pain had washed from his body completely.

He could hear her riffling around the room, gathering supplies and laying a blanket down by his side, then a pillow. She was talking to herself, words he couldn’t quite hear or understand, but they were a comfort nonetheless.

"Still with me Sergeant Barnes?"

“Bucky,” he grumbled, just as she came down to kneel beside him again. “S’my name, remember? I’m supposed to be the one with the memory problems here.”

There came that laugh again, though she tried to suppress it. “That’s not very funny, Bucky.”

“Give me an ounce of humor here, doll,” Bucky smirked. It ached in his lips where the split tore through, burned in his cheeks from the swelling on his face, but he didn’t mind. It wasn’t often he had much reason to smile these days. She seemed to bring it out of him.

Y/n smiled, shaking her head. “Think you can turn onto your back? I’ve got some cushioning here for you. I’m sorry I can’t lift you to the bed.”

“Nah, this is perfect.”

Bucky summoned as much strength as his body could muster as he pushed down into the concrete with his right hand. He started to shake as pressure burned into his left shoulder and he gritted his teeth, face contorting in a wash of pain as his smirk faded away in an instant.

She must have noticed because her hands slipped gently onto his right bicep, gently easing him to turn over the metal shoulder and lay onto his back. Her touch was so feather light, he questioned for a moment if it was even there at all, but then he felt a soft squeeze, the cool press of her palms, and he sighed.

Her hands were the only ones who did not mean him harm. She healed. She nurtured. She cared.

“What are they doing to you...”

Her voice was hardly a whisper, the shock on her face evident enough of the damage on his own. He didn’t want to imagine what he looked like, but he knew it was bad. It hurt to speak, hurt to even part his lips, and his vision was tunneled and dark, cast over in shadows, and somehow, she was still clear as day.

“Dunno,” he responded, recognizing the slur in his voice. “Training me for something, I think.”

She stilled; muscles rigid as she reached into her bag for something to bandage his wounds. He could see the contemplation on her face, the worry, but she swallowed it back, pushed out that gentle, reassuring smile he’d come to rely on and began to work on the cut along his cheekbone.

“It can’t be anything good, Bucky,” she said quietly, eyes flickering to the door as if she were worried about what laid on the other side. He knew the feeling well.

***

He forgot her for the first time a few days later.

The scars were starting to heal; the gashes open on his face just days before nothing but a thin discoloration on his skin. He knew the look on Zola’s face as he emerged in his cell that morning - smug and grim, eager to wipe away the decorated prisoner of war and turn him into something empty and broken. The smirk that crept up his face was unsettling, jarring, as it crinkled lined into his forehead and a vile look in his eye.

They slammed him down into the chair, locked the restraints into place, and he only spotted her rush into the room as the machine powered on. The horror in her eyes as she met his, the quick transition to rage as she turned to Zola, and the pain took over until it consumed him whole.

He lost some time because the next thing he knew, he was sitting on a metal table and the room had emptied, save for a single guard standing in the corner over the shoulder of a beautiful woman who eased a soothing gel onto the burns on his wrist.

He studied her as she worked, quietly humming to herself, telling him what she was doing before she dared to touch him in a voice so gentle it startled him. It was familiar, he realized, the delicate intricacies of her tone, the warmth in his chest when she touched him. He wasn’t afraid of her like he was the others. He didn’t flinch under her touch.

“Your heart rate is still pretty high,” she noted, her fingers pressed to the inside of his right wrist. “Can you take some deep breaths for me?”

She embellished her own, chest rising high as she inhaled, air blowing out from her mouth in the exhale. She nodded for him, something encouraging and kind, until he followed suit. But even through the tender smile upon her lips there was a sadness there, a disappointment, and it hurt him deep into his chest.

“I know you, don’t I?” he finally said after he mimicked a few of the breaths as she requested.

She smiled at that and he felt an instant relief. Something warm and gentle. Kind.

He narrowed his eyes upon the slight curve of her lips, drawing up to her eyes where he was met with a linger sense of calm, of peace, of reprieve. “Why don’t I remember you?”

She sighed, a cautious glance back at the guard behind her who seemed to be watching with the intent to overhear. Her eyes were downcast, a nervous brush of her tongue over her lower lip, and she pushed out a smile for him.

“You will, Bucky.”

He hoped that were true.

***

Bucky was barely tied together with string and tape, broken and bleeding and covered in bruises, and yet, a smile etched onto his broken lips as he turned to find Y/n stumbling into his cell. She shrugged off the grip of a guard with an aggravated huff before he slammed the door closed behind her.

She was no longer shocked by the state in which she often saw him. His accelerated healing made the brutal look of his mutilation a bit easier to swallow he supposed or perhaps he was getting used to it. It was like a mask he’d come to wear, fading in and out depending on the day, but always present. It didn’t seem to lessen the pain in her eyes as she sat down beside him, extending a hand towards his face to touch gently at the markings.

“I hate that they keep doing this to you,” she said softly, though there was a rage nestled into the crook of her tone. She shook her head, a tense breath exhaled as she reached into her bag. She pulled out a few swabs of gauze and alcohol wipes.

“M’alright,” Bucky slurred and it didn’t seem to help his case.

“They’re monsters.” Y/n dabbed at the gash on his forehead as gingerly as she could manage. Bucky didn’t mind the sting of it, not when she was touching him so tenderly, like she was handling something precious.

He’d figured out a while ago that she was just as much a part of Hydra as he was. He never dared to ask, but he’d seen the way she looked at Zola, how she despised him as an enemy. He’d seen the clothes she wore and how they were tattered on the seams, how they discolored with use, how she'd wear them over and over again while the men in the room wore pristine lab coats and freshly laundered suits. He’d seen the dark circles under her eyes, the knots in her hair, the way her collarbone began to protrude the longer he knew her.

She was a prisoner of Hydra, too.

“They’re monsters,” Y/n repeated, tears burning in her eyes and it warped deep into Bucky’s gut. He wanted to reach out and wipe them away. He wanted to make her smile again because she’d been nothing but a light for him and now, she was flickering and fading and he was certain it would destroy him completely until she uttered, “and... and so am I,” and his whole world fell apart.

“No,” Bucky shot back almost instantly. “Don’t say that. You’re not one of them.”

“I might as well be,” she said, brushing at the tears as they spilled down her cheeks. “I’m still complicit in what they’re doing to you – whatever that is. I’m still helping them.”

“They’d kill you,” Bucky argued. “They’d kill you if you tried to resist.”

“They’re practically killing you now! How is that any better?” She pressed her palms to her face, shielding herself from him and Bucky slid down onto the floor, kneeling on the concrete in front of her, and gently rested his hands on her knees. She struggled to catch her breath between the sobs. “I keep fixing you up just to send you back out there and—and—Bucky, I feel like I’m handing you over to slaughter and I can’t-- I can’t--”

“Stop, please,” Bucky begged. He could feel the splinter nestle into his heart, cracking at the edges as it tore a sliver down the center. It burned and ached and threatened to rip him to pieces worse than the foreign metal on his arm, worse than the guards on the other side of the door, worse than the chair that stole his name and his memories, because the woman who saved his life over and over again was crying and he simply couldn’t take it.

“Look at me,” he eased, drawing his hands up her thighs, along her arms, until he met her hands resting against her face. Gently, he pried his fingers under her palms and when he was met without resistance, he pulled them away from her face. “You are the only shred of good within this place. You are the only kindness I’ve known since they threw me on that table and remade me. You are the only thing keeping me going when they’re beating me within an inch of my life, the only thing I want to remember when they try to take away everything I know. Please, don’t think for a second that you’re one of them. You’re saving me, Y/n.”

Bucky wondered for a moment if he said too much as her lips parted into shock, her eyes staring at him shocked and wide. Her breaths were coming in slow and steady as she watched him, almost as if she were waiting for him to recant, but he held his ground.

“You are good, Y/n,” Bucky continued. He squeezed her hand in his right, letting his left fall down to his side to shield her from the evil from which it was born. “You're the reason I keep coming back.”

“I’m scared, Bucky,” she exhaled, voice so low, so shaken, he could barely hear it. She squeezed his hand back. “I’m scared of what they're going to do to you.”

“I’ll have you, won’t I?” he smiled, because it was all he had left. There were no guarantees, no promises he could make to ease her fears. “As long as I’ve got you with me, I’m okay.”

He just wanted her to smile again, to be the woman who fought against Zola in a crowded room of armed Hydra agents and won, who was fearless in the face of evil, and gentle and kind in her touch.

Bucky realized that the more time he spent with her, the more she’d grown to care for him, the more he’d found himself missing her— the more dangerous they were to one another. If Hydra knew...

“You have me,” she said suddenly, a stroke of confidence returning to her voice, drawing Bucky’s attention away from the door and the men that laid beyond it. Bucky met her eye and she raised a palm to his cheek, slow and steady, always giving him the time to prepare before she touched him even when it wasn’t necessary, even after he’d grown to trust her above anyone else. She cupped the side of his face, smiling sweetly for him, sadly, as she said, “as long as they’ll let me, Bucky. You’re not alone. You’ll have me.”

Her thumb traced over old scars she’d mended, over raised edges and dried blood from the mess left behind by the dozen Hydra agents he’d met earlier that day. The tenderness within her touch was unlike anything he knew how to quantify. It sat in such contrast to the hands of men who battered and beat him within an inch of his life, to the torture of the chair, to the scalpel in the hands of mad scientists with god complexes.

There was something in her touch. Something that felt a lot like love.

Bucky found himself leaning in closer, wanting to close the space between them because any space at all was simply too much. He wanted to engulf her into his arms, protect her from the evils that waited for them outside these walls, take her away to somewhere warm and safe, somewhere she didn’t have to check over her shoulder when she smiled. It terrified him how badly he wanted it because he knew there were no fantasies in Hydra, no dreams, no happy endings. He knew it would be taken from him eventually, she would be taken from him, but it didn’t stop him from clinging on as tight as he could.

His lips touched hers, broken and splintered, and still, beautiful. He could taste the salty tang of her tears against her lips, her fingers curling around his long, unkempt hair and twisting along his scalp, breathing him in. There was a sanctuary within her arms, under her touch, that seemed impossible within these walls, and yet, here she was.

Tangible. Real. Kissing him as if he could be ripped from her at any second.

And he was.

The door swung open and Bucky jolted away from her. Y/n jumped back against the bed frame, her head hitting the cement wall.

In the frame of the door stood a guard Bucky had become familiar with; blonde, broad, reminded him a bit of Steve if it weren’t for the cold, dead look in his eyes. The burn mark across his jawline helped to obstructed the similarities.

The guard’s eyes lingered a little longer on Y/n, focusing on the quick rise and fall of her chest, the slight swell in her lips, the mess in her hair, before he gritted his teeth and turned to Bucky.

“Times up, Soldat,” he grunted, wasting no time as he pulled a wand from his belt, flipped a switch at the end, and burned the jolts of electricity into Bucky’s side. He barely registered the desperate crack in Y/n’s voice as she begged for the guard to stop.

Then – darkness.

***

“We need to be more careful.”

“They’ll find out how I feel for you and they'll hurt you.”

“I can’t lose you, Bucky.”

He couldn’t get the words out of his head. Familiar voices: a man’s and a woman’s. He’d heard them spoken aloud; of that he was certain. But they were distant, far away, as if he’d heard them uttered on a film screen in passing. They couldn’t be his own memories. He was a blank slate. He was empty.

A woman stood across from him, approaching him slowly as the machine powered down. It was loud in his ears, echoing enough to pulse tremors into the back of his head. He didn’t dare show an ounce of the pain he felt. He’d come to know the consequences of that, even if he couldn’t quite remember what they were.

“I’m going to help you to the table, alright?” the woman said, gesturing to the metal desk to her left. There it was again— that familiarity.

She smiled kindly at him, as if looking into the face of a man she knew, but he did not know her. She must have sensed his hesitancy because she held up her hands out for him to see.

“I just want to examine you. Make sure you’re okay. Can I do that?”

He narrowed his eyes on the woman, listening intently to her heartbeat. It was a strange sound, one he shouldn’t be privileged to hear, but he found the skill useful. He could listen for the inflections in the rhythm, pulse points and skips that told him when a person was lying.

Hers was steady. Even. He nodded.

He was surprised at how easily he allowed her to guide him to the table, how he didn’t question as he let her place a hand on his inner wrist to check his pulse, how he didn’t flinch when she approached the scars on his shoulder. It was like he knew the routine, understood the subtle intricacies in her gestures warning him of what she was about to do before she even laid a hand on him.

A relief was evident in his muscles. He felt a calmness wash over him the longer she stood at his side, recording his vitals, running a hand soothingly along his arm. It seemed personal, the way she touched him, like she was preserving something – or guiding something home.

He wanted to ask her name, why she was treating him so kindly when all he knew within these walls was the cruelty of violent men, when the guard who stood at the back corner of the room cleared his throat.

“You almost done, sweetheart?” The guard spat the pet name like an insult and the kind woman standing beside the Soldier flinched. She tensed quickly after that, mustering out a brave face as she turned back to the armed guard defiantly.

“I’ll be done when I’m done, Bronski.”

The Soldier wanted to smile, though he wasn’t sure why. A swell of pride beamed in his chest as Bronski’s smirk dissipated, replaced with something colder, darker; a bruise to his ego. The woman turned back to the Soldier, exhaled a heavy breath and offered him a short smile; calming, reassuring. The edges of his lips started to curve in response until –

Bronski crossed the room in four long strides, grabbed a tight hold of her arm and yanked her swiftly away from the Soldier. She collided against his chest, caged against him under the firm hold of his grip.

“You think you can mouth off to me, bitch?” Bronski sneered, shoving her against the desks at the far side of the room. Viles of serums and chemicals spilled over at the impact, glass shattering, and the Soldier began to stand from his position across the room, his hand curling into fists.

“Stop looking at him! He’s not going to help you,” Bronski taunted as her eyes flashed back at the Soldier, pleading at some unknown force he couldn’t quite understand, though he listened to its call. Bronski towered over her, easily overpowering her frame, and pinned her to the wall.

The Soldier took another step forward, another inch closer to what he was sure were near fatal consequences, but there was a voice screaming in the back of his head, an instinct he couldn’t drown out, a desperate need to protect a woman he didn’t know.

“You think we didn’t notice, huh?” Bronski growled, his hand sliding down her side, tracing over the curves at her waist and the Soldier felt a sudden twist in his stomach, a dead weight sinking him into the ground at the sight. “You think we can’t tell you got it hot for the asset? He’s weak. Pathetic. Why don’t you try being with a real man instead? I’ll show you a good time, princess...”

Her eyes were on the Soldier, holding his gaze though she was shaking; trembling and afraid. He didn’t like that.

“Get away from her.”

Bronski froze. He managed a slow glance over his shoulder to find the Soldier standing just a few feet away, hands clenched at his sides, fuming as his eyes flickered between the Hydra agent and the woman he held pinned to the wall.

“Don’t be a fucking hero, Soldat,” Bronski spat back.

But the Soldier did not move.

“Get away from her,” he repeated, his voice low, mechanical. He could feel the rush of adrenaline building in his veins, the chaos of the rapid thumping of his pulse. He wasn’t used to such reactions, such intensity, when all he’d come to know was a crippling emptiness. It was unpleasant.

“What are you going to do about it?” Bronski taunted, a sick smirk upon his face. He dismissed the Soldier, didn’t dare to think he’d disobey direct orders, and turned back to the woman.

She tried to slither out of his hold, but his grip on her wrists was so tight his nails had dug puncture marks into her skin. She was shaking, tears burning into reflective lenses over the gentle hue of her eyes; kind eyes that should not bare such a weight.

Bronski leaned in closer, his mouth pressing against her neck, her whole body stiffening at the touch, and the Soldier snapped.

He rushed at them, his left hand clamping down around Bronski’s neck until he started to gag. Bronski released her wrists, allowing her to sink to the floor in a fallen heap. Bronski scratched at the hand at his neck, gasping for air as his skin turned bright red, then blue, but he was only met with metal. It could not feel. It could only maim.

There was a rage storming inside the Soldier, a mission he’d assigned for himself, as he threw Bronski across the room. It didn’t take much effort. The Soldier was stronger than most men. They underestimated him, believed him to be feeble and weak because he was submissive. But not now. Not when they threatened her.

“Soldat!” Bronski choked out, his voice damaged. Broken windpipe. The Soldier smiled.

Slowly, he took a knee at Bronski’s side, grabbed a firm hold of his collar for leverage, and barreled the closed end of his fist into the man’s face until he could no longer see the smirk that had pressed upon his mouth as he dared to touch his girl. He didn’t stop until Bronski was no longer begging, until he was silent, and blood caked between the panels of metal in his fist, until he heard a voice calling behind him—

“Bucky! Bucky, stop!”

He froze. There was that name again...

He blinked a few times, a sharp piercing in the back of his head painful enough to obscure his vision and he dropped Bronski from his hold. A hand slid down over his shoulders, guiding him away from the body on the floor. It was that same familiar touch; one he knew well.

“Bucky, look at me.”

He did.

Her hand pressed sweetly to the side of his face, like she was trying to memorize him. He leaned into the touch, something he was sure he hadn’t done in years, and yet, within her arms it felt like the most natural thing in the world, like maybe he’d done it a dozen times before.

When he met her eyes again, he understood why.

“Y/n?”

She nodded, tears spilling over her cheeks as she threw herself into his arms. She molded so perfectly against him, his healer, his savior. Bucky knew they wouldn’t have much time before the Hydra infantry arrived and discovered what he’d done. He didn’t dare spare a glance back at the body on the ground.

“Y/n... I—”

The doors swung open, slamming in echoing shocks against the walls, and chaos ensued. Swarms of armed Hydra agents ascended into the room and tore Y/n from his arms, separating them as they restrained Bucky back into the chair. It was the only thing that could hold him.

“Leave her alone!” Bucky roared, that same rage returning to him in fire as two guards pinned Y/n’s arms behind her back, holding her steady as she desperately fought against their hold. “Get your hands off of her!”

Zola appeared at the frame of the door, eyes narrowing on Bucky. The room fell silent.

“Impossible.” He followed Bucky’s eyes to where the guards were restraining Y/n. “The programming should not have failed so soon after he was wiped. How?”

“He’s got a crush on the doc, sir,” one of the guards reported snidely. Bucky recognized him from the many trips he spent dragged along the hallways smearing blood into the concrete before he was dropped off at Y/n’s door.

“Interesting.” Zola crossed the room, hands grasped behind his back as he paced. His eyes fell on Y/n, studying her. “And is it... mutual?”

She didn’t respond, though when her tear-filled eyes flashed over to Bucky, he had his answer.

“Wipe him,” Zola ordered.

The machine started to power up and Bucky found himself fighting against the restraints though he knew it would do no use. Tears were openly streaming down Y/n’s face as she watched him, his name on her lips as she desperately tried to break the guard’s hold on her.

Zola seemed unbothered by the scene. If anything, he was amused, like he was watching lab rats in a cage. “Separate them. I don’t want her interfering with his programming again. We’ll make use of her when the time is right.”

Bucky tried to call her name, but the electricity had already taken hold, submerging him into the darkness.

***

The Soldier was used to his routine. Breakfast at dawn. Then training. Dinner at sundown. Sleep. It was reliable. Simple. The Soldier found a peace in that.

It had been months since he’d seen anyone outside of the two guards at his cell, the parade of uncontrollable human experiments, and the short, stout scientist. It was better this way, they told him. Less stimulation. He was important, meant for incredible things to better humanity. They needed him focused and alert.

He had little room for anything else. Focus on the mission at hand. Complete the task. Reward will follow.

Something as trivial as memories got in the way of that. The Soldier could not afford such a distraction. He was not tied down by a name or a family, by relationships or desires. He was a weapon. Made to be used. He was not capable of more.

“I want to have you looked over before we send you out for your mission today, Soldat,” the scientist said as he examined the Soldier from across the room. The man carried power within Hydra but he was small, cowardly, and he would not dare enter a room with the Soldier without a guard in place. He gestured to the door and the guard with a thick burn down his jaw moved towards it. Blonde hair, blue eyes, broad. He seemed vaguely familiar, though it felt distasteful in his mouth.

A woman was pushed through the doors and into the baron room. She shook off the grip of a Hydra agent with a grunt before she realized where she was. Her eyes fell on the Soldier and he expected her to cower in fear; they all did upon seeing him. Word traveled fast of what he was capable of. And yet –

There was relief in her shoulders, a sigh. She almost smiled before Zola turned in her direction and she pushed it away into a tight frown. The Soldier narrowed his eyes.

“Get to work, Doctor,” he ordered, though it sounded more like a warning.

She nodded, stepping in closer to the Soldier though she was hesitant in her movements. She wore dark circles under her eyes, a redness within the whites. Her clothes were old, torn a little at the edges, and dirty with use. But still, she offered a kind smile as she approached.

“How are you feeling?”

The Soldier didn’t know how to respond to that. No one had ever bothered with his answer. He stayed silent.

“You can talk freely,” she encouraged gently as she approached his bedside. He sat on the edge of the cot, tension burning through his body as it always did when he wasn’t alone. One word out of turn resulted in punishment. He knew well enough not to tempt it.

She seemed to understand he would not fall into the trap, and she nodded in acceptance.

“I’m going to take your vitals, alright? I’ll start with your heart rate.” She held up two fingers, gesturing as she pressed them against her own neck. Seemed harmless enough, though he suspected he didn’t have much of a choice anyway. It was strange she acted as if he did.

Regardless, the Soldier nodded.

As she touched him, something seemed to break. She clenched her jaw tightly, trying to focus on the rhythm of his heartbeat, but he could hear the distress in her own. Quick, pounding, uneven, and she pulled her fingers away before he questioned the slight tremble in her touch.

He wanted to ask if she were alright because something about seeing her upset was unpleasant for him. She wanted to say something, that much he could tell, but she bit her tongue.

“You’re here for a reason, Doctor,” Zola taunted from his position in the corner of the room. The woman flinched though she kept her back to him. Her eyes flickered to the Soldier as if he were an anchor. Zola smirked. “Go on. Test our programming. Why else do you think we kept you around?”

Then, he exited the room. The guard followed behind him until the Soldier was alone with the woman.

She swallowed; eyes cast down as if she were afraid to speak. For a while, she continued to take his vitals – checking his blood pressure, his eye movement, examining the mess of scars on his shoulder as they attempted to heal. All the while, so impossibly gentle, so kind in her touch, that he started to wonder if he’d felt it before.

When she was finished, she took a step back. It was only then that the Soldier noticed the reflective marks on her cheeks. Had she been crying? Why did the thought alone make his stomach twist into knots painful enough to nauseate him?

“Bucky?”

He narrowed his eyes, confused. She reached out for his hand, though she stopped herself before she could touch him. It seemed agonizing; the restraint visible on her features.

“Bucky, please tell me there’s still a of piece of you in there,” she begged. He found himself wanting to lie, to pretend to be this man she craved, just to make her happy. He didn’t know why he cared so much, why it bothered him to see her cry. She was a stranger.

“You don’t recognize me at all, do you?” Her voice was so small, so broken. She was never afraid of him, he realized. No – it seemed she was more afraid of his answer. He did not respond. He didn’t know how.

She nodded, clenching her jaw as tears spilled from the corners of her eyes and the Soldier managed to break the heart of a woman he didn’t know. Another casualty in his wake.

“Excellent,” Zola sneered, appearing back in the doorway. The doctor took a step back and it surprised the Soldier when the space between them felt like an assault. Zola grinned as he moved closer to the woman. “Hydra thanks you for your service.”

“Fuck you,” she spat, just before she landed a closed fist against the bridge of the scientist’s nose.

The Soldier flinched, stunned by the woman’s brazen as she stared into the face of the mad scientist. The tears hadn’t yet dried and still – she was fearless. Zola laughed as the blood dripped down into his mouth. A guard wrapped a vicious hold around her wrist, beginning to drag her out of the room, but she turned back to the Soldier.

“Don’t give into them, Bucky! You have to fight this! You’re good, do you hear me? You’re not one of them!”

Her voice echoed in the room even as she was shoved through the door and down the hall. He listened for the last remaining vibrations of her voice, of her struggling, until it was silent. He wondered about this man she referred to, why she thought he was worth fighting for. He thought about whether he was the man she spoke of.

“Distractions, Soldat.” Zola tsked. “You are magnificent. You are the fist of Hydra. Do you understand?”

He nodded. It pleased the scientist.

Zola explained the mission he was about to embark on at dawn. He listened to the instructions, the details, the purpose – all the while wondering about what became of the kind doctor who called him by a name he didn’t recognize.

Then, when he was finished, the scientist left and the Soldier was alone— just as he always had been.

---

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

[shorkbrian]

Wet

Help me stop lewding everything in my life please

(Cecaelia (OctoMer) Hisoka thirst I’m sorry)

(Warnings - non con, NSFW, monster fucking. Kind of like bestiality but not really (I don’t want to fuck an octopus), fucking while half-way in water. This doesn’t make any sense Im so sorry lol it’s gross)

Have you ever touched an octopus?

They’re pretty slimey, their texture can change from smooth to bumpy to ridged and back to smooth at will.

More than 250 suckers are attached to each tentacle, and instead of their brain being used to store the majority of neurons, they use their limbs to store those important connections.

Suckers are like the ultimate sensory organ - they can taste, touch, smell, and “see”.

One of their eight arms is a reproductive organ. To inseminate a female, they’ll sometimes rip it off before presenting her with the limb, for her to use whenever she decides she’s ready to settle down.

Have I said that they’re slimy? And they like to grab. Incredibly intelligent creatures, they’re able to figure out humans and like to “play” with us, through memory games and fetch, sometimes even tag.

And Hisoka would definitely like to play with you.

He’d catch you while you were out swimming in a small cove, have a bit of fun chasing you through the waves, seeing the fear on your face as you try to swim back to shore, away from the terrifying creature that he was. 

You’d stand no chance, get dragged away from the shore, his long tentacles wrapped around your body, suckers attached to every bit of bared skin.

When you figured out that he was half-man, half-octopus, you would calm down considerably, become curious and interested. And since he’s able to communicate, you’re asking him questions, so enamored by the fact that you’re talking to a Cecaelia that you don’t notice how his suckers are rhythmically moving over your flesh, dragging and sucking.

He lets you feel his tentacles, has you feel the one with a bulbous tip, and you’re so distracted by the ticklish sensation of the suckers attaching to your arm, you miss the way Hisoka licks his lips and shudders in pleasure as you unknowingly fondle his octopod reproductive organ.

But Hisoka is half-man, after all.

It isn’t long before his human cock is slipping free from it’s gummy slit, right underneath where his flesh melts into octopus skin. His lower half is underwater, so you don’t notice until Hisoka bumps against you and you feel an “extra tentacle” against your thigh. 

You laugh, before grabbing at it, squeezing as you try to pull it up and out of the water, thinking that he’s curled up a tentacle beneath you. 

The painful tugging makes Hisoka moan, pink mouth stretching open as his hands shoot to your hips, tentacles wrapping around your legs.

When you finally realize what you had just grabbed, what’s going on, why Hisoka is moaning - it’s too late.

You try to apologize and push yourself away, but Hisoka doesn’t let you move. 

You try to tell him to stop as a tentacle starts to creep under your swimsuit, but he’s not listening.

You try to scream and thrash in his hold - you would not let yourself be fucked by a mutated octopus today - but all that got you was a slimy tentacle shoved down your throat, tip teasing your gag reflex.

Trying to bite down on that only made the Cecaelia release a breathy sigh, grinding against your thigh with his human cock.

The swimsuit you wore was easily ripped to shreds, cast aside to be taken by the ocean. suckers attacked the new flesh presented to them, and when they neared your beasts you screamed.

You screamed even louder when a sucker settled over each nipple, before clamping down and pulling.

Another tentacle wormed it’s way in between your leg, his reproductive organ, the one with the bulbous tip. You kicked at it, but the Cecaelia only grinned when your foot made contact.

As the tentacle’s bulbous tip rubbed against your folds, you screamed again, hands moving from trying to pull the tentacles away from your tits, to trying to pull the tentacle away from your slit.

But more tentacles grabbed you, completely immobilizing you in the Cecaelia’s hold. 

