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helaelaemond · 1 year ago

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Who Else Is Gonna Put Up With Me This Way? - Billy Washington x reader

Pairing: Billy Washington x female reader

Summary: You’re in an unstable relationship with Billy Washington - you've broken up with him countless times, and he's found himself back between your thighs again. This time, though, it's for real. But you're the one thing worth fighting for.

Dark!Billy, dub-con, possessive Billy, fingering, penetrative sex (f receiving), rough treatment, degradation.

Warnings: mentions of rape (none committed), mentions of domestic abuse (none committed by Billy, reader slaps him), discussions of Islamophobia,

Rating: E

Word count: 2.9k

Based on the results from this poll. Doing it for the girls gays and theys!

tagging those who showed interest: @tssf-imagines / @slytherincursebreaker / @humanpurposes / @arcielee / @elizarbell / @heimtathurs / @ewanmitchellcrumbs / @targaryenrealnessdarling / @valeskafics

"What are y'doing?"

You shove past him and storm into the bedroom, grabbing a bag from the wardrobe and dropping it onto the bed. "I'm done. I'm fucking done."

"Are you serious?" Billy stands in the doorway with a red face and thin lips, watching you with wide eyes.

You spit the answer back at him. "Does it look like I'm joking?" You grab whatever you can from the draws next to your side of the bed and shove them into your bag without looking.

"Over this?"

"This? This? You've lost your fucking mind! I don't recognise you anymore!"

"Oh, c'mon, I was drunk, and no one got hurt-!"

"Those people woke up to find they've been victims of your stupidity, all because you believe bullshit you've read-"

"Give me a fucking break!" He slams his hand on the door frame, and his eyes blaze.

"You hitting that because you want to hit me?"

Billy slinks over to you and rips the bag from your hand. "Don't act like I'd ever lay a hand on you; you know I wouldn't."

"I don't know what you'd do anymore," you answer defiantly. "I didn't think you'd ever smash up a Muslim butchers, yet here we are!"

"For fuck's sake! Who cares? No one got hurt!"

You wrench the bag from his hands and throw in a couple of tops and trousers, before pushing past him to the bathroom. He dogs your steps.

"They're real people; you know that, right?"

"I'm sure they're insured. Everyone knows those people are tight with their money. Got their own banks with special rules and everything."

"Those people? Your brain's been rotted by those fucking pigs you call friends! I don't even recognise you half the time!" After grabbing your toiletries, you're back in the bedroom packing up phone chargers, your earring box, your hairbrush. Whatever you need for a few nights, before you come back to get the rest of your stuff.

He keeps close to you. Threatening you. Shadowing you. He's so tall. You hate him. You fucking love him. That's why this is so hard.

"I'm still me," he says lowly.

"Oh yeah? Prove it."

"How?"

"Get rid of those cunts rewiring your brain, and start giving a fuck about people again."

His lip twitches and he catches your arm, pulling you close to him. "I care about you."

With more strength than you realise you have, you press your hands against his chest and escape his clutches. "Not enough."

He follows you when you go into the living room. It's messy, covered in beer cans and food containers and papers and cables, and you let out a shout of frustration. "I hate it here! I fucking hate it!"

"If you hate it so much, why do you keep coming back?" he thunders.

You open your mouth to reply, but no words come. You know why. He knows why. It's pathetic, really. But you can't quit him. He poisons your life, and God, you love the way it tastes.

Fury flashes in his pretty eyes, the eyes that capture you every time. He smirks, but there's no humour in it. "That's what I thought. Can't stay away, can you? You know you're mine."

"Don't play that game," you warn.

"S'not a game."

Billy steps closer to you again, and something akin to dread rushes through you. "No, it's not. So fuck off."

"D'you hate me?"

You glare up at him. There's fire in you now, fire in your belly, in your eyes. "Yeah, I do."

"Liar."

You suddenly slap him, and he grunts as his head is knocked to the side. God, it feels good to do that. Even when he turns to look at you in shock, in disgust, it feels good. "I hate you."

When he grabs you by the waist and shoves you against the wall, it's not a surprise. That doesn't make it any less of a thrill. He runs his nose up your neck and inhales deeply. "So if I shove my hand against your pussy, I'll find you dry?"

"Don't fucking touch me!" You hit his chest to try to get him away from you, but he's stronger. He doesn't go to the gym anymore, but he's stronger. You grab his hair and pull, but he's stronger.

"This is what you want, huh?" His large hands push up your shirt and grasp without care at your breasts. It hurts. It's good. "To pretend you hate me and pretend you don't want this?"

"I don't want it!" A half lie. You shouldn't want it. You know you shouldn't.

"Oh yeah?" he grunts. One hand wraps around your throat, finger and thumb pressing against the edge of your jaw, and the other slips under your waistband. You clench your legs together in response - but he's stronger. The heat between them betrays you, and he wedges his fingers between your folds to find slickness gathering there. "Sure feels like you want it."

"That's got fuck all to do with you."

His eyebrows are raised as he looks down at you, towering tall. Sandy hair flops messily over his eyes, unkempt and greasy. He's disgusting. But you chase his hand.

"I think you like me like this." Dropping his voice, he runs his finger around your clit, as if you're in any way ready for that.

"Like what?" you hiss. "A fucking rapist?"

"No one's getting raped, baby. You want this. You want me to force you to stay."

"No, I don't!" But you grab his wrist to hold it in place. For a moment, it seems like he's taking your words to heart and so his fingers still, but you hold him fast to make sure they stay where they are.

Looking into your face, he grins coldly. "You're such a slut, aren't you? You gonna come on my fingers?"

"You wish! You couldn't make me come now if you tried."

The fingers on your throat tighten slightly, and they apply pressure to the thick veins under your skin. He will be able to feel how quick your pulse is getting. Billy leans his close facer to yours. "You think anyone will be able to make you feel like I do?"

You shake your head slightly. "No. That's the point."

"Hmm." His lip twitches in anger. And then his fingers are pressing against your soft folds, digging it, dragging nails down them, and your stifled groan makes his eyes glint. "You love being used however I want."

"No, I don't. I'm not your thing to play with."

Then, his hands are gone, and he presses the length of his body against yours, and you're trapped tight between him and the wall, and it feels crushing, it's overwhelming, it's stifling-

Billy bites your ear and blows into it. It makes your nipples hard. "Yes, you are. Always have been." He rolls his hips against you, and it presses his half-hard cock against your stomach. As you clench around nothing, a shiver runs through your body. Of course, he notices, and he grins. "See? You want me to use you like the whore you are."

"I'm not a whore," you rasp. "You never fucking paid me."

"Maybe I should have done. You suck my cock like a porn star. All needy and whimpering like you can't live without it."

"Get off me!"

But you grasp the back of his shirt and claw at the skin at the base of his spine. It's so soft there, the gentle peach fuzz comforting under your fingertips. He's still Billy, somewhere underneath it all. Maybe. He presses harder. It's difficult to breathe.

Messily, he licks against your ear and groans. The obscene sound makes your eyes roll back."You leave this flat, you're never coming back."

"Then let me go."

"Never."

You drag your nails over his skin. Red welts are left in the wake. "You're a monster."

"What does that make you, then?" Billy asks with a dry chuckle.

"Stop trying to turn this into a game."

He pulls back to look at you with hooded eyes, lips parted. "I already told you, this in't a game."

"Even if it was, you'd lose." Something comes over you, and you spit in his face. "Fucking loser. Freak."

It makes him snarl. It makes him rough. With all his strength, he turns you to face the wall and shoves down your trousers, your underwear. You can barely spread your legs before he slaps between them, a hard hand grasping your cunt from behind. He squeezes and you yelp in pain. A strong arm is pinned across the back of your shoulders to keep you in place.

Then he squeezes your clit. At this angle, it's caught between two fingers while his thumb shoves against your entrance. It stings, the pressure, but it's worse when he takes his touch away. "If I'm a freak, you're the pathetic slut who wants to get fucked. God, you can't help it, can you? Getting this wet for me?" You can hear him inhale deeply, and the wet noises of him licking your taste off his fingers. You struggle slightly against his firm hold, but it's half-hearted. More than anything, you just want him to touch you again. "God, you taste so good. You ready to take me like the little fuck toy you are?"

"No," you lie, again and again. "Billy, don't you dare-!"

With knees bent, he pushes down his grey joggers and pulls his cock free, and slides between your thighs from behind. "No one's gonna treat you like this."

"You're a fucking monster!" Leaning forward, you press your forehead against the wall. You clamp your legs shut and trap his cock between them, and he responds by shoving you harder against the wall.

"And you're a cunt. My cunt, every dripping inch of it. Spread your legs."

"Make me."

Billy twists the arm on your back to grab your hair instead. The pull on it hurts, makes your spine arch uncomfortably, and a needy whimper escapes you. Fuck. He doesn't need to know how good he's making you feel.

"That's all you ever want, isn't it?" he whispers against your ear. "Me to take away every last bit of your control until you're nothing but a fuck toy for me."

Having your head pulled back this far makes it hard to speak. Between your thighs, his cock can't move, and you can tell how irritated it's making him. "I don't want anything from you."

"Open your mouth."

Your lip curls. Even with your hair wrapped around his hand, you manage to shake your head. Insolence isn't kindly received, and so rough hands suddenly straighten you up and flip you so your back is against the wall again. His hand goes back to your face and he presses against your cheeks until it hurts so bad you can't do anything but open your jaw. Without hesistating, Billy spits into it, heavy eyes watching your mouth. It makes your knees fucking weak.

You want to whimper. You want to swallow. Every part of him is sacred, and you want to consume him whole. At any other time, you would.

His voice is a murmur. "Swallow."

To let you do it, he lets go of your jaw, but his touch does not stray far. It finds its place on your throat, hoping to feel you obey him. Instead, you spit his taste out onto the floor. He doesn't like that.

"You stupid bitch." Suddenly, his fingers are buried back against your cunt and he rubs cruel and wide circles around your clit, fingers digging into soft and swollen flesh.

So, you grab his flushed balls and squeeze and he yelps in surprise, in pain. The hand at your throat shoves your head against the wall. The other leaves your heated core and shoves down your trouers and underwear until theyre at your ankles. Whether you would allow him or not, he takes them off completely, and as he bends down to do so, you wonder if he'll kiss your cunt.

Billy looks at it with longing in his eyes, but then he glances up at your face and the softness is gone. "Don't even need me to spit on you here, do you? You're so wet already."

"Nothing to do with you," you lie again.

"You need me."

"I'd rather die."

With more strength than seems possible, he looms over you and hooks his arm under one thigh. It makes you reach up onto your toe desperately, and then his blunt head is pressing against you. He holds it there for a moment, a threat, a promise. "Say you need me."

You squrim away from him half-heartedly. It makes you sick to your stomach that he's right. "I hate you!"

"Say it!"

One hand grabs a fistful of his hair and yanks. The other claws at the small of his back in an attempt to pull him closer. And then he does. The intrusion hurts in the best way. Your mouth opens in a silent scream, your throat refusing to let the noise escape.

And then he moves.

Billy is relentless in his pace, slamming into you over and over again. He doesn't give you time to adjust, time to relax, he just takes and takes and takes.

"Mine," he grunts, voice shaking.

"No," you choke.

"Yes."

"Fucking bastard!"

Billy kisses your mouth messily before you have a chance to turn away. It's sloppy, wet, desperate. His tongue presses roughly past your teeth and it makes your stomach tighten. But still, you turn your face away to deny him, so he covers your cheek and neck in hot kisses instead.

"Mine," he grunts again against your ear.

"Not anymore."

He returns his hand to your cunt again and as he keeps a steady and fast pace that makes sweat break out on his brow, he rubs you fiercely. It makes your hands clench into fists.

"I'll keep you forever," he promises. His words are punctuated with rough thrusts. "I own you."

Words are so beyond you now. He's rough, he's possessive, and he's fucking right. You fling an arm around the back of his neck and hold him close as he fucks you like it's the first time, the last time. His pace gets faster, more erratic, and then the tell-tale gasps begin to come.

"Don't you dare!" you cry out.

"With me," he answers breathlessly.

"Make me!"

You feel him nod as you hold him close. He licks your ear, making your heart rush in your cunt, and he moans for you just as you like. It drives you higher along with his hand, and then there it is, that pressure in your stomach, the tension between your thighs that pushes you higher.

"Shit, shit, Billy, yes, yes-!"

"With me," he begs. "Cum with me, baby."

"No!" Yes. Yes, cum with him, please, please, please-

"That's it, ah-! Fuck, like that, baby, keep-! Fuck, I'm-!"

Billy's hips stutter and he shoves them against yours as his thights tremble. His orgasm forces him to his toes, and his hand shakes against your clit. It washes over him again and again, and as the last of his seed spurts inside you, you follow him into oblivion. This time, your scream is not silent.

Against the wall, he holds you safely. Your heartbeats are matched as your chests press together, only thin layers of cotton separating your skin there. Your breathing is in time with his, too. In, out. In, out.

He kisses your neck. It makes you squirm. "Let me go."

Carefully, he pulls out of you and sets your leg down. Smiling softly at you, he kisses your forehead. Already you can feel his seed trickling out of you, and it turns your stomach. You can't be here a second longer. It's fine, you can shower later, get his stench of you.

You'll never be free of it.

"I need you," he murmurs as you pull your underwear and trousers back on. Now, his touches are soft and searching, petting your hair. You slap his hand away. He frowns. "I'll never leave you, you know?"

"I know." You might escape his presence, but he has taken root in your heart, for good or evil. "But it's done."

His trousers are back over his hips, and as he ties the string, he looks up at you with wide eyes. "What?"

"I'm done with you, Billy. I know you love me, every inch of my soul, but it's not enough anymore."

Large hands grasp yours. He winds his fingers through yours, and you let him. "You're my one true love. You can't go."

"You can't stop me."

And then his face darkens. Your lips part, and slowly, his eyes open, he kisses you on your open mouth. Pulling away, he smiles slightly and it doesn't spread kindly across his face. "I can."

"What're you gonna do, Billy? Tie me to the fucking bed?"

His hands return to the laces of his trousers, and as if he's not even thinking about it, he undoes them and begins pulling them through the waistband. Your stomach drops. And he takes your wrist, and kisses it. "If that's what it takes. I'll keep you forever. I own you."

#billy washington x reader #dark!billy washington #billy washington x you #billy washington x oc #billy washington smut #ewan mitchell #mine #trigger point #billy washington fanfiction #billy washington

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prettyboykatsuki · 4 years ago

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»» — { ♡ } —— { ♡ } —— { ♡ } — ««

coming in | h. aki

➳ tags ;; smut, fem!reader, unprotected sex, intimacy, clothed sex, aki fucking you in a dress shirt good lord, mild praise kink, multiple orgasms, creampie

➳ wc ;; 1.6k

➳ a/n ;; this man has been rotting my brain for so long. can’t believe i didn’t write this sooner ngl lmfao. anyways.. aki.. hand in marriage.

➳ plot ;; aki comes home to you after a mission

»» — { ♡ } —— { ♡ } —— { ♡ } — ««

“You left the lights on,”

You’re startled by his presence. Maybe that’s only natural. Aki has gotten so good at hiding the sound of his footsteps - it’s easy to miss. You can feel his presence though. It’s familiar, the imagery. His silhouette is shadow-laden - hair still tied up neatly, suit and sword and all. He only just got home.

You’re tired but not tired enough to sleep so you merely blink at him wistfully, yawning. How many days has it been since he’s been home? It had to have been at least 3, maybe 4. You mask your excitement with nonchalance, a gentle roll of your shoulders. Cracking your knuckles, you yawn.

“I always do,”

“Always?”

You chuckle at his surprise. You don’t mean to be cheesy, after all. But it’s hard to miss the little sway in his voice, the overwhelming adoration. He takes off his shoes.

“Always,” you parrot. He almost seems hesitant to approach you. Only when you unfurl your form and place your feet on the ground - arms open, does he think about coming towards you. He gives you a half smile. In the low-lights, the way his coat slides off his body seems more substantial than it ever did. The way it slides of muscular shoulders and gets placed over the back of the couch.

Next to come is his tie, loosens it slowly and carefully but doesn’t take it off. It always stays around his neck like everything that comes with him. Still, he approaches you. Sits next to you on the couch and leans over one side.

For a while you two simply face each other, the comfortable company. His eyes are full of an unbearable love but his expression is dull. It’s a misery even you can’t wash away.

You don’t try, and neither does he - sitting there and admiring each other is enough. He rests his cheek on your couch and hums.

“Doesn’t the light bill get expensive?”

You laugh.

“I make more than you,”

He doesn’t take any offense. It’s a reminder that you’re human, wholly so - and he finds himself smiling again. It grows quiet for a while, your heart thumping in your chest. His shirt is unbutton just beneath his chest and you can see all the lean muscle in his skin. The veins in his forearms as they cross over it. You swallow.

“Come here,” ― he instructs, sitting down on the couch and patting his lap ― “I missed you,”

His voice is so nice. A little raspy, but so pleasant and soothing. Like cold water against your warm skin. You crawl towards him, but he pulls you over until you’ve straddled his hips. With his hands at your waist, he presses you down firmly. Your hands shoot up to his shoulders to hold you steady, and he laughs at you.

Without another thought, his mouth moves against yours with longing that you can feel in your core. He’s really something when he kisses - his tongue is so expert, you would’ve believed he’s done it a thousand times. His hand presses against your cheek as he kisses you, travels down to your neck and holds it. It’s not forceful but commanding.

Your hands are fisted in his shirt, breath snatched right out of your lungs. His teeth sink into your bottom lip and tug - dark eyes looking right into yours with desire so heavy it burns. You whine - soft and low. You know he’ll take care of you, know it in the way his hands settle on your hips and make you brush against him slow.

“Keep kissing me,” is all he says as he travels his hands underneath your pajama shorts. Aki’s fingers are long, steady - you can always feel how easily they could reach inside of you without trying. You whimper into his mouth when he toys with your clit - but he kisses you more forcefully, forces all of your attention right on him.

“Aki,”

“Be patient,”

He always seems so calm - so collected. He always does how he pleases with your body, knows how to work through your first orgasm with easy. When he breaks away from the kiss, his mouth wraps around your tits underneath clothes. He’s a tease through and through, tongue licking at the fabric covering your nipples till they’re hard in his mouth.

“Your t-shirt is so thin” ― he kisses the hardened bud with a hum ― “I can almost see through it,”

Your brain feels fuzzy with thoughts of him. You feel hazy and sleepy and taken care of it - urged to do more for him even though he wont let you. He’s too busy playing with your clit, making your thighs ache and twitch as an orgasm rocks through you with almost violence. You feel starved for his touch in a way you didn’t know you were - rocking your hips against his hand.

Aki is always like this - loves you so much it can feel obsessive. His head is always cool but his teeth sink into your neck and his fingers tear you apart with an orgasm like it’s nothing. Your body is molded to the shape of his palms, the blade of his sword, the heat of his mouth - it’s all his anyways. It could never been anyone elses.

The tension in your belly is so taught, your trembling over his. Your kisses grow more desperate, sloppier with too much tongue and saliva. You’re begging into his mouth.. for what?

“Aki, aki - ‘m gonna cum ― !”

You squeal, burying your face in his neck as an orgasm rips your being in two. You’re soaked through your pants, running down your thighs. You can feel his fingers still, brush gently over the swollen nub.

“Good job, baby” his praise is simple, but the words are strained. You can feel his cock pressed against the shape your pussy and you whimper a little. Your eyes have a hazy lust that Aki always seems taken aback by. Like, for some reason, he’s shocked you want him.

But you do, which is why you’re hands ar fisted and banging his shoulder.

“Aki, please,”

And he gets the message, he really does. Still, he can’t resist the urge to tease you a little longer. He unzips his slacks slow, lets his hard cock spring free until it leaks against his work-shirt. It’s red on the tip - swollen and pretty and long. Instead of fucking you right away like he knows you’re so desperate for, he grins. Loose black hairs cover his face and eyes - he looks prettier than ever.

He bangs the head of his cock right against your puffy clit - rubs it between your folds while he holds your hips down and forces you to grind on it. It makes you feel so restless - so helpless. You can’t do anything bu wrap your arms around his neck and hold back a moan.

“You want it that bad? So wet you’re gonna stain my clothes,”

You whine.

“Aah, aah,”

“Speak up for what you want, Y/N” ― his grin is wide, egotistical. He knows your body better than anything in the world. That’s why he’s pulled your shirt up over your tits, curving the outline with his mouth ― “What do you want so bad that you sound like this?”

“Fuck me, Aki - please,”

He’s amused with the way he laughs.

“Watch me while I do it then”

He makes you look down at it when he does - watch it go in inch by inch. You’ve crumpled his shirt with your hands, wrinkled it bad enough he’ll have to iron it later. You make a pretty little sound that makes him groan. Stretching your walls out inch by agonizing inch - it feels so good you drool.

“It’s tight,” he hisses. He presses his lips to the crown of your head before holding your ass in his palms. He pulls you apart to fuck you proper - lets his cock thrust into you with deep strokes. The rhythm isn’t too fast. It feels like he’s massaging your insides with his dick - confidence to make you cum.

