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2n2n · 2 years

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resisting each other; what is satisfaction, here?

a more general musing about Kou and Mitsuba.... I suppose just discussing how I think about them and what they look like, to me, in the grand scheme of the manga's relationships.

So, touching on every romance in the manga thus far here, contemplating .... about endgames, about love, about dreams, about acceptance, about indulgence, you know the deal.

For the mostpart, I think Mitsuba and Kou serves as a contrast to our main romances, Amane/Tsukasa and Amane/Nene. To me, it's mostly defined by where it struggles, and what it lacks, and all the unrest and lack of fulfillment it has as a result….

Most of the crucial romances in JSHK feature couples who met as children, at least on one side-- Sumire met Hakubo when she was 6, Aoi and Akane met at age 3, the Yugi are what they are, and we're peppering about Amane (and Tsukasa..)'s young life life a confusing array of meeting a mysterious beautiful girl who is exactly his type. Most were… at least, on instance of meeting, monumentally impactful and important, and, beautiful in some way. Akane and Aoi, Sumire and Hakubo, they will always remember their meeting their love, and their first impressions. There was never a moment between Tsukasa and Amane that they weren't thinking of the other, and vitally important.

It's interesting, in contrast, the dearth of reassurance in value between Kou and Mitsuba, mutually so. Such an insecure situation. Every pairing has some amount of insecurity (Aoi didn't believe Akane would love her real self, Hanako doesn't belief Yashiro will really love him if she knew the truth of his past, Amane has been scared of talking to Tsukasa again after the murder, Nene is insecure about Hanako's motivations around her)

You can understand how Mitsuba is standoffish and refuses to admit Kou's value to him easily for so long, because, in effect, Kou already 'rejected' Mitsuba, by not remembering him at all, despite a year of sitting next to him. It's not that they met once or twice and then parted ways, flippantly,

it's that Mitsuba thought they were friends,

but had to learn, that they weren't, because Kou couldn't remember him. It's not merely being a phantom obscuring him-- Kou can look at his actual appearance, hear his name, and remember absolutely nothing....

Even other classmates have a better impression of 'Mitsuba', compared to Kou....

It's not too unusual for 'first impressions' to be a bit poor. Aoi did not like Akane on first impression,

Hakubo saw Sumire as an obligate chore,

Amane was capable of being annoyed by his little brother, as a child

of course, Hanako found Nene amusing, but didn't humanize her much on meeting, and found her shallow and simple

And kids aren't good at expressing themselves.

One of the only solid memories we see Kou have of Mitsuba from back then, appears to be a dismal, sad-eyed Mitsuba ? .. and in his most sincere moments, he's remembering this boy.

I want to say that Kou only remembers this so distinctly because of the deep, inexplicable, mystifying atmosphere. Heavier than anything he is exposed to, as his brother shields him from his own pain and their family's legacy of it. Mitsuba's pain and lonliness leaves the biggest impression-- from a boy who has a dearth of 'impression' going for him. (I hope we get to dive into what on earth the context of this memory actually is. The shards suggest it is a real memory and not a symbolic image of the camera being left behind, so... I wonder what Mitsuba was going through that day, whether or not Kou knew)

Kou has a sort of allure to misery, somehow,

(^ a sadist, by the way…)

I want to say it's a genetic predisposition when you're a Minamoto…

much like the Akane family appears to have a predisposition to some emotional/social issues, after so many generations of breeding isolated girls who die young. Sumire and Aoi both have a nature that seeks their own death and doesn't ask for rescue. The Minamoto boys have some violent predisposition........

so its interesting he is allured by the suffering-in-silence Mitsuba, and remembers best the boy with pain behind his eyes.

… but back on the topic of being a sort of opposite to something like the Yugi, it's this quality where there is so much resistance and fighting, where the twins appeared to have willingness.

Kou fights Mitsuba's suicidal urge; Mitsuba fights Kou's suicidal urge in Picture Perfect (hypocrit…). The Yugi die together seemingly without a fight, Amane at least willingly killing himself after.

Amane is seemingly very peaceful and permissive to being physically hurt by Tsukasa.

The Yugi seem to have… from what little we know, a very disordered amount of attachment and acceptance of unusual behavior from each other, with no resistance on either side to it.

Kou and Mitsuba are essentially always fighting, and defined by that.

Almost every conflict of theirs is VERY physical, VERY butting heads, very throttling eachother.

Kou is quite "I will MAKE YOU get better, you WILL come with me, you WILL live". He will accost and assault to get that accomplished. Mitsuba will scream and resist.

whereas Amane seemed to receive his brother's behavior, leaving him covered in wounds, passively, acceptingly, "it's OK if you don't get better. I'll love you anyway. I'll always be here, even if you hurt me, even if it's bad."

Thats my impression of the Yugi. That, perhaps, to a damaging extent, Amane refused to impose on Tsukasa or punish, or reject him, for anything. Refused to correct or resist. Wanted to accept everything, in pure love. And may still be doing this, now, doing nothing to meaningfully stop Tsukasa.

Mitsuba won't let Kou harm him, he won't lay there and take it. No matter how awful he feels.

(to be true, Nene also doesn't sit there and let Hanako harm her, she's capable of yelling at or correcting him ... though she's less physically aggressive than Mitsuba, and Amane is more likely to want to pacify her, put her to sleep, lie or manipulate situations, intimidate with behavior, than behave overtly violently)

I say all of this, but I don't think Mitsuba and Kou are the Gallant to the Yugi's Goofus. I think accepting someone's capacity for harm and embracing them at their 'worst' is the cornerstone of JSHK….

…and obviously, Mitsuba's fears that Kou will never accept him as the monster he is (BECAUSE Kou is a 'good guy', a 'hero'), are not a romantic thing to have going on. It'd be better for Mitsuba to feel "I know Kou will love me no matter what, even if I hurt others, even if I hurt HIM."

Something the Yugi already pulled through and saw to beautiful, romantic completion. ...though without some crucial communication!!

Of course, Sumire also accepted Hakubo for exactly what he was, and vice versa. Sumire being a controlling person who insidiously wanted to torment her lover with misery over her eternally, was a desire Hakubo was happy to finally satisfy. He didn't have to correct her out of wanting that, and she didn't have to correct him out of being an Oni, with an urge to consume her. They satisfy one another.

Hanako and Nene are also pulling through those hurdles, farther along. I think Nene has more of Hanako yet to accept, and she surprises him at every turn with her acceptance.

It's not as if Akane argues against all of Aoi's flaws, or wants to correct her out of them… he states them plainly; they are the reasons he loves her, just as she is. She doesn't need to become a more warm-hearted person to earn Akane's love.

So…. with all of that in mind, Kou and Mitsuba resisting eachother at every turn, fighting eachother's natures, mistrusting one another, is not the proper endgame for them, I think, but I also think the purpose of them is to … be, 'the long road to hoe' with the most amount for them both to need to learn before they can… get, anywhere. Both of them utterly dig their heels in about risking emotional falls.... Mitsuba out of a feeling of rejection, and Kou out of being coddled.

I don't think Kou, spectating all of the romances thus far in their entirety (I really don't think he has a complete view of HanaNene…), would say he likes or wants any of that, but obviously, he has a romantic core somewhere begging for exactly that sort of thing….

and its not that he thinks "Mitsuba would never say that, because it's a wrong or bad thing to ask of someone else", or, "Mitsuba wouldn't say that because he's not weird and testing me", it's,

..... that Mitsuba doesn't trust him with that kind of immensity and preciousness. Followthrough. Commitment. Mitsuba doesn't typically ask Kou for anything.... despite what he wants, feels.

I wish I could know what Mitsuba would do, if he could see firsthand how badly Kou wants for Mitsuba to ask him to do something so monumental for him … a devotional act of complete, destructive trust. The opportunity to 'be a hero' for someone to a-- CRAZY extreme. Kou wants the satisfaction of that extreme.

… an extreme that others already have gone to!

Hakubo avenges Sumire's death, driven mad by it, kills dozens,

a beautiful gesture of his pain. His boundary's obsessive repeating of the day, his endless fixation on it, and the final culmination of his roiling desire for her, consuming her, all so extreme, but necessary, to reassure the hopelessness of his love, a girl undervalued in life.

Akane throws himself into the Far Shore and commits that he would love Aoi, even if it killed him.

Nene attempts to give her own life up to be with Hanako, her ultimate gesture of want to be with him (which Hanako rejects, and Tsukasa pities her for being rejected on).

Amane gave up his future for Tsukasa.

The first thing to make an impression on Sakura, is Natsuhiko's willingness to remain by her side, even after her endgame of oblivion is known.

Love is rather inherently destructive, here. It asks for sacrifice… it begs for risk. Get some skin in the game! Let it devour your life, sink all of your purpose into it, discard everything ever in your life for it!

What does it matter, to be part of the Student Counsel, to be someone's son, to be some classmate's friend, if Aoi is suffering, if Aoi wants to die, if Aoi won't be there? He would rather die with her, if she wants to die.

What does it matter to Nene, to stay alive, to go to college, to live to an old age, to get a job, to see her friends grow up, to grow more vegetables, if Hanako won't be there? She would rather die, to be with him.

What does it matter to Hakubo to continue serving the village, caring for kannagi, fighting kaii that invade, punishing escapees, if Sumire is dead? He would rather they all die, and the village destroy him, too.

What did it matter to Amane, to live a life free from pain and suffering, to pursue astrology and a future, if Tsukasa, perhaps, couldn't join him? Would never be able to follow him to college? He would rather his body be battered and bruised, he would rather die with Tsukasa!

What does it matter to Mitsuba, to exist, to continue to suffer and fight to persist another day, if nobody is there to love him?

What is Kou fighting for, who is Kou trying so hard to impress? Himself? His brother? Mitsuba? Well, a lot of those things are in conflict with one another ... impressing one means rejecting the other. He cannot double down on everything at once.

So…. Mitsuba and Kou are trying to be responsible with one another right now, trying to steer the other away from a destructive impulse, and largely because Mitsuba doesn't feel he is worth anything. He's not worth Kou losing his life, he's so worthless that he should die. Kou wants to prove his worth by being asked to do something monumental, but Mitsuba asked for the wrong monumental favor. They're still at such odds …

(and to be true, Hanako doesn't feel he is worth Yashiro losing her life for, either.)

What on earth would leaning into a destructive impulse mean for Mitsuba and Kou? They both definitely /have/ destructive impulses/interests …

Right now they're trying to curb the other when they get too crazy. But, they don't really 'get anywhere' after. Stuck in… a limbo of, just sort of existing. They cannot satisfy one another or prove much… its just about stopping one another, but, then doing nothing, winding up perpetually insecure in time for the next crisis.

Kou nebulously proved he would accept Mitsuba's dangerous urges, but, I think he could be tested further, and Mitsuba deserves to know the full extent to which Kou would accept him, and not so vaguely (it often feels as if Kou is hardly paying attention to all of the implications going on, too focused on his own complexes to really grasp the ramifications and make a conscious conclusion….).

I would really love for Mitsuba to permanently harm Kou in some way that effects his life I guess, something which would also finally be noticed by Teru (it's almost funny if it looks like Kou is effectively in an abusive relationship lol. just to pour one out for Amane, who dealt with people perceiving him as being abused), and require Kou to actually take a stand on either side of the fence he's sitting on at the moment. He just promised his brother to take exorcism seriously, while simultaneously allowing a self-admitted and proven dangerous kaii to exist…

I'd like Kou to confront that he doesn't care if Mitsuba is dangerous.

Also, I don't know, why does he like to hurt Mitsuba? Is that anything? Is that important to their arc? He's always smashing him around and blasting him. In the Ghost Hotel AU he is outright chasing him down, cutting off pieces of him and eating them. Where do KOU's sadistic urges come into play? Beyond…. forcing Mitsuba to live despite the agony of it all. And anyway, he forces him to live for, more or less, the sake of it. Not for himself (or, he won't admit that out loud).

As it is , Mitsuba and Kou hurt me to watch, and are almost the antithesis of romance in their actions …

I don't think the idea of romance as it is in the manga is 'over' of course, this is not 'the endgame' ... there's I think a 'further step' of ............ having a wish, having a dream, having hope.... Having a 'future'. Being yourself, and, doing whatever you want. WANTING something more than the BARE MINIMUM. INDULGING in the love you have, having the life you want with them!!

its not just sacrifice after sacrifice, dying to prove things, and suffering through pain for pain's sake .... there is something to do with, love, and, honesty, and, taboo desires and dreams that break the systems in place-- systems that want to punish relationships and dreams like our cast.

Systems that say, kaii should be exterminated, humans and kaii can't have intimate relationships, kaii don't have feelings, kaii are inherently destructive, destructive things need to be destroyed, you can't be in love with your brother. Much ado about 'bad, aberrant desires' or 'things you can't want' 'things you can't have' ......

Well. I wonder what Mitsuba and Kou really would dream of, if they could have anything they want ... I don't know what would satisfy them both. Mitsuba has been wanting only the bare minimum of someone to remember me, someone to care about me. Kou has been wanting the bare minimum of someone to trust me, someone to rely on me with important things. Much like Nene in vol.1 merely wanted, 'anyone, to be in a relationship with me'.

They're so obsessed with stopping each other or fighting each other ... I wonder what them not fighting eachother about something, would even look like, longterm.

I mean... as much as I wonder, what it would look like, if Hanako stopped refusing to communicate, and finally said what he feels about Nene, and Tsukasa....

#avvy's JSHK

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smoughenthusiast · 2 years

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Ok, it’s time.

Hello, my most mysterious mutual that I am well beyond my obligation to reach out to. I admire your dedication to Soulsborne, and admittedly if I were not so immersed in Bloodborne right now, I’d be all over your blog.

(My Dark Souls/Demon’s Souls hyper-fixation will come back stronger one of these days. I just tend to focus on one game at a time).

Anyway, tell me—how did you end up loving Petrus, the character everyone wants to kick off the Firelink Shrine cliff? I am extremely curious and want to hear your inevitably brilliant insight.

(I don’t care if it’s for meme purposes, that’s still amazing. Also what’s your take on Reah and Petrus? I want ALL OF THE JUICE <3)

Well well, isn't this quite the inquisitive ask...hehehehoho

Well then. I will tell you, why I like Petrus so much, mutual. I will give the EXACT reason why I have an attachment to one of the most underwhelming, horrendous, sadistic and horrible-haircut'd men in soulsborne. Are you ready? Yes, I think you are ready, truly. The truth is near...

Yeah sorry this mightve been a little underwhelming LMAO autism said he looked cool and now I have to follow it like a dog to its leash shrugs...i still do kill him sometimes tho, don't get me wrong, he is a bastard through and through and he made getting my Prayer of the Maiden achievement a little more difficult then it should have been... but he is forgiven because autism said so. Waiting for this specific hyperfixation to end ngl, BUT THE GOOD THING IS, I also like Rhea and it made me have huge, in-depth theories on the two honestly. That, and I've worldbuilt Thorolund with my own ocs, but that's for another ask's time hehe

So on Petrus/Rhea dynamic, I actually wrote a HUGE fic on this topic, detailing their time on Thorolund and how it associates with the game's time. Basically, Petrus had always despised the pettiness of the rich, and now that mostly everyone is undead his time has come to murder and slaughter. Rhea used to be one of his students during his time as a schoolteacher (hc moment), and he knows that she used to hang out with Vince and Nico often, which is why he expresses they could be a bad influence on her because he thinks they might put the pieces together to deduce he is NOT a good person...

Gaslight, gatekeep, boyboss Petrus. Rhea is better though she is precious and I will not be letting Petrus touch her nono...he can die...i want my pretty maiden...

link to the fic, if you'd like (7k word oneshot moment I HAD to get it out at some point)

Thank you for the ask mutual, and I hope a kitten kisses you in your sleep. From DarkDemonsouls fan to Bloodborne fan, I shake your hand in "its ok I had a mini bloodborne phase ngl"

#thanks for the ask mutual #i like ur bb content with your silly bloody crow yes tes #not the first time ive had someone ask why I love petrus sm ngl

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cathygeha · 1 month

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REVIEW

Hard Country by Ian Loome

Rogue Warrior #5

Intrigued with the story and immersed in the plot, I stayed up till the wee hours of the morning to make sure things came “right” in the end. Having missed two books in the series, I stepped right back into this book without skipping a beat finding no trouble picking up the Rogue Warrior’s story.

What I liked:

* Bob: ex-CIA assassin, diagnosed with ADHD & PTSD, intelligent, strong, lethal, has his own personal moral compass, protective, trying to avoid assassins, intriguing, would like to know more about him

* Getting back in touch with Bob and finding out how he is doing

* Seeing that Dawn & Marcus from the first book are still alive and doing well…though Marcus is in a bit of a pickle

* The way Bob adapts and adjusts while trying to use lethal force – most of the time

* The plot, pacing, setting and writing – I grew up in California so some of the places were familiar

* That not all of the bad guys were totally bad, and the good guys were also sometimes flawed

* The way the tables were turned on some who were more than eager to harm others for their twisted pleasure or for monetary gain

* The ins and outs, twists and turns, and ultimate mostly positive conclusion of the book

* That though I was unsettled and upset at times, the author chose not to become graphic as he mentioned dog fights, revenge, payback, and sadistic actions

* Thinking about where Bob will end up next

What I didn’t like: * Who and what I was meant not to like

* The drug kingpin and how evilly despicable he was

* The corruption and evil of the bad guys

* The reference to animal and human abuse/pain – made me angry and want the characters punished

Did I like this book? Yes

Would I read more in this series/by this author? Yes

NOTE: I would recommend reading the first book in the series because it includes Bob’s backstory.

Thank you to NetGalley and Inkubator books for the ARC – This is my honest review.

5 Stars

BLURB

Bob isn’t looking for trouble. Until someone hurts his friend. When his young friend Marcus is arrested for the murder of a crusading doctor, Bob Singleton rushes to Bakersfield to see if he can help. Convinced Marcus has been framed, Bob will do whatever it takes to clear his name and free him from the violent jail where his life is in constant danger. It doesn’t take Bob long to discover that the murdered doctor was campaigning against a development which would have caused a dangerous level of pollution, harming the local community. He was hurting someone’s bottom line, so he had to go – and Marcus was the perfect fall guy. Bob follows the money which leads him from executive boardrooms back to the mean streets where he battles corrupt police in league with a ruthless gang of meth dealers led by a sociopath who delights in inflicting pain. Bob is just one man fighting a formidable and well-armed organization. They’ll never know what hit them. Hard Country - the fifth book in the thrilling Rogue Warrior action thriller series. Perfect for fans of Jason Kasper, Jack Carr, and Lee Child. What readers are saying about Hard Country: “…I couldn't put this one down… I definitely recommend this.” -Goodreads Reviewer “…one of the best in the series and a very entertaining story.” -Netgalley Reviewer “…definitely a page turner as I got so enthralled I didn't want to put it down.” -Booksprout Reviewer “Good storyline, it kept me engaged. Good amount of action. I can’t wait to see where the series goes from here.” -Booksprout Reviewer

#Ian Loome #Rogue Warrior 5 #Thriller #Action-Packed #Ex-CIA #Drugs #Crime #Murder #Abuse #Torture #Assassin #Corruption

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thecurrator · 2 months

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Ambrova long palette names

Sorry I didn’t Realize People Like You Have Feelings (Einar when he's feeling sadistic)

You Must Have Real Self Confidence Mortal To Attempt Flirting With Something All Holy (Angels when they're being pursued romantically)

Let Your Tender Hands Rip Me Apart (Binary stars. What losers)

Focus On Me (Ignore The Blood) (Einar)

Prove That You Love Me And Reanimate Me (Einar but he would never say such a thing because he wants the sweet release of death. Ira goes through the loop for him anyway.)