All you could do was feel as the tentacle between your legs turned, the slimy suckers on the underside immediately latching onto your clit and your folds, sucking with such pressure and with such a rhythmic pull that you felt an orgasm rip through you immediately. 

It was like no other sensation you had ever felt before, slicker than lube, firm as plastic yet softer than human flesh. It didn’t even seem like Hisoka was trying to make you cum, but he had anyway, golden eyes trained on your face. 

Thankfully, the suckers didn’t stay attached to your clit for long - you were sure if they had, you’d have passed out cold from the stimulation. 

As soon as they detached, a rush of cold water flooded onto the heated flesh, and you gasped, trying and failing to close your legs.

Hisoka muscles his way between your thighs, his human cock quickly being pressed against your over-sensitive pussy. He groaned at the contact, hips already rocking against you, idly rubbing his cock through your folds.

The tentacle down your throat was replaced by the one with the bulbous tip, letting you emit a garbled cry while they were switching, before you were forced silent again.

Your chest was burning under the ministrations of the tentacles there, the sucking overloading your nerves.

Hisoka thrust into you while you were distracted by the limbs on your breasts, and you cried out, throat convulsing around the tentacle blocking it.

He had suckers on his cock.

The half-man moaned, voice low and shaky as his eyes rolled back into his head. You were afraid he was going to drop you beneath the waves, drown you.

But he held on, kept your lower half submerged as he rested inside of your pussy.

It was torture already - his thick cock staying completely still, yet the suckers covering it pulsing so strongly at your sensitive walls that you couldn’t help but shake through another orgasm in his hold.

That only spurred Hisoka into action, drawing out of you (the suckers detached easily... did he have control of them?) before slamming back in. He let go of your arms, which immediately grabbed at his neck, your nails digging in deep as you tried to hurt him.

Hisoka only moaned again, hips slamming into you harder and harder.

He was getting off on the pain.

The tentacle inside your mouth pulsed, and a gloopy texture leaked down your throat. You wanted to throw up, to cry.

When Hisoka came into you pussy, you cried out, the sound muffled and pathetic. HIs seed felt so hot inside of you, the water felt so cold around you.

Instead of pulling out, he stayed buried balls deep. The contrasting texture of milky, soft human skin and textured, slimy octopus skin made your own flesh cringe, the defining line between man and beast skin rubbing over your ass as waves rocked you both.

The suckers on his cock began pulsating again, and tears fell from your eyes when the sucker from your mouth finally withdrew, only to shoot down to your pussy.

With your mouth now free, you could scream and shout and cry yourself hoarse. Unfortunately, Hisoka was the only one around to hear you.

When his bulbous-tipped tentacle rubbed at your clit, you shot forward, clamping down on his shoulder hard with your teeth at the overstimulation. 

His tentacle eased inside your pussy, alongside his dick. It was slow-going, and painful, and you were crying through the whole ordeal, chewing on Hisoka’s shoulder, but the Cecealia didn’t seem to mind, instead humming and sighing in pleasure as you bloodied his flesh.

Only when his tentacle finally wormed it’s way fully inside you, then did Hisoka still his movements.

The suckers were still pulling at you, your nipples, your clit, the insides of your messy, stretched pussy. It felt like heaven and hell, but you couldn’t move either way.

Octopus can take up to four hours to mate.

It had only been a few minutes.

[tothemeadow]

Can I get a request of dom reader pegging zenitsu till he passes out👀

‘until I see stars’ / Agatsuma Z. x Reader

warnings: NSFW, Mommy kink, light bondage, overstimulation, slut shaming (somewhat), Zenitsu cries during sex and that’s a fact

words: 1,046

(a/n): Zenitsu is 18+ in this, you know the drill

-

“Hey, don’t you think this is a bit… unfair?”

You smirk as Zenitsu visibly winces when you tighten the knot around his wrist. He looks so cute like this, arms tied to the bedposts, his back arched, his creamy ass on full display. God, you could just eat him right up; with a cute peach like that, of course you’d want a snack. That’d have to wait for another time, though. Tonight, you have priorities.

“Why do I have to be on my tummy like this?” Zenitsu pouts. He tries to throw a look over his shoulder, but then you promptly grab onto the shaggy strands of his hair and force him to face forward. “Don’t you want to see my face?”

“Baby boy is gonna take what he gets,” you coo, tapping a plump cheek with your fingers. At your touch, Zenitsu jolts; shit, you could stare at him like this all damn night. His cock already hangs heavy between his thighs, and his puckered asshole is just waiting for something to stuff it full. “Besides, a little pig slut like you doesn’t want to disappoint Mommy, right?”

Zenitsu audibly gulps. You watch as he shifts in his spot, spreading his legs wider for your viewing pleasure. You know he can’t help himself whenever you refer yourself as Mommy – if anything, it makes Zenitsu act even more like the slut he is.

“Look at that,” you mention offhandedly, “my baby boy is eager to please, isn’t he? Spreading himself nice and wide so Mommy can fuck him with her cock.” Your smirk widens as his cock twitches. “You know,” you start, turning away and fetching your trusty harness, “if you want something, all you gotta do is ask. Better yet, beg. You know how much Mommy likes it when you beg all nice for her.”

Sucking in a gulp of air, Zenitsu wriggles his hips, obviously putting on a show. Cheeky fucker, trying to get out of asking nicely by attempting to distract you. He stops when he hears the clink of your harness.

“What, cat got your tongue or something? It’s funny, especially since I know a slut like you can make the loudest noises.” You click your tongue against your teeth. “Hell, we even had noise complaints from the neighbors, remember? Now that was a time.”

“Please fuck me,” Zenitsu breathes. He shudders when he hears the bottle of lube snapping open.

“What was that?”

“I want you to fuck me,” he blurts, arms viscerally tugging at their restraints. “I… I want you to stuff my ass and fuck me until I cum.” Again, he looks over his shoulder at you; his face is painted a bright red, his bottom lip swollen and chewed up. His eyes beg you to comply to his wishes, to fuck him until he’s a dumb, drooling mess. “Please, Mommy, fuck me like the good little slut I am – oh!”

Immediately, his head falls down onto the mattress below as you stick two slick fingers into his gaping asshole. A sense of pride makes your chest swell at just how easy he takes your fingers in, how the rigged muscles give under your spreading fingers. Zenitsu releases a wanton groan, his legs spreading the tiniest bit farther apart. Jesus, he really is a slut, sucking in your fingers like that. Your insides thrum at the thought of how nice he’ll look once he’s wrapped around your cock.

You can tell he’s ready by the way he whines, by the way he wiggles his hips once more. Wasting no time, you remove your fingers, a sense of pride making your chest swell as he gasps in want. A delicious, slutty noise leaks from his mouth as you press your cock inside, your hands finding purchase on his lithe hips. He’s just so pretty like this, body flushed and shaking while his ass eagerly sucks in your cock.

And he’s just so loud. Zenitsu doesn’t even bother clamping his mouth shut as you fuck into him with rough, steady movements, your pelvis meeting his plump ass with each stroke. A mantra of Mommy graces your ears, mixes with the lewd slapping of skin striking skin, the wet squelch coming from where the two of you are joined.

“Ah - oh my god, Mommy,” Zenitsu babbles. He pauses to slurp the saliva dribbling from his mouth. “There, right there-”

“I got you, my little pig slut,” you hiss, fingers digging into his flesh while you fuck into him vigor.

It doesn’t take long for him to become a panting, whining mess; broken moans and delirious pleads burst from his hoarse throat, all sounding like music to your ears. His cock leaks precum, a sticky puddle steadily growing beneath his trembling form.

It’s all so perfect.

He cums once, twice, thrice. Shit, you’re milking him until he’s dry, hand wrapped around his cock while you continuously pound into his prostrate. Pressing into his back, you mouth at the markings lining the back of his neck and shoulders.

“Mommy,” Zenitsu hiccups. Lifting your head, you meet his weepy gaze, his flushed cheeks covered in a layer of sweat and tears. “I-I don’t think I can handle anymore...”

“Oh, and here I thought that you were into overstimulation,” you coo. A sharp smack follows after your words as you strike his ass with a flat palm. “Or was I wrong?”

Hastily, Zenitsu shakes his head. “N-no... It’s just too much,” he slurs. “My head feels light.”

You snort. “Alright - one more for Mommy, okay? Cum for Mommy one more fucking time.”

Zenitsu whimpers and frantically shakes his head again. “I can’t!” he cries. “I can’t do it anymore - fuck, fuck, Mommy, no!” His entire body shudders as he cums for the fourth time. A high-pitched moan rips itself from the depths of his chest as he collapses against the bed, his body going limp in your hold.

“That’s my good baby boy,” you purr, leaning down and pressing your mouth to his ear. “Now why won’t you be good and let Mommy sit on your face?”

You’re met with silence. In fact, upon closer inspection, you realize that Zenitsu is out cold. Your jaw falls slack at the revelation. 

...Shit.

[inkykeiji]

day 4 ❅ let’s go below zero and hide from the sun

i love you forever where we’ll have some fun

day three ❅ day four ❅ day five | series masterlist

character: todoroki touya | dabi

genre: smut + angst

notes: eeeeeeee meery christmas eve everyone, here’s day four!!!!! day four is my favourite out of the five, so i truly hope you all enjoy it as much as i do <3 as always, please pay attention to the warnings n stay safe!! | title credit: snowman by sia

warnings: 18+, pseudo-incest (stepcest), implied noncon, sub-drop, panic attacks, fingering, cockwarming, car sex, mentioned drug use, generally toxic relationships, size difference, verbal fights, tense family dynamics

words: 8.4k

synopsis:

“It’s nothing,”

Tender fingers tuck a tuft of alabaster behind his ear.

“It’s not nothing,”

“It doesn’t matter,”

Gentle lips place soft kisses along his jaw.

“It matters very much to me, niichan,”

“It’s—It’s stupid, fucking stupid,”

A small palm finds solace on his cheek, cupping it as a thumb strokes the skin.

“It’s not stupid if it’s hurting you, baby,”

  ❅           ❅           ❅           ❅           ❅           ❅    

Sunlight streams through the crystal window, tiny dust motes playing hide and seek between the rays, painting golden beams across the smooth skin of Touya’s bare back, his skin almost sparkling in the warm light.

A little whimper slips from between your lips as your eyelids stick together, sealed shut by dry salt, brow furrowing as you finally pry them open. They hurt, dry and tacky and squinting against the too-bright light, spitting a hiss through your teeth.

“Ow,” you whine as you try to roll onto your side, every muscle in your body aching and stuffed full of exhaustion.

You’re sweating—Touya is always way too hot, and this bed is decidedly much too tiny for the both of you—raising a heavy arm to try and shove the sheets down to your waist, only to find that you can’t. It takes your hazy mind a few moments to realize that the sheets are stuck to your skin.

Bleary eyes blink twice, raising your head off of the plush pillow with immense effort and gazing down at your naked body. The muscles in your arms are screeching in protest as stiff, sore fingers fist in the sheets, giving one hard yank and ripping the material from your body, a sharp gasp hitching in your throat.

Hard, dried cum is splattered across your entire torso, wincing a little as you arch your back and watch it crack on your skin. Vibrant petals of indigo and violet have bloomed across your body, growing in places you don’t ever remember them being planted in.

What the hell happened last night?

It’s hard for you to recall, really, eyebrows knitting as you think hard, sifting through all of your recent memories and trying to remember when someone spurted cum all over your body.

Everything from last night is nothing but a tangled mess in your mind, with loops and crisscrosses, certain memories seeming to overlap, to morph together the more you think about them. It’s as if you’re watching an old film through a thick cloud of fog, flickering and stained with sepia as the sound keeps cutting in and out, the projector stopping once in a while, stuttering and repeating frames or burning holes through the filmstock.

It takes every ounce of strength you have to roll your beaten body onto your side, yelping softly from the massive effort. A sudden rush of tears pricks your eyes, burning in your throat as you try desperately to hold them back, to swallow them silently like a good little girl.

But it’s hard, tiny hiccupped sobs attempting to climb up your raw throat, catching painfully in your chest as you strive to suppress them, to gulp them back down, to force them back into the core of your body and stay put. Yet they refuse to cooperate, becoming more and more vicious as they fight against you, causing you to cough and choke on them as they finally escape your lips, and you mentally berate yourself for such a stupid rush of senseless emotions.

Don’t cry. There’s no reason to cry. It’s too early—you’re going to wake him and he’s going to be—

“Baby?” Touya croaks, voice deeper than normal, hoarser than normal.

And, God, he sounds so fucking hot in the morning.

“M’fine,” you say, though the words just come out sounding garbled and wet.

“Baby, baby, no,” he’s saying softly as he pushes himself into a sitting position, sheet pooling around his waist and exposing his chest, strong arms hooking under yours as he pulls you up and into his lap.

“I’m sorry,” you whine into his neck, shutting your eyes tightly as tears begin to leak from the corners.

“For what, princess?”

You don’t know. You just are. Shaking your head in response, you shove your face against him, letting your tears drip off your jaw and soak into his skin.

“Alright, alright,” a large hand pets your back rhythmically, up and down, up and down, fingers tracing along your spine. “Niichan’s got you,”

“What’s going on?”

The unexpected voice startles you, and you freeze in Touya’s embrace.

“Is she okay?”

It’s groggy and rough, vibrating in his throat, and you nuzzle into Touya’s shoulder, chest hiccupping.

“I don’t—I’m not sure,” Touya responds, and you can hear it, that hint of worry laced in his voice, accompanied by a sprinkling of frustration, but it only makes you cry harder, entire body trembling against him.

The other bed groans as Natsuo slides out of it, bare feet padding against the hardwood, your mattress dipping as he sits on the edge a moment later.

“Aw, poor baby,” Natsuo purrs, a soft, massive hand clamping down on your tense shoulder, thick fingers digging into your muscles. “Was last night too much for you, sweetheart?”

His voice is so patronizing, and you whimper a little against Touya, who kicks his younger brother’s thigh with his foot.

“Don’t be an asshole,”

“Says you,” Natsuo scoffs. “I’m being serious. It might be sub-drop,” The bed shifts again, and then kisses are being pressed to the column of your spine, down, down, down your back, words murmured sweetly into your skin. “I’m sorry, babygirl,”

“S’wasn’t too much f’me,” you mumble, heat seeping into your cheeks as both men laugh.

“Definitely sub-drop,” Touya says with a sigh, resting a large palm on your head. “I’ll run a bath,”

“I’ll make some tea and eggs,”

Peaking out from Touya’s shoulder, you watch as Natsuo heaves himself off the bed, snatching his shirt up from the floor and slipping it on before exiting your bedroom with nothing but his Frosty the Snowman briefs as bottoms.

Touya gently deposits you on the bed, slipping out from under you and shaking his head with a chuckle when you whine loudly, making little grabby hands for him, muttering Yup, definitely sub-drop under his breath.

Touya pulls on a pair of grey sweatpants and a nondescript black t-shirt over his head before he returns to the bed, laughing again at the involuntary pout set on your lips.

“C’mon, brat,” he murmurs affectionately, wrapping your naked, cum-stained body in the sheet before he hoists you up, carrying you across the hall to the bathroom and placing you on the counter, still swaddled up.  

“Bubbles?” You ask, voice small as he bends to start running the bath.

“I dunno if we have any, princess,” he says with a small frown as he turns back to face you, sapphire eyes scanning the washroom quickly.

It turns out you do, in a pink bottle with faded Disney princesses on the worn label, hidden behind half-finished cans of old hairspray and expired toothpaste, covered in a thin layer of dust.

“Very fitting,” Touya snorts.

It must be over ten years old, but that’s alright—bubble bath doesn’t expire, does it?

Touya pours a bit too much of the syrupy magenta substance under the running water, resulting in you being encased in a mountain of foamy suds that reek of artificial bubblegum.

“Y-You’re not coming?” You ask, a frown materializing on your face as you watch Touya turn off the tap, wiping some of the bubbles that cling to his arm on his thigh.

“No, baby,” he says softly, kneeling in front of the tub. He guesses your next question before your dazed mind can find the word. “Because niichan wouldn’t be able to resist fucking you if he did, and that’s not what you need right now,”

“I could handle it,” you grumble, and Touya laughs, eyes glittering.

“It isn’t a question of whether or not you can handle it, it’s a question of whether or not you need it,”

But even without him snuggled behind you it’s nice nonetheless, your niichan cleaning your body slowly, unhurriedly, dragging a rough cloth across your skin and lathering soap in little circles, cleaning the sweat that has dried sticky and salty on your neck and collarbone, then elbow-deep in the water as he gently pries your thighs apart, scrubbing away the dried cum. Soft, murmured affirmations spill from his lips as he works, praising you for being such a good girl last night, for being such a good girl as he washes you.

Good girl, very good girl, his good girl, his best girl.

      ❅           ❅           ❅

Just past noon, Rei kicks you all out of the house.

“The Takasu Snow Park is open until four today,” she tells you curtly, practically shooing the five of you out of the cabin. “Don’t come back until it’s closed.”

She lets you take different cars, this time.

“And Touya, Shouto,” she calls from the doorway, lips pressed in a firm, thin line.

Both boys freeze at the sound of their names, hesitantly turning to meet their mother’s gaze.

“Don’t forget that you’re doing the dishes tonight,”

Shouto scoffs as he turns away, climbing into the back seat of Natsuo’s car, and Touya rolls his eyes, muttering something about being treated like a child, to which Fuyumi retorts that it’s only fair, considering the fact that he’s been acting like one.

      ❅           ❅           ❅

The Takasu Snow Park is just under an hour from the cabin. It’s surprisingly busy for Christmas Eve, filled with high-pitched squeals of excitement and bubbles of laughter as children wrapped up in brightly coloured snowsuits waddle around with tubes in tow.

And Touya drives right past it.

“Niichan, I think you just—”

“We aren’t going tubing, baby,” he says nonchalantly, a wicked spark glinting in his eye as he glances over at you, lips tugging up into a crooked smirk at the way your head quirks cutely, shaking it a little to indicate that you don’t understand what he means. “Niichan would rather play with that pretty pussy of yours instead,”

And he does, finding a shaded little nook just off the main road, snow squeaking under rubber tires as he pulls into it, partially obscuring his car.

“C’mere, princess,” he breathes, patting a thigh. “Come play with your niichan,”

You scamper across the center console and crawl into his lap, thighs straddling him and giggling a little as his fingers inch up, up, up, until they’re pushing your white lacy panties to the side and gliding against your slit.

“Something funny, pretty girl?”

“No, niichan,” you gasp as a finger dips into you, curling as he drags it out and repeating the action a few more times before adding another, your head finding purchase on his shoulder.

Nimble fingers work slowly, lazily, messily, Touya’s free hand busy scrolling through missed text messages on his work phone as he lets you pathetically rut against his palm, fucking yourself on his digits, craning his neck a little and allowing you to trace along the brilliant ink that stains his skin with your tongue.

And it’s nice. It’s almost romantic in a sense, just the two of you silently enjoying each other’s company, the only noise your gentle little mewls and a howling gust of wind every once in a while. The countryside, draped with freshly fallen snow from the storm yesterday, glitters in the late afternoon sun, the cloudless sky as blue as Touya’s eyes. You sigh dreamily as you gaze up at it, basking in the feeling of your niichan’s fingers buried inside of you, stroking your silky walls intermittently, just the two of you in your own little world, protected from everything else by the Audi’s bulletproof glass.

“W-Wanna cockwarm you,” the words are mumbled against his neck sleepily, your eyes lidded and heavy, only half conscious and barely aware of what you’re saying.

But you can feel his cock, hard and hot through dark denim, and it makes your little hole clench, fluttering around nothing. “Jus wanna be full, wanna be close,”

Touya’s chuckling as he shifts a little, hands slipping between your bodies to unbuckle his belt. “That so, princess? Is my baby girl being a needy little slut?” And despite the degrading words used, his tone is warm, gentle and full of compassion. “Niichan will let you sit on his cock if that’s what you want,”

“Please,” you’re whining, pulling back to gaze at him with bleary eyes. “Please, please,”

“Alright, greedy little thing,” he hushes you like he’s calming a fussy baby, shucking his jeans down just enough to let his cock spring out, using his thumb to push it forward, presenting it to you.

“So pretty, niichan, so pretty,” you’re mumbling as a small hand wraps around the base, squirming a little in his lap and lifting yourself to hover over him, knees digging into the leather on either side of his hips.

He lets you do all of the work, merely watching you through hooded eyes, an odd little grin present on his face. Touya doesn’t normally allow you to cockwarm him, hates how goddamn teasing it usually is, but he figures that today we have time to kill, so why not?

“There you go, baby,” he murmurs as you sink down on him, a loud moan getting caught in your throat. “You feel better now, huh? You feel better now that niichan’s stuffing your little cunt full?”

A soft whine is all you can manage, nodding dumbly against his shoulder. Yes, yes, you feel better, you feel right, you feel complete.

And you can’t help but hump him a little, hips rocking against his in tiny, shallow motions, clit catching on his pubic bone with every push forward and drag back.

“Yeah, that’s it, princess,” he breathes, though his eyes are still focused on his phone, reading an article about a drug bust you’re sure his gang was a part of. “Use niichan to get yourself off, come on,”

He tells you to go slow, to be careful, cute pussy still sore from the abuse it suffered last night, and you obey, hips moving in unhurried motions, just enjoying the feeling of him being inside you, of him being this close, of how good it feels, sweet little whimpers of niichan, niichan, being huffed out against his neck.

It takes a good half hour of grinding before you’re finally creaming all over his cock, body trembling in his arms as he hushes you through it, whispering into your hair how good you are for him, one of his hands gripping your hips and forcing you to keep moving until your body collapses against his, boneless and pliant. Touya affords you a few moments to come down, cock still buried deep inside you, twitching as it patiently waits for your breathing to calm.

He isn’t gonna fuck you, he tells you as he shifts your limp body off of his cock, not with how you were feeling this morning. But he doesn’t think it’s very fair to make niichan suffer with such a hard cock, especially after he just let you cum all over it.

You don’t think it’s very fair, either, murmuring your agreement to him as your hand wraps around the shaft, his cock jumping at your touch.

It’s still so wet from all of your own juices, aiding your hand as it pumps him, hard and fast the way he likes it, obscene squelching echoing throughout the car.

Heat floods your cheeks while you watch your motions, stomach curling in on itself as his cock gleams with your slick, and it’s so hot, that’s so hot baby.

It doesn’t take long to have him panting out those gorgeous sounds, throaty moans and broken little whines, and you can tell he’s close when his hips begin to shift, thrusting into your fist. But you don’t want him making a mess all over his nice car, or his pretty sweater, leaning down to close your lips around the tip and suckle, tongue swiping across his slit as your hand works.

He whimpers out a curse before his hips stutter, thrusting his cock into your mouth as it paints your throat with spurts of burning cream. And you swallow it all, like the good little girl you are, looking up at him with sparkling eyes as you thank him for his cum, and God he loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

      ❅           ❅           ❅

Christmas Eve dinner consists of a symphony of forks dragging across porcelain and spoons scraping against bowls. Rei tersely shoos everyone out of the kitchen the moment it’s over, brusquely ordering Touya and Shouto to get started on their chores.

The rest of the family shuffles into the living room, sitting stiffly on the couches, the television’s volume low as Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer plays on the screen.

Fuyumi tries to reason with her mother in a hushed urgent voice, tries to tell her that it’s a bad idea to leave the two of them alone, especially with Touya surrounded by so many objects that could potentially be used as weapons.

“They’re adults,” her mother responds, tone clipped. “And they aren’t alone,” grey eyes glance over at the kitchen, at her eldest and youngest standing together at the sink, frothy bubbles beginning to build as the tap runs. “I can see them perfectly fine from here.”

“Mom—” Natsuo begins, cutting himself off at the glare his mother shoots his way, swallowing his words and nodding instead. “—is right. Mom is right,” he looks over at his sister. “They’re fine, look at them,”

But his voice is high, thin, glassy, the words trembling ever so slightly as stone eyes dart towards his siblings, both with rigid shoulders, weighted with the thick tension suffocating the room.

“They should be fine,”

But it’s hard for you to watch, too much for you to watch, entire body consumed by sharp anxiety as you observe Touya’s stiff movements. His jaw is set, nostrils flaring as he glares down at the sink, frustration and anger and red-hot hatred beginning to ooze through his mask of passivity, to seep through the cracks Shouto’s dexterously created using hostile comments and snide glances as his tools.

And on Christmas Eve, that mask finally shatters.

Because Touya doesn’t have it in him to continue his act of indifference anymore, worn out and exhausted by the effort. Trembling hands pluck a spoon from the mountain of dishes sitting in the aluminum sink, wetting it with water and then laving over it with a soapy sponge.

He’s sure he’s coming down—even though it isn’t time yet, even though he knows, deep down, that the comedown is still a few hours away, even though he knows he knows his body better than this, has been swallowing oxys for so long that he’s got the comedown memorized, right down to the fucking second—but he swears he can feel it, can feel the migraine beginning to throb behind his eyes, can feel the cold sweat beginning to bead at his temples, can feel the chills beginning to course through his body despite how warm the cabin is, teeth grinding to keep from clattering.

The air stings his clenched teeth as he sucks in a breath, exhaling slowly, shakily, trying to force his mind to focus on the dish in his hand, on the warm water cascading over his skin, on the light scent of artificial lemon wafting from his sudsy skin. It’s fine, he’s fine, all he has to do is wash a few stupid dishes and then—

“Listen—”

“Shut the fuck up and scrub,”

“I just wanted to—”

“I have nothing to say to you,” Touya growls, gaze hyper-focused on the plate he’s been cleaning for over a minute now.

A lie. He has a lot to say to him, but he’d rather not make their mother cry, again, desperately hoping that Shouto will just shut his mouth and finish cleaning his side of the skin so they can get this fucking over with.

Shouto sighs, deep and patronizing, scoffing as his chest rises with the force of it.

“You’re impossible,” he grumbles. “Why can’t you—”

But then it’s all bubbling over, acidic words flowing from his mouth before he has a moment to consider what he’s saying. He wishes Shouto would’ve just left it, would’ve gritted his teeth like Touya and finished their chores silently instead of trying to play some fucking martyr, instead of trying to fix something that has always been broken.

“I heard what you said in that fucking washroom,” Touya cuts him off, eyes finally flashing to his face, jaw clenching twice as he glares at his baby brother. “Don’t you ever fill her head with that bullshit again, do you hear me?”

“She’s my step-sister, too,” Shouto shoots back, scrubbing turned needlessly aggressive, eyebrows set in a deep furrow as he glowers at the bowl in his hands.

“I don’t care,” Touya hisses. “Stay the hell away from her,”

Something massive, sharp and shiny catches his eye as he turns to deposit the clean dish on the drying rack, quivering hand hovering over it in hesitation. A butcher knife, gleaming in the dim, warm light of the kitchen, stuck halfway in the knife block.

Beside him, Shouto snorts, rolling his eyes and shaking his head in disgust as he looks back to his hands, rinsing the bowl under a stream of hot water and placing it on the towel-covered counter.

“What? You gonna stab me? Really? In front of mom on Christmas Eve? Were the bloody nose and the black eye and the split lip not enough for you?”

No, of course not; it will never be enough for Touya.

“Why not?” Touya asks, voice calm, sounding almost serene, for the first time tonight. “It’s not like she’d miss you. I’m the one she took with her when she left, aren’t I? I think we both know that mom loves me more than she loves you—isn’t that right, scarface,”

And that—that has Shouto freezing mid motion, hand halting under the flowing tap water, half rinsed glass still in his grasp. It takes a moment for the words to sink in, Touya watching him almost lazily, that annoying indifferent smirk finally forming on his lips, achingly familiar.

Heterochromatic eyes glaze over and Shouto swallows roughly, jaw clenching twice as he turns towards his eldest brother, the glass clutched in his sudsy hand squeaking as his grip tightens. And for a moment, Touya thinks he’s won, breath bated as he waits for that first tear to escape, to roll down Shouto’s unblemished cheeks and fall crashing to the floor.

But then Shouto’s rolling his shoulders once, twice, puffing his chest out just a touch as he straightens to his full height, nearly a full inch taller that Touya, and exhales forcefully through his nose.

“Y’know, if you loved her—I mean, if you really loved her—you’d let her go,” His voice is sharp, clear, ringing throughout the kitchen, ringing throughout Touya’s head, bouncing off the walls in his mind and reverberating. “What you have, what you’re feeling, isn’t love—it’s obsession.”

