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myladysapphire · 5 months ago

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A doe, A deer - A female deer

being the youngest archeron sister often meant that you were the forgotten one, no one ever saw you, until he did.

Azriel x Archeron!OC

CW: mdi 18+, selective mutism, ableims?, depecitons of illness and hearing loss, depictions of violence (animal hunting), depictions of poverty, canon character deaths, vomiting, panic attacks. not beta read!

word count: 4,259

authors note: so i have severe writers block when it comes to the whole ASOIAF universe but i reread acotar recently and suddenly got motivation to write

Masterlist | series masterlist | next part

Daphne Archeron had never known the luxury of money, like her sisters had. And though Feyre would say that her experience was brief, she still spent the majority of her childhood in riches, where daphne had spent it in rags.

Though the age gap was small between as four sisters, no more than three years between them each, it seemed the three years between her birth and Feyre changed a lot for the Archeron family. And by the time Daphne was five, the constantly dwindling funds had finally run out. The home she had always known to be empty, with less and less furniture as the days went by became repossessed a small hovel became there home.

A home which quickly became filled with illness and daphne and her mother caught typhus.

And illness which killed her mother and changed Daphne’s life.

It was odd how she could scarcely remember a time before her illness, and yet she fondly looked back on the few memories she had.

She knew her siblings had a difficult relationship with their mother, and yet her mother seemed to care deeply for her youngest child.

Peprahs it was because she was the spiting image of her mother, according to Nesta at least. Or that she was the calmest child, she never cried or threw tantrums. Or perhaps it was that she was content following her mother around and doing as she said, something she seemed to do now to each of her sisters instead.

She remembered in blurry memories when her and her mother got sick. How in the small hovel, on there one bed, the mother and daughter suffered side by side, with no money for a healer and simply having to rely on the efforts of three children and a man who mourned his wife and daughter before they had even passed. \

She had been beside her self when her mother passed, and though she hadn’t died, she herself had never truly recovered.

Her hearing was damaged, and though she could hear, she had to focus and spent most of her time reading lips more than actually listening.

Her body was sickly, and quick to catch any illness going around the village.

And to her sisters, that meant forever treating her like a child.

Things only got worse for her after debt collectors came two years into there life of poverty.

She remembered how her sisters had stood there and watched as there fathers legs was shattered and he was beaten. And she a girl of eight was the one to spring into action, grabbing a knife and throwing into the head of the man beating her father.

She remembered the gasps, the shocked looks of her sisters, and the even more shocked look of the men as they took her in, there faces going from smirks as they took in a small child defending her father, to a look of horror as another knife sliced through the air.

The men had run out shortly after and Daphne was left to scream and cry in horror at what she had done, as she watch the mans body dropped to the floor and the others fled, fearing the small child, who had started to fear herself.

After that day, Daphne refused to speak. A stray word her or there, a perhaps a gasp or hum. But nothing more.

As time passed Daphne began to see herself only has a burden, often being forgotten unless she was incredibly ill or her sisters needed her to end a dispute.

She knew her family struggled more so that they should, how Feyre had been forced to hunt to feed and provide for the family, with her kills and selling their fathers wood carvings. She saw as her sisters hounded Feyre for money over helping her out or getting jobs to provide for the family. All whilst Feyre was forced to spend any money on medicines for her.

She saw the pitying eyes her sisters sent her, pity struggling to hide the contempt they all felt.

And though she had tried to help, by hunting with Feyre, even though it was quickly forbidden after Nesta found out. She would get a job, but who would hire a sickly, mute girl with no education or skills?

She was frustrated, unable to help and yet the biggest burden. Ruled by her sisters and treated like a child.

She had never been rebellious, never had the want to be and yet today, she found her self in the forest, with the will to make up for being the burden that she was, hoping to do so by finding dinner for her family.

And though she had only been a handful of time with Feyre before Nesta forbade her from taking you, and had little skill with an bow and arrow, her only skill was that of the throwing single dagger and several kitchen knives her family possessed.

She found herself sat in a tree, a dagger in hand as well and the kitchen knives strapped to a tunic she had stolen from Feyre.

She had looked and searched for close to an hour before she saw a deer, and found herself sat in a tree, as she watched the deer slowly approach with unsure movements. It reminded her of herself almost. With its doe eyes and reddish fur. It was young, clearly lost as it looked around for something or someone.

Her dagger trembled in her hand.

She willed it to move but to no avail.

The more she looked at the doe the more she saw herself.

With there shared amber eyes and brown hair, the does faced seemed to merge into her own. A face she shared with her mother. A face that haunted her every time she fell asleep in the very bed her mother died in whilst holding her.

But the doe was like any other doe she supposed. Yet it seemed like a complete mirror of herself.

Her hand shook as she tried to force herself to throw the dagger.

The deer looked up, eyeing her curiously. No fear in its eyes, as it eyed her and her hand lowered.

And a sigh of defeat left her mouth.

Perhaps a rabbit would be easier or at least be less likely to look like her.

The deer lowered its head, all sense of curiosity lost on it as it began to sniff for food in a bush.

She watched the deer, taking some comfort in how calm it seemed to be, though that calm lasted only moments as a wolf, a wolf far too large, and eyes to human pounced upon the deer tearing at its neck out.

The dagger in her hand suddenly spring from her hand landing clear in the wolf’s neck.

Blood trickling down its neck, the wolf made no effort to move or continue its feats on the deer.

It simply looked at her, and she could have sworn a look of relief flooded its features.

She jumped down from the tree, her ankle rolling as she did so.

But her mind was to occupied in reaching for one of her knifes and landed a killing blow directly into the wolf’s heart, and then another into the deer’s.

Tears feel from her eyes as she looked over the deer and wolf, realisation at what she ha done, and how it felt far to easy despite her earlier trepidation.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, a gentle touch she knew belonged to Feyre.

“Daphne” she mumbled, “are you okay?”

She simply nodded, as she always did, and reached to pull the daggers from the animals’ chests.

“did you do this?” Feyre asked, taking in the giant wolf.

Daphne nodded before pointing to the tree and twisting the dagger in her hand, answering the unsaid question of how.

Concern flooded Feyre’s features as she assessed the state of her youngest sister, and the tears that filled her eyes, despite the clear effort the rest of her face was making to remain calm.

“Why were you out here?” Feyre continued to question; despite knowing she wouldn’t get a response.

Daphne looked down shame flooding her. Thoughts of not being good enough, of always being in the wrong even when she was trying to help. For somehow messing up what would be an otherwise successful hunt.

Tears dropped from her eyes once more. She hadn’t moved since Feyre approached her. Still sat in the same position as before as Feyre continued to ask questions.

She watched as Feyre bound the doe’s legs and skinned the wolf.

She watched as Feyre handed her the fur and threw the doe over her own shoulders. And watched as Feyre sent her a glance with every cough falling from Daphne’s mouth, seeing her concerned glances and small shakes of her head.

Her breaths were heavy, the cold air affecting her already weak lungs, and her steps were slow as they finally approached there home.

Their small little hovel with two rooms for the five of them, was always crowded and despite the two singular windows the entire house had there was always a chilled draft.

The chill of the outside was not much colder than that of inside the hovel.

A lack of fire beings it’s cause, and single log left inside the fire place despite freye asking nesta too cut more wood.

She was greeted quickly by Elain wrapping a blanket around her shoulders.

Elaine and her were the closest of the sisters, with the same interests and similar personalities the two rarely argued. Though for daphne, arguments usual consisted of her being lectured and daphne storming out in response.

The sisters argued as they lectured feyre on the wolf and Daphne’s involvement in the hunt.

Elain sat rubbing Daphne’s shoulders gently to warm her up, and handing her a hot mug of tea to soothe her throat.

The sisters always seemed to argue, whether it be about money or food or any little thing. But what they argued most was daphne.

Shocking seeing as both Nesta and Feyre seemed to only tolerate her and ignored her unless she was extremely sick.

Elain too, despite being the closest of the sisters, found herself ignoring daphne more so than late, and spent more and more time with Nesta.

It was a funny thing really, seeing as they always fretted over her, treating her little more than a child.

But everything she did caused an argument. Such as going hunting with Feyre, getting more sick form hunting with feyre, from Elain allowing her to help her garden, or Nesta asking her to sew her some new clothes form the scraps of the old worn-out ones.

Everything one of them did for her, caused an argument with another.

Daphne was their sickly younger sister. That’s all she was and even when she tried to help it caused an argument.

Words were always said in front of her and rarely to her.

She couldn’t help but think that if she could talk, something she begged daily to be able to, that they wouldn’t ignore her so much.

But they seemed to treat her mutism as self imposed, as if it didn’t pain daphne that she physically couldn’t. that the idea of speaking scared her and the few words she could ralrey speak pained her so and caused her to to be physically sick.

She hated not being able to communicate but her sisters seemed to think it was entirely her fault that she didn’t.

Elain at least put up with it, finding her a good ear for listening to her endless rants. Or a helpful hand when cooking and gardening.

But they still didn’t ask her questions unless it was in the form of an interrogation. Such as Feyre in the woods.

She had given up years ago when she realised no matter how hard her eyes portrayed her feelings, her sisters where happy to talk and laugh and argue without so much as sparing her a glance.

They hadn’t even bothered to teach her to read. They knew she couldn’t. she hadn’t even started her schooling when they lost their fortune, and yet it never occurred to them that teaching her to read could solve the communication issue.

She had thought that perhaps if she proved herself, her potential that they would bother. Though deep down she knew it wouldn’t change a thing.

But known the less she went into the woods, to prove herself, to show she wasn’t just sick, that she had willpower, ability. But not only to prove herself but to also thank them. she felt bad for all the money spent on you, all the times she had been bed bound, unable to help at all and leaving them to sleep on the floor as moving her was to risky.

But it all failed.

All it caused was arguing and Feyre sending you a worrying glance as she looked over the wolf. And the fear of it being fae and what they might mean for there family.

Days passed, and daphne grew sick again. With her lungs constricted, her head feverish and limb aching. She had been in and out of consciousness for days now. The days passed in a blur, the only moments she truly came to were when medicine was forced down her throat or a new towel was pressed to her head.

She was sure she would have stayed in the bed for weeks had the front door not been slammed open and a roar sounded through the hovel.

Weakly she walked out of the shared bedroom and came face to face with some sort of fae beast growling words at her sisters, her sisters spoke to quietly for her to hear but before she knew it feyre was leaving with the beast and her screams for her to stay refusing to leave her mouth. She was powerless to stop it, to weak to even move from the door frame let alone stop her sister form being kidnapped by the fae beast. And even if she could it seemed that as the door closed a haze a magic was sent out and the sudden scene of a so-called aunt Ripley sending for Feyre to help her in her sickness appeared in her brain. Had she not fainted after it happened, she was sure she would have believed it, but dreams of a growling beats taking Feyre away haunted her dreams.

As the months passed , Elain and their father seemed content to believe the glamour the fae had cast and the seeming coincidence of regaining there fortune, neither Daphne or Nesta believed it.

She hated this new life, the life without Feyre. And the seemingly picture-perfect front her family created.

Her life became filled with tutors and healers and the balls filled with preening men all ever for a quite wife they never have to speak to.

Her life seemed duller than it did, and even more lonely.

Her sisters now ignored her completely, her father was no to busy for he. With Her sisters spending more time doing their own thing, with Nesta always alone and refusing to speak to anyone. Elain found herself engaged to a future lord, a man you had grown to hate despite only meeting him three times.

And daphne found herself quiet the scholar, egar to learn, and found herself drawn more and more to the history of Pythian, of the war and the fae courts.

A year passed since Feyre was taken and though she had returned for a week before swiftly leaving again, it felt like everything had changed since she left.

she felt as if she was on the side lines looking in on her family.

Even more so after their father had left to go to the continent.

Elain had grown distant, only wishing to spend time with her when it came to her garden.

And Nesta had secluded herself in her room, refusing company from all.

Daphne was forced to chaperone her sister and watch her life become what elain always wished.

Perhaps it was selfish to wish for attention, or at least the same level as she received in the past.

But now it seemed the better she got the less attention she received. She now got the level of freedom she had long desired and yet it seemed a waste without her sisters there to experience it with her.

But at least she now had the opportunity to have friends. Or at least friends in the form of Leon, one of the footmen in her family’s employ.

He had been kind since the moment she meet him, egar to spend time with her.

And though at first it was simply kind smiles facial expressions to communicate, he slowly taught her sign language. Having grown up with a sister who was hearing impaired, it allowed him the chance to talk to her. And for the first time she felt heard.

He was a small comfort in her dull life.

Suddenly it was march, time passed in the blink of an eye.

Something had shifted in the last few months; the estate grew quieter, and the trees seemed to murmur.

The sky felt greyer and snow colder.

The wall felt thin, with more cracks than ever, fog creeped from it and a sense of danger, ‘more so than before was emoting from it.

She had started to take walks near the wall daily. A sense of need to be close to Feyre overcame her. She wasn’t sure why, she never saw anyone near the wall.

That was until she stumbled into him.

Possibly the most handsome person you had ever seen. His eyes caught yours and they seemed to enchant her, the striking hazel colour distracting you from the obvious giant bat like wings sprouting from his back. But she didn’t mind, his eyes were beautiful…he was beautiful perhaps the most beautiful creature ever.

And his hands were on her waist.

Holding her after she stumble into him.

her waist.

“Are you okay?” he spoke softly, his yes tracing over her. He seemed to look at her with a sense of family. Though she was sure she had never once seen him before.

she nodded her head, her eyes looking down to were he still held her waste.

“your Daphne right?” he asked carefully.

Daphne looked up startled, shocked that he knew her name, and started racking her mind for memories of his face.

“i-“ the words, sounding more like a gasp left her mouth, as she willed yourself to speak.

And she might of mustered up a few words had Feyre not suddenly appeared.

“Daphne?” she breathed. Looking her up and down, “what are you doing this close to the wall?”

The males hands left her waist as he moved aside and allowed Feyre to hug her.

she hugged her back, but her face was perplexed as she took her in. she was different.

She seemed to glow, and her skin was soft and clear. Far more so than ever before and her ears… they were pointed.

She was fae.

Confusion adorned her face and a worried smile filled hers.

“don’t be scared” she seemed to beg.

she shook your head, moving to hug her once more.

she tired to talk, to ask her if she was okay, to ask her what had happened but the her mouth filled with bile, and the words seemed to leave her mind the more she tried to speak.

She seemed relived at the hug, moving her hand to stroke her hair, “you look well.” She spoke, as she took in her rosy cheeks and more filled out figure.

Daphne nodded. Her attention still fully on Feyre and confusion in her eyes as she tried to figure out what happened to her.

“I know you must be confused, and ill explain once were at the estate but-“ she was cut of by the sudden appearance of two more fae males.

Both with the same wings as the male she had bumped into.

“Daphne… this is Cassian and Rhysand” she said pointing to the two males, before turning “and the male Daphne bumped into, that’s Azriel” she spoke looking at her carefully as the two males introduced themselves and shook her hand.

A small nervous smile toyed on Daphne’s mouth.

she looked to Azriel, taking him in and reaching her hand out to shake his, as the others had done to her.

He seemed shocked at the action, his hands moving slowly to take hers.

As if he was scared to touch her, scared that they would taint her somehow.

They were rough, more so than the others, and covered in scars.

But her eyes didn’t linger, nor did she flinch as she was sure he expected her too. Instead she shook it and smiled. Her cheeks filling with a light blush as he focused her attention on her.

She turned to face her sister, the blush still prominent on her face and her minding releasing at how handsome Azriel, well how all the males seemed but more so him.

And the male she knew as Rhysand seemed to smirk as he looked at her, as if he could read the very thoughts she was thinking in her head.

She hugged slightly at the smirk, a nervous feeling washing over her as she took in the three strangers and the sudden change to Feyres appearance.

She pointed towards the direction of the estate, focusing her gaze on feyre as she did so.

“Should we get going then?” Feyre questioned, seemingly to sense her sisters nerves.

The walk was slow, the faes content to walk at a leisurely pace, though daphne was sure it had something to do with her and the coughs her small body was emitting.

By the time they reached the estate, feyre seemed to have grown nervous, her hand gripping daphne’s and her palm growing sweaty.

Daphne rubbed her hand in comfort though it seemed to do little as Feyre pulled her back hastily the estate came into view.

“Can you clear out the staff?” she questioned “they can’t see us, it will cause to many issues”

She nodded, giving feyre a hug before she departed.

She was grateful Leon was working that day, he took her at her word when she signed his and the others need to leave.

The once lively state was now empty bar the four sisters and three fae males.

She received harsh glares from nesta at their unwelcome guest.

And as words were spoken, and feyre spoke of the need to use the house as a meeting point, the glares grew harsher. As if whatever impending conflict was Daphne’s fault.

Dinner was no better, harsh words and arguments between the sisters sounded. Even more so when Daphne had run to get stools for the two winged males.

She was silent, as always.

But somehow sitting next to Azriel filled her with confidence she hadn’t ever had.

“Can you really fly?” she whispered, her voice rough from years of not being used.

And though her sisters gasped and nesta sent her another glare. Azriel simply smiled and spoke “yes. Cassian and I hail from a race of faeries called Illyrians. We’re born hearing the song of the wind”

Daphne smiled, her mouth speaking before she could even process that she had talked “that’s very beautiful” she said “ I have always wondered what it would be like to fly” she mused, “is it ever scary?” she spoke making eye contact with Feyre who gave her an encouraging smile, though her eyes were still shocked at your words.

It was probably the most words she had ever said, as even before she stopped talking, she was never a chatty child.

“sometimes” Azriel said, with Cassian nodding in agreement, as Azriel continued “if you are caught in a storm, if the current drops. But we are trained so thoroughly that the fear is gone before were out of swaddling”

Daphne nodded, her mouth filling with bile and a stuttered almost gasp left her mouth in the stead of words.

She swallowed roughly, her face flushing as she realised everyone’s attention was on her.

And then it struck her, she had spoken.

In the past it had never been more than one word, and it was always mumbled and nearly in audible, and often followed quickly with vomiting.

She willed herself to not vomit, but as Nesta went to say something, she was sure would be aimed at her sudden ability to speak.

She rose and ran to the bathroom and let it all out.

She cried and cried afterwards, in shock and shame.

It was how it always happened, the shame she felt afterwards, as if she wasn’t allowed to speak, as if speaking would cause something bad to happen. And it was a feeling that followed her for the remainder of her sister visit.

And even after they had all left it didn’t go away.

It seemed to haunt her, even more so after she got sick once more.

But this time it was different.

She had been bed bound for months on end.

Memories were all in a haze and she couldn’t tell night from day.

she hadn’t woken in days and yet the next time she woke, she was being tugged out of a cauldron full of freezing water.

To be added to taglist

taglist @fuckingsimp4azriel

#acotar fanfiction #ACOTAR #acotar angst #acotar smut #acotar x reader #a court of thorns and roses #azriel fanfiction #azriel smut #azriel #azriel x fem!oc #azriel x archeron!sister #fourth archeron sister #sacha writes ✍️

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satancopilotsmytardis · 3 months ago

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Dark Embrace

Pairing: Shigadabi

Rating: Explicit, 18+ only

Summary: Commissioned by Anonymous. When a dragon army kills his father and takes over the kingdom, Dabi and all of his siblings are brought to the throne of the new king. Once there, the monstrous ruler offers Dabi a choice: Become his mate or he will slaughter the former royal line the way he was always taught.

Contents: Fantasy AU, Royalty AU, Dragon!Tomura, Prince!Dabi, Dub-Con, Hypnosis, Soft Mindbreak, Magic, Fuck or Die undertones, Loss of Virginity, Premature Ejaculation, Descriptions of Violence, Anal Fingering, Oral Sex (mentioned), Humiliation, Praise Kink, Corruption Kink, Riding, Mirror Sex, Double Penetration, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Multiple Orgasms, Dacryphilia, Non-Human Genitalia

Word Count: 15,664

Dabi has spent most of his life locked away in his chambers. Ever since he was twelve years old, he was supposed to fully enter his training as a knight, taking the challenge of fighting a wyvern so that he could prove his skills with a sword and with the magic that all of the royal line has been blessed with. But he had been so convinced of the way his father told him his blessings would outpace any other in the kingdom, so sure of himself, that he had gone to find his foe. Alone. He had gone, and he had found a dragon instead of a wyvern and his magic failed him. He burned in the dragon's breath and no one found him for the days that pain and fever wracked his body. He had nearly died dragging himself back to the kingdom and he had been in a coma recovering for three years. It took another eight months after that for him to wake and discover that his father never once came to look for him. That he was no longer the heir. That Fuyumi and Natsuo's magic had been tested in more controlled environments, and while they had an affinity for ice magic, it was so weak that they might as well be commoners in the eyes of their father. The three of them were nothing, but Shoto was a jewel. He seemed to have taken every drop of magic that he and his siblings had been robbed of, and he took it to be better. Better than them, better than their father. He would be the king that this kingdom deserved. That's something that Dabi had been telling himself since he took on that moniker. Enji wanted Toya to disappear, and in exchange for letting him linger in the castle and pursue his own studies, Dabi had been born and locked away in his chambers. Natsuo pursued medicine, Fuyumi learning every subject she was allowed to as she awaited their father to use her like a bargaining chip as the Himuras had done to their mother because there just was no other option open to her. All three of them were supposed to hold out for as long as they could, for as long as it took for Shoto to become king himself. His sixteenth birthday is only two weeks away, that thought rings around in Dabi's head as he scrambles through the castle halls. His heart pounds loudly in his chest, shaking his ribs almost as violently as the stones are shaking as explosions of magic ricochet against the building. Two weeks, two years. Then he would be old enough to take the throne. He would have led a coup if he had to so that none of them would be subject to their father's tyranny a moment longer.