He rests his hand on your belly, his thumb against your clit.

“Take it easy and cum one more time for me,” ― he punctuate his words with a kiss “Give me one more”

You whine something so hoarsely you barely hear it. The pressure from him against your g-spot so achingly slow, the pleasure from your clit. Your second orgasm hits you in a heavy blown, like a mallet on hot iron. You’re spasming around his cock without another chance to breathe.

“Oh, Aki -”

Whatever words left seem to die in your mouth as Aki fixes you with a praise and chases his own high with a relentless pace. It’s so hard and fast - overstimulating you completely. You’re distracted by heady groans about how much he loves. Too drunk on the feeling, you simply hold his shoulders and beg for his cum. It’s what he deserves, anyway.

He finishes - with a loud fuck and his forehead pressed against yours. You can feel him inside, peppering his face with kisses as he rides out his high for you.

It’s all tender, all warm. The yearning in your chest has subsided steadily as you hold each other in heated embrace. He looks at you softly, smiling.

“You wanna know something?”

“Hm?

He chuckles.

“I really like doing it with the lights on,”

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#aki x reader #csm x reader #chainsaw man x reader #aki hayakawa x reader #utter brainrot for this man #like i literally #i wrote this in an hour #writing tag #spice cake

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keilemlucent · 4 years ago

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long days for bad people

(r18+)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

word count: ~6k

Being a prized, adored possession was far better than you thought it would be.

warnings: light daddy kink (no age play, just the name in mostly jest), spit kink, crying kink, degradation, brief descriptions of blood + violence, kidnapping (consensual?? read a/n), brat taming, light sadomasochism, mind break, praise kink

------

here it is, mafia au, villain hawks, dom, brat tamer, soft(?!) hawks. what more could you want?

there’s briefly described kidnapping at the beginning of the fic but it is reiterated throughout that this is consensual! no yandere/stockholm stuff in this fic.

i’ve been working on this one for a while and i’m happy to finally share it. hope y’all enjoy!!

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You shouldn’t have fucked around with the League.

God, it was common knowledge in the parts of town and circles you inhabited. Of all criminal syndicates, mobs, to fuck with, the League wasn’t one of them. They were known for their complete cruelty and violent delights. The League had such a reputation due to the fact that they openly left bodies carved up and burnt as they pleased.

But, you were a fucking idiot and got involved anyways.

It was a small loan, Giran almost seemed to scoff when he gave you the cash. You and your almost-stranger of a roommate were just very late on some bills and were going to lose a lot of material items if you didn’t scrounge up at least two paychecks in about three days.

You swallowed your pride and took the first and easiest loan you could get. That just happened to be with gap-toothed, wide-grinning Giran of the League. He, you knew from what you’d heard, was somewhat fair in matters like yours.

You had two weeks to pay him back.

...

You didn’t make it in time.

You were close to the amount, notably. You scrounged and clawed your way into getting the cash back. You weren’t much of a pickpocket, but you snagged some odd jobs around the apartment building that you and your roommate were still fortunate enough to keep a room in.

After one particular job, a nasty carpentry gig that you weren’t qualified for, you returned home tired and worn.

Sure, you were a day late on payment. But with this last gig, you were so close. The League would have to pity two, stupid, stupid young girls?

They didn’t, you realized, as you stepped into your apartment.

Your roommate's slain corpse was laying over the arm of your cheap couch, eyes vacant and mouth dripping blood onto the old beige carpet.

You dropped to your knees, horrified and completely stunned.

“You should’ve known better,” it was a hum from across the room, from a figure you didn’t even know was in the room until then. “Really, you’d expect folks to be smarter.”

Your mouth dried as the figure moved from the nighttime shadows, flashing a dazzling smile and ruffling crimson wings.

Hawks.

You’d heard of him, everyone had. Terrifying, fast, precise, and cutthroat. He took orders and didn’t ask questions other than snark. He talked too much, fucked too much.

“W-wait,” You didn't know why you were pleading, but you had to try, right? “I’m so close, wait—”

Hawks sauntered up to you wielding one of his feather blades, the red of blood mixing with the filaments of his feathers.

He crouched down in front of you, tsking, “I don’t like begging, angel. I’ll make this quick for you. Your friend there?”

Hawks jerked his finger behind to your dead roommate.

“She fought, pleaded, begged, all that normal shit I don’t like hearing when shitheads like you two don’t make payday,” his voice was slow, talking about death like some casual thing. “I’ll make this nice and fast if you don’t run your mouth anymore, how about that?”

You swallowed, nodding.

The small percentage of your brain that was fully functioning figured dying quickly was a much better way to go than whatever the hell had happened to your roommate. There was far too much blood for that to be quick.

Hawks hummed, the tip of his feather blade tipping up your chin so you were forced to meet his gaze. You vaguely heard the pitter-patter of your tears hitting the carpet below. Blood rushed in your ears as you stared death in the face.

Hawks appraised you.

You watched the metaphorical cogs and wheels turning in Hawks’ skull as he looked you up and down before flashing forward, gathering you in his arms and flying from the apartment.

Your first thought was obvious as you clung to him in the open air:

He’s going to drop you and kill you.

When you screamed, tears growing thicker, he slapped a gloved hand over your mouth, “I’m giving you an out, kid. Trust me. You’ll prefer this over death.”

||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

Your new existence was certainly better than death.

If you were ever caught and convicted of any of the illegal things you participated in, you’d be fucked, thrown into prison until you rotted, until you were just dust and bone.

But, until then, you worked for the League.

You had groveled at the feet of their leader, Shigaraki, hands clasped on your lap, claiming your worth, or maybe lack thereof. Not many attachments, not many people who’d miss you, a semi-useful quirk.

With a boot shoved into your skull, he sneered that you’d be the League’s new errand dog.

The real reason they accepted you was due to the threatening air Hawks was exuding and the fact that their old ‘errand bitch’ had died the week prior. They needed a new body to act as a civilian and do things that only an unsuspecting-looking ‘civilian’ could. You fit the bill, and Hawks had taken a liking to you.

Oddly, working for the League was actually pretty okay.

You got your own room. It was small, but you only had to share a bathroom with the somewhat unhinged Himiko, but she was fairly nice once she warmed up to you. Everyone lived in the League’s HQ and went about their business, getting drunk at their bar front each night.

Most of the mess happened at night, but it was important to put on a nice veneer and keep spirits high. Not to mention that no one would dared to fuck with the League, anyways. The cops and federal government had long been paid off due to the resources that the League had acquired for them.

You felt somewhat untouchable.

A lot of this confidence was due to the fact that you had become Hawks’s... Keigo’s...

‘Songbird’

As he liked to call you, anyway.

Keigo was the general, loveable annoyance of the League, but his connections were invaluable and his skills were unmatched. Despite how he could grate on people (read: Dabi and Shigaraki), he was respected and feared just as much as everyone else was, if not more so. And being his metaphorical and literal pet had its perks.

Sure, the first time he had you come to his ‘office’ and he fucked you against the window until it was smeared with cum and blood was a bit surprising, but god, if you didn’t fucking love it. Being Keigo’s personal fucktoy came with protection, pleasure, and a surprising amount of genuine attention. The dude was lonely, and so were you. The two of you made a good ‘couple’, if you could even call yourselves that. The sadism he doled out was always counterpointed by affections that did seem genuine.

Keigo was fond of you, and you of him. Maybe your brush with death had twisted something in your head, to even allow yourself to get close to a man like Keigo, but you couldn’t make yourself care.

You were comfortable and content.

...

[bird boss]: hey babe ;^) get to my office in the next thirty minutes

[you]: what if i don’t

[bird boss]: do u really want to find out

[you]: ...

[you]: im just curious

[bird boss]: don’t get cheeky songbird

[you]: u make me wanna u know

[you]: i know it gets you riled up

[bird boss]: tread lightly kid

[you]: oooo i gave you some guff over text

[you]: what’re you gonna do about it?

[bird boss]: use your imagination

[bird boss]: 25 minutes now, songbird

[bird boss]: don’t make this worse for yourself <3

You set your phone on your cheap duvet, quickly primped yourself to see Keigo. He wasn’t too strict about your appearance but wearing dark clothes and some of the more expensive gifts he’d gotten you over the months he’d been screwing you never hurt. Something about ownership with him always got him hot and bothered.

You tried to remind yourself frequently that Keigo saw you as some sort of possession, but a possession with feelings.

Meandering through HQ was always a bit daunting, despite your protections. Your skimpy outfit choice and hardly-hidden lingerie made you feel a bit more like an object than you liked too.

There were hardly hungry mouths around the League, they kept you all fed, but god, were there starving eyes.

Dabi wolf-whistled as you walked past him through a common room, shouting something about how Keigo was collecting his pound of flesh for the day. Maybe a line or two about being a whore, but that was all flavor at that point. Keigo called you far meaner, more sinful things. And hell, it wasn’t like Keigo hadn’t... shared you on more than one occasion.

Maybe you were a little fucked up for enjoying your lifestyle to the degree you did, but why not indulge where you could? Life was far shittier scraping paint off old fences and picking up cans to just scrape by.

Opulence was a breath of fresh air. And if you were Keigo’s fuck toy? Then, god, you were Keigo’s fuck toy.

When you arrived at Keigo’s office, you knocked gently on the door, quickly adjusting your skirt and blouse.

The door opened, though no one was behind it. Only a single one of Keigo’s feathers allowed you entrance.

His office seemed daunting and extravagant for a man who did most of his ‘work’ in far-shadier, far-bloodier places. The walls were covered in mirrors and old paintings, something out of vanity and pride, knowing how Keigo saw himself. There were several black leather couches scattered around against walls, some stained by your various... activities. There was a broad desk parallel to a back wall made entirely of windows.

Night had fallen, leaving the room lit by a few lamps and warm fixtures.

“Hey, boss,” You hummed as you stepped in, shutting the door behind you just before the lingering scarlet feather flicked the lock on the door.

And the other one.

And the deadbolt.

You swallowed thickly.

As much as you enjoyed a lot of the perks of your... position, it was also daunting.

Keigo was daunting, all bloody colors, vanity, and hunger.

He sat behind his desk, wings puffed up, and partially extended over the back of his chair. The desk chair was massive, specifically acquired so that you would have enough room to properly straddle his lap for hours on end if he so wished.

Keigo idly clicked around on his desktop computer. He leaned slack and back into the chair, legs spread wide and exuding casual confidence that reeked of his own ego.

Keigo normally wore a mix of black and red, as edgy as it was. He liked to seem clean, hide the stains of sanguine that undoubtedly lingered on him no matter how he tried to cleanse himself. His black slacks were pressed, the seams pristine. The black shirt he wore was rolled up to his elbows, the buttons of his red vest undone as well. His black tie hung half-undone and limp around his neck. His tousled gold hair was mussed as normal, ruffled by his flights. His feathers might’ve needed preening, but you doubted that that was the reason he called you to his office.

And based on the deep set of his brow and the sickly smile on his lips, he was already on edge and in a mood.

“Songbird, come over here, will you?” Keigo sat back from his typing, watching you from across the room. He took you in the same way a parched man sucks down red wine, greedily and soon to be fucked. “On my lap.”

You complied, despite your earlier attitude. You padded across the room, going around his desk.

As you moved to straddle his lap, worn hands gripped your waist. His amber eyes gave you a warning, crinkling at the edges, “Not like that, sweetheart. Do daddy right.”

Oh, so it was one of those moods.

Maybe you were Keigo’s sexual punching bag so he could exert control on something he could later kiss better and patch up.

Sure, he was going to fucking ruin you, but part of the fun with him was that the more it hurt, the nicer he was after. And, all things considered, with some of the... other folks the League brought in to satiate its member’s desires, you fared far better. Keigo cared about you, in his own particular way.

You tried to lean over his lap yourself, but his hands and feathers positioned you perfectly as he wanted. With the tight grip he had on your waist and shoulders, dragging you just as he liked, it was easy to see his need for control.

Your head hung off of one of his thighs as you squirmed in his lap. His bulge already pressed into your ribs, a wonderful reminder of the reward you’d reap later on. Keigo’s hands gathered your hand to the small of your back, a feather replacing their grip a moment later.

“Sit with me while I finish this shit,” Keigo grumbled, going back to clicking the desktop. His leg bobbed absentmindedly, his free hand rubbing over the curve of your barely-covered ass. “Be a good girl, (Y/N). If you can stand that.”

He laughed under his breath.

You let your head dangle limply downwards, blood rushing to your cheeks.

You’d thought you’d be in for more of an ass-kicking, but it appeared Keigo was taking things unusually slow. You knew better than to complain, but kicking up a bit of metaphorical sand couldn’t be that bad, right?

“I dunno,” You hummed, kicking your legs lightly. “I don’t think you like it when I’m a ‘good girl’, daddy.”

“Watch it.” A single, sharp smack to your butt was hardly enough to shut you up, but Keigo did so all the same, rubbing over the covered flesh a moment later, “I’m not in the mood.”

“Are you sure about that?” You wriggled, intentionally pushing up against his growing erection.

His breath stuttered, a smirk pulling at the corners of your lips. The hand on your ass didn’t rear again, rather Keigo kept thumbing smooth circles as he continued to click around on the computer. He might have been actually doing work. Or, he was ignoring you, egging your sass on.

“If you didn’t want anything, why’d you call me in here?” You asked, way too cheeky for the way Keigo’s body was practically vibrating underneath you. Pissing him off had consequences, of course, but you weren’t in the mood to play ‘good girl’ that day.

“I told you, I want you to sit with me,” Keigo pinched your ass. “But, you’re too mouthy to do just that one thing. You’re usually better than this.”

“Am I?” You played innocent, craning to give him a wide smile. “Hadn’t noticed. What I am noticing, is your already-hard cock, dear.”

“Oh, ‘dear’?!” Keigo paused on the computer. “Cheeky. Cute.”

Keigo would just dig in more, lean in, before ‘snapping’, if you could call it that.

You gulped as his hand swatted at upper thighs, his nails almost knicking your skin.

“Up and don’t get smart about it.”

Oh, you were going to be remarkably smart about it.

You rose but hardly stayed upright for long. Sliding down to your knees, you pushed at Keigo’s legs, “Wouldn’t you prefer me down here? Just for a treat while you finish your work?”

Keigo clicked his tongue, gaze flickering down to you, “Fine. Behave yourself.”

Yeah, right. You both knew that that wasn’t going to happen.

You were already tucked underneath his desk, undoing the fly of his pants.

You pulled his cock from his trousers, pumping his cock to full hardness. Smearing around preek for a bit of extra flare before inching forward.

Wrapping your mouth around Keigo’s dick was somewhat of a feat— he had a decent girth to him, so you usually took the opportunity to warm him (and yourself) up with a bit of tip-kissing and kitten licks.

But, you were feeling bold.

You spit on his dick, a move that normally would have earned you plenty of verbal snark, but anything Keigo could’ve said to you was swallowed as you took his cock down to the back of your throat.

You sucked around it, massaging the vein on the bottom with the flat of your tongue. Drool began to pool at the side of your lips as you let the head bump your throat, gag reflex be damned.

All the while, Keigo had stopped moving above you. The fabric of his trouser balled up in his ringed-fingers as he gazed half-lidded down at you.

You smiled around his dick, looking up at him innocently as you began to slowly bob your head. His wings fluttered, twitches and air stirring around you.

Keigo stifled a laugh, a hand tangling in your hair, “All that talk earlier and now you’re treating me to a blowjob without even me having to tell you to? Dove, you’re too much.”

You pulled off of him to reply, “I can only try.”

Before he could reply, you spit on his dick again, and went back to slurping around him.

You held the base of his cock in your hands, twisting and spreading spittle. It almost felt like your actions were for show, but Keigo’s eyes were rolling back in his head all the same.

You smirked.

A drool pool from your mouth, puddling in your lap and soaking your skirt. Not like you weren’t already dripping from the sinful sounds Keigo stopped trying to hold.

“A-ah, that’s it, angel,” Keigo fucked into your mouth with his hold on your hair. “Just like that.”

Your hand rose to play with Keigo’s balls, teasing at the sack as he cried out a high moan above you.

Considering the performance you were giving, it was unsurprising to feel him tensing above you. You’d been on your knees for him hundreds of times; you’d learned to see the little twitches and puffs of breath he’d give when he’d get close to coming.

You pulled off his cock with a pop, detangling the hand from your hair in the motion. It was all fast enough that Keigo couldn’t have stopped you in his hazy, pleasure-filled state.

Based on the look of rapid disbelief he was giving you, your trick had worked well. Knowing Keigo’s... tendencies made you hesitant to push him too much in the past, but for whatever reason, you were feeling stupidly bold.

Consequences.

“Sorry, daddy,” You wiped at your mouth with the back of your hand. “Didn’t feel like swallowing today.”

Keigo’s disheveled appearance was more than gratifying. Knowing how easily you made him come undone by that point was one of the perks of your position.

His hair was more than ruffled, strands and tufts chaotically curled around his cheeks and ears. There was a bright blush on his face, spreading from his nose to the apples of his cheeks, down his deck. At some point, he’d popped the buttons at the top of his shirt. He was covered in a sheen of sweat, half-panting and based on the darkness in his brow and the far-too peachy smile on his face, Keigo was fucking pissed.

His wings stood on end.

You gulped from below him.

Maybe you pushed your luck too far.

Maybe.

“You’re playing real cute today, aren’t you songbird?” Keigo didn’t move, but his feathers twitched above him, wings flaring out even farther. “Real fucking cute.”

You were fucked.

Good.

A few feathers flew from Keigo, one snagging at your wrist, wrapping around it, and pulling you up from the desk.

You wobbled as you stood, dragged across the room as Keigo leisurely followed behind you. When you tried to set your own pace, Keigo swatted your ass with a huff, “You never learn, huh? I thought I’d trained you better than this.”

You opened your mouth to spit some dickish retort, but you were cut off as Keigo’s shoved you onto one of the leather couches.

“Don’t.” Keigo’s tone was acidic as he stood over your, wings still flared out. “I told you I wasn’t in the mood for your cute bullshit, dove, and you still decided to test your luck, huh?”

You kneeled on the cushions, sucking down air, shaking with anticipation.

“You don’t feel like swallowing today? That’s fine, I can work with that,” Keigo shrugged easily from above you.

Keigo had an... active sexual imagination, and you could tell by the crook in his lips that he had something devilish planned as retribution.

A sharp slap came down on your cheek, Keigo catching the opposite jaw and keeping you from recoiling too far. You blinked as the pain spread around your skull like licking flames against a frostbitten body.

You wanted more.

A little grin stretched against your mouth as Keigo rubbed at your cheeks with his thumbs, “Aw, you always get so sweet like this, dove. You can be a good girl if you try, can’t you?”

His actions carried candor and his words absolute torment.

Despite how Keigo was trying to goad you into submission, you had a bit of spark left in you.

Plainly, you spit on him.

The glob of saliva landed on Keigo’s cheek, under his eye.

He blinked at you.

You continued to smile.

His own expression grew strained.

“Oh, songbird,” Keigo damn near lamented, wiping away the kind gift you’d given him. His voice was smooth without any bit of waver, all of the sexually-charged anger rolling just beneath the veneer. “You’re just being pain slut today, aren’t you?”

You were, absolutely. You could feel your arousal wetting your panties, the heat of the strike from your cheek beginning to boil something in your gut.

“You just need a bit of special attention today, right? That’s all.” Keigo tsked, fully removing the tie from around his neck. “You just need a little reminder.”

“Reminder of what?” You asked, tilting your head quizzically.

Keigo flipped you, feathers pushing and bracing you as needed while nimble hands tore off your clothes without reverie.

“Plenty of things, especially with this attitude you’ve got today,” Keigo’s tie looped around your wrists, binding them together at the center of your back.

“You definitely need a reminder of who’s the boss around here,” Keigo shoved you forward, stomach flush with the back of the couch.

You reeled from the pace of it all, shifting your knees for any bit of stimulation you could get. Keigo’s feathers were slicing and pulling your clothes from your body faster than you could keep track of. It was overwhelming, making your mind swim in the best possible way. You throbbed.

“Maybe a reminder about who fucking provides for you,” Keigo’s own clothes were shaken off, dropped to the floor and forgotten.

It was true. Keigo always made sure than you were taken care of, in more ways than one. Despite how fast-paced and laid back he could seem, he was always on top of making sure you had more than enough material and immaterial pleasure whether than be in the form of food, fucking, or otherwise.

You yelped as a smack fell across your ass. A feather caught the elastic of your panties, snapping a moment later, leaving you fully bare before him.

Keigo’s worn hand came to press at your throat and jaw, tilting your head back as he climbed behind you, “Maybe, you need a reminder about who keeps you safe.”

This phrase was softer than the others, a sweet kiss pressing to your cheek and his voice a bit more gentle. It was jarring at the skin still stung from his earlier strike, but you cherished the heat besides.

Once again, true. The folks in and outside of the League were greedy. There were plenty of unwanted souls that stole glances at Hawks’s prized songbird. There were starved eyes that tore into you whether you were dolled up for Keigo or not. There had been some... close calls, one could say, but Keigo always was there, in the end, unafraid to get his hands dirty.