Stand Still As The Darkness Grows Roots In Your Mind (Drystan family curse)

Lost In Your Eyes Never To Be Found (Einar @ Ira EUGH)

I Saw The End Of The World In Your Eyes (Ira @ Einar WHY ARE THEY LIKE THIS)

I Touch You And My Hands Burn My Hands Burn My Hands Burn (What Have You Done) (Dyre @ Aaryn when the feelings kick in)

What Are You Doing In My House / Now Now I Don’t Usually Make It A Habit To - Stop Yelling - Break Into People’s Homes But As You Can See Sometimes I Do (1. Einar 2. Dyre)

Well First Of All I Am Positive What You Did Is A Criminal Offense / And Second Of All Why Didn’t You Invite Me (The Drystan twins)

What’s A Little Murder Between Friends (The Drystan twins)

Who Put Strawberries In The Bathtub

Who Put Strawberries In The Bathtub Again

This Is The Third Time Someone Put Strawberries In The Bathtub Who Keeps Doing This Please Stop

(Aaryn would make a great mom friend I'm cracking up just thinking about him having to deal with his space pirate crew)

It’s Not A Good Cake But It’s Not A Bad Cake Either (As Still It Is Cake) (Ira)

Scallops Reside Where My Brain Should Be (Again, Ira. Also shoutout to their sea eldritch ancestor.)

Being In Love And How It Sucks Sometimes (Dyre and Aaryn because they suck)

Do You Remember When You Told Me That You Love Me When You Told Me That You Love Me When You Told Me That You (Binary stars and whatever Dyre and Aaryn have going on)

I Loved You I Did So How Did We End Up Like This (Aaryn @ Ira He was trying his best)

This Will Hurt You More Than It’ll Hurt Me - And That’s Okay! (Einar when he tortures someone. Also shoutout to Dyre's powers.)

American Girls Scare Me (This gave me such visceral Dyre vibes why)

I’m Always At Least A Little Bit Scared Hopeless And Frustrated (Aaryn. Someone help him.)

The Shadow Out The Corner Of Your Eye (Einar)

Can You Help Me Find What’s Wrong With Me (Drystan twins and Aaryn. I believe they would benefit from therapy.)

Unexplainable Excruciating Pain That Started Suddenly And Will Never Go Away (Drystan family curse also the trauma)

An Unhealthy Relationship With One’s Own Identity (Einar)

Men Like Us Aren’t Supposed To Feel These Things (Again, Drystan twins and Aaryn. Inability to be vulnerable?)

Men Like Us Die Alone Because We Think We Deserve It (Aaryn. Okay this actually makes me sad.)

My Lungs Are Full Of Ink (Drystan family curse. I wish I was joking.)

Biting Into A Rubber Ball Like An Apple While Maintaining Full Eye Contact (Dyre. He would do it if pressed.)

I’m Just A Normal Functioning Member Of The Human Race And There Is No Way Anyone Can Prove Otherwise (Every sojouner ever)

Visual Representation Of The Sound A Rainbow Makes (This is giving Iracore)

The Eye Lips Eye Emoji Face Fills Me With Unbridled Rage (Aaryn)

Doctors Say You Need A Consistent Amount Of Sleep To Be Healthy So I Consistently Sleep For 4 Hours A Night (It's giving Aaryn. No sleep for the space pirates.)

Whether You Qualify As A Beach Or Not Depends On The Amount Of Sand You Have Consumed In A Lifetime (This sounds like something Ira would say)

What Will It Take For You To Give Up Your Humanity And Become One With The Night (Drystan family curse Drystan family curse)

My Heart Was Stolen By A Blue-Haired Angel With Piercing Eyes And A Penchant For Singing (Them angelfuckers)

The Privilege Of Being Born Somebody Else (Honestly mostly every sojourner ever)

My Favourite Ride In The Theme Park Is A Bench (Aaryn. He's starting to give old man vibes.)

I Apologize If You Found Finding This Place Difficult But You Must Understand I Am Currently Evading Detection And Arrest For Crimes Undisclosed (Aaryn and Dyre. Binary stars are protected by the law.)

So Good At Sleeping I Could Do It With My Eyes Closed (Dyre. He seems like the type to be able to fall asleep within seconds. Aaryn, on the other hand- 💀)

You’re As Beautiful As The Light Reflecting Off The Teeth Of The Moon (Einar @ Ira when Ira's speech patterns start rubbing off on him. THEY'RE SUCH LOSERS)

Write Your Love In The Blood Coursing Through My Veins (Binary stars because Einar is a freak)

And If You Thought It Was A Threat It Might Have Been (All 4 of them because they have dangerous jobs)

Putting On A Show To Seem Alive / When I Don’t Feel Alive (Drystan twins? Aaryn?)

Here’s Cheers To The Man Who Stole My Heart Away (Aaryn and Dyre. I should come up with a ship name. Maybe mentos and coke.)

If Someone Tries To Shoot You Simply Tell The Bullet To Leave You Alone (Shoutout to Dyre's powers the funniest man ever)

She Drowned Jupiter In Her Martini Glass (Ira)

The Sort Of Love You Only Feel When Drunk (Mentos and coke because they're both terrible with feelings)

The Man Who Looked At Me So Sweetly In Soft Flavours Of Deep Beige (Ira seems like the type to think beige is love's colour)

Oh Baby Don’t You Know Our Sort Is Locked Out Of Heaven (Drystan twins and Aaryn. May I recommend therapy)

You Have To Stop Making So Many Enemies (Ira @ everyone else)

Now We’re Cooking With Lasers (Aaryn, said with an disbelieving tone. Mom friend mom friend)

Middle Of The Night Yet You’re Wide Awake Thinking About Waluigi (Ira because they're silly like that)

You Have This Power Inside And It’s Frightening (Binary stars)

I Don’t Know What This Is But It’s Not An Avocado (The sojouners when the eldritch start eldritching

Wish Me Luck Honey (I Couldn’t Ask For More) (Einar @ Ira)

All The Things You Did Before You Did Them (When the time loop starts looping)

Keep All Body Parts On The Inside Of The Vehicle At All Times As Failure To Comply May Result In Having Them Unwillingly Removed (Dyre when he drives)

Do The Trees Bite Where You’re From (I need to make this a thing)

My Overconfidence Is Astounding And It’s A Surprise I’ve Never Been Killed (Dyre. Einar has the decency to be cautious.)

I Understand Where You’re Coming From But Where Did You Get The Gun (Drystan twins talking down someone. With varying results.)

Have You Found Yourself Or Your Loved Ones Suffering From A Case Of Empty Eyes (Trauma?)

As You Can Tell By The Yellow Filter We Just Entered Mexico (Ira)

You’re Telling Me He Died From The Mould? And What Did The Mould Do, Stab Him? (When the eldritch start eldritching HELP THIS IS SO FUNNY)

Next Time Maybe Don’t Go Into The Forest At Night Hm Buddy? Just A Thought (It could happen to anyone. But mostly Ira.)

Well That Was A Little Unnecessarily Brutal Don’t You Think? (Dyre @ Aaryn or Einar)

Too Cool To Sleep At A Reasonable Hour (AARYN PLEASE)

I’m Sick But The Bags Under My Eyes Are Sicker (AARYN)

Chicken Nuggets Heat Up Faster On The Higher Shelf Of The Oven Because Of Their Proximity To God (Ira would say this)

You Can’t Just Ask A Guy Why He’s In Love (Mentos and coke when you ask why)

Who Needs Sleep When I Can Just Drop Dead For A Rest (Aaryn why. why.)

Feelings Of An Almost Human Nature (Einar. He and his relationship with his humanity should be studied.)

Can’t Let It Slip That There’s More To Me Than Little Old I (Every sojouner in hiding ever)

Seeing The Future In The Tear Stains On Your Cheeks (When the loop-)

Adopt Your Enemies To Establish Dominance (Einar when he recruits Dyre into the military)

You Are A Dream In A Crowd Of Nightmares (Einar @ Ira)

I Know I May Look Like A Real Person But I Am Actually Not A Real Person At All (*Whacks Einar over the head* Get therapy)

When It Comes To Near Death Experiences I’m An Expert (All of them but mostly Einar)

You’re The First Descendant In A Line Of Workaholics Utterly Convinced Your Willingness To Sacrifice Your Own Health Determines Your Worth As A Human Being And Promptly Working Yourself To Death To Provide Unto Others What You Never Had A Chance To Understand You Deserved Yourself (EINAR OH MY GOD)

So Far Throughout My Life I Got Mildly Electrocuted On Three Separate Occasions (Aaryn. He seems like the type.)

My Brain Operates On Frequencies You’ve Never Even Heard Of (All of them but mostly Ira)

People Ask Me How I Manage To Think Of You Everyday And To Be Completely Honest I Never Know What To Say Because It Feels So Natural (The 4 of them because THEY'RE LOSERS)

Standing In Front Of Me She Quickly Undressed Confessing Her Desire To Cause Me Physical Harm And Needless To Say I Was Baffled But Nonetheless Intrigued (This seems like a situation mafioso Dyre would get into at some point)

The Only Thing Greater Than My Ego Is My Impostor Syndrome (Einar istg)

You Scream Ancient Curses In Long Dead Languages And Perish Surrounded By Friends (When the eldritch-)

The Cons Of Being My Friend Greatly Outweigh The Pros (Aaryn and Dyre why are they like this)

You Are Who We Say You Are Because Public Opinion Beats Self Worth Every Time (Sojouners: We just want to live in peace Everyone hunting them: Christ you are extremely fucking selfish. Die.)

Murder And Other Expressions Of Love (Honestly all 4 of them)

What Do You MEAN There Was A Fire (Aaryn. Please you don't understand how funny it would be to make him the tired mom friend)

My Companion Looked In Horror At The Scene Unfolding Before Our Very Eyes Before Finally Saying Out Loud What We’ve All Been Thinking / Did He… Did He Steal Her Teeth? (When the eldritch-)

Give Me Salvation I Swear I Won’t Bite (Aaryn)

Your Love Has Brought Me To The Point Of No Returning (Binary stars. WHY ARE THEY LIKE THIS)

If A Mushroom Can See Itself As A God So Can You (Ira)

You’re Being Hunted (By Me) (Dyre @ Einar, Aaryn @ Ira)

A Toast To Our Special Little Brand Of Sin (Good for them)

House Of Gets Up And Leaves (The entire Siridean household)

The Good Times Are Killing Me (Einar)

#ocs I will never post on here #random #ambrova

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hatenote · 4 months

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I wont lie. when we first started hooking up, I used to judge the hell out of both of us. why on earth would I, in my most vulnerable, want to be hit, choked, and restrained? and what could make an otherwise decent man want to do those things to me at my most exposed?

the furthest I'd gotten in understanding my own preference is that maybe it's just my kind of adrenaline and maybe I'm a junkie. I thought maybe it could be the same part of my brain that heavily prefers recreational drugs, too. but I had way less questions about my love for lsd than my love for bdsm.

I couldn't get anywhere in understanding him. understanding others occurs a lot more naturally when you can understand yourself, and I just hadn't gotten there. today, one week from the best lay of my life, I'm proud to say it seems as though I have arrived.

objectively speaking, people like to be scared. enter: amusement parks, haunted houses, and horror films. people like to be scared, but not at the expense of safety. its not expected that you'd fall off a roller coaster, the actors at haunted houses aren't allowed to touch you, and that stabby kill murder guy wont be following you home from the theatre. our bodies experience that kind of controlled fear more like a healthy adrenaline than an imminent danger.

personally speaking, I'm tired. I'm in my early 30's now and I've been doing this by myself for a while. among my dear friends, I'm always the one who knows more, and thus also does more. all of the planning and daily tasks are up to me, and when something bad goes down the resolve is up to me, too. to top it all off, it just so happens that I don't always wanna participate with life in general. everyone who's constantly complimenting my strength and resilience has no clue how badly I wanna fold.

I am so scared of my sweet, sexy sadist and that's how I like it. being with him is exhilarating, and I will say he looks very scrumptious waving his hands back and forth to slap my ass until it still stings without any added pressure. so when he put me in more physical pain than I've felt in a long time, nah, I didn't want him to stop. I wanted to stay in a curated circumstance where for once in my life, I got to crumble. when I'm upright and things goes awry, I don't get to dig my face into my sheets, whimper, say I can't, and not do anything to stop it. in that fleeting moment where I could just let it happen (and where my refusal to respond would be of no real harm), I found a deep relief. I wanted to bask in it. hell, I wanted him to bask in it.

that's all good and fine with me. that's my truth and I'm so in love with this boy for the way he's helped me find it. I don't think love can be born out of sex. actually I don't think love is born out of anything besides delusion, but I think when you prioritize sex the way I do, sex can certainly reveal a love that's already there. I digress. as it stands, when it comes to what might be his perspective, I don't quite have the truth. I only have strong speculation and all of the secrets his semen spills into me. we'll call this next part hearsay.

the number one shame trigger in men is being perceived as weak. so it makes immediate sense to me that a man would assume a dominant position at such an implicative time. but there's a lot a man can do with his power that doesn't involve pain. "tonight you're mine until you cum three times" is just as commanding. I didn't have to search too long to understand his pain predilection once I understood mine.

he's a november scorpio and that's how I like it: hyper-sexual, and shadowed by a darkness he probably hopes is mostly indiscernible. I like it because I can relate. when I first started learning the zodiac and figured out what my first house scoprio moon meant, I was promptly set free. my excess of evil/horny finally had an explanation and I could start to embrace it instead of trying to quell too much of it.

I don't think a man with a christian upbringing (that he hasn't fully detached from) knows to take the same liberties with his evil/horny as I do. society seems to dictate that if men value sex too highly, well, they aren't really men of value. but that doesn't have to be true. and christianity, well, don't fucking get me started. christianty will have all manner of sexuality in complete shambles. mine sure was, and by that exact same medium.

christianity supposes that darkness is punishable by death in hell for an eternity. that's rough. and if that's the way of thinking I subscribed to for any longer than I did, I'd probably be busy feeling guilt for things that aren't quite what they seem, too. now I'm thankful to know instead that darkness gives way to light and you don't get one without the other. praise god.

so I think that he requests this kind of sex from me, or just from his partners in general, because its important for him to be able to express in a way that he's usually having to suppress... and still be received, still be trusted, and still be regarded as good. I think that's beautiful, I'm so happy to help, and I'm very charmed by how well our demons play together.

I can't wait to tell him that it was so gorgeous of him to physically withdraw from me when he thought he might have crossed a boundary, but I never wanna see that again. I love him. I know that he is fundamentally good even when he's being bad and I never want him to pull away from me in the midst of my pain, especially if he's the one that's causing it. he knows how to help me through it, and I want him to.

there's just one more thing here, but boy do I digress.

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hoe-imaginess · 4 years

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a helping hand (or two) | dabi

Dabi x fem!Reader

summary: Dabi is suffering from an aphrodisiac quirk. Now he’s got a dick that just won’t quit, and you have to take care of it.

word count: 10.4k

contains: almost dub-con, handies, bjs, dick riding, dirty talk, slight violence, a very stubborn Dabi who has to be restrained

a/n: self-indulgent & vaguely crack-ish. my idea of an aphrodisiac includes an overload of the five senses bc...idk I wanted to play w/ descriptive prose. my kink is describing Dabi’s horniness in paragraphs ok. meaty intro before the smut, hang in there

⤰⤰⤰

Dabi entertained the alley-dweller’s angry outbursts with sadistic patience. The man yelled at him, threatened him, boasted of all the ways in which he was going to make Dabi suffer for attacking and underestimating him—

Then, finally having decided that the fodder was no longer amusing him, the flame-user extended a glowing palm in preparation to finish the job.

When you read the intention in Dabi’s movement, you fidgeted where you stood and calculated the risk of opposing him.

“You can’t just keep burning everyone you don’t like,” you said, calculations made, deciding that you might as well attempt to be a voice of reason while you were paired up with him on this job.

It was a voice he happily ignored. The white-hot glare of his palm smoldered into the bursting blue of his flames as they lit up his fingers.

“Says who?”

Trash was trash. If you couldn’t see that, then oh well. Folly on your part for thinking the tedious task of recruiting didn’t require this sort of disposal; what better to do with underwhelming candidates than permanently remove them from the talent pool? You shouldn’t have tagged along if you weren’t prepared for his methods.

When the alley-villain realized that Dabi’s patience for his empty, arrogant threats had been spent, his dirt-stained face colored with fear, and his wild eyes darted in every direction of the alley to seek refuge from the imminent flames. He started to plead—which Dabi found grimly amusing given that the man had been spouting insults about his patchwork skin just moments before—then he shrank back against the alley wall, sinking to the ground in fear.

“The more bodies you leave the easier it will be for the police to track us.” You’d taken to your persuasions again, fruitless though you knew it was.

“And?”

“And you’ll be compromising the entire League.”

“If all you’re gonna do is complain then you don’t have to tag along, ya know.” He spared a glance your way, with that drolly exasperated look on his face he always gave when he felt you were speaking out of turn.

But his diverted attention proved costly: the alley-dweller suddenly went berserk, and was rushing at him with a final, rogue desperation to escape.

The charge, surprisingly swift as it was, was also uncalculated, and Dabi narrowly side-stepped to avoid a blow. With an indignant sneer, he rounded his hand and kindled his flames anew: no more games, it was time to kill. But before he could retaliate, the lunatic was on him again, barreling toward him.

Though fatally seared by the sudden discharge of flame that Dabi released, the derelict’s bulk was still sufficient to topple into Dabi and throw him off balance. He might have fallen from the impact if not for the way the man gave a wailing, pained shriek and threw himself away from the flames.

Torched and agonized as the man was, his mounted attack hadn’t been a complete failure: though Dabi’s flames had mostly protected him, there was an unmistakable sensation of damage in him which left him suddenly rigid with alarm.

Had he been wounded?

He looked down at himself, saw no injuries from which the bodily distress might have been roused. After a few moments the distress was gone, and he decided it was just adrenaline. Then, there returned the enervated frustration.

“Trash,” he muttered indignantly, glaring at the steaming heap of the man, who’d stumbled over a litter of aluminum trash bins and capsized with them onto the ground. He wasn’t moving. But he was still whole, and not the pile of burning ash he could have been, should have been, now, after that little effrontery—

Your arm was on him before he could pursue the murderous thoughts.

“Are you alright?” you asked, inspecting him carefully.

Instantly and fiercely, he shrugged away from your touch.

“Fine,” he grunted out, straightening and stiffening his limbs to convince himself of it. But that odd feeling was still there, burgeoning slowly at the sight of the man’s body fuming on the ground, at your own body standing so close to him. “If you hadn’t been running your damn mouth—”

“Sorry,” you conceded, more concerned with his demeanor than with defending yourself. In all likelihood he didn’t even realize how ruffled he looked. “Did he… are you hurt?”

“I said I’m fine,” he insisted firmly.

While you stared at him in doubtful concern, an energetic heat crept up his spine. Slow, like an insect bite bringing its stinging warmth to a crawl over his skin, skin both scarred and unscarred alike.

There was a smell, then, when he took his shallow breaths: something sweet, like lingering perfume, or fragrant incense—

Fairly quickly he realized the smell was coming from you, and glared at you in puzzled indignation, like the fact that this scent was yours and that he could smell it now—why could he smell it so profusely now, when he hadn’t before? What the hell?—was somehow offensive. Worst of all it smelled damn good. Had you always smelled that good?

“...What is it?” you asked carefully, not quite able to place the look on his face, but considerably unnerved by it, nonetheless. “Dabi…?”

Your voice—it held such particular tones that he hadn’t before noticed until now, as though he’d been deaf to what you really sounded like; how sleek and enticing your words were when they came out of your pretty mouth.

Oh, and your mouth: lips parted fretfully in preparation for another concerned inquiry on his well-being, objectively innocent but suddenly, and infuriatingly, looking very much like they were tempting him for a kiss.

Then when your pink tongue came to wet your lips in anxious trepidation, that too he saw as a maddeningly teasing gesture that made his hands feel hot. Then it was his feet; then his whole body.

He began to fidget where he stood.

Then, at the sudden onset of warmth in his head, he slid over to the alley wall, a splayed hand against the brick keeping his balance while he hung his dizzy head low.

“What the hell,” he muttered to himself woozily.

“Dabi?” You went to inspect him cautiously. You couldn’t see his expression through the curtain of black that had fallen over his face, but you knew something was amiss. “Are you okay?” you asked again.

“I’m fine,” he huffed out, and you’d been oblivious to his hoarse breathing up until the moment you stopped in front of him.

“Dabi,” you begged his attention now that his eyes had closed shut, his features pinched. “What’s wrong?”

His eyes, dizzied by the heat, began to play tricks on him. Even behind the closed lids he saw sparks flying, and swirls of white-hot passion dancing.

When the heat in him turned to a near-burning sensation, he opened his eyes and stared down at his body. Was his quirk activated? he thought confusedly. Or was the heat that licked his skin just a hallucination: flames that failed to consume him wholly? What the hell was happening? What was this—

The heat finally centered—mortifyingly—between his legs, and what had been confusion before was now full-blown bafflement.