He wishes that was the battle that was raging through the halls now as he runs with the now unfamiliar weight of a sword in his hand to Fuyumi's room. Her chambers are the closest to his and he needs to protect her from what is happening in the palace, too many dead knights littering the halls as he moves to think that she might be able to fend for herself or be protected the way that she should be. He knows he's right when he hears her scream as a door shatters into a thousand wooden shards as a dragon-woman with bright red hair kicks it in with one strike as he turns the corner.

"Get away from her!" He couldn't fight a dragon when he still had magic, he knows he has no hope of doing anything but distracting this one so Fuyumi can flee now as he rushes into this foreign woman's space.

"Toya, don't!" He hears Fuyumi's voice from deeper in her chamber, but he can't see her as the sword in his hand begins to glow blue. Then it is violently yanked forward, and he hears his sister cry out too. It takes him a split second for him to realize that they are both trying desperately to dig their heels into the ground as they're tugged, his sword aimed to run her through and continuing to move no matter how much he tries to pull it off course.

"'Toya'?" The dragon woman says, catching him by the collar and ripping the sword from his hands before he was flung passed her to kill his sister. Dabi chokes as his collar is crushed into his throat. "Really? The disowned prince and the prized princess, oh, that is lucky for me." She throws him into Fuyumi with such force that they both go tumbling to the floor painfully. He knows it hurts, knows that it hurts her too, but the burn of fear pulsing through his veins makes that ache feel distant as he tries to get Fuyumi behind him so that if this monster tries to kill him, she might be able to scramble around and get out of the room before she can pull her war hammer out of his caved-in chest. She levels the weapon at them. "On your feet. The king wants all of the royal line in the throne room."

"Our father--"

The woman grins, her teeth-shark-like and vicious, "Oh, princess, I'm not talking about him. I'm talking about the real king. The one who now controls these lands. Now on your feet, or I'll drag you to him by your pretty hair."

Dabi tries to keep Fuyumi's body shielded from this monster as they both shakily get to their feet. The dragon woman gestures for them to hurry up and they are led through the halls towards the throne room, more of these monstrous foreign soldiers boxing them in and keeping them from running.

They have all been told all of their lives the horrors that would come for them should war or rebellion ever tear through the walls of their home, so Dabi isn't surprised at all that there are soft tinkling sounds against the stones as they go, his sister so frightened that her tears are freezing as they fall from her cheeks.

When they arrive in the throne room, Natsuo and Shoto are already kneeling in front of the throne, their father's throne, now drenched in blood with a new monster sitting atop it. He thinks, maybe, that it's his father's body hung on the wall behind it, crucified into place, the head missing because that has been mounted on a spear at the base of the dais. Dabi's stomach rolls more when he sees his other siblings with swords braced against the backs of their necks than he does at seeing their father killed. At least if these new monsters are planning on killing them right away, it might mean that they won't have to endure the tortures that they have been told act as entertainment for the demon king's court. He can only hope that Fuyumi is given the same treatment rather than forced to suffer alone.

"Got the princess and the spare." The woman who captured them tells the room at large. There are other obvious dragonfolk around. One with green scales, a man with wild brown hair and golden slitted eyes, a young girl with large fangs and hair the color of wheat, and one with a scar splitting his forehead and silver scales spilling out from that point. But the one who is the most obvious, the most powerful, is of course the one sitting on the throne. A man with large leathery wings with scales the same color as the freshly spilled blood around them. His long hair reaches his waist and is stark white that falls in messy, jagged waves that says he has never seen the well-practiced scissors of a proper court stylist. His chest is littered with more of his deep red scales, contrasting his pale skin that is puckered and pocked with scars, all of him that is not bare wrapped in fine dark leather. The harness around his chest accentuates every hard plain and soft press of muscle as he is relaxed and almost, insultingly, bore-looking on the throne, his legs spread wide and his long spiked tail flicking against the stones like an unsatisfied cat. Black talons curve off of each of his nail beds and the red eyes that look down at them as he and Fuyumi are forced to the floor beside their brothers leaves a rage Dabi didn't know he was capable of simmering in his chest.

Those slitted red eyes look over the four of them slowly before he deigns to get up, moving down the dais so that he's standing in front of Shoto. "The crown prince," he says before moving down the line, "the healer, the princess, and the... disgraced." The dragon's tail reaches for him, trying to move beneath his chin to make him meet his eyes, and Dabi is too full of that reckless hate to stop himself from opening his mouth and sinking his teeth as hard as he can into the delicate tip. He feels it twitch with surprise and, he hopes, pain as his teeth are met with scales so tough that he has no hope of actually puncturing them with his teeth. But he's not expecting that to make the dragon... laugh. But he does. He leans down and pushes his thumb and forefinger hard into either side of his jaw, the pressure barely stopping the staples from separating at his cheeks, as he forces his jaw open enough that he can slip his tail out. "Well, now I know how you could have survived Destro's attack at such a young age. You truly are a very spirited failure of magic, aren't you?" His voice is not as low as Dabi would have thought it might have been. No, his might actually be lower, but there is a growl to it that makes his bones shudder beneath his skin.

"Leave my siblings alone." Shoto snarls, trying to move only to have the dragon with the split forehead bring a blow across his shoulders with the flat of his sword, so hard that the impact leaves his brother winded and his knees crack against the stone as he is forced roughly back to it.

"Keep your mouth shut, crown prince, or I will tear your tongue from it." The dragon crouching before him doesn't even glance his brother's way as he threatens him, his head cocking to the side as he continues to take him in. "Tell me, spare, what did he choose to call you once you were cast aside for your youngest sibling?"

Dabi can't keep his spine straight with a sword biting cold against the back of his neck, but he manages to glare at the monster in front of him like he has no fear of the darkness it could bring to him in a second. "He chose to never speak to me again. I chose Dabi."

"Dabi. Cremation." He muses absently. "Did you die all of those years ago, Dabi?"

He doesn't answer. He felt dead. He's felt dead for a long time. He is not about to let the will that kept him here anyway wane in the face of this monster.

"What did you do with all of that time as a ghost, Dabi?" When he doesn't answer this time, the dragon doesn't look away from him, doesn't change the inflection of his tone, he simply orders, "break the healer's arm."

"No!" Fear sparks bright through Dabi's whole body and the dragon raises his hand to stay the violence of his knights stationed at each of their backs. "I-- I read. I studied whatever I could and lived like a monk in my chambers." He forces himself to speak, eyes flicking over to Natsuo who looks even more terrified than he had when they first were brought into this room.

"That's all? How quaint. Did you hold any love for your father?"

Dabi doesn't hesitate to answer now, not wanting to see what cruelties this monster will do to his siblings if he does. "No."

"Oh, really? He let you live. That didn't give you even the slightest flicker of fondness?"

"No."

"And what about the crown prince? He was born to replace you. Surely you hold nothing but contempt for him?"

"No!" The word is vehement and filled with venom. "Shoto is the king that this kingdom deserves and I would have been proud to see him on the throne where he belongs." It breaks something in his chest to say that and he feels pressure behind his seams start to build. But he will not cry. If they are going to be killed, he is going to die with what remains of his dignity intact.

"'Would'? You're not dead yet, spare." The monster's tail moves languidly along the stone as he rests his elbow on his knee and his chin on his knuckles. "But you see, my father has always taught me that, whenever one conquers a kingdom, the first order of business should be to kill all of the former royals. Every last one. Interrogate the ones who are so scared of pain that they'll give anything to be spared of it, to make sure that there are no secrets that can come back to bite us, and then make sure that the pyre built is so large that not a single person in the kingdom will doubt that the old regime is gone."

"I'm not afraid of you." Dabi hisses, not sure if it's false bravo or not, but the dragon seems to have ideas about that of his own.

"No, you're not, and that is what makes you interesting, little ghost. But you are scared of how I could hurt your siblings. I could have them torn apart, piece by piece, until their skin can't be so easily held together like your own." He reaches for him, tracing his fingertip along Dabi's cheek, over the staples, the coolness of his skin and the slight prickle of his talon putting ice in Dabi's gut. "And then I can kill you all. Put your bodies on the pyre with your father's and wipe any record of the Todoroki line from my kingdom." He says it all so easily, like he has done this a thousand times before. Maybe he has. Their father always kept their borders closed so that they would be beholden to no rule but their own. He told stories of the wars fought with the demon king and his draconic armies, but he didn't know just how terrible they would truly be if ever they reached their kingdom. "But today has already been a great success, and I can think of one more that would please me and my own father greatly to add to this. If you wish for the lives of you and your siblings to be spared, you will become my mate."

Dabi stares at him, and the longer he does, the more self-satisfied the smile on the monster's face becomes. "What?" His throat is hoarse as the word slips from his lips.

"My mate, consort to the king, my personal whore, whichever title you fancy, little ghost. Be mine, and I will spare your siblings."

"I-- I'm a man," and then, knowing that there are men who can, he adds, "I can't have children."

"I'm aware of that and I want no children from you. I simply wish to have you warming my bed." The dragon waits for those words to sink in, but after a long moment he adds, "Well?"

Dabi's mind whirls, but there is a sword against his neck, against each of his siblings’, and his father's head is on a pike not a meter from where he kneels. He and his siblings will die in this room, they will be hurt before that is allowed to happen if he declines this monster's offer. "No harm is to come to my siblings, not ever. They will live, and you will provide for them, and you will let me see them so I know that they are being cared for well. They will be allowed to pursue their own interests and marry if they choose to."

"Toya--" he hears Fuyumi's distress. This is a fate that she was told would be hers if ever their castle fell. But he would happily take every torture this monster gives him on his back if it means that he can spare her from it.

"I want you to enjoy it when I take you to bed. If you don't believe that you can do so on your own, then you will allow my magic into your mind so I can take away those inhibitions. I will have you enthusiastic and hungry for me."

Dabi's lip curls with his disgust. "If you have to poison my mind to make yourself an attractive bed partner then that is your shame to bare, not mine."

The monster laughs again, and the smile is bright and warm on his features in a way that he absolutely loathes. "The only shame is that it will be needed at all, but I have a feeling that you are a creature that knows how to hold a very, very long grudge, aren't you, little ghost? What else?"

Dabi can't believe that he's even being given the chance to negotiate this far, but with his siblings' futures secure he has to think of himself now. "You will not have me harmed, in your bed or outside of it."

"Outside of it, never, but I do enjoy playing roughly with my toys." He says, his voice a purr. "But I will never beat you until you cannot move, you will not become a eunuch or otherwise permanently physically modified, and I will do no damage to you that will take," he considers, "more than a week to heal."

Dabi's stomach is sunken and sour, but that seems like the best deal he is going to get from this monster. "...I will be treated well outside of your bed. Able to pursue my studies, provided for the same as my siblings."

The dragon inclines his head, the large black horns of bone gleaming like jet in the beams of sunset that cast fresh bloody light through the room as it grows darker. "You will never marry or know another touch but my own, and should you or your siblings ever conspire to take back the throne, this deal will be moot, and I will exact every ounce of my bloody revenge on all four of you and any descendants that might have been born in the interceding time." Dabi's heart sinks so heavily, but he just swallows hard. He doesn't know if any of his siblings will ever choose to marry if they are kept political prisoners like this forever, but he knows that there isn't any other option they have right now unless Shoto has enough magic to kill them all quickly enough they don't have to endure this monster's torture.

"Deal."

"Deal," the monster purrs, straightening back up. "My name is Tomura Shigaraki, and I look forward to learning every inch of you, mind, body, and soul, Dabi."

///

After the deal had been struck, he and his siblings were hauled off of the floor and taken from the throne room. Shoto, Natsuo, and Fuyumi were dragged off down a different hallway, but the guard who took him, brought him to a spare room, and locked him inside. That is where he had been left for hours and hours as night fell heavy and black, but the smoke of the pyre outside in the courtyard grew thicker and thicker as every knight, servant, and citizen who had been killed when the castle had been taken was brought to be burned. The smell of it was pungent and had left him vomiting into a vase as he remembered the scent of his own flesh burning as the light of the fire flickered over the walls. He manages a few fitful hours of sleep in a chair, but there was not a second of quiet in the castle once he had been locked in this room. When the sun had risen again, the pyre burned for another hour or two more before it had been extinguished with a wave of magic that had gathered the ash and pieced back together the cracked stone beneath it. Shigaraki's people seem to all have magic, though he guesses that has more to do with the fact that his people are all monsters.

But over the course of the rest of the day he sees them moving below, bringing things here and there and the dragon king's new servants entering the castle and presumably taking up the positions of everyone who had been killed in the initial attack. It's mid-afternoon before Dabi starts to feel the hollowness in his stomach is hunger and an ache in his bladder that asks to be allowed to relieve himself. It's all hesitation when he goes to the door and tries the handle. It is, unsurprisingly, still locked, but a moment after he tries it, it is unlocked for him and the soldier on the other side in the dark, unfamiliar armor asks what he wants. He has never had to suffer the indignity of asking if he could use the bathroom before, but the soldier, at least, doesn't deny him that, taking him deeper into the castle, to... his father's chambers. Not his father's not anymore. And as they walk, Dabi sees that the cracked stone, the blood that had been soaking into everything, has all been done away with. The castle is pristine again, the only evidence that it was sacked yesterday that the tapestries and portraits of his ancestors have all been removed and replaced with banners of the demon king.

Dabi cannot claim that he ever had much familiarity with his father's bedroom, but it is clear to him from the moment the guard escorts him inside that this room has been thoroughly changed as well. The bed, for one, is far more lavish than his father would have allowed, with piles of silk, linen, and fur blankets, mounds of pillows, and gauzy silk drapes in a canopy above the four posters that each have a thick leather strap hanging off the edge. He would not have set up a personal desk in this room because he preferred to do his business in his office and only use this room to sleep. The large rug made out of-- Dabi shudders upon seeing it-- another dragon could have been his father's maybe, but he has a feeling that the purple-scaled pelt is something that came from the new king's personal collection.

The guard locks him in this room with the instruction to bathe and dress in the clothes provided to him by the wardrobe and that a meal will be brought in when it is ready. Dabi does not thank him, eyeing that large bed with a sourness settling deep in his gut. He forces himself to go to the bathing chamber and finds that his assessments about Shigaraki's access to enchanters must have been accurate, because rather than the utilitarian, though still luxurious, copper tubs that have to be filled by servants who bring the boiled water from the kitchens, the one in this room now is large enough for two, set into a dais of its own against the far wall and a window that looks out over the mountains beyond their castle, and it has been spelled so that hot water can be provided with only a turn of a knob. Dabi lets the large tub begin to fill before he goes to relieve himself.

By the time he is back at the tub, it is only halfway full and he's startled to find an array of soaps and perfumes have materialized along the edge. Soaps for the skin, for the hair, moisturizers for both but one that belongs on the face in particular, and the medical soak that his brother has been making for him for years so that he can keep his seams in a good state. Dabi hesitantly steps into the tub and starts to wash himself, but the soaps don't seem to have any ulterior motive and do not turn to acid when applied to his body. They smell more floral with a smokiness that is a foreign pairing that makes his nose itch a bit, but it is certainly better than having to bathe in the blood of the innocent or whatever other horrors that were told to him in bedtime stories.

Dabi washes, but he does not linger as his stomach begins to growl. No matter how he feels now, no matter if he is clean enough to the draconic king's specifications or not, it will not matter when he has his magic seeping into his mind. That puts a cold dread in his gut that he cannot let overtake him. He agreed to this, and once the king has had him in whatever ways he chooses, he will demand to see his siblings, provided the state that his body is left in isn't so damaged that he cannot move. He cleans and dries himself before hesitantly going to the wardrobe. He isn't expecting to find it locked when he pulls on the handle the first time, confused because this door doesn't even have a lock. But when he lets go of it, debating putting on his other clothes and asking a guard or servant to open the cabinet for him, the entire door begins to glow. Dabi can't help yelping as a figure of shadow steps out of the door and he hears it unlock behind the specter.

The shade looks at him and then turns back to the wardrobe, snapping its fingers so that the doors open behind it, another set of arms appearing out of its back as it selects the clothes that the demon king must want for him. Dabi bristles when the shade moves closer and starts to help him dress. His isolation inside of the castle meant that he was taking care of his own tasks, no servants allowed to see to his needs beyond bringing his meals, filling his tub, and washing his clothes as those activities could not be maintained in his own chambers. But he was the one who has been expected to dress himself, clean his rooms, make his bed, and care for himself in that room for years now, and having foreign hands on his body as they bring fine silk around his form is strange and uncomfortable. Though the clothes themselves are equally so as he is given so little to wear. His neck gets a large necklace that looks like a tight metal collar which curves down in a semicircle in the front and back, with an inset piece on the v that is created over his shoulders. That piece is segmented metal that resembles snake, or perhaps more accurately, dragon scales before it ends in a gauzy, see-through silk fabric that has been gathered into it, that curves through the piece on the back as well so that a cape spills down his back and connects to the thick metal cuffs at his wrists that resemble shackles too much for Dabi's liking. The fabric itself is black as night, but the see-through nature of it makes it appear as though he is being lightly embraced by shadows. His chest is left bare otherwise before the shade wraps another of the segmented belts around his waist, a similarly flowy and light skirt made of red silk falling to the floor with splits so high up the sides that Dabi is blushing hotly as he realizes that one breeze or even moving too quickly would have him exposing himself to whoever chooses to look. He wonders if all mates, or only the ones who were obtained through coercion, are forced to wear this in the demon king's domain, but he cannot know and hopes to never learn. If Tomura Shigaraki is the offspring and heir to that throne, Dabi can only ever hope that he does not live long enough to see him take it, for he would never want to force his siblings to follow him to that awful kingdom hidden far from the world they have inhabited up until this point. He is given no shoes, only jewelry crossing over his ankles with fine chains and tinkling rubies, before the shade seems to think that his staples are clashing against the rest of his clothes and waves its hand so that every piece of metal that has been pierced through his skin becomes gold to match. It doesn't feel any different, but the disquieting realization that all of him will be changed for the dragon king's aesthetics puts a fresh stone in his gut. When the shade has determined that he is suitable enough for its master, it steps back into the wardrobe and dissipates, the door locking firmly behind it.

It leaves Dabi standing alone in the room, hating the look of these clothes on his body, and knowing that this is only the first day of the fate that he has resigned himself to until the end of his days or until the dragon gets bored of his company. And how will he not? Dabi burned so young and so badly that he knew he would never take a spouse, even before his father had given him his ultimatum. He was locked away, unable to attend parties, learn about courtship beyond what he read in books or what Fuyumi lamented that she had been taught as their father looked for a beneficial husband for her to take. he has never known the touch of another, never been kissed, and has had so little contact with those outside of his family that he cannot even begin to contemplate what he should act like if he wants the monster who owns him now to find him alluring and charming. He can't imagine the dragon seeing the swaths of his destroyed skin will do anything to help that.

But before he can spend too much time contemplating his fate, the door to the chamber unlocks and servants begin to step inside. Real servants this time who bring a solid table and two chairs that are set up over the top of the dragon-skin rug, before another wave of them start to pour in with plate after plate after plate of food. When the last dish has been set down, one of the servants pulls out a chair for him and makes him sit.

"His Majesty will be with you shortly." She says it as a courtesy that tells Dabi to wait to begin eating even though the hollowness of his stomach seems to be hunger and nausea waring against one another, terrified of what this monstrous king will be like in the privacy of his chambers, but never having gone a day without having a meal when he wanted it since he burned. It's been since early afternoon, hours before the invasion, that he was able to eat anything and he can feel that hunger sitting in his stomach alongside his dread.