“You know what the most important reminder is, dove?” Keigo rolled his hips against you, cock wedging between your thighs.

“N-no,” You stuttered, brain turning gooey as Keigo’s arms snaked around your waist, sharpened nails leaving indents in your hips.

He nosed at your neck, leaving a few love bites in his wake.“‘N-no’, what?”

“I don’t know,” You leaned back into Keigo’s chest, rubbing your thighs around his cock.

“Oh, songbird, you sweet thing,” He chuckled, all teasing and self-indulgent. “I’m the one who makes you feel good.”

He was so right, wasn’t he?

With the way he’d learned your body over the last few months, he’d had some undeniable pursuit to make you feel the best.

Keigo was inquisitive by nature. He had kept you on your back for hours while he finger-fucked you, watching every twitch and roll of your hips to figure out just the right ways to break you. He’d kissed and sucked and slapped every inch of you, sussing out the perfect ways to make you writhe and cry for him.

Sure, you were an absolute terror to him sometimes. Not to mention that Keigo jumping you covered in the blood of that day's targets was as macabre and horrifying as it sounded.

But, fuck, if he didn’t know how to bring you to ecstasy that fucking ruined you in the best way.

Keigo got off on watching you shatter for him. It was the reason he’d torn you from that cheap, bloodied apartment in the first place. A kind, naive little morsel that he could play with as he wanted. You didn’t complain. Fuck, you reveled in his attention. You gave it back to him, like the fucked up, semi-divine being could be any more debauched than he already was.

Corruption spreads, but you’d never complain. If being plucked from struggling for pennies to being fucked stupid by a man who could kill you at a moments notice, a man who would kill for you, somehow poisoned you?

You’d die with a bitter taste on your tongue and a smile on your face.

Keigo rubbed at your clit, nipping at your neck, and rolled his hips greedily. His cock was covered in a mix of your slick and his own preek, easily sliding between plushness of your thighs.

“You love pushing me, acting all tough,” Keigo chastised, clicking his tongue. “I mean it when I say it's cute.”

You don’t have any more quick retorts in you, not when his fingers are down your throat, gagging you as spittle dribbles down your chin onto the leather below. It was sure to leave a mark.

“Behind all that bark and snark, you’re just a good girl, aren’t you?” Keigo punctuated his words with a bite and nip to your neck. “Just needed a reminder, right, dove?”

You whimpered against his fingers at the praise, grinding against Keigo’s touch needily.

His fingers pushed pinched your tongue, breath curling over the shell of your ear, “What are you?”

You mumbled against his fingers, “A g-good g-girl.”

It was humiliating in the best way. Keigo’s light laugh at your attempt. The way he nuzzled his nose into the sweat at the crook of your shoulder was just aloe on the burn.

“I misspoke, if you can believe that,” Keigo’s cock pulled out from your thighs. “Songbird, you know what I meant to call you?”

You squirmed at the loss, but he was quick to hush you. His fingers left your mouth with a thick trail of spit.

“You’re my good girl.”

You melted in his arms.

Falling back against Keigo’s chest, you craned your neck to lock your lips to his.

Maybe that was it, why all the filth didn’t bother you. Because you had worth. Maybe it was insecurity, or maybe it was self-aware in the face of your lived experience. Before being taken, the life you’d lived made you just a rusty cog in a dying machine. You wouldn’t have amounted to anything, probably.

But with the League?

You were the prized, beloved consort of an angry god.

Keigo owned you, body, mind and soul, and you let him. That’s not even to mention how you had him wrapped around your finger. He adored you, under all of it.

Fighting with him was for sport, not blood.

Keigo licked past your lips, pressing his cock to your cunt teasingly. You whined against him, wriggling in his arms.

“What does my good girl want?” Keigo loved making you beg for him, claw for any bit of stimulation. He liked it even better when you were already soft for him.

Stray tears pricked at your eyes, “Y-your cock.”

He pinched the meat of your thigh, shaking his head, “Not good enough. Speak properly, dove. Clear and correctly.”

You swallowed, searching for the words in your own haze.

Your words were willed to be solid.

“I want your cock, daddy.”

It was just enough.

Keigo pushed forward, the head of his cock already stretching your cunt. Consider the girth of it, the lack of preparation stung and burned more than you would’ve liked, as good as it felt to finally be filled.

Keigo cooed at your soft tears, keeping your face to his with a firm hand on your jaw. He shushed you, far too sweetly while licking the salt from your cheeks, “Relax, angel. Big breaths.”

You nodded, sputtering as he speared into you. Keigo’s free hand went back to toying with your clit, encouraging the tension to drain from your body.

As he bottomed out, you shuddered, falling back into his chest. Keigo’s wings fluttered, twitching in wait. Hot breath fanned over your face, Keigo groaning and locking his jaw.

The stimulation was overwhelming. You had expected Keigo to be meaner, considering how mouthy you’d been.

Yet, it made sense. Keigo had figured out one of the better ways to make you break was softness.

(Truthfully, it made him crack in the same way, but he’d never tell.)

“Feel that?” He asked, just barely rolling his hips.

Keigo released your jaw in favor of wrapping a hand around the front of your throat, tugging you as close he could manage.

“Uh-huh,” You panted.

You could, the kiss of his cock head against your cervix was almost uncomfortable. The delicious pressure and sensitivity already had you reeling in his arms, unsteady and wanting.

“I fill you up so good, don’t I?” Keigo praised his own ego, his cock, but he wasn’t wrong. The curve of his cock rubbed against all the right spots. He stretched you just right, the burn ebbing away into a need for more, more—

“Please, Keigo—” You gasped. Your legs shook as Keigo slammed into you, shoving you forward and into the wall.

His pace was brutal. Hands and feathers kept your back in a harsh arch as he rearranged your insides to his liking. He was kind enough to keep stroking at your clit, bruising your hips and babbling filthy nothings.

“I’m the one who makes you feel this good, only me, right, dove?” Keigo growled into your ear with a particularly hard thrust.

You nodded against the wall, aware of the drool slipping down your chin as your mouth lolled open. Your insides were hot like white flames, searing any ability to use coherent speech.

Keigo snickered at your state. Slowing, he gripped your ass cheeks. You yelped, inside jumping as he pried them apart. You flinched, hole twitching as he spat down, the liquid cool against the flushed skin.

It was little moves like that, Keigo just subtly making your shudder and feel dirty that got you the most fucked up and fucked out.

You pressed back on his cock, panting against the wall and keening. You would’ve spoke, if you could, but anything that you had the ability to say would’ve been torn apart by Keigo’s sharpened, silver tongue.

“My filthy little dove, huh?” Keigo sneered, watching you try to bounce on his cock the best you could. “Such a glutton when you get broken down like this, needy whore.”

The pleasure of Keigo’s cock tearing up your insides was all you could focus on through the fog of your mind, desperate and wanting and greedy.

“Y-your,” You corrected, the words bubbling from your lips, disjointed and messy. “Yours.”

Keigo may have been avian, but he purred like a damn cat at your admission. He held you like a possession, cock throbbing as he fucked you just right.

“God, you’re sweet, angel,” He nipped at your jaw before wrapping his hand around your throat. “Even all fucked up, you know who you belong to so well, don’t you?”

You nodded, rolling your hips back.

Keigo must’ve taken pity on you, squeezing at the sides of your neck. Cruel as he could be, he must’ve noticed the way your thighs and knees trembled against the leather. Keigo knew the cloud in your eyes well— how to get you hazy and how to fuck you perfectly through the fog.

He fucked back into your dripping cunt, pace harder and faster than before. You were helpless to do anything other than fall forward into the wall, cheek squished against the scarlet.

“Who’s brat are you?” Keigo squeezed a bit harder at your neck as you swallowed against his palm.

“Y-yours—!” You squeaked out, mind going numb from the stimulation and pressure.

A wicked sneer curled against your ear as Keigo’s movements grew sloppier. His tongue lolled over your shoulder, messy kisses and slobbery bites and marks left in his wake. He was close, but you weren’t far off easier.

“Little bird,” It was sweeter, closer and hotter. “Can you come for me? Come all over my cock?”

You nodded.

“Not good enough.” Keigo bit down, nearly breaking the fragile skin of your neck. “You know I like words, angel.”

You gave him words, plenty of them.

Nearly incoherent pleads and cries poured from your bruised lips as Keigo pounded into you. Each blabbering wail was met with Keigo groans and grunts, condescending little phrases spitting over you without release.

Your lack of leverage and use of your arms made you thumping against the couch and wall, vision darkening on the edges as the pressure in your gut and the hold on your throat remained.

You were breaking in his arms, tears rolling down your cheeks as you held yourself from cresting. The exertion of it all was taking its toll, legs jellied and chest beading with sweat.

Keigo sensed it, shifting his hips to hit the spongy spot in your cunt, “Come, dove.”

You let go.

A sob shattered in your throat as your climax crashed through you. Keigo released your throat, holding you by your bound arms as he bottomed out. His own harsh cry panged against yours as he stuffed you full.

Surprisingly gently, he rocked his hips against your own, letting the ambient throb of your cunt milk him dry.

You came down, rolling and spinning as you sucked down air a bit too fast. Keigo panted behind you, though the sound seemed dull.

The pressure from your wrists released, soft thumbs rubbing at where the fabric had bitten into your forearms, “Hey, angel, you with me?”

You could only nod weakly, exhaustion and aches creeping in.

Keigo repositioned the two of you, setting himself against the arm of the couch, wings up free to drape and splay over the floor. He dragged you with him, pulling you to lay on his chest. The stickiness of his spunk, your slick, and general sweatiness might’ve been uncomfortable, but you weren’t quite lucid enough to care.

“How are you feeling? Still feeling a little mouthy?” Keigo teased, already knowing your answer.

You muffled a groan against his chest, shaking your head against the sweat of his chest.

“Awww,” Keigo chuckled, fingers brushing over your cheeks, “Is my dove a little fucked out?”

“Keeeigo, b-be nice.”

Your voice broke, parched.

Keigo snorted, pressing a kiss to the side of your forehead, “I guess I can manage that. Just for you, though. Can’t let the others see me get all soft.”

You wouldn’t; seeing Keigo warm and gooey, both of you mutually fucked-out, was a pleasure only you got to indulge in. And you loved every moment of it.

++++++++++++

taglist: @sinclairsamess (msg me if you’d like to be on it!)

ko-fi

#salem writes #hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #takami keigo #hawks x y/n #hawks x you #takami keigo x y/n #takami keigo x you #mha smut #mha x reader #bnha x reader #hawks #hawks smut #hawks fanfiction #takami keigo smut

2K notes · View notes

wardenannie · 3 years ago

Note

Hurt Levi pls

I normally don't take tumblr prompts, but for you, anon whose identity is a total mystery to me, I will accept

NSFW under the cut. Also warning for some torture that happens about midway through. Nothing too graphic tho.

Kenny captured him as they dueled in the streets of the capital. Levi didn't see the net coming until it was too late. His eyes were locked on the gunslinger, body moving like water as he spun past bullet after bullet, slate eyes trained on Kenny's exposed jugular.

When the net struck him it took his balance with it, and he tumbled two stories to the ground, confused in a pile of weights and rope. He landed with a sickening crunch, the right side of his body slamming brutally into the paving stones.

Levi was stunned, body wracked with agony as his broken bones screamed in complaint.

He could hear his squad calling out for him; "Heichou!" But he could not make out their faces as his vision blurred and dark shadows began to loom over him.

One of those shadows- the tallest, the most menacing- laughed, and then spat in his face. Kenny.

"Gotcha, runt," Levi could hear the sneer in his voice, words dripping with the venom of sordid joy. He struggled, breath coming ragged as panic began to set in.

"Knock him out," Kenny ordered.

A sharp pain radiated up the side of Levi's skull, then everything went black.

He awoke in a dark cell, suspended by iron manacles that dug harshly into his wrists. His shirt was gone, body coated in a fine sheen of cold sweat that shimmered in the dim light of a single, paltry torch.

Levi's head throbbed painfully. The right side of his body was mottled with blue-black bruises. It hurt to breathe, to blink, to think.

But Levi was a survivor, so he pushed through the pain, recalling everything that had brought him to this point. He remembered battling on the streets of the capital. He remembered Kenny shouting his name boisterously. He remembered Nifa's brains being splattered across the rooftops, and he remembered falling, and falling, and falling.

"Shit," he cursed, and he pulled at his restraints. The movement only served to dig the metal more painfully into his flesh, fresh blood running hot down his forearms.

Levi drew in a ragged, fortifying breath, then shouted with all of his remaining might, "Kenny!"

The low tenor of his voice echoed through the subterranean dungeon. A peppering of dust fell from the rafters, disturbed by the sudden noise.

Panting, chest heaving as he bit through another full body wave of pain, he shouted again, louder, with more power and rage behind the name; "KENNY!"

His muscles went limp, body hanging weakly from his shackles, toes dragging on the filthy floor. Everything hurt. It hurt so much. Every fiber of his being seemed to be crying out in red hot pain. His head throbbed, eyes pulsing in his skull. There was a constant pressure in his chest, digging into his lung, a broken rib, more like than not.

Levi huffed a broken sound, hanging his head. He was useless like this, strung up like a fresh kill. He shut his eyes, waiting helplessly for his fate to arrive.

Hange would come for him. He knew she would.

He recalled their parting moment, the people she had loaned him, the people he had gotten killed. He remembered the trust she had placed upon him, that had swirled behind those wine-colored eyes, and somehow he felt even more broken.

"Hange..." He sighed her name, lids fluttering.

He'd been so caught up in his memories that he hadn't heard the telling sound of footsteps on the bricks. Two grizzled, calloused hands gripped the bars mockingly.

Kenny grinned at him from the darkness of the corridor, freshly shaven. Face porous and lined and aged.

"Hey there, runt," he goaded, fingers drumming softly on the bars. Two more people appeared beside him, men, their faces obscured behind black torturer's hoods. Their black eyes flashed menacingly in the torchlight.

"We have a few questions for ya," Kenny produced a key from around his neck and slipped it into the lock. The heavy, barred door opened with a metallic shriek and a muffled kerthunk. He slipped into the cell, body long, thin and skeletal. Behind him the two torturers followed.

Now that they stood in the light Levi could see that they wore the instruments of his torture across their bodies like bandoliers. The knives and scalpels and scrapers all gleamed orange by the light of the torch.

Levi swallowed thickly, giving another weak pull at his shackles.

"Now," Kenny's smile never waned. He laced his fingers behind his back, standing up straight and proud. "Are ya gonna cooperate? Or will we have to do this the hard way."

Levi's lips curled into a snarl. They wanted Hange's location, the location of his squad.

They could rot in hell.

He demonstrated as much by spitting onto the floor in front of Kenny's boot.

"Fuck off."

Kenny puffed his cheeks amusedly, and took a small step backward to make way for the torturers.

"These fellows are good at what they do," Kenny explained softly as they began to pluck their implements from their chests. "They were loaned to me by the king himself."

Levi bared his teeth, refusing to give Kenny anything more than his ire.

Kenny cracked his knuckles, smile shifting to lopsided and entertained, "Alright then, let's begin."

Levi stayed strong. Through it all, he endured. He kept his lips sealed, biting on them until they bled like his exposed nailbeds, like the parallel lines they drew across his belly with their razor sharp knives. He endured when they began breaking nailess toes, and he endured when they moved on to his fingers, peeling the skin back to the first knuckle.

His blood painted the floor in crimson-black drips. His grunts of agony echoed through the dungeon halls in a torturous symphony.

"Where is Hange Zoe?" Kenny asked, obviously beginning to grow exasperated.

Levi showed his teeth, red with blood, red dripping from his nose, "Never." He choked, tasting rust in his mouth. He would die before he gave Hange up. It was her face that lingered in the back of his mind, that bolstered his resolve against their blunted rods as they beat his already broken ribs.

He remembered her smile. Her laughter. They way she smirked when she teased him over his height and cleanliness. He remembered her touch, the fire she awoke inside of him, in his skin.

He remembered Hange. His Hange. And he endured.

Eventually they left him alone. Making sure to snuff out the torch as they went, Levi dangled weakly in the dark. The only sounds were that of his own breathing and his blood dripping steadily onto the floor.

His vision began to fade, sounds growing distant, as though he were submerged beneath dark waves of white hot water. He struggled to breathe, to keep his eyes open.

Ultimately his struggle was in vain. He fell into viscous, black unconsciousness.

Hange Zoe had never before known fear like this; this terrible, gripping thing that settled in her chest and constricted around her lungs like a parasitic snake. It radiated outward from her center, down her limbs and into her fingertips, numbing them as she gripped the triggers of her ODM gear.

He had to be alive. He had to be.

How would she survive if Levi were gone. What would she do? She couldn’t imagine it, that agony which she was barely holding at bay. Were the worst to come to fruition it would surely consume her.

They busted through the doors of the anti-personnel squad compound. Shattering through them with a battering ram, shards of broken wood raining down on the occupants of the adjacent room; splintering and slicing them.

Hange grabbed the first man she saw by his collar, hoisting him into the air as her muscles burned. She pressed the edge of her blade to his throat, flashing her teeth, vision blurring red with complete and utter rage.

“Where is he?!”

Moblit and Levi squad apprehended the others in the room. Binding their hands and feet. Hange simply wanted them dead.

The man dangled in the air, grasping weakly at Hange’s wrist where she held him aloft, “I- I um...”

“Spit it out or you won’t have a tongue to speak with!” Hange demanded, pressing her blade more insistently to his throat.

“D-downstairs,” he pointed towards a door with a shaking finger.

Hange grunted and threw him roughly down onto the floor, leaving him to the rest of the squad. She rushed for the doors, prying a torch off of the wall as she descended into the dark depths of the dungeon.

Let him be alive, she chanted to herself. Please, whatever gods there may be, let him be alive.

Kenny was nowhere to be found. The fighting upstairs cleared quickly and soon all of Levi squad was trailing the Section Commander through the dark labyrinth.

It only took another few moments for them to discover him hanging by his wrists in the dark. He was filthy, covered in blood, sweat, and bruises. His eyes were closed, chest barely rising with stilted breath.

“Levi!” Hange rasped, gripping the bars. “What did they do to him?”

She ground her teeth to the point of pain, leaning all of her weight into the bars like she could bend them through sheer force of will alone. The sight of his blood pooling on the floor made her stomach twist, her heart ache. Her mouth was dry and a salient mixture of horror and utter rage pooled in her center.

Armin was already working on the lock. But it wasn’t fast enough.

Hange shoved him out of the way and slammed one of her blades down into the rusty lock mechanism over and over. It creaked, shuddered, and then cracked in two under the force of her assault.

Leaving the rest of the squad in the dust, Hange rushed to Levi’s side, wrapping her arms tenderly around his waist and lifting him so his wrists were no longer being cut by the shackles.

“Hange,” he choked her name weakly, then spit blood onto the yellow of her shirt. His slate eyes were hooded and distant, dissociative from the pain.

Armin and Mikasa were working on his restraints.

“I’m here,” Hange breathed, careful only to touch him where she had to. “I’m here.”

She wanted to scream at the sight of him. His body was a warzone; brutalized, left sallow and broken. His skin was clammy, breath tinged with the scent of blood.

“Levi...” she exhaled shakily, and finally the manacles came lose and Levi crumpled into her arms. He buried his face against her neck, and she heard him inhale sharply, painfully.

Hange bit her lip, cupping the back of his head, stroking his greasy hair gingerly.

Moblit cupped her shoulder gently, his eyes wide with concern, “Section Commander, we need to go.”

Hange nodded, lifting Levi protectively into her arms. She wouldn’t let anyone help her. She couldn’t bear the thought of anyone touching him but her. She guarded him carefully all the way back to their hideout, keeping his head nestled safely in her lap as their cart wheeled bumpily along the city streets.

Hange treated his wounds as best she could. She wrapped his tortured fingers and stitched the wounds in his abdomen. She tied his broken toes to unbroken ones and gave him water each hour on the hour. As for his bruises? She could only hope that they were not set too deeply into his muscles and organs. She could only caress delicate fingers over his cheek and pray to whatever merciful gods might exist that he would come out of this trial relatively unscathed.

Though he would always bare the scars. Reminders of her own failure to protect him; the man she...

She utterly refused to leave his side, not even to report to Erwin. She sent Moblit in her stead.

And how could she leave him? Her Levi? Her partner in crime? How could she possibly rationalize leaving his side when he was so close to death, when she had nearly lost him.

She cried softly at night, sat up against a stark brick wall, just feet away from the Captain. She cried because she realized for the first time that she really, truly loved this man. She loved him with each individual fiber of her imperfect being. She loved him, and she had nearly lost him.

Levi had nearly died.

“I feel so helpless,” she whispered, blinking back her tears. “Levi, I’m so sorry. If I had just gotten there sooner you might not-

“Shut it, four-eyes,” Levi groused painfully, blinking to wakefulness. His voice was groggy, eyes blurry, but he still managed to reach out and touch Hange. He laid his bandaged had over her own.