“Dabi,” you were saying again.

The sound of your voice inflamed him not in aggravation, but something else.

“You don’t look good,” you said. The way his breath had thinned to long, rough pants put anxiety in you. “...I’ll call Kurogiri.” You fished your phone from your pocket with the intention of doing so.

A grunt was his response; he couldn’t coherently pick his words. Then, the anticipation of your voice again, on the phone, speaking in those tones and that sweet melody, made him shudder.

“No,” he muttered.

You looked at him, the phone to your ear, the line ringing. “What?”

“Don’t,” was all he could say, lower this time, almost in a growl.

“But Dabi, you—”

Suddenly, at the thought of hearing your voice for even another second, the fire overtook him.

First he slapped the phone from your grip. Its screen broke against the pavement and the voice that answered the call—too late, you thought fleetingly—stuttered on the line. Then he slammed you against the wall.

Winded and bewildered, it took you several seconds to find your bearings. In that time he’d pressed against you, his breath so hot and so angry that it flushed perspiration over your skin.

Gaping, your lips trembled. “Dabi, what—”

“Shut up,” he seethed quietly, teeth baring.

You recognized the wild look of violence on his face, but the lust in his hazy eyes wasn’t anticipated. Nor was the erection you felt pressing against your leg. You stared wide-eyed as the sinking realization came over you.

In desperation you pushed at him; he pushed back, corralling you against the wall even harder.

The air was knocked out of your lungs, and with it, a dying protest, “Wait—”

He clamped a too-warm hand over your mouth, and pressed his face against yours. His forehead on your own felt feverish and sweaty; his eyes, like blue-burned coals, pierced into yours. You could smell the heat smoldering off of him.

He loosed a shaky, unhinged breath. “Shut. Up.”

Unthinking, your hand tugged at the one on your mouth, inadvertently digging into his staples. But his wild passion lent him a worrisome insensitivity to the hurt, and his other hand was going for your waist, squeezing into your shirt and wrenching you impossibly closer against him.

The pain which erupted from his compromised staples only fanned the flames of his arousal. He didn’t know why. Of course he fucking didn’t. He didn’t even know why his body was moving the way it was: rutting against you, seeking friction for his aching dick.

His mouth went to your neck but applied no kisses or intimate caresses; he just pressed against the skin and breathed in pants. He put his free hand to your breast, the movement not a calculated one, more like he was seeking leverage to his imbalance. The stuttering beat of your heart was palpable under his palm.

"Fuck,” he sputtered out angrily, disoriented, and dug his fingers into your chest. You moaned behind his palm, both in shock and pleasure.

All he needed to hear was the latter.

The sound made him hiss a low and dangerous curse, and when he peeked his head back up, his pulsing eyes shone with something beyond just lust now: pure hunger.

Just as he moved his hand away from your mouth with the intent of crashing his own against you in a bruising kiss, there was a sound behind him.

In the back of his mind he recognized it: Warp Gate.

Kurogiri, and possibly someone else, had answered your call for aid.

Dabi utterly ignored it.

It had nothing to do with him.

He was only concerned with the heat. All he felt was the heat; all he saw was your lips: parted in dumbfoundment, dry, and begging to be wetted by his tongue–

There was a commotion, and then an angry voice that Dabi distantly recognized as Shigaraki’s.

Then a blow to the back of his head took everything away.

⤰

A subtle transformation had overtaken his body by the time he woke.

No longer was the heat excruciating, but it was still there, nevertheless: a curling medium beneath his skin which he felt the instant consciousness came back to him. With it, the dizzy ache in his head and the haze in his eyes. Then, finally: his limbs refusing to move when he tried to stretch them.

At once he realized he was back in the bar, confined in a chair, with people gawking at him from all sides.

He blinked his vision back to clarity, then scowled. “The hell?”

“Do you remember anything, Dabi?” That was Kurogiri somewhere to his left. Looking, Dabi confirmed his usual station behind the bar.

Delaying an answer, the flame-user glanced around. Not all of the League was there, he saw. Besides Kurogiri, only Shigaraki and you were audience to the spectacle.

You tried to avoid his harsh eyes when they landed on you, when they flitted across your features as if in an elaborate struggle to put pieces of a disoriented puzzle together. Solved, apparently, as his memory came back, his confused scowl worked into a realizing frown.

“Shit,” he muttered in annoyance.

Shuffling uncomfortably in the chair, he surmised it was rope binding his wrists behind his back, and his ankles to the chair legs. But the movement also brought attention to the hot pressure in his gut.

Or at the least, he thought that’s where it was—until he glanced down and realized that despite the abatement of the wild heat, his erection still peeked proudly underneath his jeans.

Now he was scowling again.

“What the hell,” he spat out, and suddenly, with his frustration flourishing, the heat was returning in slow order.

He cursed under his breath. He looked up and glared at the first onlooker he set his eyes upon: Kurogiri.

“Get me out of this shit.”

“I can’t do that,” the man replied regrettably. “When I came to retrieve you from the scene we had no choice except to put you down when you refused to listen. Given the nature of the quirk that you’ve been struck with, we have to take precautions until we know it’s out of your system.”

Dabi listened with steely suspicion. “What quirk?”

“An aphrodisiac—” You almost bit your tongue once you’d started, because the quick and fierce glance he gave you suggested he wasn’t entirely happy with you, and even less happy to hear your voice.

“It’s an aphrodisiac quirk,” you stated, more calmly now.

Dabi blinked, brows knotting in concentration. Spoken plainly that way, it seemed absurd, stupid.

He scoffed dryly. “You’re joking.”

“Really fucked up this time, didn’t you?” came Shigaraki from a spot at the bar, his arms crossed. “Serves you right, searching the alleys for trash. I told you to stop doing that shit.”

“Fuck off,” Dabi spat. “How was I supposed to know the guy’d have such a stupid fuckin’…”

Dabi tsked and shuffled uncomfortably in his chair again. The bitterness he felt for his confinement was quickly gaining, and so was the returning arousal. A sweltering, uncomfortable warmth on his skin made him hyperaware of his flushed face, and he could practically feel the sweat teeming on his unscarred flesh.

“I’m serious,” he muttered, glaring at Shigaraki. “Get me out of this.”

“So you can go ape shit again? No. It’s disgusting.”

“I’m not gonna do shit, relax.”

Dabi was aware then that focus was being pulled in the room, pulled directly to you: the victim of his unbidden arousal.

With a roll of his eyes, he huffed a frustrated breath and gave you what might have passed for an apology, if he’d even bothered looking at you. “My bad, and all that.”

Shigaraki’s arrogant snort derailed whatever amendment you might have transpired to make.

“You’re lucky the guy was still alive when we got there—barely,” your leader went on. “Told us a bit about what to expect from you in the next few hours though, once we promised we’d let him go.”

Dabi gave him a flat look of doubt.

Shigaraki scoffed. “Didn’t keep that promise, obviously.” Then he was scowling behind Father. “I don’t like having to clean up your messes. Shouldn’t have to finish off your fodder for you. You can’t even do that right, can you?”

Dabi’s frustration was in full bloom now, despite reason persuading him against it; he’d gathered enough at this point—at the expense of his own body—to know that agitation of any kind would feed the quirk’s effects.

Heat pooled low in his stomach when he demanded again, “Let me out of this shit right now or I’m gonna get mad.”

“Supposed to be a 24-hour thing unless you take care of it, to put it plainly,” Shigaraki responded.

“I assumed as much. So get me outta this shit and I’ll fuck off for a while.”

“Nah. Don’t need you going and causing a scene somewhere because you don’t know how to keep your pants on.”

You could feel the conflagration of tension in the room. Maybe it was Dabi’s quirk, maybe it was the alley-dweller’s mixing with it, making it dangerously palpable. Regardless, Shigaraki’s snark seemed to bring Dabi’s attention back to his body, to the insufferable bulge between his legs that demanded relief.

“This is stupid,” he declared bitterly, and tugged on the knots tied at his wrists, the throbbing heat in his lower-half lending itself to his quirk as it activated in licking flames along his arms. He was tired of this shit. He lost his temper all at once. “You’re damn crazy if you think I’m just gonna sit here—”

Then there was blue flame torching the back of the chair, blackening the rope which bound him and making the tethers frail enough to tear apart under a strong tug. He was freeing himself.

From there, it all happened relatively swiftly.

As he went to work on the binds at his feet with newly liberated arms, Shigaraki was in a conniption of angry protests, and Kurogiri fluttered nervously between taking action or remaining an onlooker.

Then there was you, probably the least equipped to do much of anything to alleviate the situation, but nevertheless skipping to your feet the moment the chaos ensued. There was arguing, cursing, insults—then your voice, attempting to wedge some conciliatory reason into the room.

It did the exact opposite.

Dabi had apparently forgotten of the trigger in your voice that sent his body into a frenzy. When you spoke up, your voice just loud enough to cut above the rest of the uproar, his aspiration to free himself tapered off as his sharp eyes honed in on you.

His arousal came back with a vengeance; in his pants, his dick twitched angrily for relief, and that frenzy took over his thought process again.

His flames burned the rope at his feet and he came at you, so close, so very close, not knowing why he was doing it but only that he needed to touch you—

You were frozen on the spot. But Shigaraki was reaching for something along the bar, and Dabi’s world went black again soon after.

⤰

When he woke this time, his rope bonds had been replaced for something cold and metallic, something stronger to withstand the vehemence of his flames. Even the chair to which he was bound had been swapped for something sturdier than wood.

“You fuckin’ serious?” he spat out, even before his vision had centered. He knew where he was, and why he was there. No need for context clues.

“You gave us no other choice,” Kurogiri amended carefully, the black vapors that composed him flitting about anxiously.

“Told you that you’d lose it,” Shigaraki said, anger having replaced all his snarky tones of condescension from before. “You’re like a damn animal.”

Dabi hissed and put his head back, feeling the soreness at his nape from consecutive blows. If he weren’t so presently occupied with the curl of heat welcoming him afresh, he might have simmered on the idea of burning his relatively recent—but entirely disagreeable—boss to a crisp when this was over.

Then for the first time Dabi realized you were absent, and glanced around as if in search of you. Good, he thought, when he confirmed that you were missing. You just... complicated things.

“I’m fine now,” he insisted, as placidly as possible as if to give stock to his lie. The respite had done nothing for the arousal harassing him; the longer it having gone unsatiated, even in unconsciousness, making it all the more demanding.

Mellowing his urgency to a non-existent degree was almost impossible, however. Dabi knew the way the soles of his shoes twisted and flattened restlessly into the ground below was anything but inconspicuous.

“Just warp me outta here, Kurogiri,” he implored.

“No,” Shigaraki answered. “Shut up. Consider this a lesson. No more rummaging for allies in shithole parts of town. This is what happens when you go dumpster-diving for recruits.”

“You want me to burn this place down?” Dabi threatened, testing the strength of his bonds. A flicker of blue teased along his jawline. “‘Cause I got no problem doing that.”

Shigaraki shrugged. “Sure. You’ll just burn up with it, since you’ve got no way out of that chair.”

He knew it was true, and worked his jaw. “For all you know the damn guy was lyin’,” he said as a final act of contempt, and gave his leader a leery, side-long glare. “And this shit might not go away on its own.”

“Guess we’ll have to see, won’t we?”

Dabi sneered. Foiled, but regardlessly frustrated by the truth of it, he put his head back with an angry sigh and resigned himself to an attempted calm.

⤰

You’d lingered in the bar’s back rooms for the better part of an hour before emerging.

Shigaraki had instructed you to make yourself scarce, but you were drafted to stay by some guilty—and admittedly curious—sentiment.

It was awfully unfair, you agreed, to keep Dabi chained up like he was—even in spite of the danger he posed under the quirk’s influence. But you must have overlooked that danger when you decided to slip into the main room where he was being held, long after you had been assured that Kurogiri and Shigaraki were gone.

His back to the door, Dabi didn’t glance over his shoulder at the sound of your footsteps. It seemed he was sour enough not to offer greeting, and preferred to be left alone in his turmoil.

He especially didn’t want your company, which he made clear by way of a harsh frown when you came into his peripheral.

He tsked and readjusted uncomfortably in his seat at your arrival. “The hell do you want?”

“How are you feeling?”

“Never been better,” he muttered.

You were aware of how he avoided your gaze, and couldn’t know whether it was in an effort to stave off the arousal your presence had so viciously wrought before, or because he simply didn’t appreciate your company. The latter seemed just as likely as the first, though neither stopped you from taking a seat in one of the room’s couches so you could sit across at him.

Your eyes were trained on his face, on the agitation creased into his expression. It was almost indecipherable under his otherwise cold demeanor. Clearly, the quirk was still in effect. If his tried composure wasn’t enough, there was a subtle tent in his pants that hadn’t gone away, not since its first appearance hours ago, you imagined.

You didn’t realize you were ogling until he noticed. He tsked.

“Take a picture,” he offered spitefully, immediately dissuading your eyes away from him.

“Sorry,” you let slip, embarrassment flushing your cheeks, and in response he only lulled his head back again and shut his eyes.

All was silent for a while, and might have remained thereby, if not for the way that the curt apology brought back the weight of guilt you’d felt to see his sorry state.

“And I’m sorry for bringing you back here,” you spoke up. “Or at least, sorry that I called the others. I didn’t realize you’d be held up like this–”

“Stop talking,” he muttered.

Mouth opening, then closing again, you almost swallowed down your next words. But again, they refused to stay unspoken.

“I wouldn’t have called them,” you insisted, “if you didn’t—if you didn’t come after me like that. I was confused.”

No response. Only another uncomfortable shuffle in the chair while his eyes remained shut and his mouth a thin line.

They’d put his hands in a sort of metallic sleeve since you last saw him, to discourage any more pyromania, you guessed. Though they weren’t visible, you could see how his arms shifted, how his tendons worked, and could imagine his fingers flitting anxiously inside the restraints.

“Is… me being here making it worse?” you chanced to ask.

He scoffed, and finally gave you his attention. “What?” Then, fully understanding your train of thought, rolled his eyes, and resigned them shut again while he relaxed into the chair. “Sorry to break it to you, sweetheart, but that dumb look you got on your face all the time isn’t exactly alluring.”

You frowned, and it was almost with cross touchiness that you argued, “But you came after me—”

“I’m guessin’ the point of the quirk is to make anything look fuckable. So don’t flatter yourself.”

Despite all your caution, you couldn’t help but give the man a sour look. “You’re rude.”

He shrugged, the movement impeded considerably by his restraints. “Whatever. Anyways, you just gonna sit there and watch me? I’m not exactly in the mood for company.” He moved in his seat again, fighting the heat between his legs the best he could. “Unless you’re gettin’ off on my suffering and what not. Kinda twisted of you, if you ask me. Didn’t peg you as the type.”

“That’s not it,” you insisted quickly. “I just wanted to…well—”

“To what? Check in on me? Nice of you. But you can fuck off now.”

A sudden twitch in his legs took the tension from the repartee. You looked down at the limb as he did.

The burning heat in his veins took away practically all control he had of his extremities, rallied them into unconscious servants of the damn quirk until they were twitching, then relaxing, then twitching again.

You noticed this, too, and though his efforts to conceal the struggle were commendable, they left you in a state of shame, as if it were you bound in the chair with your arousal on display. Seeing someone so normally composed as he was in such a state was distressing, and admittedly, absorbing.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and let your rampant thoughts form to words. “Will it go away if you…”

“If I what?” Then once understanding, the smallest of smirks twisted his scarred lips. “Rub one out? How the hell am I supposed to know?”

You ignored the heat that dropped down your spine to hear him say it so unabashedly. “I don’t have the key to your locks,” you explained. “So I couldn’t let you out even if I wanted to.”

He gave no response, just looked away from you again.

And here now was the adrenaline pulsing nonsense out of you, making you think crazy and debauched thoughts that would in any other situation be put down immediately by rationale.

“But…”

He glanced at you when you tapered off. “But?”

Your silence annoyed him, now that he was interested. Before he could hound you to continue, you sputtered out your proposal:

“Do you want me to do something about it?”

He looked at you, an eyebrow raised, as if demanding clarification. But you had a resolute feeling that he was toying with you by choosing silence.

“You know what I mean,” you asserted.

The blank, cold stare you received in kind made you wonder if he actually did know what you meant. Maybe he didn’t understand—

“No,” he then said.

The defeat you felt was utterly uncalled for, you knew. But you felt it anyways: a wash of humiliation plummeting down your body and swelling up again in frustration.

But you let it be, knowing anything more you had to say would probably earn you tenfold embarrassment.

Twenty minutes must have passed—though he wasn’t counting, and he wasn’t so sure that the affliction in his body wasn’t twisting his sense of time—each entailing another dredge of painful heat in his groin that worsened the longer his arousal went unattended to.

All the fail safes he’d practiced in his adolescence to ward off unwanted arousals were utterly useless now. He might as well have been on cloud nine when he filled his head with repulsive concepts: the smell of antiseptic, the smell of fish—fucking disgusting fish—even images of roadkill and dead bodies, putrefying and blackened.

The thoughts themselves were off-putting, as promised, but it wasn’t thoughts at all that fueled his libido: it was a completely physical and natural arousal.

Even shuffling his legs around, as meager of friction as it gave, made his hips inch forward in search of more when the fabric of his jeans teased his hard cock. It was fucking humiliating.

He looked at you. You were too occupied searching the floor for an answer to your anxieties to notice the way he studied you.

You weren’t bad looking, he decided. Not that he’d ever really thought of you that way before. Not thoroughly, anyways. In this little group of delinquents he’d surrounded himself with—a grand mistake on his part, he thought, especially during times like these—you were the only fuel he had for his imagination on nights he needed to let off some steam.

There was no intimacy behind it, no real passion for you that extended beyond the time from when he shoved a hand into his jeans, to when he was cleaning thick ropes of cum from his knuckles afterwards.

You were only ever given credence in his brain then, when he was giving his cock hard and angry tugs to the thought of you on your knees for him, or against a wall with his hand curled around your throat, and sometimes bent over his knee while he spanked your ass raw (a more recent daydream now, ever since that time a few weeks ago when you’d bent down in front of him to pick something up off the floor).

Suddenly aware of an alarming change in his body, he paused his thoughts to immerse himself back into his too-hot skin again.

He felt a wetness against his swollen cock, and after squirming covertly, frowned, realizing with loathing that the stickiness chafing his briefs was pre-cum.

He stubbornly decided that it was just an inevitable response to his body’s raging war with arousal, and not—not at all—because he’d been thinking of you.

Letting his body endure until his pants were dampened with pre-cum was an unwanted solution. Or even worse, until the sensitivity in his cock went haywire and even the tiniest of movements might make him cream his pants.

A frustrated breath whistled out from his nose and he grit his teeth. Goddamnit. This was fucking stupid.

“Fuck,” he said aloud, shaking his head as if to condemn the words he was about to say, knowing how they would haunt his ego later, “Fine. Come here.”

You glanced up, and, unable to fulfill the request with your mind suddenly racing, simply stared.

That insipid look of failed registry on your face irritated him, and he scowled. “Are you deaf?”

“You want me to—” A sweep of your eyes down to his crotch elucidated what you were too hesitant to say.

“You offered,” he reminded you, and decided that in order to make this even a fraction less humiliating, he’d need to emphasize your culpability. “Kinda been thinking it’s your fault, anyways. If you hadn’t been such a dumbass back there I would’ve finished the guy off like I wanted to. But you were too busy spouting your nitpicky bullshit.”

There was a guilty look on your face now, like you’d been considering the accusation in your own time. Now having it confirmed, you were more susceptible to the reasoning, and even more willing to rectify yourself.

Still, you struggled to swallow down hesitation. “You’re sure that you want me to—”

“You’re gonna start pissin’ me off if you get all shy,” he said, trying as hard as his dancing nerves would allow to keep the desperation out of his voice.

Since yielding to the ludicrous idea, his body had apparently taken up a premature celebration at the thought of your hands on him. His balls were tight and his dick was throbbing hard enough to make his legs tense with each pulse.

“I just want to make sure,” you insisted. “I mean, if you really–”

“I’ll make it easy for you then. Either get over here, or piss off.”

He was relieved, pleased, and somewhat amused when the hesitation left you and you obeyed. When you came to stand idly in front of him, he glanced up, watching your confusion.