It only takes minutes, Dabi distracting himself from the smell of food all around him by watching how the candles and torches lit around the room are... different now. They cast their light like they have the flickering flames that he has come to expect, but there is no scent of burning, and the wax never drips. More magic, so copious, apparently, among the dragons, that they can use it for the most mundane of things. But all too soon the chamber door opens up and Dabi freezes in place. He isn't sure if he should stand and bow or not. His father expected that from everyone any time he entered a room, but that isn't a custom everywhere. Would not standing be an insult? Would standing show that he is determined to keep the ways of his customs alive and be seen as an act of defiance before he's even given the new king a drop of the service that is supposed to be keeping him and his siblings alive? He can't be sure one way or another and before he can make his decision, Shigaraki is already sliding into his own seat.

"Do not stand on ceremony, eat when you are hungry, pet. You will never want for anything so long as you are mine." If he was dressed for conquering a kingdom yesterday, then this must be the dragon's more casual clothing. He is wearing dark trousers of silk himself, the pitchest black in color, with large openings along the sides that expose his thighs to his knees, the pants gathered into a cuff at the ankle and open-toed boots laced up to his calves, the sharp black talons on his fingertips mirrored on his toes. His wings are gone, perhaps folded inside of his body, and his chest is still bare, though today there is a cloak gathered around him, held in place with the demon king's crest over his left shoulder, and otherwise covering his opposite arm and down his back. The crown he wears of black iron is wrapped so securely around his horns and is so organic in its shape, that it almost looks as though thorns have grown out of the bones and tangled themselves in his long hair. He has no weapon on his hip or strapped to his back, but Dabi supposes that he doesn't need one. He has no magic to threaten the other man with, and given the toughness of his scales, he highly doubts that he would ever be able to do damage to him with any of the cutlery that is scattered about the table.

Dabi still hesitates to serve himself before the king has gotten his portion, but he rolls his eyes as he unclasps his cloak and tosses it along the back of his chair, before he snaps his fingers and the dishes begin to serve themselves. The roast duck is cut by knives hanging in mid air, the potatoes, rolls, spring vegetables, and wine are distributed between their plates, and Dabi feels helpless again at the show of power that the dragon displays so casually.

"Eat." The order comes absent-mindedly as the king takes his own seat, and Dabi forces himself to pick up his fork. He is supposed to eat. He is hungry. But he cannot help the way that it feels like it takes the strength of a hundred men to simply lift his fork from the table. He keeps his eye on his plate, trying to remember all of the table manners that he hasn't had to use in years because he has not been allowed to have his meals in the company of others since he burned. It makes every bite feel like an arduous task, each one with him waiting to discover the food will turn to ash in his mouth or has been made of the flesh of newborns for all of the stories of terrible cruelty he knows about the demon king's armies.

But if there is deceit to be had here, Dabi is not given a glimpse of it as he continues to methodically eat, still never daring to raise his eyes to the monster sitting across from him. The table he had brought is not for banquets, it's the same size as the one that Dabi had in his chamber before this. It could seat six, though the pair on either of the longer ends would be brushing elbows to fit, and he does not have nearly enough separation from the dragon to not notice him sighing softly before he speaks.

"I had thought my influence would only be needed when I had you in my bed, but it seems as though you are incapable of even the simplest tasks that might be expected of a mate. Come here, pet."

Dabi bristles, but this is the bargain he struck. He has to abide by this monster's rules or he will damn his siblings to a fate worse than death. He sets down his fork, wipes his mouth on a napkin to buy him a moment to steady himself, and then rises from his chain and approaches the monster. Shigaraki catches his chin again with his claws and his slitted pupils are a stark black against the otherworldly glow of red that appears around his irises.

"You will relax. You know that no great harm will come to you if you misspeak. You will entertain me as if you are trying to entertain a suitor."

Dabi feels the magic slip inside of him like an inky black shadow that wraps around all of the places in his mind that were holding onto his worry so tightly. With those pieces set in shadow, the tension in his body mostly dissipates and leaves a vague confusion in its place as he tries to focus on why he had been so frightened a moment before. "My apologies, your Majesty," A sharper tinge of embarrassment comes over him as the dragon king smiles at him. He has a scar cutting through his lips that looks old and wasn't deep enough to gnarl and twist his smile. "I-- I was never allowed to learn how to be a suitor and my father wouldn't allow me to be courted. I... don't know the etiquette beyond the stories my sister told me." He explains, eyes dropping from his.

"That is such a shame. You have the loveliest eyes. I have no doubt that if you had been allowed to attend your father's court, someone would have snatched you away long before I could arrive to lay claim to you instead." The dragon lets go of him and gestures for him to retake his seat. "We need not stand on that much ceremony in private. In public you will address me properly, you will kneel at my feet or sit on my lap when I hold court, but here you can speak to me as an equal-- so long as you obey my orders when I deign to give them."

"Yes, your Majesty."

"You are my prized pet, little ghost," He says, that almost unsettling smile still in place. "And I think that good pets should call their owners 'master'."

"Yes, master." Dabi doesn't have words for the relief that goes through him as Shigaraki gestures for him to resume his meal. He had been so terrified just a moment before, but this is much better. Being told exactly how the dragon wants him to act means that he doesn't have to try to tiptoe around things the way that he always had to with his father. There is no guesswork, no magic word or misstep that he might take that will result in the dragon deciding to give him a punishment that he didn't know was even something he should be prepared for. "What happened to my siblings?"

"Your youngest brother is working in the archives and treasury under supervision until I have the affairs of this kingdom settled. After that I will determine where he is best suited. Your sister is being assessed." That has Dabi tensing but Shigaraki goes on as the table serves him a second glass of wine. "Her chambers were full of books and other materials more befitting a scholar, when interviewed once her nerves had settled, she said she always wanted to be the governess to her own children instead of leaving them to be taught by others. I have one of my scholars seeing if her self-schooling was sufficient. if it was, she will be allowed to start shadowing them and learning how to be a teacher. The availability of education in this kingdom is abysmal and I will have a school house for the commoners built by the end of spring. Having more than one teacher, especially a native to these lands there would be beneficial. Your second brother is already a fine healer and he has returned to his position alongside my own court physician. If you wish to see them, they are all remaining in their chambers when not working."

Dabi's entire body goes nearly boneless, the seams under his eyes aching badly as pressure builds behind them.

"What's wrong, little one? I thought this would please you."

"I--" he takes a breath, trying to keep those tears from falling. "I am. I was.... scared that you might not keep your word."

"You will learn quickly, pet, that I always keep my word." He gives Dabi a moment to recompose himself as they eat, and then asks, "What did you do in your exile?"

"...Studied."

"What?"

"Anything. I read almost all hours of the day."

"What did you read about my father's empire, pet?"

Dabi hesitates, but Shigaraki's expression is patient, his eyes gentle instead of sharp the way that politicians' and courtiers' were when they used to speak to him when he was young. "That his lands are full of horrors and violence, but the texts I could access here only ever knew of them in the aftermath of the wars that would ravage border villages. I don't... want to believe that what your people do during a war is all that they are."

"They are not. You will know more of our culture the longer we spend together, my pet, and you will learn to enjoy it on your own, so deeply, that I will never have to reach into your mind to make you sure of that again."

Dabi doesn't know what to say to that, so he chooses to say nothing as they return to their food. When they've finished eating, Shigaraki stands from the table and moves around to Dabi's side, catching his chin again and making him look up.

His smile is already satisfied and sweet when it comes. "You were not allowed to court or be courted, so I suppose that means you have no experiences with pleasures of the flesh?"

Dabi feels his face heat, his nails biting into the meat of his palms as nervous anticipation spikes through every inch of his veins. "...No, master."

"Never been kissed?" He asks and Dabi only manages to weakly shake his head. "Never been touched?" He shakes his head again. "What of your own hands, wandering in the dark, staining your sheets?" The words come as a purr that makes something... else tingle through his body that he doesn't recognize.

He is certain that he's blushing the same color as the dragon's scales. "...No, master."

That smile widens further. "Then it will be a very special privilege to have you as my mate." He says, leaning down. Dabi's whole body goes hot with anticipation, but the dragon only presses his lips very lightly to the corner of Dabi's own. "I can't wait to see how exquisite you are as you unravel, pet."

He knows that the dragon sees it when his throat bobs as he tries to swallow, but he can't make himself say anything in response.

"Not tonight, pet, but soon. Tonight, I want a good night's sleep and your body warming my sheets. Entertain yourself as I bathe."

"Yes, master."

Shigaraki lets go of his chin and goes into the bath chamber and the inkiness that blanketed his mind slips away. And the fear rushes back in, the indignance, the anger. Dabi is left sitting at the dinner table, trembling with his humiliation as he realizes that those things he'd been thinking, the reactions he'd had, while they still feel like him, they aren't what he would have thought or said if the dragon hadn't influenced him. Is that how it's going to feel when he takes him to bed properly for the first time? Will he be as embarrassed as he felt a moment ago without the disgust and rage that sits in his gut from the reality of having sold himself into this life? That puts bile on the back of his tongue and Dabi snatches the wine bottle from the table's clutches and tips it to his lips. He has never drunk so heavily in his rooms in all of the time since he was disowned, but he drinks and drinks now, until his stomach is sloshing and the contents of the bottle go dry. If he is not going to be in his right mind for any of this, then he might as well get to choose the way that he is left mentally incapacitated. Two frustrated bloody tears slip down his cheeks, but he wipes them away quickly and throws the napkin in the fire that has roared to life to heat the chamber. He is already giving up so much of his mind to this monster. He will not give him any other evidence of his weakness.

When Shigaraki returns from the bath he is entirely naked, his wings spread from his back now and nearly scandalizing Dabi with his nudity. 'Nearly' because the dragon has scales that run over his shoulders, down his back to his tail, and along his lower stomach, over his pelvis, and down the inner part of his thighs. Those scales are fine and red but the ones over his pelvis are the same pale color as the rest of his skin and they completely conceal the other's genitals. He makes Dabi strip out of all of his clothes as well, and he's not sure if it's the alcohol or magic that make his head feel floaty and his body hot as he strips down to nothing too. He is squirming though when the dragon surveys his form before smiling again and making him get into the large bed.

It's large enough that he thought he might be able to scooch away from him and sleep, but as soon as they're both beneath the thick blankets, Shigaraki is pulling him close. He doesn't let his hands wander, he just wraps him in his arms and then encircles both of their bodies with his large... soft wings. It takes a few minutes of being enveloped in the dark and cool of the other's embrace before the wine makes his head feel so heavy that he has no choice but to close his eyes.

He didn't realize how exhausted he was until sleep comes so heavily for him.

///

The next day Dabi is allowed to walk the castle wherever he chooses. He hasn't been allowed to do that since he was a child, and oftentimes he finds himself unable to tell if things changed because of the new regime in place or if there were renovations while he was locked away in his room. He is able to go to his sister's room and the guards stationed at her door let him inside. Anything she might use to hurt herself has been removed from the room, even the sheets from her bed have been replaced by thick pelts that it would be nearly impossible to tie a noose with. She bursts into tears as soon as she sees him, but she assures him again and again that no one has touched or harmed her since they were separated the day before last. She begs him to get himself out of being this new monster's mate, but Dabi immediately snarls at her to keep words like that out of her mouth. He will not have her or their brothers proposing treason.

"If Shigaraki doesn't torture and kill us all outright, he will make me watch as he torments and kills you and then he will take what he wants from my body instead. I would rather choose my place in his bed than be forced into it and without the protections that his deal has awarded all of us."

It does not keep his sister from weeping with deep, wracking sobs, but it does manage to make the resolve that Dabi had not felt even when he made the deal solidify. This is the best that they could hope for and he will not risk his sibling's safety rebelling against it.

That night he has dinner with the dragon again and it feels like it takes a little less of that soft darkness in his mind to help drown out his fear of speaking to him.

"Why take a disgraced, foreign prince as your mate? Surely there are plenty of candidates in your own kingdom who could capture your interest."

"There have been," the dragon says, his amusement clear. Dabi doesn't know how they got fish at this time of year when all of the lakes and streams running through the mountain should still be frozen, but he is picking at the dish, mostly focusing on the bread and greens that have been served as sides. That look tells him he hasn't been as subtle about his dislike of their main course as he'd hoped he'd been. "And I have enjoyed their company immensely. But suitors from my father's kingdom come with strings attached that I do not always want to step through when I am trying to find someone to share my time and heart with. I always intended to take a mate from somewhere outside of my kingdom, and the disgraced foreign prince who chose to bite me instead of accepting his fate passively, was far too appealing to throw away without at least giving him a chance."

Dabi bites his tongue to keep himself from being outrightly rude, but he doesn't ask about things like that anymore. Shigaraki lets him eat more bread and calls for dessert unlike the day before, and the sweet fruit tart with fresh whipped cream and honey fills his stomach far better than the fish could have. He is already hoping that they will just sleep again when Shigaraki pushes his chair out and gestures for him to come closer.

Dabi feels that barrier of magic trying to soothe away the disgust and anger, stealing it away and leaving only a squirming embarrassment in his gut as he stands and makes himself walk to the other man. Shigaraki wraps his hands around his hips, his thumbs rubbing over the jut of bone there before he gently lowers him until he's perched in the dragon's lap. Shigaraki's tail moves then, curling so that it is pressed along the small of Dabi's back, keeping him in place as his hands start to wander. His palms are cool against him, and Dabi can't help but shiver even as his blush is hot across his skin. His nipples pebble immediately at the cool touch, and Shigaraki brings his hands along his pecks, teasing at them until there is something else sparking across his nerves that makes his breath a little more shallow. His knuckles trace along the seam of his collarbone, tease over the one that curves across his stomach, and then dips down to his split skirt so that he can thumb over the ones that curve around his thighs.

He is starting to tremble slightly, anticipating the touches going... other places, when Shigaraki smiles at him. "Dip your head, pet. I think it's time you had your first kiss."

Making him lean in to accept the kiss makes something rattle against the soft dark in the part of his mind that has been taken away from him. The rest of him is just even warmer with his embarrassment as he doesn't know if he's supposed to pucker his lips or if he should move them at all when he leans closer. Shigaraki's hand comes up to cup the back of his neck and gently coaxes him to tilt his head to the side. Then he moves in the rest of the way and presses his chapped, cool lips against Dabi's own. Dabi sees a brighter amusement in Shigaraki's eyes as the contact simply is for a few long seconds before he pulls away.

"Close your eyes and relax, pet. I'll show you how to feel good."

Dabi's eyes fall shut immediately, his blush hot under his skin, but he accepts the instructions without a fight. Shigaraki leans in again and kisses him. This time his lips don't just press, they move. It's gentle, slow, but they move, making Dabi's mirror the motions, and then flicking his tongue along the seam of them. Dabi can't help the gasp that slips out of his, but when they part for the sound, Shigaraki's tongue moves inside. He hears a soft sound come out of his throat that might have been a whimper, but he doesn't manage to make another before his tongue is brushing against his own. Shigaraki's mouth tastes like the sweet tart they shared as his tongue presses inside, finding places that have never been touched by another person in Dabi's life, and giving him sensations, like the hands that continue to wander his skin so slowly and teasingly, that he hasn't ever had before either. Each one makes a heat start to unfurl inside of him that he only has the memory of. Echoes of it that he often woke up to, either with his prick hard and dripping in his sleep clothes, or spent and sticky when his dreams of nebulous pleasure unfolded in his sleep. But it's not a sensation that he's ever felt bloom inside of him while he's still awake and Dabi is left panting weakly against Tomura's mouth as he kisses him and kisses him, never parting for long enough for him to fully catch his breath.

The dragon only lets up with a purr when Dabi realizes that these new sensations and the memory his body has of pleasure in his sleep has started to rouse his prick, making it ache weakly and press a half-formed tent into the folds of his thin skirt. Shigaraki pulls away from his lips then, that same self-satisfied smile on his face that makes the warmth of embarrassment under his skin feel like that other kind of warmth too.

"There," he strokes his knuckles along the seam of his cheek. "Already proving that I made the right choice, little ghost. You are going to be so receptive of my touches that someday you won't ever be able to understand why you didn't want them. And I will give them to you whenever you ask. I'll teach you how to enjoy pleasures so great and pain so sweet that you'll long for nothing else."

But he doesn't give him what he is promising now. Instead he makes him disrobe and ready for bed, and only holds him closely until he falls asleep again.

///

Dabi is disgusted with himself the next morning when he wakes alone, but each night when Shigaraki returns, that softness spills through his mind. In those softer moments, his body warms as he looks at the draconic king. Every inch of him screams of the power that is set into his form, and every touch he deigns to give him leaves his body craving more. Dabi doesn't think his need has been so high since he was a teenager and no matter how he considers trying to take away that edge of arousal by... touching himself when the dragon leaves him to his own devices, but he can't bring himself to. The humiliation that he feels over the month that passes from the takeover robs him of the ability of satisfying himself without the dragon's permission.

So for a month he lives mostly in this chamber, though he is able to visit his siblings who are being looked after, and walk the castle grounds when he chooses. He still feels like a specter haunting the halls when he does, but he doesn't know if he will ever feel alive again without Shigaraki's influence in his mind and his hands on his body. A month of only being given sweet kisses and light caresses with the knowledge that the monster will hurt him when he wants to because he wouldn't even pretend otherwise when negotiating to have him as a mate. All of those things live in the back of his mind, but they are locked away when he wakes one night, his dreams having been filled with hot kisses and cool hands touching every sensitive part of his skin, his prick aching as he had been so close to his satisfaction only for his waking to rob him of it.

Dabi lets out a frustrated sob as his body aches and Shigaraki purrs, his tail circling around one of his thighs as he makes him spread his legs, opening his wings so that he can see him more clearly from the light that is filtering in from the moon beyond the windows. "Look at you, pet." He runs his knuckles along the underside of him, the light sensation enough to have his hips trying to move on instinct to get more. "All you have to do is ask, and I will give you the pleasures that being a mate can offer."

And with the heaviness in his mind, not knowing if there is marriage or any other custom that he should ask for from this monster before he gives up his virtue, with such sharp desperation clinging to his nerves, he can't do anything but sob weakly and beg, "Please, please, master! I want it to feel good, please!"

Shigaraki's wings flare out as he rolls Dabi's body onto his back, pinning him beneath his bulk as his tail yanks his thighs wider roughly. His eyes are glowing in the dark and his hands are so sure now. They aren't feather-light and teasing the way that they have been before. They are firm as they wrap around his body. They hold him tightly, and stroke over his skin wherever he chooses. He cups his chest, pinching at his nipples until the buds are pert and aching like a new special type of bruise beneath his skin that makes his sensitive cock drip where its trapped between their stomachs, while making blood bead up past his seams and drip along his cheeks as he whimpers and moans. Shigaraki's mouth full of sharp teeth descends on his own and these kisses are frantic and hard, making blood bloom between their lips that the monster devours voraciously before he is trailing lower so that every inch of his neck can be claimed by rings of his teeth and not just the collar that he has around his neck each day he belongs to this monster.

Dabi only manages a mortified squeak when Shigaraki's tail moves from his thigh to between his legs. Not at the front, where his pleasure is centered, but behind him, the tip flicking around his hole that he has never had touched by another. But before he can gather his breath to ask to slow down, to beg to know how... two men are even supposed to copulate, Shigaraki is shifting above him. He hadn't even gotten a moment to wonder how he would use his body when he doesn't even have his genitals visible, but he doesn't need to voice that concern anymore. His breath is caught entirely in his throat as he sees that there is a slit appearing on Tomura's pelvis, the scales splitting along an invisible seam and dripping fluid that his tail rubs against to gather, before he sees two heads starting to emerge from that slit. Dabi whimpers, trepidation and arousal both singing through his veins that must amuse his master because he chuckles as he hears it.

"Oh, precious, you have been teasing me with your warmth so badly." He says with a purr, "but now I'll know every inch of it. You will be full of me and I will make certain that your body craves nothing else for all of your days. You will be my perfect mate, and such a lovely set of holes for me to defile as I please. From a prince, to a ghost, to the whore of the king, and of the three it is the last that will give you more status than any circumstances of your birth ever could." He speaks and his hands grope across Dabi's body, pressing against seams in a way that sparks pain beneath his skin the same flavor as his sore chest is pulsing with, and the words push against the soft darkness of his mind and the neediness that is aching through his more immediate thoughts. His wet tail goes back to his hole, rubbing around it with its slickness, and before he can get enough breath to speak again, his master has pushed the first inch of it inside, making his muscles burn as they are stretched in such a foreign way. But that stretch feeds into the roughness and pleasure of the other touches too quickly and Dabi cries out loudly, shock, pleasure, and humiliation cresting through him as the touch makes his prick pulse as his balls draw tight and he spills his seed all over his stomach. He hasn't ever had the pleasure of an orgasm while awake before, and Dabi doesn't know if his mind will ever feel whole again as he is blinded by the stars that dance across his vision as he moans and sobs beneath the dragon.