“You’re awake,” Hange exhaled in relief, and she leaned over him slightly, scooting nearer. She could feel the reassuring heat of his body, watch the steady rise and fall of his chest.

“Did you...” Levi let out a painful wheeze when he tried to rise onto his elbows. Hange gently coaxed him back into the sheets. “Did you treat me?”

Hange nodded, sniffing, “I did. We’re still in hiding so we couldn’t call on any actual doctors.”

Levi swallowed thickly, wounded fingers curling gingerly around her own, “Is Kenny dead?”

“No, he wasn’t there when we raided the compound.”

“Shit.”

“Levi...” Hange leaned closer, looming over him. Her eyes flashed with genuine concern. Her throat suddenly felt too tight, too hot.

Levi went very still, and for a long moment they simply stared, gazing into one another’s eyes. There was a spark of recognition in Levi’s grey as he reconciled the emotion swirling in Hange’s russet irises.

“Hange...”

She kissed him, leaning carefully over his body and sealing their lips in a wet, tearful kiss. Her tongue traced along his lower lip, and he granted her entrance with a soft moan, mimicking her action in turn. Hange cupped his cheek, thumb brushing along his chin.

When they parted a soft sob wracked through Hange’s body, breath tickling along Levi’s parted lips, tears peppering his cheeks.

“I almost lost you,” Hange choked.

Slowly, Levi raised his good arm and cupped the back of her neck, pulling her in for another; slower, more reverent kiss.

Hange shifted her position over Levi’s body as their tongues and lips worked in tandem. She straddled his left thigh, her own thigh pressing very near to the crux of his legs where he was obviously hard, wearing only a thin pair of sleep pants that Hange had scrounged for him.

“You almost died,” she said when they parted again. Then she peppered his face with kisses from his forehead to his chin. “I almost lost you, Levi.”

“We’re soldiers,” Levi spoke, but there was no conviction behind his words. “Soldiers die.”

Hange shook her head, more tears welling. She bit her lip painfully, and when she opened her mouth to speak only a pained noise managed to eek past her lips.

“I knew that you would come for me,” Levi admitted after a moment of uncomfortable silence. “I knew you’d be the one.”

Hange nodded fiercely, then kissed him again. Her fingertips teased along the waistband of his pants, and he hummed in silent consent. Hange needed this, they needed this. This kairotic moment to which they had been building for years. This physical expression of their shared need, desires, and- though they did not give it voice- their love. All of it precipitating from such exquisite pain as nearly losing one another.

When she sank down onto him is was with a soft sigh. He filled her up, made her feel whole in a way she had never known she was missing. She was careful of his broken body, setting a slow, even pace that drove the both of them mad.

“Hange,” Levi whispered her name. His bandaged hands lifted to hold her hips as she rode him.

“I love you,” she admitted, ducking her face to hide behind her hair. “I love you and I almost lost you, Levi.”

Tears continued to pepper his face and chest as they made love, Hange gliding gracefully back and forth on him. He even managed to cant his hips slightly to meet her, drawing a quiet moan past her lips.

They reached climax quickly, peaking together in a moment which Hange could only describe as one of pure light.

Afterwards she tucked herself into his good side, head resting on his shoulder, cum dripping between her thighs.

“I love you, short stuff. I love you so much it hurts. And to see you so broken, in so much pain... I can’t.” The tears were flowing again, dampening the sheets.

“Easy,” he touched her hair. “I’m alive, four-eyes. You saved me.”

“Not before-

“Hey, enough of that shit,” Levi demanded, though his voice was soft. He inclined his head to kiss Hange’s hair. “I’m alive four eyes. I’m alive because you came for me.”

Hange blinked away her tears and nuzzled into Levi’s neck. Muffled against his skin she breathed, “I love you.”

Levi closed his eyes. Body still aching, in tatters, but with Hange by his side he felt as though everything might turn out okay.

He loved her, too.

#levihan #my writing

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felswritingfire · 4 years ago

Note

*slams door*

I love your mafia AU Vil x reader

Can I ask for more ??

*Physically Vibrates*

Anon, thank you for my life-

Also if you want a continuation of this (or fluff, I'm just addicted to angst, because apparently I'm a DUMBASS EMO--) or anyone else feel free to ask! I fucking love this AU tbh

(Also no I'm not done with April Brain Rot, I'm just working on one that's like- it's turned big as FUCK- ;0;)

TW: violence; blood; strangulation; uncomfortable vibes; creepy men; cursing

The chime to your door rang loud and clear. A happy bounce to your step as you go to greet the first customer of the day (or Dol and Sul). “Good morning!” You say as you step out from your back room, rounding the corner of your little counter to see the two men who walked in. They’re both big, firm mouths and sharp eyes. Your brows furrow for a moment until you school your expression back into a professional and welcoming smile. “What can I do for you two?”

The one to the right offers you a closed eyed smile. You count the piercings that line the cartilage of his ears as he says: “ah, we were looking for something a little…” His hands trail over the purple fabrics you have. Tapping at a roll of fabric that was lavender, light beige roses outlined in a gold decorating the expanse of it. “Delicate looking.”

Seven. You count, frowning. “Delicate, hm? Anything in particular it’s gonna be used for? A dress? A suit? That might help narrow it down.” You stand next to him, skin pricking with the sensation of eyes boring into you. You fight the urge to glance back.

“A suit. For someone with delicate features. Almost like a porcelain doll.” The man says, his thumb rubbing the patterns of the fabric.

“Are they flashy? You seem to really like that particular one, sir.”

He lets out a laugh, something deep and wispy. You don’t like it. “No. It just reminds me of someone.”

You hum. “Any color you have in mind?”

“Red.”

“Red, huh?” You press your finger to your lips, turning around just to almost walk into the other man. You forgot about him. You gulped as you crane your head to look up at him. A shaky smile making its way onto your lips. “And you, sir? Are you looking for anything in particular?”

He tilted his head, his pupils almost being eaten up by the dark browns of his irises. His frown deepens-

You let out an ugly noise as the air is caught in your throat by the squeeze of a hand around your throat. The chill of his rings burning your skin as he raises you by your neck until your fingers dangle above the floor. “Why don’t we just deal with them?” The man hisses at the way your nails dig into his wrist and he squeezes harder. You can feel the slight bulge of your eyes and the blood rushing to your ears in a panic.

“No, no.” The other’s voice sang out, thin hands coming to wrap around your waist and squeezing. You felt dizzy and sick. “We need answers first- you can’t just expect someone to talk through brute strength all the time, hm?”

“Shut up. If we beat them- they’ll talk.”

“Not if you kill them first.” The one with piercings raises his eyebrows as he watches the way you claw at the ringed man; drool dripping out of the corner of your lips and your eyes squeezing shut, tears slipping from your lashes and onto your red cheeks. He shivered, mouth watering. “I can see why Schoenhiet likes them so much.” His finger traces down your spine and you flail your legs at the uncomfortable shiver that shoots through you.

“D- don’t t- tou- hhh-” you try to choke out only to have the ringed man tighten his grip, your words becoming an awful gurgle.

“Where’s Shoenhiet.” He demands, loosening his grip on your neck.

You gulp down saliva while sucking in air into your aching lungs. “I- I don’t know who- who that is!” Your voice goes high near the end as the grip around your windpipe tightens again.

“Don’t fucking lie to me.”

“I- I’m not-”

Your legs kick and you hear the way your bones creek against each other- one thought floating above the panic that floods your body: they can’t know- they can’t know where Vil is.

“You’re going to kill them.”

“They just need to be a little more force.” The ring man tightens his grip to an impossible tightness, his knuckles turning white and the skin around your throat turning a dark purple. A wheeze escapes your open mouth, the edges of your eyes turning blurring into darkness.

You suck in breaths, greedily heaving in huge gulps of air. You’re suddenly dropped to the hard ground, your body landing with a loud thud! And numbing pangs of pain jumping around your bones. You squeeze your eyes shut. A foot settling on your head.

I hope… Vil won’t come.

***

Vil bounced his leg, impatience and something… anxious settling at the bottom of his stomach. The night lights of the city blurred past him out of the window of the limo.

“Roi du Poison, is something bothering you?”

Vil’s eyes drifted to Rook, the hunter unusually stone faced as he waits for him to answer. “And what of you, Rook? You’re not your usual self.”

Rook lets out a quiet laugh. “You didn’t answer my question.” He claps his hands. “But to answer yours- I’m…” his face falls suddenly. “There’s something wrong, non?”

Vil raises his brow.

“I am worried about our tailleur chéri.”

“You too, it seems.” Vil says, his fingers pinching his chin.

Rook hums, cradling his crossed knee in his intertwined hands. His green gaze drifts down to his lap. “I’m afraid.”

Vil’s eyes widened looking up at Rook. “You are?”

He nods. “Dol and Sul… they haven’t heard from them all day.”

“They haven’t?” He could feel his face heat up in barely suppressed frustration.

“You cannot blame them, Roi du Poison. They have been busy with preparations. They’ve been worried sick.”

Vil grows quiet, swallowing, before he turns to the radio type device next to him and presses the red button. “Epel. I need you to take us to (Y/N) Boutique. Make it snappy.”

The radio crackles. “Got it.” Epel’s says. The limo lurching as it picks up speed. Vil could hear the blares of horns outside the car, but he couldn’t seem to care right now. His leg bounces quicker, the anxiety molten in his tummy.

***

The click of Vil’s heels are deafening as he walks into the boutique, Rook and Epel both flanking him. His eyebrows are drawn into a stern angle. He takes a deep breath and his fingers twitch: the sting of copper sinks deep into his senses. Blood.

Vil clenches his hands into fists and leans towards Rook. “Go find them.”

Rook nods, sinking into the shadows.

Vil gestures to Epel and the purple haired boy reaches behind him, pulling out a pistol and clicking off the safety. He stays close to Vil, stepping lightly as they go through the few aisles there was.

Vil’s nose crinkles at how… cold the boutique suddenly seemed. He hated it, this wasn’t your boutique- not the one that he came to adore as soon as he stepped in.

It was a day that started out awful: realizing he was out of his favorite shampoo and conditioner mid showering, Epel being a touch more unreasonable than normal (speeding, acting unruly every time he tried fixing his bow), and to top it off a rookie spilling his favorite smoothie on his favorite suit. He was seething by the time he was out for his evening walk when he stumbled upon the little shop. He had glanced at it a couple of times out of the limo, even on his morning jogs.

He didn’t know what compelled him to walk in, but when he opened the door and stepped in, he took a deep breath, the smell of vanilla and fresh fabrics flooding his senses. He closed his eyes at the warmth that enveloped him.

“Hello!” He turned to see you standing there, a warm smile on your face and you absolutely glowed in the afternoon light. “Is there any way I can help you?”

“Don,” Epel whispered. “The… the counter.”

Vil glanced at the corner of the polished counter: red glistening under the light from the street lamps outside. He grimaced, gaze trailing down the edge of the counter to the floor. Drips of red splattered across the tile in small specks and towards the back room. His eyes widened.

“Vil.” Rook stood in the doorway of the backroom, his eyes drooping into something mournful.

The man broke into a sprint, his long legs carrying him there in a few steps. Rook makes room for him, his hand coming to settle on Vil’s back.

The breath is knocked out of him when he lays his eyes on your broken body. Your arms were tied behind your back with ribbon. He didn’t miss the fact that they were purple- a light lavender with gold accents. The blood was smeared across your face, already caking with dry blood. Your hair disheveled, white dress shirt stained with red and blurry pink, and your neck a thick ring of ugly, dark bruises. Your mouth half agape as you're curled up on the floor in splatters of blood underneath you.

He takes trembling steps forwards. The click of his heels uneven and obnoxiously loud as he makes his way to you, his head pounding. There was no way… no way this was happening.

You had nothing to do with this. Nothing. Just an innocent bystander in the midst of things. One that he was waiting to spend more time with. One that was special.

He didn't even realize he was grinding his teeth until he saw your eyes flutter open. “Vil?” you mumbled through a bruised jaw. Your hands, heavy like lead, reached to touch his face. He caught your hand in his. “Vil! You’re… you’re ok…” You smile up to him the best you can, your eyes heavy and bleary with exhaustion.

“Who did this, my Sweet Potato? Tell me who.” Vil pressed you close to his chest, turning to gesture to Rook and Epel who nodded.

You hum, pressing your cheek into him and taking a deep breath. “You’re ok…”

Vil can feel the way the tears catch in his throat, an awful choking thing. He cleared his throat. “Who did this to you?”

“They kept… asking ‘bout you but I didn’t… say nothin’... Nothin’ at all.” You mumble against him, voice raspy like it had rocks stuck in your throat.

“Why? Why didn’t you? You didn’t have to do that.” He almost laughs at how he feels a happy blush warm your cheeks. He dips his head closer to your ear, his lips almost brushing against the shell of it as he speaks. “You’re not even mine, my Sweet Potato.”

A giggle leaves you, tired and quiet. “I… I can change that… very quickly, Mr. Schoenhiet.”

He laughs, pressing his soft lips against your blooded cheek as Rook and Epel rush back in with his medic, Dol and Sul, pushing behind him to see you, both clamoring with emotion.

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jinmukangwrites · 3 years ago

Text

@damianwayneweek Day 2 (6-14): Undercover | Sibling rivalry | Damian having a nice day

Warnings: Mentions of trafficking, threats, violence, attempted kidnapping, injuries, healthy doses of angst

Note: hahahahaha once again I'm begging you all to pretend I posted this when it's still the 14th somewhere in the world. Please enjoy.

---

Damian didn't mean to get caught. Honest. As annoying as it is, he understands that there are certain parts of their nightlife that have to be handled by an adult. Going undercover, for one, is usually something that's left to Grayson. It's easier for adults to blend into some things than it is for... well... Teenagers.

Children, as Grayson would say. Even though Damian is not a child.

Not that it matters, however. Grayson, for the past week, has been putting off their normal patrols to get insider information on a recent underground trafficking scheme. Grayson has been working hard to find the people responsible for this and get on the inside to find where the victims are being kept and Damian had respected that. He's kept to the sidelines and worked on other cases that don't require so much adult delicacy.

The only issue was that tonight he ended up getting bored. There wasn't anything for him to do, and that butler wasn't giving him any useful suggestions to fill his time. He wasn't allowed to patrol alone while Grayson was undercover, but escaping through his bedroom window in a dark hoodie was simple enough.

One thing leads to another. He ended up walking into an alleyway where a man was getting rather forceful with a drunk woman. Damian was jogging forward and calling him out on the disgusting behavior before he even realized he recognized the profile of the man.

Grayson turned from the woman with wide, horrified eyes, not moving a muscle even as the woman slipped from beside him and rushed back into the bar's side door.

"Shit," is all Grayson said before more people came out from the shadows, and Damian realizes he's just stumbled upon Grayson's undercover work.

Damian, for all of his training, has no idea what to do as he's suddenly grabbed by one of the newcomers. He's just witnessed Grayson in his undercover work... attempting to kidnap a woman... and he shouldn't be here.

"The fuck did this brat come from," the man grabbing Damian sneers.

Damian reacts instinctively now, slamming his elbow back into their gut. The man wheezes and weakens his hold. Damian then ducks under a new pair of arms making a mad grab for him and is sure to trip them over onto the cement ground as they stumble past.

A beefier man charges at Damian like a bull, and he prepares to retaliate... only for Grayson to grab him by his arm and shove Damian behind his back.

"Wait," Grayson gasps, bringing his free hand up in front of him. The man stops in his tracks, as do all the others. "It's my... brother."

"Your brother?" A woman scoffs, and Grayson gives her a hard look.

A mean looking man steps forward, glaring daggers at Grayson. "What's he doin' here Malone? Thought'chu said you weren't followed."

"I'm sorry," Grayson says, sounding panicked. Damian wants to jump out from behind Grayson and give these kidnappers a piece of his mind. There can't be more than seven of them. Damian can take them with his hands tied behind his back. Grayson must sense this, because he tightens his hold on his arm. "I thought he was at home."

"Well, he wasn't," the man snarls. "And now that bitch is probably in there telling the barkeep some guy got handsy with her."

Grayson shakes his head. "She isn't. I paid off the barkeep. If we calm down, I can go back in there and finish the job. Danny here won't say anything, he knows what we have to do to survive these streets. Right, Danny?"

Damian's lips thin, but he nods. Damian doesn't know why Richard is acting all frightful right now. Has he forgotten the legacy of Damian's father that he holds? He carries the name of Batman, yet here he is looking like a frightened animal in front of these low-lives. He wants to argue and take down these imbeciles... but if there's one thing he's learned while in his ever lengthening stay in Gotham, Grayson usually has a reason for everything he does. If he thinks they need to act like they're frightened, then Damian will humor him. For now.

The man looks down from Grayson and gives Damian a narrowed look. It lasts only a moment before he looks at the bar side-door and... smirks?

He looks back at Grayson, keeping that smirk. "Alright, Malone. I'll take you up on that offer. You get the bitch, and we'll take care of Danny."

A bad feeling settles in Damian's gut. The hand on his arm tightens even more, proof that Grayson has the same bad feeling. They don't have a chance to say anything about it, however, before the man strides forward and grabs Damian by his other arm; yanking him away from Grayson and towards the big man.

Grayson shoots them a murderous glare, but doesn't come to Damian's aid as the big man tightens both of his hands on Damian's biceps. His pointer fingers press just under his shoulders, and he swears his pinkies wrap close to Damian's elbows.

"Go on," the talkative man says, jerking his head to the door, showing his rotting teeth in a grin. "Get the bitch."

Grayson shoots a look Damian's way, then nods. "Okay," he says placidly. "Okay." He turns his back and starts towards the door.

Then, the man looks at another in their group and nods his head. The man's cheeks rise like a Cheshire cat before he starts towards Grayson, raising a fist.

"Grayson! Look out!" Damian shouts. Grayson, for his part, reacts immediately. He ducks under the blow and side steps his attacker.

However, that's all Damian sees before the man that has him in his grasp changes position quite suddenly so that Damian is practically hanging in his grasp—an arm the size of a log wrapped around his neck. Damian's hands fly to the arm and he attempts to kick his feet for purchase. His air is already cut off, and he curses himself for getting in a situation like this.

He stills, however, when something cold and metal is pressed against his head by the man's free hand. Through blurry eyes and choking gasps, he notices Grayson has gone still too.

"I knew you were fishy," the man from before cackled. "Grayson? That your real name?"

Grayson glares, but doesn't move.

"Here's what's gonna happen, you're gon let us do whatever we want wit'cha, and maybe we'll let the kid live after."

And just like that, Grayson is at the receiving end of a savage blow to his jaw from another member of the group. Grayson stumbles and clutches his jaw, but he doesn't fight back even as another jumps in and throws their own punch. Damian can already see blood dripping down his cheek from a cut in the skin.

He's hit again, and he continues to not fight back. Damian knows he'll take the beating, even though he can easily take them down. He won't risk the gun pressed against Damian's head. He won't risk the arm wrapped so right around Damian's neck it feels like he's breathing through a coffee straw.

A particularly savage punch has Grayson falling to the floor, scraping his hands, elbows, and knees on the rough and suspiciously wet asphalt. Damian growls and digs his nails into the arms of his captor, but they tighten the grip threateningly and his struggles are forced to come to a stop.

Pathetic. Idiotic. Childish. This is Damian's fault. Every blow that hits Grayson's body as punches are replaced by kicks might as well be dealt by Damian himself.

He argues with Grayson. Calls him out on not acting how his father would. He calls him incompetent, insignificant, idiotic... but some time these past few weeks the bite he means to carry with those words have turned fond.

He... He likes Grayson. He's the first person to show Damian unconditional kindness... other than his own mother. While being stuck here with him rather than his own father had, at first, been miserable and annoying... it's turned out to be... fun. For the first time in his life, he almost feels like a normal kid with Grayson here to lead him along the way.

Damian wonders at night if that's what his mother intended. Why she hasn't taken him back yet.

He doesn't mind it. He likes the time that he spends with Grayson now, even if he would never admit it. And here he is, helpless and unarmed as Grayson is being beaten to a bloody pulp all because Damian couldn't listen to instructions and snuck out when he shouldn't have.

For a moment, pure terror fills Damian's veins that he's most likely going to witness the death of Grayson tonight. If he tries to fight his captor, he'll get a bullet in his brain. If Grayson decides to fight back, then Damian would die anyways. Grayson wouldn't do that. He would rather die himself.

Another blow hits Grayson's body, and he lays on the ground and groans, unmoving for a worrying few seconds.

Then, the bar door slams open and the woman from before runs out with fire in her dark eyes. No one has a chance to do anything before she kicks the main guy in the jaw, sending him down to the floor with more force than any woman... or man... should have.

Damian doesn't question it. The rest of them are distracted by her sudden entrance, and Damian uses that to his advantage. He throws his hands up and grabs at his captor's distracted face and claws at his eyes. The man yowls and drops Damian, leaving Damian completely free to make his own attack. He easily disarms him and jumps onto his back, wrapping his own arms around the man's neck and squeezing as tightly as he can.