That infamous smirk begins to fall, cobalt eyes narrowing at his baby brother’s words, breath beginning to quicken. Shouto sees it then—that final crack in the mask Touya’s so painstakingly crafted, in the mask Touya so expertly worn for so many years—and he strikes.

“It’s possession.”

No. He doesn’t want to hear this, doesn’t need to hear this—it’s all lies, isn’t it? Touya tries to scoff, tries to roll his eyes and shake his head at such ridiculousness, but it feels like his body’s encased in ice, frozen straight to the core.

“It’s insecurity.”

Blood rushes in his ears, but it fails to drown out Shouto’s crisp voice, his words slicing straight through the white noise. Touya wants to tell him to stop, wants to tell him to shut the hell up, wants to silence him by driving that huge knife straight through his fucking chest, but his tongue is glued to the roof of his mouth, refusing to obey his brain as it shouts at it to fight back, goddamn it!

“I meant what I said to her in that washroom,” his younger brother spits, words dripping with hostility as his eyes narrow, giving Touya a once-over like he’s the most pathetic thing Shouto has ever laid eyes on. “She does deserve so much better than you and you fucking know it, but you’re too selfish to let her go. That isn’t love.”

And it’s those final three words that finally have the mask breaking into tiny fragments and falling away, revealing glassy sapphires and a twitching nose, a trembling chin and a hard swallow. It’s those final three words that have it shattering concurrently with the glass in Shouto’s hand, shards clattering to the tiled floor, smashing into smaller pieces upon impact.

It catches Fuyumi’s attention first, who had been on edge and observing the pair sharply, body coiled and ready to spring at the slightest hint of danger.

“Shouto, your hand!” she cries as she leaps up, eyes wide and trained on the blood oozing from Shouto’s palm, rushing down his arm and dripping off his elbow.

But neither of them break their stare, Shouto entirely numb to the pain, Touya entirely suffocated by it, molars grinding together as he tries in vain to stop his chest from stuttering. It isn’t until Fuyumi grabs Shouto by the shoulders and forces him to face her that their gaze is broken, the youngest finally looking down to find his palm stained with viscous crimson.

Frantic sapphire eyes dart around the room, something akin to panic clawing at Touya’s chest, tearing him open from the inside out and making each breath more painful than the next. He needs to go, he needs to leave, he needs to get the hell out of this kitchen, out of this house, needs to, needs to, needs…

Feet stumble a little as he rushes up the stairs, catching himself on the railing twice as he ascends to the top. Someone calls his name, he thinks, but he can barely hear it over the intense ringing in his ears, his vision fading in and out of focus. The door to your shared bedroom slams open, brass knob whacking off the drywall and leaving an ugly little hole not unlike the larger one Shouto’s head left in the living room wall the day before.

Startled and gasping, your book falls from your hands and tumbles to the floor as Touya barrels through the threshold, making a beeline for the nondescript chest of wooden drawers tucked into the corner, yanking it open and beginning to riffle through the neatly folded clothing.

It sounds like he’s muttering something to himself, but you can’t discern what it is, heart beginning to thud against your ribcage. The tufts of hair at the back of his neck are coated in sweat, sticking to the skin, his breathing harsh and uneven as a curse hitches in his chest, rapidly moving onto the next drawer when whatever he’s looking for doesn’t turn up in the first.

A potent mix of adrenaline and dread floods your veins, and for a moment you’re frozen, little fingers curled so tightly in the sheets under you it’s painful, breathing stopped as you watch your niichan urgently rummage through the second drawer, his back beginning to hiccup.

For a moment, you aren’t sure what the hell is going on, unblinking eyes watching his motions in some sort of daze. For a moment, you’re terrified he might be overdosing, frantically searching for—for—you don’t even know, for some sort of antidote Natsuo might’ve given him, or something.

But then, he chokes out a pathetic little half-sob, trying in vain to swallow it back down akin to the first night you spent at the cabin, and then you’re leaping off the bed and rushing towards him in alarm, wrapping your arms around him tightly from behind, and he just…breaks. Collapses against the wooden chest hard enough to make the entire thing wobble, burying his head in his folded arms as his entire body shudders under the force of the sob that tears through his chest.

“Niichan!” you gasp, pawing at the front of his shirt, trying to make him move to face you. “Niichan, niichan, what is it? What’s wrong?” your own voice breaks with the threat of tears as you speak, heart racing in your chest.

He doesn’t respond, merely turns in your embrace and collapses on you instead, face buried in the crook of your neck as he weeps, big juddering breaths that have his entire back convulsing.

The action surprises you, a stark contrast from his stubborn resistance from the first night, but it worries you, too, such surrender uncharacteristic of him.

But your body’s running on autopilot, immediately petting his hair as your other arm tightens around his waist, clutching him. Soft hushes fall from your lips as you hold him, rocking your bodies slightly as you whisper into ivory tufts; it’s okay, you’re there, it’s alright, you’ve got him, you love him.

And the sob that rips from his throat as those last few words leave your lips is nothing short of vicious, has him coughing wetly into your neck and whining a little, large hands curling in the material of your dress as he tries to pull you closer, closer, closer.

“Baby, please, tell me what’s wrong,” you beg and your voice cracks, blinking hard against the tears flooding your own eyes. “Tell me what’s wrong so I can help, please,”

He shakes his head, whimpering incoherently into your neck.

Can’t…Won’t…Pathetic…Disgusting…

“Please,” the word catches in your throat as tears finally escape your eyes, rolling down your cheeks in pairs. “Please, let me help, let me make you feel better,”

“I—I—I’m—” he tries, shaking his head again, but you urge him to continue, plead with him to try again. “Need to get out, n-need to—to make it stop,”

You aren’t sure what he means, but it doesn’t matter, body moving on pure instinct the moment the words are out of his mouth, little hand snatching the keys to the Audi off the surface of the dresser and dragging him along behind you.

      ❅           ❅           ❅

The road is empty, silent, entirely barren as the Audi weaves through it, fat snowflakes beginning to drift down from the wispy clouds that decorate the night sky, taking turns blanketing the full moon and softening it’s beams of ivory light.

You don’t drive very far. You haven’t a clue where you’re going, but it doesn’t matter, frenetic eyes searching for the first little secluded clearing you can pull into.

Touya is unsettlingly quiet, save for his soft sniffles and the gentle rustling of his clothing as he uses a sleeve to wipe at his nose. Hiccups are still catching in his chest, but he’s trying his hardest to stop them, to quiet them, growling a little in pure frustration each time one escapes. Your stomach churns uneasily at his muteness—you wish he would just say something, glancing over at him worriedly with your bottom lip sucked between your teeth, his sapphire eyes destitute, bloodshot and glassy as they stare indigently at his knees.

The small village that the cliff overlooks emits a warm glow of golden light, hovering hazily over it like a halo. Christmas lights are strung up on a few of the cabins, little glowing dots of red and green and blue lining the roofs. A dusting of snow has begun to collect, like gingerbread houses sprinkled with icing sugar.

Touya is still silent when you cut the engine, stays silent when you turn to peer at him from your spot in the driver’s seat, stays silent when you place a dainty hand on his bicep, rubbing soothing circles into the clothed muscle and sighing.

“Niichan,”

Nothing.

“Niichan, look at me,”

Nothing.

“Touya-nii,” you murmur, kicking off your boots and climbing over the center console into his lap, his arms immediately opening to embrace you. “What’s going on?”

His gaze still avoids yours, despite the fact that his hands are curling around your body, fingers digging into your flesh hard enough to make you wince, needing you close, closer. And his voice is so quiet, almost desolate as he answers.

“It’s nothing,”

Tender fingers tuck a tuft of alabaster behind his ear.

“It’s not nothing,”

“It doesn’t matter,”

Gentle lips place soft kisses along his jaw.

“It matters very much to me, niichan,”

“It’s—It’s stupid, fucking stupid,”

A small palm finds solace on his cheek, cupping it as a thumb strokes the skin.

“It’s not stupid if it’s hurting you, baby,”

Cobalt darts around the car, trying to look anywhere but at your face as sharp teeth sink into his bottom lip, an attempt to quell its quivering. A soft sigh leaves your lips as gentle hands cup his face, forcing his gaze to meet yours.

“Let me in,” you whisper, soft little thumbs caressing the ink under his eyes. “Let me help,”

Burning sapphire sears into your eyes, gaze penetrating and powerful as it shines with unshed tears, and you have to force yourself to not look away, to keep staring into those pools of gleaming blue, feeling as though you’re staring directly at the sun.

He doesn’t blink, but the tears collecting in his eyes become too many, too much, spilling over his lashline and cascading down inky cheeks, leaving little gleaming trails in their wake. He inhales deeply, holding the breath in his chest for a moment before exhaling slowly, the breath trembling.

“I don’t even know where to fucking start,”

And his voice is so low you nearly miss it, raw and hoarse and barely above a whisper.

“Take your time,” tiny fingers run through his hair again, his eyes closing with the motion, more tears dripping down his cheeks. “It doesn’t have to be complicated. Just…Tell me what’s bothering you,”

What is bothering him? It’s hard to say, not because it’s complicated, but because he doesn’t want to acknowledge it, doesn’t want to accept it, doesn’t want to admit that his baby brother’s words have affected him more than he ever thought they would.

If you really loved her…You’d let her go.

He does really love you, he wants to scream until his throat is sore, until his throat is bleeding, molars grinding at the thought of anyone thinking otherwise. He loves you so much, loves you too much, loves you more than he’s loved anything in his entire fucking life, he’s sure of it, positive of it.

He’s loved you since he first began stealing kisses from you, in the kitchen when mom wasn’t looking. He’s loved you since you tiptoed to his room, mumbling about a nightmare and seeking solace in his warm bed, in his warm arms. He’s loved you since you sobbed into his chest, that night you told him you wanted all of him, that night when he realized that you love him, too. He’s loved you since you let him permanently sear his name into your skin, branding you as his forever.

Yes, he’s possessive, and yes, he’s selfish, and yes, he can be a fucking asshole, but he does love you. Really loves you. He can barely remember his life without you in it, everything blurry and out of focus before you entered the frame. You’re all he’s got, all he’s ever had, all he ever wants, and the thought of you being unhappy, the thought of you wanting to leave, kills him, drives a large stake straight through his chest and clean out the other side, spearing him.

And yet, he fails to put any of these thoughts, running a mile a minute through his mind, into words. Patient as ever, you wait, petting his hair, planting kisses scattered across his face, tracing patterns on his skin as a war rages inside his head.

“I’m—It’s fucking pathetic,”

“It isn’t pathetic to be human, Touya,” you whisper sadly, little thumbs swiping across both cheeks. “You don’t have to keep it together every minute of every day,” you remind him gently, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “You’re allowed to be ‘weak’, too,”

He shakes his head, but refrains from arguing with you, because he can’t. Because he knows if he opens his mouth, if he tries to speak, he’ll start sobbing again. Sapphire tears away from your gaze, unable to hold your eyes anymore as his chin begins to quiver.

“I do really love you,” he whispers finally, head dropping, eyes squeezing shut against the prick of tears.

“I know you do, baby,” you say softly, fingers rubbing circles into his biceps, though he can hear the confusion laced in your voice.

“But do I—Do I des—”

He can’t. He can’t force those four simple little words out of his mouth, getting caught at the back of his throat, tangling into a giant ball that aches when he tries to swallow past it.

It’s starting again, that feeling from the kitchen, building in his torso, growing, stretching, higher and higher and higher until he can’t fucking breathe. A sharp gasp hitches painfully in his chest as he desperately tries to inhale, tries to suck an adequate amount of air into his lungs, coughing on the saliva pooling at the back of his throat.

“Do I—” the words escape his lips in a pitiful whine, voice cracking.

A sudden flash of blistering fury rips through his chest at his own cowardice. Disgust churns in his stomach, leaving a stinging bitterness lingering on his tongue, revolted at himself for getting so goddamn emotional over this, for letting Shouto’s words eat away at him, corrosive and parasitic as they take root in his brain, infecting his consciousness until it’s all he can fucking hear, think, see.

Tiny fingers find his face, hooking under his jaw and tilting it up, gently forcing him to look at you again. The pads of your fingertips dance along his skin, tracing along his jaw and then up his cheek to catch in the endless stream of tears.

You don’t say anything, because you don’t have to, tender little touches speaking volumes more than your words ever could, inspiring a bout of intense strength as he powers through the sentence, forcing the trembling words from his throat.

“Do I deserve you?”

And you’re so shocked by the question that your fingers halt, and his body stills, his breath stuttering in his throat, staring at you in an almost urgent manner, pleading with you to tell him the answer he’s so desperately seeking.

Salty water trickles over your thumbs, the sensation breaking you out of your reverie, response flowing from your mouth seamlessly, without a second thought.

“Of course you do,” your eyes search his face, studying his features slowly. “Where is this coming from?”

The question leaves your lips before you even know what you’re saying, but your voice is soft, kind, full of so much concern and affection as your fingers begin their ministrations again, tracing the ink decorating his cheeks.

He refuses to tell you, shakes his head as his lips press into a firm line, expression hardening. Blue fire ignites in his eyes, and you have your answer.

Shouto’s words from that first day in the washroom drift through your head, but you don’t press. Regardless of whether or not Touya had heard them on the twenty-first, it is fair to assume that Shouto must have said something along similar lines tonight, triggering this reaction.

Sighing, your expression softens, forehead falling forward to knock against his, hands still on either side of his face, keeping his gaze from escaping again as you speak.

“You—you’re sure?”

“Niichan, my niichan,” you murmur, pecking his lips in a chaste kiss. “That isn’t yours to decide, or Shouto’s to decide, or anyone’s to decide,” and your voice is so tender, filled with so much love as tiny fingers run through his hair, tension dissipating from his shoulders with each comb through. “It’s mine. And I’m telling you that you do deserve me,”

“Do I?” he chokes out brokenly, voice cracking and barely above a whisper. And the look on his face, azure eyes glazed with a thick shield of tears as they desperately search your face, chin trembling almost violently as he swallows a pitiful whine, pierces your heart; and you swear you can feel it shattering into a thousand little pieces, puncturing the surrounding organs and making your whole chest ache.

“Yes,” you whisper, tiny hands flexing on either side of his face as you grip him tighter, blinking rapidly to clear your own vision. “Yes,” you repeat, louder, stronger, fiercer, silencing whatever he was beginning to respond with by crushing your lips against his.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you’re murmuring between kisses, spit slicked lips sliding against his as he sobs into your mouth.

“I love you,” he mumbles against your lips, voice raspy with tears. “I love you, I love you,”

And, truly, you’re the only thing holding him together at this point—have been the only thing holding him together for a long time now. You’re the glue that keeps his life from falling apart, you’re the stitches that keep his very soul intact, sewing him back together each and every time he begins to unravel, keeping him complete, keeping him whole.

Fingernails dig into the skin of his cheek as you hold him in place, sucking his bottom lip into your mouth and nibbling, relishing in the quiet, broken moan you pull from him. A little tongue laps at the salty tears staining his cheeks, licks along his jaw as his hands grip the meat of your ass, trying to pull you closer as he breathes out your name.

“I love you,” you whisper, words punctuated by kisses down the column of his neck. “So much,”

A whine gets stuck in his throat, head tilting to allow you more access to move as large hands paw at the hem of your dress, rucking it up around your waist. Something pokes you, prods you, pushes up into you through the thick, rough denim of his jeans, and you inhale sharply, instantly consumed by overwhelming need—the need to feel him, hot and pulsing and driving into you, the need to make him feel better, to make him forget, to remind him that you’re his, and he’s yours, the need to be claimed.

It hits your like a fucking freight train, burns through your veins and shoots straight to your core, sharp spikes of heat that have you huffing out his name.

“I need you,” the words are whimpered against inky skin as you grind desperately against his hard cock, clawing at his chest, his biceps, his belt. “Niichan, I need you,”

“Yeah, baby?” he pants into your mouth, hands kneading your nylon covered thighs as he presses his clothed cock against your core, forcing a mewl of his name from your throat.

“Yes,” you cry pathetically, and it’s almost too much, the scalding, throbbing heat collecting between your thighs, hips gyrating in quick little circles as you try to alleviate some of the tension coiling tightly in the pit of your stomach. “Yes, yes, need you t-to fuck me, to—” a sharp gasp cuts you off as he bites into your shoulder, growling darkly against your skin. “—To fill me up, to remind me who I belong to,”

Strong, lithe fingers tear into your thin tights, hooking into the holes they create and ripping the delicate material. Dark eyes flit down, rabidly scanning your clothed little cunt, white lace soaked and stuck to you, outlining your folds. Touya chuckles, delivering a superficial slap with the back of his hand before pushing your panties to the side.

Niichan, niichan, you’re whining out the honorific, fingers tangling in his sweater and tugging roughly as his digits caress your slit, urgently shaking your head.

His lips tug down. “Baby, you know I—”

“No!” you pout, eyebrows knitted together, Touya’s eyes flashing dangerously at being so rudely cut off. “I don’t want your fingers, they aren’t enough,” Because the need to be filled, to be stretched, to be owned is almost voracious now, desire clawing at the pit of your belly. “Mark me, claim me, breed me, I-I’m yours,” you’re wailing, cunt achingly empty, the pulsing in your clit nearly too much to take.

A snarl rumbles in his chest, large hand snaking around your bent leg, wedging between your thigh and calve and gripping the back of your knee, hitching the leg closest to the center console up in one swift movement and planting your foot on the console box, thighs stinging from the sudden stretch.

One of your hands latches onto the handle above the door while the other clutches his shoulder, nails digging into the muscles through the knit of his sweater while he fiddles with his belt, squirming a little and shoving his jeans down to his knees.

Not a second is wasted as the head of his cock nudges against your fluttering hole, and then he stills. He wants you to beg, needs to hear you beg, and so you do, high-pitched and whiny as your hips instinctually wiggle.

“Please, niichan, please! Want it, need it, need you,”

And then he’s shoving himself into you, a hiss slipping from between your teeth, familiar, welcomed tears springing into your eyes, a guttural groan catching in his throat.

It stretches, aches, stings so good, so right, so perfect as he bottoms out, pressed snugly against your cervix, and pauses for a moment, cock twitching inside of you, strong hands on your hips preventing them from rocking forward and forcing you to just feel him for a second, every inch of him, buried deep inside you. The sigh that falls from your lips is nothing short of dreamy, mumbling about feeling whole again, and he chuckles.

Yeah, that’s right, princess. Only niichan’s cock can fill you up like this.

His thrusts start gradual, fingers flexing on your hips as they dig into the sensitive flesh, forcing you to slide nearly all the way off his cock before pushing you back down, hips pressing up to meet yours, cockhead grinding against your cervix as he stuffs himself in your cunt, gaining a little more speed with each motion.

No one but niichan could ever make you feel like this.

The words are whimpered between fierce, messy kisses, between ravenous, devouring kisses, between the clacking of teeth and the slurping of tongues, glistening saliva, sticky and sweet and laced with the taste of blue fire and Marlboros dripping off your chin.

And he needs to hear it—needs to know that you belong to him and only him, needs to know that you want him and only him, needs to know that only he is deserving of you, worthy of you—so you tell him, in breathy little whines, that no, no one could ever make you feel this good; yes, niichan’s the only one that can fill you up this fully, this wholly, this rightly, eyes rolling back and sharp cries echoing through the car as he pounds into you, deep little grunts falling from his lips in time with each snap up of his hips.

“Tell niichan—ah, fuck—tell niichan how badly you need his cum,”

Senseless babbling flows freely from your lips the instant he asks for it, forever incapable of disobeying a direct order from him—please niichan, need your cum so bad, need to feel it in my belly, need to feel it in my brain, please, give it to me, give it to me, give it to me!

“Christ,” he chokes out, hips beginning to falter, muscles bulging and tensing as he forces you to keep bouncing on him, hard and fast and deep. “Cum with me, baby,” he nearly begs, voice more wrecked than you’ve ever heard it before, inspiring a whole flock of butterflies in your tummy. “Be a good girl and make a—make a mess all over niichan’s cock,”

And it’s the sense of desperateness, of urgency, of sheer neediness sown deep into his broken voice that has you spasming around him, that evokes an orgasm so intense it makes you choke on your own scream as it slashes through you, gurgling on spit and tears as violent tremors course through your body.

Hot, thick spurts of cum fill you, your name escaping his lips in a cracked whine, his hips continuing to lazily roll against yours as you milk him for every drop of cum he’s got, as you beg him for more, more, more.

Overwhelmed by emotion, you collapse against his heaving chest, hiccupping out pitiful little sobs between your harsh breathing, and he hushes you, fingers petting your sweaty hair as he murmurs against your scalp—shh, it’s alright, he’s here, he loves you, you’re his, and you did so well.

“Do you want to leave?” the question is uttered softly, after your breathing has calmed to tiny sniffles, voice so genuine it’s almost painful, curled up in his arms as your bare cunt presses against his pelvis, cum still leaking out of you. “Just say the word and we’ll go, baby,”

Swallowing thickly, he’s silent for a moment, considering. Patiently, you wait, nuzzling comfortingly against his neck and licking at the sweat pooled in the dip of his collarbone. When he speaks, his voice is low and rough, laced with a hint of disbelief.

“Really?”

You pull back to gaze at him.

“Yes, really,” you whisper, catching a tear with the pad of your thumb and placing a soft kiss against his cheek. “You are more important to me than anyone else in that damn cabin by far, and I don’t care if it upsets them—if you want to leave, if you need to leave, we’ll leave. Say the word, and I’ll drive back, pack our shit, and we’ll be gone. You don’t even need to get out of the fucking car,”

Shining sapphire eyes study your face intently, searching for any sign of hesitancy, finding nothing but sincerity.  

“I love you so much,” he laughs wetly, more glistening tears escaping his eyes with the motion. “So fucking much,”

Tingling warmth blossoms in your chest at his words, at his laugh, conjuring a watery smile of your own as you pepper his face with kisses, soft lips ghosting across his cheeks, his nose, his eyelids and forehead until he becomes too impatient, large hands cupping your jaw and pressing your wandering lips against his.

Giggles erupt from your throat, and he’s sure that’s what liquid sunshine sounds like, allows the noise to wash over him, to bathe him in your everlasting light, to warm him to his very core. A little tongue darts out to lick teasingly along the seam of his lips, evoking an involuntary smile of his own before his tongue escapes to meet yours, another precious squeal of laughter echoing through the car.

Yes, he thinks, as your laughter vibrates against him, arms tightening around your waist as he cradles you against his chest. This is what love feels like.

[hisoknen]

kinktober day 6: praise warnings: smut, rope bondage, suffering, breathplay wc: 2.9k

a/n: hi hello reader!! super excited to share this one as a rope fanatic! however, this is NOT a guide/blueprint to any kind of play you want to try. thank you so much to @10millionyearsdungeon​ for beta reading and giving me amazing feedback! this is a softer more sensual kinktober day i hope you enjoy!

“And your safewords, kitten?” Aizawa secured the hardpoint, doing a few more checks to the bamboo before coming down to your level. His hand reached out to cup your cheek, waiting patiently for your reply.

After discussing the scene he had in mind, it was time to begin. He was crouching down in front of you while you were kneeling at his command. Dressed in only a pair of silk panties, you could feel the air in the room kissing your naked flesh. 

“Red stop, yellow check-in slow down and green good.” You breathed, he was lightly pinching at your cheeks, your eyes threatening to shut and absorb the feeling of him caressing your skin. Your heart was racing, mind and body hungry for anything he was ready to give you. 

“And if something's your mouth?” he presses a small ball into your palm, a little bell jingled inside of it as he wrapped his yours to close it.

“Drop the ball, red. Uh, uh uh, is yellow, and for green, nod.”

“Good girl,” he sits down, “turn around.” You do as you’re told, untucking your knees and turning your back on him. Your body sinks into his hold, his thighs on each side, trapping you in place. He begins littering kisses on your neck and shoulders, calming your racing mind with soft words and chuckles.

Ever since you found your way into Aizawa’s arms, you’d experienced more than you could list in one sitting. Together you slowly explored your boundaries, trying new things out and pushing each other to grow. You had a genuine and deep submission. It was the heartfelt kind that came from trust, respect, lust, emotional connection.

You’d always found a strange comfort in suffering. Nothing aroused you more than suffering for someone you loved and having them look into your pleading eyes and offer you their tender violence in return.

When you could do something that made your partner feel good, you felt the world around you bathe you in warmth. You found catharsis erotic—a harmonious battle between instincts and surrender.

But this desire always seemed to put you into sticky situations. You’d find partners who didn’t care for your soul or body. They wanted your suffering for their pleasure and theirs alone, treating you as though you were disposable. Broken people sought out broken people, or so you thought.

Aizawa was different. It was an exploration for both of you, an equal exchange. He cared for your mind as much as he desired your body. He treated you like an invaluable treasure. It always felt so safe being wrapped in his ropes, no matter the sadistic ideas he would bring to fruition. 

Trailing his fingers up your shoulders, kneading softly at the muscles. He leaned in, placing a kiss at your neck's junction right behind your ear. Your mind is already spinning from the small ministration. His breath tickled the spot he knew sent spots to your vision.

"Are you ready, kitten?" He purred against your ear. Without even brushing his fingers against the aching spot between your legs he already had you dripping and feverish.

Nodding, you turn your neck to the side to give him more access. He nips at the skin, slowly bringing your arms behind you, hands rubbing up and down, easing your shoulders back. 

Dragging the rope slowly a few inches above your wrist, he ties a single column securing your wrists together, pulling the tension up. Aizawa wraps two bands around your front above your breasts, over your other arm to the right. Skimming his fingers against your chest, he looks into your eyes, silently asking if everything feels right. 

Lazily smiling up at him, you rub your middle finger against the thumb's padding to check, nodding. You feel the tug as he drags the ends through where the initial rope went from your wrist to the arm, reversing the tension and locking it off. The push and pull were like a lullaby rocking you to sleep. 

There was a tug when he secured a knot in the back, his fingers feeding between the rope and your arms and where the jute is placed, fixing the tension evenly. He continued to the left, wrapping two more bands a few inches below the first, trapping your breasts in between.

After months of playing with Aizawa, you had his movements memorized, it was like dancing. Each time he moved, your body followed obediently as he secured the stem, feeding rope into the harness. 

Pushing your body forward, his warmth leaves you. He brings the rope over the bamboo, pulling your body up in the slightest. Reaching down, he takes it through the bite created on the stem pulling it taut.

“It’s been a long week, hasn’t it? Not enough time to play. I hope you’re not upset, kitten,” his husky voice sinks into your ears. It’s smooth like honey, and the tender promise it leaves has your skin prickling. His foot pushes against your shoulder, body leaning to the side just enough to feel the tension applied. 

“I’ll make it up to you. I promise.” He steps away, pulling the rope on the upline. The tug has you on your knees once more, slowly getting onto your legs as he aids you with a steady pull. Once both of your feet are flat on the ground, he secures the upline stepping out of your line of vision.

He lightly taps your ass, and you quiver at the touch. Crouching down, he wraps two bands around your ankle, securing a single column and capture loop. His hand grasping the pit of your knee, hoisting it up.

You stare in awe at each movement he makes, watching his fingers work rapidly. Balancing on one leg you search his eyes as he pulls your leg up, tossing the ends of the rope over the bar. He brings the working ends into the bite and back over the bar to secure the knot.

The shift in weight adds pressure to your hips and gut. Your knee is at the same height as your hips, restricting your breathing slightly. While it’s nothing crazy, it does spike your interest. He was being far too gentle. You don’t notice that he’s untied the line to your harness, jerking it up in one swift motion.

A yelp resounds throughout the room, your entire body weight now depending on your ability to hold yourself up by your toes. There is tension on your arms and leg in the air but nothing compared to what it will be if you happen to falter.

Your breath hitches and you start to relax your body, checking your thumb once again to see if it’s numb. Your head is bowed, watching the shake in your legs as Aizawa circles around you. He pulls your chin up roughly, his eyes dark scanning your features.

That was the look you were waiting for. He presses a fervent kiss against your lips, fingers flicking across the heat he’s left behind. 