The laughter that rings through his ears as he starts to come down from that high that has left his body shaking against the sheets has fresher tears on his cheeks. But Shigaraki catches his chin in a firm hold as he leans down to lick them away from his skin. "Oh, little one, you're so cute when lost in the throes of your pleasure. Going to be even cuter when I see you shatter around my cocks."

Dabi can barely get his mind around the possibility of more when the other seems to determine the cursory stretching that he's done is enough, and he removes his tail from his body. Dabi whimpers, and he feels a sharp absence of emotion that he thinks his mind wants to reach for now, but Shigaraki kisses him to take his thoughts away from it. His other hand goes to his prick again and he starts to touch him, making Dabi's nerves sting and fresh tears trickle down his cheeks as he's held in place beneath him, unable to squirm, as the head of his first, thick, hard cock presses wetly between his cheeks. He lets out another weak gasp, unable to find a way to make his tongue more coherent, as he starts to push inside. The stretch is blinding, his whole body seizing up from the way that it fills him so completely and takes away any other thought in his mind. He's left just gasping and sobbing against the sheets as he's made more and more open for the dragon's first cock.

"That's it, pet, you can take it," he coos at him, leaning in to kiss and lick away the bloody tears falling over his cheeks. "It will feel so good if you let it. You just have to let it, sweet one."

Dabi feels that big inky darkness struggling to contain his thoughts the same way that his body struggles to take in his master's cock for the first time. He feels that darkness begging him to just let it take over, to make the sharp thing with knives behind it go quiet, and Dabi knows, deep down, that he should keep fighting it. That the thing with knives and teeth behind that thick, dark curtain is him, even if it feels so foreign to him right now. But as Shigaraki slows, pressing more kisses to his lips, as he coos,

"That's it, beautiful, you opened up so well for me. I can't believe that your fool of a father thought that no one else would want you when you are the greatest treasure I've taken from this kingdom,"

He hears the words, knows they're false, knows the stings of pain and the whorls of pleasure are not things he would have chosen for himself without that soft, velvet dark of the curtain in his mind telling him that he would be soft too if he accepted it. He knows, but cannot touch the wild, furious thing that claws and bites and that he knows makes him feel worse when he spends time outside of his master's company. So he turns away from that dark, letting it envelope and smother so he can reach out to the space that is actually between him and his master. He wraps his arms around his neck, spreads his thighs wider and gives himself over to whatever pleasures and pains that his mate will give him now that he is owning his body the way that Dabi pledged himself to.

Tomura purrs at him again, kissing him so sweetly as he strokes Dabi's prick with his hand until he's aching again as his thrusts stroke his walls with his cock. He does it over and over again, kissing away the tears that blend pleasure and foreign sorrow together, until he can't tell one from the other again. He can't tell up from down when his second orgasm comes and Tomura reaches his first before he takes his first cock out of Dabi's body and presses the second in again, resuming the movements between his thighs until they are both unraveling again.

He holds Dabi throughout the rest of the night, kissing his skin so sweetly, but in the morning, he wakes alone with the curtain torn down, blood crusted along his neck from the places that Shigaraki's teeth nicked his skin, and their fluids dry and tacky on his body. He sits up in the bed and cries for so many hours his seams are horribly swollen and he has to go to Natsuo for fresh medicine. Thankfully, his brother thinks that he's such a wreck because the dragon king must have done something horrible to him, and Dabi doesn't have to tell him that even in the cold light of day, he can't take how the soreness in his body is leaving him warm with the remembrance of how good he had felt in the soft dark of night.

///

Once Shigaraki has had him for the first time, he doesn't hesitate to take him again. He has him spread open on their bed, his head between his legs as he shows him how dexterous his tongue can be, teaching Dabi how to move his so that when he has him on his knees for the first time, in the throne room as he conducts court, he isn't embarrassing himself as badly as he might otherwise, as he gets more familiar with his master's cocks and the position of being his good pet. Tomura has him bent over, a pillow beneath his hips that he absolutely ruins with his cum as his master shows him that his body is pliant enough to take both of his cocks deep inside of him, and that he can be pumped so full of his mate's cum that he feels it start to distend his lower stomach.

It has been around a year of being taken nearly every night in so many positions that Dabi marvels at how human, demon, and draconic kind have ever been able to get anything done when they seem bound and determined to use every second of their lives to find new ways of fornicating, before he comes back from a walk around the grounds and finds their bedchambers have been modified. He is used to Tomura changing things here and there. Sometimes it is for his own benefit, putting a custom made desk in this room so that he can sit and do paperwork as Dabi is curled up on the soft mattress beneath it where he is expected to warm his cocks until he deigns to have more. The window seat and reading nook that he had built into one of the windows, replacing the frame as well to give Dabi more light and a cozy place to read or sun himself like a cat whenever he chose to, was a modification he never asked for and one he refused to use for six months out of sheer stubbornness. But when he had finally let himself enjoy the things that his master offered him, he realized that Tomura was always looking for ways to make this bargain something that Dabi might come to someday... enjoy rather than leaving him only grappling with the absence of his magical influence when they were apart. The dragon may not have claimed him through a proper courtship, and certainly not in anything that Dabi would describe as good circumstances, but he can't help but notice that the things he has chosen to give him in the aftermath do feel an awful lot like the things that Fuyumi said that the ladies of the court often talked about receiving from their husbands if their marriage was arranged and they were unable to meet the man before the day of the wedding itself. Husbands who tried to play catch-up as they truly attempted to make their new brides happy even though they hadn't had the opportunity to be sure they would be pleased with the match beforehand. He was not happy to say that the way the dragon always perked up when he would seek out his company or use the things that he brought him had started to warm him to the monster even when they were apart and his magic wasn't so thick in his mind. But Shigaraki wants him, he has made that very clear, and he wants Dabi to at the very least be content in the new world that he has found himself in. So when he gets back to the room and sees that the silks draped above their bed have been removed and that there is a large... mirror in place above the bed, and doesn't know how he might have ever implied that would be something he would want, he has to assume that this modification is for the king instead. He's certain he'll learn about the purpose of it later, and that is encouragement enough to go to the bath.

Shigaraki is sharp everywhere. The soft, smooth scales that litter his body are only soft in one direction, and movement against the grain can chafe and cut. Only the last two inches of his tail are unspiked and can be pushed inside of him, and his fingers are tipped in sharp black claws that have a vein inside and bleed and hurt badly if he tries to cut them, though he does attempt to keep them blunt enough that he doesn't rend Dabi's flesh completely when they are tangled together in their sheets. Even the edge of his wings can cut the skin like a razor if touched carelessly. So Dabi has discovered that warm baths and working his own fingers inside of himself to loosen his muscles, or wearing the heavy plug that keeps his insides stretched, can be the best way to ensure that they are both comfortable and enthralled with their pleasure the whole time if his mate wants to have both of his cocks in him at the same time. Dabi isn't certain that he will tonight, but if he's already gotten something special prepared, then he decides that he too would like to make his own preparations.

His body warms with anticipation as he brings his fingers inside of himself as he relaxes in the hot water of the bath, four inside of him and his lower lip between his teeth as his prick aches. He is allowed any pleasures that he wants when he is tangled with his mate's body, but he isn't allowed to cum alone, so his prick strains and reddens, but he doesn't dare touch himself there as he readies his body. He isn't sure if Tomura has some enchantment on the door that tells him that Dabi has returned to their room, or if he was so eager for whatever he has planned that he simply couldn't wait to have Dabi as soon as he could get him. But he has four fingers inside of himself when Tomura comes into the bathroom and his wings flair, his tail flicking, the sharp pupils of his eyes rounding out considerably like a cat that has spotted a patch of its favorite grass when he finds him in the tub. Dabi's body was already warming, but that look, the presence of his master, it has him moaning softly as he feels his mind wrapped in that velvet darkness again that takes away any twinge of nervous anticipation that he had before.

"Oh, my love," those words are becoming more frequent the longer that this goes on, and Dabi, with the curtain or without, still doesn't know what to make of them. He just knows that Tomura no longer calls him a ghost because Dabi doesn't feel like the walking dead in or outside of his sheets anymore. "You have trained yourself so perfectly for me." He praises as he comes over to the tub. Dabi was already feeling so good, but with the softness of his mind now, he has to fight the urge to push his fingers in deeper and stroke the place inside of him that makes his whole body burn when his orgasm crashes through him. But Tomura comes right up to the edge of the tub and leans down. Dabi takes his fingers from his body, instead wrapping his arms around Tomura's neck as he captures him in a kiss that is already heavy with hunger, before he reaches into the water and lifts Dabi out, not caring at all as the water sloughs from his skin and drenches him and their floor.

He is still kissing him as he takes him to their bed, letting Dabi soak the sheets too as he is set down before Tomura reaches for the clasps that keep his armor and clothes in place. The fabric smacks against the floor as it slips from his body and Dabi starts to scoot back on the bed, meaning to lean against the pillows and push his fingers back inside as he sees his lover's slit is already parting with his arousal and he's certain that he will be made far more satisfyingly full in a short while. But Tomura clicks his tongue as he climbs into the bed with him, his wings flaring out behind him.

"Not like that today, pet." He purrs and then Dabi hears a snapping sound that had terrified him the first time it rang against his ears. Now he can't help how his breath catches in his throat as Tomura uses his tail to tilt his chin up so he can watch as his lover's wings spread and click, the joints sinking back inside of themselves and the skin of his back opening to accept them as he takes them back inside of his body. Dabi is breathless, and he thinks that he might have been disgusted at one point, as he watches the dragon's body perform feats of magic so mundane to it, but so fantastical to him. He used to be able to command fire so hot that it burned as brightly as the sky on a sunny day, but this is something that Tomura is capable of with the same matter-of-factness as breathing.

When his wings have been put away, already a rarity in their bed when Dabi has learned that rubbing along the points where they connect to his back can bring his lover to orgasm as surely as Dabi's body can be if Tomura wraps his lips around his nipples until they're sore and swollen for days, before he shifts. Dabi is made to kneel to the side as he lays down, careless of the damp on the bed, the length of his body on display to him like this and reflected in the mirror. Dabi's body only heats further, expecting that he will be lowering his head to his cocks as they emerge and getting to stretch his jaw until his staples pull, but he's stopped again when he starts to move.

"Come here, sapphire."

Dabi's cheeks heat, but he moves anyway. It had taken barely a year before Tomura had started calling him that, saying that he was 'the jewel of his kingdom' and making sure that everyone knew it. But he moves, taking the coaxing until he is trembling with his nervousness and embarrassment as he is perched over the other. He doesn't often end up on top of him, but he knows from the few times that he has, that this is one of the positions that make his already thick cocks feel even bigger and reach even more deeply inside of him than they already do.

"That's it, precious." He says so sweetly as he steadies him with his hands on his hips. "When I have you with me in bed like this, how do you feel?"

"Good, master," he says immediately, the evidence of that plain from how he hasn't softened at all since his master walked in on him in the bath. Every one of his master's touches, even the ones that sometimes draw blood, always leave his body feeling so good.

Tomura reaches up with one hand, cupping his cheek against his palm and stroking along the seam against his cheek. "And what about when I'm gone, love? How do you feel then?"

Dabi's lips pull into a soft frown. He knows he feels other things when the curtain isn't soft and warm around his mind. But when that is in place he doesn't have the words to even say what it is. "... I don't know, master."

The smile that he gets from Tomura now is... different from the other ones that he's grown so accustomed to. It makes something squirm in his stomach that is softened by the darkness. "I want you to." He says, his hand so gentle on his cheek. "So I brought this mirror from my collection. It will let you see both parts of yourself, love. I want you to see how beautiful you are when you're broken with pleasure, precious. I want you to know, and then, if you decide that it isn't something you can keep, then I will take it away again."

Dabi doesn't know if he understands completely, but he knows that his master only ever does things to make him happy. He will take this strangeness if it means that he is going to feel good again, and he wants to when his lover's body is right there and his own is so ready for him. "... Okay, master."

That smile is still puzzling to him, but he leans up so that he can catch Dabi's lips in a slow, hot kiss that has him moaning so quickly. His hands start to move along his body, over his chest, down the planes of his stomach, along his thighs as he spreads them open wider before he coaxes Dabi's hips against his. It makes him breathless when he's allowed to rub his prick through the slick that is dripping from Tomura's sheath as his cocks start to press out. It's such an indulgence to let him rut like this as though he might ever know the way a warm, wet cunt could feel, as his lover lets him chase sharp pleasure of his own as his body warms for him. He is left moaning and trembling more though when his cocks are both out and Tomura reaches for them, taking all three in his palm as best he can and stroking them. He's soaking from the fluids of his body, but Dabi is already dripping pre badly from how high he worked himself up in the tub and every moan that comes out of him as he ruts into the touch like he's nothing but a needy, misbehaving pet only makes his pleasure creep higher.

Tomura is definitely bound and determined to spoil him today because he keeps working his hand over their cocks until Dabi can't help it, and he's spilling against their skin as he's allowed to move at whatever pace feels good for him. He's still shaking from how good his orgasm feels when Tomura lets go, leaning up so that he can press kisses along his collarbone, up his neck, and over his panting mouth as he gets Dabi's legs spread and braced on the bed at either side of his lover's hips. He has him put his hands behind him, balancing his weight on the bed so his hips can be angled forward and his head can loll back so he can look at himself in the mirror.

It's like the thick velvet curtain has turned into the same see-through black fabric of his cape. He can see himself in the mirror. Can see through to the emotions that he would have if he weren't separated from then by that veil of magic. The sex still feels good. He has stopped denying that truth long ago. But seeing himself, his face hazy and his pupils blown from how deeply the lust has reached inside of his mind, he knows that this is different. Knows that the him in the mirror, the him without Tomura around, would never be anything but humiliated to find his body made such a needy receptacle for pleasure. But it is the him that is always with Tomura, the him who is hazy, trusting, loved, who follows his master's guiding hands and angles his hips the way he wants. It's that him who asks the reflection why they have to be resentful or scared still when this all feels so, so good.

Dabi throws his head back and hopes his reflection is watching as he moans so loudly as he lets himself start to sink down on their lover's cocks. He doesn't need to take them one at a time now, not when he was prepared for two. He prepared himself for two before Tomura came to find him. That him that is behind the veil now knows as well as he does that he is made to bring them both this pleasure. So why should he try to shy away from it now? He doesn't want to. He wants to feel good. He wants to look up at the mirror not to find echoes of emotions that don't matter to him now, but to enjoy the sight of his body stretching open for his lover. He just wants to be breathless with his pleasure as his spent cock begs to fill again as he sinks lower and lower until he is flush with his master's pelvis and his whole body is thrumming with pleasure.

"That's it, little one," Tomura purrs, his tail swishing against the sheets and his hands helping to keep Dabi steady as his walls pulse from the stretch that they're being made to endure fresh. "So beautiful, all lost in your lust." He means every word. Tomura's eyes on him, his praise, his adoration that he gives to him so freely no matter where they are in the castle, has made Dabi more than a mistake that didn't have the good grace to die. He made him desirable, beautiful, exalted. Tomura put the curtain up in his mind so that he could fall in love with the way he could make his body feel, fall in love with the softness that he can give as freely as he gives punishments and cruelty to those who have earned them, without his fear and resentment holding so much sway in his mind. He gave him kindnesses unheard of from a conquering king as he lets his siblings live their lives, as their citizens thrive under his new rule, as he asked him to try to just open his heart and mind to the possibility of being... happy. Not just in his ownership, but for the first time in his life since he burned. Tomura gave him so many opportunities, and he recognizes the mirror as another one. An offer to take away the curtain and let him be completely and wholly himself.

He thinks it's the him beyond the veil that is the one who starts to cry, but he turns that ache in his chest sweeter as he rocks down, his muscles already shaking as he brings himself along his lover's cocks. He is the one who is moaning as his whole body is soaked with heat as he is filled even more deeply as Tomura starts to move with him, rocking up into him so that he can reach even deeper inside. It makes pleasure rocket up his spine, leaving tears dripping off his cheeks and his mouth hanging open around the sounds that spill from his lips. How could he still have a part of him inside that resents this? He would let his lover chain him to the bed and leave it for nothing but bathing if he had his choice. After a life denied pleasure, after a decade alone and in pain just hoping that he would somehow get to have a life that was passable at best, he is being given this. He should be thanking Tomura every day until he's cut his tongue open on his teeth for how grateful he is to be able to live like this now. He watches their bodies move in the mirror and feels the softness of the veil and through that pleasure he does find a twinge of resentment. Not for Tomura, but for the trepidation that he can still hold beyond it. He shifts, bringing his weight more fully over his lover as he fumbles to reach for a glass that is set on their nightstand.

It's only because his mate knows him so well that he sits up, still helping him to move his cocks inside of him, as Dabi throws the glass at the ceiling. Tomura's wings are around them before it impacts the mirror and has glass raining down over their bodies, every shard shattering further and bouncing harmlessly off of Tomura's wings as it does. And then the world of his mind is soft and dark again. Dabi is fully in Tomura's arms, fully pressed as closely together as their bodies can be, and he manages to say the words that he has been denying have been sitting in his chest for weeks now.

It's his hands on his lover's cheeks, his strength pulling their lips together as he sobs, "I love you, I love you, I love you."

But it's Tomura's purrs that make his entire body rattle as he flicks a hand to banish the glass from their bed before he has him on his back, fucking his body so much harder and deeper than Dabi could manage in the previous position. He's the one who always makes him feel so good that Dabi is scared that he might come apart at the seams if he is forced to sustain such wonderful sensations for too long. He keeps pulling at his lover, trying to get him even closer, not wanting to part their lips, but having to between moans and sobs and both of their words as Tomura reassures him,

"My mate, my sapphire, my love. Mine, from now until the end of days. Not even death will part you from my side."

Dabi didn't know that he could fall apart so many times in one night, but it takes the heavy blackness of exhaustion washing over his eyes to actually make him stop trying to get more kisses and sweet touches against his skin.

///

It has been five years since the rule of the Todoroki line has come to an end. Fuyumi has been a teacher for three now, Natsuo is still learning how to administer medicine to a people so imbued with magic, and Shoto is receiving warrior training from the draconic armies, halfway through a proper courtship with one of his classmates, leaving him with a draconic mate of his own. Dabi is the king's prized pet. People bow to him when he passes them in the halls, and he knows all the business of the kingdom and is allowed to offer his master counsel whenever he sees fit. He is a ghost no longer, and the curtain in his mind is so soft, a robe around him now rather than a curtain that separates who he was before Tomura entered his life. He knows the hatred that he started with, knows the disgust, revulsion, and fear, but his mind is not so rigid anymore. He fantasized for years what his world would be like once Shoto ruled instead of their father, now he knows that reality could not have made him feel so whole and complete as he does at his mate's side.

Dabi has spent his morning in the library, reading about all of the places beyond their kingdom now that things are stable enough Tomura has started to consider taking him to tour the large stretch of land that he has claimed for himself, even if it was in his father's name. Dabi wants to leave the castle, he wants to see what the world looks like beyond this place, but he doesn't want to embarrass himself by fumbling his way through foreign cultures. So he does as he always has and studies. But he didn't think that his master would be back in their room so early in the afternoon, his day usually focused on maintaining his control and conversing using magical looking glasses to the various outposts along his territory. Sometimes he takes his full draconic form and goes flying, though he stopped asking Dabi if he would like to go after the first time left him so sick he was bedridden for days, both his mate and brother tutting over his fragility the entire time.

"Master," he can't help the warmth that comes to his voice. Four years has made the sharpness of that word fade. He is a pet, but he is beloved. Tomura took him as a mate upon having one conversation with him rather than any of the dozens of suitors that he could have had instead. He still chooses to have only him as a mate even though so many of his father's generals choose to take many instead. Tomura will only ever have him, until the end of time.

Tomura smiles at him and that is so warm, so welcoming, that it puts an ache behind his ribs. Dabi doesn't know if it is magic or not, but he kept thinking that perhaps someday he might not feel his heart ache like a tender bruise whenever he was blessed with his mate's company. But the love in his chest will not be quelled or softened with time, it seems, it will only grow stronger.

"Did you have a good time?" He asks, always wanting to know that he has found ways of entertaining himself if they cannot be together throughout the day.