It's all over in a matter of seconds. The man falls unconscious in Damian's grasp, and the woman finishes taking out the others.

She was in on this whole thing too, Damian realizes as she rushes towards Grayson's still form and grabs his arm.

Grayson blinking slowly at her through already bruising eyes and whispering "Donna..." is all the proof Damian needs to confirm his suspicion.

"I got you, boy wonder," Donna says fondly. She helps him to his feet and wraps his arm firmly around her shoulders, helping him stand. She looks at Damian. "You got a way to get us out of here, squirt? The cops are gonna be on their way any minute."

"What-" Damian starts, then pauses. Shame fills his gut. "What about the mission?"

"It's fine," Grayson says with a pained strain in his voice. "They're low in the chain. Won't be missed in prison. Can't give much away. I'll-" he cuts off to gasp as Donna shifts her hold on him. "I'll just try again later."

Damian nods, but the guilt doesn't leave. He looks away from Grayson and Donna to pull out his phone and request Pennyworth send the Batmobile to their position.

The entire way back to the manor is filled with tense silence, broken only by Grayson's hissed curses and groans as Donna helps give immediate first aid to the worst of the bruises and cuts.

Damian... he messed up. He disobeyed Richard and ruined the mission. This woman, Donna, is a better companion to Grayson than Damian ever was. Or will be. They get along. She's kind. She was trusted enough by Grayson to bring her in on his solo mission, and she clearly trusted him enough to go along with it and let herself be captured.

Grayson will never trust him as much as her. He's... He's fucked it all up. He won't want Damian around anymore. He'll want to send him back to the League, and if his mother and grandfather don't take him then his suit and the name of Robin must surely now be forfeit.

Drake will take back the suit, and Damian will forever be left behind by the man he thought... He hoped...

Sitting by his bedside after assisting Pennyworth in dressing Grayson's wounds... he mulls these thoughts over in his head. Grayson is fast asleep, and Donna has retreated upstairs for a shower and dinner by Pennyworth's insistence.

Then, as he's considering leaving so he's not the first thing Grayson sees when he wakes up, a hand grabs hold onto his.

"Don't blame yourself," Grayson whispers, blinking through his puffed up and exhausted eyes. Damian wonders how long he's been sitting here with his thoughts and when Grayson started to awaken without him noticing. "You have the same look in your eyes... That B always did..."

Heat flairs behind Damian's eyelids. He bursts. "But this is my fault. If I hadn't gone out- if I had listened-"

Suddenly, his hand is jerked, and Damian is dragged onto the cot and into Grayson's arms. He attempts to fight the hold, but Grayson holds tight despite his injuries.

"Mistakes happen," Grayson says, "they always do. I will never give up on you, Dames. No matter how many you make. Trust me on that."

He sounds so very much in pain, but he's relentless in his hold. All Damian can do is stop his struggling and lay in Grayson's grasp. His brain studies the words said to him, and his heart wants to believe him. Guilt pools to his throat and he opens his mouth to let it out before he can stop himself.

"I'm sorry," he chokes. He doesn't know when he started to return the hold Grayson had him in. His hands are bunched in the material of Grayson's shirt.

Grayson shushes him. "It's okay," he says. "What's done is done, and we've learned. We're okay. I got you."

And perhaps it's the moment of weakness, but Damian can't help but believe him.

#damianwayneweek2021 #damian wayne #dick grayson #robin #nightwing #dc comics #jin writes #fanfiction #violence tw #kidnapping tw #held at gunpoint #guns tw #im just in the mood for batman!dick and robin!damian angst this week huh?#hopefully donna being here made sense lmao

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blackkatmagic · 4 years ago

Note

In labyrinths of reflections?! So excited!

I would love to see a drabble of Harley and Ivy reunion after Marc helps Ivy out of prison. ^^

There's ice cream melting over her fingers, a buzz of green in her veins, and a darkened shack in the middle of the park that’s filled with the sound of hitched breaths.

Ivy tightens her grip on the Arkham-standard prison clothes, takes a breath. The trees around her bend inwards, shivering, and she has to close her eyes against the surge of hope and relief and vicious glee that’s beating like a tattoo in her chest.

The Joker is dead. The Joker is dead. He’s dead and gone and an old god ate his heart, so it’s safe to say that he’s never coming back.

Just for that, she would walk barefoot over broken glass and take a swim in weed killer, the moment Moon Knight asked her to.

Harley is crying, and Ivy should likely feel worse, should mourn the pain if not the man. But she doesn’t, she can't. Harley is free of him, Gotham is free of him, and it’s a fierce, bloody, vicious joy in Ivy’s chest, the knowledge that he died and suffered. Not just for what he did to Harley, but—

That doesn’t matter. He’s dead, because Moon Knight killed him. Moon Knight is like her, like them, mentally ill but forged into a weapon, functionality and purpose and intent, and he killed the Joker. Harley is free because of Moon Knight.

A muffled, trembling sound, and Ivy pushes forward, through the darkened doorway hung with wilted vines and into the moon-striped interior.

There's no movement, no sign she’s been seen. Harley is curled in the corner where Ivy’s bed is half-collapsed and covered in the wild tangle of her citrus trees run rampant, face tucked into her drawn-up knees, her hair down. She’s in loose clothes, Ivy’s baggiest sleeping clothes huge on her small frame, and she’s not audibly crying, but she might as well be.

Silently, Ivy sets both cartons of half-melted ice cream down on the floor, then crosses the small shack and pulls herself up onto the listing mattress. Without pause, she leans in, wraps her arms around Harley as tightly as she can and just—breathes. Lets her hair hide them from the world, just for a moment.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she whispers, and Harley’s breath catches on a sob. She grabs, hauls Ivy in and wraps her arms around her, and Ivy kisses her forehead, her cheek, the corner of her eye as Harley buries her face in her shoulder.

“Red,” she gets out, and the word cracks. “Red, Mr. J is dead. Someone killed him. I'm—I'm so relieved but I'm so sad, an’ I can't stop crying.”

Ivy never attacked the Joker, never confronted him. It would have made Harley angry, would have upset her, and Ivy could never risk losing her. Could never risk pushing her back to the Joker permanently, shutting down her one avenue of escape. She’d wanted to a thousand times, had thought about arranging accidents, or slipping him some poison, but—Harley is clever, and Ivy isn't a good enough actor to fool her. Harley would have realized what she’d done, and maybe the Joker would have been dead, but Ivy would have lost the one person she gives a damn about in the whole world. The trade-off was never worth it.

“I'm not sorry,” she whispers, not about to hide the truth. Harley already knows how she feels, anyway. “I'm glad. Him being dead makes me happy.”

Harley chokes on a sob, fingers bruising against Ivy’s skin, but she doesn’t pull away. Ivy doesn’t try to move, either, just leans in with a sigh, stroking Harley’s limp hair. “Moon Knight broke me out of Arkham,” she says quietly, and Harley stills, frozen, conflicted. There's a long pause, and then a watery breath, and Harley lifts her head.

“’S good,” she says, wiping at her eyes with the heel of one hand. “I know—I know how much you hate bein’ away from the sun, Red. I was gonna try to break you out, but the Bats were keepin’ an eye on me, an’ then Mr. J—”

“I know,” Ivy says, and shifts sideways, pulling Harley down onto the sagging mattress with her. The broken frame creaks dangerously, but Harley snuggles closer, tucks Ivy’s head under her chin and hangs on the with desperation of someone drowning. Gently, Ivy strokes her back, closing her eyes and thinking of a flare of white in the darkness, glowing eyes under the dark shadows of a hood.

When she’d first seen Moon Knight in the hallway, she’d expected a henchman come to break out their master, or maybe a new mercenary hired for a hit. Had only thought about charming him, tempting him in and then using him to escape. And maybe some part of her, impossible to turn off, is still thinking about the benefits of knowing him and the advantages he can provide, but—

He’s like them. He was in an institute at thirteen, and Ivy remembers all too well the long hours sitting in a psychologist’s office when she was a child, head bowed as she listed to the man and her mother talk. Remembers six months in the hospital, alone, desperate, after Jason Woodrue experimented on her.

The incident drove her insane, the files say. Ivy knows; she’s looked them up, torn through them to see what the Bats whisper about her in the darkness, and she’s seen those words printed starkly in black enough times to be burned into her brain. The incident drove her insane, like everyone in the world is one tragedy away from becoming mentally ill. Like Ivy was just sad and angry and that alone was enough to make her unstable. Like being in Arkham will fix her, or do anything but make her angrier. None of the doctors there give a damn about the patients, about anyone, and the ones who try turn out like Harley.

Moon Knight breaking her out and talking to her like a person, looking at her like she’s real and reasonable and not either a crazed villain or a mindless sex object did more to help steady her than her whole stint in Arkham. A little bit of understanding, a touch of his strange, brusque respect, and Ivy felt like she could breathe.

He’s like them, and he does what he thinks is right, not what the laws tell him to do. He’s like them, a little broken and a little crazy and a little good.

With her eyes closed, Ivy can feel the whole of Gotham breathing, the roots beneath the city and the branches spread through it, the weeds creeping up through the cracks in the sidewalk and hundreds of thousands of stately old trees, young and verdant trees, ivy and roses and flowers carefully trimmed and confined. She can feel each step that crushes the grass, the careless cruelty of a tree cut down, the gasping breaths of plants trying to breathe through the pollution. And, if she focuses, she can find a heavy pair of boots, moving more lightly than most across the park. The brush of a white cloak, the way he feels like moonlight on the grass, how the trees bend towards his presence. Like he’s carrying fresh air with him, as clean and cool as a wind across the desert, completely untouched by the smog and rot of Gotham around him.

Moon Knight, she thinks, and smiles, thin and wicked against Harley’s skin. Tightens her arms around Harley, then shoves, rolling them over and straddling Harley, knees locked against her ribs. Harley gasps, but she reaches for Ivy, tangles her fingers in Ivy’s hair and pulls, and Ivy kisses her, kisses her, kisses her, and never wants to let her up for air.

Moon Knight gave her this. Gave them this, even if Harley will never see it as the gift it is. He killed the Joker, set her and Harley both free, and Ivy’s laugh vibrates low in her throat as she cups Harley’s face between her hands.

Like them, she thinks. Moon Knight is one of theirs, one of hers. Ivy’s never been good at limits; everything she’s ever let go of has claw marks in it, and she’s willful, wicked, doesn’t have or want a code of honor of any sort. But—

“I think,” she whispers against Harley’s lips, still smiling, “that I just found my very own knight in shining armor.”

Harley laughs, too, even if hers is a little watery. “Don’cha mean your own Knight Light?” she jokes, and Ivy snorts and kisses her again.

She’ll keep one eye on Moon Knight, whenever he appears. Batman doesn’t like their kind, and he’ll like that Moon Knight broke her out of Arkham even less. Ivy doesn’t accept anyone easily, doesn’t take to strangers, but watching Moon Knight in the park, she felt…different. Wanted something other than to walk away and leave him behind. He’s an ally and an unknown and a god on earth, and Ivy knows a little bit more about that than she should.

He’ll need them eventually. That favor Ivy owes him will be called in. And—it’s not an entirely selfless thing. A steppingstone, maybe, to draw him closer, to pull him in.

Moon Knight doesn’t realize it yet, but if he tries to leave them—leave her—behind, he’s going to have claw marks in him, too.

[On AO3]

#my writing #harlivy #dc #marvel #marc spector #harley quinn #pamela isley #Anonymous #kat answers

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stickynotestoletters · 4 years ago

Text

Yandere BNHA Boys pt 2

Okay, this is a continuation of the first yandere ones I did because I wrote that in basically a night and was too tired to do more, I'm probably gonna post some after for the pro heroes and villains if I have time, I might finish those on the weekend then post it.

This is just a bunch of headcanons I have about the boys in BNHA and what they’d be like as yanderes. Only the really fluffy or good things about them listed here. Neither of these works are a good depictions of a real yandere and make sure to be careful to identify yandere traits in real people around you. It’s a very dangerous world and stay safe!

sorry if you were waiting for me to come out with these and I literally took forever lol, link to the first one is here. It's basically just me comforting myself with the sweet things that I think they would do as yanderes.

Warnings: Brainwashing, blood, gore, death, trans headcanons, body dysmorphia, nonbinary they/he Sero, they/them pronouns + nonbinary headcanons for Tokoyami, he/they nonbinary headcanons with Shinsou, a little NSFW because if I don't specify then they are aged up (around 20-25 is where I imagine the timeline that they actually captured you and have a hero carrier going for them already), manipulation, regular yandere things, kinda just turns into dumbass horknee headcanons at some point after Shinsou (sorry lmfao), objectification

Sero Hanata

so basically the first time they saw you they immediately wanted to come up to you

they love to give you back hugs because once you stop trying to fight them he's gonna be so honored you finally trust him

Big time slut [non-derogetory] for you

Likes to have an apartment that's high up, probably a secured penthouse with lots of windows

If you're afraid of heights they will get a ground bed for you two, they would also vibe with a low hanging hammock if you allow it

they really really like just putting you on a custom made leash, not inherently in a sexual way just in general likes to have it look like that with their tape on you at all times

they really really like it when you come to them for hugs and comfort

If you're a trans reader, if you want a binder he will get you one as soon as you ask, cried when you told him about it.

they cried way more than you though...

Was very accepting as an nb person as well

they custom made you a tape binder of his

Kinda as a joke but high key felt like they were gonna combust at the thought of you wearing that for them

Takes you to pride but you cannot speak

only takes you to pride after they are 1000% sure that you're not gonna speak to anyone but them

Takes you to it as a part of their float because they'd been invited onto the Hero Float

You are in a costume that's exactly like his, helmet and everything, you aren't allowed to be looked at

After that though, it's gonna be your choice to go or not to go

they trust you a little more after you run away from some assholes though and after that sometimes lets you take your helmet off during pride, you have to give them a lot of kisses though

When/if you ever consider any type of surgery he is 110% on board

they demand that you have to have it performed by someone who has done this a million times before, trusts no one else

If there's a way for you to go through it without the surgery they're excited but he's more excited if there is surgery because they love the idea of you being so cuddly and clinging to them for their comfort

Tokoyami Fumikage

haha they're in love with you

like, intensely in love with you the moment they first meet you

Dark shadow thinks you're adorable but says nothing more about their obsession with you

when you met them before UA they absolutely cannot handle being around you in a 10-foot radius

Eventually, though they do try and become a friend of yours

After that, it's a hop on the manipulation train, my dude

they basically make you see them as your savior from a mean uncaring world

they love talking to you about things that make you happy and loving you in little ways

hugs, hand holding, a lot of time it's just a little peck (haha) on the cheek

they love living with you though, like really love it

they like baking and making dinner for you

but especially baking

like really, baking

the manipulation they use makes it seem like everything is okay when you only talk to them so that's what you do and to you, it seems so much better than anything you could do

they haven't come out to you by the time you come out to them so your trans journey really helps them figure things like that out as well

The first time you explain that gender is a made-up construct they're like "yeah......isn't that how everyone feels? Like, not a gender????" we love this for them

you both kind of heal each other through this process

they like seeing you when you're most comfortable so they get you as many binders as you need

also gets you a custom binder like Sero but with feather designs, not like stupid printable patterns but something that is soft and the softness isn't feathers it's regular fluffy cloth

idk I'm not a designer that's why I gave up and became a writer lmao

they also get you a compression corset because they're emo

if there is surgery it takes a lot of time to convince them

they don't ever want you to regret anything they helped you with so it takes a lot of long-winded conversations about it

there was a lot of nervousness on their part because (this is just my headcanon) they were almost convinced to get surgery to construct their face to look human-like

they had a lot of their family tell them that, because of the way they looked, they had less of a chance to become a hero, they were immensely traumatized by this and thus wants to make absolutely sure you were okay with this

but when they finally find themself comforted by you about it it happens quickly and in the safest way you could possibly imagine

Shinso Hitoshi

Shinsou didn't want to approach you at all, he was so scared you'd run away or tell him he's a villain

they always thought that they weren't good enough for you

he loved you but you needed to say hi first

and you did

so he whisked you away

they like to just brainwash you into tasting certain types of food when you're craving them instead of just getting you food

he likes to talk to you in a voice like he would talk to a kitten, not like husky or anything sexy, but something cute and adorable

especially when you're brainwashed and can't say anything to him

He likes to give you lots of soft stuff like I'm talking pillows upon pillows and squishmallows

once he gets his own house they get it in a place that's more comforting in the dark than in the light

they really like the dark and outdoorsy vibe anyway so if they choose a place somewhere in the forest to keep you what's the added bonus if no one can hear you scream?

a little bit of spice; he has this whole a/b/o fantasy (idk it's his vibes that he'd read that fanfic and stuff lmao) and kinda treats you like you were an omega

sometimes if you guys do have sex they'll brainwash you to act like an omega or once he's more experienced with bodily manipulation involving their quirk they'll make you do all of the......omega things

when you come out to them, if you're trans, they're definitely gonna not care

like if you need comfort and stuff about it they will not make a big deal about it

he legit is like "okay .....can I still fuck you or?????"

HE JUST GIVES OFF REALLY HORKNEE VIBES OKAY?????

definitely brainwashes you into not feeling dysphoric anymore though

like loves it when you come up all sad to him and uncomfy just to ask them to brainwash you

he melts over you cuddling them after those times though

if you want surgery they're gonna make sure that it's between him and the doctors that y'all are there

like no one knows you're there, completely off radius, in and out like nothing (he's basically a cryptid in the woods by the time you guys have the surgery, so they wanna make sure no one questions it)

Monoma Neito

bold of you to assume that man can express literally anything when he wants to just sit you on his lap and look at your pretty face

love at first sight taken literally but not in a shallow way

he loves just having you around him

kinda treats you as an accessory at times, talks like you're a purse or something and people don't really comment but it's really freaking them out sometimes when you don't speak up on it

likes to say he's the only one to understand you cause he's afraid you'd leave him

a hardcore fan of collars though

definitely has lots of jewelry that represents him even though you don't go out he still loves the idea of it

big time cook

loves providing for you, never lets you do a damn thing other than watching pre-approved cartoons and hobbies

absolute fucking disaster about hugging you

always has to be touching you

he thinks you're so fucking gorgeous and body worships you even out of the bedroom

if you're trans he will definitely be weird about it at first

he's just diet transphobic

he's not denying it but sometimes he's like "Are you sure???" and stuff

he clears this up with the help of you being pissed enough to not eat or talk to him until he apologizes

he then educates himself on it and comes to the conclusion that he was in fact being an asshole

talks to you about binders and stuff like that

doesn't really believe in surgery, he would never allow you to do that just because it would be too painful for him to see you go through

he instead literally searches the whole fucking globe for a person with a body-altering quirk to make sure you don't get hurt

he seeks out homophobes, transphobes, and other dumbasses on the regular just to kill them like literally it just started out for your approval but now it's just for fun

Anyway, the villain one (if I do it) will probably become just horknee brain rot cause I am a slut. Request some stuff and I'll try to put up some works if y'all want ig.

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inviciousx · 3 years ago

Text

nuclear winter of our discontent

Fractured strips of moonlight shone down from the caving ceiling as Ryat started mixing several ingredients into a metal bowl he'd stolen from an old diner he'd passed on the way out here. Locals in the wastes called this the Old North Church. He called it a resurrection ground. His mind drifted as he added a bit of purified water into the mixture and pulled out his blade. Slashing it across his hand, he let a few drops of blood fall before he could feel it start healing. The demon couldn't help but replay the last twenty-four hours in his head. It had been more excitement than the last two centuries combined. Latin fell from his lips as his gaze moved over the pile of old bones laid over the debris in the floor. God he hoped he'd dug the right grave. As flesh began to form over bone, he began to hold even the tiniest bit of hope that be wouldn't be alone anymore.

She was waking. Not from a dream, but from darkness. Like Jesus saw daylight again on the third day, light was pouring in from behind her closed eyelids. She remembered, before her eyes ever opened: that awful flash, heat searing her skin, only time enough left to drop to her knees and cling to the soft grass one last time. She stirred, grunting softly, and blinked up into the sky. She inhaled softly. What she was was nothing like the fiery destruction that had knocked her out. It was silver and peaceful, quiet.

Caroline pushed an elbow under herself and began to rise, beginning to look around. The darkness surrounding her seemed to pop as her eyes adjusted from the moonlight pooling around her. There were shapes an figures, perhaps, but she could make out nothing specific. She sat up completely, wincing loudly and clutching her side in pain. Had she been knocked back into something in the blast? "Hello?" she called hoarsely.

Red eyes watched her from where Ryat sat in a dilapidating pew. It was one of few that was still being held together, probably by all the dirt and grime that covered it. Her resurrection had taken longer than most, but he supposed that had something to do with the fact that she'd been dead for 200 years. He really wasn't sure how he was going to explain that yet, but he knew he had to. She was going to be punished into a brand new world, a terrifying world... Just like he had been. It seemed like he had just traded one hell for another. At least now he had something other than his own thoughts, even before he had brought her back. Sitting there frozen, a captive to the body he had once enslaved hadn't done him any favors. "Morning sunshine. It's about time you woke the hell up," he muttered, finally getting back to his feet to move closer to her, stepping into the moonlight. "You're very.... Very late to the party."