Your eyes flicked from his face to his crotch, where the dim light of the room caught the curve of his hard dick pressing against his jeans.

“You gonna stare at it all day?” he asked.

You looked at him. “What do you want me to do?”

“When you offered to do something about it I assumed you already had some ideas. You need me to give you an instruction manual?”

Your silence frustrated him again, and he tsked, glancing away from you as the reality of what you two were doing finally set in.

“Take it out,” he muttered.

So you did, reaching numbly down and carefully undoing his pants. The bulge that awaited underneath his jeans gave you pause. You stared at it, and a shot of adrenaline pumped through you when it twitched in his briefs, as if feeling your eyes ogling it and begging you to give it attention.

You tried to clear your conscience. This was Dabi, Dabi who treated you with such disregard that you sometimes wondered if he even knew your name; Dabi, who was letting you even breathe next to him without trying to scorch you.

A trickling, somewhat fatally comedic thought entered your mind: was he going to light you ablaze the second you touched him? Or maybe after, once you’d relieved him, as a way to permanently silence you against ever speaking a word of this to anyone?

Shivering at the morbidity of your own creation, you reached for his briefs and pulled them down carefully until his cockhead showed itself, pink-hued and shiny with an excess amount of pre-cum.

You worked a hand underneath the briefs instead of exposing him completely, thinking he might want some semblance of modesty during this. Your convictions were rattled from their mounts when your fingers wrapped gently around the tip of his cock and gave a firm squeeze.

In response: silence.

You’d thought with how viciously his arousal had seemed to harangue him that he might give a stronger reaction: a moan, a sigh, a grunt, maybe even an audible breath.

He just stared at you, looking as utterly bored as he usually did.

Then your fingers decided to retreat, and the sound you’d been displeased to be robbed of came finally as a frustrated grunt when your grip left him.

“Seriously?” he huffed, staring at you. The irritation left its first but considerable split in his composure. The rest was quickly chipping away. He couldn’t pretend to be aloof about this for much longer. “You got cold feet now?”

“That’s not it.”

“What then? Never seen one before?”

“I don't know… how you want it,” you explained.

“The hell does that mean?”

“Do you want me to use my hands?” you clarified hesitantly. “Or…”

The little huff of derisive laughter that fell from his open lips made an eerie picture of his otherwise blank face.

“Or what?” he taunted. “You got something else in mind? You been dyin’ for a taste of it or something–”

“No,” you finished, and that flustered look of anger on your face was pissing him off again, instead of amusing him like it might have under another context.

“So then cut the shit and do whatever.”

With a frown you went to your knees, unwilling to get further embroiled.

When you started to stroke him, more pre-cum squeezed from the tip in generous pumps. You didn’t bother asking him how hard or fast he wanted it—you started hastily, hand gliding quickly over his cock, urgently enough that pre-cum eased the motion and made wet, sharp sounds with every stroke.

His knee twitched like he’d been checked for reflex, which you took as encouragement to keep going despite his loyalty to silence.

The veins along his dick pulsed needily and you swore you could feel the throb under your palm. The throb became more palpable as time went on. You thought you were doing well. But apparently not.

“Harder,” he muttered, not a minute after you’d started.

You glanced up at him. He wasn’t looking at you, but instead had shut his eyes in concentration. It looked to you as though he was trying to find the pleasure in your pace—which was apparently too soft for his likings.

You did as instructed, nevertheless: you tightened your grip a fraction, fingers curling and making your strokes face slightly more resistance as they worked more pre-cum from the red tip.

Another twitch in his leg, then a deep exhale that ended in a shiver; you saw his toned stomach shudder with the motion beneath his clothes, and fleetingly considered inching his shirt up a bit more out curiosity: how far did the burnt skin go down his body?

But then he was grunting, and breathing more stiffly than before. You thought that was another sign of a job well done, when his eyes peeled open and looked down upon you with such emphasized frustration that you realized you were not, in fact, meeting his standards.

“Harder,” he demanded again, more rigidly this time. Despite the command, your hand slowed. For that, he frowned at you. “Can barely feel that shit. You gotta do better than that. I like it rough.”

A flush of humiliation put purpose back into your rigid fingers, and you were moving your hand again, albeit slowly as you tested the new grip, this time with such purposeful pressure that you were tugging his dick now more than stroking it.

“I thought it might hurt,” you started meekly.

“It doesn’t. Keep going.”

You did, picking up speed again. The adrenaline put some more initiative into you, and you made a purposeful attempt to drag your thumb down hard on his swollen cock with every jerk of your hand.

A croaky hum from his throat brought your attention to his face; his eyes watched your hand stroking him with fuzzy scrutiny.

“Yeah,” he breathed thinly, his eyes fluttering closed again, finally satisfied. “Just like that.”

That made your chest tight with excitement and your legs fidget beneath you. Your own arousal was wetting the inside of your thighs by now, but you were able to ignore it momentarily in favor of serving his.

At some point his hips stuttered up to start meeting your hand, but in a much slower rhythm than you were stroking; lazy pumps up into your grip. Every synchronic motion when you jerked up and his hips rolled down, there was an amazing tightness on the head of his cock that made his breath catch every time.

You decided on using both hands (he was big, unexpectedly big, so much so that it was staggering and you decided you would think about that later when he wasn’t filling your palms so generously) and started twisting your grip in time with your strokes. It was then he finally loosed a low and breathy groan.

Then his hips were pumping into your hands roughly, fucking himself in slow but hard thrusts—so hard that you had to steel yourself and tighten your grip to keep from getting bucked off.

Another low moan from his throat. “Shit…” Then, when a surge of confidence urged you to quickly run your tongue along the head of his dick, his breath caught in a hard grunt.

“Shit,” he hissed out, and spread his thighs wider, pushing them up eagerly in demand that you give him more.

To the best of your ability you tried, spreading your tongue underneath the head and rapidly swiping it back and forth. That got his hips stuttering, and his body jolting in its confines.

“Fuck,” he bit out. “Yes, fuck.... Just like that.”

Without prompting your lips came into the fold, closing tightly around the tip and sucking in time with the hands that fisted his cock until you were lavishing every inch of him in some way.

The feeling alone was ridiculously good, but watching you made his jaw go slack and mouth open as he panted. Maybe it was just the stupid quirk making him delirious, but you looked a hell of a lot hotter doing this than what his fantasies had led him to believe. Fuck. You weren’t half bad.

A particularly hard thrust into your mouth had one of your hands slipping loose, and his next thrust, unimpeded by the length of one your fists around him, shoved his dick to the tight heat at the back of your throat.

He grunted hard, “Fucking shit—” Then arched up quickly, jumping at the opportunity to sink his cock deeper.

Without a pause to steady yourself you had little choice but to oblige, and his cockhead shoved in, cramming itself against your hot tongue, pumping farther back inch by inch.

The hand still jerking him off covered what your throat was too inexperienced to swallow down, and the rhythm of your tight mouth and vice-like hand made him moan deeply.

But it might have been too much, and a strength lent to him by the quirk’s desperation made his hips lift off the chair forcibly, driving his cockhead to the very back of your throat until you were sputtering and choking.

“Fuck.” It made him dizzy with pleasure, and he shut his eyes to keep them from rolling as he frantically pumped his hips upwards to get you gagging on him again. “Yeah, fuck, fuck, fuck–”

But then you were pulling off completely with a gasping breath.

His eyes opened, wild with exasperation. “The hell–”

You coughed wetly and started to plead, “Don’t choke me–”

“Fine—fine. Hurry the hell up.” His hips jutted up impatiently in search of your mouth again, his swelling cock bouncing and twitching urgently. “Put that fuckin’ mouth back on it right now—”

You obeyed, and his hips shuddered down into the chair, following the motion of your lips as they tightened over his length—only to start thrusting up into the hot and wet cavern again once his cockhead hit the roof of your mouth.

It was like a fire had been kindled underneath him and was rapidly boiling all his thoughts to a vapor. It was stupidly good, so damn hot and tight and wet he couldn’t remember a mouth on his cock ever feeling this amazing. He wished his hands were free so he could fist them into your hair, so he could push you down more, get you gagging and sputtering on his cock.

His eyes squeezed shut, face flexing with occasional twitches. His lips pulled back into a desperate grimace and long, shaky breaths whistled out through his clenched teeth.

With his vision released of the sight of you on your knees, his mind was free to give the hot wetness on his cock another name, and he instead imagined that it was your pussy he was shoving into, gripping him nice and tight.

He felt his quirk stirring underneath the pleasure; every vein in his body warmed at the mere thought of shoving into you raw, and until that very moment he hadn’t itched to break through his constraints like he did now, hadn’t wanted to be free of them so he could wrestle you to the floor and fuck you like he needed to.

You were doing something particularly creative with your tongue on the underside of his cock, and a full body shudder brought him back to present. He watched you in your task: your eyes were shut tight in concentration, your brows furrowed as you struggled to accept his dick while it rammed against the back of your throat. Even your hand’s grip on his cock was a little tighter, he noticed appreciatively.

It would have been fucking fantastic: a real goddamn sight to see that he might have honestly applauded you for later—if he wasn’t suddenly so absurdly enraptured with his fantasies.

Dabi wanted more. Something deeper and hotter, something to bury his cock into and relish the velvety grip, something he could ravage and fuck away the ache in his body—

The thought of pounding his dick inside of you suddenly encompassed all other thought; it wasn’t a notion his frenzied mind would let remain as a fantasy. He wanted nothing else. Your mouth on his cock, your throat curdling around him, choking on him in a way that made his legs shake...

It was all insufficient now. He needed to be inside of you. As soon as fucking possible.

“Shit,” he spat out. It was a curse different from the others, not breathed on arousal, but frustration.

You looked up at him, and read him to be just as disgruntled as he sounded.

“This ain’t doin’ it,” he said, and slowed his thrusting hips, which was a more hard-fought task to complete than he imagined; he may have been getting greedy with his fantasies, but his cock was still more than happy to use your mouth as a warm sleeve.

When you slipped off, you must have been giving him one of those dumb looks he hated, because he frowned.

“You hear me?”

You nodded, licking the wetness from your lips as you caught your breath. You were lightheaded. The taste of him lingered on your tongue, and you swore you would smell the smoky salt of his skin on you for days. But now there was more?

The heat pooling in your thighs demanded your attention again, and you fidgeted on your sore knees. “Well... what do you want me to do–”

“Sit on it.”

You gawked at him. “Sit on it?”

That got him smirking just a little, his tongue peeking out to wet dried lips as he slowly panted. He cocked his head.

“Worried it won’t fit?”

Your body surged with wild ambition. “That’s not it, but—”

“Bet you’re nice and tight, but you can work it in. I’d offer to stretch you open a little, but my hands are tied.” He flexed his fingers and arms in his binds for show, then grinned to see how flustered his words made you. “Besides, looked like you were enjoyin’ yourself. I’m sure you’re wet enough.”

God why couldn’t he shut up and let you think for a second? The teasing was horribly nauseating; his voice even worse, spoken with his smirk seeped into it. You realized the very sound of it would probably make you shiver now in all the wrong ways after this, even in casual conversation.

“I… don’t have condoms,” you said by way of reply.

He shrugged, the gesture lacking his usual languor now that he’d been worked up without release. “Me neither. They’re annoying.”

He noticed you were frowning at him, and scoffed. “What, not on the pill?” He didn’t wait for a response; maybe that was the heat making him forgo on better judgment. “Well, guess it’s a good thing they got me pinned down, then. You’re free to pull off when I’m about to bust.”

The way in which he spoke it made your stomach queasy, and the first true lick of doubt ruined your mood as you stood up. “Fine. Just… tell me before you’re about to.”

He grunted in response, inwardly absorbed with impatience.

You took off your bottoms and pushed your panties—yes, very wet, you confirmed—down, then hiked a leg over and climbed somewhat clumsily onto the chair.

Only when you’d awkwardly positioned yourself over him did you notice that his eyes were fixated down below, where your hands steadily worked his dick against you. A raspy sigh passed his lips, and it was then you noticed his body teeming with eager spasms.

Awkwardly, you sank down onto him, staring between you two the whole time and watching his thick length press tightly inside.

The binds on his feet jabbed sharply against his ankles as they shuffled for leverage, desperate to rut up into the tight heat that welcomed him—but your legs resting on his thighs kept the movement to nothing but shallow thrusts.

Whatever this fucking quirk was had a ridiculous effect on his sensitivity. You felt good—fucking amazing, even—though he couldn’t decide if that was just the quirk deluding him into thinking your cunt was the best he’d ever had, or if it really was: if you really were just that fucking incredible.

Normally he would have managed that with stilled hips and practiced control; just sat back and enjoyed the ride. But shit it took a monumental effort not to fuck up into you, especially with how damn... slow you were going.

Your pussy was gripping him so nicely, and that tight look on your face as you seated yourself onto his lap, accepting him fully and staggering from the size of him, was thrilling. But when you finally started to move your hips, you were going about it so cautiously, so boringly, that his patience all but thinned in a matter of seconds.

“Could you go any slower?” he muttered.

The words guilted you. “I thought it might… hurt?” you explained.

“How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not in pain, dumbass. I need to cum. Which ain’t gonna happen if you keep this up.” He shuffled his legs, widening them so he could better press up into you. The pressure made him grunt, and you shiver. “C’mon, you were putting on a real good show before. Ride me like you mean it. I know you can.”

And there it was again, the words and the voice that threw repose out the window and made you all the more eager to see this through.

With arms linked around his neck you started to roll your hips. He didn’t seem to mind the contact, helpful as it was in balancing yourself on his lap.

You weren’t entirely surprised when the first sighs and grunts came from your own lips. Every time you thought a new angle of your hips or a quick thrust of his own had finally hit that one pleasurable spot inside, you would sink down harder on his cock and gasp when his thickness dragged over another.

It made you go faster, turned the fluid rolling of your hips into quick grinding, then finally when you’d adjusted to his size, a steady bouncing on his cock.

“Fuck yes...” he muttered, then moaned low, licking his lips; that was what he needed, feeling you sink down over and over, lifting yourself a little higher each time then dropping so hastily that his hips started jutting up to meet you.

“Shit.” Lolling his head back he breathed heavily, deeply. “Ah shit...”

It encouraged you to circle your hips with every motion, which garnered a throaty growl in response. A string of curses under his breath accompanied it, and you pressed your face into his shoulder, keeping careful of his staples, and moaned along with him.

Only when you started getting noisier did you think of anything except what you two were doing: what if Shigaraki or Kurogiri were to come back now? What if any of the others decided to waltz in?

You bit your lip to keep your next few moans low, but you swore Dabi must have had a sixth sense for your timidity, and didn’t at all appreciate the way you were holding back.

He shifted his hips on the chair in a precise motion, and suddenly his cockhead shoved against the right spot over and over again as you bounced on top of him. All your logical thoughts were fucked into the back burner immediately.

All you could hear was your own panting and the slap of your thighs against his. He would give his heedy approval in an occasional growl or moan, rasping it against your ear. It made you shiver uncontrollably.

You lost rhythm soon enough and took to grinding again, the chair scraping along the floor beneath you. His thick cock drove you crazy, until you were panting and moaning and whining. If that wasn’t enough to signal an orgasm, he could feel it, could feel your pussy gripping him in a desperate flutter.

“Oi,” he got your attention, turning his head, his breath thin at your cheek, “You serious? Are you actually gonna–”

And you did, legs stretching and contracting, tightening around his thighs as you came hard. He cursed and dipped his head low when you squeezed around him, panting through the ridiculously good pressure on his cock.

Your body jerked and shivered in any way it could, anything to expel the white-hot pleasure that shot up your spine and then back down again. You couldn’t breathe, shaking on top of him so violently he was sure you were going to keel over at any second and start convulsing on the floor.

“Hey shithead,” he snapped after he’d let your shivers die down. Using what little leverage his tied legs allowed him, he pushed his shoes off the floor, bouncing you impatiently in his lap and jarring you back to awareness. You gasped in hypersensitivity, his cock digging against you.

“I’m flattered you like my dick that much,” he went on, your body languid and slouched against him. The heat was nearing again; his cock twitched miserably inside of you, desperate for release and so damn close to getting it. “But you’re not the one in need of attention here, in case you forgot. Keep it up. I’m close.”

With a moan you pushed yourself up, sucking in breaths of renewal through parted lips. Legs tensing and aching, you tried your best to grind on him again, but the task left you oversensitive.

He needed to finish, you reminded yourself. He needed to cum, like he’d said. You were sure, so blissfully sure you might be rewarded with more of his unhinged reactions that you forced your muscles to be ignorant to their ache, and started to ride him in earnest.

That was when you noticed it: the heat wracking you wasn’t just your own, it was his. His skin too hot, too hot to be normal, furnace-warm to the touch.

You lifted your head from his shoulder and peered over at him. His eyes were screwed shut, his lips pulled back into a tense snarl. Perspiration dewed on the portions of his untainted skin, dampened his brows and fell in droplets along his temple.

You felt his body heating rapidly against yours—the clothes keeping your skin apart might as well have been paper-thin. His chest, rising desperately with heavy pants, was concerningly feverish. He felt it too.

Fuck, he thought. Not fucking now.

“Damn it—” he sputtered out, body going suddenly rigid, craning his neck away from you. “Move,” he warned you.

“What—”

“Move your damn head—”

Just as you did, your eyes stretched in shock as flames broke out from his jawline. Their angry blue reflected threateningly in your eyes, made you come to a shivering slow on his cock as the dry heat blistered out over your skin.

The fire was out in a second, forcefully extinguished with his frustrated grunt; smoke puttered out from beneath his staples instead. He breathed out an angry sigh from the effort of combating his own quirk.

You hesitated to put your hand out and touch him, hovering over his face. “Dabi, your skin—”

“Shut up it’s fine,” he breathed raggedly, turning his head away from you. When was the last time that had happened? Fuck. He made himself believe it was just the quirk. Just the quirk. And not you. Not because you felt so fucking good.

His legs jolted up in desperation to make you move on top of him. “Don’t you fuckin’ stop—shit—I’m almost there—”

You didn’t know whether to be frightened or exhilarated by the display of fire, but you were moving again regardless, bouncing on his lap for all you were worth until your legs were begging for mercy and your lungs ached.

He sucked in tight breaths through his teeth, then exhaled them as gravelly moans. You pressed against him, arms wrapped about his frame, ignoring his sweltering skin and abandoning any fear that his quirk might disobey his control again. You bit your lip and whined excitedly when you felt him bow his head against your shoulder and pant heavily against the clothed skin there.

The heat was fucking blinding now. And it was loud: a numbing and seductive beat in his chest that made his heart stutter to keep up. Every slam of your hips down onto him, and every one of his thrusts up into you in turn, made the heat louder, ache more, and burn.

“Now,” he grit out against your ear, body seizing in warning. In his enclosed binds, his fingers clenched into fists, so hard that the joints popped in protest.

A whine in your throat was the response. You were ignorant to much else except the wetness making a mess of your thighs, of his searing skin against you and his belt buckle digging harshly into your legs.

“Right now,” he sputtered hurriedly, hips rising from the seat. All he could do was shove up into you once, violent and hard, digging his way as deep as he could as his balls went tight and fiery pleasure raced up his body. “Right fuckin’ now move, I’m gonna—goddamnit… fuck!”

He wasn’t prepared for the way you slammed your hips down as you came again with a cry. He stiffened hard, body bowing down into yours as much as the restraints allowed, shoving his face into your neck.

“Holy fuck,” he gasped out, “fuck—” You shivered wildly around him and in an instant he was cumming hard, legs jolting in their restraints, shaking under your thighs.

“Fuck!” he shouted again, the exclamation muffled against your skin. “Motherfucker—fuck—” His voice puttered off into a series of strained, frantic groans. Unthinking and delirious on pleasure, he closed his mouth around the soft flesh of your neck and bit hard.

You gasped, tried to wriggle free, but his hips were desperately snapping up into you, effectively throwing off your balance.

Your hips hadn’t stopped their determination either. They had a mind of their own, rutting fast to squeeze him dry. All the while, he growled hotly against your skin, teeth leaving deep marks, sucking blemishes into the flesh despite all restraint that told him otherwise.

After the last, hard spurts inside of you, he sank back into the chair, utterly wasted. Little spasms harassed his body and made him shiver weakly. Only his mouth persevered, teeth still digging into the soft flesh of your shoulder.