"Yes, master," but he doesn't care about his reading at this moment. His mate had to leave him early this morning and only arrived back at their room late last night when Dabi had already gone to sleep. He's become so spoiled for pleasure that his body is already growing warm as he moves across the room to immediately make himself at home in his lover's lap.

Tomura chuckles at the display, but makes no real protest, "It's nearly lunch, aren't you hungry, pet?"

"Only for you." He will be ravenous after if he has his master all of the ways that his body craves now, but he will sate that need after his more urgent ones have been as well. "I missed your kisses against my skin." He says, his cheeks growing warmer as he confesses his neediness.

"And I missed every inch of your sweet skin, my love." Tomura leans closer, nuzzling their noses together. "I'll just have to satisfy myself by tasting every inch of you today, I suppose." He punctuates the words by hooking his legs around his waist and putting his hands on the backs of Dabi's thighs, standing easily with him held in his arms like he weighs nothing at all. Dabi can't purr like his lover can, but he would right now if he were capable of it as he is carried over to the bed. Their sheets are soft and black now too because Tomura likes to make him cum until he is past coherence before having him count the streaks of white on the sheets so he can see how completely he has been ruined. It makes the velvet darkness of his mind manifest in a way that only serves to bring Dabi more pleasure aching through him. It's a darkness inside that is so much warmer than the isolation he had before his mate, and one that he will never allow himself to resent having now, not when he can choose each time he is with Tomura, to sink deeper into his dark embrace.

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#shigadabi #my writing

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builtbybrokenbells · 1 year ago

Text

CAPITAL VICES | WRATH

Wrath: a strong anger and/or hate towards another person.

Masterlist

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!reader

Word Count: 21k (oops)

Warnings: PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS AS THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS VERY HEAVY THEMES—SMUT 18+, unprotected sex, hate sex, rough sex, fingering (f!receiving), masturbation (f!receiving), touch of voyeurism, choking, praise, degradation, dom/sub, sir kink, choking, touch of impact play, name calling, bratty sub, ANGST, very toxic themes, intentional jealousy, jealousy/possessiveness, very descriptive scenes of anger, gaslighting/manipulative behaviour/phrases, fighting, crying, mentions of physical violence, yelling, belittling oneself and others, self destructive behaviour, self-hatred, mentions of abusive relationships, mentions of cheating, mentions of grief/parent loss, mentions of breakups/breakups, depression, anxiety, mentions of addiction/drug use, mentions of blood/bleeding, swearing, drinking, so sorry if i miss any!

here it is, the long awaited chapter. wrath has been a chapter I’ve been looking forward to since the very beginning, so from the bottom of my heart, thank you for helping me get this far. as always, enjoy, be kind, and don’t mind any grammar mistakes (lightly edited) 😘

Heartbreak is such a cruel word, always insinuating that the very thing that breathes life into your body has been shattered and destroyed beyond repair. Heartbreak is violent, it is isolating, and it is gruesome. It is also something you never once believed you would let yourself feel again, and for years, you had done so well adhering to your own rules.

Love in itself is a funny thing; such a powerful emotion that is not only widely felt, but almost always ends in catastrophe. You were not one for love, and you had known that ever since you found yourself sitting in a bleak beige office across from a divorce lawyer at the young age of 22. Before that, when you cried ugly tears over a hospital bed while holding the sick, frail hand of your once mighty father, the notion began to rise in your mind. You could distinctly remember looking across the room, catching sight of your mothers grief-stricken eyes, and even then you could not begin to comprehend falling in love only to lose someone so tragically.

It always seemed like a curse to you, rather than a blessing; you watched too many relationships fail and leave disaster in its wake, too many people never recover from heartbreak greater than this lifetime, and too many people watch their greatest loves succumb to sickness before their very eyes. You could not position yourself in such a powerless situation, nor could you choke down the pain that came after it. The idea of giving yourself completely to another was not something you were keen on, nor ever wanted for yourself, especially after doing it once and receiving nothing but sorrow in return.

A lifetime of loneliness seemed better than decades of pain, because if you were going to suffer, you thought it best to do it on your own accord.

It’s not like you were isolated; perhaps your heart always craved a little more, but never enough for you to throw your morals in the garbage. Company came in all forms, as did fulfillment. You found solace in friends, family and colleagues. Your life was full of love, even if it was not in the way that is most expected of a person. You knew how to feel it, how to appreciate another in a selfless show of emotion, but never in romance. Casual sex was your forte, and it bridged the gap between your fear of committing and the human urge for connection. It was something you did well at, never lingering for too long and cutting things off before becoming too invested. As of recent, you seemed to stray away from that lifestyle, too, as you began to understand that one wrong move left you in a position that was uncomfortable and complicated. You adored your peace, and you loved your personal space, and if that meant keeping everyone else out, you were willing to sacrifice fulfillment on behalf of happiness.

Your friends and family thought you were insane for lacking the desire to settle down and start a family, that you would rather live alone instead of make space for another. They couldn’t understand you, nor could you understand them. You were two sides of the same coin, and it was always best to leave the discussion of love under the table. Your mother had another daughter to give her grandchildren, and even if she did not, you could not take that burden upon yourself just to make her happy. With time, she had grown much more understanding, and you knew that the more the years went on, the more she would be able to comprehend your feelings on the matter.

You were committed to your job, and your lifestyle. You loved drinking at the bar, and you loved to have fun in every aspect of the word. You liked to laugh, to do things that left impactful memories, and you didn’t want anything to get in the way of that. You did a good job of keeping life simple, and you were confident in your ability to maintain your integrity in the process.

Five years of that lifestyle had made you a professional of sorts. Then, Jacob fucking Kiszka walked into your life and ruined the whole damn thing.

With his pretty eyes and his devilishly beautiful face, he had charmed his way into your bed. With his witty humor and compelling aura, he’d managed to convince you to be his friend. With his sweet words and gentle smile, he’d easily become your favorite person in the whole world, and not long after that, you realized that you had fallen for him beyond any doubt. You were in love with him in the most sincere and honest way, and you loved him enough that you could not manage distance yourself from him, even if you so badly wanted to.

But, he was a man, and beyond the surface, they were all the same. It took one night for him to shatter the comfortability the two of you created, and it took one night to destroy the heart that he had a helping hand in repairing.

You wished you could say that at the sight of his lips locked with another woman and his tongue down her throat, you vowed to be the bigger person. You wanted to walk away, to forget he ever existed and move on with your life. You intended to stitch your wounds in silence, and flourish in seclusion. When you stepped back out into the real world, maybe he could catch a glimpse of you and realize all that he’d lost by being so immature. You wanted it so badly, and you did not crave to involve yourself in his childish behavior. When you left the bar the night he found himself wrapped around another girl, you promised yourself that you would never see him again, nor would try to hurt him the same way he hurt you. You wanted to move on, to take the loss and be better for it.

You had quickly come to learn that promising something and following through are two very different things.

The first night, you cried yourself to sleep. When you woke the next day, the pain was still abundant and relentless. You drank a bottle of wine while playing the saddest songs you knew on the piano, but not even that seemed to help. After that, you did all you could to ignore the hurt in your heart, hoping that if you did not submit to it, it would leave you alone. Food sickened you, and no matter where you situated yourself in your home to try and lessen the memory, it only seemed to hurt worse. His presence clung to every surface. It lived in the fabric of your couch, and the soft cotton of your bedsheets. It was sitting at your kitchen table, and even in the shower, too.

Even if you notice something in a room is missing, the memory of the loss ensures that it will remain indefinitely.

By the third day, you had become so angry that you could not even recognize yourself in the mirror. All of the hurt you were holding back was unbearable, bubbling to the surface with a vengeance. It was upset about being ignored and begging to be heard, disguising itself as anger to showcase its unhappiness with your unwillingness to acknowledge it. You were irritable, your patience thin and bordering non-existence. You cancelled your upcoming clients with a promise to reschedule, and you went to the gym excessively in hopes that the ache of your muscles would cover the sound of the ever-increasing pain in your heart.

You knew you were too far gone when one day, instead of walking away in frustration when your fork had fallen to the floor while trying to heat up old takeout remaining in your fridge, with little care, you had thrown the plate in its entirety to the ground, too. You watched as the porcelain shattered and the food scattered across the floor, no horror or regret in your body. Instead, you only felt emptiness at the sight of the mess you’d made. You took a step over it, ignoring it until you had the energy to clean it, and crawled into your bed in a mess of tears.

Thats when it finally started; all of the hurt turned your maturity into childish rage. You were angry with everything, and you were so full of sorrow that it made it difficult to breathe.

Wrath was just around the corner, and you were too far gone to stop it before it started.

An idea blossomed in your mind amidst the chaos, and at first, you denounced it as quickly as it appeared. It was immature, irrational, and would only open the door for even more trouble. But, as you raised a whiskey glass to your lips with a shaking hand in the darkness of your living room on a boring Wednesday night, you could not refute the temptation. You wanted to hurt Jake the same way he hurt you. You wanted to make him suffer just like you did, crying in his brothers arms while he occupied himself with the prettier, more convenient option.

It was a shot in the dark, and it would only work if he felt the same for you as you did for him. In the last few days, you had been seriously debating whether or not he did. He seemed to move on so easily, making you wonder if he was just playing a long game with you or if you’d hurt him bad enough that he knew no other way to cope with his own breaking heart. Then, you remembered his hands on her, and his lips on her, and it sickened you to the core. It made you feel like he really did want the cop out option, or that he wanted someone who was easier and much less broken. He wanted less baggage, less commitment, and with you, he could not have that. You had long passed simplicity, and outgrown casual. He didn’t want you, and you needed to choke down the fact if you ever had a chance at recovery.

But, with the slim chance that he did care for you the same and he was just being immature about his hurt, you knew you had to act if you were ever going to get the justice you so desperately craved. Revenge is a dangerous game, but you had already gambled your life when you offered your heart to him.

After losing so many times, the prospect of winning became all the more appealing. You would gamble your last breath to finally have the upper hand on him.

So on a warm Saturday evening, you found yourself holed up in your bathroom with a curling iron running through your hair. Your lips were painted red to match the skimpy dress that hugged your body, and your eyes were dark with eyeshadow and dramatic eyeliner. You had put on your best perfume, which just so happened to be the one Jake had claimed as his favourite. As you finished up your hair, you sprayed a thin layer of hairspray so it would stay in place. Just as you did so, a knock sounded on your front door. You went to greet your company with a fake smile on your lips and less than genuine enthusiasm. As you opened the door, a nervous flutter in your stomach reminded you that your idea could end catastrophically.

Behind the door was a familiar face, handsome and smiling as his eyes landed on you. But, his beauty was nowhere near Jake’s, and his smile was nice, but not even close to the breathtaking nature of his. A few days prior, you had scrolled through your Facebook friends in search of a suitable candidate to take on a date. When your eyes landed upon a name of a friend you had lost contact with after high school, you thought it would be a great opportunity to catch up while also using him for your ugly ulterior motives. You reached out, and he responded instantly, thus making your work so much less tiresome. Within a day he was flirting, and within two, you had plans for dinner at an expensive restaurant nearby Jake’s apartment complex. He had picked the spot, and the location just happened to relate with your plans.

“Hello, beautiful.”

“Hi,” you continued forcing the smile, hoping that by the time you settled down to eat, the false nature you held in your heart would settle into comfortability. “Come in for a second, I’m just finishing up.” You stepped aside, allowing him entry. His eyes scanned your walls, taking in the decoration, but he didn’t study it for too long before his stare landed back on your chest.

‘Classy.’ You held back an eye roll as you made a mental note of his lack of maturity. Then again, who were you to judge him when you were only going on the date to piss someone else off? He followed as you walked to your bedroom to grab your purse. ‘Perfect.’ You smiled to yourself, your eyes catching the large mirror displayed in front of your bed. You grabbed your purse and looked over at him, noticing that his eyes were still glued on your body.

“A picture before we go?” You asked, nodding towards the mirror. “Wouldn’t want to forget how good we look.”

“Of course.” He agreed, smiling as he took a step towards you.

You grabbed your phone from the bed, pulling up the camera as he positioned himself behind you. His hand landed just above your hip, his fingertips resting near your stomach as his palm cupped around your side. His seemingly expensive watch was displayed perfectly in the frame, making you wonder if he was also using you as a showpiece for his own personal gain. You turned your head towards him, looking upwards at his face. He was considerably taller than you were, so he had to look down to meet your gaze. You gave him a smile, which he returned with little hesitation. You rested your hand just below his and you raised your phone to your chest, centring it between you two and pointing it at the mirror. You snapped a few pictures, looking down at the screen to check if they were sufficient enough to post.

“We look good together,” he noted, his hand still lingering on you.

“We do.” You agreed, biting back a smirk.

‘Don’t get used to it.’ You thought, heaving a little sigh.

“Ready?” He asked. You gave him a nod, slipping on a pair of heels you’d placed by your bed. Without any further conversation, the two of you went to the front door and walked out. You locked it behind you while he started towards his car, opening the passenger door for you. You settled into the seat, noticing the overwhelming scent of cologne still lingering in the air. It was nice, but not nearly as delicious as the one Jake wore so often. You had to stop comparing the two; yes, you were intending to piss Jake off, but you did not want to be stuck in a constant state of wanting him anymore. As much as you were using the boy to make Jake angry, you were also hoping that when the night was through, you would no longer be stuck on him the same way you had been for the last week.

“I’m really glad you agreed to go out with me.” He said, backing out of your driveway and pulling you from your thoughts. “I’m really glad you reached out at all, actually:”

“I am too,” you smiled “it’s going to be really nice to catch up. I haven’t seen you since… well, high school.” You chuckled.

“Yeah,” he nodded, starting the short drive to the restaurant he’d made reservations at. “If I’m being completely honest, I always had a crush on you back then. Guess I was always too scared to say anything.” You tried your best to hold back a grimace at his words. After spending so many months with someone who was all but shy about his feelings, cowardice seemed to turn you off. If Jake were the one sitting in the drivers seat, he already would have told you how badly he wanted to take your clothes off (only after praising your beauty, of course). Now faced with someone who was nearly shaking at the thought of calling you pretty, you missed the blunt nature of his words more than anything.

“Well, I was a bit preoccupied, anyway.” You tried to ease the tension, regretting bringing up your ex the moment the words left your tongue.

“Yeah, that’s true. He was a dick, and I’m glad you got away from him.” He said, turning onto the highway without another word. Your stomach churned at the thought of him, and there was a rush of fear that flooded you. It had been so long since you had associated with someone who knew your ex husband, and you had forgotten how peaceful it was to be around people who did not know he existed. “You look stunning, by the way.” He wanted to change the subject, realizing that talking about your ex while on a date may not have been the best idea.

“Thank you.” You gave a soft smile, looking from him to the phone sitting in your lap. It was time for phase two of your devilish plan. “You look good too.” You said as you picked up your phone. You unlocked the screen, scrolling through the pictures you’d taken moments before and carefully choosing the one where you looked the best. You edited the lighting slightly on your camera app to make it look even better before opening Snapchat. You chose the picture from your camera roll, picking a heart sticker and shrinking it down so it just fit over his face. You hit the ‘post to story’ button, biting down on the inside of your lip as anxiety began to plague you.

Within seconds, the picture was uploaded. Before you even looked away from the screen, you could see that someone had viewed the image. You had your doubts that he’d seen it so quickly, but there was an incessant nagging in the back of your mind to check and see, just in case. You loaded the story, swiping up to see the view list, and sure enough, Jake’s contact was the only name on the page.

‘Let the game begin.’ You thought, unable to hold back the smirk as you locked your phone again.

“So what have you been up to, Scott?” You asked, turning your attention back to the boy behind the wheel. You could feel your phone vibrating against your leg, but you did not care enough to check it just yet.

“I went away for school for a while, then decided to come back home when I finished. My parents had a hard time with me living so far away, and I guess I did, too.”

“That’s sweet.” You smiled, trying not to notice the prickle of sadness that filled your heart when he spoke of his parents. “What are you doing for work?”

“I’m an accountant at my dad’s law firm, now.” You almost forgot he came from money, nodding along as he inadvertently told you all about his generational wealth. You had no idea how it slipped your mind as you were sat in this years newest Audi model, and the Rolex on his wrist was blinding you every time the street lights pooled in through the windows. “I don’t think I need to ask you, though. You’re one of the most popular photographers in the city, now.”

“Some would say that.” You chuckled. “Not sure if I would agree.”

“I would.” He cut you off, not willing to take argument on the fact. “Your work is really good.”

“Thank you.” You felt your cheeks redden at the sentiment. For a moment, you let the guilt get the best of you. You almost asked him to turn around and take you home, needing to confess to your sins and repent for the fact you were only using him for your own benefit. Then, the moment passed as soon as it came. You did not need to tell him and risk hurting his feelings more; you just had to sit through the night and make civil conversation, and maybe share a kiss or two. The thought wasn’t terrible, even if you’d rather be kissing someone else. When you parted ways at the end of the night, you would thank him for the fun. In the morning, you could tell him a half-truth and confess that it wouldn’t work, and you weren’t ready for a commitment like you previously thought.

That would solve it all, right?

You hadn’t thought it all through yet, and you could admit to that. But, you were good at thinking on your feet, and you were certain you would be able to get yourself out of the mess you were making.

“I remember in high school, you would always walk around with that big clunky camera from the yearbook committee. You took pictures of everything, all of the time.” He chuckled. You were only slightly embarrassed at the memory, but you chose not to respond. “I thought it was cute, and I think it’s really cool you’re still doing that. You have to do what makes you happy, right?” He glanced over at you, his dark hair offsetting the paleness of his skin.

He was incredibly attractive, and you could not deny that. His skin was soft, smooth and inviting. A small, slutty part of you wanted to reach out and touch him, but you refused to allow yourself the pleasure. His hair was soft, shaved down on the back of his head and faded perfectly into the longer hair on top. It was black, and looked perfectly silky, tempting you to run your fingers through it. His smile lit up his whole face, the upturn of the corners of his lips (which were soft and pink, the sight alone sending a flutter to your stomach) made dimples appear on his slightly blushed skin and crinkles form by his eyes. His arms underneath the suit jacket seemed strong, and the veiny hands that gripped the steering wheel aided the assumption.

The suit he had on was perfectly tailored to his body, probably with the funds lining his wallet from his fathers law firm. For a second, you forgot why you had asked him out, focused only on his blinding beauty.

Maybe he was exactly what you needed to forget about Jake, and you wondered if should use that to your advantage. His hands seemed like a perfect distraction, and his mouth seemed even better. A single night didn’t seem so bad, and the longer you thought about it, the harder it was to ignore the ache growing between your legs.

But, your anxiety got the best of you yet again. You feared you would end up in an even messier situation than the one you were in already; in love with someone and in bed with another who seemed overly enamoured with you. A love triangle was not what you needed, but it seemed like you had opened the door for it amidst your struggle to feel better. Then, your mind soured when you realized that Jake had likely fallen into bed with the girl from the bar. For all you knew, she might be with him right now, laying in his bed and giggling at his jokes. The thought sickened you, and you looked back at your company for the night.

Whatever happened was meant to happen, you deducted. You would not encourage anything, but who were you to stop it if the opportunity arose?

“You have to do what makes you happy.” You agreed, shooting him your first genuine smile of the night.

What would make you happy, you had no idea.

Surely not by having meaningless sex with a boy you’d seen for the first time in nearly a decade, especially after having such meaningful sex with Jake for so long. You were confused, and you were hurting. Your internal debate was chipping away at your psyche, but you looked too good and you were too committed to the bit to back out now.

When he pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant, relief flooded you as you realized you wouldn’t have to continue on the conversation of happiness and how to find it. Before the two of you made your way inside, you felt your phone vibrating intensely on your lap, signalling an incoming call. You rolled your eyes, glancing down at it just long enough to see Jake’s name on your screen.

You sent the call to voicemail, looking quickly over the text messages that had been filtering in non-stop since you had uploaded the incriminating picture.

😈

Who the fuck is that?

😈

That text was immediately followed by a phone call, and when that went unanswered, he tried again.

😈

Answer your fucking phone y/n

It seems as though your plan was working fantastically, and against his better judgement, he had broken the radio silence without a second thought. The next step was simple, but probably the most effective one yet; you clicked on the notification bars, bringing yourself into the chat so the read receipt would show under his last texts. Then, you turned your phone on do not disturb and slipped it in your purse.

Jake hated being ignored, and you knew if he had such a volatile reaction to the picture itself, this would surely send him straight to insanity.

‘Checkmate.’ You thought to yourself, biting back a cocky smirk.

You did not think your plan through nearly enough, and disaster was looming overhead, just out of sight.

“Ready to head in?” You asked, shaking off the nervous jitters in your hands.