The light in the hunter’s eyes brightened with confused realization as the demon’s voice purred through the darkness and echoed subtly off the walls. A sharp creak of wood made her head swivel, and, through the light of the moon, she found two red eyes peered back at her. Her heart slammed in her chest. “Ryat. .” she breathed, but offered nothing else, shifting slightly in the pile of rubble. She watched dumb-struck as he emerged into the circle of light. There should have been a million thoughts running through her mind, but it was empty, save for watching his face looking down at hers. She could barely read his expression, but what else was new? His eyes were shadowed but the irises glowed. He looked different, somehow, but still very much the same. Her face winced as she tried to process what he meant. It all. . . felt like a dream. “What’s going on?” she asked softly

Stooping down next to her, he sat with her in the rubble. He was already dirty, grime and filth covering his clothes. Not to mention blood.... "What do you remember?" He questioned, choosing his words uncharacteristically carefully. "I mean the very last thing you remember, because I need to know where to start explaining, and I don't have much time." Being what he was, he was able to see through the veil of death. He knew the difference between when he was dead and when he was alive, and he knew what happened in between, but he doubted that she had that luxury. Or maybe it was a curse.... He wasn't sure. A while caused crimson hues to look back at the black dog that laid guarding the door. Another whimper had him getting to his feet. "Come on. We need to move. I'll explain, but we need to get to higher ground. He wouldn't take her all the way up to the steeple yet, but he would at least hide them in the stairwell for now. Sitting here felt like being a sitting duck.

The hunter's eyes searched his face wildly for a hint of why he was asking such questions. The last thing she remembered? The last thing she remembered was everything, everything exploding and vanishing and then the sudden lack of everything. The emptiest nothing that she could conceive, and could still feel in her bones, as if she was hollow. Her hand seized on his arm like a snake."Ryat..." Caroline repeated, anxiety growing in her voice and heat swelling to her face. The urgency in his voice and the measured tone was making every hair on her body stick up like a pin prick. Ryat used her grip on him to hoist her up, but she collapsed to her knee, finding the legs underneath her shaking and uncoordinated. "Help me. Please." she asked of him, and braced herself around his middle. The black dog circled around them, but always stayed behind, unnaturally bright eyes glaring at the back of the building--if it could be called that. Half up the stairs, encased in near-darkness, and almost suffocating in dust, Caroline pushed against the demon and let herself sink to a stair. Her legs burned as if she'd been marooned in the desert. The hunter breathed heavily, dropping her hand from him to lean forward, taken by the vertigo in her brain. She looked up to what she could see in front of her face--shocking red eyes and a half-shadowed face looking down at her. "The last thing I remember. . ." Her face contorted at the memory, too painful for even tears. Her gaze searched for the words in the dust particles floating around them. "The last thing I remember is the. . ." The hunter blinked faster, as if the emotions that had been stopped where her memories ended were picking up as she remembered ten seconds over and over again in her mind. The more she remembered, the more the monstrous sounds came back to her. "Oh, God. Oh, God." she whispered. She looked back at Ryat, pleading, reaching out to a hand she couldn't see in the dark. "What's happening? Why am I here?”

The fear and fragility coming from the normally quick witted hunter only added to the gravity of the situation. Even with his superior hearing, Ryat wasn't sure what was waiting for them outside. There were things in this hellacious landscape that put the creatures of nightmares to shame. The large Shepherd Dog sat at the bottom of the stairs, ears twitching with each sound, though he wasn't sounding an alarm again yet. He knew she remembered the end. Her reaction told him at least that much. "What you remember.... That's what a lot of people called the end of the world. As you can see that isn't exactly accurate...." He still picked and chose his words, knowing that the smallest thing could be like a detonator, and right now he didn't have the luxury of having the time to help stitch her back together. At least mentally. "It was damn close though....and that was 200 years ago. The world you knew, hell the world we both knew, is gone. There are things even you can't imagine. Whole damn world went to hell in a hand basket." The air here was too thick with dust and the smell of mold from the nuclear storms that passed settling into the interior of the building. Reaching into his pack once he slipped it off his shoulder, he found a stimpack. "I don't know how much this is gonna help, but it should do something," he stated evenly before injecting her with the medicine inside.

Caroline lower lip trembled fiercely as he spoke, but he brows were set in desperate refusal. His words were gathering like a holy flood at the levies, and she bit her lip, shaking her head. The end of the world. The end of the world. The end of the world. Pictures flashed in her mind as rapidly as film ticking through a camera. Home. People. Friends. Life. Gone. . . “Please stop.” she said quietly, squeezing his hand as it released hers to shuffle inside some backpack. The pinch in her arm barely registered past the screaming her in own head. Voices, like a hundred-strong choir was screaming through their murder in her ears. “Stop!” she screamed through it, bracing her hands on the edge of the step and kicking out sharply at his leg. Something connected and she scrambled up and away, spilling onto the landing and throwing herself towards the next set of stairs. It only look another flight to reach the top, which spilled out into a windowed perch with half the wall broken out. Caroline gasped and looked around wildly. A thin layer of snow was coating the rooftops in her sights, but it all blurred together. Steps were right behind her as she made for the roof.

A hiss of pain left the demon's lips even if it wouldn't last long. "You God damn bitch!" He growled, moving after her with speed only a creature such as himself could possess. Maybe the stimpack had been a bad idea.... He'd thought it would do good to help her feel better and give her some mobility. The dog let out a bark at the sudden outburst and Ryat took off after her trying to ignore the pain in his shin. Snow glittered on the roof as it came into his view and his arm shot out, grabbing her ankle as she tried to scramble to the sloped, rotting roof. From his place on the stairs, he roughly tugged her back, not giving a single shit if he caused a few bruises on the way down. "What the fuck?" He grit, red eyes seeming to look through her as he appraised her. "I didn't spend the last twenty four hours gathering the shit to bring you back to let you toss yourself off a god damn steeple!" His grip on her ankle released only to grab her by the arm and pull her up to her feet, but this time he held her steady.

Caroline yelped and slammed to the ground hard as her feet were wrenched from beneath her. Her vision turned into a dropped snowglobe for a brief moment as he torso landed on the raised ledge were a wall should've been, half of body on the roof, half still inside the tower. All she could manage was a strangled grunt of resistance as she was pulled back over the threshold, icy flakes stinging her face. She lost herself in a flurry of kicks and palm-thrusts into Ryat's shoulders, but it was a charade for all the good it did. The young woman gasped as she was forced to stand, and, wrangled in his unquestionable grip, she looked at him wildly. His dark, hidden face from before now reflected so much silver light it was like he was glowing. His raven hair was tussled from the skirmish and blew slightly in the wind whistling through the broken windows around them. Caroline breathed hard, small fogs of hot breath crystalizing between them. Her eyes were stricken, but clearer, as if the truth was easier to see in the moonlight. "You brought me back?" She paused, forgetting to breathe. "I. . died?" The last word was barely a breath.

@a-beast-in-repose

#ryat;#nuclear winter;

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grayintogreen · 2 years ago

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WIP TITLE ASK GAME

WIP title ask game!

the rules are: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Send me an ask with the title that most intrigues you and I’ll post a little snippet of it or tell you something about it. And then tag as many people as you have WIPs. hahaha no.

I got tagged by @marymauk and boy this is gonna be a trip. For the sake of not posting the entirety of a twelve-page document, I'm only doing the Critical Role ones since... That is what people mainly follow me for. Also that's... the bulk of them anyway. The only ones I removed are the ones I'm holding back as possible Wildflowers treats, the rest is accurate to the true unlimited potential of my brain just throwing ideas at the wall and waiting until the right time to do them. Also seriously my wip document is extremely well organized. Like before we get into this I need to show you what exactly we're dealing with:

Fortunately you're only getting the titles and if you're lucky I have actually written something for one of these. If not you... get the little summary and how long it is so you can laugh about why it's not written yet. I'm hoping to clear a bunch of these in the three month gap between OUADYA's ending and the sequel's beginning.

ANYWAY. TO THE TITLES... There are SEVENTY. I HAVE A DISEASE. IT'S CALLED "A THOUSAND IDEAS AND NOT ENOUGH ENERGY TO WRITE THEM." I am not tagging anyone specifically, because... 70. And I don't know who hasn't done it because I'm terrible. If you wanna do it, you can say I tagged you. There ya go.

have caution when the fox begins to dance

how many miles to babylon?

i have trod the mortal paths and danced the faerie way

and I'm certain the clues and deductions will help you to run me to ground

if you follow me, follow me, follow me down

you can never hope to beat the tricks that centuries have taught her

give me cold kisses now- one, two, and three

the flower in the shadow of the hanging tree

you can’t keep the ghosts out (when you’re the one who’s the haunted house)

there isn’t a past, there’s only the present flowing into the future

and the seasons turn like pages in the story of our lives

only the spiders are cunning enough to keep us from seeing the seams

of spindrift and footsteps and blood in the waters

some stars fall home, and this one still could

they weave their wicked webs among the spindrift and the rot

we build our homes on the water, and we wonder why the flood runs in

there’s not much point pretending this tale will have a happy ending

and we are the hope that you hold when the darkness grows strong

like an answer is something you’re allowed to choose

no judges here, just wicked men:

our hearths have grown cold

sharper than a serpent’s tooth (the lies they tell us in our youth)

the trick is not to fear him

a hand to guide them down the primrose path

these half-hidden lacerations won’t be healed by incantations

there’s always some new sucker who just won’t get out alive

this is a song of mornings after

went tilting at the windmill

and the scars you leave behind you never heal

are you sure that where it leads you is a place you want to go?

we were never a mistake

choose your words carefully

gulping pretty poisons that devour me in return

his pretty hands just won’t come clean

as you’re facing the future they gave you

we’ve had quite enough of that

your love has a cost nothing human can take

and always one page at a time

and the sky lights up with fire

i am not a sheltered princess and i know that good men die

it’s the midnight special, baby

light a candle for a wanderer who never meant to roam

let me be your lighthouse, and guide you to shore

she gives cheshire kisses; she’s easy with white rabbit smiles

strawberries smothered in snow

the math that makes us real

the word that ends the story

one day you’ll pay the piper’s fee

where the ash and willow grows

you know that all the heroes are gone

as in the painted parlor, ophelia dreams

there’s something divine in the way screams can sound

and no one could say where the story would bend

and the absinthe and the wormwood are the lost years creeping in

and the sea is never silent and the sea is never tame

blood burns like fire (and it always burns through)

so place your orders, place your bets, and draw your final card

how much dark before you just lose the light?

the tribe of crows and tinkers sang the roads across the world

they say her tale’s last word was known before the first was spoken

for the chains that we forge can be broken

give me coyotes to sing up the sky, for their voices are suited to labor

it's hard to explain all the sorrows you've seen, or the reason you keep buying more

and then came act two

in the shadow of the broken tower

wicked girls saving ourselves

she met the fate of fools who love the winter’s king

the cold sacrifices you can’t even see

for when the gods dare to believe, the light never fails

this is a song of all the troubles you’ve been bringing

#ask game #do i have a disease or am i disease #listen consider this a preview of coming attractions once ouadya is done #guess how many of these are tombtakers related #go on guess #my writing

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gffa · 4 years ago

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I’M GONNA HAVE TO BREAK THIS UP BECAUSE IT’S KIND OF A LOT. So, @alabasterswriting and I were having a fantastic conversation about Anakin and how much he intellectually-versus-emotionally knows that he can leave the Jedi Order at any time, that he’s not a slave to them and it was already getting really long, so I’m going to put this in a new post because this is going to be even longer, but IT’S A SUBJECT NEAR AND DEAR TO MY HEART BECAUSE I HAVE MANY FEELINGS ABOUT ANAKIN SKYWALKER. For context, there are some other posts that’ll be referenced so this is only, like, the length of two monster posts instead of five. ^_~ - The original ask about whether or not Anakin was a slave to the Jedi, which sets up how the Jedi make it extremely clear that it’s fine to leave - A follow-up ask from alabasterswriting + their very thoughtful, love response, which this post is largely a response to! Now that I’ve gotten some sleep, I think I can be more coherent on why I think there’s a lot of really good stuff to explore with Anakin’s emotional misunderstanding (versus intellectually knowing that he can leave) and why I do think it’s an important element, but not necessarily at the core of why Anakin stayed. Why does Anakin stay as a Jedi? I think the Obi-Wan & Anakin comic covers this really well--he plans to leave, he’s not upset about it, he’s excited and has nothing but respect for the Jedi Order, he even says that he may come back. Anakin knows that he has options, he believes that he’s capable of taking off into the wider galaxy, he acknowledges that part of the reason he may have joined was, despite Qui-Gon’s warnings, all he saw was a magic man and a way out of slavery, what was he going to do, say no? The overarching plot of the comic is: Obi-Wan wants him to be absolutely sure of this, so he asks Anakin for one last mission together, but makes it clear that he’ll accept whatever choice Anakin makes in the end. Obi-Wan’s point is, when they call for reinforcements at the end to deal with Carnelion IV’s civil war, they get those reinforcements, becasue they did this as Jedi. That the Jedi are part of the Republic and thus they have the backing of the Republic. (This is, interestingly enough, also a major theme in Master & Apprentice, that the day is saved precisely because Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon were part of the Republic and had the backing of the Republic.) Anakin realizes that he can accomplish more as a Jedi than he can setting off on his own, so he happily agrees to stay. This fits with how Anakin genuinely seems to like being a Jedi. The problems he expresses with it, is that he wants more than what they can do, he wants to be able to tell people want to do, to make them do the right thing. He expresses this to Padme in Attack of the Clones, he follows it up with that conversation with Tarkin during The Citadel arc, where they both feel the Jedi Code does not allow Jedi to go “far enough” to win the war. Further, he teaches on the beliefs of the Jedi. After the brain invader worms, Anakin teaches Ahsoka about how to balance letting go of their attachments versus caring about other people and wanting to save them, how the two work together. While she’s on Onderon and having confusing feelings for Lux, he teaches her again about how duty must come before her feelings, he seems to agree with this, because he’s not shy about subverting the Jedi teachings when he wants to. And very clearly, he teaches the same things to Rex in the Bad Batch arc:

That’s exactly what the Jedi teach (and is ironic because this is just a few months before Revenge of the Sith and I think it’s actually a really perfect illustration of exactly what was at the heart of Anakin, that he genuinely believes in the Jedi teachings, until they apply to him and his fears eat him up and he makes himself the exception) and Anakin also seems to genuinely believe it. In Revenge of the Sith, Anakin doesn’t express any desire to not be a Jedi until after he’s helped kill Mace and the younglings and then, frankly, he’s repeating Palpatine’s words, not his own, he doesn’t really believe what he’s saying, imo. When he talks to Padme about feeling lost, it isn’t expressed in terms of him feeling trapped, but instead that he feels he isn’t the Jedi he should be, that he wants more. Anakin never seems to feel trapped or obligated--there’s almost nothing in the movies or TV show that actually lean towards the idea that Anakin felt any pressure of being the Chosen One. He doesn’t seem to believe it himself--he tells the Father that it’s a myth. And the other Jedi (aside from Qui-Gon) never talk about it in front of him, it’s almost never even mentioned, I think it comes up all of two or three times in the movies? And each time there are people expressing doubt about it being true and it’s never discussed at Anakin’s face. Even in TCW, aside from the Mortis arc, it never really seems to come up pretty much at all. Does he feel an obligation to Shmi’s memory to stay as a Jedi? Possibly! It would certainly be an easy conclusion to come to! He never expresses it directly anywhere that I can recall, though. At the end of The Wrong Jedi, when Ahsoka says she’s going to leave, he says, “I understand. More than you realize, I understand wanting to walk away from the Order.“ which is the most he ever expresses about actually wanting to leave in any canon that I’ve seen. We’re given no other context for this--is it because he’s angry at the Jedi, is it that he feels they’re not doing enough and he could do more as a free agent, is it that he wants to leave to be with Padme, is it that he doesn’t like being a Jedi, is it that he feels a wanderlust for the stars? We’re given no further context in that scene, so we have to put it together with the other things we have. That Anakin, when he was younger, said he felt a calling to the starts, that in ROTS he wants more, that in the conversations with Padme and Tarkin, he feels the Jedi aren’t going far enough and someone should make people do things. Put together with the end of the Obi-Wan & Anakin comic, where he stays because he feels he can do more with the Jedi than without them, I think that’s at the heart of why Anakin stays. He wants more more more more. This is further evidenced by what George Lucas says about how the dark side works, which is something I think Anakin is clearly sliding into at this point: “What happens when you go to the dark side is it goes out of balance and you get really selfish and you forget about everybody … because when you get selfish you get stuff, or you want stuff, and when you want stuff and you get stuff then you are afraid somebody is going to take it away from you, whether it’s a person or a thing or a particular pleasure or experience.” --George Lucas That’s what I see it as, because the story of Anakin Skywalker is one that is sliding towards the dark side, and Anakin’s problem is that he wants more and more and more. He wants to be a Jedi, he wants to be married to Padme, he wants to be able to murder people to win the war, he wants to be made a Master (despite having just taken a bribe from Palpatine and clearly isn’t ready for it yet in emotional mastery), he wants all these people, things, and experiences. He wants more. The point @alabasterswriting makes here: “To me, (and it’s totally an opinion, and I’m open to disagreement), it’s always seemed like Anakin was on his way to being able to being able to handle himself emotionally before his perceptions of his sense of self were messed with. And I think (as I’m sure many do) a large part of that was Palpatine feeding his ego/preying on his fears and insecurities. Like we see in the bar with Palpatine that he uses a whole bunch of trigger words meant to make Anakin equate the Jedi to his time as a slave.“ is a really good one, because I absolutely agree that Palpatine completely muddied the waters on this, that Anakin was on his way to a much healthier understanding of himself and ability to understand himself, but then Palpatine started dripping poison into his hear and telling Anakin the things he wanted to hear, rather than the truth that he needed to hear. So, eventually, Vader rationalizes what he’s doing by looping back around to what Palpatine told him, which George Lucas makes clear in his directions to Hayden Christensen (that he’s rationalizing and justifying the things he’s doing, that he doesn’t actually believe them, that is), that that’s at the heart of how Anakin handles things. He does feel powerless to help people--despite that he’s not and there are plenty of moments where he knows otherwise, like in the Age of Republic comic, when he helps the people of Kudo out of the sticky situation they’re in, they have a chance to make their own choice about whether they want to join the Separatists or the Republic, Obi-Wan specifically points out that it was him who helped them:

There are actually a ton of instances in The Clone Wars of this as well, like he helps the rebels on Onderon, he helps save Naboo from the Blue Shadow Virus, he helps free the people of Mon Calamari, he helps free the people of Kiros, etc., but it was easier to grab the above cap as an example (even if I do absolutely agree that Anakin Skywalker is a bucket with a whole in the bottom--it doesn’t matter that he helps people almost every day, it’s never enough, he still wants more, he still feels powerless to help as many people as he wants, and he does feel like he’s often taking things apart, rather than fixing things, as he tells Padme in the Malevolence arc) as well as it’s a good segue into his relationship with Obi-Wan in the next part. Ultimately, I think it comes back to the dark side--it lies, it twists things, it tells Anakin that he wants more and more and more, that nothing else around him is ever enough. He’s not helping enough people, he’s not doing enough stuff, he’s not getting enough recognition, he’s not getting enough personal loyalty over loyalty to things that are bigger than him. But he can’t face that truth about himself, that the dark side has twisted him, so instead the dark side must be right, Palpatine must be right. The dark side always wins, Obi-Wan, Vader says in the Star Wars comic, and so everything else must be shuffled around to fit that. Everything else must be rationalized to fit the way he feels, so he leans into whatever justification he can find, despite that he actually really wanted to be a Jedi and believed in their teachings. (Part 2 in a reblog coming soon because I can only do one monster post at a time. ^_~)

#anakin skywalker #jedi order #meta #long post

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wooyunhwa · 4 years ago

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𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔭𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔰 | 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔣𝔬𝔲𝔯

check out my pinned masterlist for links to the rest of the parts!

Genre: angst, smut (with plot, but this chapter is mostly plot)

Pairing: mafia au!seonghwa x fem!reader

Word Count: 8.9k

Warnings: blood, violence, torture, lots of angst, poor medical practices

Synopsis: When everything looks hopeless, you embark on a life or death mission to save the man you love.

A/N: I’m simping for my side characters. This is (probably) the last part of this series so I hope you enjoy!! Comments are super appreciated as always! Thank you to everyone who stuck around for the full thing! I hope you enjoyed the ride~

You cracked your eyes open. His face was intimidating, with sharp eyes and an x-shape shaved into one eyebrow, complete with a diamond in the center. His deep blue hair was pushed back impeccably, and he wore a huge leopard fur coat. He looked like another scary mafia guy, and you’d had quite enough of those. Despite his looks, he seemed kind, his expression gentle and eyebrows pinched with concern he surveyed you for injury.

“I’m Hongjoong, Seonghwa’s best friend.”