The pleasure ebbed into raw sensation, and you could feel the marks his incisors left in you, the heated metal of his staples singeing you.

“Dabi,” you stuttered out, a shaky hand coming to push at his forehead in protest.

It shook him back to reality. He brought his dizzy head back to look at you through hooded eyes, then down at the wound he’d left on your neck.

Shit, he thought fleetingly, but not very regrettably. That was gonna bruise.

He put his head back against the chair and heaved, shutting his eyes to dispel the lightheadedness.

“Told you... to get off,” he muttered.

You knew it was a mistake you would dwell on later, but you could barely move now, let alone think.

When you shifted your legs, wanting to move and put some blood back into your limbs, it set off a chain reaction of oversensitive-pleasure; dwindling sparks went off inside you and you shuddered, making him jerk and grunt in tandem.

“Don’t move,” he chided, his head still bent to the ceiling. “Just gimme a minute... Fuck...” he breathed. “You fuckin’...” He shook his head, in disbelief of the pleasure, even more so that you’d been the one to give it to him.

Then he thought: he wouldn’t need to conjure up fantasies of you anymore when he was getting himself off. He could go by memory now.

Once he’d regained partial composure, he shifted, glad to find his dick was going limp—fucking finally—inside of you.

“You got a way to take care of that?” he asked, leaning back and looking down at the wet mess between both your thighs.

You blinked, hazy. “What?”

“I’m not tryna knock you up just ‘cause you’re too horny to listen,” he said disdainfully. “You on the pill? Gotta get one of those morning-afters otherwise–”

“It’s fine.” You nodded. “Don’t worry.”

It was easier said than done, he thought to himself sourly. But he was having trouble thinking of much else besides how fucking fantastic it was to feel the arousal leaving him in blissful waves.

He took a heavy breath. “Now get off and get me outta this shit.”

“But you might still be…” You wriggled a little on top of him, felt him soft inside of you. It was uncomfortable, but even if you’d wanted to move, your muscles were spent. “What if you’re still… ”

“Still what? Still horny? Bet you’d like that, wouldn't you?”

You wouldn’t let the comment fluster you, and obeyed as a way to prove him wrong, slowly lifting yourself off of him. The ache of your insides as he slipped out was raw and hot and wet, but unmistakably satisfying.

“Let me out,” he demanded again. “Now.”

“I told you I don’t have the key.”

He sighed in frustration, blinking sweat from his eyes. “Then go get Kurogiri. Go get someone. And at least be nice enough to cover me up. Don’t want my dick hanging out.”

It was shiny, wet, and red from stimulation. When you went to tuck it back in his pants, it twitched.

“Oi, clean it first,” he snapped.

You glanced around. “With?”

“Whatever the hell’s lying around. Shirt, rag, your mouth.” He scoffed when you put on a frown. “Don’t give me that look. This is your mess on my dick, ya know.”

With barely contained insolence you went down shakily on your knees, ready to go about the particularly humiliating task, when he laughed dryly under his breath.

“You’re a real slut,” he muttered, looking down on you with a cheeky smirk, “aren’t you?”

That guaranteed your spite, and you stood up just as quickly as you’d gone down, then nudged his still-messy dick into his pants and zipped them closed.

“Oi, oi—” The wetness squished uncomfortably underneath the fabric and he shifted awkwardly, glaring at you. “You fuckin’ serious?”

“You’ll be fine,” you muttered, turning away from him in search of your clothes, hiding an indulgent smile.

As you redressed, he sneered and pulled at his bindings. “Don’t get smart with me.”

“Or what?”

You were too exhausted to wrangle with his temper, or your own self-preservation; you knew it was a dangerous game to tease him. But you couldn’t help it. Your mind was foggy, your body teeming with giddy pleasure. Not to mention, you were free. He wasn’t. And that was remarkably funny.

Now he was scowling. “You little shit. Letting it all go to your head now, huh?” When you didn’t answer, when he caught a flash of your teasing smile, his frustration started to run rampant. “Not gonna be so funny when I’m out of this shit—”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

In response, he just glowered, and despite the front you were trying to put up, it threw an excited shiver down your spine. You were perilously tempted to egg him on, but decided against it.

You pulled your shoes back on and breathed, looking at him with something that resembled soft smugness. “I’ll go find Kurogiri.”

“Yeah, you fuckin’ better,” he muttered under his breath, keeping his critical eye-contact with you up until the very moment you disappeared out of his line of vision.

When he heard your footsteps finally dwindle down an adjacent hall, he let out a long-suffering sigh and tilted his head back. “Fuck.”

The quirk had gone, the heat and arousal with it.

But what hadn’t gone were the thoughts of you.

Angry thoughts, confusing thoughts, and most of all, intriguing thoughts.

#dabi x reader #dabi imagines #bnha x reader #dabi

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therainroguefanfiction · 3 years

Text

Halloween Horrors ~ Vampires & Spells (England)

Genre: Comedy, Crack, Friendship, Halloween

Word Count: 1,770

Pairing: Reader, England

World: Anime, Hetalia

Halloween Horrors is a set I started way back in the day on Quizilla. It was mostly requests that I took where people would give me a character and two one-word prompts and I'd write a Halloween-themed fic about them.

The little lullaby/spell at the end was the end to a poem written by Joel Benton.

━━━━━━༻🎃༺━━━━━━

Arthur was good-looking.

Anyone with eyes could see that, even the boys – though they chose to deny it. However, when he was tricked out as a vampire… well, that was just hot. Now, I know what you’re thinking and I can honestly say you are wrong.

Arthur did not dress up for Halloween. He had attempted a spell to send a few vicious witches after France, but somehow messed it up – big surprise there – and turned himself into a true blue vampire. He isn’t too happy about this, but everyone else seems to feel the opposite. You found a lot of enjoyment out of your friend’s discomfort and France… well, he found him to be incredibly attractive.

You stood off to the side of the room, packed full of all of the other nations, decked in a demon costume complete with black wings and a real scythe. Your eyes watched your best friend as he ran around the house, screaming bloody murder. Chasing him was France, who had his arms outstretched, lips puckered, and was making very perverted remarks.

Heh, a vampire afraid of a Frenchman… it was a pretty funny concept.

“Y/N! Do something, you bloody git!” Arthur screamed as he ran past for the tenth time.

“Sorry, Iggy. He looks pretty determined.” You chuckled, earning a glare from the male.

“Oh, Arthur~” France cooed, finally managing to grab ahold of the vampiric Englishman, “Why don’t you show me the meaning of a vampire kiss~ oh hon hon~”

You winced as England’s scream echoed around the room, drowning out the loud and spooky music, as well as the excited chatter of the other nations. You watched on in both amusement and horror as France practically took him right in the middle of the floor.

His scream could be heard all around the world~

━━━━━━༻🎃༺━━━━━━

You followed behind the angry Arthur as he stalked back home, muttering curses of revenge under his breath and you couldn’t help the smirk that crawled onto your lips as you watched him. Arthur was… fierce when he got angry, and that made his attractive levels rise a few notches.

You were a pure-blooded sadist and you loved to see him angry~

It was by pure chance that Arthur had gotten away from the Frenchman – if you’re willing to call Russia hitting him over the head with a pipe ’til he bled ‘pure chance’. The blood was a nice touch to the party, though. Really added to the spooky vibes.

Arthur slammed his front door open so hard it left cracks in the wall. You raised an eyebrow as you shut the door, watching as he began to pace back and forth in his living room. You set the scythe off to the side, leaning it against the wall, but with your attention still on the pacing vampire, said scythe fell away from the wall, slicing your arm in the process. You cursed as a steady stream of blood began to flow down your arm, landing with a splat against the wooden surface of the floor.

Arthur stopped his pacing almost immediately, his head snapped in the direction of his friend. His eyes began to change from their normal forest green to a deep, ruby crimson and his tongue unconsciously ran across his sharp fangs, growing as the scent of blood filled his nostrils. It took every ounce of his humanity to refrain from attacking you and his cape did little to shield his nose. He began to utter a spell under his breath, one that would help him fight off his growing hunger.

You, meanwhile, remained oblivious to the male’s discomfort as you picked up the scythe, setting it properly against the wall.

Arthur continued his spell muttering and the room began to glow. The strange aura that surrounded you made you take a pause from bandaging the wound on your arm. An odd sensation welled up in your stomach, slowly climbing its way to your chest.

When the glow finally faded, you noticed something amazing.

The blood, which had been sloppily splatting against the wooden floor, was falling slower than before. As the drops fell, they began to morph into velvety rose petals, falling slowly to the ground as if dancing in the wind. Even the drops that had already fallen had converted to rose petals. Red was the dominant color, but a few of the petals had turned shades of blue and purple.

“Iggy… what did you do?” you wondered as your eyes moved to the shocked vampire, who had frozen at the site.

What had he done? And how would he fix it?

When the scent of the rose petals reached his nose, his eyes closed and he breathed in deeply. He felt his body calming down and the inner beast began to crawl back into the shadows. His spell had, technically, worked, fighting off the inner beast that wanted so bad to feast on the fresh, warm blood. It just worked in a way that would make his best friend kill him…

“You dumbass! Fix this, right now, Iggy!” you growled, grabbing him by the collar of his ruffly shirt.

By now, his orbs had returned to their natural green and his hungry expression replaced with a fearful one. He didn’t want to imagine what you’d do to him – it’d probably be worse than what France did! “I-I don’t know how…”

“Iggy dear~,” you said sweetly, a sadist smile on your lips. You walked over to your scythe, picking it up and holding it in your hands, stroking the handle softly with the tip of your index finger. Your eyes bore into his own as your smile twisted into a creepy one, “If you don’t fix this, the grim reaper will be getting someone early~”

You were beginning to act like the demon you were dressed as.

Arthur Kirkland would not be a coward, not when he had such strength!

You were still a human for the most part and he would never back down!

England bore his fangs, a hiss escaping his throat as his eyes narrowed. “V’I’m not avraid of vou, mortal.”

You blinked, expression blank as your lips formed a thin line. Your finger stopped moving and you lowered the menacing weapon. The two of you stared at each other for a good five minutes before you burst out laughing, falling to the floor and clutching your stomach.

“Vhat!?” he hissed, glaring hard at you.

You only laughed harder, slamming your fist against the hardwood. It took about ten minutes before you stopped, breathing heavily from a lack of oxygen. “My god, Iggy! You haven’t even been a vampire for twenty-four hours and already you have a Dracula complex!”

He hissed again, his pearly white fangs glinting in the moonlight as they poked out from his upper lip. “Vhut up!”

You grinned, pulling yourself to your feet before reaching up and poking his exposed fang. “So scary~ When you talk like that, Iggy, scary is the last thing you are.”

Arthur raised a finger, about to say something but nothing passed his lips. He threw his arms up and growled, stalking out of the room and toward his bedroom, muttering ‘bloody git’ under his breath as he went.

━━━━━━༻🎃༺━━━━━━

Two hours.

It had been two hours since Arthur locked himself in his bedroom.

When you pressed your ear to the door, you could hear muttering and cracks like lightning in the sky. You tried to pry the door open, but he had boarded it up. And so, you were left to sit in the living room, bored out of your mind, as you waited for him to come out. Of course, you couldn’t watch TV since the power was out, thanks to the not-so-lovely storm raging outside like a dinosaur on steroids.

“Aha!”

You heard his muffled yell from inside his room, followed by rushed footsteps, crashing – most likely the boards being thrown on the floor – and his bedroom door being slammed open. Said male came running into the living room with a piece of parchment in hand. He grabbed your wrist and tugged you back to his bedroom.

An odd alchemy circle had been drawn in the middle of the room. Laying inside that circle was a large black and red coffin, the lid off to the side. Arthur shoved the parchment into your hand before walking over to the coffin.

“I’m going to get into the coffin and close the lid. When I do, I want you to sit, indian style, on top. Wait until the clock strikes twelve midnight, exactly, and read the words aloud. Everything should be back to normal after that.” He explained before getting into the coffin.

You lifted the lid and slid it into place before taking your seat. Your eyes watched as the clock's hands slowly moved. When midnight finally came, a loud ding echoed throughout the room, so loud it hurt your ears, but you ignored the pain and began to read Arthur’s fine script.

“Eerie shadows were they then. But tonight they come again. Were we once more but sixteen. Precious would be Halloween.”

Lightning flashed outside of his bedroom window, the wind blowing harsher than before. The rain pelted the roof as if it were angry. A purple light began to swirl around you, almost as if a tornado were beginning to form. It got brighter and brighter until it was impossible to see anything. Then there was a flash, like a camera, and everything began to disappear. The rain outside slowed to a drizzle, the lighting and thunder vanished with the purple light and the circle below slowly began to fade.

Arthur’s muffled yells reached you and you jumped off the lid, pushing it open. The blonde shot out of the coffin, breathing heavily as he glared at you, “Took you long enough! Do you know how bloody hard it is to breathe in there?!”

“Breathe?” you questioned, tilting your head to the side.

“Yes, breathe. It’s what humans do, git!”

A grin spread across your face and you crossed your arms, “Welcome back, Iggy.”

He blinked in surprise as the words sunk in. It was then that he realized something important; he was no longer a vampire. He smiled, grabbing you in a bone-crushing hug.

Halloween truly was the greatest.

Well, as long as you had a perverted Frenchman, a bi-polar and psychotic Russian, and a spell-bearing Englishman to keep things interesting. You felt like a pretty lucky person – and you were quite happy that you no longer bled rose petals.

━━━━━━༻🎃༺━━━━━━

#england #england x reader #arthur kirkland #arthur kirkland x reader #anime #anime x reader #aph #hetalia #axis powers hetalia #aph x reader #hetalia x reader #halloween #anime scenarios #anime imagines

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yanderes-galore · 2 years

Note

Fluffy AU Springtrap and prompt 51 and 59?

The fluffy AU is still such a cobbled together AU. However I'll try to make a comprehensible storyline at some point. In the Fluffy AU, Springtrap was Springbonnie before passing away. This is a very different Springtrap from what you know. This is mostly Springbonnie with a twisted persona...?

I attempted to create a story for this, even now I'm not to sure how I feel about it but let me know what you think. Using my prompts.

Yandere! Springtrap (Fluffy AU) Prompts 51 and 59

"I'll chase you down like an animal if I have to."

"Are those friends of yours? Are they your everything?"

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Blood, Murder, Obsession, Kidnapping, Zombies/Resurrection, Implied cult behavior, Fluffy AU, Possessive behavior, Jealousy, Experimentation.

He was one of the first successful creatures. Springbonnie and Fredbear were the first completed biological experiments that didn't die on conception. The first attempts to create living breathing mascots.

Springbonnie was one of the more friendly ones. He always wanted to make friends with any person he came in contact with. He was perfect.

His golden fur was soft to the touch, his skills at the banjo were carefully practiced. Afton had applauded the fact that Springbonnie was one of the first perfected prototypes.

But prototypes aren't meant to stay forever.

Due to some biological complications, as Afton called it, Springbonnie had passed away before ever seeing anyone outside the Afton facillity. Although not all was lost, William still thought experiments could be conducted. Which lead to the first corrupted monster this facility created.

Springtrap as this new creature was called, was created by experimentation. Henry was against such a beast, although Afton never said how he created him. The scars on his arm say otherwise.

Springtrap was a different form of Springbonnie. He was sadistic, manipulative, and murderous.... He had even attacked the other prototype, Fredbear.

Trying to contain Springtrap and create new mascots based on the prototypes required more hands. Which is why you were hired to the Afton Facility to work as a handler. It was odd you had to sign an NDA....

Until you saw the creature you had to handle.

"Is that a new friend I spy?"

Long story short, you had no idea what you were getting into. The experiments, the creatures, the smell. God... Springtrap smelled. You had asked Afton to bathe him, the scientist shrugged.

"He's a living corpse, they smell."

This job confused you... and made you wish to vomit.

The only "good" news you had was Springtrap liked you. It saved you slightly from his violence. Even then... he was still aggressive

The facility nearly lost so many scientists to Spring's outbursts. He was fine when he saw you through his bullet-proof glass cage. Although you could never look him in those dead eyes.

"Are those friends of yours?" The undead rabbit asked you one time through his enclosure, boney hand dragging on the glass. He points to your fellow scientists chatting, tilting his head. "Are they your everything?"

"They're friends, yeah... I can barely leave this place. Might as well get close to someone, right?" You say, hesitantly looking at the rabbit. He glares, shaking his head.

"I'm meant to be your friend, think about it. You're mine. Why else would I keep others away from you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I hate them around you. They have such a disgusting smell. You smell like them all the time. I want to maul them...."

Ironic as Springtrap is easily the smelliest animal here....

"Don't think such things."

"What are you going to do, stop me? You know you can't...."

"I'd leash you if I could."

"That sounds so flattering, dear, I'd wear it with pride."

You grimace when he smiles at you, a rotting grin haunting you.

"When I get out of here... the following bloodbath will be in your name."

"Springs, don't say that-"

"Why? I don't think you respect my dedication."

You go silent, feeling your radio buzz.

"... let's talk later-"

You quickly leave Springtrap alone and go to pick up your call.

Meanwhile... Springtrap watches you leave with a grin.

---

"Come on out, doc!" Springtrap calls, blood stained his fur. "Isn't that a cute name? It fits you well...."

The beast roams the blood coated halls looking for his dear handler. His claws and teeth were dripping in the blood of countless scientists. He was able to escape with the help of a certain teleporting friend.

Now it was time to claim what's his

"I'll chase you down like an animal if I have to." He vows, green eyes scanning the area. "Isn't that what I am? A feral animal for you to tame?"

He steps around a corner, the smell of blood and decay suffocates you.

"Show yourself. Stand up to me and show me you can handle me, doc!"

He rams himself into a locked room, the door bashing open under his weight. His eyes meet yours... you're in the middle of sounding the alarm. You're frozen... like prey.

"Springs-"

"There you are...!"

You scream when he pounces you onto the floor, your head hits the hard floor and causes a concussion. Your senses are overwhelmed by all sorts of lights, sounds, and smells. Springtrap stands over you, grinning.

"I told you I'd make a bloodbath in your name. Then you'll only rely on me...! I'm meant to be yours... I only ever need you! You're all mine..."

Bones touch your face. You can barely see what's going on with your head throbbing. Springtrap laughs at your state before pulling you up.

All you see is the blood in the hallway... where was Afton?

"Just pay attention to me..." The zombie rabbit hums.

"We'll have so much fun."

#yandere five nights at freddys #yandere fnaf #yandere fnaf 3 #yandere fnaf fluffy au #yandere fluffy au springtrap #yandere fluffy au springbonnie

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metalbvcky · 4 years

Photo

Back in May, I made my first Stucky Ficrec post and months later, I’ve decided to make another since this fandom is hella talented. There’s a little over two dozen fics down below ranging from 10k-100k+ and everything’s categorized.

Do note that lot of these are Modern AU’s (I love those) and most of them are smutty. (yes hello, an asexual here who enjoys smut so very much) Also heed the tags once you click the link(s). Other than that, enjoy!!!

Key: ♥ = My personal favorites, S = Smut, DS = Dom/Sub

a) CANON UNIVERSE

If You're Reading This, Steve Rogers by fallendarlings Words: 39,273 | Post/Canon Divergence 2012 Avengers/TWS, Recovery, Slow Burn

Nobody tells Steve it's okay to cry.

Nobody touches him.

Nobody remembers Steve Rogers is a person under the mantle. It's okay. He hasn't felt like a person since he watched Bucky fall.

don't threaten me with a good time ♥ by canistakahari - Words 10,106 | Post-TWS, Sick!Fic, Sick!Bucky, Cabin Fic

Steve's taken him on vacation to a cabin in Canada in the middle of winter, so it's obviously the perfect time for his body to go haywire. Bucky is determined to stick it out, though, partly because he's a stubborn bastard, but mostly because he feels some kinda way about Steve.

Higher Ground by EmilianaDarling - Words: 13,002 | Post-TWS, S, DS (undertones), Top!Bucky, Bottom!Steve

“S’okay,” Bucky murmurs quietly, and Steve sucks in a sharp breath at the brush of Bucky’s lips against his ear, his breath hot against the side of Steve’s neck. There’s a hint of a grin in Bucky’s voice; amused affection and confidence and something heated beneath it all, a familiar tone from so long ago that makes Steve’s heart clench and his cock twitch helplessly in his jeans.