“Yeah,” he nodded, opening his car door. Before you could even unbuckle your seatbelt, he had walked to your side of the vehicle and opened your door for you. He extended a hand to you, which you accepted with a smile. He helped you out of the car, and once you were steady on your feet, he slipped an arm around your waist. You tried to ignore the flutter in your belly as he secured his hand to your hip and pulled you closer to him.

The two of you advanced towards the entrance. You stood back while he checked in for the reservation, and within moments, you were being lead to a table on the quieter side of the building. When you sat down, the romance in the room was immediately overwhelming. There was tea light candles lit around the table, and a large centrepiece with flowers and fairy lights sat directly in the middle of the table clothed with a white cloth. Menues were sat in front of you, and the waiter assured you he would be back in a moment to take your drink orders.

“Have you ever been here before?” He asked, looking at you over the top of his menu.

“No, actually.” You shook your head, catching his gaze. Your heart leapt to your throat, finding yourself lost in the dark brown of his irises. Then, your eyes trailed downwards, noticing a flash of toned muscle from underneath his collared shirt. He noticed your reaction, smiling at your intrigue. He had a gold chain clasped around his neck, accentuating the columns of his neck that lead down into his collarbones.

He was stunning, and in another world, you thought you might even pursue him further.

“It’s my first time, too. I’ve heard good things, though.”

“Yeah, apparently it’s the best in town.” You gave a nervous laugh, focused on his hand resting comfortably on the table. You thought it would look much better decorating your thigh.

“What do you want from this, y/n?” He asked, genuine intrigue plaguing him. You tried to swallow your anxiety as you formulated an answer. “You can be honest.”

“When I reached out, I definitely wasn’t expecting anything like this.” You said, truthful in your response. You had hoped, but you definitely did not expect it to go to plan so quickly. “I’m a busy woman, and usually I don’t do this. I was hoping to catch up, but I don’t know how committed I can be to anything serious.”

“I respect that.” He nodded, placing his menu down on the table again. “If I’m being honest, I just went through a pretty rough breakup. I may have jumped a little too quickly.” Your sigh of relief was audible, and quite heavy in the room.

“Me too.” You admitted, the confession weighing on your shoulders. It was the first time you had referred to what you and Jake had as a breakup, but it felt right. What you had was much closer to a relationship than anything else, even if it was not what you wanted to call it. You did not need to divulge into the details of the real reason you agreed to go on a date with him. You felt it would be too harsh.

“So we’re here as friends, and we’ll see how the night goes?” He offered, not seeming too upset about the conclusion. You stared at him for a moment longer, a smirk breaking out on your lips.

“You can say you want sex, Scott. We’re adults, we can be honest.” His cheeks heated at your words, but a smile did form on his face. “I would be lying if I said the thought hadn’t crossed my mind.” He seemed to relax in his seat, now comfortable knowing that he need not worry about impressing you as much.

“Okay,” he chuckled. “A friendly dinner with the intent of sex. No promise of anything more after that.”

“I like that better.” You grinned, also feeling the anxious feeling subside at the agreement. The two of you had drawn a line that both of you were happy with. “So your last girlfriend…?” You asked, treading the topic carefully.

“Yeah,” he laughed, nodding as you asked. “We were together for a while. Three years or so. Couple months ago, I came home and she was gone. All of her shit was packed up and when I called to check on her, went straight to voicemail. Never heard from her again.”

“Oh, wow.” You breathed, your eyes widening slightly. “I’m sorry, honey. People are the worst.” He shrugged, looking to the side as the waiter approached the table again. He ordered a bottle of wine, waiting until he walked away to speak again.

“Shit happens. Sometimes you just have to take it as it comes.” He explained, not feeling any need to go any further into it. “And I’m assuming your boyfriend was no better?”

“No,” you laughed, looking down at your manicured hands. “But I don’t think you could really call him my boyfriend, anyway. More like a guy who only showed up to make my life more complicated. I thought we were exclusive until we got into a fight, which I’ll admit was my fault. We made up when we ran into each other at the bar, then his date for the night showed up.” You gave a tight-lipped smile, the memory causing a bitterness to rise in your chest.

“People are the worst.” He reiterated your point, sending you sympathetic eyes.

“They are indeed.” You agreed.

“So am I on a revenge date?” He asked, picking up on your nervous stare. “It’s okay if I am. Either way, I’m still the one who gets to spend the evening with you.” He flashed you a breathtaking smile, showing his enthusiasm either way.

“When you put it like that, it makes me sound terrible.” You said, your cheeks burning red and incriminating you even further. You were terrible, and you deserved to be treated as such. Asking him on a date to piss someone else off was a horrible thing to do, and you never should have done it in the first place.

“Not if I support it.” He shrugged, thanking the waiter as he dropped off the bottle of wine and two glasses. He poured two for you both, sliding one in your direction. “Like I said, beautiful. I get to have dinner with you either way.” You reached for the glass, taking a long sip. Your red lipstick decorated the rim, claiming the beverage as your own. “Just friends is okay with me if you’d rather do that. I’m just happy to see you after all these years.”

“I’m happy to see you, too. You were always great company back then.”

“I told a joke or two every now and again.” He laughed, remembering his goofy stature and desire to be the class clown. You wished so badly that you could just get over yourself, to move on and enjoy the time you were spending with an old friend. You wanted to be done with Jake and lean across the table to kiss the incredibly attractive man who was smiling over at you, but you felt frozen in place. As nice as it was to be with Scott, and as much as you wished to purge Jake from your life, you could not seem to do it. The thought of kissing someone else nearly made you sick, which also brought you to the horrendous reality that it was so easy for Jake. He was not caught up on you the way you were with him, and you needed to understand that in order to get better.

“Do you remember when you super glued all of Mr. Barksdale’s stuff to his desk?” You giggled, recalling the memory fondly as you searched for a subject to change the conversation up.

“How could I forget? He turned as red as the dress you’re wearing.” He let out another laugh, this one genuine straight from his belly. You could not help but join, finding the sound incredibly infectious. “He was so mad at me, I thought I was going to get expelled.”

“We all did. He hated you.” You grinned, wiping tears from your eyes that formed while amidst the laughing fit.

“Let’s be honest, most of the teachers did. I was a little shit.” He said, leaning back in his chair to calm himself down. Once he recovered, he took a long sip from his own wine. “One time, I took all of the free condoms from the guidance counsellers office and put one on every door handle in the building.”

“Oh god, that was you?!” You exclaimed, causing him to let out another belly-laugh. The happiness floating in the air was real, and you did not need to fake the joy written all over your face. It was the first time in days you had genuinely smiled, and weeks since you’d laughed like you were in that moment. It was freeing, and it helped you realize that there was life after Jake Kiszka, just the same as there was before.

“It was.” He nodded, wiping away his own tears.

“I had to wash my hands every time I opened a door for like a week!” You blamed him, but you knew it was due to the lack of janitors employed at the public schools. “And they never bothered to replace the free condoms, either.”

“You went looking for those a lot?” He teased, still trying to rid himself of the fit of giggles.

“It was way more convenient than buying them!” You plead your case, not really caring about the joke at your expense.

“Right,” he nodded, exhaling a long sigh after gaining his composure. “You see? I’m always down for a little mischief. Plus, if you’re using me to make someone jealous, I kind of take that as a compliment. Means you think I’m cute.”

“I always thought you were cute,” you rolled your eyes. “Funny and rich? How could I not?”

“So shallow,” he let out a disaproving tsk, but he did not seemed bothered by your comment. “I think that being friends would be nice right now. Who knows, maybe in the future, it’ll work out in our favour?” He offered. “If not, I’ll still be happy to have you as a friend again. If I remember correctly, you were a fierce little sidekick to have, and a pretty good wing-woman.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Your voice was shrill, surprised at such a statement.

“Oh, come on!” He rolled his eyes. “You were the first to tell someone off if they deserved it. Remember Alex Kiser, that little asshole on the football team?”

“Of course I do.” You scoffed.

“He seemed pretty intent on making my life hell for years, and then one day when we were in the library, you got up in his face and said everything that you had on your mind. He left crying, and I don’t think he ever bothered me again.” Your cheeks burned at the memory, not realizing that your gall had been so memorable that it stuck with him that long after it happened. “And junior prom! You helped me make the poster to ask Rachel Miller, only after you talked me up for months when you sat with her in History class.” You finished your wine as he spoke, trying to hide the blush on your cheeks. When you sat your glass down, he refilled it for you.

“Okay, okay.” You groaned, hiding your face in your hands to save yourself the extra embarrassment. You hated thinking about your antics in high school.

“What I mean is, you were a great friend back then, and I’d be lucky to have you as a friend, now.” He said, reaching over the table and placing a gentle hand on your arm. You peeked at him through the cracks of your fingers, the blush still lingering on your skin. After a few seconds, his hand trailed up to meet one of yours. He locked a finger around your own and gently pulled your hand away from your face.

“Thank you, Scott.” You mumbled, averting your gaze to the white tablecloth. His eyes were too pretty to keep watching, and you feared that with another few sips of wine, you would end up making an even worse decision for yourself. “Friends would be very nice. I haven’t had many as of late. I think when I left Seth, I cut off everyone. Wanted to start over, and I did.”

“We can do friends, y/n. I’d love to be friends, actually.” He promised, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “With a little jealousy on the side, of course.”

“Right, how could I forget.” You chuckled.

“Is it the type of revenge that makes him regret everything, or the kind that makes him angry enough to show up here tonight? Cause I can play both parts. I make for a phenomenal actor.”

“Oh yeah? You take up Drama Club in university?” You raised an eyebrow.

“No, but I did have to pretend to be interested in Macroeconomics for three whole months, and I promise you it was not easy.”

“You poor thing.” You smirked, your fake sympathy completely apparent.

“So what is it, sunshine? I’ll put on a good show.”

“Both, I think. I’m not sure what I want yet, or if it’ll even do anything.” You shrugged. “He seemed quite uninterested at the bar that night.”

“Have you checked your phone yet?”

“Not since we came in here.” You admitted, not shy of the fact you had been completely immersed in his company. You pulled it from your purse, turning on the screen to see if he had tried to message you again. Your eyes nearly popped out of your head at the amount of notifications piling on the screen.

“Seems like it’s working.” He smiled. “You think another picture will do him in?”

“I think it might give him a heart attack,” You muttered, letting your eyes wander over the few words you could read from the notifications. He was pissed, and in some strange way, it made you feel good. “Let’s do it.” You said, unlocking the screen and ignoring everything Jake had to say about your night out on the town. You opened your camera again, looking around the table while thinking of the best course of action.

“If you’re looking for a movie-style blowout, I suggest putting the menus in the picture.” He offered.

“You’re a genius.”

“Evil genius,” he corrected, positioning both menus under your hands that were already intertwined. Without moving too much, he moved the wine bottle so it was in clear view of the camera too. “My only stipulation is that we have to go for lunch soon, just so you can tell me how it went.”

“Are you playing wingman, now?” You questioned. He gave a sheepish smile and a shrug of his shoulders.

“I was kind of hoping that you might let me have the pictures too, so maybe I could do the same.” He explained. “Not to get her back, but I know me going on a date with an absolute smokeshow would definitely piss her off.”

“Of course.” You laughed at the universe, finding it perfectly comedic that the two of you would be going through such similar things. Hand in hand, you snapped a few pictures of the sight while ensuring the restaurant name was easily recognizable. You fixed up the image, adjusting the brightness and contrast before opening Instagram and uploading it to your story. Once it posted successfully, you shoved your phone back in your purse.

“Now we wait.” He said, almost excited for what was to come next. He’d loved attention, and he was always ready to be the star of the show.

“What if he hits you?” You said, finally realizing how poorly the night could go.

“I can take it,” he promised, no real fear over a fight. “So what’s he like, anyway? He must be something special to have you so enamoured with him.” A sad smile crossed your lips as you thought of a good answer, unsure of exactly how to word it.

“He is.” You muttered. “I gave up on dating and romance, and when I met him, I still felt that way. But after a while of spending every day together and doing things that I’ve never done with anyone else, it started to feel normal. It was more strange when he wasn’t around. I fell without even realizing it, and I was in way too deep before I could even admit it to myself. He turned my world upside down, and he made me feel things I never thought I would feel again, but he took it away too, and I don’t know how to move on from it. I don’t know what to do, or how to act, or anything.” You sighed, suddenly realizing all of the incriminating things you’d said. You looked up, plagued with guilt for talking about another man so intensely while on a date, but he was only smiling at your words.

“You can’t let that go, y/n.” He said, catching your eye to show his sincerity. “After everything you’ve been through, you deserve the love you always should have been given.”

“Stop,” you waved him off, overwhelmed with the profound statement.

“Does he make you happy?” He asked.

“Yeah,”

“Do you want to make it work?” You had to think about it, but eventually you gave a nod.

“I think I do, but I don’t know how.”

“If he feels the same, you’ll figure it out.” He promised, taking another sip of wine.

“Do you want me to pay for the wine? I feel terrible about how this turned out.” You laughed.

“Of course not,” he scoffed. “I’m having a fantastic time. You can buy lunch when you catch me up on all of the details.”

“Sounds like a deal.” You grinned, happy that he was so understanding. Before you had the chance to speak again, your attention was grabbed by a loud voice booming over the sound of soft classical music and low chatter. It sounded once, and you thought you might be able to ignore it. You couldn’t make out what it was saying, and it did not seem like the disturbance would continue. You took another sip from your wine, finishing off the second glass before you tried to continue the conversation.

As the bottom of the glass touched down on the table, your gaze shifted to the newest excitement in the room. Your stomach dropped and your eyes grew wide. You couldn’t find the words to communicate with Scott, so instead you gave his leg a gentle kick under the table to warn him of the fact that Jake had indeed cracked the code, and was pissed off enough to show up and get the answers he so desperately needed. Before your date could even catch on to what you were trying to tell him, Jake was close enough that his cologne was suffocating you and you could see his chest heaving with anger.

“Get up.” He ordered before he even stopped in front of the table.

“Jake, what the-“

“Get the fuck up, y/n. We’re going home.”

“You can’t just show up and tell me to leave.” You scoffed, still trying to digest the fact that he was in front of you. Part of you thought that the picture might push him too far, but a bigger one believed that he did not care enough about you to let it bother him that much. Now that he was in front of you, clearly dressed to impress you and outshine your date (or, his new-found enemy, rather), you could not seem to grasp the fact that after everything, he still wanted you. He sat up at night thinking about you, wondering if things would ever get better. He tossed and turned, hating that his bed still smelled like your shampoo, and he sat by his phone every minute of the day waiting for you to reach out. He wanted you just as much as you wanted him, but for some reason, it was too surreal for you to accept it.

“I’m not asking.” He made that point abundantly clear.

“Hey, man, I don’t mean-“

“I’m not fucking talking to you, am I?” Jake’s head turned sharply towards Scott, an abundance of anger pooling in his eyes. If Scott cared for his own safety, you hoped that he would heed the warning.

“Fuck off, Jake.” Although you had poked the bear, you were having a hard time finding any sympathetic feelings for his distress. You knew that he might show up, but it did not change your naturally strong personality. You lived to fight with him on every stance he took, and now seemed no different. His harsh approach and cocky tone were pissing you off more by the minute.

‘Who does he think he is? Showing up after days of no contact, demanding I go with him? What a-‘

“I’m not going to say it again,” Jake spoke, cutting your thoughts short. “Get up, go outside, and get in the car.” His dangerously low voice sent a shiver down your spine. “I promise that you do not want me to have to repeat myself.” He caught your eye, the look familiar and more chilling than it ever was before. It made your thighs squeeze together instinctively, the need for friction on your aching core more dire than anything else you were feeling in that moment. You had no fear that he would hurt you, but you knew that once the two of you were alone, punishment would be due. If you survived the horrific aftermath of the fire that was blazing in both of your hearts, of course.

“Maybe she’d cooperate if you weren’t talking to her like a fucking dog.” Scott cut in, finding Jake’s tone too strong for his liking. He was not battling for your affection, but he did not care for the way he was speaking to you. He stood, ready to get between the two of you, but Jake turned on his heels so fast that it made your head spin. Scott was easily a head taller than Jake, but despite the physical difference, Jake was holding all of the power.

“You don’t get to talk to me about her, ever.” He took a step closer, fuming at the thought of your name on his lips. His finger was pointed at him, pushing into his chest further with each word he spoke. For a moment you feared that he might strangle him, realizing the look in his eye was far more dangerous than you’d ever seen before. You stepped towards Jake, placing a delicate hand on his shaking arm. At your touch, he immediately relaxed and lowered his hand.

“Let’s go.” You said, pushing Jake towards the door. After a moment of a staring contest between the two, Jake allowed you to nudge him in the right direction. As you walked behind him, ensuring he wouldn’t turn around, you turned your head back to look at Scott, sending him an apologetic stare. He raised an eyebrow, silently asking if you were okay. You gave a nod alongside a subtle wink, which he returned after he was certain you were okay.

When you managed to get Jake to the front door, the strength in which you were holding his arm increased in an angry fashion. In the parking lot, you felt the need for damage control flee you, and your own pent up rage began to surface. “What the fuck was that about?” You let go of his arm with a little more force than intended, pushing him forward slightly as your hand disconnected from him.

“Who the fuck was that, y/n?” He said, turning around to face you with the same fire burning in his eyes. “And why the hell are you on a date with him?”

“I think you lost all rights to ask me that.” You warned, scowling at his forward questions. “Who I spend time with is none of your business anymore, and neither is my dating life.”

“None of my business?” He hissed, stepping towards you as he spoke. A cloud of wrath was forming around the two of you, locking you in and locking the rest of the world out. There was no escaping it even if you wanted to. “You are my business. If you’re safe, if you’re happy, all of it, whether you like it or not!”

“Oh, yeah, because you’re so concerned whether I’m fucking happy or not!” You exploded, throwing your hands out and landing your palms flat on his chest. In a sudden burst of emotion, you pushed him backwards, causing him to stumble. “It sure meant a whole lot to you when you were practically fucking that ditzy blonde in a booth in my bar!” He was stunned at your words and the strength in which you delivered them. “You don’t get to show up here and ruin my night and then pretend you fucking care, because you don’t and you never have!” You pointed a finger at him, uncaring of the grand show of emotion in the middle of the parking lot. “You apologize and tell me how much I mean to you, you have sex with me in the bathroom because you can’t wait until we get home, and then you make out with someone else in front of me all night!” Your voice cracked with tears, all of the hurt you’d been feeling pouring out at once. “Did you just say all that so you could fuck me? Or so you could leave it on good terms while you left for someone better?”

“Y/n-“ he warned, stepping forward again.

“Shut the fuck up and let me talk!” You begged, tears pooling in your eyes. “Was that all I was to you after all? Sex and somewhere to sleep for the night? Were you just keeping me around so you didn’t have to be alone while you looked for something else? Someone with less baggage, someone who’s easier to deal with than I am?” He reached up, grabbing your wrist tightly in his hand while his eyes warned you to back down.

“Get in the car.” He said, his voice as quiet as a whisper, but as impactful as a punch.

“I don’t want to go home with you, Jake! I just want to know the fucking truth, and then I never have to see you again!” His grip only tightened as you spoke.

“Get in the car, and I will answer your ridiculous fucking questions.” He tried again, keeping his cool because he knew that you were hurting much more than he was. The wine was clouding your mind, making your chest ache more than it ever had, and allowing you to make a fool of yourself in the public parking lot. “We will talk about this once I get you home safe. I’m not letting you get in a cab like this, and I need to know that you’re going to be okay.”

“Stop pretending that you care!” You tried to shake out of his grip, but he was much stronger than you. The longer he continued the act, the worse your heart hurt. You were confused, tipsy, and more than anything, heartbroken. You could not allow yourself to believe that he cared this much, and every time you let yourself second guess your doubt, the picture of him kissing the blonde at the bar plagued your mind.

“I’m not pretending!” He finally reached his limit, yelling back at you with just as much force. “I would never lie to you about that. If you know me at all, you’d know how much you fucking mean to me!” His voice cracked too, but he did better than you at covering it up. “Now get in the car, and then you can yell at me, and you can hit me, and you can scream all you want.” He was not willing to negotiate; his eyes were heavy with anger and his expression was stony. With a huff, you pushed past him, but you did as he asked and you climbed into the passenger seat of his car.

You slammed the door behind you, tossing your purse on the floor as you crossed your arms over your chest quite like a child amidst a temper tantrum. He got in the drivers side, closing his door with the same force as he shoved the keys in the ignition. Within seconds, he was pulling out of the parking spot and began driving down the streets to bring you home. You kept your mouth shut despite wanting to fill the stale air with cruel words and harsh insults. As he drove, you tapped your foot against the ground to pass the seconds until you were home.