“Wha- H-how’d you find me?” you croaked, your voice rough and thin from screaming for what must have been hours. “How-how’d you know where-” “Check your pocket,” he said, shooting a knowing glance down at your legs. You fumbled in both pockets, your right hand catching on something small and distinctly metal. You pulled it out hesitantly. “It’s a GPS tracker.”

“But when did he-” You paused, answering your own question in your head. Now that you thought about it, he had plenty of opportunities to slip something in your pocket during the drive.

A small smirk painted his lips. “He told me you were leaving together, and gave me access to the trackers’ locations. He planted one on you, and he has the other somewhere on him. He said I was the only one he trusted in case things went awry.”

A shockwave ricocheted through your brain, and you keeled forward a bit, bringing your hand up to your head, doing whatever you could to dull the pain. You rubbed your temple, acutely aware of the ringing in your ears and the headache you had, presumably from all the crying—or maybe the gunshots that nearly deafened you earlier. Your legs still felt distinctly wobbly, causing you to stumble forward a bit into Hongjoong, who still had an arm poised on your arm to stable you. “Whoa there. C’mon, let’s get you in the car.” He said, concern furrowing between his eyebrows. He gestured towards his black Hellcat. Couldn’t any of these mafia guys just have a Honda or something? “I can’t have you passing out on me. Seonghwa entrusted me with keeping you safe.”

“Wait. That GPS tracker… does it tell you if he’s alive?” you asked, desperation a little too apparent in your voice. Your legs still felt weak and unstable beneath you, and you felt yourself swaying slightly on your heels.

“It doesn’t.”

You winced as another shock of pain shot through your skull. You felt like your legs were a moment away from giving out under you if you didn’t sit down right then. Hongjoong must have noticed the pained expression on your face, because he pulled your arm around his shoulder to stabilize you just as you stumbled into him again.

Even with the pain coursing through your skull and your body giving out underneath you, you could only think of Seonghwa—that he must be clinging to life somewhere out there. For the sake of your sanity, you had to believe he was waiting for you. You couldn’t afford to lose any more hope than you already had—just minutes ago you had been ready to face your execution.

Hongjoong guided you to the car, practically dragging you across the pavement as your legs betrayed you. A second figure came into your line of sight, emerging from a shadow behind the car, and you flinched in alarm.

Your first thought was to panic, but Hongjoong’s calm demeanor told you this guy wasn’t an enemy. He opened the back door for Hongjoong to let you in, standing stoically off to the side. He looked more like a marble statue than an actual person. Aside from his blank, serious expression, his features were sculpted perfectly, like he was a Donatello stolen from a museum. Why did all of Seonghwa’s friends look like models?

“This is Yeosang, a good friend of mine. He’s, uh… how should I put it. I don’t wanna say he’s a hitman, but…”

“I prefer ‘freelancer’ personally,” Yeosang said dryly, almost like it was supposed to be a joke, but his face remained expressionless.

“He’s a champ with a rifle. I’m thinking he’ll be our ace card for saving Seonghwa. If there’s anyone you want on your team, it’s him, so don’t worry, yeah?”

He stepped aside to let you in, and Hongjoong carefully helped you into the seat, giving you a reassuring smile. Yeosang climbed into the driver’s seat, turning the key in the ignition to bring the car to life. You could see the wreckage of the other car in the mirror as you pulled away, tire marks and blood on the dark asphalt.

As you embarked on the road, you felt anxiety tighten in your chest. You had to believe that Seonghwa was still alive, but the idea that he might not be couldn’t help but flood in from the darkest part of your mind. You shook the thoughts away, opting instead to make small talk with your rescuers.

“So... you’re part of Seonghwa’s family?” “No, no, definitely not,” Hongjoong chuckled lightly with a shake of his head. “Our families are, well, you could say ‘allied’. I’ve known him since we were little. We don’t talk often anymore, but when he needs something, he comes to me first.”

“Yeah, I can see why. No one in his so-called ‘family’ seems to be trustworthy in the slightest,” you grumbled through your teeth.

You rolled your eyes at the sudden thought of Wooyoung, who Seonghwa had called a brother. The anger rose in your chest again, and you shoved it down the best that you could. You balled your fists, digging your fingernails into your palms, barely even noticing the sting. You wanted to smash Wooyoung’s head in for what he’d done to Seonghwa, but that probably wasn’t the best game plan, as he definitely had no qualms about killing you instantly.

You talked for a bit longer as Yeosang drove, and it wasn’t long before you reached Seonghwa’s GPS destination. The car skidded though a halt outside a row of fences, making up the perimeter around what looked like an old warehouse. You noticed Wooyoung’s car outside the entrance, along with the other mafia car beside it.

“We’re gonna have to walk from here. If we’re gonna have the element of surprise, we need to stay on the down low.”

Hongjoong shot you a glance from the passenger seat. “Y/N, you’ll stay he-”

“No. I’m coming,” you interrupted. It wasn’t up for argument.

“Look, I promised Seonghwa I’d protect you…”

“I’m coming,” you repeated. You were not backing down, even for a second. You’d been through hell at that point, so you were dead set on it.

Yeosang sighed. “Just let her come. We don’t have time to argue. If Seonghwa’s still alive... it might not be for long.”

“Thank you.”

You exited the car carefully, not even closing the car door behind you in case you could be heard. The silence of the night was deafening, with only the wind blowing faintly to provide you any sort of sound cover.

As Yeosang gathered his gear from the trunk, Hongjoong debriefed you on the plan. It was simple enough—you and him would take the front entrance, taking out the guards as quietly as possible, while Yeosang would take the back. If Seonghwa was still alive, you just needed to distract Wooyoung for long enough for Yeosang to disarm him. That was the plan, at least. You had no idea what to expect when you went inside.

You crept along the fence, following Hongjoong’s hand gestures as you stayed low, using the cloak of the night to stay hidden. You stepped lightly after him, and your heart sped up the moment you laid eyes on a guard standing watch, the hefty gun in his hands sending a clear message he wasn’t playing around. Hongjoong motioned for you to wait, so you froze, watching as he snuck around stacks of rotting wooden pallets for cover.

He disappeared out of your line of sight for a few moments, then reappeared behind the guard with a knife against his throat, and you squeezed your eyes shut, waiting to hear the sound of a body dropping to the floor before opening them again.

You cracked your eyes open, and Hongjoong waved you through, trying not to look as you avoided the bloody corpse on the ground.

“Shit,” Hongjoong whispered, scanning around with a stern, focused gaze. You swallowed nervously, following his eyes with yours. “There must be two on the other side then. We’ll just have to trust Yeosang to take them both out.”

You ducked under the half-open shutter door, following close as Hongjoong led you through the darkness. You could hear your own heartbeat like a drum in your skull, flooding your ears with the sound of your own anxiety. Your hands felt clammy and your stomach twisted as you prayed for the best but feared the worst.

You heard him before you saw him. An agonized scream ripped from his chest, and you felt it all the way down to your bones. Seonghwa. As you ran deeper into the warehouse, you saw him there, arms twisted behind a metal chair and bound with rope, dripping blood onto the dirty floor beneath his feet.

Wooyoung stood over him, gun in hand, turning to greet you as you flew in. He aimed the gun at Seonghwa’s head, giving you a cold smile, a cigarette dangling between his lips.

“Hey, princess. Come to watch the show?”

Wooyoung lashed out, striking Seonghwa across the face with the back of his gun. Seonghwa grunted weakly, spitting blood onto the floor, his eyes heavy with exhaustion.

“Wooyoung, please stop! Please!” you begged, and you felt Hongjoong’s arm in front of you, holding you back. You fell to your knees as he struck again, the sound of steel hitting bone echoing against the empty walls of the warehouse.

“Hongjoong? Is that you?” Wooyoung waved at him cheerfully. “Man, it’s been too long!”

“Put the gun down, Wooyoung. You don’t wanna turn this into a fight.”

“Speak for yourself. Why don’t you toss your gun over here? I’d hate for my finger to slip.” Wooyoung disengaged the safety of the gun with a threatening click.

“Fine.”

Hongjoong slowly placed his gun on the ground, keeping his hands raised as he kicked it over to Wooyoung. It skidded across the concrete, spinning in circles uselessly as Wooyoung trapped it beneath his foot.

“Perfect,” he said, lightly kicking it to the side. He took a long drag of his cigarette, the tip glowing a brilliant orange in the dim light as he inhaled. He blew a thick gray cloud right into Seonghwa’s face, twirling a switchblade between his fingers with his other hand.

The blade stopped spinning, and he dragged it across Seonghwa’s cheek, spilling fresh ribbons over his skin. It dripped down his chin, down his jaw, his neck, bleeding into the collar of his shirt. His shirt had been ripped open, his lacerated chest on display like a gruesome tic-tac-toe board, its white cotton soaked with shades of red.

“Now that I have an audience, I can really put on a show.”

“N-no, please!” you whimpered helplessly as the blade slid across his cheek, drawing a scream from Seonghwa’s lips. “Please, please stop! I’m begging you!”

“Aw, hear that? How cute,” Wooyoung said as he finished the cut, bringing the knife up to his lips to taste Seonghwa’s blood. You felt angry and sick all at once, your stomach churning as you watched the scene unfold. “I wish I didn’t have to kill her. I’d love to have a go with her myself, you know? Hey princess, wanna have some fun? It’s your last night alive, right? I’ll be real good to you, promise.”

“Fuck you!” you spat. You weren’t sure if he was serious or just trying to fuck with you, but you were disgusted regardless. “I’d rather die.”

“Well, that can be easily arranged. Just thought I’d ask, no need to be so feisty.”

Wooyoung turned back to Seonghwa. He held his knife in a way that left two fingers free to pull the cigarette from his lips. He flicked the ash, then smashed the butt of it into Seonghwa’s chest just below his collarbone. Seonghwa let out a pained groan through his teeth, his voice hoarse from screaming. Wooyoung twisted it a few times until it was out, then tossed it aside, leaving an angry red mark against Seonghwa’s skin.

“You know, my father was in a gang. He was a real good guy, though. I still remember him clear as day, even though I was so young. He taught me how to play darts.” He gently trailed the knife along Seonghwa’s skin, caressing with the blade as he spoke. “That’s my strongest memory of him. He got me a dart board for my fifth birthday. I still have that old thing, to this day.”

Wooyoung walked in a slow circle around him, his gun loosely aimed at Seonghwa’s head. You could see the rise and fall of Seonghwa’s chest with every labored breath, like he was on a thin precipice of consciousness.

“We played darts every day. I’d wait all day for him to come home, staring at the door until it finally opened, then he’d pick me up and swing me around. Then we’d play darts. There was one time I swear I almost had him beat, but he was good. He really knew what he was doing.”

Wooyoung gave a sudden slice to Seonghwa’s chest, splattering blood across the floor in a messy line. Seonghwa screamed, throwing his head back in agony. His neck was drenched in sweat, dripping down his skin and mixing with the streams of blood that oozed from his face. You cried out, weeping and sobbing as Wooyoung continued to speak.

“One day, I thought I heard my father coming home, but something wasn’t quite right. I heard people yelling outside, so I got scared and hid in the coat closet. A bunch of people came into the house, and I saw my dad sitting on the couch, his hands and feet all tied up. You know what they did to him?”

Wooyoung stopped, halting in front of Seonghwa, his teeth clenched in a pained smile. “They cut him—“ slice. “Burned him—“ slice. “Carved him all up, like a piece of meat.” Slice, slice, slice.

You squeezed your eyes shut, screaming in horror as the knife found its mark over and over, Seonghwa’s screams of pain mingling with yours in a brutal, sickening harmony.

“They didn’t even stop, not after he begged and pleaded, told them he had a little boy. He was worried about me, even while being carved up like that. He still wanted to make sure I was ok.” Slice, slice.

“Then, someone else walked up. He told them to stop, and I thought it would be over. I thought they were gonna let him go. But instead…” Slice. “He held up a gun, stuck it right against his head, and pulled the trigger. You know who it was?”

Wooyoung paused, like he was waiting for an answer, but Seonghwa didn’t give one. “That’s right. Your fucking daddy.” A deeper, harsher slice. The scream that tore out of Seonghwa’s throat made your whole body go cold, numb, but still you felt every cut on his skin.

“And, you know?” Wooyoung laughed, painfully, like it hurt to remember. “Right before your dad pulled the trigger, my dad turned, and looked right at me. He saw me in the closet, just watching. Sometimes I think I imagined it. I could have, I’m not really sure. It was so long ago.” Slice, slice. Another scream.

“Then… Bang.” Slice. “His head exploded. Just like that. I remember thinking it looked like a cherry slushy. I guess at the time I didn’t have much else to compare it to.” Wooyoung shrugged, then paused, like he was waiting for his audience to laugh.

“Your daddy still doesn’t know I saw him. He thinks my first memory of him is riding home in the car, eating McDonald’s while I cried. He was so nice, too. Sometimes I think, if I hadn’t seen it, I’d think of him as my real dad, you know? God, I wish I could.”

Slice, scream, slice. The floor was covered in blood.

“The only thing that keeps me sane is knowing that, after all this is done, he’ll get to feel that same pain, you know? He’ll wake up, brush his teeth, and his son will be dead. He’ll go to bed at night, lie awake, staring at the ceiling, and his son will be dead. Just like that.”

Slice. Hongjoong held you tightly, his warm body around yours, but you felt nothing. Like a nightmare you couldn’t escape, or a movie playing endlessly on repeat in front of your eyes.

“That’s the only way I’ll ever really be at peace. Killing him wouldn’t be enough. It wouldn’t even scratch the surface. Not even a little—tiny—bit.” Slice, slice, slice.

Wooyoung raised the gun up to Seonghwa’s head, gently moving his hair out of his eyes with its tip. “It’s really nothing personal, Hwa. I really think we could have been brothers. You were just born in the wrong family.”

He placed the gun against Seonghwa’s temple, smiling gently, sadly as his finger came around to rest on the trigger.

“No! No, please, god! Please, please, please!” you sobbed violently, thrashing against Hongjoong’s hold. “Please! I’ll do anything, anything! Wooyoung, please—stop!”

“You too, princess. It’s nothing personal. You just happened to date the wrong man. You don’t need to worry, though. I have nothing against you. I don’t want to make you suffer.” He looked over at you, giving you a sympathetic glance.

Seonghwa raised his head, just enough to meet your eyes. He blinked a few times to focus, his lashes fluttering as they opened. You could barely see through your tears, but you could see his warm gaze, like he was telling you not to worry, not to fear, and goodbye all at once.

“No, no! No, please—“

“Bye-bye, Hwa.”

Wooyoung’s finger squeezed against the trigger, and the screams that ripped from your throat didn’t even sound like your own. As if you were a ghost, watching from afar, like your body didn’t belong to you. You were helpless, useless, like a piece of dust against a violent wind.

You couldn’t watch. You couldn’t have this be your last memory of him. You squeezed your eyes shut, the image of Seonghwa’s smile painting the back of your eyelids, his kind eyes, his gentle touch against your skin. His laugh when he was happy, like a naive child experiencing life for the first time.

A scream of agony ripped from Wooyoung’s throat, and your eyes shot open. He clutched his hand, doubled over as he cried out in pain. Blood spilled down his arm like a waterfall, and his gun scraped across the floor, wrenched from his grasp. Hongjoong lunged forward, grabbing it with a hefty sigh of relief.

“That dick. What took him so long?”

“What—what the fuck did you do?” Wooyoung spat through his teeth staggering toward Hongjoong with a look of pure rage. Blood poured from the wound in his hand, soaking the floor in red.

Then came another gunshot, and Wooyoung sank to his knees, fresh screams of agony echoing against the walls of the warehouse. Hongjoong approached him with his arm outstretched, forcing him to look down the barrel of his own gun.

Wooyoung cursed, spitting profanities as he tried to pull himself up, smearing blood across the concrete as it poured from his wounds. He panted, torn between clutching his hand or his leg as both bled profusely. He glared up at Hongjoong, who silently held him at gunpoint.

Hongjoong looked back to you, making a gesture with his head toward Seonghwa. You immediately scrambled to your feet, running to him on trembling legs, feet carrying you as fast as they possibly could. You crouched in front of him, taking his face between your hands, cupping gently as you tried to coax him into opening his eyes.

“Seonghwa! Seonghwa, hey! Look at me!”

He met your eyes weakly, his head barely able to support its own weight. His eyes were heavily lidded, almost unable to keep them open as he struggled to stay afloat. “Hey, hey, Seonghwa, it’s okay,” you comforted, voice soft and low. You wiped his jet black hair away from his eyes, plastered to his forehead with sweat. “Keep your eyes open for me, okay? We’re gonna get you out of here.”

You had tried to keep together yourself for him, but tears spilled over with no indication of ceasing. You had to be strong to keep his focus on you. You were no doctor, but you knew enough from movies that someone who’d lost so much blood was not supposed to close their eyes.

You reached around him to disentangle his restraints, much less skillfully than you had watched him do for you before, keeping eye contact with him the best you could. “You’re gonna be okay,” you reassured, though you weren’t entirely certain of it yourself. “Talk to me, please Hwa.”

“I—I really thought you were dead,” he croaked, his voice thin and husky. “Because of me— I thought you were going to die because of me, I’m so sorry, I—”

His hands fell free as you managed to finally break through the knots. You brought him in for an embrace, squeezing tightly at first before remembering that you needed to be gentle. You couldn’t help yourself, it was like he’d been brought back to life before your eyes. You thought he was dead—you thought you were dead—but here you were, holding him in your arms, feeling his very much alive heartbeat against your chest.

“Seonghwa, stop. Don’t be sorry, please…” You pulled back to make eye contact with him one more, bringing your hand up to his cheek, rubbing away what you could of the sweat and blood from his skin. “I love you. And I’m just glad you’re alive.”

He was probably too out of it to grasp your love confession fully, but you didn’t care. You didn’t care if it was too early for you to admit it either. With all the uncertainty you’d been through up to now, there was really only one thing you knew for certain: you loved him.

“You guys are sweet and all, but we should really get going,” Yeosang’s voice rang from across the warehouse, and you heard the distinct sound of him clambering down the ladder from his perched position near the rafters. “We don’t know how many more of his men might come when they realize he hasn’t checked in.”

Yeosang’s voice had snapped you back to reality. You suddenly became aware of Wooyoung’s pained cries as he held onto his bleeding leg. Hongjoong still had the gun poised against his skull, though he was incapacitated enough at this point that you weren’t worried about him trying to fight back. You had zero sympathy for him after what he’d done to Seonghwa. Hongjoong could have shot him right there and you wouldn’t have felt a damn thing but relief.

“Yeosang, jesus, next time maybe don’t cut it so close,” Hongjoong scolded through his teeth.

“Look, it’s not my fault I ended up having to take out two armed guards instead of one,” he snapped back, slinging his rifle over his shoulder.

Yeosang hurried to your side, helping you hoist Seonghwa up from the cold metal chair. He stumbled into your arms, and you both used all your weight to keep him upright.

You managed a few clumsy steps with him slung over your shoulders before Hongjoong’s voice sounded in your ears. “Hey, guys, uh… what am I supposed to do with him?” he asked from across the warehouse, the barrel of his gun still poised at Wooyoung offensively.

Seonghwa planted his heels suddenly, causing you and Yeosang to stop in your tracks. His body trembled weakly under him as he turned his head to shoot a final glance over his shoulder at Wooyoung, who was still clutching his leg on the floor. “Leave him,” he spat, the spite dripping from his tongue as he struggled to choke out the words. “I’m not like him. I wouldn’t kill my own brother.”

Hongjoong delivered a swift kick to Wooyoung’s stomach, and he groaned in agony, keeling over into the fetal position. “I wouldn’t have been so generous. If you’re lucky your goons will find you before you bleed to death,” he hissed through his teeth, holstering his gun in the waist of his pants, then jogged over to join you by the main entrance.

As you helped Seonghwa into the car, the sky washed over with the faint glow of the moonlight, you couldn’t help but notice the glimmer of tears reflecting in his eyes.

You drove for a while, doing everything you could to keep Seonghwa conscious and talking. He was mostly incoherent, but you kept him speaking about anything you could, arm wrapped tightly around him. Every so often the car would jostle him a bit and he would grit his teeth, hissing at the sting of his wounds. You wanted so badly to take his pain away, but the best you could do was try to comfort him, however little that might have been.

Your attention was pulled away from him as the car finally pulled into a run down parking lot, dimly lit by a neon “Speedy’s Pizza” sign flickering overhead.

“What, are we getting pizza first?” you joked.

“This is the place,” Hongjoong said, completely straight-faced, but there was no way he could be serious, right?

“Your doctor works in a pizza shop?”

“It’s a rough economy,” Yeosang responded, and you also couldn’t tell if he was joking.

“I really don’t like this,” you grumbled under your breath, still supporting your arm around Seonghwas waist. He was a bit more conscious now, able to sit upright in the car on his own, but you felt incredibly protective of him, like if you let go even for a second he might not make it.