His other hand comes up, waiting at the entrance of your mouth. Licking your lips you open wide. Slowly he eases his fingers in, circling the pad of your tongue, edging closer and closer to the back and gagging you. Your throat convulses around him, only prompting him to go back even further fingers tickling the back of your tongue.

He lets out a muffled groan pulling his fingers out, gliding the slick digits down your neck to your breasts, swirling around your nipple and pulling.

Your eyes are fixed on him as he moves the rope holding your leg further from your body, setting your body off balance. Breathing through your nose you hop, trying to reset your toes on the wood.

"Tongue out, kitten." You obediently loll it out from your mouth. His hands disappear to his back, bringing out a clothespin. He opens its teeth and clamps it down onto your muscle. Wincing and letting out a pained groan, you look up at him with pitiful eyes filled with affection and adoration.

Grabbing another rope, he wraps it around your waist tightly, pushing out your breath. He connects it to the bamboo, leaving you sputtering around the wood, pulling desperately for the room's air to trickle into your lungs.

Aizawa drops down, settling onto the floor. Grabbing your shaking leg, he rubs the skin and leaves lingering kisses, taking a final rope from his side. Trailing his fingers sensually up your calf, he sets the jute below the bend of your knee, pulling it through and trapping your calf into place.

Your eyes widen in horror at the realization of what he's about to do. He pulls the rope tight, pain shooting up your leg and straight to your center. A strangled gasp ripples past your open lips, saliva beginning to drip from your tongue onto the floor slowly.

“Already?” His lips are parted, watching you intently through hooded eyes. He runs his hands through his hair, gazing up at you hungrily.

“We just started, kitten.” He holds the rope tight, tying it around your trapped muscle, each one tighter than the last until he reaches right above your ankle. The dull ache of the clothespin is nothing compared to what awaits you.

“Are you ready to breathe again?” You hadn’t even noticed that you’d stopped, too busy imagining what he was about to do. Taking a deep breath through your nose, you hold it nodding down at him.

“1, 2-” you breathe out the second he gets to two, knowing he never waits until three.  Your gut tightens as he crosses over the rope the opposite way, constricting your calf more than before, creating spaces where the rope touches and the muscle remaining is pushed tight against the confines, pulsing.

A single poke of his finger will have tears surfacing in your eyes. But maybe he wouldn’t press on it this time. He forces his finger underneath the rope to lock it off, sending waves of agony course through you.

You rip your leg away from him, bringing it to your chest to relieve the pressure, but the moment you do, all of the weight shifts to your chest, arms and the opposite leg. A frustrated grunt leaving your wet mouth. It was as if he had woven the rope around your body with a banner that said, choose your preferred method of suffering.

Landing your foot back gently back onto the ground, you look down at him with pleading eyes. With the weight of your body resting on one painfully constricted leg, your muscle tries to escape the confines, pulsing against the rope and radiating up your side.

“Whas dah for?” Aizawa pulls a metal rod from his pocket. He grabs onto your leg, pressing the metal into your constricted flesh, a shriek leaves your lips and you strain. While the tension in a section lessens at the push, another side begins to ache and throb. That was the game. Your body and bottom leg are aligned, but the leg in the air is forward, hips sinking along with your chest. More pressure. Less air.

“Can you take a little more for me?” He looks up at you with admiration and lust, chest rising and falling heavily. A sob wracks through your body, your instincts tell you to scream no, but your body wants more. You had your safewords. Aizawa would listen to you if you needed to stop. Shaking your head, you try desperately to hold onto each gulp of air, remembering to check your fingers.

You nod down at him as he presses down again. The more your breathing falters, the less you can manage the pain and hold your body up. Your leg is trembling, threatening to lose its hold on the ground. You can hear Aizawa’s breath falter as he takes in your cries and plea’s. His pupils are lust blown with a devious glimmer.

Standing up, he comes to face level, pressing down on the pin and releasing the pressure. The moment it’s removed, the ache comes back tenfold, blood returning to where it was restricted. Sucking in the droll on your lips, you stare up at him defiantly.

“Sick fuck,” you spit out. You want to scream and lash out at him. Rake your fingernails down his back and draw blood.

“‘Sick fuck’ is not your safeword.” The moment the words leave his mouth, tears of frustration bubble into vision. 

“Use your words.”

“It hurts Shouta-” you blubber through quivering lips.

“I know.” He purrs, stroking your face with fingers wet from your tears. He understood that you were suffering. That this was painful and frustrating for you. But most of all, he understood that you were suffering for him.

“Good girl, I’m so proud of you.” You smile, shivering at the warmth of his praise. He kisses your nose, bending down to untie the binds on your leg. Wincing at each shift you moan at the release.

Aizawa’s fingers stroke the imprints left behind fingers kissing your sensitive flesh. You glance down seeing his cock straining against his pants, a damp patch showing just how much he was enjoying this. 

“Please,” you whisper, pulling against your restraints. He follows your eyes, running his hands along the length of his covered cock, squeezing. It’s been so long since you had tasted him, felt him.

“What is it, kitten?” 

“I want to touch you,” he chuckles, lying on the ground to watch you, hair pooling around his head as he looks up. Your chest is rising quickly and heavily. Looking into your eyes, he waits. You nod to signal green, and he presses his foot into your stomach, absorbing the choked cries you let out while you struggle to take breaths in.

Your only comfort and control are swept away from you as your leg is lifted off the ground. Your tears land onto his face, one at the corner of his lips. He dips his tongue out, pulling it into his mouth. 

“You look so pretty like this, kitten.” He pushes himself off the ground with his elbows. The pain was distressing, bleeding into your veins, but he continues to praise you for taking it. Your head is spinning, and your cunt is dripping, the pain and pleasure rolling off one another.

He stands in front of you, fingers dipping down to push your panties to the side. His fingertips brush against your soaking core, body still shaking with sobs.

“If it hurts, why are you so wet, Y/n?” You look up at him shamefully, his voice is condescending, head tilted and eyebrows quirked. His fingers glide over your sensitive clit, slowly circling over it. You bite your lip to hold back a needy moan. Aizawa’s fingers plunge into your cunt, curling his fingers immediately, ripping the cry from you.

He starts roughly jerking his hand, pounding his fingers against your g-spot. You let out whimpers and grunts as he rubs at your insides. The pressure from the waist rope increases and floods your cunt as your leg begins to give out.

“Shouta plea-” you hiccup, begging for more. With one hand reaching out to hold onto your raised thigh the other continues to search the depths of your pussy for the orgasm you owed him.

The insistent squelch coming from you is pathetic; the pain of the rope and the brutality of his ministrations begin bleeding together. Looking down, you can see your arousal spilling out from your cunt all over his hand. 

He breathes heavily against your ear. “You’re so good to me, kitten. Suffering so beautifully for me.” Mewling between sobs, you want to ask for more. You can feel that you’re about to cum, your cunt squeezing around him desperately.

Your leg loses its strength below you, the pressure of the rope squeezing your waist, pushing you even closer to the edge. But he pulls away at the last second, leaving you clenching pathetically around nothing. 

You let out a silent scream, frustration, and desire filling you, thick tears falling from your eyes. Your breath is faltering, mind hazy and racing.

“Such a needy little slut.” Aizawa walks behind you, untying your leg from the rig, holding it as he places it on the ground. The waist rope is next to loosen and fall to the ground. He welcomes your body tightly against his own, as he lowers the final upline until you are both on the floor.

Your body feels like jelly, thoroughly spent, head leaned back against his chest while you breathe in the sweet air, filling your lungs. Bringing your legs up to your chest. 

Small whimpers still fall from your lips when your legs are torn apart, his fingers plugging back into your abused hole. You can feel his erection prodding against your back. You pant, grabbing onto his wrist to anchor yourself. He holds your limp body against his solid chest.

“You did so well for me today," his fingers explore you, setting flame to the dwindling embers. Kind words and praise in tune with the thrusts of his fingers, your vision flickers.

"Cum for me," the soft commanding words are all it takes to send you over the edge, the pressure of your orgasm pushing out his fingers as you soak the floor. Rubbing at your clit he helps you ride out your orgasm. 

You can hear Aizawa sucking on his fingers between closed eyes, tasting the mess you made before kissing the top of your head. Your body is spent, shivering and aching, a soothing hum of satisfaction riddling your veins.

He is caressing your arms' marks, memorizing what is left of the memory of you in his ropes. He pulls the blanket over to your sniffling body, holding you tightly.

"Thank you, kitten." he hums as darkness takes over.

—

kinktober masterlist

tags <3 @thewheezingwyvern​ @linestrider​ @idratherliveinbooks​ @mx-minxx​ @kenmasmyvibe​ @leeswritingworld​ @katsukis-sad-angel​ @trafalgar-temptress​ @dabis-kitten​ @stainedglass-wings​ @thirsthourdemon​ @zyrielwolf​ @shadowmountain @secondhand-trash​ @tomurasprincess​ 

[mermaidxatxheart]

Better Together Chapter 4

Okay, y'all. I'm posting this just before I go on vacation. If you want to be added to my tag lists, send an ask. My work is not to be reposted anywhere. A big thank you to those who have proof-read this for me. I don't know what I would do without you.

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: language, violence, angst. This is where it gets rough.

Chapter 3

Chapter Four

You sit up violently with a scream, clutching at your chest, but it’s not really your chest you’re worried about. You scramble for your friend, but he’s not at the edge of the cave, it’s still dark outside. You’ve probably been asleep for an hour, no more than two.

“Poe!” You call frantically. “Dameron!”

He skids back into the entrance, back into your blessed view, buckle undone on his trousers. “Hey, I’m right here. What happened?” He asks, reaching for your arms.

Your hands press shakily against his chest, desperate to feel his solid heartbeat. “I—“ you stutter.

It was just a dream.

“You’re freezing.” He comments, rubbing your arms to get you warm.

“Wh-what were you doing outside?” You ask, teeth starting to chatter as the shivering hits you.

“Taking a leak. I was just outside.” He leads you back over to the fire and drapes his jacket around your shoulders. “Here, sit in front of the fire, sweetheart. Let’s get you warm.” He builds the fire back up, and while the heat of it dances across your skin, it never goes any deeper.

He starts to stand up but you grab his wrist pleadingly. “Don’t leave me?” You whisper. He seems taken aback by the sheer desperation in your voice, so he nods and settles behind you.

“Close your eyes. I’m right here.” He says softly and you pull his arm around you, needing him close. He presses his forehead to the back of yours and you can feel his breath on your neck. You can feel your hands trembling as you clutch at his and he holds you tighter.

“Do you think,” he starts, lifting his head to speak softly into your ear. You start at the noise and turn to listen better. “Do you think Leia is sobbing uncontrollably right now because of how much she misses me?” He asks quietly and your lips pull up at the corners against your will.

“I’m sure she’s managing somehow. It’s difficult, but I think she can hold on.” You reply, shifting to lay your head back down.

“I hope so. I’d hate to be the reason she suffers so.” He says dramatically and you snort loudly before you can stop yourself. “Bless you.” He adds, his voice dripping with a grin.

“You definitely cause her to suffer.” You mutter and he squeezes your side, exactly where you hate. You squeal and squirm, trying to get away, but he grabs you and presses you flush against him.

“You’re so mean to me.” He sighs, dropping his head against your shoulder, but his nonsense worked, you feel a little better as he holds you so you can sleep.

***

Poe Dameron is…. confusing. And soft. Big giant Ewok. Ever since you woke up this morning, he’s been gentle. Cracking jokes to get you to smile, walking next to you instead of in front of you, taking your hand more often.

About mid morning, you stop for a break. Your legs don’t feel any better and you almost wish you had taken Poe up on his offer to massage them. You ease down onto a log and he hands you some food from his pack.

You close your eyes against the light, sweat trickling down the back of your neck. No matter how many times you wipe it away, more takes its place. You can see Poe in your mind’s eye, leaning against the trunk of the tree across from you, legs crossed at the ankles. You can hear him chewing on the snack he noisily unwrapped.

You can hear a strange noise, almost like a whooshing, or a whistling as something big moves through the air. You try to open your eyes to look around, but your lids won’t cooperate. You feel something swing past your ear, rustling your hair into your face. A big spiked log heading straight for Poe. You scream his name, trying to move to get to him. The spiked log flattens against the tree and you see his legs go slack. You scream, the sound ripping from your throat in anguish as you struggle against whatever is holding you in place.

“Y/N! Y/N!!” Poe’s voice reaches you. He’s shaking you roughly as you fight against his hands. It takes you a minute to realize he’s the one holding you, and another to pry your eyes open and look at him. He’s blurry, confusingly so, until you realize you’re crying. “Hey, you’re okay. I’m right here.” He says, forcing you to look up at him. “I’m right here.” The tears spill over and he brushes them away with his thumbs, searching your face. “You fell asleep on me.” He says, half a smile on his face. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I don’t like it here.” You whisper, throat sore from the scream. “I don’t like it.” You shake your head, dropping it against his chest. His big hand cradles the back of your head, stroking your hair softly.

“I know. Just a couple more days and then we’ll go tell Leia that this planet won’t work.” He promises.

“Except it’s almost perfect.” You groan.

“Not if it’s doing this to you. Hey, look at me.” He says gently, guiding your head back. “Wanna leave? We’ll go back right now.”

You want to. You want to take him up on it so badly. Your hands twitch towards his, but you force them to stay still. “No. We have a mission to complete.” You mumble and he sighs.

“Alright. Just say the word, sweetheart, and we’re gone.” He assures you and you nod.

***

“Know what I would kill for right now?” He huffs, lifting you over a log.

“A more capable partner?” You mutter dully.

“Ice cream. Cold, sweet, melty, chocolate, beebleberry, denta bean.” He hums, wiping his face. “Mmm. Denta bean.” He licks his lips and your eyes are suddenly drawn to them. He’s hot. His face is flushed from sweating and so much hiking. He needs to take a break.

“Hey, hey. Poe.” You grab his arm and he spins into you abruptly. “Sit. You need water.” You tell him, pushing him down onto the ground. He pulls you into his lap with him and you can’t stop the smile that cracks through.

“Are you okay?” He asks, tucking hair behind your ear as you fumble for his canteen.

“I’m fine. I promise I won’t fall asleep this time.” You say.

“You can sleep on me any time.” He huffs. You pick up his canteen and frown.

“Drink.” You insist, holding the skein to his soft lips.

He parts them, allowing the cool liquid to flow in. His dark eyes never leave you as he drinks. After a few seconds, he captures your wrist and lowers it.

“We either need to find a safe water source, or head back to the ship.” You say after a minute. “We’re almost out of water.”

“You’re the boss.” He cracks a smile, adjusting his head against the rough bark.

“Technically, you’re the commander on this mission.” You remind him.

“Oh yeah? Well, technically, you’re smarter.” He admits shamelessly and you roll your eyes.

“Ever have fried ice cream from Corellia?” You ask, shifting to sit back next to him.

“No. Is it delicious? It sounds pointless. Wouldn’t it melt?”

“Nope. They do this thing to it that super freezes it so it only gets a little soft in its crispy shell.” The taste of it, salty and sweet ghosts across your tongue and you clamp down on the sound wanting to escape. “After this is over, we’ll go and I’ll buy you some.” You promise.

“It’s a date.” He says, dropping his hand onto your thigh in the absolute most friendly way possible, but your stomach still flip-flops in your midsection.

“You know, this is the dumbest mission ever. We’ve been sent to a planet that’s never been explored and we’re wandering around aimlessly trying to map it in just a couple days.” You groan.

“Know what I think?” He says, turning his handsome face to look at you.

“That Leia must have been desperate to get you out of her perfect hair? I just don’t see why she had to drag me down with you.” You sigh and he drops his head forward, chuckling.

“You’re so funny.” He says and then lunges, capturing you around your waist and rolling you both into the ground as you shriek. You cling to his shoulders as you land on your back, his hands cradling your head to protect it from the hard ground.

“Jerk.” You huff. Then you blink, seeming to realize just how close his face is to yours. His soft brown eyes are searching yours, his charming smile slowly fading.

Bryce’s smiling face flashes in your mind’s eye and you twist your face away with a groan. He blinks in confusion.

“You weigh a ton.” You protest and a soft chuckle skates across your cheek.

“All muscle, sweetheart.”

“Sure. If muscle here means bantha burgers.” You tease, but it’s fake. Regret settles low in your belly and you’re absolutely not sure if it’s regret at not kissing Poe, or letting it go so far. Unfortunately, Poe Dameron is literally the easiest person in the galaxy to be around.

“Maker, you’re mean when you’re—“ he cuts off and pushes himself off you.

“When I’m what?” You prompt.

“...camping.” He says finally and you know that’s not even close to what he was gonna say.

“We should keep moving. Find some water.” You mumble, pushing yourself up and gathering your things.

“Yeah. ‘Course.” He joins you once more, but this time in silence.

***

His shoulders are tense. Pulled almost all the way up to his ears. His shirt catches at his spine, bunching at the gap at his neck and sticking to the rest of him. He hasn’t spoken in over an hour and you’re terrified that he’s mad at you.

You follow dutifully behind him now, no longer next to him as you were this morning. A dozen times, you’ve opened your mouth to call his name. But then you shrink back, hiding in your own cowardice.

The image of that knife plunging into his chest slams into you full force and you squeak, mouth opening, his name on your lips before you can catch it this time.

“Sh, you hear that?” He asks, holding up his hand to stop you in your tracks.

Bubbling, the sound of a river flowing swiftly. Water. He turns to glance at you before his hand latches tightly onto yours and then he’s pulling. He drags you along, hardly able to keep up. You round the base of a tree and there it is, crystal clear, blue, fast enough to be safe. You quickly mark it on your holopad, noting the direction it’s flowing in. Poe steps forward, but you pull him back, fear twisting you.

“Let me test it first.” You say quietly, avoiding his eyes. You dig into your bag and pull out your kit, dipping it into the water at the bank’s edge. You fill a small vial and dump the tester chemicals into it. You swirl it around as they change colors and you hold it up for him.

“Is blue good?” He asks warily.

“Blue is good.” You confirm and he drops his bag, giving a loud, echoing whoop that disturbs a butterfly resting nearby. He scoops you up in his arms, pulling your bag off and swinging you around as he walks you into the freezingwater.

You shriek, holding onto him as it stings your legs. “Poe!” You protest and he laughs, sinking down to his waist, and Maker, it’s even fucking colder.

“Fuck, it feels so good.” He moans loudly, sinking in up to his shoulders. After the initial shock, you do have to admit that the cool water is lowering your body temperature considerably. You duck under the surface, holding your breath and getting your sweaty hair wet.

You come back to the surface to see him watching you. “Better than ice cream?” You ask and he tips his head back, laughing jubilantly.

“A million times better.” He agrees.

“We should refill.” You say, thinking again. You head for the shore, grabbing both of your canteens and holding them under the water. They fill to the very brim and you screw the lids back on, enjoying the heavy feel of them once again.

“Are you done?” He asks from directly behind you and you jump.

“How do you move so quietly in fucking water?” You ask, turning to face him.

“Special skill.” He says shortly, a toss away answer.

“Poe,” you start. You want to apologize for this morning, the abrupt shut out.

“Sh.” He says, applying just a little pressure to your shoulders until you sink to your knees, shivering in the frigid water. He moves behind you, tipping your head back gently until your neck is stretched as far as it’ll go.

“I’m sorry,” you start again.

“Sh.” He hushes you again, his big hands fill with water and he lets it flood your hair. The cool water instantly dispels the heat in your scalp and it feels so good. Your eyes flutter shut as he keeps doing it. He guides you to lean forward slightly as he pulls your hair out of the way. More scoops of water splash over your burning neck, sending chills down your spine.

You stare at your rippling reflection in the water, Poe behind you, taking care of you. Always fucking taking care of you.

Oh.

Oh.

Maker, you’re blind.

You blink the tears away, choosing to pretend that it’s the river water. You grab his hand awkwardly from behind you to stop him and you stand up, turning to face him.

Your best friend, probably the only person you’ve ever cared about more than yourself.

“Poe,” you breathe, your fingers curling into the front of his soaked shirt.

Why fight it?

“Y/N?”

You tug, just hard enough to let him know what you want. He moves forward, closing the distance and then your lips are on his. They’re soft, and currently immobile under yours as the shock settles in. But that’s okay. Your hands slide up to hold his face, curling around his ears. You shift, lips moving against his, and he snaps out of it, opening his mouth for you. His hands blaze a trail down to your waist as he pulls you closer, pressing you against his chest. You lick into his mouth as he moans, fingers twisting into your shirt. He kisses you harder, more urgently than you’ve ever been kissed by anyonebefore. Your fingers card through his hair, holding him as close as you can. Your heart is slamming against your ribs at the taste of him.

“Well, what do we have here? Two resistance rats.” A voice says and you jump apart, your heart coming to a dead stop in your chest.

Three StormTroopers stand on either side of the bank, blasters aimed directly at you. Poe reaches for his own blaster, but a laser pointer trained right over your heart stops him.

“Try it. Please. I’m begging you. I haven’t been so bored in ages. A little target practice would be great.” One of them snarks.

“You could probably use it, too.” Poe says before he can stop himself.

“Out.” Another one orders, waving his gun and gesturing.

Poe hesitates. He wants to fight, it’s what he does. There’s only three of them, after all. But then, you’re there, in harm’s way. You think back to your comment this morning about him getting a more capable partner. You’ve never wished for anything harder.

One of the troopers pulls the hammer back, leveling the blaster at you. Poe looks at you, gritting his teeth together before trudging to the edge of the water. You follow, hating that he’s giving up because of you, because you’re so weak. You hate that you got him caught, because you distracted him with a kiss.

And then guilt floods you as your hands are handcuffed behind your back roughly. The kiss. You wonder if it even matters now, you probably won’t make it home to tell Bryce the truth anyway.

But that doesn’t stop the guilt from filling you. You wish you had taken Poe up on his offer to leave this morning. Now you’ve gotten him caught. They nudge you in the direction of the river, downstream and Poe glances over his shoulder at you, his usually warm eyes cold.

You’re a terrible friend.

Chapter 5

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[draconic-ichor]

In the Steel Steeds Heart

Chapter 39: Genesis

Warnings: strong language, sexual themes, blood/gore, body horror, medical gore, birth, minor character death

Summary: The time is finally here…Juniper has gone into labor.

Feedback appreciated, 18+.

Hours ticked away, darkness fell over the valley. The midwife stayed over Juniper, watching and instructing Heisenberg around since he insisted on staying. He was a tightly wound ball of nerves, trying to stay outwardly calm for Juniper’s sake. While she slowly dipped into deeper pain and exhaustion as the night stretched out. Heisenberg dabbed a wet washcloth on her forehead, whispering soothing words to her.

The midwife watched as the muscles of Juniper’s abdomen started to tense much more frequently.

“Her contractions are closer together,” She told Heisenberg.

“Are we getting close?” He asked tensely.

“Yes…we should get her out of her dress.” She nodded.

Juniper was far too lost in her pain and discomfort to argue as Heisenberg leaned her up to ease the fabric from her. Even without it bonds she felt incredibly hot.

Another hard ripple ripped through her, tears stinging her eyes.

“We are getting to the hard part, my Lady.” The midwife started to hold her legs open, “You must push with the contractions.”

Juniper tried to nod, crying out.

~

Juniper’s cry petered out into an animalistic howl, her back arching against the bed.

The midwife started to struggle to hold her legs open, shooting Heisenberg a fearful look. He saw Juniper’s fingers elongate, muscles trashing under the skin. He went to her side, grabbing her face. Her eyes were wide and beginning to shift, her teeth sharpening as she cried in pain.

“Juniper, babydoll, you gotta stay with me.” Heisenberg’s hands shook, “Breath. You gotta stay right here, with me, ok?”

Her eyes focused on him, trying to control her breathing. He took deep breaths with her, worry overwhelming him.

Her fingers slowly went back to normal as she grabbed onto his hand.

“Stay right here Mama.” He tried to soothe, letting her clamp onto his hand like a vice.

“K-Karl it..it fucking hurts!” She practically screamed the last words.

“The baby is crowning!” The midwife announced.

Heisenberg focused on giving Juniper encouragement, “You’re so close, buttercup.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks as intense ripples of muscle clenched her abdomen. The midwife kept Juniper’s legs open, instructing when to push.

The smell of blood caught Heisenberg’s nose, making his own stomach clench. His fear and worry peaked, feeling mostly useless as Juniper endured the pain in hot waves.

Suddenly a new sound entered the chaos.

The clear shrill cries of a baby filled the room. Heisenberg’s heartbeat jumped into his throat, as he stood. His pale eyes fell on the baby, wet and wailing in the midwife’s hands.

“It’s a boy!” The woman smiled, taking a wet cloth to remove fluid from his nose and mouth.

Heisenberg realized he was holding his breath, letting it out shakily as he stood like stone, looking down at the little thing.

The baby was still connected to his mother, and still shrilling crying. His skin was a purply red and covered in fluid. But he looked perfectly human: two legs, two arms and tiny little fingers and toes.

Heisenberg’s chest hurt but relief washed over him seeing he was ok. Juniper touched his arm, drawing his attention away.

Her hair was wet with sweat, just as her freckles skin, her eyes blown out and tired. “It’s a little boy?” She asked weakly.

Heisenberg took her hand again, nodding, “He’s a boy. Our pup is a boy.”

He saw a smile shadow her lips.

He went from the bed, walking around it until he stood by the midwife. “When do you cut the cord?” He asked.

“When it stops pulsing we can tie it off.” She nodded.

He did as was instructed, as soon as the cord stopped pulsing and lost its brighter color they used sterile thread to tie it a few inches from the baby. He cut it deftly with surgical scissors, glancing up at Juniper. She was a mess: bruised and stretched flesh, legs covered in fluid and blood.

He stood, worrying his hands a bit.

“Don’t let her up, she isn’t finished yet.” The midwife warned, taking the baby to clean him up.

“Isn’t finished yet?!?” Heisenberg whipped back towards Juniper, “Fuck is there another one??”

This made the midwife laugh. “No,no. She’ll need to pass the afterbirth. It should come within the hour, if all goes well.” She instructed.

“…oh.” Heisenberg nodded, a light blush of embarrassment shadowing his cheeks.

He came to the bedside, kneeling down by Juniper.

Her eyes were closed, sweat sticking her hair to her forehead.

“You still with me Mama?” Heisenberg whispered, taking her hand in his.

She managed a nod, still focused on breathing. She felt lightheaded from the pain and blood loss, thoughts like liquid.

“The pup’s a boy.” Heisenberg smiled, “We have a boy.”

Juniper turned a bit, opening her eyes. She flashed a weak smile, but then asked, “I-Is everything ok? Is he…”

“He doesn’t have any extra bits.” Heisenberg chuckled, “And his lungs definitely work.”

He could still hear the baby’s cries as the midwife cleaned and checked him over.

She was right, the afterbirth came within thirty minutes. It caused Juniper a bit more discomfort, but it thankfully fully detached with minimal blood loss.

Heisenberg cleaned it all away, wiping her down and throwing everything into a bucket to later burn.

Just as he washed his hands afterwards, a sound of a clearing throat caught his attention.

The midwife came up to Heisenberg with a bundle in her arms, “He’s all clean and wrapped up. Hold him?” She offered him the bundle with a smile.

Heisenberg looked down at her for a long moment, worry and fear surging through his veins. He almost declined but he found himself reaching out to take it. The woman helped ease the baby into his arms, it felt much too delicate.

He sucked in a breath.

Heisenberg held the tiny bundle in his arms, trying to keep his hands from shaking.

The baby had settled down, eyes tightly shut and tiny hands in fists.

“Hello pup.” Heisenberg whispered. His heart swelled more than he thought was possible. The baby was still a bit reddish purple and his head a bit misshapen from birth.

“Is he ok?” Heisenberg asked worriedly.

The woman nodded, “His head will look better soon, skin too. He’s very healthy.”

Heisenberg nodded.

“I will give you space.” The midwife bowed a bit.

“Don’t go past the elevator.” Heisenberg’s voice was warning.

“Yes my Lord.” She bowed again before leaving.

Now alone, Heisenberg gave a deep breath. He moved his arms a bit, earning a little gurgle from the baby. Moving slowly across the room he looked to Juniper. She was laying against the pillows, eyes tired.

He sat on the edge of the bed, showing the baby off to her. The baby was already sporting a full head of black hair.