You had not thought your plan all the way through; you wanted to hurt him, to piss him off and make him feel all the same ways you did at the bar that night. When talking with Scott, the prospect of making Jake angry enough to show up at the restaurant was intriguing, and definitely thrilling. Once the adrenaline wore off and you were left alone with the rotten feeling that had been steadily growing in your heart, you realized you did not want to see Jake at all. Having him in front of you reminded you of all of the feelings you were trying to bury, and seeing his face only made you fall in love with him even further. You were so angry with him that it made your head spin, but you cared about him so deeply that you were sickened at the thought.

Love itself is a funny thing after all, for not even the devil himself could understand it.

Jake's knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel, unable to hide the intensity of his emotions. When you allowed yourself to peek at him from the passenger side, you could not help but feel enamored with his face, even if wrath was wrapping itself around every feature that he had.

It almost drove you crazy, the seriousness etched into his stature. The downturn of his lips, leaving just the ghost of his earlier scowl would be off putting to some others, but you found beauty even in the midst of his pain. The furrow of his eyebrows was minimal, but you were drawn into the tiny wrinkles it left on his tanned skin. His eyes were black with anger, and he was almost unrecognizable.

To anyone untouched by the devil, the man before you would strike fear. To you, submerged and nearly buried underneath the sin, his wrath was like a drug. You could feel it seeping under your skin, igniting every nerve with flames and striking the match for your own. The devil within you fed off of his wicked heart, and his own evil did the same with yours. Between you was empty space, stale air that did not even hold a whisper of relief from the deafening silence. From nothing grew an unholy feeling. There was no room in the vehicle for anything lesser; the euphemisms and illusions you had previously drawn about his lack of morality no longer fit the narrative. Satan himself sat beside you, horns growing rapidly and his skin blistering red. You could not fear him, because when you turned to look out the window, you noticed your reflection and saw the pitchfork in your own hand as your eyes turned black as night.

The sin had finally caught up, and not even a priest could excise the demons from the two of you. Salvation was no longer an option, and the only thing left to do was face the devil within yourselves. The seventh, and the deadliest capital vice was begging to be heard. It was bleeding you both dry, the wrath so abundant that it was replacing all of the blood coursing through your veins with its own ferocious fury. Wrath was sewn into your skin, tying knots around your lips and blinding you with rage. It was wrapped around your neck, choking you and laughing as you begged for air. The two of you had done so much damage that you had turned yourselves into the personification of evil itself.

Walking away was the safest option, but after a lifetime of running, staying was the only thing the two of you wanted to do.

How pitiful to learn the lesson only after it manifested itself to be lethal.

“You’ve got nothing to say, now? Only want to fight with me if we can cause a scene?” He asked, flipping on the turn signal with nearly enough force to break it clean from the car.

“As if you need any help getting attention.” You rolled your eyes, muttering it to yourself. “As if I’m the one who fucking caused the scene in the first place.” You said the second part louder, stronger so he could hear the disdain in your voice.

“Like you weren’t trying to start something by posting those pictures.” He growled, the memory striking him particularly unpleasantly. The thought of another man’s hands on you was enough to drive him to violence. “Sorry, I forgot that I always have to be the bad guy.” He added, his grip tightening even further on the wheel as he turned off the highway.

“Would you fucking quit with the pity party?” You exploded, finally turning towards him. “Do you really think that you’re innocent? From what I understand, exclusivity doesn’t mean very much to you. If it did, you wouldn’t have been finger-fucking your side piece at the bar while I had to sit and watch!” The obscenity of your words didn’t even phase you, your anger so flaming that you were willing to say anything to get under his skin. “Or is it only okay when you do it, Jacob? You can fuck whoever you want, but I have to sit there and stay loyal to someone who doesn’t fuck about me! I’ve done that once before, but you’re not nearly special enough for me to want to do it again!”

“You didn’t stay and let me explain myself! I was only with her because I didn’t know how else to get your attention! You make me fall in love with you, and then you push me away. Then you tell me you care about me, and you walk away!” He brought his hand back, slamming it back down on the wheel with an intensity that made your head spin. “If you weren’t so fucking stubborn, maybe we would have went home together instead!”

At the sound of the guilty confession, your world came crashing down around you.

Your worst fear had been spoken into existence, and you weren’t sure if you could survive the grief plaguing you.

“Yeah, it’s all my fault Jake.” You nodded, attempting to blink away the tears that were falling faster than you could comprehend. “It’s my fault that you broke the only promise I ever asked you to keep, and it’s my fault that I didn’t tell you I loved you after I explicitly told you that I don’t do that, and it’s my fucking fault that instead of being an adult about it and talking about your feelings, you buried your dick in another girl!” You slammed your fist against his dashboard, your emotions piling up so high that a physical release was the only way to calm them down. “It’s all my fault, and I’m just the fucking worst! God forbid you take some accountability for your own stupidity!” Your hand slammed down again with every point you made, the ache spreading up the entirety of your arm. For a moment he feared you might set off the airbag with the strength you were using to hit the dash.

As you retracted your hand from the scene of the crime, he pulled into your driveway. You rubbed your knuckles, soothing the ache in your bones until the car rolled to a stop. As soon as it did, you were unbuckling your seatbelt and opening the door. You grabbed your purse as you stepped outside, slamming the door before he could try to stop you. But, he was fast, and he was not willing to let you lock him out. He shut the car off and was hot on your trail before you even made it to the front steps. You fumbled with your keys as you tried to unlock your door, and when you finally saw the inside of your house, relief flooded you. You stepped inside, moving quickly to try and keep him out, but his hand collided with the door as you tried to shut it in his face.

“Take a fucking hint, asshole.” You spat, pushing against him.

“I’m not done talking!” He argued, barely straining as he rivaled your strength.

“I am!” You cried, begging him to understand. “I’m done talking, I’m done fighting, I’m done, Jake! I can’t fucking do this anymore!”

“I’m not letting you go, y/n.” He said, calmer than he was moments before. “I’m not letting you walk away again. I won’t walk away again.”

“Stop it!” You exploded, dropping your arm from the door in a moment of pure weakness. You were too distracted by the moment to remember your vow to keep him locked out. His words were too much, and it made all of the strength flee you and the pain grow larger. More than anything, it made your already poor judgment cloud even more. “Stop doing that, Jake! Stop hurting me and then telling me you care. Stop trying to be what we both know you aren’t!”

“What, y/n?” He scowled, his jaw clenched so tightly you feared he might pop a blood vessel. “Say it! Say the word! Stop being so fucking afraid of it!”

“You’re not my fucking boyfriend!” You yelled, reaching your breaking point. With that, he pushed the door open and stepped towards you. He reached out, landing one hand on your hip while the other one cupped your cheek. He kicked the door shut with a force as he leaned forward, capturing you in a kiss. The change in pace made you weak in the knees, but his advance was not unwelcome. The anger that was so evident in his features had been causing a mess between your legs since you first laid eyes in him.

The kiss was messy, both of you still fighting for control. He continued walking, keeping a firm grip on your hip so you didn’t lose your balance. You stepped in time with him, letting him lead you wherever he pleased. When your ass landed roughly against the lip of your kitchen counter, your stomach began to twist into knots. He pulled back, his chest heaving with the remnants of anger and now, desire.

“You’re right, angel. I’m not your fucking boyfriend.” He said, his expression completely foreign. It was like a stranger was standing before you, but it was not making you fearful; you were aching to know this version of him, and you wanted to know him as intimately as the situation would allow. He seemed like a man gone mad, all humanity gone from his eye and sex being the only thing that held any value to him.

For once, sex was finally the only thing the two of you were concerned about. No love, no respect, and not even any kind of affection. It was purely primal, and comfort was the last thing he had in mind.

But even more so than that, sex was the only way the two of you knew how to communicate, and he was using it to his advantage.

“I’m not even your friend.” He said, his eyes dark with lust. “I’m just sex to you, yeah?” His fingers were burning into your hip, leaving trails of blistering fire on your skin as they wandered to your thigh, settling just under the hem of your dress. “That’s all I’m good for, right sweetheart?” He moved his hips towards you slightly, but with force, causing your ass to press further into the marble countertop. You let out a gasp of pain, the sting radiating deep into the muscle as the solid surface settled in at a bruising angle.

“Y-yes.” You thought you could keep up the act, but his eyes intently focused on your own were sending you into a downward spiral of love for him. He was the whole world, and you were just living in it. You couldn’t lie enough to cover the fact, even if every word you spoke for the rest of your life was laced with dishonesty.

“I’m just something to help you get off,” he continued, his hand slipping under the fabric of your dress. “To fantasize about when your fingers are playing with that tight little cunt?”

“Yep,” you said, more confidently than the last time.

“Good to know,” he growled, pulling at the fabric of your dress until he heard the seams pop. You were so enthralled in his performance that you could not even find the will to care. “Now I can fuck you like a whore, and I don’t have to feel bad about it.” With that, he gave another hard tug and the stitching on one side of your dress came loose completely. It slumped from your body, falling around his hand in a pathetic heap. He let go of it, letting it fall to the floor without ever breaking eye contact. “If sex is all you want, I’ll fuck you just like you deserve.”

You wanted to fight with him; the anger was still bubbling under your skin and begging to be let out, but now that you were naked in front of him and his eyes showed unwavering dominance, you fell back into the roll with ease. He watched your face, not searching for discomfort, but obedience. This was not a debate, and you did not even pretend to hold any of the power. He slid his belt from the loops on his dress pants, folding it over on itself and gripping it tightly in his hand. Slowly, he placed the leather against your bare thigh, looking down as he slowly pulled it across your skin. The light tickle sent a shiver down your spine and you found yourself staring at his face, wondering what was running through his mind.

Had you pushed him too far?

Was he really stopping the whole conversation just to fuck you?

You were confused, and still incredibly hurt, but the arousal pooling between your legs was undeniable. There was so much that needed to be discussed, but the longer the minutes dragged on, the less you cared about working it out.

He reached out with both hands, his grip holding on your hips. In one swift motion, he lifted you and placed you on the cold countertop. You jumped at the sudden chill that ran through you, but he did not comment, nor did he even seem to notice. With little warning, he snaked his hand between your legs and roughly pulled one to the side. His eyes were still focused on your cunt, his gaze never faltering. He didn’t want to look at your face; he didn’t want to see the contempt you held for him in your eyes, nor did he want to see the pain he caused any longer. He couldn’t look you in the eyes and face you like a man; he was angry, and hurt, but most of all, he could not forgive himself for how much he’d hurt you.

“You want to act like a whore, I’ll treat you like one, angel. Taking guys out on dates just to piss me off, posting pictures and ignoring me when I call…” he brought his hand to your heat, running his fingers through the wetness and spreading it to your clit. “If you wanted me to come over and fuck you, all you had to do was ask.” He said, his tone eerily calm. His middle finger tracing agonizingly slow circles around the sensitive nub, making your want to buck your hips forward into his hand for more. You needed him the same as the starving need food, but you were unwilling to sacrifice your dignity while showing him. “Or did you want to take him home? Have him between your legs like this, trying to make you feel as good as I can?”

You were faced with two options; tell the truth and fuel his ego, or lie and make him even angrier with you.

You were foolish to think that the devil would ever allow for the truth in your godless relationship.

“I did.” You replied, causing him to look up and finally meet your eye. The animalistic look was enough to drive you crazy, but you stayed put, pretending that the emotion in his eye did not phase you at all. “And I know he would’ve done it better than you can.” At that, his fingers stopped all movement. His grip tightened around the leather belt in his hand, tempted to use it, but knowing that it would not change your attitude. Instead, he gave you a smirk, fake but effective.

“You think he can fuck you like I can?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. You held back a frown when he moved his hand away from you, completely cutting off contact. “You think he can make you feel better than I can?”

“Yeah, I do.” Your false confidence was astonishing, and even you believed it yourself for a moment.

“Okay, angel.” He nodded, taking a step back from you. He reached down and grabbed your purse that fell to the floor, opening it and grabbing your phone from inside. He dropped the bag to the ground again and tossed the phone on the counter beside you. Your stomach twisted with anxiety, wondering what he was doing. “If you think he can do a better job, call him. I’ll go home, and he can finish what I started, but I’ll be waiting for you to text me, asking me to come back because he couldn’t fucking do it right.”

You were appalled at the thought, but not because of his cockiness. That was normal now, and not often did it phase you. You were sickened at the thought of having someone else do what you so badly wanted Jake to do. Hours ago, you had convinced yourself that hooking up with another guy would help ease your pain, but now that Jake was in front of you again, you could not stomach the idea of another man touching you the same way.

He watched your face, taking in your shocked expression. He was bluffing; he would not let anyone else touch you like this in a million years, and he definitely would not hand out the invitation himself. His hope was that you realized that he was what you wanted, and not the guy you went to dinner with. He knew you well enough to know that you would never do such a thing, which is why he was confident enough to offer the idea. When you didn’t respond, he let out a low chuckle.

“That’s what I thought.”

Damn him and his ability to see right through you.

“Now shut your fucking mouth and behave yourself.” He said, taking a step back even further. “Since I can’t do it right, you can get yourself off.”

“Jake-“ you protested, unhappy with his decision.

“I don’t want to hear another word. YouI’ll do as you’re told.” He cut you off, giving you a stern warning. His nostrils flared slightly with anger, and the muscles in his jaw were tense. You bit back a snarky comment, clearly upset by his ridiculous request, but you let your hand sink between your legs anyway. He moved back towards the counter opposite of you, leaning against it and crossing his arms over his chest while he watched you run your own fingers through your folds. He still had his belt clenched tightly in his hand, making sure it didn’t stray too far. You knew he was itching for a chance to use it, and you couldn’t deny your own desire to feel it across your skin. You could see the erection growing in his pants, tenting the zipper and straining the fabric. You wanted him more than you ever wanted anything in your life, and sitting there touching yourself while he was so accessible was equal to torture.

Then again, that was his intent; he did not want to please you like he was often eager to do. He was angry with you, and when you anger the devil, punishment is not only expected, but ensured.

“Like this, sir?” You taunted, slowly trailing your middle finger to your clit, tracing slow circles around it. You wanted praise, but he wasn’t generous enough to give it to you. Even more than that, you wanted to push him enough to make him do the job himself, rather than sit and watch. He did not respond, but his eyes were intently focused on your hand as you touched yourself. Beneath the rage still lingering in his gaze, there was a sense of longing for you. He was torturing you, but he was doing the same to himself by having to hold back.

Since the night at the bar, he hadn’t been able to get the thought of you out of his head. Worse yet, he couldn’t forget the feeling of being inside of you, your cunt clenching around him as you dissolved into a mess below him, desperate for an orgasm. Being near you was like getting a fix of a drug he’d been withdrawing from for weeks, and he wasn’t sure if he could handle watching you get yourself off. There was a small fear inside him that he might come undone at the sight of you in pleasure alone.

You anchored your arm on the counter behind you, holding your weight on the single limb as you leaned backwards, allowing him a better view of the show you were putting on. You added more pressure to your finger, feeling your breath hitch in your throat as a wave of relief washed over you. You kept your eyes on his face, only allowing yourself to look at his cock strained in his pants every so often, knowing that it would only make your neediness worse. His gaze was still locked on your hand, and his chest was deeply rising and falling with every breath he took to calm himself. He was irresistible, and you did not know if you could keep going without as much as his hand on you in support.

“Oh, fuck.” You gasped, feeling a pressure begin to build in your belly. It was nothing like how he could make you feel, but it was something, and that’s all that mattered. Progress, even if it was slight, meant that you were a little closer to him taking over for you.

“That’s it, sweetheart.” He unraveled his arms from across his chest, reaching down and adjusting himself in his pants to relieve some of the pressure. “Listening isn’t so hard, is it?”

“Fuck off,” you rolled your eyes, still working your way up to an orgasm.

“Watch it,” he warned, unhappy with your sharp tone. “You’re lucky I’m even letting you get yourself off.”

“Oh you’re so generous.” You scoffed, your hand still working at yourself. The angry banter seemed to be helping your search for a climax. “Jake the hero! He’s just so fantastic and everyone should bow down and kiss his feet! I’m so happy to do all the hard work for you, thank you so much.” You grumbled, trying to keep your words as nice as you could despite wanting to tear a strip off of him. You were still angry, even underneath all of the sexual tension, and you were a bomb waiting to explode. You feared that if he pushed you just a little too far, the night would come to an end without any sexual gratification at all.

“You’re going to start with me again?” He asked, raising an eyebrow as he stepped towards you.

“Can’t take it?” You asked, a bit breathless from the pleasure pulsing through you. Your cheeks were tinged red from the feeling, and from the anger still simmering from earlier. Your skin was sticky with sweat and you were growing more desperate by the second. The sight of your struggle made him smile, knowing how badly you wanted him to reach out and touch you.

Once he was within an arm's reach, he settled himself between your legs again as your fingers remained in a steady pace on your clit. Before you could speak again, he drew his arm back and brought the belt down on your thigh. You let out a hiss of pain, instinctively trying to shy away from him, but his hand shot to your hip to hold you in place. Once you calmed down from the initial shock, you relaxed into his hold, surprised that he hit you as hard as he did.

“One chance, Angel.”

“W-what?” You asked, distracted from the rapidly changing environment.

“Tell me what the fuck your problem is.” He said, looking down his nose at you. In that moment, you could see his humanity return to him again. He cared so much, but he was sick of scaring you away by loving you. This was his only way to get you to tell him what was wrong without you running away. He’d been waiting for the opportunity to come all night, and he wasn’t letting it pass him by. “Get it all out now, ‘cause once you cum, I get my turn.” You were dumbfounded, unsure of how to respond to his request.

“You want me to berate you while I get myself off?” You questioned. “That’s a little fucked up, even for you, no?” Your tone was airy even after you tried to maintain your composure. The pressure in your belly was unbearable, but you slowed your movements to allow yourself some time.

“I want you to get rid of that fucking attitude.” He corrected, grabbing your cheeks between his forefinger and his thumb. “Look at me and tell me what’s wrong. I want to hear all of it, and don’t you dare stop touching yourself.”

“All of it?” You clarified, hoping he was being serious and you weren’t trapping yourself. He gave one curt nod, showing you he meant what he said. You withdrew a long breath, gathering your thoughts before you began. “You’re a selfish, ignorant prick, Jake. You promised me that you wouldn’t fall in love and fuck this up, and then you did it anyway.” You huffed, finding your temper hard to keep up while looking into his eyes. “And when I told you I wasn’t ready, you played the victim and told me I was only good for sex. Why do you think I was scared of dating you, hmm?” You pressed, waiting for him to answer before you continued. When you were met with nothing but a harsh stare, you continued on, anyway. “Because I was fucking terrified of you lying, or believing you when you say all of that stuff just for you to change your fucking mind, and you proved me right!”

“Mhm,” he hummed, allowing you to continue.

“A-and… oh, fuck.” You groaned, your eyes fluttering closed for a moment as an intense wave of pleasure ran through you. “And I went to that bar that night to forget about you, but you showed up, and I cared about you enough to be the bigger person and apologize. I felt like I was taking a step in the right direction, and I was finally able to move past all of that fucking trauma and fear. I felt good, I was happy, and when we left that bathroom I was ready to take the next step.” You confessed, the words weighing heavily on the both of you. Your mind was hazy, and you weren’t sure if you would have said it all if you were in a proper state of mind. “Then I got to meet your date for the night, and it got me thinking that all men really are just the same. I wondered if it was me, if I was too much, or if there was too much baggage, or if I was too complicated for you to handle. I cried to your brother about you while you sat in that booth and made my worst fucking nightmare come true.”

“Keep going.” He encouraged, placing his belt on the counter and moving your hand out of way. It broke your focus, the sudden loss of contact devestating for you. Then, he moved his hand in place of your own, slowly pumping two fingers into you and letting his thumb drift over your clit. A moan broke from your chest, filling the air with desperation amidst the despair.

“S-so I left, and I promised I was done, but I can never just be done with you, can I?” You hissed, squeezing your eyes shut as the feeling in your belly grew stronger. “I decided to get back at you, so I took Scott on a date to try and forget about you. I taunted you with those pictures to make you feel the same way I did, but I worried it wouldn’t work because you don’t care about me the same way I care about you.” He let out a quiet noise, almost sounding astonished that you could believe such a thing, even while he was trying to make you feel good while you berated him. “Then you showed up, and for a second I believed I had it all wrong. You cared enough to be there, to come and find me and try to win me over, but then I was just mad. I’m not your property Jake, and I’m not your problem.” You had to stop, feeling yourself teetering on the edge as you spoke. You waited for a moment, focusing on not cumming so you could say all you needed to feel better.