“S’okay, Stevie,” he says again, and Steve can feel the curl of Bucky’s lips against his throat when he smiles. His metal thumb is rubbing circles on Steve’s shoulder. “M’gonna take care of you.”

A year and a half after the events of The Winter Soldier, Steve's been acting recklessly. Bucky deals with it as best he can.

The Simple Life ♥ from The Simple Life Series by howler32557038 - Words: 114,329 (Series Total: 337,273 + ongoing) | Canon Universe, MPreg, Top!Steve, Bottom!Bucky

"The simple life."

"You'll get there one day."

"I don't know. Family, stability...The guy who wanted all that went in the ice seventy-five years ago. I think someone else came out."

Bucky wants to be part of Steve's life. He wants to be an Avenger. He wants to be a good partner. Unfortunately, sometimes that means not telling Steve everything.

a road less traveled by Claudia_flies, cyclamental art (cyclamental),maichan, zilia - Words: 75,396 | 2012 Timeline AU, Post-Avengers 2012 (Endgame Divergence), Domestic Avengers, Recovering!Bucky

Steve wakes up on the cold stone floor of the foyer. He scrambles up; there’s glass shards everywhere and they crunch under his gloved hands. People are staring, holding themselves back. They must have seen the fight, must have seen two of him.

His own voice rings in his head.

“Bucky is alive!”

Kept Safe by Whendoestheshipsail (restricted to AO3 users only) - Words: 54,419 | S, DS, BDSM

Steve and Bucky are friends. Best Friends. If asked, Bucky would say he knows absolutely everything about Steve. Except when it comes to sex. Steve lives such a monastic existence that Bucky doesn't know if he likes girls, boys, or none of the above. For all he knows, Steve may have no interest in sex whatsoever.

But then a mission goes wrong, Steve is bleeding out from a wound to the femoral artery and Bucky is trying to stop the bleeding when his hand brushes against metal. Where there most definitely shouldn't be metal. Or a padlock. And most definitely not a torturously small cage.

48 hours by Whendoestheshipsail (restricted to AO3 users only) - Words: 25,894 | Post-CW, S, DS, Top!Bucky, Bottom!Steve

Steve is keeping it together. No one would say he's keeping it together well, but he's getting by. Mission after mission, he goes back to his apartment in Wakanda and breaks down. Then he watches Bucky sleep and tries to not notice how everyone looks at him like he's the saddest bastard that ever lived.

But, this time is different. This time, Steve goes back to his apartment post-mission and Bucky is awake, out of cryo and making them dinner in Steve's kitchen. The breakdown is still happening. Bucky isn't pleased, but he does have a plan. For 48 hours after every mission, Steve is going to let Bucky take care of him or he's going to be on Steve's next mission. He can't risk losing Bucky again. Which should make the decision simple.

It isn't simple.

The Sex Therapist ♥ by Whendoestheshipsail (restricted to AO3 users only) - Words: 179,941 | S, DS, DKink, Top!Bucky, Bottom!Steve, Current/Past Steve/Sharon

Sharon has given him an ultimatum- either go to sex therapy or it's over. Sex therapy sounds like normal therapy but more humiliating and expensive. It's total BS. He will go because she's making him, but he will also make everyone's lives miserable (Yeah, including his own) and never return again.

Do they have a lot of sex? No. Does Sharon want more sex? Yes. Does Steve do his best? Yeah, actually, he does. He can get it up, he just needs time. Alone. There's... preparation involved. It's not like one just 'is' aroused.

He can't explain it. And he won't. He definitely won't tell Bucky what exactly he thinks about to get worked up enough to screw his girlfriend.

Found My Place in Time - Cap_D, humapuma - Words: 12,492 | Post-EG (Divergence, duh) S, Fluff, Top!Steve, Bottom!Bucky

“Buck,” he heard Steve say, “wake up. We’re here.” Bucky opened his eyes and rolled his shoulders, trying to ease some of the tension out of his back. When Steve’s words sunk in, though, he turned and leaned forward, staring past Steve’s chest to look out the window. Beyond the wing of the plane, he found a beautiful coastline with white sand, blue waters, and palm trees, as well as rows of bungalows on the water. “Wow,” he murmured. “We’re staying in one of those, right?”

In which Steve invites Bucky on a trip to Fiji and they discover something a lot more than beautiful vistas and friendly locals.

Total Institution ♥ from the Institutions of Love and Incarceration series by thelittlestpurplecat - Words: 94,303 | Canon Universe AU, Prison!AU, Guard!Steve, Prisoner!Bucky, Unrequited Love, Slow Burn, WS Trial

The Winter Soldier has been sentenced to life without parol. His entire world had been condensed to a hot, cramped cell that he hasn't seen the outside of in the four years since his apprehension. It's hell. He has no means of escape, no means of terminating his suffering, and no means of distraction...that is, until he's assigned a new guard. Steve Rogers is assigned the Winter Soldier as his singular charge. He expects a sadistic, violent murderer. What he finds instead is a broken, tormented man with no memory of his past life, and no control over what had been done to him. He's a victim. Not a monster. And Steve won't stand to see him pay for crimes over which he had no control.

Raise Your Glass by minkeys - Words: 10,008 | Top!Bucky, Bottom!Steve, Light DS, S, DKink

Bucky knows Steve in ways that his 21st century friends could never even begin to imagine. Or at least, they couldn't until tonight. It's about time somebody corrected all those historians that painted Steve as a straight-laced, God-fearing soldier, and what better way to do it than over a harmless game of "Never Have I Ever." What's the worst that could be said?

b) SHRUNKYCLUNKS

Waking Up Slow ♥ by odetteandodile - Words: 44,638 | Dad!Bucky, Kid!Fic, Hurt/Comfort

In 1945 Steve Rogers crashed the Valkyrie into the Arctic Ocean and was never recovered.

In 2019 Bucky Barnes is walking along the beach below the decommissioned lighthouse where he lives with his sixteen month old daughter when he finds the body of a man washed up in the surf, half frozen but miraculously alive.

Bucky manages to revive him, but finds that the stranger has no memory of who he is or how he got here aside from a name: Steve. Snowed in by a blizzard soon after and unable to get Steve a medevac, Bucky discovers that the funny, good-hearted man slips into the fabric of his and Alice’s life faster than he would have thought possible. The two are undeniably drawn to each other, but as their feelings grow so does the looming possibility that the answer to the question “who is Steve?” might be much more complicated than either of them realized.

Isn't It Ironic? (Don't You Think?) ♥ by HeyBoy, Huntress79, imhereforgaysuperheroes - Words: 33,342 | Jewish, Dad!Bucky, Kid!Fic

Bucky is used to his daughter bursting into tears in the middle of department stores. What he isn't used to is someone braving the wails and actually being able to stop Becca's tantrum in its tracks. Oh, and he's also not used to that someone being Captain America.

AKA, how Steve Rogers calms a screaming kid in Target and falls in love with two more Barneses than he had bargained for.

in my condition love's the best physician by aniloquent - Words: 9,177 | Pharmacy!AU, Russian!Bucky

“This situation is a little more delicate because I don't even know if he speaks English and I'm tired of going down to the pharmacy for constipation medication and allergy pills when I haven't sneezed since 1941.” Steve shouts.

The room falls silent, and he turns back around to find four pairs of stunned eyes watching him.

Tony, as always, speaks first. “He?”

Or the one where Bucky is a hot pharmacist and Steve keeps making up bullshit reasons to go see him.

c) MODERN AU

Home Is Wherever I'm With You ♥ by cydonic - Words: 88,570 | Neighbors!AU, Slow Burn, Parent!Steve, Kid!Fic

This is what happens when you buy a house to flip having only seen the online images: you get more than you bargained for. Bucky Barnes brings all the tools to handle a dilapidated home, but he's hardly prepared for a smart-mouthed child (with poor aim), a crying baby, and the hottest dad he's ever seen in his life living right next door.

That House-Flipper!AU.

if only you could see me (for the pie that i am) ♥ by bitelikefire (theoleo) | Words: 35,121 | Baker!Steve, WeddingPlanner!Bucky

In which Steve is the proud owner of Frost; a semi famous local bakery in D.C. And despite the overwhelming insistence that it’s about time he start dating, Steve swears up and down he isn’t ready for that.

Or as of recently, just doesn’t have the time because of Mr. Barnes. The highly demanding wedding planner on the phone who keeps asking for nearly impossible deliveries and maybe Steve would like to personally strangle him. Maybe.

(There is pie. And misunderstandings. But a lot more desserts and eye rolls.)

So Alive ♥ from the Brooklyn Heights Books Series by GottaSaveBucky (Cosmic_Entity_1of4) - Words: 109,074 (Series Total: 165,440 + ongoing) | Bookstore!AU (sort of), Top!Steve, Bottom!Bucky, DKink

A man wearing a light denim jacket over a dark blue shirt came into the shop, a box tucked under his right arm. Despite it being late afternoon, he was wearing sunglasses with bright blue lenses, and his long, dark hair was pulled back in a messy little bun. A few strands had escaped, framing his strong, unshaven jawline. The man looked into the café, smiled widely, and waved in Clint’s direction as he kept walking into the bookstore, and Steve’s mouth went completely dry.

Beautiful, was the only word to describe that smile; straight, white teeth framed by full, lush, red lips, bracketed by laugh lines and an adorable dimple in his right cheek, a charming little chin cleft just visible under the light stubble—Steve was struck literally speechless. And that was before he got a glimpse of the man’s backside. Slim hips and a round, firm-looking ass led to long, lean legs that were encased in snug, dark blue jeans.

“Guh,” Steve said, watching the dark-haired man continue on to the back of the store.

The Penthouse Suite ♥ by elle1991 - Words: 15,873 | S, DS, BSDM, Top!Steve, Bottom!Bucky, Happy Ending

Bucky Barnes has the chance to earn $5,000 in one night. All he has to do is go to the penthouse suite of a luxury hotel and spend the night with his client, one enigmatic Steve Rogers.

The catch? Steve is a massive pervert, intent on using this one night to satisfy every single one of his many debauched kinks.

Even ignoring the big box of sex toys on the bed, Bucky should have known he was in trouble the moment Steve opened his mouth and said his first words: "My name is Steve Rogers, but you can call me Sir..."

Burnin' For You by GoldBlooded - Words: 15,753 | Firefighter!Steve, Detective!Bucky, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Top!Steve, Bottom!Bucky

Steve Rogers is Fire Captain of Brooklyn’s very busy Station 118. He wants three things out of life: People he can count on, for everyone to get through their shifts safe and sound, and for Sergeant James Barnes to get the hell off of his arson scene.

James Barnes is Detective Sergeant of Brooklyn’s very busy 107th Precinct. He wants three things out of life: A decent cup of coffee, good leads to chase, and for Captain Steven Rogers to get the hell off of his arson scene.

Everyone knows to steer clear when these two have to deal with each other. Everyone knows about their mutual dislike and sometimes hatred. But what everyone doesn't know? How they got to be like that in the first place.

Collar Full of Chemistry ♥ from the Rich People Are Wild Series by 2bestfriends - Words: 188,437 (Series Total: 219,519) | Heavy BDSM, DS, S, Top!Steve, Bottom!Bucky

Steve is very rich and desperate to feel in control of his life again after a recent divorce has left him feeling bitter and lonely. When he keeps crossing paths with a disaster twenty-something, an unconventional solution presents itself. Steve's always been one for following his instincts.

Bucky is very broke and can't seem to catch a break, especially after some asshole fires him for one fucking mistake. So of course, it follows that he should sign a contract agreeing to do everything and anything that same asshole wants for a whole year in exchange for a payout that could finally change his life for the better.

Toothpaste Kisses ♥ by buckybees - Words: 18,736 | Dentist!Steve, Patient!Bucky, Amputee!Bucky

Sitting in the horribly antiseptic gateway to hell, otherwise known as the waiting room, Bucky was deeply reassessing his life choices. Maybe if he didn’t eat ice cream for every meal this wouldn’t have happened.

Steve's a dentist, Bucky's a patient. You know the drill.

Out of the Blue ♥ by IsabellaJack - Words: 37,564 | PreSerum!Steve, Detective!Bucky (and Sam!), Mystery!Fic

“Does she have family?” Barnes asks again.

Steve tries to remember. “I don’t know.”

“You sing her praises and don’t know a simple info like that?” Barnes huffs, looking irritated.

Love Is An Ocean Wide by fancyh - Words: 29,009 | Shapeshifter!AU, Orca!Bucky, Marine Biologist!Steve

When marine biologist Steve Rogers helps to rescue an injured orca from the marine traffickers Hydra, he has no idea how his life will change. Once rehabilitated, the orca is released and disappears, and a despondent Steve throws himself into his work, only to feel a spark when a new volunteer arrives, a man with one arm and curiously familiar blue eyes.

Bucky has lived in the ocean his whole life. But when his family is killed and his sister captured by Hydra, he is forced to turn to humans for help. One human in particular intrigues him, a man by the name of Steve. As Bucky comes ashore to search for his sister, he finds himself falling for the man, but dangerous secrets still stand between them.

Includes clueless-about-humans Bucky, heart-eyes-Steve, and lots of Very Important rocks.

Innocent Until ♥ by L1av - Words: 136,866 | Lawyer!Bucky, Defendant!Steve, DS, BDSM, Top!Bucky, Bottom!Steve

Bucky Barnes made a name for himself as the attorney who could get anyone off, but he still lives by the saying, "Innocent until proven guilty." Steve Rogers finds himself on trial for multiple homicides but he swears he was only trying to protect a girl. Bucky's been in this business long enough to know when someone's innocent, and Steve is innocent. Steve already feels like a monster and Bucky's worried this guy's going to lay himself on the sword come his trial. So Bucky offers up another course for punishment:

Turns out, chains and whips really excite Steve.

Brooklyn Syndrome ♥ by lordelannette - Words: 158,350 | DARKFIC, Dark!Steve (VERY DARK, heed the tags, you have been warned) Doctor!Steve, Writer!Bucky, Kidnapping, Slow Burn, Graphic Violence

Bucky's back was pressed against the cold floor and he stared through blurry eyes as Steve stood over him. He was trying to push himself as far away as he could, using his hands and bare feet to slide himself out from between Steve's legs but he couldn't find purchase against the wooden floor. Steve's legs were locked on both sides of his hips and Bucky couldn't move, couldn't get away, and the room was swimming before his eyes and he couldn't focus, couldn't think straight. All he could make out was the hazy figure of Steve towering over him and he lifted his arm to push uselessly at Steve's shin.

"P-please," Bucky whispered. His voice was weak, like him, and his jaw trembled as Steve reached down.

Steve slid down onto the floor and effortlessly gathered him into his strong arms, cradling Bucky to his chest as he leaned against the wall. "Bucky," Steve breathed. One of his large hands slid gently into Bucky's hair, the other curving against his spine and pulling him even closer. "You're mine now, remember?"

Steve's grip tightened then it all went black.

lay me down (tell me i've been found) by coffeeinallcaps - Words: 25,188 | Modern!AU, DS, Top!Steve, Bottom!Bucky

The collar is a little on the heavy side, and incredibly soft against Bucky's skin. Even softer than he thought it would be. It seems to fit snugly, and for a second he feels like he can't breathe. Then, Steve slides two fingers under the collar and runs them along the inside, almost all the way around. Bucky shivers. Goose bumps spread down his back, his arms. "How does it feel?" Steve murmurs, hooking his fingers into the ring and giving a gentle tug on it. Bucky swallows. Nods.

(In which billionaire businessman Steve shows up and turns Bucky's life into an improbable fantasy.)

All Those Things You've Always Pined For by LavenderProse - Words: 92,142 | Family Man (2000) aka the Nicholas Cage movie AU, Domestic, Kid!Fic, PreSerum!Steve

“Steve Rogers. I haven’t thought about him in…God, at least ten years. Probably longer." “Who is he?” Sharon asks, and perches on the corner of his desk, hands folded in her lap. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Bucky clears his throat, tosses the sticky note onto the desk. “Steve was…my college boyfriend. We almost got married.”

It's been fifteen years since Bucky Barnes left Steve Rogers standing in a New York airport and never saw him again. Those fifteen years have brought him wealth and stability; everything his lower middle class Brooklyn upbringing had not provided. He is happy. He doesn't want for anything. He doesn't need anything. That's about to change.

Karma's A Fake Orgasm ♥ by daisymondays - Words: 51,637 | College!AU, Friends to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Humor, Slow Burn

There’s another abandoned mug, festering with mould in the living room — Steve offically has the world's worst roommates. And complains about them. Often. Bucky, tired of his lack of action, decides it’s time to avenge Steve's sleepless nights and unsanitary conditions once and for all. They’ll pretend to be the world’s most annoying couple: excessive PDA, loud fake sex, and general repugnance. The plan sounds easy enough; it will be strictly platonic. Or will it?

I'll Be Your Shield by 17 pansies (17pansies) - Words: 23,332 | Bodyguard!Steve, Rich!Bucky, Top!Steve, Bottom!Bucky

"If he's just minor nobility, why does he need a bodyguard?" Steve shoved the folder which held Barnes' details towards the middle of the table. "He's not exactly prime kidnap material."

"His parents aren't worried about kidnapping," Fury said. "They need someone to steer him away from the dumb ass situations he keeps getting into."

"You mean he needs a babysitter." Steve sat back and folded his arms. "Seriously."

I think this is a pretty diverse list :) There’s a good sample of everything here, some old fashioned post TWS recovery fics, some good dom steve/bucky, slow burns, fake pretend relationships and so forth!

PS: I’m on AO3 with more bookmarks plus my own hurt/comfort fics if anyone is interested :P

#stucky #stevebucky #bucky barnes x steve rogers #shrunkyclunks #stucky fanfiction #stucky fanfic rec #stucky fanfic #stucky fanfiction rec #stucky fic #stucky fic rec #modern au #canon divergence #marvel #my reclist #long post for ts

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horrorslashergirl · 4 years

Text

Slasher OC: Decebal Avram Chirilă

Full Name: Decebal Avram Chirilă

Nickname(s): Dacia, Dece, The Impaler, Vladislav, Tiger, Lynx, Dracula, Casanova

Age: 38

Gender: Male

Nationality: Romanian

Place of Birth: Bucharest, Romania

Current Location: Travels from country to country

Occupation: Former Romanian Soldier; Now Hitman

Languages: Romanian, English, German, French, Italian, Hungarian, Russian, Turkish

Appearance:

Height: 6'8

Weight: 240lbs

Body Type: Middle Bulky and Atheltic

Skin Color: Warm Beige

Hair Color: Dark Brown

Hair Style: Short on the sides and longer on top, wavy

Eye Color: Pale Grey, almost white, giving the impression he is blind

Face Claim: Stephen James

Clothing: He opts for comfortable clothing mostly because of his job as a hitman and because he is always on the run. He mostly goes with black T-shirts or shirts, a khaki army coat with many pockets, along with camo army pants again with many pockets and black combat boots. He has a long black scarf with the colors of the Romanian flag trimmed along that belonged to his father.

Other features: He has many scars on his broad back and down his arms; his back's scars are covered by tattoos of an eagle and a grim reaper with two swords in an X shape. His has full sleeve tattoos down his arms, picturing all kind of nature scenarios from his country, mountains and wild animals and AK-47's on each forearm. His neck, chest and legs are also covered by tattoos along with his hands. This guy is all inked up. He also has a silver earing on his right ear. He also wears an eyepatch that is covering his scarred eye that he got from a fight with his brother Alexander, the scar mimiking the ones Alexander has, coming from his eyebrow down his eye and over his cheek.

Weapons: Twin Swords, Twin Guns, and throwing knives.

Power/Skills:

Murderous expertise

Brute strength

Skilled usage of weaponry

Skill in hand-to-hand combat

Knifesmanship

Swordsmanship

Multilingual

Cunning Nature

Charisma

Driving expertise

Ruthlessness

Fearlessness

Manipulation

Marksmanship

Master tactician and strategist

Stealth mastery

Symbols: Here is the link to Decebal's symbols

History/Bio:

Decebal was named after a Romanian king by his parents, father Apostol Chirilă, and his mother, Maria Stratulat of Moldovic heritage. They were a poor family that lived in Bucharest during the communist times, a hard period for them. Decebal's father, Apostol was one of the rebels that were against this form of a system of social organization in which all property is owned by the community and each person contributes and receives according to their ability and needs.