“Already looks like his mama.” Heisenberg smiled proudly.

“Can I hold him?” Juniper asked, laughing weakly.

“Oh yea, sorry.” Heisenberg passed him off, very awkwardly. Juniper cuddled the baby to her bare chest, he started to whimper and root into her when he felt her warmth.

She almost glowed as the baby attempted to latch.

“You did good, Buttercup.” Heisenberg snaked an arm around her, snuggling up and watched the baby.

“We did good.” She met his eyes, love and happiness pouring from her.

She tried to ease her nipple into the baby’s mouth, the little one sucked for a second then pulled away. His tiny face scrunched up almost angrily as he made a grunting sound.

“You think he’ll be able to nurse?” Juniper asked fearfully, “I thought they just started eating right away…”

“Ah, he’ll get the hang of it.” Heisenberg tried to sooth, silently adding an ‘I hope’ in his head.

Eventually, after a lot of persuading and tears, from both baby and mother, they were able to get the baby to nurse.

He latched on with little snorts and grumbles, finally tucking in to fully nurse. Juniper lay back, physically and mentally exhausted.

Heisenberg took off his coat sighing, “Stubborn little bastard, isn’t he?”

“I wonder who he gets that from….Karl.” Juniper gave him a narrow side eye.

“It’s ok, I forgive you.” He smiled wildly, it deepened into a chuckle at Juniper’s look of venom.

He retreated away, giving Juniper some time of quiet.

Now that the ordeal was over and quiet started to set in, the heavy realization started to creep into his bones. There were loose ends that had to be…cut away.

~

He walked down the hall, head a mess. The woman had done so much for him…but she knew too much. Could he honestly risk letting her go back to the village? Even if he bribed her or tried to keep her tongue through fear, Miranda could pry the information from her.

He felt sick. He couldn’t let the baby be discovered. He already loved him so much, and after all the careful secrecy…

He knew what he had to do.

“Follow me.” Heisenberg spoke tightly, the woman following obediently. As they went deeper into the factory he could sense her fear rising. They didn’t go the way she had originally.

He led her to a large dark room, instructing her to descend a short ladder.

Her feet met a steel floor, the smell of rotting meat hitting her nose. “L-Lord Heisenberg?” Her voice was trembling.

Heisenberg frowned, backing away as the ladder was pulled up and away. “…I’m sorry…” his voice was thick with guilt as he pressed a red button on the wall.

A ringing bell sounded as red lights flickered on. The arena filled with an eerie glow. The midwife backed into the far wall as glowing eyes from within the newly opened doors across the room appeared. She saw the muzzle of a Lycan emerge from the darkness, hungry and dripping.

Heisenberg felt bile rise in his throat, hearing a shrill scream as he boarded the elevator. “I’m so fucking sorry.” He whispered, crumpling against the elevator wall, the scream suddenly going silent.

Fuck... he was a monster…

He thought darkly but tried to clear his head. It was for the baby. It was to keep him safe. He couldn’t let her go. Couldn’t risk her leaving.

“Goddamnit…I’ll kill that bitch for all this…” he gritted his teeth, trying to force his mind to focus on Juniper and the new baby. He had so much to do, he couldn’t let the blood on his soul haunt him now.

~

The apartment was quiet, heavy with the scent of birth and blood. Heisenberg took a deep breath, locking away all the ill he felt deep inside him.

He came to the bedside. Juniper was on her side asleep, pillows around her like a nest. In the middle close to her chest was the baby. He was sleeping peacefully, small chubby cheeks like rose petals.

Heisenberg took a shaking breath. They both were so special to him, he still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact he had a hand in creating something so perfect.

He reached out and lightly caressed the boy’s cheek with the back of his index finger, smiling when he saw the little fingers clench in response.

It would all be worth it…it had to be.

[tomurasprincess]

Is #37 still available for Katsuki Bakugou on the prompt list, if yes may I request for that. Thanks.

Pairing: Bakugou x Reader Quote: It’s your word over mine. Who do you think they’re going to believe? Warnings: noncon, degradation, forced orgasm, office sex, victim blaming, blackmail, yandere

Prompt Masterlist

You glance at the clock and mentally sigh to yourself at the time. You’re having to stay late at the office yet again because of the incompetence of your boss. You love working at Endeavor Hero Agency, you really do. It was very prestigious and well respected, and it would serve you well to continue to make connections in the hero world.

But your boss, even with using the most generous terms possible, could only be described as lazy and entitled. He hated doing his own paperwork and filing, and would in fact make up excuses for why he couldn’t. Excuses that usually led to everything being dumped on your lap.

You head back into the file room with your cup of coffee, mentally preparing yourself for a long and boring night stuck in the office, when you hear the door click back open. You feel a slight edge of anxiety, as nobody else should really be here at this hour.

“Well then, what do we have here?” You hear a deep chuckle and loud footsteps as someone walks to your section of the file room. “A cute little secretary staying late?”

You turn around, only to freeze when you see that the source of the voice is pro hero Katsuki Bakugou. You have heard stories about him, about his temper and potential for being mean to others. You’ve even met him a few times, but it was only quick, chance meetings in the office. Still long enough for you to believe the stories you heard about him.

He has a known temper, and you really want to get out of this room without making him mad. You try to subtly look around the room for an escape route, but he instantly notices.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to fucking leave already? After I just got here?” He smirks when he notices the fear in your face and sees you backing away from him. His smirk only grows wider when you reach the end of the room, back to a file cabinet. He strides forward, placing a hand on each side of your head as he leans in.

“I - I really need to get to work” you stammer, “I have a lot that I need to get taken care of before I go home.”

He pins you to the wall with his hips, grinding a noticeably hard bulge against your pelvis. “And I think I have something that needs taken care of, you little slut.”

You suck in a sharp breath of air, not able to comprehend where this is coming from. “I’m not a slut, I’m just here to work!”

“If you’re not a slut, then why are you wearing this?” He slides a hand up your thigh, past your skirt and up to your panties. He dips a finger underneath the elastic, pulling it towards him until he lets go and it snaps back against your skin. “Wearing this skirt makes it look like you’re asking someone to bend you over and fuck you raw, right against this cabinet. Would you like that, princess?”

“Please no, I wouldn’t like that, I just want to go home,” you whimper in fear. “Just let me go. I promise I won’t tell anyone about this.”

“Wouldn’t matter if you did tell someone,” he snorts. “It’s your word over mine. Who do you think they’re going to believe? The fucking slutty secretary in the office begging to be pounded like a whore, or a top pro-hero?”

Your eyes widen in fear as a tear runs down your face. He’s right, and you know he’s right. No one would ever believe you over Bakugou, despite his sometimes less than savory reputation. “But why would you do that? You’re a hero.” You realize as soon as the words leave your mouth how naive they are.

He knows it too as he rolls his eyes at you. “Don’t play the innocent act, princess. I’ve seen you checking me out during the day, staring at my body like you want to rip my clothes off and ride me.” He flips your skirt up around your waist, sliding your panties down before picking them up. He takes them to his nose, sniffing deeply of the smell of your arousal. He lets out an arrogant laugh, showing you the clearly visible wet spot before taking the panties up to his nose and sniffing the smell of your arousal. “You fucking want this, you little slut. Bet you’ve been dying for me to be balls deep inside that tight little cunt of yours.”

He grabs your hips as he flips you around, forcing you back onto the file cabinet with your ass sticking out towards him. You hear the rustling of clothes before feeling the hot, hard length of him pressing against your entrance.

Reality hits you in a sudden wave. He’s going to do this. He’s really going to fuck you against these cabinets. You try to struggle, to push away from him, but you’re quickly discouraged from that notion when a large hand comes down hard on your ass.

“You’re going to take my cock like a good little slut, do you hear me?” When you don’t immediately answer, he lets out an angry snarl before smacking your ass again. This time, it burns even more, and you think you hear the distinct sound of him activating his quirk to make the pain even sharper. “Yes! I hear you, please don’t hurt me.”

“Just do what I ask and I won’t have to,” he grabs your hair as he forces your back to arch, leaning in to bite deeply into your neck. You think you feel his teeth pierce your skin, a fact which is confirmed when a few droplets of blood run down your throat. “Well, not much anyway,” he gives a sinister chuckle. “And I’ll make you feel good too, I promise.”

And with that, he begins to push inside of you. You figured you would be completely dry from his treatment of you, but instead you feel your juices leaking down on his cock to make it easier for him. “Can’t even act like you don’t want my cock, this little cunt is so fucking sloppy for me.”

He enters you slowly at first, before losing his restraint and thrusting all the way up to your cervix. You let out a choked cry as your tight muscles stretch around him, feeling every single inch deep inside of you. He barely waits for you to adjust, pounding into your pussy roughly with every thrust.

The wet sounds of your bodies joining fill the room, his balls slapping against your already throbbing clit, and you can’t stop a needy moan from leaving your mouth. Your pussy clenches down around him, and you hear him grunt at the sensation. “Fuckin knew it, you’re loving this, dirty little slut.”

He reaches around to find your clit, stroking it with quick, tight circles. The pleasure is building in you, causing your lower stomach to tighten up. Every movement is forcing you against the cabinet, causing your nipples to rub against the cold metal and only increasing the blur of sensations that are making you feel dizzy.

“Cum around this cock, slut, I wanna feel that tight cunt clamping down on me. Do it, cum for me.” You let out a choked whine as you struggle to disobey his command, not wanting to cum for the man ravaging your pussy. But it seems you will have no choice in this, either, because you feel the pressure building up inside of you, ready to burst. And when he changes his angle slightly, slamming into a particular spot inside, you let out a mewl as your walls pulse around his cock, orgasm hitting you hard.

“Such a good fuckin whore, shit, you got even tighter, holy fuck,” he groans deeply. “Gonna fill this pretty little cunt up with my cum.”

You begin to panic, pleas falling from your lips in sheer desperation. “Oh god, no, please not inside.”

He grunts as his pace stutters inside of you, gripping your hips to keep you from pulling away as he forces his cock all the way up to your cervix when he begins to cum. You feel his cock beginning to twitch, thick ropes of hot cum coating your inner walls white. You lean your heated forehead against the cold file cabinet as you let out a soft sob.

He waits until he’s fully emptied his balls inside of you before pulling out of your abused, sore cunt. You glance down at yourself, watching your combined fluids drip down onto the floor below you. You can’t even bring yourself to look at Bakugou, but he isn't having it. He grabs your chin as he forces you to look into his eyes.

“Here’s how this is going to work. From here on out, you fucking belong to me. You’re not going to tell anyone what happened, and you’re going to continue to stay late so I can use all of your holes as I fucking please. We clear?”

A few stray tears run down your face as you ask the question you know is going to be useless. “What if I say no?”

“You’re not going to say no, because I can make your life a living hell. Do you want that?”

You shake your head mutely.

“Then you understand me?”

You nod, not trusting your voice at the moment.

“Good. Then I’ll see you here tomorrow, same place, same time. I can’t fucking wait, princess.”

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ❋ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

Tags: @lady-bakuhoe, @thewheezingwyvern, @vixen-scribbles, @ttamaki, @lildreamer93, @milojwrites, @redbeanteax, @kittygonyan, @bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love, @daedaep69, @heyybrittannia, @groovydreamertrash, @hisoknen, @chou-maitresse, @shoutogepi, @togasknifes, @kingtamakimurder, @league-of-thots, @shigaraki-is-my-master

[honeesucker]

Darling, Dearest | Part 3

Pairing: Shigaraki Tomura x F!Reader (READ ALL WARNINGS)

Word count: 4,307 (Ch. 3 of a multi-chapter fic)

Series Content Warnings: Non-Con / Dub-Con | Drug use | Depictions of violence | Dacryphilia | Unprotected sex | Depictions / mentions of blood | Kidnapping | D/s dynamics | Pet play | Degradation | Multiple partners | Stockholm Syndrome |

Part one ♡ 

Part two ♡

Divider designed by Firefly-Graphics ♡

‘Uhhnfhh!” My voice was hoarse from the constant screams being pulled from my throat so easily. I had since lost the ability to form coherent sentences using real words, my brain muddled from orgasms I long since lost count had resigned itself to baser sounds. My pussy was squelching so lewdly amidst the tireless ministrations of the man between my legs, which were draped over his shoulders. I was surprised my body could still produce any sort of substance after cumming so much but I was continually surprised by how the man brought out one more orgasm, pushing me over the edge again and again with each hungry stroke of the magic muscle currently devouring my sloppy, numb cunt like a starved animal. “Mmfmfhh, p-please! Stop s’too much!”

“Oh, come on now princess,” the deep rasp of a familiar voice sounded from between my legs. I peel my heavy eyelids open, sticky with tears from overstimulation as I glance down, my half-lidded gaze meeting deep carmine eyes shimmering up at me with a mischievous hunger. The soft baby blue waves framed his face unhidden by Father as he tilted his head like a curious puppy, despite his scars and rough patches of skin, he was beautiful.

So beautiful.

“P-please can’t take anymore, please don’t make me cum again,” I was a mewling mess of tears, saliva and heavy sobs wracking my whole body with trembling shakes but it only made Shigaraki glow and smirk, “Tomu p-please, n’more” I slurred as my eyelids fell shut.

“Okay my princess,” Shigaraki whispered, clambering up the length of my body to meet me in a sweet kiss. My eyes still shut but I felt him lean down and nuzzle against my neck gently, applying a soft peppering of kisses along the column of my neck and along my jaw, making me giggle. “I’ll give you some time to rest before the real fun starts,” I sighed contentedly while allowing the feeling of exhaustion to take over my body for a short rest, the elation of finally receiving a reprieve from Shigaraki’s insatiable needs halted by the feeling of my pussy being stretched wider than ever before, my body began to shake in the motions of being fucked at a brutal pace but when my eyes shot open Shigaraki was gone, and the soft pink dream world we shared was starting to bleed into deep hues of blackened blue. It felt like I had been holding my breath underwater for longer than I could, and wasn’t near the surface yet until finally I broke through with a sobbing gasp.

My eyes met almost total darkness aside from the dim glow of a gaming menu left to repeat on the screen of the wall mounted TV. The frantic thumping of my heart took over as mind tried to gather its bearings from being ripped out of a peaceful dream into reality in such a harsh way. I heard huffing and felt wet droplets fall onto my face. Blinking away the sleep in my eyes I watched in horror as Shigaraki, the real Shigaraki, was leaning over me while droplets of saliva from his tongue lolled out of the side of his mouth fell onto my face again. His cock was spearing in and out of me without abandon or care for my comfort, feeling like I was being torn apart. I tried to scream but found that there was a wadded-up piece of fabric shoved in my mouth, and secured with a silken gag tied around my head which only allowed a muffled cry to break through the sounds of Shigaraki’s labored breathing. His eyes finally snapped down to my awakening form with a wide smile.

“You did say you’d do anything, right Y/N?” Shigaraki mimicked the way I pleaded with him earlier, the embarrassment of being made fun of heating up my cheeks to a fiery pink. “Why don’t you keep being such a good, compliant cock-sleeve for me hm?” I tried to thrash my body but found that my wrists and ankles were bound to the bed and unable to move beyond an inch. The relentless slap of heavy balls against my ass added a strange sensation that sparked a fire straight into my core while the thrusts of the villain above me began to quicken and stutter before a few final pushes that had the head of his cock slamming up against my cervix over and over, sending full-body jolts throughout my nervous system that had the coil of an impending orgasm ready to snap.

“Come on little cock-sleeve, why don’t you cum for me? I feel you squeezing my cock, ready to milk me for all I have,” Shigaraki was laughing like a maniac above me as he finally let out a loud groan while he pinned his hips against mine, anchoring his cock as deep inside of me as it would go as it shot ropes of hot white cum against my womb, and the coil snapped as he was filling me up. My walls were clamping down around his cock, spasming and sucking him in deeper as my body thrashed against the bindings, my blood felt electric as I cried and drooled against my gag. Shigaraki fell fully on top of me, skin slick with sweat causing us to stick together like half-dried glue. He kept his cock seated fully in my cunt as he caught his breath, and once he did, he slowly pulled his length out of me simultaneously pulling a whimper from my throat with it as the ridges and veins caught every sensitive part inside of my abused hole on the way out.  

“You’re turning out to be more useful than I initially thought,” Shigaraki mused, more to himself out loud than to me. I was left shaking, sweaty and full of warm, sticky cum that was leaking out of my pussy and onto the mattress. Fat rolls of tears were still spilling from my eyes and down the sides of my face as I lay back on the pillow, my limbs ached and I wanted to badly to curl in on myself but my wrists and ankles were still tied to the bed without much give. “I have to go and meet someone about some prospective members for the League, you be a good toy and stay put,” and with that he was gone.

I wasn’t certain how long it had been since Shigaraki left. Ten minutes or two hours felt the same when my mind remained a hazy mess of pain and disgust at myself that I came on the cock that fucked me awake. I was in such a tormented state of mind that I didn’t realize that my quirk had activated and was working itself on my body, I didn’t take notice when the blue tendrils of energy healed the raw skin around my wrists and ankles where the ties dug in... didn’t realize I was pulling my knees to my chest and tucking arms against my stomach in as tight of a ball as I could get after the energy worked itself away at the material keeping me hostage.  

I fell asleep sobbing.

I woke up in a muddled haze of pain and confusion. My body ached like I’d been in the same position for days, and I stretched out and welcomed the sting that came with using the dormant muscles. I sat up and realized I was back in the room that had become ‘mine’ the one I initially woke up in when this whole mess started. I stretched and twisted my body until the ache dulled to a comfortable degree, and walked into the bathroom to shower; well-deserved as my skin felt filthy, sticky and wet with sweat. I turned the shower on and let the steam fill up the entire bathroom before stripping and stepping under the burning spray. I showered until the hot water turned tepid after over an hour of scrubbing, sudsing, conditioning and exfoliating every inch of my body – something in my head telling me to scrub. Scrub until it was gone.

Until what was gone?

I stepped out of the glass door and into the steamy room, enjoying the way the air quick-cooled my skin and left me feeling more refreshed than I had in a while since my arrival here. I was watching myself in the mirror as I brushed my teeth.

“You said you’d do anything, right Y/N?” Shigaraki’s voice came through the haze of my mind like a wasp sting to the psyche. I spit out my toothbrush and gagged on the memory, slipping to the floor as the night of horror came back to the forefront of my mind, something my restful state tried to protect me from but wasn’t strong enough to overtake.  

I swallowed the thick memory back down while resigning myself to the reality of what happened.

I did say I’d do anything, didn’t I?

Fucking coward.

After a glacial-paced week of sitting and watching Kurogiri take care of the bar with Shigaraki always watching some lesser-known Pro Hero on the TV complete an interview for the most recent villain attack that they thwarted, muttering to himself about the hypocrisy of it all. “Government mandated violence all in the name of the Greater Good... y’ugh,” he’d murmur angrily as his nail dug harshly into the column of his throat where new wounds and old scars comingled. With a sigh I’d stand up and walk over to where Shigaraki was sat, ruby eyes glued to the TV in silent rage as I slowly cupped his large, slender hands in my own as I pulled them down, replacing the scratch of his nails with the soft palms of my hands allowing the liquid glow of my quirk to cool and heal the raw wounds. He was resistant to me touching him in this way at first but it soon became a softened reluctance over an outright disgust.

Sometimes I almost felt him sigh and soften into my touch; and if I caught him on a particularly good day he would let me rub a moisturizing ointment on his neck, around his lips and eyes, and the scarred ridges of his forehead he seemed especially tender about. I’d always thank him for letting me into his personal space without killing me. The sarcastic quip always got me a slight tug at the corner of his lips, not a full smile but close enough in my book.

Being a reluctant (see compelled) member of the Leage of Villains as the go-to feel good girl wasn’t as awful as the first few weeks that compiled a list of horrors I was never exposed to in my day-to-day civilian life. I had a coming-to-self moment with all that had happened and recognized the pedestal I set my standards on didn’t apply here, not when I was doing whatever it took to survive each day as it came... be it an uppity thug with a colt .45 placed between my eyes (he was dusted before he thought about pulling the trigger) or Shigaraki and his hellishly huge cock - I’d take it on. I had to, had to mold myself to this uncertain lifestyle.  

The pain was starting to morph into something I derived a sick amount of pleasure from, body numb from overstimulation and pussy filled and leaking on an almost nightly basis whether back at the bar in Shigaraki’s room, or out somewhere in a filthy backway alley because his temper got out of control and he needed something grounding to reestablish his dominance over – and of course I wouldn’t let Shigaraki come an inch on to knowing I was getting more enjoyment than what reactions he forced from me with his brutal ministrations.  

I was walking shortly behind Shigaraki along the dimly lit street coming back from one of the many meetings with Giran that Shigaraki has been attending, hearing promises of new blood to come for the League of Villains – Giran was set to bring a few new bodies to the bar next week after a failed rendezvous earlier the previous week with Stain, the Hero Killer, hadn’t panned out the way Shigaraki had hoped it would; though he was completely unfazed by the failing of Stain’s recruitment and just moved on to bigger plans that included destroying him instead along the way. It was a miraculous turnaround after the failed recruitment of Stain and a meeting Shigaraki had mentioned with a student that was ‘surprisingly insightful’ - I wasn’t sure what it meant then but Shigaraki had slowly began to morph into a true leader of the League as opposed to the childish brat with an anger problem and disposable resources. He was still angry, still had all he could want short of the collapse of Hero Society at his fingertips... but his demeanor and reactions to certain things shifted and I admired the change in him.

I was pulled from my mindless day dreaming by someone quite literally pulling on me and shoving me hard against a wall behind a convenience store Shigaraki and I had been walking past, though his long legs had meant he was further ahead of me when I was grabbed. A meaty hand that smelt like cigarettes and filth was clamped over my mouth and I looked up to see the stocky form of some no-life thug in a grey wifebeater and jeans looking at me with blown pupils and a sick grin of uneven black and yellowed teeth. There was an indistinguishable press of a dulled knife in my stomach, not quite puncturing into me yet but I felt the tiniest amount of blood trickling down to my navel from the initial push. I glowered at the hunk of fat and ill-intent pinning me to the wall, struggling against the grip that while shaky, was still strong enough to overpower me. I had just gotten one of my legs loose from where his own were pinning them just enough to give a good kick straight up into his family jewels but just as my boot was meant to contact balls his body crumbled and disintegrated to comingle with the other debris and filth of the alleyway where he truly belonged.  

“Fuc-” I was cut off by Shigaraki’s annoyed expression, shaking his hand slightly as it dusting it off.

“You’re an incessant magnet for scum,” he growled, yanking me from my shocked position still on the wall and out back onto the sidewalk toward the bar. He had an iron-tight four fingered grip on my wrist that I knew was going to leave an angry looking mark once he let me go. With his pace set to a brutal haste, we were back inside the bar in no time. Walking quickly past Kurogiri who gave us a questioning look but didn’t push Shigaraki any further, knowing the man was furious and on a mission. We rounded a corner and down a hall to where I knew Shigaraki’s room was, and he opened the door and threw me inside, shutting it behind him and leaning against it with his slender arms crossed tightly across his chest, his gleaming red eyes glaring daggers down at me where I fell on his mattress, his right hand came up to his neck and scratched at it relentlessly, picking at the tender skin and causing pearls of blood to show.  

“May I ask what the hell this is?” I motioned to my bruised wrist and outwardly to the room around us in general. Shigaraki was taking in sharp, deep breaths like he was trying to calm himself down.

“Shut up,” is all he growled out.

“W-” I started and then decided to clamp my mouth shut, thinking better against speaking up like my need for the last word is fighting me to do. I just give a small nod and fold my hands in my lap, waiting; and I wasn’t kept waiting long before slender, pale fingers reached out in front of me and quickly decayed my sweatshirt and the joggers of Shigaraki’s I was still wearing. Knowing where this was going to head, I quickly kicked off the boots I was still wearing and waited, almost afraid to breathe as Shigaraki’s fingertips ghosted over the contours of my body, stopping to press a red mark into an especially soft spot with a pleased hum. He finally decided upon utilizing both his hands pointer finger and thumb to tug and roll my nipples harshly between his fingers with an unforgiving pressure, taking extra pleasure in the pathetic, pained mewls that left my throat when he tugged forward harshly.

“You belong to me,” he said evenly, his deadpan tone and calm demeanor scaring me more than I am during any of his previous outbursts. One hand let go of the abused nipple it was holding onto to rain down a slap that left the room echoing with a deafening silence. I bit into my bottom lip until it bled, holding back the cry as a few tears escapes my eyes. Shigaraki leaned forward and licked up along the curve of my cheek, taking my throat into his hand, leaving his middle finger up in the air as he pressed into my throat with force. “Say it,” he growled.

“Y-yours,” I choked out as best I could from the pressure on my throat, “I belong to you - I’m yours.”

“That’s right, you’re mine. Mine to do with as I please, mine to keep,” Shigaraki leant down and took a long breath in, leaning in further to place a kiss on the top of my head. “Then why do you keep letting the slums of the Earth put their hands on what’s mine? Once or twice might be a coincidence, but it’s happened what, princess, three or four times now? That’s a pattern...” Shigaraki’s tone was dangerous and my heart leapt up into my throat jack hammering like a rabbit caught beneath a wolf’s paw. “A pattern that needs to be broken,” he finishes and the tears are flowing in a silent river down my cheeks, landing on my bare chest and mixing with the remaining ash of my clothes in grey streaks.  

“S-Shigaraki, I don’t... I-I can’t control what others do to me,” I whisper nearly inaudible, “I don’t ask to be touched or threatened, or – or fucking whatever!” I didn’t realize I was shaking until Shigaraki placed his hands on my shoulders careful not to lay all fingers down as always, and pressed down on them until I was laying back on the bed underneath his weight. My body was still trembling beneath the hard crimson stare of the villain above me as he slowly leant down to draw a deep breath against the skin of my shoulder, sending a shiver up the length of my spine. “P-please I don’t mean to draw their attention, I don’t want it,” I was whining weakly as he kept up his slowly ghosting over my body, drawing deep inhales of my skin and hair, tracing a long wet line with his tongue up the column of my neck and the curve of my face... the way you’d imagine a dragon would play with a sheep before it devoured the poor creature. I stopped my pleading quickly when I realized it wasn’t changing his demeanor, or my inevitable fate, of what that was I wasn’t certain, but I had one last pleading question. “W-why am I being punished for someone else’s transgressions?” I wasn’t proud of the way my voice cracked and bubbled with fear, and lost the fight to the threat of tears almost spilling over my eyes.

“You’re not,” Shigaraki breathed, ghosting his against my neck before placing sweet kisses against the skin.  

“Then why-?” I was cut off by the press of his scarred lips to mine, and while it was always an odd feeling blooming in the pit of my stomach at the uncharacteristically intimate act, I allowed him to do as he pleased; and despite the side effects of his quirk affecting his skin, his lips were still warm and welcoming. Shigaraki pressed his body further against mine, lodging a knee between my thighs as he pressed the joint hard up against my pussy causing my cheeks to burn hot and pink with the embarrassment of how turned on I was by the simple action, my arousal evident in the hot pulsations of need aching where his knee pressed and rubbed just enough to frustrate me.

“Is being with me really such a punishment?” He asked, his tone even despite the personal sting the question would bring anyone asking that of themselves. He doesn’t wait for an answer though before his mouth is back on mine, slender fingers kneading harshly into the soft fat of my stomach and hips with a bruising force, dipping down to my thighs as he hiked them to curl up around his own hips. Shigaraki was rutting his clothed cock against my core, already shamefully hot and wet, soaking into the fabric of his pants as he grinded against the slick lips. He broke the kiss and pressed his forehead against mine, as my lips parted with puffing breaths from the growing arousal of his grinding, wanting more friction, more anything... more of him. “Don’t you see that someone so weak like you, someone so naive and alluring to such pathetic scum needs to be kept and looked after by someone who is able to protect them?” Shigaraki was punctuating his sentences with deep grinds against my bare pussy, the rough seams of his pants bringing me a mixture of pleasure from having just enough friction, and pain from how harsh the fabric was against the sensitive bud. I just nodded, dumb from the aching between my legs. I was always a magnet for trouble, big or small, and I noticed it more and more since having first been taken that night in the alley; it’s been one shitty situation after another with someone trying to take something from me. Shigaraki seemed to sense the change in my thoughts as he decayed his own clothing in a fit of frustrated rage at what was separating our bodies. His pale cock slapped up heavy against his stomach as the fabric fell from his body. The head was red, angry with need and leaking a bead of pearly precum. As if my body decided to move on its own, I was on my hands and knees on Shigaraki’s bed and leaning forward to grab at the delicious looking cock, lavishing the head with kitten licks swirling around the tip in a mess of saliva and precum. His long fingers were tangling in my hair, gentling scratching my scalp with the main four fingers, eliciting a hum from me as I leant into his palm like a cat. His fingers found purchase tangled in my hair on the back of my head as he gripped hard and gave a hard yank that had tears brimming my eyes as Shigaraki looked down at me with a charming smile stretching his lips and his ruby eyes narrowed down at me. “Answer me, princess,” Shigaraki purred and I only nodded along quickly.