“Trust me. He’s one of the best doctors I know,” Hongjoong reassured, shooting a glance over his shoulder from the passenger seat. He gave Seonghwa a glance up and down. “He’s gonna need it.”

You exited the car cautiously, feeling a bit uneasy about dragging a bloodied man through the lot of an otherwise normal pizza parlor. You and Yeosang supported Seonghwa’s weight from either side, his arms draped around your shoulders for stability, as you helped him shuffle his way across the gravelly lot.

Hongjoong directed you towards a back entrance, which opened into a staircase leading down to the basement. It was dark and dusty and sketchy as hell, not the kind of place you’d expect to take someone barely clinging to consciousness and actively oozing blood. There were spiders above your head, and you didn’t even want to risk touching the rail for fear of contracting hepatitis or something. Was that even possible? You clumsily led Seonghwa down the stairs, watching your step in the dim light as you descended.

You reached the landing at the bottom, a single fluorescent bulb flickering in a nauseating strobe above you. A decrepit metal door was your only option, complete with a bullet hole off to one side and paint missing from almost every inch of it. Wonderful. Was this guy some kind of mad scientist from a straight to video horror flick?

The door creaked open ominously as Hongjoong pressed against the handle, and you followed him through. There was a short hallway with doors on either side, and one open door at the very end. Hongjoong called down the hallway as they approached, knocking his fist loudly against the wall to announce their entrance.

“San! Sannie! Yo, you home?”

“What? Who is it?” A voice called back, sounding annoyed. “It’s four in the goddamn morning!”

“It’s Hongjoong, you ass!”

“Hongjoong!”

The voice turned cheerful, and a man came running out of the room with a beer in his hand and fuzzy slippers on his feet. He looked younger than you, with soft, happy features and a bright smile. He was the doctor?

“What the hell are you—oh shit! Hwa, you good?” His smile turned into a look of surprise the moment he laid eyes on Seonghwa.

“What the fuck do you think?” Seonghwa grumbled.

“What happened, man?” San took a swig of his beer. “You look like hell.”

“Can you just shut up and help him?” Yeosang deadpanned.

“Here,” San handed you his beer, which you took without question. “Finish that for me.”

“Uh, thanks…”

San took over your position underneath Seonghwa, carrying him into the room at the end of the hall. You followed after them, looking around in awe at the room filled with gadgets and tubes and trays of sharp things.

Shelves were littered with all different colors of vials and liquids, and things that did not look like they should go together. Bags of fluid that hung from IV stands, empty syringes all over the place, pills loosely scattered around the floor, a giant smear all over one wall. Was that… blood?

There was an old recliner right in the middle of the room, a TV playing cartoons, an end table full of empty beer bottles, movie posters on the walls, mini fridge, and a dart board, which you shuddered at. In the very back corner was a hospital bed, which they carefully laid Seonghwa on. You were no nurse, but this place didn’t exactly scream up to code. You were afraid to touch anything.

“Yeesh, you’re bleeding everywhere!”

“My bad,” Seonghwa gritted through his teeth sarcastically.

“So what happened?”

“Wooyoung.”

“What? How so?”

“He tried to kill me.”

“Well, I can see that…”

“It’s a long story. Can we save it for when I’m, you know, whole again?” Seonghwa winced in pain, delivering a sharp hiss through his teeth.

“Right, right. Hey uh, you. What’s your name?” He glanced over at you.

“Me? I’m Y/N.”

“Hey, nice to meet ya. I’m San. Can you push that tray over here?”

He gestured to a tray full of sharp things. You hoped to god they were sanitized. You rolled it over to him, hearing a crinkle as it ran over a discarded candy wrapper. He put gloves on, which you were thankful for.

“Ok, Yeosang, hand me that bottle of iodine by your head. No, not that one. On the shelf. The shelf!”

Yeosang practically threw the bottle at him once he found the right one, huffing angrily. San caught it, setting it to the side for later as he rustled through his tray of instruments.

“Ok, now…. Hongjoong.”

“Yeah?”

“Go upstairs and get me a pizza. Large, thin crust, extra olives. No mushrooms.”

“What?”

“What? I’m hungry. It’s 4am. There’s cash in that box of granola bars over there.”

“Um, I don’t see any.”

“Under the granola bars. Underneath.”

“What? I—nevermind, found it.”

Hongjoong pulled a couple twenties out from the box, then looked over at you with a nod.

“You want anything, Y/N?”

Pizza? Seriously? Well, come to think of it, you had skipped your dinner plans in favor of flying out the door with Seonghwa in a panic. Then you were kidnapped, rescued, then you saved Seonghwa from being murdered, so you were a little hungry, actually. Not that you truly felt comfortable eating in this sketchy excuse for an operating room, but your options were pretty slim.

“Sure, yeah. Pizza sounds good.”

Hongjoong dragged a begrudging Yeosang out the door with him, and you were left with just Seonghwa and San. San gestured to a rolling stool off in the corner.

“Wanna be my assistant for a while?” he asked, and you nodded and pushed the stool over to the side of the bed. He was filling a syringe from an unlabeled vial, which made you a little nervous.

“What’s that?” you asked skeptically.

“Morphine. Closest thing I have to anesthesia.”

“Wonderful,” Seonghwa groaned.

You took his hand, giving it a squeeze as he rolled his eyes. He broke into a small smile when your eyes met, crinkling into crescent shapes that shined even underneath all the blood caked to his face. You gently stroked the back of his hand with your thumb as San finished threading his IV.

“Any last words?”

“You make it sound like you’re gonna kill me.”

“Hah, maybe.” He saw the concerned look on your face and quickly backtracked. “What? I was kidding. I’m gonna give him this to knock him out before I start the sutures.”

“Nah, just go for it.” Seonghwa said, letting his head fall back against the pillow.

“Alright, sleep tight.” San said as he pushed the morphine through the IV, the liquid running up through the tube into Seonghwa’s arm.

His eyes drifted shut a few moments later, the dose large enough to fully sedate him. You were glad he could rest for a while, able to escape the pain at least temporarily. San pulled back Seonghwa’s open shirt a little more to see what he was working with.

“Yikes.” He quickly glanced at his watch. “Looks like I’m not getting much sleep tonight.”

He sighed as he picked up a squeeze bottle of liquid, dousing it over Seonghwa’s many wounds. The sheets on the bed were toast, quickly becoming drenched with red as the liquid ran off the sides of his torso, rinsing the excess blood to give the doctor a clearer field of view. He hummed cheerily as he picked out which cut to tend to first, dabbing at one with a ball of cotton before picking up a curved needle and a pair of forceps.

You watched in gruesome fascination as he got to work, stitching the edges of the wound together with a careful, precise touch. He definitely seemed to be about your age, if not a little younger, which was awfully young for an MD. He hummed and smiled as he sewed, like he was working on an arts and crafts project rather than a human being. Despite his wacky personality, he was pretty cute. Seriously cute, actually. You thought hot young doctors only existed in the realm of Grey’s Anatomy. Well… if this guy really counted as a doctor, anyway.

“So…” you started awkwardly, wanting to find some way to fill the silence. “You, uh, you’ve known these guys for quite a while, huh?”

“Oh, yeah. I’ve only met Seonghwa a handful of times, but me and Hongjoong go way back. He helped me pay for med school in exchange for patching up his buddies.”

Med school. Oh, thank god.

“Ah, that’s nice of him. Are you still in school, or…?” You didn’t want to offend him or anything, but there’s no way he could have graduated already. He was like, maybe twenty five, max.

“Nah, not anymore. No point, really. Doing it under the table pays way more. Well, that, and I have a few things on my record, so I wouldn’t really be able to get my license anyway. I have a warrant out for my arrest, technically, so this job is perfect! Way more fun, too. More gunshot wounds. Stabs, burns, you know. Fun stuff.”

You didn’t really know what he meant by having a record, but you really didn’t want to know. Especially while he was in the middle of stitching your boyfriend up with a sharp object. While wearing fuzzy slippers. Under a pizza shop. Could this night get any wilder?

He gave you a bright, dimpled smile. “What? You don’t trust me? I’ll have you know I got straight A’s before I dropped out.”

Was that supposed to make you feel better? “That’s… that’s great.”

Hongjoong and Yeosang came back a while later, the smell of pizza permeating the basement with its delicious, cheesy aroma. San had you feed him bites of pizza while he worked, as that was your task as his assistant, apparently. You did your very best not to drip grease into Seonghwa’s open wounds.

It took San so long to stitch up the mess of lacerations that you eventually just rested your head on the side of the bed, nodding off to the sound of humming and the occasional metallic rustling of the instrument tray. You weren’t sure how long you slept for, as you couldn’t really gauge the time from the windowless basement. You felt movement eventually, which jostled you enough to rouse you awake, cracking your eyes open to the sight of a loopy, drug dazed Seonghwa.

“Hey, Frankenstein,” you teased sleepily. San was gone, replaced by a pile of bloody cotton where he’d been sitting. You weren’t sure where the others had gone off to, but you appreciated a little alone time.

Seonghwa smiled a bit and looked up at you with the same sad, sparkly eyes you had missed, except this time they weren’t necessarily drunken, just a bit doped up from San’s sketchy shot of morphine. He took your hand in his, making intense and serious eye contact. "I realized I never said thank you… for saving me."

You chuckled dismissively. You were never particularly great at accepting sincerity. "That was mostly Hongjoong and Yeosang. I forced them to drag me along. Really, Hwa, you shouldn't be thanking me."

"I didn’t mean for saving me in the warehouse."

You cocked your head to the side, furrowing your brows. "Then for what?"

"For saving me. The night we met.”

“I think you still have a bit of morphine left in your system,” you laughed, brushing his hair from his eyes. “That was you, Hwa. You’re the one who did the saving. You punched my boyfriend out that night, remember? Then you took pity on me and let me stay at your penthouse… and uh, some other stuff.”

“I mean, that’s true. I did take pity on you. You were just too cute to resist that night, even through your tears,” he mused drowsily, his eyes trained on your face, glimmering as the memories seemed to flash in his eyes. “You know, I was watching you that night. Even before that piece of shit made a scene. I noticed you, as soon as you walked in. I don’t admit this very often, but I had a little bit of a crush on you.”

You giggled at his cheesy admission, like a schoolboy confessing his love. “A crush on me?”

Heat rose to his cheeks, staining them an incriminating bright red. “I don’t know how to explain it. It’s my job to watch the bar, but that night… I only found myself watching you.”

“That sounds a little creepy, Hwa,” you teased with a smile, giving his hand a squeeze. “But while we’re confessing things… I thought you were the most handsome guy I’d ever seen. Like some sort of walking statue.”

“I hope you still think that,” he quipped, flashing one of his intoxicating, albeit drowsy, smiles.

“Even more so now. If that’s possible.”

His eyes were lidded heavily, still a bit out of it from his earlier dose of morphine, but he looked at you with complete and utter sincerity. “That night, you saved me. I didn’t realize at the time, but meeting you—it helped me see the bigger picture in my life. It made me realize I didn’t want any part of the mafia anymore. You helped me feel like a human again.” He squeezed your hand tightly, his long fingers pressed tightly against your knuckles. “Those months we were apart, I couldn’t get you out of my mind. I drank and I tried to forget you, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t. The amount of times I fought myself from showing up at your doorstep… well, there were too many to count.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but you were interrupted by the chaotic clambering of San bursting through the door. He accidentally kicked one of his instrument trays on the way in, cursing loudly as he stubbed his toe, scalpels and things flying onto the floor in a hazardous rain.

“Goddammit, I swear to—Hey! You made it!” He beamed up at Seonghwa from the floor where he was picking up all of his scattered tools, which hopefully he planned on sanitizing.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Seonghwa grumbled, echoing your own thoughts.

“Things were lookin’ pretty dicey for a while there. And the dose I gave you was pretty big, so I’m glad you woke u—I mean, I’m just glad to see you’re feeling better, that’s all.”

This San guy was a real piece of work. Regardless, you were thankful to him.

“Thanks, Dr. San. For everything,” you said warmly.

He stood up from the floor, shoving his instruments back onto the tray with a giggle. “Ooh, she called me doctor. I feel so professional.”

“Where is everyone?”

“They went out to get some air and make a few calls. Service down here is ass. Shit, speak of the devil.”

Right on cue, the old door outside creaked open, Hongjoong and Yeosang entering a few moments later. Yeosang rolled his head, his neck cracking audibly as he gave an exhausted sigh.

“Can I sleep yet? I need at least nine hours a day for maximum accuracy.”

“Is that what it says in the sniper’s handbook?” Hongjoong asked sarcastically, looking just as worn down.

“It is, actually—Oh, he’s awake!”

“Buddy! You alive?” Hongjoong suddenly brightened up, pushing the mound of bloody cotton off the stool by the bed so he could sit on it.

“Pretty sure.” Seonghwa looked at his best friend, giving him a dopey smile. Hongjoong’s relief was palpable. Given how much blood Seonghwa had lost, things could have gone much worse.

"So, Hwa, you have a plan for how you're gonna get out of here? The country, I mean. I wanna let you rest and all, but we’re kinda low on time. If Wooyoung is still alive, then there’s a chance he could find you here. There aren’t very many back-alley doctors to choose from, you know."

"I did have a plan. But after everything, I don't think I can trust any of my old contacts anymore."

Hongjoong paused, bringing a hand up to his chin in contemplation. "I suppose I can set you up with my documents guy for passports, Yunho. He's backed up on requests right now, but I'll see if I can't get something pushed through for you," he said with a cheeky wink. "Anything for my best friend."

Seonghwa smiled. "Thanks. That'd be great."

"In the meantime, I know a guy who can cover your tracks. His name is Mingi, he'll make sure you can keep hidden until Yunho gets you your new identities. You can trust them, I promise. Cross my heart, yeah?"

“Please?”

“No!”

“But I’m horny.”

“You’re injured.”

“Yeah, and horny.”

You gave an exasperated sigh. You’d had a rough week of hopping from hotel to hotel every night, covering your tracks while your fake documents were in the works. You couldn’t leave the country quite yet, and there were eyes everywhere, so you had to be extremely discreet and down low with your every move.

Seonghwa laid on the bed, giving you the biggest puppy dog eyes he could muster. You glared back, but the puppy eyes were brutal, and you could feel your willpower chipping away by the second. He was shirtless from just having showered, and his chest was an art project of lines and sutures like a voodoo doll. A really handsome voodoo doll.

“We can’t exactly go to a hospital if your stitches rip.”

“You can be on top. I’ll just lay here. You’re not gonna rip them, they’re closed already, I promise.”

“Oh, now I have to do all the work?” you teased.

“I was tortured. You should feel bad for me.”

“Oh, you poor, poor thing,” you said, giving a devilish smirk as you straddled him on the bed.

You leaned forward, careful not to lay on him as you pressed your lips to his. You kissed him sweetly, like he was a fragile, delicate ice sculpture, but he wasn’t having any of it. He licked into your mouth, threading his hands through your hair and pulling you as close as he could without disturbing his wounds. He was obviously pent up from not having sex all week, and he raised his hips up to grind against your leg.

You pulled back, shimmying down his body until you were hovering over his crotch. You ran your hand over the fabric of his underwear, feeling the bulge underneath, and he bit his lip in anticipation. You realize how much you’d missed this side of him, the one that wanted you so badly like this. You couldn’t wait until things were back to normal, when he’d be able to fuck you without abandon and have you clawing at the sheets like before. Well, as close to normal as things could ever be again.

He lifted his hips up, allowing you to slide his underwear off. His dick sprang free, and you wrapped your hand around it, pumping the shaft in your fist. Seonghwa groaned, letting his head fall back against the pillow. You missed seeing that face on him, the one where he bites his lip and closes his eyes and does a little frown. He’d been through a lot lately, and you wanted to show him a good time. Gently, of course.

You leaned down, wrapping your lips around the tip, swirling with your tongue as you sucked gently. He sighed as you took him deeper into your mouth, letting your tongue press along the underside of the shaft, squeezing the base in your fist. You weren’t in the mood to tease him, not after it had been so long since you’d last gotten to do this.

You took him in as far as you could, letting his cock hit the back of your throat, eating up his moans as they spilled from his lips. You pulled off, then sank back down, finding a slow rhythm as you bobbed your head. You began jerking his cock as you sucked, hollowing your cheeks as you gently twisted your hand in the way you knew he loved. You hadn’t known him all that long in the grand scheme of things, but you certainly knew how to please him.

His breathy sighs turned into audible moans as you sucked faster, harder, saliva dripping from your lips, allowing your hand to slide over the shaft with ease. He stroked your hair as you worked, not pulling or shoving, just petting. You looked up at him, and beneath the lust in his eyes was something else, something softer, like you were something important beyond words.

You pulled back, smiling as you clumsily wiped a string of saliva from your lips. You were only in a shirt and panties, but you discarded them quickly as you climbed over him. You knew he didn’t want you treating him like glass, but you were gentle as you straddled his hips, lowering yourself onto his cock. He groaned openly as you sank down onto him, his cock sliding into you like a puzzle piece.

You rolled your hips forward, rocking over him in slow waves, keeping your eyes locked on his. Seonghwa’s hands slid up to your waist, holding you as you rode him, encouraging you with his touch. He stroked circles into your skin with his thumbs, and you shuddered, a sensual tingle running down your spine.

It was a different kind of gentleness, not just because he was injured, but it was almost as though you were the one made of glass. Something irreplaceable, something he’d hold on tight to and never let go. Like he didn’t want to let go of you for a single moment for fear of losing you again. And honestly, you felt the same. Like you never wanted to let him go.

Seonghwa’s lips parted as his breaths turned to pants, a sheen of sweat barely gleaming along the surface of his neck. His hands gripped you tighter, and you rocked your hips forward with more intensity. You started grinding in slow circles, gradually becoming faster as his moans grew more desperate.

You rode him to his climax, your eyes glued to each other’s as he tipped over the edge, moaning your name like it was something sacred. You leaned down to kiss him carefully, feeling the heat of his skin and the rise of his chest beneath your own. You laid like that for a while, not wanting to move, but you had to eventually. You slid off and laid next to him, and you snuggled as close to his chest as you could without pressing against his wounds.

He turned and kissed your cheek, and you gave a soft laugh, feeling like time had stopped for a while. Even though your lives had been flipped upside down and you were living on the run like fugitives, you felt strangely content, and you could have laid like that forever, just listening to the sound of his breath and his heartbeat in his chest.

“I like you on top. It reminds me of the first time we met,” he smiled drowsily at your side, turning his head to meet your eyes, still breathing heavily. He still couldn’t turn on his side completely thanks to the lacerations painting his chest and arms.

“I could never forget,” you mused. You remembered how good it felt that night to please him. How completely entranced you were with him—in fact, you still were. Even though you’d been plastered at the time, it lived in your memory like it had happened just yesterday.

He brushed your hair from your face, wincing slightly as his cuts dragged across the hotel sheets. He tried so hard to stay strong, even through the pain. You loved that about him, but you wished he’d just let you take care of him for a while. “It won’t be much longer until we’re out of the country.” He glanced down at his chest and arms. “I should be able to take these stitches out in another week, and Hongjoong got his contact Yunho to push our documents through to the front of his list.”

“You know, I don’t really mind hotel-hopping as long as it’s with you,” you hummed softly, punctuating your words with a gentle kiss. He pressed his lips against yours in return, lingering there a bit longer than usual, almost like a thank you.

“Have you thought any more about where you want to go?” Seonghwa asked.

“Hmm… maybe Italy? France? I’ve always wanted to see the Eiffel Tower.”

“We can go wherever you want. Just say the word.”

You laid there for a while with him, lacing your fingers in his, the image of his sweet smile lulling you to the realm of sleep.

It was certainly something you could get used to.

He stood next to you, handing the security agent his passport. Park Seonghwa. Except you could no longer use that name—from today on, it would be forever wiped from existence, as would yours.

“Thank you, Mr. Choi.”

You handed her yours confidently, flashing her a smile. She smiled back at you, nodding as she motioned you forward onto the plane. “Thank you, Mrs. Choi.”

[epilogue]

It was summer. The sun filtered through the big windows of your Athens apartment, bathing your skin in warmth as you laid next to him in bed.

You’d been settled into your new lives for so long you could barely remember the old ones, but even so, some scars still remained. You traced your fingers along your husband’s chest, feeling every small, subtle rise of the scars painted across it, like a painful map of distant memories you couldn’t erase. Even so, the scars were the only reminder you had of your past lives.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to go to Greece, since I was little,” you said, stroking his head softly.

He brushed your hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear. His eyes sparkled like the stars as he took your image in. He was always sparkling now. “A fitting destination for my goddess,” he praised sweetly.

You nuzzled your nose on his cheek, scrunching it against his skin. “I always thought you looked more like a god than a man anyways, you know that? Ever since I met you.”

You gazed out the window from your comfortable position on the bed, watching the ocean as it sparkled in the distance, lulling you nearly to sleep in his arms.

“Hey,” he said from beside you, snapping your attention back to him instantly. His voice, smooth as ever, rang in your ears like a song.

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

#seonghwa smut #park seonghwa #ateez fic #jung wooyoung #kim hongjoong #tags not working #park seonghwa smut

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