Because of this Apostol and Maria, along with their three years old son, Decebal, were dragged into the communistic jails where they were tortured in all kinds of ways from whipping to starvation to being chained into coldness.

Decebal tried to protect his parents even though he was a small child and the army warden that took care of the horrific jails was surprised by the child's braveness and he took him away from his parents, not before forcing him to watch how his parents were killed brutally.

During the rest of his childhood and teenage years, Decebal spent most of his life in the dark underground jail, training with the soldiers, doing hard work. Despite that, the warden thought Decebal about all kinds of languages, cultures, and history.

'Just because you're a stray dog that doesn't mean you cannot learn to bark and bite.'

In his late teenage years as he grew into an adult man, he got more to the light outside, following the warden wherever he went and did was his so-called 'father' figure did; smoke, drink and got laid with all the ladies.

The warden's words during a drunken late-night:

'You know boy, you will do something big, much bigger than you can imagine. I saw how all these sluts looked at you... You make them fall into your arms like they are desperate whores.'

'Use everything you got; charms, brains, muscles. In this world, there are the ones that walk every inch of the ground as they own it and the ones that follow, all chained. Tell me, boy... Which one you are?'

One of the greatest abilities that Decebal earned during years in the darkness was that he got so used to it that now as an adult, he sees perfectly into the darkness, just like cats do.

Some people called Decebal 'Lynx'; the moniker originates from the fact that Lynx has exceptional night vision, remarkable hearing, and incredible instincts. The spiritual lesson Lynx carries to you is a reminder to partake of quiet observance, remembering there’s more to the world than what’s accessible through the physical eyes and ears alone.

After communism fell down in Romania, Decebal still maintained the attitude he grew up around; being sadistic, cold, and cruel. People weren't too fond of his attitude; his habits including fighting and torturing people that opposed him, getting laid with other men's wives, strolling down the streets like he owned everything.

He disappeared from Romania when there was a reward on his head to be finally executed. The Romanian army was hot on his trail, turning against him, but he simply vanished.

He strolls from country to country, not having a definitive home and working as a rogue hitman to earn money and to survive.

After a brutal fight between him and his twin little brother, Alexander; the two brothers which resulted in both of them almost dead, they get on an agreement of peace between them, with the help of their third part, their little sister Nadia.

Family: His little brother Alexander Chirilă and his little sister Nadia Nikolina Chirilă

His favorite killing style:

He prefers a kill that will put on a good show, he will shot his victims in both their knees, then he will dismember them with his sharp twin swords.

Personality:

Decebal has two paths of personality; the civilian one and the hitman one, that sometimes cross path depending on the situation at hand. In hi day to day life, he is a charming, handsome man, confident and sure of himself, but also having a modesty edge, just to draw people in closer, because he loves the attention, having a God-like complex.

Despite his childhood, he is a very educated man that speaks many languages, sometimes taking people by surprise, he can even put on fake accents. He also has vast knowledge about other countries history, mostly because that's what his 'father-figure' talked a lot about.

He is a flirt, he simply adores to make women swon by his charming looks and mysterious persona wherever he goes, people always wondering from where he comes. He knows how to sweet-talk people, being extremly manipulative. His looks; big and strong, in his eyes a flaming white glow.

You will rarely see Decebal without his charming smile or dark smirk that makes the ladies sigh and faint. He always puts on a winning attitude, knowing for creating many divorces along his travelings.

Here goes his saying: 'If the female raised her tail, who I am to deny.'

He has a romantic side, after all he does speaks the romance languages, but it's highly influenced his his Casanova attitude.

He is blunt; this man will tell if you're damn gorgeous or if you're down-right ugly or stupid. He has no problem putting his opinions straight on the table.

His favorite drink: Țuică- is a traditional Romanian spirit that contains ~ 24–65% alcohol by volume (usually 40–55%), prepared only from plums.

His favorite food: Sarma is a dish of vine, cabbage, monk's rhubarb, kale or chard leaves rolled around a filling of grains, like bulgur or rice, minced meat, or both. It is found in the cuisines of the former Ottoman Empire from the Middle East to Southeastern Europe.

His scent: Decebal's scent could be described as a 'game of seduction' with an "exciting rush" of citrus and cool spice top notes. Pungent bergamot "bites" with freshness, revived by cardamom and lavender. Caviar gives a provocative and erotic touch “like a trickle of sweat on a man’s chiseled body.” Masculine and rough notes of tobacco and orris root facilitate the heat of the composition. He has that scent that could be described as smoky confidence irresistible to women.

Other Characteristics:

He is a very good dancer, especially traditional ones and he also knows singing. Attending important parties with his 'father-figure' he learned from the women how to dance and sing. The women basically made him such a charismatic man.

He is a heavy drinker and holds his alcohol like it's water; his moldovic genes showing off.

He is more of a night person that a day one, mostly because of his very good nocturnal sight.

He is pretty much an Outlaw.

His accent sounds like italian, latin, but with a little bit of russian or another slavic accent. (That's how a Austrian woman described his accent one night)

He is a master at Poker. Another way he earns a lot of money is through poker and plus, he is a master cheater. FUN FACT HERE: He won a man's wife through poker for one night.

He is a sword swallower, bonus he has no gag reflex.

He also loves to smoke from his pipe.

============================================

There lived a certain man in Romania long ago

He was big and strong, in his eyes a flaming glow

Most people look at him with terror and with fear

But to Bucharest chicks he was such a lovely dear

He could preach the Bible like a preacher

Full of ecstasy and fire

But he also was the kind of teacher

Women would desire

DE DE DECEBAL

Lover of the ROMANIAN queen

There was a cat that really was gone

DE DE DECEBAL

Romania's greatest love machine

It was a shame how he carried on

He ruled the Romanian land and never mind the Tsar

But the kazachok he danced really wunderbar

In all affairs of state he was the man to please

But he was real great when he had a girl to squeeze

For the queen he was no wheeler dealer

Though she'd heard the things he'd done

She believed he was a holy healer

Who would heal her son

DE DE DECEBAL

Lover of the Romanian queen

There was a cat that really was gone

DE DE DECEBAL

Romania's greatest love machine

It was a shame how he carried on

(This is an interpretation of the song ‘Rasputin’ by Boney M, mostly because the song inspired me into creating him)

For power became known to more and more people

The demands to do something about this outrageous

Man became louder and louder

"This man's just got to go!" declared his enemies

But the ladies begged "Don't you try to do it, please"

No doubt this Decebal had lots of hidden charms

Though he was a brute they just fell into his arms

Then one night some men of higher standing

Set a trap, they're not to blame

"Come to visit us" they kept demanding

And he really came

DE DE DECEBAL

Lover of the Romanian queen

They put some poison into his țuică

DE DE DECEBAL

Romania's greatest love machine

He drank it all and said "I feel fine"

DE DE DECEBAL

Lover of the Romanian queen

They didn't quit, they wanted his head

DE DE DECEBAL

Romania's greatest love machine

[Spoken:] Oh, those Romanians...

=======================================================

But when his drinking and lusting and his hunger

#Decebal Avram Chirila #Slasher OC #Romanian OC #Original characters #Hitman #Outlaw

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sopeyb23-blog · 4 years

Text

The Three Rules

*not my gif

Rule #1, Rule #2

Summary: Spencer X F!reader work through exhaustion and frustration while on a case.

warnings: swearing (med), throwing things?, death (not main, not graphic, but mentioned), cm style issues, thats it i think???

Pairing: Spencer Reid X F!reader

words: 4.6K (shes big)

A/N: I keep making these soooo long, so, sorry. this one is a little darker than the rest but ends in fluff per usual and has a little bit of funny Emily and funny Garcia

*I do not own any CM characters

~~~~~~~~~~

Rule #2: Always offer comfort and support

Y/N ~

Spencer and I finally moved in together about a month after the last incident. And he was right, it was more efficient.

“We gotta go, we gotta go, we gotta go!” I waited by our front door and Spencer ran around the apartment looking for his keys.

“I know I put them in the bowl”

“Spencer! I have keys, it's fine, let's go, lover boy!” He laughed and checked the ceramic bowl on the counter one last time before giving up.

“Okay, one last check. Coffee?”

“Check” I held up the two large cups in my hands.

“Go bags, check” he held up both of our bags on his shoulders.

“And keys, ½ so, good enough”

We arrived at the tarmac fifteen minutes earlier than usual...but still 10 minutes late.

Spencer~

I took both of our bags and stashed them in the jet with the others before taking my seat beside Y/N on the couch. As per usual the first teasing began from Morgan when I sat down and he saw that my shirt was buttoned wrong and my hair was noticeably more disheveled than usual.

“Oooh, looks like a lover boy had a very good morning!” I glared at him as I rebuttoned my shirt and JJ immediately took action.

“Morgan, don’t make me put you in time out” He put his hands up in a mock defense.

“Im sorry mom!” Rossi laughed before handing me my paper file and Y/N her I-pad.

“Milwaukee again, they've got a child murderer.” The once light mood from the teasing had gone away in an instant as we all opened up our files to see the pictures.

“That's an annihilator” My first thought was to take Y/N's hand, offering a little support for her and comfort for myself through a small touch. She took my hand gladly and gave it a little squeeze.

“An overly sadistic one too” Morgans brow furrowed as we continued to review the case but with perfect timing Garcia's face popped up on the screen.

“I have a present for you” We all looked at her with puzzled expressions through the screen.

“Look under your seats!” she began with her best impression of a talk show host and we all fumbled about to find bedazzled gun holsters for each of us with all of our names in special large gems of our favorite colors.

“Wow, thanks Garcia that's- that’s really thoughtful of you!” Emily tried and failed to contain her laughter as we all looked over to see Hotch replacing his leather belt holster with the bedazzled one from Garcia. He stood up to show her and got close to the camera.

“I’d say I look pretty badass.” He said it with a deadpan look on his face and then put his gun in it and sat back down without saying another word. JJ and Y/N looked at each other for a split second before bursting out in uncontrollable laughter. Like always, if one person on the team laughs, the rest of us can't help but join in. I always like to say it's because of Y/N. Her laugh is just one of those laughs that radiates all over and lights up a room.

Once we could breathe again we all thanked Garcia and she hung up with a big smile on her face. Now on to Milwaukee.

Y/N~

When we landed Hotch sent Spencer and I to the first crime scene together. Whenever possible on hard cases he likes to keep the two of us together because we work better that way. There is just something about the little touches during a hard case that keeps me going. And for this one, I was definitely going to need that.

“Poor JJ” As we walked around the crime scene looking at all of the damage done Spencer and I talked through whatever came to mind.

“What do you mean?” I love him so much. But he's absolutely clueless.

“I mean, her and Hotch both. I can't imagine doing cases like this when you have a kid of your own back home. It must be terrifying” he nodded in silence before crouching down in the corner of the little boys room.

“Do you ever consider it?” I continued talking to him even though I know we are here to work. Sometimes that's my biggest flaw. I don't shut up easily.

“Consider what?”

“You know. Having baby geniuses one day?” I gave him a curious little smile as I waited for his response and continued writing little notes about the crime scene in my phone.

“Well i mean yeah, of course. But I'm not the one who'd be carrying them for 9 months am I?” I laughed at him and nodded before stopping altogether.

“Them?” He gave me a mischievous smile back and said nothing.

“Fine then, keep your secrets”

We finished up at the crime scene and then headed back to the police station where the rest of the team was waiting for our report. Hotch and JJ look notably defeated and Rossi, Emily, and Derek just looked downright exhausted. Sometimes our work takes its toll rather quickly, especially when it's a very emotional case. Seeing a parent sob so horrifically after you give them the news is never easy. It's draining.

“So, what was the scene like?” Rossi spoke up from where he was standing in the corner.

“It was carnage. Absolute carnage”

“How are the parents?” I looked at JJ who out of all of us definitely looked the most defeated.

“They’re acting like anyone else would. They’re distraught.” I grabbed Spencer's arm and held it tight as we talked about the profile. The more we talked the worse everyone looked. Garcia called mid profile and even her voice sounded exhausted. But we all knew that we wouldn't rest until we caught him.

Spencer~

None of us slept that night. None of us even left the precinct that night. A few times while we waited for more information or for someone to come in for an interview we would take turns napping on two chairs we wedged together to form a bed in the conference room. I tried that once, but I could barely fit my torso in them so I decided I would have better luck with the floor instead.

“Spence, you want a snack?”

“They got pretzels?” I looked up from my napping position on the floor to look at Y/N when she stood over me with a few quarters in her hand.

“Yeah, i'll be right back” She walked away for a moment and came back with two cups of coffee and two bags of pretzels.

She plopped both of them on my chest and crumbled to the floor beside me.

“Dinner is served” I chuckled and took a swig of coffee- overly sugared just how I like it- and then ate a single pretzel before Morgan came running into the room.

“A boy was just kidnapped”

In a panic we all rushed up from our various positions and walked out into the main room of the precinct. I went straight for Hotch who was on the phone talking angrily.

“They put out an amber?” he blocked one end of the phone before turning to me.

“Not yet, get JJ on that please” I nodded and started to walk over to where JJ was napping.

“And Reid, get Y/N to talk to the parents, JJ’s done enough” I nodded solemnly.

We all have to do parent notifications and walkthroughs sometimes, but JJ does them the most. Every once in a while we make someone other than her do it to give her a well deserved break. Out of all of the things that we do, notifying the families is one of the hardest.

“JJ, another boy has been taken, Hotch needs you to put out the amber.” I shook her shoulder and she woke quickly.

“Me? I should be with the family, have Garcia do it.” I looked her straight in the eyes and shook my head.

“We got this one, you deserve a break” she said nothing but got up from her chairs and walked over to the computer to start on the alert.

“Y/N, baby, Hotch wants you with the families” she was still sitting on the floor where our coffees sat mostly untouched.

“Oh, um, okay, let's go then” I put a hand on her thigh.

“He wants me here. Will you be okay alone?”

“Oh. yeah, i'll be fine i have the keys anyways” She looked uneasy but neither of us had any choice in the matter. I gave her a chaste kiss on the top of her head and she grabbed my hand for just a second.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, i’ll be okay”

I subconsciously noticed the way she indirectly answered my question. It was her way of saying, no i’m not okay, but go do what you do. I kissed her hand in mine and walked out of the room going to help Derek and Hotch deliver the profile while the rest of the team was dispatched to separate locations. It's going to be a long night.

Y/N~

By the time I arrived at the families house it was nearing morning and the sun was starting to rise. There were cops all around and in their house which I quickly told to go. Right now, being here is not going to do that boy any good. Only one stayed to guard outside of the house, and me, of course, being the current family liaison. One of the problems with being the liaison with the family of an abductee is that after you make the initial connection with them, you don't get to stop being their liaison until the unsub is caught. That meant hours of being by myself in their house hearing the mother and father cry over the loss of their child. That meant almost never sleeping, or eating. And worst of all, that meant being without Spencers comforting touch and encouragement.

“Hi, I’m Agent Y/L/N, I'm the FBI agent assigned to your family.” They were sitting on the couch in the living room, their son’s toys covering the coffee table in front of them. The mother was crying soundlessly, almost catatonic, the father on the other hand was silent. He bounced his knee relentlessly and had no tears on his face.

“Would you mind if I ask you a few questions about Danny?”

The mother stayed quiet but the father looked up from his hands to speak.

“Do you think my son’s dead?”

Danny's mother withdrew her hand from her husbands and covered her mouth as she let out a sob.

“At this point we don't know much. But, i’m not here to lie to you, if this is connected to the other abductions then more than likely, yes”

The father still didn't cry, but instead just nodded his head solemnly.

I asked them all the questions I could. Where did Danny go to school? Is there anyone he liked to hang out with? Do you know anyone who would want to hurt Danny? Some of them were real questions that needed answers. But for the most part they were just to get a sense of the parents, and to make them feel a little less helpless. Spencer always says to me that the best thing you can do for these families sometimes is just to make them feel like they can help. Usually they cant, but sometimes taking their mind off of their own thoughts and focusing them can bring out little bits of information we never knew would be helpful. The morning came and went. I had a single orange and a cup of coffee that day. The night came and still, no news. I checked my phone constantly, even though I knew that my ringer was on. If they found Danny, alive or dead, I would be the first person they call. But until then, all I could do was wait.

Spencer~

Throughout the entire day I felt worried and distracted. Not just because I knew that the inevitable was close, but because usually, the team works in pairs. I deny it all the time, but I always work better when there is someone else with me. Not necessarily working with me- because I prefer to work alone- but just there. Someone who will remind me to slow down and take a deep breath or just let me talk out loud to them even though I probably won't listen to a word they say. But here I was, standing in front of a map, all alone, getting more and more frustrated by the moment and having not a single one of my teammates to get me back on track.

“Hello?” I finally took out my phone and called Y/N to get an update. On her that is, not the case.

“Hey, it's me, i'm just calling to see how you're doing” she sighed and I could practically see her rubbing a hand on the back of her neck and adjusting her glasses like she always does when she's stressed.

“That bad huh?”

“Yeah, not great. How's the map coming”

“It's not” this time it was my turn to sign into the phone.

“The the rest of the team is all out doing recon so i'm at a bit of a loss here”

“Oh, I'm sorry. Look Spence, I really shouldn't be on the phone, so-”

“Oh yeah, no I get it, of course.” She hung up without a word of goodbye and let me feel somehow even more frustrated than when our conversation began. I know she didn't mean to be condescending. I know she's just as frustrated as I am. But that doesn’t help me at the moment. After about another hour of waiting the rest of the team (minus Y/N) walked back into the precinct with downtrodden faces.

“We just found the body, kid” Morgan walked over to me and then sat down in a chair at the conference table. My heart broke. For once I was glad I wasn't with them today.

“Did you get a positive ID?” I turned to Rossi this time who stood next me looking at the map.

“Yeah. it's him”

Y/N~

I sat wide awake on the couch as it neared midnight. My phone lit up in the dark room with a call from Hotch.

“What's the news?”

“We just got a positive ID on Danny's body” I was silent.

“After you inform the parents I need you back at the precinct” I was shocked.

“Hotch, they still are going to need a liaison, my work isn't done yet”

“Y/N, their child is dead. There is nothing more that you can do for them”

“Fine, i'll be back as soon as I can” I hung up the phone angrily and gingerly knocked on the bedroom door, knowing that this moment would alter their lives forever.

I opened up the door to the conference room to find everyone sitting in chairs around the table. They all gave me sympathetic looks and Spencer tried to reach his arm out to me which I denied. I’m a profiler, I know what healthy and unhealthy coping mechanisms look like. I know that pulling away from anyone and everyone is not a good coping mechanism, but none of them were there with me. None of them saw the look of terror on his mother's face when I knocked on her door in the middle of the night. None of them heard her screams or saw her crumple to the ground in her son's room, holding his pillow like it was all that was keeping her anchored.

I sat down on a chair in the corner of the room as we went through the profile and barely said a word. I saw Spencer looking back at me worried a few times while we gave the profile to the police and again as I went back into the corner of the conference room, still pulling away when he tried to grab my arm. Once everyone had gone back to researching or calling or going door to door, Spencer walked over to my chair in the corner. He put his hands on the arms of the chair and squatted down directly in front of me. Still being careful not to touch me, he tried to look me in the eyes but I averted them.

“Y/N, you should go to the hotel”

“Are you going to the hotel?”

“No but-”

“Don't tell me that I need it more than you. Or that I've had a harder time than you! We are all struggling, we all need sleep! I can handle this Spencer!” He flinched a little when I started to raise my voice but still stayed in his position. Hotch and Rossi upon hearing me raise my voice walked back into the room and over to Spencer.

“Y/N, Spencer's right, you need to get some sleep.”

“Is that an order?” Hotch paused for a moment and looked at Rossi who nodded.

“Yes, i'll see you in the morning” I clenched my jaw and Spencer quickly moved out of the way to let me get out of the chair, but not before taking a firm hold of my arm.

“This is a good thing, don't be mad at us for trying to help you” I took my eyes off of the floor to glare at him.

“Spencer, if you value our relationship or your hand, let go of my arm and stop with your condescending bullshit”

Spencer~

After she left I think it's fair to say that my mood did not improve. My frustration about the case turned into overall frustration with myself and everyone who happened to be around me at the time. I stood in front of the map without moving for hours just looking and going through all different theories in my mind. I was no longer alone but at this point that didn't matter.

“Hey Spence, do you want any coffee?” JJ approached me cautiously and I silently shook my head.

“Okay, well, uh, let me know if you need anything” she walked away to the hall just outside of the conference room where Morgan and Emily were standing. I could hear Emily talk to her through the glass doors that separated us.

“So?” Emily probed JJ as soon as the doors closed behind her.

“No good, didn't even speak”

“I'm worried about him'' There was a hum of agreement between the three of them before Emily opened the doors and walked in. she approached me with less caution than JJ, but still with a little apprehension.

“Hey there, Spencer, do you need any help?” i didn't speak a word or even shake my head this time.

“You know I'm pretty good at mapping it so it happens. I could also help with a key if you want? Or alternatively you could just talk to me? Or look at me? No? Okay, well i'm going go get myself a cup of coffee from the diner down the street, if you decide to speak let me know”

She asked me question after question and still I didn’t speak or move. Finally after staying for a moment of hostile silence she walked out of the room to where JJ and Derek were waiting.

“So?” This time JJ asked Emily

“I asked him like five questions and he didn't even try and correct my grammar.”

They all paused in silence for a moment before Emily turned to Derek.

“Alright Morgan, your turn, good luck” she patted him on the back and he sighed before walking into the room even more hesitantly than JJ was the first time.

“Hey Reid, you know, we’re all here for you if you-”

I turned around very slowly with a deadpan stare.

“Morgan, as politely as I can say this, if you and the rest of the team don’t leave me the fuck alone then I am going to take all 187 points of my IQ and shove them, up your-”

“Woah, woah,woah, okay pretty boy, I get the message”

He turned and walked briskly out of the room. I turned back to my board but could hear JJ talking still from the hall.

“I'm worried, I've never seen him like this.”

“The only times he's ever been this frustrated we all know who got him out of it.” Emily stated and turned to Derek.

“I’ll see what I can do. Hey Rossi, let's take a drive”

Y/N~

I had slept for a few hours but the nightmares woke me up. It was morning now, so at least I know I got a little bit of sleep. I took a shower, got dressed, and sat on the edge of my bed, not quite ready to face the repercussions of what happened last night. I put my head in my hands as I remembered last nights events. I fucked up. Bad. After a few minutes I heard a knock on my hotel room door and got up from the bed to answer it. Rossi and Derek stood there with hands on their hips and worried looks on their faces.

“Can we come in?”

“Um, sure?” He said it as they had already walked in the room and I went back to sitting on the edge of my bed as they stood in front of me. Derek was the first to break the silence and he tore me away from where I was looking as I fiddled with my hands.

“Look, Pretty boy is in a bad place and you're the only one we know can get him out of it. If we want to catch this guy we need him, and to get him back on track we need you” he stopped and sighed.

“Well, I have been ordered to stay here, so I guess you'll have to talk to our supervisor about that” Rossi grimaced as I said it and pointed to him. He put his head down for a second and then took a seat on the bed next to me.

“Look kid, you were in a horrible place and I know that you know that. If you want to stop feeling helpless, If you want to get that boy the justice that he deserves, then we need your help. Spencer needs your help. You are the only person in the world that could help him right now, so I need you to suck up your pride, and come with us.”

I gulped and sighed before standing from the bed.

“Fine. But you both owe me a drink” They laughed and opened the door for me as we left the hotel.

When the three of us arrived at the precinct and walked into the main area by the vending machines we saw a group of officers crowding around the hallway to the conference room. I walked right up to JJ and Emily who were making their way through the crowd towards me. JJ was the first to speak over the low murmur of the people crowding the hallway.

“Hey, thank god you're here!” She sounded so relieved you would have thought I’d saved her life.

“Um thanks? What's going on?” After I spoke I heard a loud thud and a crash coming from inside the conference room and a few people backed up from the windows. Emily got really close to me as she spoke.

“Um, Spencer’s...throwing things” I cocked my head to the side and was about to ask what she meant when another object, a book i think, hit the window in front of me.

“Holy, shit” I said with conviction and without another word walked to the front of the crowd and opened the glass doors.

Spencer was facing away from me, but still throwing markers, and wherever he could get his hands on, at the window. Finally as he heard me approaching he stopped throwing things and put both of his palms to his forehead. As I got closer I could hear his heavy breathing and see the damage he had done. When I finally got close enough to his back I put one hand on his shoulder and the other on his arm gently. He flinched a little but didn't move away or try to get me off of him. I got on my tiptoes to whisper quietly into his ear.

“Spence, I love you and I'm sorry, but I need you to calm down right now because the team needs you. okay?” I kept my hands on him and heard him gulp in between his heavy breaths. After a minute his breathing started to slow a little.

“Good. I'm going to go get you a glass of water and i’ll be back in just a second” I took my hands off him and walked over to the door where JJ and Rossi were standing guard.

“JJ could you get me a glass of water?”

“Of course”

“Rossi, can you make everyone get away from the hallway and the window, there's too many people, I wont be able to get him to calm down if his senses are in a constant overdrive from the sounds” He nodded quickly as JJ came back with a glass of water in her hand. I took it from her and walked back into the room with Spencer as Rossi-with help from Hotch- started to disperse the crowd.

“Here, drink this” I guided him to a chair and he sat down to drink the glass. After a few sips I put my hand on his back and leaned forward so he could see my face fully.

“Okay, now I need you to tell me everything you know”

Spencer~

After a few minutes of drinking water I began to tell her about everything I knew for the location. At some point while we were talking I figured out where the unsub was and Morgan and Emily successfully got him and saved another young boy. As soon as he was processed we all decided that we wanted to leave as soon as possible, and not stay another second in that place. Even though it was the middle of the night Rossi was able to get the jet ready for us in an hour and we started the long flight home.

I looked In front of me on the couch where Y/N was snuggled into my side and rolled onto my back so she could place her head on my chest. Her eyes were closed but her breathing told me that she was still awake and while she was I wanted to make sure she heard one last thing before this treacherous trip was over.

“I never said thank you” She turned her head on my chest so that she could look at me, but in the dark and quiet of the jet, it was clear she couldn't really see me anyways.

“For what?”

“For what you did back there, I never said thank you, so… thank you” She smiled widely at me but kept her eyes closed in the dark.

“Well, thank you. For not making me feel like I was helpless” she opened her eyes when she said it and it made me smile broadly. I kissed her head and turned back on my side so that I could pull her close to me.

Rule #2, every little touch, every little word that she says brings me comfort whether she knows it, or not. I think that might have been the easiest rule to follow, after all, when you love someone just being around them is enough comfort.