“Y-yes I need protecting,” I whimpered out when his grip tightened, pulling at the roots of my hair painfully.  

“You need me,” he stated simply and I nodded fervently.

“Yes, I n-need you,” I let out a breath when Shigaraki released his Titan grip on my hair, plopping onto the bed and rubbing at the back of my head with a series of pitiful whines.  

“What do you need me for, princess?” Shigaraki asked with a wicked grin on his face.

“Mmfmmph n-need you to protect me,” I managed out between the small thrusts Shigaraki made of barely his cockhead in and out of my mouth, teasing me. “Need your coc-” a hard shove had his full length sheathed down my throat as I drooled and gagged around the fleshy member. Sputtering and trying to breathe through my nose until Shigaraki used his forefinger and thumb to pinch my nostrils affectively cutting off all my air which had me struggling against him.  

“That’s right,” Shigaraki stated above me, as cool and collected as ever as I thrashed and struggled for air beneath him, “you need me, my cock. I am the Master of your future, I can give you so much and take everything away,” he said giving one final thrust into my mouth after I calmed down from lack of oxygen and resignation to my fate, and pulled out letting me sputter and pull hungry breaths of air in as he looked on with a sick satisfaction etched across his soft, scarred features. I fell down on my stomach flat like a frog and just let the tears flow freely as my body shook with hiccups and fits of coughs as the ability to breathe came back to me fully.  

Shigaraki leant down until he was face to face with me, his hand reaching out to cut my tear-soaked cheek as he spoke, “You’re going to make such an exceptional player two when I’m done with you.”

I resigned myself to the comfort that came as he crawled into his bed with me, wrapping his frame around mine as I still shook a bit from the sobs that wracked my chest. I fell asleep coming down from the high of fear, sinking into the comfort of no longer being used for the time being having been pushed past a limit tonight.

I felt strong, slender arms grasp my waist tighter in my sleep as I drifted off into a black, dreamless sleep.

[remember-to-be-gentle]

OH MY GOSH REQUESTS ARE OPENNN!!!!! Can I request something with Makoto Tachibana, Sousuke Yamazaki (or both ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°))completely OVERPOWERING the reader? The reader tries to struggle, but they grab her arms and push her against the wall? Or something like that? I love your writing and I’m so glad I got a chance to request!!!

Subject: Free!, Makoto Tachibana + Sousuke Yamazaki

TItle: Be A Man! (NSFW, fem reader)

Trigger Warning: Non con, size difference, (male) virginity), humping, crying

As the co-manager of the Iwatobi Swim Club, you had a responsibility to schedule joint swim practices around the guys’ lives. Sousuke and Makoto had informed you of a schedule conflict and you’d agreed to meet them both after school in the club room. Thankfully it was Friday and no one would be hogging the room when you got there. 

Sousuke smiled. “Glad we could meet,” he said. He stood up ushered you in before walking past you to lock the club room door. “Now we should hurry up and get started.” 

You slid open the door and was greeted with Sousuke and Makoto sitting waiting. They both looked tense, tight, especially Makoto who wouldn’t meet your eyes. “Um,” you started, “hey guys.” They weren't normally like this, especially not Makoto. Maybe the schedule conflict was worse than you'd thought.

Probably didn’t want to be disturbed, you thought, especially since so many girls fawned over him when he came to visit the school. You nodded in agreement with his last statement and pulled out your pocket schedule. “Most of the other guys are free on the thirty-first, would that work for you?”

“Sure,” Sousuke said. You realized he was standing behind you, the heat of his body leaking into yours. “Whatever works. Now take off your clothes.” Before you could process what he said, Sousuke added, “Makoto, hurry up and help.” His hands were burning hot as they slid up your shirt and tugged it up and off, Makoto approached from the front and pulling your arms up to help Sousuke. Within minutes they’d either ripped or pulled your clothes off you, leaving you naked between them. 

“Wait,” you tried to back away but Sousuke’s solid frame met your back like a wall, “wait, whatever I did, I’m sorry. I know I’ve been pushing you guys in practice but that’s because the qualifiers for regionals are-.” 

Sousuke slapped a hand over your mouth. “Shhh,” he said, breath hot against the shell of your ear, “you didn’t do anything wrong. Its just time we knocked you down a peg so Makoto can go up one.” He pulled you down into his lap, sitting onto he floor and hooking his ankle under yours, spreading your legs wide. “Makoto, you remember what I told you about getting her wet?”

Makoto nodded, his face turning a subtle shade of red as he settled himself between your legs. “I’m sorry if it hurts,” he said, “I’ll try to be gentle.” He unbuckled his pants and pulled out his cock, the size enough to make you whimper. 

Sousuke shushed you, placing deceptively gentle kisses along your neck and keeping your arms pinned at your sides. “Just take it like a good girl.” 

Makoto ran his fingers over your slit, shuddering as he watched your walls twitch as if anticipating his cock. He moved to your clit, brushing it with the pad of his forefinger before pushing down, feeling it warm as it became swollen. “Fuck,” Makoto was breathing hard, “I want to put it in.” 

“Shit.” Sousuke gestured his head to the table. “Get the lube. We don’t have a lot of time.” 

Makoto quickly obliged, grabbing the bottle from the table and spreading it over his cock. He tried to swallow a whimper but you could hear it clearly. He gave himself an experimental pump, the lube making his cock shine. “I’m gonna put it in.” Your protests fell on deaf ears as Makoto pulled your legs further apart, lining himself up and pushing in. 

Your toes curled as you had no choice but to take him in, his girth stretching your walls until you were screaming. You were completely unprepared for his size, the lube only making it easy for him to push past your unprepared walls, rings of muscle far too taught for him to burst past them as quickly as he was. “Take it out,” you begged, pulling against Souske, “please, its too big, it hurts.” 

“I’m sorry,” Makoto whined, pushing himself further in, “I’m sorry I know its big, but you feel so good, I can’t...” He grit his teeth, a vein along his neck suddenly bulging and then his cock was too, growing before it seared your insides with his seed. He panted trying to catch his breath, the grip he had on your thighs bruising. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to...” 

“Makoto,” Sousuke said, his voice low and sharp, “fuck her or let me have my turn.” 

“Right,” Makoto nodded, “right.” He grabbed onto your hips and started pumping, his cock quickly growing hard. Makoto groaned, again abruptly stopping. He shivered and then pushed in until he couldn’t anymore. “Fuck, she’s so tight.” He tried to pull back shivered again and pushed back. “I can’t...” His hips bumped yours, Makoto pathetically humping your cunt as he came again inside you. 

Behind you, Sosuke groaned. “You’re pathetic.” 

Makoto slipped out, ashamed. 

You clawed at his hands, trying to pull him off, feel any sort of relief, but Sosuke’s grip only tightened. “Shh, I know its big,” he murmured in your ear, “but if you could take Makoto, you can take me, too.” When you still clawed and sobbed and thrashed in his grip he added, “Stop crying, you’re tightening up too much.” 

Your cunt didn’t stay empty long, Sousuke quickly working himself out and slipping his own cock inside you. Where Makoto was long and thick, Sousuke was thick and long. He stretched you worse than Makoto did, your abused cunt clamping down on him. You whimpered, trying to get away from him, and only managing to wedge him further inside you. Tears welled up in your eyes as uncontrollable sobs raked your body. Even if you unhooked your legs, you'd just be clamping down on him more and he hurt so much, even the thought of moving your lower body had you in anguish.

Makoto stared, green eyes glazed over, a trail of cum leading to his deflated cock. 

“Now watch,” Sousuke grunted, “what it looks like when a real man fucks a woman.” He gave you no time to adjust to his length, sliding almost all the way out before slamming back in. 

You squealed against the ruthlessness of his thrusts, your begging lost in moans and whines. Even if he hurt and fucked you roughly, you couldn’t deny that he felt good. There was almost nothing his girth didn’t reach, he made you achingly full with just his bucking hips, but when he pulled out to slam back in- You screamed, “Stop it, please, I want to go home!” 

“Aw,” Sousuke purred, “do you hear that? She wants to go home.” 

Makoto crawled forward, his length slowly hardening again. “You’re so cute.” 

“She is, isn’t she?” Sousuke bucked approvingly, chuckling when you started crying again. “God, we should have done this a long time ago. Maybe then you could last longer by now.” He didn’t let Makoto reply before he added, “Rub her clit, I want her squeezing me when I cum.” 

Meekly, Makoto obeyed, pressing his thumb into your swollen clit. Your toes curled and back arched, allowing Sousuke to dive deeper into your cunt. He groaned, feeling you envelop and tighten around him, each involuntary flex of muscle sending him closer to his edge. “You’re close, aren’t you?” Sousuke growled in your ear, “C’mon squeeze me as tight as your pathetic little cunt can.” 

No, you couldn’t cum, not like this and not on the dick of someone as awful as Souske. A weak protest left your mouth in a whine, “I d-don’t want to-.”

Sousuke laughed, his thrusts slowing. “Do you hear that, Makoto? She doesn’t want to cum." He chuckled, "As if she has a choice.” He started back up his rough rhythm, going faster than he had before, grunting and panting in your ear. “C’mon squeeze me already, I want to feel you milk my cock.” 

You screamed as you came, tears pouring down your cheeks as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through your body, making every muscle tighten and constrict. Sousuke seemed more than pleased with your response because his cock shot a thick load of cum inside you, adding to the mess Makoto had made earlier. 

Sousuke didn’t pull out. He let go of your legs, choosing instead to wrap his arms around your waist. “I wasn’t expecting you to be such a good lay,” he murmured sleepily against your throat, hot breath fanning over your skin, “but since you’re such a tight ass, I shouldn’t be surprised.” He looked over at Makoto and said, “Now that I’ve loosened her up, want to try again?”

[kashimos-hajime]

reunion pt. 2 (6/8) | r.b.

summary: The blue and white Wings of Freedom crumple as the cape falls, spread out by the wind like true wings. Or, the winter after Shiganshina is frigid with change.

WARNINGS: mentions of heavy injuries, depression, angst all around, swearing, levi gives some advice, blood pairing: reiner braun x fem!reader word count: 8.2k

a/n: we’re nearing the end!!! ahh thats crazy adnkasln. not much reiner this chapter unfortunately but he will return next chapter!!

masterlist

crossposted on ao3!

You land heavily on your left leg, hand on Jean’s shoulder to soften the blow to your right as you watch Hange wrestle Mikasa back. Eyes widening, you sweep the rooftop—from Levi, to Erwin, to the burnt corpse that has to be…

“Don’t tell me…”

“Armin?”

“It can’t be…”

Bertholdt. Your eyes fall to his steaming body, marks of his Titan still imprinted on his face and you fall forward. Limbs chopped to the bone, blood pooling underneath him, a cloud of steam surrounding him. You’re the only one left.

Rising to his feet, Jean’s grip is iron on your shoulder, clamping onto the joint so hard you’re sure it’ll break and you look up at him, watery breaths puffing past your lips. He stares down at you, regret sewn into his features, but even so, there’s a hard determination in them. 

You know what has to be done, he seems to say. Covering his hand with your own, a shooting pain splits your chest open as Levi looks from Erwin to Armin, back again—an impossible choice. You’re not jealous at all of the captain, deciding the fate of two soldiers who are both just as important, but for some reason, you can’t even think about Armin or Commander Erwin. 

You smell the terrible perfume of burnt flesh mixed with the smoke and dust of the ruins of Shiganshina, the blood in your mouth, the sweat lingering heavily around them. It reminds you of Trost, of Reiner holding you as he told you Marco had died. You somehow can’t think of anything else.

It’s not until Levi tells them to get that you can tear your eyes off Bertholdt’s slumbering face. He looks almost peaceful and you reach a limp hand for him but Jean tugs at your shoulder, and you look at him.

“Come on,” he utters softly, and you let him help you up, hopping on your broken leg with a grimace. You can do this, you tell yourself as Captain Levi drags Bertholdt towards the commander by the scruff. Whatever happens, at least it’s for good, right? Please, just sleep, Bertholdt. I don’t want you to suffer anymore than you already have. 

“Captain Levi, can I—“ Your voice comes out from your chest, surprising everyone there including yourself, and the bloody captain freezes, turning to look at you. You set your jaw, limping away from Jean who tries to stop you. “I just want to say goodbye.”

Levi’s eyes search yours, and then flicker to Hange, still holding Mikasa. A beat passes.

“Make it quick,” he allows. “The rest of you, scram.” The sound of ODM gear splits the air, iron wire screeching as the Scouts left head towards a distant rooftop. Walking towards the captain, you give him a weary look as he sets down Bertholdt’s body.

Crashing to your knees, you reach a hand to brush the dark hair out of his eyes, and his forehead doesn’t even crease when your fingertips brush over his brow. Overwhelmed, you can only gently trace the Titan markings on his cheeks, hollowed out patches of skin that outline his bones, reveal the muscle pulling his face together.

“Bertl,” you whisper. “Why didn’t you just kill me?” You wait for an answer that’ll never come, hand flattening against his warm cheek, and you feel his gentle breath against your fingers as your eyes begin to burn. “Why didn’t either of you just kill me? If we’re all devils, what made me so special?” You blink, and the tears fall down your face, land on his chest in gentle splatters. With your other hand, you cradle his face completely in your palms, and you bow your head.

“Nothing’s special about you,” Levi mutters, and your head snaps up to see him standing over Bertholdt’s body, nothing but a cold indifference struggling to find its place in his eyes. “They just decided you were. That’s all it was.”

His words sting, but nonetheless, you don’t let it faze you. You draw your hands back towards your lap.

“Captain, please keep it quick. I don’t want him to suffer,” you whisper, and you meet blue-grey eyes resolutely before pulling yourself up. “I don’t think I’ll survive hearing him scream.”

“Hurry up and go,” he orders. “I’ll be as merciful as I can.” Nodding numbly to yourself, you glance down at Bertholdt one last time, before heading towards the edge of the roof and launching yourself back towards the others. Mikasa helps ease you down to your knees and you send her a grateful look before shuffling in between Jean and Connie. Watching the captain’s green figure crouch beside the Commander’s, your nerves are shot and your headache only begins to intensify.

“Armin,” Eren’s muffled sob pricks at your ear but you ignore him, eyes trained on the singular figure arched over the apex of the roof. 

“What’s taking him so long?” Jean mutters.

“Maybe the transformation isn’t instantaneous?” Connie suggests.

“If that were the case, the captain would’ve left and watched the commander transform from a safe distance.” Leaning forward, one of your hands plant on the wood of the apex on the gabled roof as the cloaked figure stands. Together, the Scouts watch as Levi turns around, walking to the other end of the roof towards a black, burnt body. Ragged, wet gasps tear the air as Eren lunges forward. Mikasa grabs his arm, hauling him back, and your eyes widen.

He’s going back for Armin, you realize distantly. He changed his mind. Why? How could he—

There isn’t time for questions. As soon as the captain seems to inject the fluid, he kicks Armin’s body off the roof before turning around and grabbing Commander Erwin’s body. Hange lets out a soft noise, sprinting off the roof towards their friend while the rest can only watch as lightning splits the air for just a flash of a second, destroying the back end of the home. Splinters and debris go flying as steam arises from the spot where lightning struck and the two senior officers retrieve the commander, retreating to a roof a distance away.

Only a few more seconds. Bertholdt has to stay unconscious for just a few more seconds. Jean’s hand on your shoulder is iron-like again, nails digging through your jacket, a silent warning that you don’t have to watch, but you’re frozen to your spot, waiting.

The shrill sound of wood ripping fills the air, even from where they watch, as one bony claw reaches through the steam. What follows—a blond head, a body more skeleton than flesh, and a gaping mouth.

Armin. His name sounds foreign in your head as he reaches Bertholdt. 

You hear the first sob as he plants a hand onto his prey, lifting him into the air.

“No!” Raw and burning, Bertholdt’s screams brand into your eardrums as he thrashes as hard as he can in Armin’s grip but he’s nothing more than a limbless body and a head. Your world splits open as he’s raised through the sky. The fear fractures your chest, the desperation sinks into your skin, and you want to tear your eyes out but your fingers remain dug into the ridge as he screams wetly. Your hand is blistering, on fire along your fingers, and blood congeals on your tongue.

For the rest of your days, you will remember the moment his eyes found yours, bulging wide with untamed, unnatural dread.

“Guys, please!” Sobbing, his voice grows hoarse as Armin’s jaw unhinges. “Help me!” Head snapping, swinging, whipping any which way until he can free himself, the way his neck thrashes makes your stomach roll. Your legs are begging for orders, begging to spring forward to save him as the shadow of a Titan falls over his face. 

Bertholdt screams your name and it pierces through, a bullet that shatters every nerve as your eyes begin to burn. Your teeth clench before you’re pushing off the roof, boots gritting against tile

“Bertholdt!” Pain spirals through your entire body as you take one step before an arm wraps around your neck, flinging you back. You fall onto your spine, the breath knocked out of you and your feet kick out, ODM gear clanking against the tile. Hands surrounding you, pinning you down, and you flail your arms and legs, nails clawing at anything you can make contact with, gasping for air, for space, for anything. “Bertholdt! No! No! Please!” 

Vision blurring, you try to make out your captors as a knee presses into your wrist and another slams into your shoulder. Breath shuddering, your feet lash at the air, desperately trying to push yourself away from the others to save him. You have to save him—Captain Levi said it’d be merciful—

“Hold her down! Shit!”

“I’m trying!”

“Bertholdt!” Your throat begins to bleed and you taste the fire in your lungs as your head slams backwards, your back arching off the roof. Tears sear into your skin. Your eyes squeeze shut and you let out a furious sob, heaving and wheezing before your mouth falls open and a burning scream bursts from your chest. Ribs poking into every inch of your flesh, your hands fly up to dig into elbows. Whoever you hold onto do not wince and you hear a jagged voice, wrought with anguish.

“Go! Go get Armin and make sure he’s okay. I have her—“

“But, Jean—“

“Connie! Go with Eren and Mikasa. We’ll be okay.” The knee on your shoulder lifts and you immediately swing your fist at Jean, clocking him in the cheek and knocking him off you. Throwing yourself up, you scramble forward and wipe at your face but the tears still do not cease. You can barely see.

Your heart decays, a cold, throbbing agony filling you as you scan the square. You see the blonde Titan just in view behind the house, collapsed on his stomach, steaming more and more as someone erupts from the nape. 

The agony numbs.

So, that’s it then.

Bertholdt’s…

Crumpling in on yourself, your fingers clasp at the base of your neck and you curl into a ball, eyes sliding shut. Everything inside you falls apart, shattering into a million pieces and the walls around you begin to fall in, the fatigue and pain and heartache piling on top of you, burying you, blocking out the sun, you’ve lost everything, you have no one. 

You couldn’t even save Bertholdt—

“Jean, go to the others.” Fingers tightening around your head, your tears scorch as they fall into your hairline, disappearing in all the grime and dust and blood staining your body. “I’ll deal with this.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Shoulders shaking, your breath puffs hot against your face and you’re panting for air as your back kinks painfully. Stabbing sensations nestled right underneath your shoulder blades, you begin to wheeze, face beginning to flush, body beginning to grow number and number until you can’t even feel the pain anymore of shattered bones. 

All you can hear is Bertholdt screaming for you to help him, the silence of your body.

Why couldn’t you move?

Failure, failure, failure, failure, failure, failure, failure.

It spells itself out, digs its talons into your brain and pries you open until you’re sobbing harder into the stone. Your heart thuds in your mouth, large and swollen, as hands grip your shoulders, wrenching you up. On instinct, cold air seeps into your chest and you let out a gasp, face in pieces as you lift it to the sky. 

“Hey!” Your eyes spring open as the hands on your shoulders grow more insistent and you lower your wet stare to Levi who is already studying with his quicksilver gaze. You feel everything inside you drain out. His teeth are bared in a tight scowl, and you still tremble in the aftershocks but he only holds on tighter. “Give yourself a moment, then pull yourself together. We still have a job to do. After that, I’ll give you as much time as you want to cry your little eyes out.”

“Captain—“ Your voice breaks, and Levi’s eyes flicker as you stare right through him. He lets go, drawing his hands back to himself. “Do you think it hurt?”

He pauses, deliberates this. “I think the fear was probably the worst part. If it hurt, it was only for one intense moment. Arlert crushed his head open,” he informs and your heart becomes a stone in your chest. “Now, come on. I’ll splint your leg and then we’re moving Erwin.”

“But, but Armin—“

“Do you really want to see him right now?” he cuts off sharply, and you wince as he stands. “Hange will take care of the others. You’re coming with me.”

Weakly, you mumble out his name, but he doesn’t stop as you struggle to your feet, following after him. You wipe at your face with sweaty hands, but it doesn’t help at all, only smearing it all over your exhausted features. Lungs still spasming in the occasional hiccups, you let your smashed, bruised fingers fall uselessly.

Captain Levi leads you to a demolished square near the Wall where Hange is already piling supplies, Commander Erwin’s body laid to rest. Eyes widening, you look at his corpse before looking at Levi who only looks over the body in passing before walking to a crate and ordering for you to sit down.

“We’ll be going over the Wall. I need to know you’re in shape to keep moving.”

“The others are bringing Armin back here before we start searching for survivors,” Hange informs.

You nod as Levi cuts away your pant leg and you grimace when you realize how swollen it is along your shin. Shaking his head to himself, he yanks your boot off and begins to wrap a nearby piece of wood he found and broke into the right length to your leg, splinting the bones tightly. Your bruised and broken fingers dig into the crate with every wince but he keeps going and going as you look down at him.

He slips the final round underneath the layers of cloth before stuffing your foot back into your boot despite the pressure mounting as soon as he does.

He steps back and you stand unsteadily. The pain is even worse, now, but you’re just going to have to be stuck with it. You’re sure walking around on a broken leg isn’t good for the health, but it shouldn’t matter. There’s still work to do.

“How much gas do you have?”

“Enough,” you reply, patting your ODM gear and he nods. 

“I’m refilling once we get over the wall. All our supplies are probably knocked everywhere so grab as much as you can on the way back.”

“Yes, sir.”

.

The battlefield reeks of the tang of blood and shit. The air is hot and heavy under the beginnings of a warmer afternoon, and your stomach roils at the bloody mist still tinting the air. This was a massacre—nothing less—and you swallow your nausea, picking your way through the battlefield.

They search for a singular thing, but with the amount of red on the field, you can’t pick out what used to be brown from what used to be green.

“It would’ve been closer to the houses than the others,” Levi mutters. “Forster said he was hit first.” You nod, turning around and examining the land they’ve already traversed.

Standing beside your captain, your eyes widen when you catch sight of the only white on the field. It reminds you of the flags they’d teach about in cadet corps—white meant fall back, white meant give up.

White meant nothing Commander Erwin stood for, and you let out a soft gasp. Levi’s gaze snaps to you.

“Commander Erwin’s horse,” you finally croak, lifting a dead finger to point at the steed. It lays limp, dirty, and the more you focus on it, the more you can make out its features. His eyes are closed, and you could’ve believed the stallion was asleep as you approach it and crouch down slowly, touching the horse’s cheek. “Sleep well.”

“What a fucking shitstorm,” Levi murmurs as you push yourself up. He tugs your elbow to help you, and you send him an appreciative glance but you find he’s already looking at everything else, haunted pale gaze searching for something. 

He looks starving for his target, greedy, and you look away. There’s blood that hasn’t steamed away from his face, and you don’t want to think about whose it could be.

You turn to see where the dirt had been imprinted on in an odd-long oval shape, different from the thousands of hoofprints stomped into the mud. A drag mark, carved into the soft mud. Following the trail, your throat begins to close up as you hobble beside it, only stopping when you finally find what they’re looking for. 

You see the green cape, soaked in red, dragging at the ground, muddied and soiled, stepped all over and half-buried. 

Nonetheless, you reach down pick it up, flapping what dry crumbs you can off the fabric and folding it over your arm before glancing over to where Levi stands near the horse’s head, staring at the patch of blood soaking the dirt.

“Captain, I found it.” You tilt your head heavily. “Captain?” Returning to his side, you try to find what he’s looking at. Following his gaze, you frown warily at the patch where the mud is saturated red, the grass still drinking in the blood like it’s been stuck in a drought and it mixes like a sickly stew.

Commander Erwin’s blood, you realize after a moment. Nausea sluices through you and you blink away the burning. The idea of him, cold, lying in the blood and awake, listening to his troops die around him…

“Captain, I found it,” you whisper rawly. As if your words break the trance Levi has put himself in, he looks up, shaking his shoulders out.

“Finally, he’ll have something to cover himself with,” he mutters at last, grabbing the cape from you, and you only look at your captain. At the rough, deep quality in his tone you’ve never heard before as he clears his throat. “Idiot.”

“Sir, don’t you mean buried with?” you ask timidly, and he shakes his head. “We’re not going to leave him here, are we?”

“We’re not bringing him back with us. By all means, his dream lived here and he died here. He fought his whole life to get here—I’m not going to be the one to take him away from that.”

Take him away from his mission, you hear in your head. Who is Captain Levi to decide that? Who are you to decide? Erwin stays here. It makes sense. I stay here. They had a mission. Who was I? Who was I to tell them to stop because of me?

“I’ll come back,” Levi continues, promises, but not to you, “to bury him. When this is all over. He deserves a proper burial.” Lips pressing together, you swallow down your words, and bow your head. After an unknowable amount of time, Levi finally sighs, shoulders caving, and starts walking back to the Wall. The green is clutched tight in his fist. You stand by the blood stain, the tip of your boot beside the head of the horse who could’ve been sleeping and he calls out, voice sharp and normal again: “C’mon. We can’t hang around—“

“I want to help you bury him,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself and Levi freezes in his spot. Swallowing, you close your eyes for a moment, feel every nerve inside you pulse, before you fix your gaze on the Wings of Freedom printed on Levi’s back. “I know it’s not my place, but Commander Erwin gave me a chance to prove I wasn’t weak and I failed him. I need to make it up to him somehow.”

Levi sighs softly before continuing on and you limp after him as fast as you can, catching up after a few pained grunts. Your leg is blistering, burning from the inside out, but nothing has scorched you more than your tears, so in comparison, you almost feel relieved.

“Some things I have to do on my own, you understand that?”

Despite yourself, the faintest ripple in your lips that could’ve been a smile runs through your face before disappearing as if it were never there. It’s something he’s told you so many times during your suspension and you dip your head.

“Of course, sir.”

He nods numbly. “Okay, then.”

.

The others went to the basement and you’re left here.

Someone calls your name softly as you sit on the edge of the wall, looking at the ruins of Shiganshina hollowly. Raising your head, you see Armin standing, and you sweep your gaze for a moment before turning to look at the city again. He sits uninvited next to you and you barely resist the urge to ask him to leave you alone, reminding yourself you have no reason to be angry with him.

He didn’t eat Bertholdt on purpose. It’s just how the cards were dealt, how the dice was rolled. The pieces on the chess board lined up, and they had a chance to seize a game-winning piece.

Armin twiddles his thumbs. Your shoulders slump forward.

“I’m… I’m really sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” you intone quietly. “What matters is that you’re okay.”

“Yeah, but I ate Bertholdt, and I know—“

“Armin, don’t.” He falls quiet, and you look at him desolately. “There really isn’t anything we can do about it, now. At the end of the day, they’re gone, and I’m still here. You’re still here, and Bertholdt isn’t. That’s all.”

“I know.”

“I really am happy that you’re okay, Armin. I’m so grateful that you could come back, and that our side managed to get another Titan power. Maybe we can turn the tides, but…”

Knowingly, he finishes it for you, “But the price was too high for you.”

The words make you flinch and you don’t correct him.

“They could’ve killed me so many times. I’m starting to wonder why they didn’t,” you whisper mostly to yourself. A doe blue gaze fall on your cheek, and you close your eyes, pressing your lips into a thin line.

“Because they care about you. I could never try and kill Mikasa or Eren. I can’t even imagine it, so the fact that you tried to put those feelings aside for duty, I think that’s saying a lot more than you’re giving yourself credit for.”

You scowl at his words, hating the tears threatening to spill over your cheeks again. You’re drained, dried out, yet still, more tears are always coming even when you think you’re done. 

“Armin, if I took the multiple chances I had to kill Bertholdt, to kill Reiner, I think both you and Commander Erwin would be alive. Captain Levi would’ve never had to make such an impossible choice, and—“ And maybe I could remember how to breathe without all this weight on my chest. But you don’t say that. Instead, quietly, you plead, “Can you just… leave me alone? I don’t want to talk, right now.”

Armin’s lips upturn into a hurt frown, but you only stare at the space just in front of your knees, focus fixed on some imaginary spot. Before long, he’s pushing himself to his feet and walking back to Sasha, and you clasp your hands, watching the city blankly.

For some reason, you can’t stop thinking about the time you and Annie had walked the walls the day before graduation, finding Reiner and Bertholdt up there, too. How had that only been a few months ago?

It feels like years, now.

Without a second thought, you pick yourself up slowly, your splinted leg awkwardly colliding with the stone. Levi told you to get some rest, but…

You begin to walk away from the others, not quite sure where you’re going. You go past Floch, who’s taking watch, and when you close your eyes, you can hear footsteps behind you—two, light and fleeting, one more sure and steady.

“Have fun in the MPs, Annie. I’m sorry I couldn’t come with you.”

“You won’t be missing much.”

“Yeah, but—“

“Hey, the military ranking shouldn’t determine whether or not someone can join the MPs. What if someone’s just as good, but didn’t make it into the top ten because of how limited the spots are? It doesn’t make sense.”

A sharp laugh. “Someone needs to wash Bertholdt’s mouth, creampie. Look at him, renegading against the government.”

Eyes snapping open, you turn to look over your shoulder.

Nothing but still air.

.

The next few days pass in nothingness. 

You’re moved to the old Scouts headquarters—where Section Commander Miche died, you still feel his ghost lingering the halls—away from the others.  It’s mostly empty besides a few Garrison Regiment officers who keep an eye on you—Captain’s orders, and they’re your main source of news, even if it is just catching hints of gossip. You don’t speak to them, mostly because you’re sure they think guarding a teenager with broken bones who doesn’t even talk back is way below their pay grade.

Most of your friends aren’t keen on talking to you either, with a fair few forced exceptions, but at this point, you’ve written your report, detailing everything you did during the campaign, and you don’t want to talk to them either. You haven’t since their ride back.

They know you went back for Reiner, and, instead of striking him down, you tried to pull him free. It doesn’t matter.

You roll onto your side. Everything feels grey, time passing by inconsequentially in the rise and fall of the sun. You mostly stay in your room, content to let Shiganshina crush the ruins of your memory into dust, and you don’t recognize what day it is. Your nights are plagued with flashes of Bertholdt, the sounds of his screams ringing until you’re deaf. Reiner’s bare, burned face, steaming, eyes covered in a blindfold too tight over his skin.

The ragged gasp of your name.

There’s a knock on the door. You don’t budge from where you stare out the window, at the sun gleaming in through. It dapples on the cotton of your sheets, gentle pools of gold, and you trace one of the warm shapes absently with your wrapped, splinted fingers.

It nearly frightens you how much you don’t feel, how much you don’t care what happens to you next. The world is hollow, everything inside it scooped out and replaced with black coldness. 

“I know you’re awake in there.”

Levi.

“You better be decent. I’m coming in either way.”

The door clicks and swings open.

They had a ceremony two days ago, honouring the survivors of the expedition before they could move on to a far more somber occasion today—a service for Commander Erwin at the end of the week, and the government going into a state of mourning. Flags are raised, speechs are prepared to be given, and you’re pretty sure the empty casket will be closed and buried somewhere in Mitras, empty words carved into a plaque.

Levi’s sigh breaches your ears. “Have you at least eaten today?”

“Yes.” You don’t move nor start at the creakiness in your voice. Blinking slowly, you examine a ripple in the bedsheet. “Doctor said if I didn’t, he’d break my other leg.”

“Good.” He walks to the window, and you see his shape lingering at the edge of your eyes. Tilting your head, you look at him. He looks rested, as well as he can be, but there’s a raggedness in his stature, the exhaustion engrained in his face that only comes with grief.

“The memorial is today,” you point out unhelpfully. “Will you be speaking?”

“Have to,” he mutters brusquely. “Not exactly excited to eulogize Erwin in front of a bunch of stuck-up bastards. Don’t think he would’ve minded either, if I didn’t.”

“So why are you doing it?” You shift a bit, sit up a bit straighter. There’s a pulse of silence where Levi seems to debate how to answer. His lips press into a thin, white line, and he scowls at his reflection in the pane of glass, before he exhales sharply.

“I don’t know,” he says before shifting the discussion blatantly. “Either way, you won’t hear it. You don’t need to come.”

“Sir…”

“You didn’t come to the ceremony two days ago, either,” he snorts. “I’m sure it’s no skin off your back.” He’s right, and you smile grimly. “Focus on healing.” Tugging at the lapel of his formal Survey Corps coat, he continues, “It’ll be a waste of time, anyway. Most of them spent most of their careers hating him. I doubt her Royal Majesty or any of your friends will want to be there, either.”

You swallow, sitting upright and adjusting the pillows against your back. He glances over, and rakes his gaze down your body with a critical glare.

“Would you look at that? You haven’t moulded to the futon, yet. I was starting to think you had lost your body back in Shiganshina.” He steps away from the window and turns, standing at the foot of your bed.

Clearing your throat, you reach up to scratch your collarbone and find blue-grey fixed on your fingers. “When do you think we can go back for him, Captain?”

Levi frowns, gaze flickering up to your face again. 

“I don’t know. At this point, it could be months before the state declares that Wall Maria is free of Titans, especially with how small the Survey Corps are. Garrison soldiers can only help so much,” he adds grudgingly. “And the MPs are pretty much useless. Most of them. And Hange… is doing their best. Let’s just say that.” You nod again. He glances at the clock airily, then at you again. “Get some rest.”

“Yes, sir,” you reply, and he studies you quickly, gauging how honest you are with your promise, before he sticks his hands in his pockets and turns around. Your stomach is a thousand stones in your stomach as he glances at the splintered wood of the wall, and his footsteps slow to a stop. Watching his profile, you wait for him to say something as he lowers his gaze to the waste bin by the door.

He doesn’t. He simply continues out the door, speaks to the soldier on guard outside your room, and disappears from your sight.

“Lunch will be in two hours,” the soldier says before closing the door. You turn to look out the window.

Two days earlier, Connie and Sasha had come bearing a bolo tie, green gem gleaming, expression somber.

“It’s yours. For your services to the Survey Corps and to Historia.”

You had the grace to wait for them to be gone before flinging it with all your might at the wall and listening to the wood splinter as it clattered to the bottom of the bin. 

.

The snow melts as soon as it touches your nose, and you glance at Levi uneasily as he jams the tip of the shovel into the dirt. His jacket’s been shed, and you swear he could be steaming with how much sweat drenches his entire body. He had insisted on laying the Commander’s bones to rest  and burying him yourself which meant you had perched yourself on the roof overhanging the little clearing they’d found. It’s off-track in an already trampled ceremony—his grave now the singular headstone in a field of a thousand bodies—but it’s somewhere he can rest, you’re sure.

Adjusting your grip on your ODM gear, you look up at the blindingly grey sky. The snow slows to a stop as you fall to one-knee, examining the terrain.

Returning to active duty had been difficult. Rehabilitation even harder. You felt like there was scrutiny everywhere you walked, and there was a strange air lingering as the summer faded and fall began.

Even now, you’re sure Levi and Hange are the only people who bother to check up on you because they want to, not because they’re obligated to remember whether or not you’re still alive.

You scratch at your neck. Eventually they had to clear out the old barracks where you’d been staying which is what you’ve been doing for the past few months to avoid any clashes with your friends, and you’d come across the chess set, untouched, the pieces still in place as if the players had simply forgotten the game.

Your fingers had brushed over the piece Reiner had called a pawn, and it felt that much heavier. 

A foul poison erodes your heart as you glance down at Levi again. He’s crouched in front of the tombstone, and you look away again, at the Wall. Beyond that—

Reiner is still out there. You wonder if he thinks of you half as much as you think about him, and whether if it’s just as laced with rage and longing. Half the time, you think you could scream into his face before tearing his head off his shoulders. Other times, you just want him back. You want to see Bertholdt’s smile again. You want to hear Annie’s dry jokes.

You could cry yourself to dehydration if you thought about it enough.

A sharp whistle cracks the air and you look down. Levi’s looking up at you, shrugging his jacket back on and you lower yourself back to the ground with a burst of gas, landing beside him.

There’s a quiet in which he gives you a sharp nod and you know what to do.

Accepting the handkerchief Levi offers you, you wipe at Erwin’s grave where some mud had been kicked up on the letters before laying down the flowers you had cradled in your arm. They’re dry, the petals already crumbling, but still, despite how gloomy everything seems, it almost feels right. 

You step back, squinting a bit, the handkerchief clutched tight in your hand. The tombstone is a marbled grey, polished smooth and rectangular in shape, the corner sharp enough to puncture skin. Carved into the surface is his name, birth and death date, his title—and underneath all of that: 

HIS FATHER’S SON

The epitaph is almost haunting the more you look at it and you salute the headstone before letting your hand fall to your side. Staring at the tombstone too small for a man of the Commander’s stature, you feel something hot sear through your chilled body. It’s nothing he deserves. 

“Do you know why you were placed under my watch for a month?”

You blink, turning to look at the Captain. He’s paled so much in the winter months, it’s hard to think you aren’t looking at a ghost. The only exceptions are his red nose, his lips, and his flaring cheeks. That and those knife-point eyes.

“Because everyone around me was a traitor,” you murmur blankly, unsure of why he’s asking. Your hands ball into tight fists as you add, “And it only made sense that I should be one, too. Who better to watch me then Humanity’s Greatest to make sure I didn’t shift into a Titan, too?”

“It’s because Commander Erwin insisted not to leave you alone,” Levi agrees, “but not because he didn’t trust you. I doubt someone like you would turn around against the only people who are there for you. I read your file. Orphaned at birth, you grew up on a farm with no close known relations.” You turn your face away, teeth gritting together, and Levi tilts his head. “The 104th were all you had. Human nature insists that we latch onto those we have left.”

“Even you, Captain?” 

Levi doesn’t answer. When you look at him again, his stare on the stone is darker, laced with noxious grief. “This job isn’t pleasant. You lose enough people—even those you didn’t care for—and you either grow numb, tired, or so damaged you can’t even wake up to another day. Most people find life meaningless after a few years.”

“Right…” Struggling to find the words, you cross your arms over your chest, fingers wrapping tight around your biceps. “I don’t know where you’re going with this. I’m still here, aren’t I?”

A heavy sigh. Levi shifts his boots in the grass. 

“And what are you going to do after? What’ll you set your mind to next? Working as a Scout? I doubt you’ll find any fulfillment in working with people you don’t trust.”

“That’s not true—“

“You have a knack for isolating yourself when you believe you’re unneeded. Exiling yourself to an abandoned building under the pretence of ‘cleaning it out’ can only last so long,” he cuts off sharply, eyes finding yours dully. You clench your jaw, swallowing hard. He looks back at the tomb. “Look, I’m going to tell you something, and I expect you not to speak of it again, got it?” 

You nod tightly. “Of course, sir.”

“I’m aware of people misunderstanding or making assumptions of where I’ve come from. To put it simply, I was a criminal in the Underground and I ran a network with two others. They were as close to me as I assume Hoover, Braun, and Leonhart were to you.” 

You nod again, slower this time.

“We joined the Survey Corps because the Commander insisted it was a better alternative to a life time’s sentence in Mitras dungeons. I’m still waiting on that promise, Erwin,” he adds without any bite. Instead, his tone almost softens. “When they died on our first expedition outside the walls, I wanted to be left alone. He was only Section Commander at the time, and Shadis insisted I should be left to the MPs.

“Erwin refused. He forced me to come to training for the next expedition, to drills, and to the events the military held every once in a while just so I wouldn’t stay in my room all day. I lashed out. I screamed at him behind closed doors, was an outright violent son of a bitch and an unpleasant one at that, but he persisted.”

Levi scoffs. “It took me a long time to grasp what he was doing besides being a nuisance. It was when I realized I was constantly at his right hand when he was promoted to Commander did I understand. Every human dies. Whether or not they sacrificed themselves for a greater cause, it will always be a selfish act in the end.”

“Selfish?” you echo. “But, Commander Erwin died for the Scouts to survive, didn’t he? If he never did, you never would’ve stopped the Beast Titan. We’d probably all be dead.”

“And who’s left to clean after his mess, huh?” he cuts coolly. “That’s what’s selfish about death—those corpses get off scot-free. Their last moments may be guilty, or afraid, but they won’t give a damn the minute they stop breathing. It’s the living who have to deal with the consequences. Grieving alone sends you into a pit that’s hard to crawl out of. You either sink, or you come out of it strong like hell, but it’s easier when something’s at the top, so to speak. Telling you to get off your ass and climb out.”

He scowls, and his glare narrows at the epitaph as he half-heartedly kicks some of the disturbed dirt at Erwin’s headstone, but it’s less malicious and almost as if, even now, Levi wants to point fingers at Erwin. “I don’t know. Metaphors were always this idiot’s strong suit. All I know is how to cut down Titans.”

Your shoulders sink. “Captain Levi…”

“He’s why I volunteered to supervise. I remember what our gracious Commander told me,” he says quietly. “It’s a lonely life we walk. The people who stay are the ones we have to hold onto with both hands and all our might.”

You soak in his words silently, tracing the carved E in the stone with your eyes. Levi sighs, lowering his head and shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. He seems to shake his head to himself, pale eyes darkening, lips twisting into a furious scowl. You know that scowl well—it’s the type of face one pulls when they’re trying to hide how real fucking sad they are.

You look away. You shouldn’t be seeing this.

“Suppose that doesn’t matter, though,” he murmurs. “They can slip through either way. What you need to do now is keep moving. You keep them in your memory, and you keep moving, but stop letting them haunt you. Find a new purpose, or it’ll be meaningless and you’ll realize you should’ve died, not those poor bastards who devoted their hearts to what they wanted.” He tilts his head back to the sky. Softly, then: “No one else can do that for you.”

You slide your own hands into your pockets, pull it tighter around yourself. “What if I don’t know what to do? What I want with my life?”

The first raindrop hits him first. A gentle splash against his nose that makes his eyes flutter, but not close. The next hit you, tapping against your skull that soothes the ache in your chest.

“Keep moving on, anyway, until you find it. It’s no good to stand around thinking about what should’ve been or what you could’ve done. Regret begets regret—have enough and it’ll start affecting your choices. Don’t have any when you go, and maybe you’ll live a life happier than most.”

You nod. Your neck feels tired. For lack of anything else, you manage to say, “Captain Levi… I’m really sorry for your loss.”

He doesn’t answer.

You stand there, fixing your gaze at the gravestone for a moment more, before bowing your head and saying your thank you to the fallen Commander. You turn around.

“I’ll wait for you by the Wall, sir,” you murmur. He nods, still staring up at the sky as if he can see something you cannot. You study his profile for a moment, then begin to walk away.

.

Riding back to Trost, the weight slowly returns, bearing down on your shoulders as if you can already feel the thousand-pound stares. The elevators are lowered and they step on, dismounting quickly to ease the horses. Garrison soldiers are posted along with a singular Scout, and you frown when you reach the top.

“Jean?”

He smiles grimly. “How was it?”

“Shitty, I guess.” 

And you leave it at that. Jean watches you critically, surveying your form, but you only stand on the edge of the Wall, looking at a world that’s about to get much bigger.

In truth, you don’t know how to answer. Your whole body is heavy, only going through the movements as Levi climbs up next to you. He takes the reins of your horse as well and heads off without a second word. You watch him go as he walks towards the nearest building, presumably to find the nearest elevator down the other side of the Wall. 

Sighing, you turn around to face the land you’ve just travelled. Wall Maria stands in the distance. Your gaze fixes on nothing, staring through, and you wonder if you’re just as ghostly as you think you are. All you can hear is the sound of Bertholdt, screaming for you to save him. 

The land is barren, desolating to even look at it with the faint rain muddying everything and dulling all the colours. The grass is brown, the trees frail and empty. Nothing like a few months ago when everything seemed so promising of life.

“One day, we’ll be eating like this every day,” you had told Annie during a visit to Trost once. She was quiet, her blue eyes focused on the cream bun but softer than you thought was normal. Her lips curved into a faint smile as you added, “Just imagine it. Us as the dream team in the MPs, solving assignments together, and eating sweets in the inner Wall. It sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

“I guess.”

How did that dream turn into this nightmare? It’s like every part of you has been chopped off until you’re nothing but a bleeding body and a heart struggling to find the energy to pulse another second. Your limbs are gone, bleeding, ravaged, your head’s aching, and you feel every shadow held back by Annie’s fierce stare, Bertholdt’s arms, Reiner’s body shielding you, swarm you all at once now that they’re no longer there to protect you.

Joining the military had numbed your body, and Bertholdt and Reiner had cut you off at the knees. And Annie… 

Annie had spelt out tragedy on your throat in blood. If only you hadn’t ignored the red dripping down your neck, staining every word you breathed, maybe you could’ve stopped this.

You are wrestling for a way to keep crawling towards the light, but you will never be fast enough. Captain Levi had been right. Now that you’re alone, the pit is steeper than the walls, steeper than your fear, and the idea of waking up, of walking side by side with people who you’ve turned your back on for traitors, makes you nauseous.

They don’t deserve your half-hearted loyalty. 

Your shoulders fall at that revelation, and your eyes close when you realize what you want.

It’s something you told Reiner, a million years ago.

No more bloodshed, no more war. There didn’t have to be water, there just had to be him—but even so, that can’t happen anymore.

The former, however…

“We don’t hate you, you know,” Jean says. “None of us blame you for what happened. You can still come back.”

“That’s really nice of you, Jean,” you murmur blankly as your hands move on their own accord. “But I just can’t let this go.”

You reach up to your neck, and pull the green cloak away from your throat. Drawing it off your shoulders, you hold it in your hands, the blue and white wings of freedom dull in the pale light. You run a hand through the fabric, over the stitched insignia that once meant so much to you before you step closer to the edge. Jean’s eyes snap to you.

Freedom feels like nothing when everyone who was supposed to stand next to you the day you achieved it is gone.

Fists tightening in the green, you clench your teeth and with a silent exhale, you fling it off the side of the wall. Jean lets out a strangled noise, and together, the two watch as it flutters to the bottom of the wall. 

The blue and white Wings of Freedom crumple as the cape falls, spread out by the wind like true wings.

“What are you doing?” he asks roughly as your hands move next to your belt. Undoing the clasp, the metal collides with your frigid, mended fingers, and your skin begins to burn as he grabs your arm, trying to stop you. “Hey—“

You jerk out of his grip, not looking at him. You don’t think you can.

“I need to find a new life, Jean,” you murmur, your stomach flipping, your heart wilting, your words carrying in the wind. “This one is finished.”

“No. No, your life is here.” 

Your face burns as you blink, something warm trailing down your cheeks, but Jean only grabs you by the shoulders, trying to make you look at him but still, you continue to detach yourself from the contraption. He turns you, shaking you gently, but not even an immovable object can stall the unstoppable force of your hands.

Throat cinching shut, you stare at his chest as your ODM gear falls to the ground in an ungraceful crash. The hollow thud of the containers rattles your body and you look down at your gear that’s brought you so far.

“Don’t do this,” Jean murmurs. “You’re a Scout. Don’t let them make you give up.”

“No one’s making me give up, Jean.” You finally look up, look right through him, and Jean flinches back, his hands loosening and you take the opportunity to twist, shoving your gear off the wall with one swift kick. Heat shoots up your leg and the pain warms your entire body. 

ODM gear falls, nothing more than deadweight, and it clanks against the wall before bouncing off the stone, and Jean jumps off, deploying his own gear to try and catch the tech before it can crash, damaged beyond repair, at the bottom. 

Staring at his figure for a moment, you wonder if the harrowing feeling in your chest will last you forever, or just for now while you wait for something to take its place.

You’re not sure. But you do know a part of you feels lighter. You do know that a part of you just wants to go home and sleep.

Turning, you walk after Captain Levi, follow his trail to the building, and when Jean reaches the top of the wall again, you’ve disappeared.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

we'll cast some light and you'll be alright (for now)

another fic, for y'all! more angst and mama Alci!

TW: Rape

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

The man-thing beneath her was shuddering in pain, trying to scramble backward with only one arm, as the other was busy pressing against the gash in his side, trying to stem the heavy bleeding. His expression was a mix between revulsion and terror. As deep as it was, he would live. Maybe.

But he wouldn’t get that chance.

He didn’t beg or scream when his heart was ripped out, which irked his attacker, but it didn’t matter. The creature standing above him was satisfied, having obtained what she had come for. He was lucky she wasn’t either one of her sisters, who would have prolonged his death a lot longer than she had, milking out every last drop of suffering they could before his life force finally faded away into nothingness. She had better things to do than play cat and mouse with some incompetent human. Like returning the heart to her mother.

Bela’s chest warmed with pride as she gazed down at the dripping muscular organ cupped in her hands. It wasn’t often that Mother got to eat the heart of a man, and when she did, it was usually in the context of a raid on the castle, sort of dulling the effect of getting to consume such a treat. But now no damage would be made because Bela had managed to retrieve one all by herself! And Mother would be able to indulge in the warmth and sweet blood and would be so proud of her!

She swelled with delight as she began creeping away from the body, holding the heart delicately. Her sisters never understood why she was always reaching for Mother’s praise, but she couldn’t understand why they didn’t. Didn’t they want to please her? Make her happy? Get all of her praise and love and affection?

Bela’s thoughts were then rudely interrupted by something sharp snapping down around her ankle and yanking her to the ground. She let out a cry of pain, unable to bite it back in the face of so much discomfort. She shifted over and shakily reached out to see what had caught her.

A bear trap. Clamped around her left leg, just above the ankle. Her right hand gripped the limb tightly, slightly over where the metallic teeth bared into her flesh. One sporadic tremor was all it took to send new currents of torture up her leg. And, once again, there was no stifling her tormented scream from ripping out of her throat. Now both hands were clutching at the appendage, trying desperately to lessen the pain. It did little to help.

“Shit,” Bela hissed. “Shit, shit, shit!”

She attempted to pry the jaws of the artificial beast from her leg again, but her arms were shaking too much and the torment that seized her body prevented her from using all her strength; all of it was quickly being stolen away within her. Before she could get the teeth more than an inch away, the slickness of the blood caused it to slip from her grasp and bite right back to where it was originally. Just like that, she was back at square one.

Bela took several shuddering breaths and looked up at the sky. Now she knew why Mother didn’t like her and her sisters hunting alone. There was no one there to help her when she got into situations like this.

What had she been thinking? She was supposed to be the smart one! She was supposed to be the level-headed, calm one that didn’t do stupid things! She let her own need for praise blind her and now she was trapped.

There was snapping from within the dark woods around her. Bela’s head whipped up. Footsteps were approaching her- multiple footsteps. She bristled and made herself look as fierce as possible, despite the pain she was in.

A group of human men, around ten, if she counted correctly, broke through the brambles, armed with guns and axes and pitchforks, and stared down at her. A handful of them looked terrified at the sight of her, while the others smirked. Something sadistic was flashing in their eyes. They looked…hungry.

Bela tried to shake herself free from the bear trap when they approached her, but the iron teeth didn’t relent its vicious bite. They swarmed her, grabbing her limbs and holding her down. At first, she thought it was to take aim to kill her precisely, but then she noticed the very distinct bulges in their trousers and felt her chest seize in horror.

“Stop!” she yelled, finding her voice, which was wavering and shaky. “Let me go, you bastards!”

The men merely laughed at her threat. They seemed less scared of her when they had her ensnared as they did.

The leader of the pack, a scruffy man-thing with dark amber eyes, began to make a mess of her chest. His friends were pinning her wrists above her head, leaving her helpless to his assault. Slimy trails of saliva were left across her breasts; she cringed.

“Stop!”

When hands began to quest beneath her dress, she spasmed, fighting with all her strength. She managed to get an arm free and slashed her claws at one of the men beside her, ripping open dark red furrows along his skin.

“You bitch!” he shrieked, grasping at the gashes across his forearm. Blood seeped through his brown tunic. He looked fearfully at his friends. “What do I do?”

“Clean it,” one of them said.

“Will that be enough?”

“Enough for what?”

The man Bela had wounded shifted, looking anxious. “What if I turn into one of them?”

“That’s not how that works, dumbass,” piped up another man.

While they were distracted by each other, Bela squirmed harder. She tried to summon her insects, but her head was smashed against what she thought was a jagged rock; she swore she could hear the sickening sound of bones breaking upon impact. She slumped to the dirt, groaning. Her vision cut out for a moment, and when it returned, she thought she was being surrounded by rabid wolves.

“Creature, look at me while I touch you. That’s just common decency, don’t you think?“

Bela shut her eyes and refused to open them back up. She didn’t want to look. The man straddling her pulled her hair.

“Don’t be rude.”

She could feel more tears coming- how long had she been crying? She shook her head, jerking her limbs, but they were snagged tightly.

“N-No--”

The man-beasts around her cackled.

“Would you look at that,” one of them said. “The monster is cowering.”

“Not much of a terror now is she?” said another, tittering.

“She isn’t so strong once you have her caught,” added a third.

“God, she’s hot. Can we just start already? I want my turn.” a fourth joined in.

Bela whimpered. She couldn’t hide the fact that she was terrified. Her voice was cracking and she sounded snotty. She wanted this to stop right now. She tried to ease away, but they were firmly holding her in place. She kept muttering “no” over and over again, trying to drown out their voices.

The scruffy man leaned over her more, restraining her with his body weight.

“I said,” white-hot pain seared through Bela’s groin, causing her to howl, “look at me while I touch you, creature.”

She was dry, and the friction between her legs burned so intensely that it made her see stars. Within moments of only a few thrusts, she already felt raw. The stinging only increased.

All at once, she felt everything: the pain in between her legs, the dirty fingernails raking down her sides, the hands that raised up to fondle her breasts, the teeth on her neck, the tongue in her mouth, the bear trap around her ankle, the blazing heat that bloomed within her stomach… Then, she felt nothing at all.

--- --- ---

Bela lost track of time rather easily. It all started to blur together, but all she knew was that they tortured her in the woods for hours. Their lust was never-ending, their hunger was insatiable. She felt cowed by their heat, unable to fight back, falling victim to their needy claws.

She wondered why they didn’t kill her. She wished they did. She wanted the pain to go away.

Now, she lay on the damp dirt, naked, barely awake, and struggling to breathe. Her bare stomach was splattered with semen and marred by scratches. Her head was pounding intensely. Her throat felt red and raw. Her eyes were stinging and still leaking tears.

Had anyone noticed she was gone? Was Mother or her sisters worried about her? Were they looking for her?

Did they care?

Bela pushed herself up slowly; the pain was unbearable. It was a constant, aching thing in her stomach that never seemed to relent its throbbing assault. Hot coals were shoveled into each part of her body when she tried to move again, stoking the raging fires burning inside of her. Her muscles crackled painfully from the strain of getting up but were quickly overcome by a brighter, even sharp sensation in her left leg.

Right. She was still caught in the bear trap.

If this situation couldn’t have gotten any worse.

Bela struggled with the iron jaws for several eternal moments, sobbing harder each time her attempts failed. She eventually managed to pry the teeth loose and yank her ankle free, falling backward into the dirt and leaves and sending little lightning bolts alight throughout her entire body. She wept.

Eventually, awareness returned to her and she realized she had to get home. She had to get out of this forest. She had to get away.