~~~~~~~

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satanisnotapogostick · 3 years

Text

no tenderness director's commentary, requested by @girlkingsam. under a cut for all the warnings that were on the fic itself (violence and discussion of rape mostly). go wild y'all

It starts with a couple beers in the bunker. Dean and Cas have already gone to bed, Rowena is almost certainly lurking somewhere among the artifacts, and Jack has been put down for the night.

Gabriel and Sam are left in the library, halfheartedly thumbing through research that isn’t going anywhere. Certainly it can wait until the morning.

*waves hand* There’s a Plot going on somewhere in the background. Don’t think too hard about it.

Gabriel looks up and catches her eye.

“Look, Sam, in the Cage—”

She stops him with a wince and a shake of her head.

“Just, don’t.”

He nods.

A few more minutes pass before Sam slowly closes the book and leans back, meeting his eyes.

“So.” She feels her heart racing. Even after everything, it still feels like such a sin, like this is what will bring the divine fire. “You got any plans for the rest of the evening?”

This is integrated into teen mom AU so like this version of Sam very much did not have sex until marriage. And then all of the events of Supernatural happened and turns out maybe that one wasn’t such a big deal after all but the gut feeling is totally still there.

Gabriel looks confused for a second but then smiles slowly, leaning forward. “I can think of a couple options.”

I had in my outline notes: Gabriel tries to bring up Lucifer and Sam distracts him with sex. That is very much the dynamic that is going on here.

She swallows the instinctive rush of fear and takes another swig of beer. Keeps her voice steady, calm and husky.

“Why don’t we take this to my room, then.”

The fear is one of the little phrases I’m quite happy with in terms of the context above. First of all, I think Sam is still afraid of sex full stop. But also Gabriel is an archangel and Lucifer’s brother. This should actually be a scary situation for her even if she’s initiating it.

She stands up and Gabriel follows the motion. Leads her down the hall with a hand on her back.

When they reach her room, Gabriel spins her lightly and backs her into the bedroom, kicks the door shut behind him. She pushes him back against the door, kissing him for the first time. She has to crane her neck down to reach him, but it’s remarkably human. No spark of grace in her mouth, just flesh and spit. She runs her tongue against his bottom lip, thinking of the stitches that were there not too long ago.

She might be a woman but she’s still taller than Gabriel. Nonnegotiable. Also whenever she makes an observation about Gabriel there’s an unspoken comparison, of course.

Gabriel grabs her thigh and uses the leverage to pin her against the door instead, dipping his head to bite at her neck. She hisses, lets her head fall back. With hands on her hips and waist, he turns her around to face the door, mouthing at her shoulder as his hands dig in almost painfully at her hips. She braces herself against the door and leans into his touch, seeking the sensation. An idea forms. A way to make sure they’re truly alone.

It was also important to me that she’s not the only one bringing any violence whatsoever into the bedroom, even if she takes his love bite and immediately raises him murder.

“Kill me.”

“I—what?” His hands still.

“Not permanently. I just want to make sure that I’m out, you know. That he won’t bring me back, that he’s not watching.”

This of course is a moment from one of the posts that inspired this all. “oh sam asks gabe to kill him and then bring him back. just to test it out and see if lucifer will let him die or is secretly out there waiting to drag him back to life”

“And you want me to bring you back instead.”

“Well, yeah, that’s the point.” She turns her head, looking back at him. “Five minutes. You can do whatever you want in the meantime.” She presses herself back against him to communicate the point.

Gabe laughs. “I’m not a necrophiliac.”

“You sound so certain. So you’ve tried it, then?”

“You’ve been alive as long as I have, you’ve tried a lot of things.” He looks at her. “I saw the first death, you know.”

“And you’ll see mine, too.” Gabriel’s hands have loosened, so she turns around in his grip to face him. She guides Gabriel’s hand to her neck, leans into it. “Do it.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but he wraps both hands around her neck anyway.

There was a choice between regular smiting and an uncomfortably sexual death, but the latter seemed necessary given that this is all literally happening in the middle of a hookup.

It’s relatively quick and easy, as easy as death can be. Sam’s been choked out before—he’s definitely taking away some of the pain, the fear and panic. There’s only so much that he can do, though. She tells herself not to fight it, but that’s easier said than done, and she’s gouging at his arms before she goes limp.

When she comes to, she’s laid out on the bed. She gasps involuntarily, clawing her way upright. Where is—right. Okay. Here she is.

Gabe is watching her with tight eyes. She composes herself and smiles wolfishly.

There was the question of how into any of this Gabe would actually be, versus like weirded out and confused. I was expecting more of the former going into this, but it wasn’t happening that way. Because he’s pathetic and cowardly but he’s not actually sadistic per se. So he’s not going to stop this especially if he thinks this is what Sam needs but like, it’s not where he would have gone with it.

“So it worked. We’re really alone then, no hidden cameras. You gonna join me?” She pats the bed next to her.

He walks over and sits on the bed between her legs, tearing off his shirt. She runs her hand up his torso, feeling the heat of the skin. He leans over her, pushing her back down onto the bed. She goes easily, sighing.

He slides a hand up her shirt and she presses into it, raising her leg alongside his torso.

“Come on, I know you got more than that.”

He snaps his fingers and silk ties appear in his hands. She reaches out to touch them.

“No, rope instead.”

The silk changes to heavy fraying rope. He looks at her uncertainly.

Because like, Gabe actively avoids pain and discomfort, that’s his whole thing. But because of the whole situation, Sam has to be the one stepping on the gas.

“Isn’t this going to hurt?”

She stares at him like he’s an idiot. “Well, yes, that’s sort of the point.”

He looks at her for a second. She unbuttons her shirt, slides it off her shoulders, and he shrugs. The ropes appear at her wrists, binding them tightly above her head.

LOL I definitely forgot a sentence here. I’ll fix that late but the context I’m missing is that he tied her hands before taking off her bra.

“You’re an angel, just fucking cut it off. We’ll deal with it later.”

A snap and a knife appears in his hands. He cuts the bra loose, nicking her in the process. Blood wells up in the center of her chest. He dips his head and licks it up, then moves to lick at her nipple.

Sam laughs, wriggling under the movement.

“Not sexy, man, I just stopped breastfeeding like 3 months ago. Nipples are a no go right now.”

Gabe laughs, sits back.

“The tradeoffs of getting a hot MILF in your bed, I guess.”

Oh I do not like the word MILF actually like it’s so porny. Like older ladies are hot we don’t need to be weird about it. But Gabe is a creepy porn man so I had to have him say it. Also I was not planning on making this have like, a postpartum moment. But he was licking her nipples and it just didn’t seem right to let that go without saying something.

He moves down her stomach instead, flicking open her jeans.

This is the exact moment where I almost gave up. Keep your jeans on!!! And that is why we get our first timeskip over the action.

After he eats her out he releases the restraints. The ligature marks are red along her wrists, and he runs his fingers along them.

She kisses him again, tasting the salt and acid of herself in his mouth. He palms at her breast and she moans into his mouth. He returns in kind. She climbs entirely out of her jeans and underwear, and he unbuttons his own.

Oh this is super unclear huh. The implication is that her jeans/underwear were pushed down for easy access and then she removes them entirely afterwards. I’ll go back and edit that later.

She pushes him down, holding him down by the throat, and straddles his waist. He removes his pants eagerly.

“We don’t need a condom, right? You’ve got that under control?”

“I’ve had a vasectomy, both literal and metaphysical. And angels can’t get syphilis. We’re good.”

I just thought that was funny. Also condoms aren’t sexy but she’s not reckless enough to just not mention it at all.

She nods, and takes him into her hand. He bucks up into the touch, and she grins. She eases him inside of her, gasping at the sensation before she starts moving.

A few thrusts later and Gabe takes control again, wrapping hands around her waist and knocking her back on the bed.

He flips her over, twisting her arm behind her back. It pops loose from the socket with a sickening noise and she screams, more from the shock than anything.

Another part from the posts! It was a little bit of a challenge to integrate this one in, but it had to happen during the act itself. I’m not entirely sure that the escalation is earned, but Gabe was having a harder time really getting into the violence than I had anticipated so this was a necessary way of forcing his hand. Plus you know the Winchesters have had every joint dislocated in their time so it’s not too much of a stretch that this could accidentally happen.

Gabriel is immediately off of her, putting his hand on her shoulder, ready to heal. She shrugs him off. The motion sends sharp pains all down her arm and collarbone.

“Not yet,” she pants. “Not until we’re finished.”

“As in…”

“Happy ending and all.”

She shoves back with the captive shoulder, shakes him easily. Pushes him back onto the bed, climbs back on top to straddle him.

“You soundproofed this room, right? We can be as loud as we want without Dean barging in?”

He strokes her hips, looking up at her.

“I mean, yeah, but that wasn’t exactly the type of noises I had in mind.”

She shrugs. There’s something like concern in his eyes. It pisses her off. He doesn’t have the right to pity her.

Another one of my favorite little moments. This sentiment is why this encounter is even happening at all!

“You can’t tell me you’ve never experimented.”

There’s a pause, then--

“What did he do to you?”

One thing I really enjoyed about writing this is that Lucifer’s name is never mentioned but any time any of them say “he” they both know exactly who they’re talking about, no context needed.

She rolls her hips. Gabriel moans at the movement.

“What do you think? I’m sure you were imagining it, after you faked your death again. What do you think he did to me? Tell me.”

Gabriel’s voice is thin.

“He tortured you, didn’t he. I saw what he did with the woman, the demon. The first one, Lilith. How he made her.”

“And what did he do to her?” Sam’s breath is coming harder now.

I’m so sorry for making this conversation happen literally between like pants and moans, like genuinely sorry, but it’s what the scene demanded.

“He turned her inside out.” Gabriel pants. “That was his favorite. He would cut into her skin and pull it off.”

A classy amount of flaying!!!

Sam taps her sternum, where a speck of blood still remains. “This is where it would start, the vivisection. He would peel my skin off, or crack my ribs and then have me eat my own heart. He would put his hands inside of me, inside of my ribcage, trace the sigils that Castiel put there. Scrape them off with his teeth.”

I’m happy with that little detail, too. I’ve never seen the sigils referenced in any cage fics but it just came to me while I was writing the sentence and yeah he would totally do that. You thought you could hide from me? Etc.

Sam breaks off, breathing heavily. She leans forward onto Gabe’s chest. He strokes a hand across her back softly, looking horrified but hanging onto every word.

He both like really wants to hear this and really doesn’t you know which like. Again is the dynamic that is the reason any of this is happening.

“The torture wasn’t all. He’d fuck me, too. Get inside of me a different way, like you are now. Make me ask for it, beg for it.”

She punctuates each word with a roll of her hips, increasing the pace. Gabriel tenses underneath her, and she can feel him come inside of her. There are tears in his eyes.

Sorry!! This is another one of my posts although I cannot find it to cite it. But Sam tells Gabe about the Cage during sex and he cries. So.

She relaxes, pats his stomach in some sort of halfhearted apology.

He deserved to hear it.

Just like, his coming back makes the previous seasons a betrayal in retrospect. Like where the hell were you, you know? She deserves to be super angry at him about that.

He flips her over, and she hisses in pain and pleasure both.

“Asmodeus preferred beating. It only took me a year to crack under the torture. I wasn’t used to pain. Hadn’t experienced any in millennia. I was soft.”

I had to go onto the wiki page for Asmodeus and look at the pictures of Gabriel and just kind of feel out what vibes I got of what Asmodeus would do to him and the vibe I got was a lot of punching and kicking. If I’m off don’t tell me.

Sam looks up at him through her lashes.

“Do you want to learn? How to take it?”

Fucked up little moment. Seductively asking if someone wants you to torture them.

Gabriel nods.

“Okay, then.” She strokes the side of his face, down to his chest.

“I’m going to open up your chest, okay? You’re gonna be fine. I’ve got you, I’ll walk you through it.”

He nods again. “Okay.”

This is like. I thought the violence would happen more during the sex and some of it did but Gabe wasn’t really getting into it so I had to improvise. I like this better though, it feels more in character.

She takes the knife back from him and starts. Teaches him how to breath, when it’s helpful to scream and when it’s best to just stay silent. To learn what your own limit is. You don’t have to be scared as long as the person with the knife isn’t going past that. You can relax.

And the fact that like they both are thinking of this as a favor that she’s doing for him.

When they’re done, Gabriel is clammy and sweating. He dry heaves over the side of the bed, but there’s no actual food in his stomach so nothing comes up. Sam strokes his back.

He sits back up.

“Thank you. And I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have the right to apologize to me,” she says tightly. He nods.

He nods a LOT in this fic but sometimes you’re just nervous about putting your foot in your mouth you know. Because so much has to be left unsaid.

She breathes.

“There you go. You feel alive now, don’t you.”

She slides off bed, kneels between his legs.

“May I?”

This BJ was thematically important to include because I needed the torture to be in the middle of sex, not after. And I needed some element of like, aftercare without it actually being personal, comforting, or helpful.

When she’s done, Gabriel heals her shoulder. He knits the skin back together, cleans up the blood, removes the bruising from her neck. She asks him to leave the bruises that would be covered by her shirt anyway.

Also she does all of this with an actively dislocated shoulder. Do not forget.

When they’re lying in bed, afterwards, he snaps and a pack of cigarettes appears in his hand. Unfiltered, the old kind. He hands one to her.

“Cigarette after sex?”

She laughs, takes the cigarette from him.

“You’ll remove it from my body, right? It won’t affect Jack, no secondhand smoke or anything?”

“It would take a lot more than a single cigarette to do shit to Jack, you know. But yes. I’ll take care of it.”

I just think that after all that Sam worrying about the effect of secondhand smoke from one single cigarette on her magical devil baby is very in character. This came to me on a walk one night and was actually the moment where I was like oh. I gotta write this.

They smoke in silence, staring at the wall, unwilling to meet each other’s eye.

It’s gotta end badly. It’s gotta. They never sleep together again and they have wrecked any possible chance at friendship, and both made themselves feel worse. That’s what it’s about, baby.

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