She cleaned off her belly and legs and tried to do the same for her vagina, but it seized up the moment her hands got near, so she left it be. She put on her dress, which was in tatters and reeked of sex, but it was better than wearing nothing at all. The blood congealing between her thighs squelched uncomfortably when she began walking back to the castle, limping heavily on her injured ankle as she went. It bubbled and smeared and stuck on her skin, sometimes running down the length of her legs, but she couldn’t bother to wipe it away. She just wanted her mother.

It took a lot longer than it should have to get back to the castle, and when she did finally make it, she couldn’t go any further. Her knees buckled and the ground rushed up to meet her. She curled up into a fetal position, shaking all over, weeping again. She didn’t know how her body managed to still produce tears after crying so much, but there was wetness in her eyes and running down her cheeks. She trembled.

“Mother…”

Her voice came out weak and brittle. Frail.

“Mother…”

Maybe if she hadn’t been in so much agony, she would have cared more about being seen in such a state. But she didn’t care about anything. Not anymore. All she wanted was to curl up in her mother’s arms and never leave.

“Mother…”

The tears were coming down faster. Would anyone come for her? Did her mother care? Or was she to be left like this? She knew she probably looked like a sorry excuse for a beast, a waste of an experiment, better to be killed off so nobody would have to suffer her insolence, but she didn’t think Mother would be the one to turn her back on her. She whimpered.

“Mama!”

She should have known. She had it coming, didn’t she? Despite being the oldest, she was always the last in everything when it came to being a bloodthirsty beast. Didn’t hunt very well because she felt bad for the animals, was willing to submit to her younger sisters because she didn’t always know how to command situations, preferred to spend her time reading instead of participating in bloodsports, tried to avoid conflict because she didn’t enjoy getting her hands dirty, couldn’t even defend herself from human men…

It all made so much sense now.

She didn’t deserve to see Mother.

Footsteps were coming from one of the hallways. Someone was emerging into the light of the foyer. Bela, with her eyes bleary and mind hazed, couldn’t help but think it was one of the men returning for a second round. She tried to crawl away, whimpering.

Hands seized her and she screamed.

“No! NO!”

But it was too late. Too late.

--- --- ---

Alcina was first alerted by the smell before she even heard the mewls. The rank, disgusting stench of man semen entered her castle, so strong she was able to catch it from down in the basement, where every scent was usually overpowered by blood. But the pungent odor of filthy sperm managed to reach her like a wriggling maggot, and she instantly thought one of the maids had grown some courage and snuck a consort into her palace. She didn’t even think to consider what it actually had been because she never thought that such a thing would happen to one of her girls. It wasn’t something any mother should have to fear happening to their daughters.

Mounting the staircase, Alcina couldn’t help but chuckle at the foolishness of her maids. Did they truly think they could get something like this past her? Did they think they were being sneaky? She could smell their lust from a mile away.

However, as she exited out into the hallway, something new tickled her nose. The scent of semen was now mingled with blood and sweat and the faint smell of dirt. But there was something else, too. A noise. A word.

“Mother…”

Alcina perked up. Despite the faintness, she could easily pick out the voice of her eldest daughter.

“Bela?” she called back to her child.

For a moment, there was no response. At first, that wasn’t very concerning; Bela had always been the quiet type, always taking the time to consider her words instead of blurting the first thing that came to her mind like her younger sisters did. But with the intrusive smell wafting down the halls and the hoarseness she spoke with, Alcina couldn’t help but feel like something was wrong.

“Mother…”

“Bela,” Alcina said. She searched for buzzing beetles or flies, but couldn’t hear or see any. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she had even seen her eldest daughter.

That, too, wasn’t very concerning, either. Bela had a tendency to tuck herself away in various rooms for hours, indulging herself in books and studies, always fascinated to know more about absolutely everything. Sometimes, it was the library. Other times, one of the parlors. But sometimes it could be a random maid closet that nobody would ever think to sit and read in or a hidden room behind one of the many tapestries that made searching for her an elaborate scavenger hunt of trying to remember which weaving had already been checked or a specific corner in a specific room that nobody really went into anymore because there was nothing important inside. Alcina vividly remembered the time she nearly tore the castle apart searching for her eldest child because she couldn’t find her anywhere and she wasn’t answering her when she called. It turned out that Bela, younger at the time, was in a small back room Alcina had completely forgotten existed, playing midwife with a laboring opossum and trying to feed the mother her beetles. Bela had turned to her, bright-eyed, and said, “Possum.” She then proceeded to give her an elaborate, in-depth explanation on the process of birth, radiating pride the entire time, completely oblivious to Alcina’s panic.

It then became a rule to never kill opossums for Bela’s sake. And they were, admittedly, a little cute.

However, like with the hoarseness Bela spoke in, something was off. Very off.

The blood mingling with the scent of sperm- that was her daughter’s blood.

“Mother…”

Alcina sprung into motion.

“Bela!” she called. She kept the panic from oozing into her voice, not wanting to jump to conclusions just yet, but her hurried stride was enough to convey her alarm. “Where are you, my sweet? Come to Mother.”

She stopped to listen for the buzzing of insect wings or even just footsteps on polished tile, but there were neither. There was, however, a very distinct cry that made her veins fill with black ice.

“Mama!”

Alcina charged down the hallway, adrenaline pumping madly through her entire body. A pair of quietly conversing maids saw her coming and jumped out of the way, pressing close to the walls. They should thank their lucky stars for their quick reflexes because she would have flayed them if they had gotten in her way.

“Bela!” She was shouting, now. “Where are you? Bela!”

She didn’t stop to listen this time, but she did strain her ears. There were no noises in response, not even an utter. She picked up her pace.

Alcina broke out into the grand foyer and three things slammed into her at once: first, the overwhelming stench of semen that was so thick and heavy she could almost taste it when she breathed through her mouth; second, the chill seeping in through the half-open front door; and third, the crumpled form of her eldest daughter curled up on the floor, shaking all over.

“Bela!”

Alcina rushed over to Bela’s side, noticing the way she tried to crawl away with bruised limbs. However, it wasn’t until she set her hands on her child’s shoulder that Bela let out a heart-wrenching scream.

“No! NO!”

Alcina snapped her hands away as though she had touched fire. Words could not begin to explain how awful it was to be a mother and be stared at with so much horror by her baby. Bela looked downright terrified of her--and then she noticed a sort of glaze in her eyes, as though she were peering out from a dirty window. She didn’t seem to be seeing Alcina as her mother, but as someone or something that struck great fear inside of her.

“Bela,” Alcina spoke softly. “It’s alright. I’m not going to hurt you. I would never hurt you.”

Bela shook her head and tried to shield her face with her arms, all while weeping, “No more, no more…”

Anger sparked deep within Alcina. Who could have possibly scarred her baby so badly that she didn’t even recognize her own mother?

Taming her rage so she wouldn’t scare Bela, Alcina reached out and lightly brushed Bela’s shoulder again, making her flinch and whimper sharply. The black dress she was wearing was in tatters, barely clinging to her frame, and the skin that laid underneath was grimy and scraped. It looked like she had gotten into a fight with a wolf and lost, but Alcina could tell this was much, much worse than anything a mangy hound could do.

“Bela,” Alcina said again. “My darling. It’s only me. Your mother. You’re safe. You’re alright.”

Bela peeked out of her arms reluctantly, and the eye that peered up at Alcina was clouded with tears. She blinked several times, as though she were trying to dispel a dense fog shrouding her vision, and then recollection seemed to dawn on her.

“Mama?” Bela croaked, her voice hoarse and weak. Her breathing, once shallow and wheezy, began to thicken, becoming heavier and more ragged as the seconds ticked by. The incessant shivering that infected her frame worsened until Alcina thought her eyeballs may just rattle right out of her skull. She whimpered.

“Yes, my love. It’s me.”

“Mama,” Bela said again. A fresh hurricane of tears stormed her eyes, pouring down her cheeks. “Mama!”

Bela collapsed into Alcina’s arms, sobbing. Instantly, the stench of semen increased tenfold, plugging Alcina’s nostrils and tickling her tongue. She fought the urge to gag. How anyone could thirst for such a poison was unknown to her, but there wasn’t time to meddle in human mating preferences. Right now, the only thing that mattered was the girl shaking and bleating like a baby lamb against her stomach.

Alcina pulled Bela closer to her, not caring about the odor anymore. She looked over her daughter, finding more scratches and rips in her dress, but also a large red patch on the back of her head, where the blonde hair was turned scarlet with blood. There was also a nasty ring around her left ankle that looked like it had been created by some kind of beast, leaking crimson and clear serous fluid. Protectiveness flared inside of her like fire.

“What happened?” Alcina asked, unable to keep the growl out of her voice. “Who did this to you?”

Bela flinched away. Her weeping turned to words and what came out was babbled nonsense: “I’m sorry, Mama, I’m sorry--”

“Hush, my sweet,” Alcina said, but Bela was too worked up to listen to her right now.

“No, no--” Bela shook her head, wincing as she did so. “It’s my fault, it’s all my fault! I’m s-sorry!”

Alcina’s eyebrows furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

Bela sniffled. Alcina wondered if she could smell the stink on her, too.

“I-- I went out hunting. Alone. Even though you forbid it.” Her daughter hung her head shamefully, letting Alcina glimpse the wound on the back of her skull again. “I wanted-- I wanted to get you something. A gift. And I had one, too! The heart of a man! But then-- but then I got caught in a hunter’s trap and-- and--” She dissolved into tears once again.

Alcina frowned. She always knew her eldest child’s hopeless devotion to her would get her into trouble. As much as she loved how Bela looked up to her, even she had to admit that it was rather worrying. Bela seemed to function solely on praise, always scratching for any ounce of approval, wanting only to please Alcina, even if it meant throwing her own needs out the window. Alcina remembered how she once briefly mentioned how nice it would be to hear her favorite song on piano and Bela interpreted that as a request, so she taught herself how to play the entire melody over the span of three days. As beautiful as the performance had been, Bela hadn’t slept or eaten or drank anything in that time, taking away her own basic needs until she finished her “task.” She never thought about herself and her body made her pay the price for it when she blacked out instantly after playing. Now history was repeating itself all over again--but, this time, it wasn’t her own immune system that exacted a fiery punishment upon her. That much was clear from Bela’s terror.

“Bela,” Alcina said. “Who hurt you? What did they do to you?”

Bela’s shoulder shook violently with the weight of her sobs. She didn’t look up at Alcina, much too ashamed of herself. Alcina could tell that much. Her daughter was practically radiating chagrin as much as she radiated emission.

“You can tell me, darling,” Alcina urged, softening her tone. “I won’t be mad at you.”

Bela peeked up at her nervously. Her face was blotchy and red, shiny with sweat and tears. “You-- you won’t?”

“I won’t,” Alcina assured her. “I promise. I would never get mad at you.”

Bela hesitated. She appeared to be trying to calm herself down, but it all fell apart when she shifted and seemed to be struck with great pain because she let out a heart-wrenching cry and curled up in Alcina’s arms, grasping at her dress with desperate claws. When she attempted to speak, Alcina could only make out snippets in between ragged gasps and distressed whimpers and heavy sobs.

“They-- men-- came at me-- too many-- couldn’t fight-- tried-- held me down-- touched me-- so scared-- hurts-- Mama-- Mama, it hurts!”

Alcina understood.

Alcina understood and she saw red.

An animalistic snarl that could frighten wolves bubbled from her throat and she bared her sharp teeth at the front door that was still slightly ajar, letting frigid, late-autumn air creep inside like an unwanted guest. She clenched Bela tighter against her, her claws beginning to grow in and hook into her daughter protectively, not quite realizing how much strength she was using until Bela squealed in pain. Instantly, her grip loosened, her talons retracted, her teeth tucked away back behind her lips, and she jerked her head to the side, yelling for a maid. One came rather quickly, and she had the sneaking suspicion that they were being spied on, but it didn’t matter. It was beneath her at the moment. Far beneath her.

“Run a hot bath in my room,” Alcina ordered. She tucked Bela in close to her stomach, trying to hide her ruined form from prying eyes. Nobody deserved to see the girl in such a state, certainly not a lowly maid.

The maid, a lanky, ash brown-haired young woman, nodded hastily, not even sparing Bela a glance, which Alcina appreciated. This one would be spared for a while.

A noise alerted Alcina, and she looked down to see that Bela was prattling on nonsensically, her watery words half-muffled by her dress.

“I’m so sorry-- didn’t mean it-- all my fault-- shouldn’t have gone-- should have known better-- don’t deserve this--”

The last comment in particular caught Alcina like a fishhook. She squeezed Bela tightly.

“Do not say that,” she said firmly. “You deserve my care. You are very unwell, Bela.”

Bela shook her head, whimpering. “It’s my fault it happened. I shouldn’t-- I shouldn’t have-- I shouldn’t--” Her breathing picked up.

“Bela, my sweet girl, take a breath,” Alcina said. “It’s alright. You need to breathe.”

Bela just shook her head again and buried her face back into Alcina’s stomach, not offering anymore words. She didn’t seem to be up to talking further. Alcina rubbed up and down her back to comfort her as they waited for the maid to return.

Alcina wasn’t sure how long she was crouched on the floor, breathing in the fumes of ejaculate, but the maid eventually came back, notifying her that the bath was ready. She sent her away before scooping Bela up into her arms, eliciting a sharp cry of pain from her daughter. Bela buried her face against her neck, shuddering, and Alcina felt hot tears slither down over her collarbone. Alcina cooed to Bela to calm her down as she carried her to her bedroom.

Inside the bathroom, Alcina carefully removed Bela’s dress. Every movement seemed to hurt her daughter, so she worked gently, not wanting to worsen her discomfort. Once the gown was off, she threw the tattered fabric into the far corner. It would need to be burned.

Now that Bela wasn’t wearing anything, Alcina could see the full extent of her wounds. Angry red scratch marks were scored up and down her back, sides, and stomach like some kind of sick point system, some crusted on the edges with blood and discharge, others flaked with mud and dirt. Purple bite marks were scattered on her neck and breasts, as though the men who had attacked her were the blood-sucking beasts and she was the cattle.  Her thin wrists were swollen in the distinct maroon shape of fingerprints and her thighs were splattered in bruises and smeared with red--among other sick-smelling fluids.

The sight made Alcina absolutely enraged, but she stamped down her fury for the sake of her daughter. As much as she wanted to go find the monsters who did this, Bela needed her. She couldn’t just leave her.

“Alright, my darling,” Alcina said. “Let’s get you washed off.”

Bela didn’t fight her when Alcina lifted her up and set her into the hot water. In fact, she didn’t seem to be all too there anymore, too lost in her own shock and pain. She just stared numbly at the wall with half-lidded, glazed-over eyes as Alcina washed her shoulders and back and hair. Even cleaning the wound on the back of her head didn’t wake her up, despite the way she flinched in reaction to the pain.

“Bela.” Alcina gave Bela’s cheek a light pat. “My darling. Look at me.”

Bela blinked and her eyes focused on her. Alcina smiled softly at her.

“There’s my pretty girl,” Alcina cooed.

“Mama,” Bela rasped. Her head lolled back, resting against the wall the bathtub was situated against. “Hurts…”

Alcina frowned. She had a few draughts to relieve pain, but she didn’t trust the maids to get the right kind of medicine for her daughters. Not anymore. Not since Cassandra had asked for an elixir that would soothe some tooth pain she was having and a maid swapped it out for poison with the intent of killing her. Alcina had found her precious child seizing on the ground, foaming at the mouth, drowning in her own blood and froth. She vividly remembered watching Bela reach in with her fingers and scoop out the fluids from Cassandra’s mouth to keep her sister from choking further. If it weren’t for Bela’s quick thinking and excessive knowledge on poisons from spending so much time researching everything, Alcina may have lost a child that day. The maid, of course, was punished severely. When she was done with her, she wasn’t even recognizable. That being said, she would have to go and retrieve the brew herself.

Of course, there were her other two children, but she trusted them as much as she trusted the maids. Ever since Daniela and Cassandra had peer pressured Bela into drinking a random mixture they found--something about her needing to be more headstrong and stop letting them walk all over her--and Bela ended up being incredibly dizzy and unwell for several hours because that particular tonic had the strength to knock out a horse, she didn’t have the most faith that her younger daughters would grab the right bottle, whether it be intentional or not.

So that left her. Looking over Bela’s state, she knew the girl wouldn’t be happy if she went away for even a minute, but she didn’t have a choice. She would have to risk upsetting her daughter so she could relieve her of her pain.

But first, however, she needed Bela to feed, to regain at least some of her strength and consciousness.

Alcina tore open her wrist with her teeth and then pressed it to Bela’s lips. Bela instantly flinched back, her eyes popping open wide.

“It’s just me, darling,” Alcina murmured. “Just me. You’re okay.”

Bela blinked at her hazily, then looked at her bleeding wrist. Tentatively, she began to feed from it, sucking nervously from Alcina’s veins.

“Good girl,” Alcina cooed.

Despite the praise, however, Bela pulled back after only a few seconds, a look of sickness on her face. When Alcina urged her to feed more, she shook her head and shrunk away with a whimper, snaking her arms around her stomach.

“Alright,” Alcina said. “I’m going to leave for just a moment, okay? I’ll be right back, I promise.”

Bela’s head jerked up. She shook it furiously.

“I’m going to go get something that will help with the pain,” Alcina told her, caressing her cheek. “Just stay calm for me. I won’t be long.”

Bela whimpered and fretted like a baby animal as Alcina left the bathroom, but she forced herself to keep from rushing back to her side. She retrieved two different draughts, both in dark vials, and returned quickly, just as she had promised. However, she seemed to be gone long enough for something else to happen because when she walked back inside the bathroom, the bathtub was empty, the floor had turned into the equivalent of a small lake, and Bela was on her hands and knees in front of the toilet, throwing up.

“My baby!”

Alcina nearly slipped in the water on the ground as she rushed to her daughter’s side. It seemed Bela had scrambled out of the bathtub in a hurry. Her dress became damp as she knelt down, but she could hardly care. She swept Bela’s hair out of the way and rubbed her back as she retched.

“Mama,” Bela moaned once she finished. She looked up at Alcina, a thin line of bile dribbling down the side of her mouth, her eyes bright with tears. “It hurts…”

“I know, darling,” Alcina stroked her cheek. “It’ll be okay soon. I have something for you that may help.”

She showed Bela the vials. Usually, Bela would start guessing what they were, always eager to show off her knowledge on these kinds of things, but she didn’t seem to care about what they were. She just seemed exhausted, hollow, drained. Empty.

Alcina was going to kill the animals that did this to her baby.

Alcina uncapped the first vial. It smelled strongly of herbs. She pressed it to Bela’s lips, and Bela sipped obediently.

“This will help with the pain,” she informed. “And this,” she opened the second vial, this one smelling faintly of alcohol. “This will purge any disgusting parasites those beasts put in you. Drink, my sweet. Rid your body of their toxins.”

Bela obeyed again, drinking it all. If she didn’t like the taste, she didn’t show it aside from a twitch of her nose.

“Now,” Alcina set both vials aside. “Do you think you can try feeding for me again?”

Bela nodded. Alcina gave her a warm smile, then pricked the same wound on her wrist and held it out to Bela. Bela latched on and began drinking her blood, this time not pulling away.

“That’s my good girl,” Alcina cooed, stroking Bela’s head with her other hand. She knew her blood would soothe Bela’s abused throat, even if it hurt to swallow. The warmth was good for her regardless. Wash away the taste. Force down whatever stickiness was still latched against her esophagus.

She wouldn’t be able to tame her anger for much longer.

When Bela finished drinking, Alcina had her wash down in the bath one more time before drying and dressing her. Her ankle still seemed to be an issue, swelling up and inflaming red, so she flushed it out with alcohol. It earned her claw marks in her shoulders when Bela clung to her and cried in reaction to the burn, but it was worth it if it meant warding off any infection.

Alcina carried Bela to the bed, already knowing she wouldn’t want to be alone. It took a moment for Bela to get comfortable, twisting and turning when both her stomach and back proved to cause her pain, before finally settling on her side, curled up tightly against Alcina’s warmth. Alcina kept her arms around her, soothing her when she got restless until, finally, she relaxed.

Or, as relaxed as someone who just got raped could be.

The thought made Alcina so angry. So fucking angry. Of all her daughters, why Bela? She would hate for this to happen to any of them, but Bela had never done anything wrong. She didn’t have the same sadism as her younger sisters. She was merciful. Even if that made her a faulty beast, she deserved this least of all.

Alcina knew Bela probably wouldn’t sleep very much, and she knew that was to be expected. She was prepared for it. She knew how this worked.

But still. Revenge couldn’t go unserved.

She couldn’t wait any longer.

“Daniela! Cassandra!”

--- --- ---

“Daniela! Cassandra!”

Bela’s head snapped up. “No, Mama, no--”

Mother frowned down at her. She caressed her cheek, and Bela couldn’t help but press into her hand hungrily. She craved her mother’s touch in a way she couldn’t explain. She wanted it forever and always. She desired it as much as she desired her praise. But right now, even it couldn’t dispel the building panic mounting within her.

“Please, Mama, I don’t want them to-- they can’t-- please--”

But it was too late.

The sound of buzzing stormed into the room, and Bela hid her face against her mother’s dress. She couldn’t let her sisters see her like this.

Cassandra came in first, materializing out of a swarm of beetles and roaches, then Daniela, who took shape from a seething of blowflies and gnats. Even without looking up, Bela could feel their eyes bearing into her. She tried to hide beneath the blankets, but was unwilling to separate herself from her mother’s warmth. She wished it could just be the two of them, as much as she loved her sisters.

“What’s going on?” Cassandra asked.

“I need you to watch your sister,” Mother answered. “She is unwell.”

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t the oldest not need any care?”

Daniela nudged her, tittering. “This is Bela we’re talking about, Cassie. You know how she is. I’m still convinced I was actually the oldest, but Mother just says that Bela is the oldest to help build her confidence.”

“Please. We all know I would be the oldest.”

“Okay, okay, let’s compromise: we’d both be the better oldest sister.”

“That’s fair.”

Bela flinched at their teasing, just barely managing to bite back a whimper. She knew their taunting was always in good fun--most of the time, at least; Daniela sometimes blurred the lines between playful and hurtful--but she still let everything they said get under her skin, as though their insects were burrowing into her.

“Quiet, you two,” Mother scolded lightly. “Bela isn’t well. I’d feel better if she had someone watching over her while I’m gone.”

“Where are you going?” Cassandra asked.

And Daniela, always quick to crack a joke, added, “Damn, Bel, are you that terrible of company?”

Bela whimpered into the folds of Mother’s dress. All it took was one stern glare from Mother to shut Daniela up.

“I’m going to deal with some business,” Mother said, and the venom used in the word ‘business’ suggested she had some terribly bloody plans in store for the men who had assaulted Bela. Bela almost felt sorry for them. Almost. But not enough.

“Can you both do this for me?”

Cassandra and Daniela nodded.

“Thank you, my doves,” Mother said. She then looked down at Bela, stroking the side of her head. “I won’t be long, darling. Your sisters will take care of you. Nothing will happen.”

Bela just barely peeked up at her. She didn’t want Cassandra and Daniela to see her with her face all blotchy and red. She would never hear the end of it if they did.

She gripped tighter to Mother’s dress, burying her face back into the soft fabric. “Please don’t go, Mama,” she begged softly, hoping that her sisters couldn’t hear her quavering.

Mother caressed the side of her head. “I must, sweetheart. I can’t let them get away with what they did to you. I won’t stand for it.”

“But you’re sitting down,” Daniela put in helpfully, and Cassandra snorted into her hand. They both shut up when Mother gave them a sharp look, but Bela didn’t miss the small, fond smile that twitched on Mother’s lips.

“I’ll be back as soon as possible,” Mother said.

A kiss was pressed to the top of Bela’s head, and she realized this wasn’t a fight she would be able to win. Her claws were gently pried loose from the dress and the warmth she had been desperately clinging to disappeared, replaced by a chill that infected her heart like talons of ice.

“Play nice,” Mother said to Cassandra and Daniela before whisking out of the room in a hurry, her claws already brandished.

For a moment, silence was left behind. Then, a body bounced onto the bed next to Bela, and Bela flinched away. She curled up in the blankets, burying her face in the softness as Daniela got uncomfortably close.

“So…” Daniela started, practically speaking in Bela’s ear. “What happened? You seem pretty messed up.”

Bela didn’t answer. She didn’t trust her voice to not waver if she did. She couldn’t handle any more humiliation.

“I think she got her tongue cut out,” Daniela said to Cassandra.

Cassandra rolled her eyes. She sat down on the edge of the bed. “We literally just heard her talking. Explain that.”

“It fell off?”

Cassandra coughed to hide a laugh. She then poked Bela in the side, causing Bela to whimper in pain when a particularly sore area ached in response.

“Seriously, though. What’s wrong with you?”

Bela didn’t even know where to begin. There was so much to unpack in such a short amount of time. Their naked bodies, their disheveled hair, their sweaty penises inside her. Those animals pinning her down, licking her, forcing themselves into her, smashing their mouths against hers, clawing and grasping and groping. Their heavy breaths in her ears, the purrs about her being “so pretty for a monster,” the laughter when she tried to escape. Her own voice, ringing hollow in her mouth, and her blood, smeared all over.

She couldn’t handle it. She couldn’t handle it.

Another whimper bubbled forth. Bela began to cry into the blankets, unable to keep her emotions at bay. It was all too much for her.

“Aww,” Daniela cooed, and Bela couldn’t tell if she was being patronizing or genuine. “Poor thing.”

Her head was then cradled against Daniela’s chest, wrapped in both of her sister’s arms. Daniela stroked her hair with her claws, trying to be comforting, but the effect was sort of negated when her talons repeatedly brushed over the sensitive welt on the back of Bela’s head. Still, Bela appreciated the gesture, even if she was continuously wincing and growing nauseous with pain.

“Well, whatever it was,” Cassandra said. “Mother is dealing with it.”

“I hope she brings something back,” Daniela said wistfully.

Bela really hoped she didn’t. She didn’t want to see a single piece of those men, even if they were mangled and bloodied.

Shutting her eyes tightly, Bela tried to imagine that Daniela was her mother. She wanted Mother back already, and it was that clinginess that made her feel pathetic and weak. Weaker and more pathetic than she already knew she was.

Yes, it was always Bela who would rather read books than participate in torture. Bela, who was the reason they couldn’t feast on opossums. Bela, who was a poor fighter and hunter because she spent all her time learning new information or sewing instead of learning how to defend herself. Bela, who was overly polite to the maids and sometimes made friends with them. Bela, who needed her mommy’s approval to feel good about anything she did because her self-worth and self-confidence were that far into the ground. Bela, who should have been born as anyone else and could never live up to her own standards.

The tears came faster. Bela’s shoulders began to shake as she cried. She wanted Mother back. She didn’t care how pathetic that made her. She needed her mom.

“Mama,” Bela sobbed, momentarily forgetting that she wasn’t alone, but she didn’t even register the embarrassment at the moment. She was too overwhelmed with her own pitiful separation anxiety and uselessness.

“It’s okay, Bel,” Daniela said, scratching her head as though she were a hound. “Mother will be back soon!”

‘Soon’ ended up being an hour and a half, and by then, Bela was sure she had chased their mother away with her burden.

But then, the bedroom door slammed open and there was Mother, as clean as she was when she had left. However, she was wearing a different dress and there was a visible loss of tension in her shoulders that hadn’t been there before.

Daniela shook Bela. “Bel, look! She’s back!”

Bela’s head snapped up. Mother gave her a loving smile.

“Hello, darling.”

“Mama,” Bela reached for her mother, not caring how childish it made her, and Mother obliged to her beckoning, sweeping over and bundling her into her warm arms. Bela curled up immediately, relaxing considerably.

“I told you I would be back,” Mother said, pressing a kiss to her hairline.

Bela couldn’t reply. She just nuzzled in closer. She felt her sisters press into either side of Mother, but she didn’t mind. She was just happy to be secure, even if she didn’t deserve it.

Before those men were inside of her, she was inside of herself. She had a feeling that they wouldn’t be leaving for awhile, even now that they were dead, but she could cope with it, as long as her mother was there to hold her together.

She just wished she had grabbed the heart.