“You don’t get to pick and choose when you love me, and you don’t get to decide when I’m ready for something. You don’t get to choose when I’m someone you love, or when I’m just good for sex. You don’t get to make me fall for you and then take another girl home with you!” You could feel tears rising in your eyes despite the pull of pleasure from his hand. You were surprised that you could speak so much emotion so clearly while he was working so intently at your cunt, but the emotional turmoil was much more pressing than the sexual tension. “You don’t get to tell me I mean something to you and throw it in the garbage. You don’t get to mean this much to me and also have the power to take it away.” He heard the quiver in your voice, and it nearly shattered his psyche.

“It’s okay, Angel.” He muttered. “You’re okay.” He promised, moving his fingers at a more precise angle. “Cum for me, beautiful.”

“Don’t do that, Jake.” You stopped him, hating how badly you loved hearing the sweet words. It was too much. He was too much. It was all too much for you, and you feared that you were crossing a line you would never be able to come back from.

“Get used to it.” He snapped, leaning forward so his forehead was resting on yours. He couldn’t handle your denial any longer; both of you felt the same way, even if you refused to admit to it. Love was surrounding you completely, and you knew it long before he took your clothes off. The only reason it hurt so bad was because you loved him so much, and if you did not care it would never have mattered. “I’m not going anywhere.” He said, a little softer but still harsh enough to offset the sweetness.

“F-fuck,” you gasped, stuttering over your own profanity. It was exactly what you wanted to hear from someone your entire life, that they were there for good and they wouldn’t leave your side, but somehow when it came from his lips in the way you’d always longed to hear, you could not allow yourself to believe it. The orgasm was right there, and you could no longer hold it back. You were slipping over the edge, and he wasn’t helping. His hold on your face softened, but his fingers were still burning into your skin, leaving a mark for the rest of eternity.

“That’s it,” he crooned, rocking his hips forward into nothing. He was so desperate for relief himself, but he wouldn’t allow it until he was sure you were satisfied. Your hand reached out for his arm, your fingers locking around your bicep as your other arm snaked around his neck, pulling him closer and holding him tightly, ensuring he could not slip away. “Doing so good for me, baby.”

Your muscles tensed and your legs shook with the intensity of the euphoria. No pain existed within your mind anymore; it was filled with thoughts of Jake, and the sweetness of his face and the warmth of his eyes. For once, the thoughts invading your mind had little to do with the sexual desire between you both, and everything to do with the yearning of your heart. The pleasure came from him being close, and the prospect of spending the rest of your life doing the same thing with him and only him.

You were too far gone, and there was no way you could surface from the experience the same as you were before you descended into it.

Love had blossomed, infiltrating every second of your day and every fibre of your being. It was so plentiful that it altered your DNA and changed your entire outlook on life. You were nothing but in love, and the moment was so beautiful that it almost sickened you.

When you came down, your mind was foggy and your eyes were begging to stay closed. You were exhausted, but he was only just getting started. As soon as you relaxed against him, you felt him remove his hand from your cheeks. He unbuttoned his pants, pulling them down along with his boxers just enough to free himself. He grabbed your hips with both hands, pulling you to the edge of the counter with a strength that made your head spin. He hiked your legs around his waist and let the tip of his cock rest on your entrance before going any further.

“I didn’t plan to fuck anything up, y/n.” He said, making sure you were listening. The softness he held seconds before was gone, now. It was his turn to air out his feelings, and he wasn’t going to miss the chance. “Falling for you was the last thing I wanted to do, because I knew it would leave us here. You don’t get to sit here and call me names, because you’re not a fucking saint, either.” With that, he slammed his hips forward, catching you completely off guard. You let out a yelp, his cock hitting your cervix and sending an addictive type of pain through your entire body. “You’re the most stubborn, self-assured, snarky woman I have ever met in my entire life.” He listed, clearly showcasing that your time to talk was over. “I hate it, but it’s so fucking addicting that I can’t stay away.” He growled, pulling your hips forward as he thrusted into you, making the impact all the more intense. “You don’t get to be angry with me for caring about you, because you’ve been doing all of the same things.”

“I get to be mad about whatever I want!” You argued, but he pulled you down on him again, cutting your thoughts off completely. The sound of skin on skin was too much to bear, and suddenly, you felt like he was wearing too much clothing. You reached your hand between the two of you, grabbing a handful of his shirt where the last few buttons were joined together. You gave a hard tug, and the buttons popped free from the threads holding them together. It didn’t even phase him for a second, and all he did was pull back for long enough to shake it from his arms.

“It’s my turn to talk.” He said, bringing his hand to your throat, his fingers locking around your neck like a gruesome decoration. He did not apply any pressure, but kept his grip there as a looming threat. “You broke my fucking heart, too.” At his words, your chest ached with a fervor you had never felt before. Hurting Jake was the last thing you wanted to do, and hearing him say it out loud broke you beyond recognition. “Do you really think that I took her home that night?” He asked, his hips still moving at a brutal pace. “That I even wanted to entertain that any further? That I even wanted to kiss her that night? You really think I would ever touch anyone else like this?”

“I… I don’t know.” You whined, your stomach twisting into knots at the pleasure he was granting you.

“You are the only thing that has ever mattered,” he huffed, looking down at your face, admiring the way your expression was telling him how good he was making you feel. “The only reason I invited her was to get your fucking attention, and I forgot she was even coming after I went to the bathroom with you.” You couldn’t respond, too immersed in the euphoria of being so close to him again. You did not realize how much you missed the feeling of him on your skin until he was touching you. “Then you walked away, like you always do, and I thought that was it. I thought I’d never see you again.” He was struggling to get the words out, but he continued on anyway.

“Then you post those pictures, posing like a fucking whore with some other guy to get under my skin?” He spat, his anger clear in his tone. You had hurt him perhaps even beyond how much he hurt you, and you could finally see it. You weren’t so blinded by your own pain that you could ignore his. You were both so blinded by pain that you had convinced yourselves that you hated each other. “You thought you were going to bring him back here and let him see you like this? That I would let you get away with it, let someone else put their hands on you?” He was growing more intense the longer he spoke, but it was so intoxicating that you did not realize how dangerous it was. “This is all for me, sweetheart. Don’t you ever think otherwise.” The possessive claim made you weak, and could not even voice how blissful the thought of being his forever was. His fingers tightened around your neck, finally beginning to cut off the blood flow to your head. “Did you think that he could even come close to me?”

“No, sir.” You rasped, his hand stopping most of the words, but you still managed to speak them so he knew the truth.

“He could never make you feel this good.” He spat. “Nobody could, Angel. You can lie and say that you don’t love me, but you can’t fucking lie to me about that.” His fingers constricted around your neck again, making your vision go blurry and your head feel light. Your entire body felt like it was floating, but you had no fear.

Just the same as it was the beginning, you knew that death at his hands would be the most pleasant experience of your entire existence.

Without warning, you descended into pleasure once more. You tried to withdraw a breath, but you could not get any air in. Your legs were locked around him, trembling with the intensity of the climax. You tried to reach an arm out to tap him, but you were so strung out in euphoria that you couldn’t summon the strength to do it. When you thought you might slip away into unconsciousness, his fingers loosened around your neck, never willing to push you too far. Even as angry as he was, your safety was the most important thing to him. Instead of the harsh grip he previously held, his fingers massaged against the sensitive skin as you filled your lungs with air. You coughed for a moment, sputtering on the oxygen that you’d been deprived of, and eventually your body relaxed from the stimulation. His hips were still moving, but you were nearly too fucked out to care.

Without any warning, he pulled out of you and slid you from the counter and onto your feet. You were completely at his disposal, but you had no fear that he would mistreat you. You trusted Jake completely, even if you didn’t want to. He spun you around, bending your top half over the counter and grabbing a fistful of your hair. Within seconds, his cock was back inside you and his hips were continuing their earlier page, this time with much more freedom.

“Tell me, sweetheart. I want to hear you say it.” He ordered. You felt a slight stutter in his movements, realizing that he wasn’t far behind you. He was holding on by a thread, and he was desperate to hear your praise, even if he would never admit it.

“Only you can make me feel this good, Jake.” You groaned, so exhausted that the words barely made it past your lips. “Nobody else could ever come close to you.”

“That’s it, baby.” He sighed, reaching around to the front of you and moving his hand between your legs. His fingers settled on your clit, now adding more stimulation to your already tired body. You tensed against him in response, your walls clenching around him and pulling him even further. “God, you’re so fucking tight. Take my cock so well.” Your knees went weak at the sound of his filthy words. “Give me one more, sweet girl. I know you can do it.”

“I can’t.” You shook your head against his hold on your hair. “I can’t do it.” You pleaded with him to see reason, but Jake had never been one to take no for an answer. You knew you could come again, but you feared that your body would not be able to handle it. Even as you doubted it, the pleasure was steadily rising again, begging you to let go and give in to the temptation.

“You can, and you will.” He barked, still feeling some residual anger coursing through him. The movements of his fingers sped, and if possible, became even more precise. Your whole body felt like it was on fire and he did not let up for a second to give you a break. He was pushing you to the brink of insanity, and he didn’t have a single regret about it.

“Fuck, Jake.” You cried, squeezing your eyes shut as an even more intense pleasure took over. You had surpassed any level of care, and you were practically screaming as obscenities fell from your lips, mixed delicately with his name. He coaxed you through the orgasm, muttering praise as he held you steady on your feet.

“That’s my girl.” He groaned, the sinful noises driving him even closer to the edge. Before you came down from the high, you could feel his hips stutter, his previous pace failing him as he descended into his own euphoria. His cock twitched inside of you, and he let out a slur of curses as he spilled his release into you. If it was even possible, the feeling of him filling you sent you into a whole other world of bliss. You tried to catch your breath as your body shook with the last few seconds of your orgasm, but your chest burned and your heartbeat pounded in your ears.

You had never felt like this in your entire life, and although it was fantastic, it was incredibly dangerous. You had finally sold your soul to the devil, and your repentance had only just begun. You feared that a lifetime of suffering would not be enough punishment for the nefarious acts the two of you committed.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” He breathed, slowly releasing his hold on your hair. You let your cheek gently fall against the countertop, the cool surface calming your burning skin almost immediately.

“Yeah,” you replied, keeping your eyes closed in hopes of regaining some energy again. He pulled out of you, but neither of you rushed to the bathroom to clean up. You could worry about the mess later; there were things more pressing than that, and dealing with the aftermath of your wrath was at the top of the list. When you felt strong enough to open your eyes, you pushed yourself up off the counter, feeling his hands softly running over the marks he’d left on your skin, destined to turn purple as a reminder of your sinful indulgences. You turned to look at him, leaning against the counter to keep yourself upright. He took a long look over your face, seeing the exhaustion written deep in your features. Underneath that, the pain was still lingering.

The two of you hoped that when you faced each other again, the burden of your mistakes would disappear and a new found peace would emerge from the rubble. Now, when you looked at him, it seemed like the pain was permanent and if anything, the suffering only grew stronger. He reached out, cupping your cheek in his hand, but not even the gentleness of his touch could satiate the raging hurt in your heart.

The damage was too plentiful, and you were certain that your relationship would never recover from the evil the two of you had turned to. The sin had caught up to you, and it was breaking you down further the longer you stood before him.

Again, the question remained unanswered; how much sin could you engage in until salvation is no longer an option?

“I’m sorry.” He muttered, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to your forehead. You wished that the feeling would take away all of the bad like it so often did before, but it only made your heart break even further. The longer his lips lingered on your skin, the more it made you want to cry. It wasn’t right, and it never would be. The two of you were disastrous together, and although the connection was undeniable, it was also lethal.

“I am, too.” You said, the quiver in your voice louder than any of the words you spoke. He pulled back, looking down at your face.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart.” He pleaded, unsure if he could handle the sight of you in tears again. “Let’s go get cleaned up, then we can talk.”

“Okay.” You nodded, knowing that the longer you waited to tell him the truth, the worse it would hurt for you both. Still, you let him guide you to the bathroom where the two of you tried (and failed) to wash away the sinful memories of the night.

You stood in front of the mirror, looking at the smudged mess of your makeup and the trails of mascara littlering your cheeks from the crying you had done. You did not recognize the person staring back at you, nor did you want to get to know her. She was empty, chilling when you looked into her eyes for too long. She was not the person you had worked so hard to become, and as you looked over your shoulder at Jake, you knew why.

His love was euphoric, but it was not good for you. It had changed your entire world, but it was not in any way positive. You were a stranger to yourself, and you saw the devil in your eyes, laughing at your own foolish ignorance. The things you had done for his love did not give you what you so badly wanted. Instead, it turned you cruel and vile, your motives twisted and hurting everyone in the crossfire. You wanted him so badly, but you knew you could not have him and maintain your peace at the same time. The two of you cared about each other so much that it was dangerous, and you could not risk everything you had worked so hard to attain.

Even as you came to your senses, you could not help but gaze at his face with a type of longing only felt in fiction. Your heart ached to be his, and your body craved to be in his arms. He was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen, but sometimes the most precious things can hurt you the most. Worse than that, the most beautiful things turn out to be rotten at the core. What you felt for him was so much stronger than anything you’d ever experienced, and in some ways, it was fantastic. What wasn’t fantastic was the things you were willing to do to keep him all to yourself. It was cruel and wicked, and you did not want the evil to take over your entire soul.

Even as you fought the idea, a small part of you knew that you were too far gone to be saved.

His arms reached out for you, landing on your arms as his fingers trailed over the smooth skin. He stepped towards you, placing a kiss on the top of your head as he reached for the pack of makeup wipes on beside the sink. He grabbed two from the package, and turned you to face him. Wordlessly, he wiped away the makeup staining your skin, but he could not work fast enough to rid you of the tears that did not want to stop falling.

You were already grieving him, and he wasn’t even out of sight yet.

You had always been fantastic at ruining a good thing before it ever happened.

“Is that better?” He asked, dabbing away the last bit of mascara on your cheeks. The coolness of the cloth soothed your skin, but it did not make you feel better at all. You weren’t sure that anything would.

“Yeah.” You lied, giving a weak nod against him. He discarded the used wipes in the trash, grabbing your hand and leading you out of the bathroom. He nudged you towards your bedroom, and you followed his guidance without complaint. Once you were in the safety of your room, he grabbed two of his shirts from the drawer of your dresser you had given him for his clothes.

The thought alone pained you, knowing that soon enough, it would go back to an empty compartment that served as a reminder of your own failures. You were not ready for Jake to become a stranger again after knowing him so well.

He tossed a shirt in your direction, which you caught and threw over your head. You would worry about returning his clothes to him another day, knowing that the pain was plentiful enough tonight. He changed into his own, comfier clothes and took a seat on the edge of your bed. He held his hand out to you, beckoning you to come and join him.

“I’m sorry I said all of that stuff.” You said, trying your best to sit away from him on the mattress, but gravity seemed to be pulling you towards him. “You’re not my boyfriend, but you are worth way more than sex. And you’re not selfish, either. If anything, I think that I am.” He was not your boyfriend, but you both desperately wished he was.

“It’s okay, angel.” He assured you, reaching for your hand and intertwining your fingers with his. “I’m sorry, too. You are worth the whole world, and you’ve always meant more to me than sex. I never should have said that, either.” He confessed, wishing that he never said such harsh things about you.

“I’m also sorry that I hurt you. I never wanted to. I thought I was protecting myself, but all I was doing was making things worse. Scott didn’t mean anything, either. He was an old friend from high school, and I only took him on a date to piss you off.” You muttered, looking down at your hand in his.

“She didn’t mean anything, either. I did the same, and I shouldn’t have taken it that far. I was hurt and stupid, and I didn’t know how else to deal with it. I felt like you didn’t want me, so I just wanted to feel like someone did.” His transparency was haunting, especially considering you were going to hurt him all over again. You were prolonging the inevitable, and you were terrible for doing such a thing to him.

“These last few months have been… everything to me.” You confessed, feeling more tears stain your cheeks. “More than I ever thought I would have again. I’ve been so mad at you for breaking your promise, but I think I broke it first. It’s not fair, and I wish that I could deal with my feelings better.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” He turned towards you so he could see you better. “We can figure it out together.” He promised, but the look in your eye made him regret the sentiment immediately. He knew what was coming just as well as you did, but he so desperately hoped that he was wrong.

“No, we can’t, Jake.” You whispered, holding back a sob begging to break free. “All we know how to do is hurt each other.”

“That’s not true, angel. Come on.” He pleaded, hoping that you would at least be willing to hear him out.

“Look at us,” you replied, begging him to see reason “we’ve been avoiding falling in love so much that we’ve gotten comfortable with hurting each other instead. I thought that after we talked it out, or after sex we might feel closer and all of that pain would start to go away, but it’s not. It’s still here, and it’s telling me that you and I need more than what we can give each other. The games and the avoidance and the fear… It’s not getting us anywhere.” You bit down on your lip, stopping it from quivering from the strength of your emotion.

“We can make it work. If we try, we can do anything, y/n. I would do anything for you.” He said, pained at the thought of leaving you again.

“When I said I don’t fall in love, I said it for a reason. It’s not because of you, and if I’m being honest, you are the easiest person in the world to fall in love with. It’s because I’m not good at it Jake, and I’m not good for you. I’m going to hurt you more than I can ever give you anything good. I’ve got too much history, too many problems… you don’t deserve that. You deserve the world, and I can’t give that to you. I can’t be selfish anymore. I can’t do that to you.” He reached up, wiping your tears away while he tried to process your words.

“Y/n, you are the world. I don’t want to try with anyone else, because a million bad days with you are worth way more than one good one with someone else.” The sweetness was killing you, and you had to stop him before he took it any further. You were always weak to his power, and this time, you were even more susceptible to it.

“I want that too, Jake, but I can’t.” You stressed the same point. He sat for a moment, drowning in the sorrow but unwilling to push you any further.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” He asked, voice so quiet it barely broke through the air.

“No,” you shook your head. “I don’t want it, but it’s for the best.” You closed your eyes, wishing you could feel differently about it. You wanted him so badly, and you wanted to make space in your home for him to be there, too, but you couldn’t. You were too afraid, and your fear had always paralyzed you. It was your biggest weakness, only second to Jake, now.

“Okay.” He said, holding back his own tears. It was killing him, but even if he did not agree, your comfort came first.

“I don’t want to lose you.” You said, making sure he knew that you still wanted him around. A selfish being could not fully rid themselves of the burden, and selfishness was all you knew when it came to him. “We’re just getting good at being friends, and I would really like to keep it that way.” You were lying; friends was equal to torture when all you wanted was to love him.

“I can do friends, angel.” He promised, but it was empty. He did not know if he could do it, but he was willing to try. Having you as a friend was better than not having you at all. “Can we just… Can we wait? I’m willing to try, but not yet. I just want to be with you right now.”

“Okay,” you breathed, nodding in agreement. You didn’t want him to leave yet, either, and you were willing to take as much as you could get, even if you were loving him on borrowed time.

The two of you fell back into the mattress, and he wasted little time pulling you into his arms. What normally would be a joyous moment now seemed bleak, drenched in despair. He didn’t want to leave, and you did not want him to have to repair damage that someone else had done. You were too hurt to be loved, and he loved you too much to see your hurt. The sin was plentiful, and this time, it had destroyed the two of you down to the core. You had done so much damage and repair was not an option, and you hated the fact that the universe did not want to allow the two of you to be together. In another life, the two of you would love each other more intensely than the world had ever seen.

Wrath had shattered the last bit of humanity the two of you held within your hearts. It was in his jealousy, and your revenge. It lived in your hurtful words and harsh truths, but most of all, it was plentiful in your own self-reflection. You had never hated yourself more than you did in that moment. You were angry with yourself for being so broken, and angry that you could not put your fear aside and let yourself love him. Most of all, you were angry that you were letting him walk away when all you wanted was to be held by him for the rest of your life. At the same time, he was furious with himself for ever hurting you at all and making you think that he would not do all he could to show you what you meant to him. He was angry for allowing you to let him leave, and angry that he was not strong enough to force you to let him stay.

Fury was the most abundant emotion in the room, followed closely by sadness. Above your heads, the seven deadly sins conjoined to force the two of you away from each other indefinitely. You had sinned too much to ever reap any rewards, and your wicked warpaths led you straight to your own demise.

Lust had driven you too him, and gluttonous you had become. Greed was not far behind it, but sloth ensured that you would never see the truth your hearts were trying to speak. Pride had stopped you from seeing him as he was, and pride had forced his hand in cruelty. Envy left you broken, and wrath had lead you to revenge. Now, you were cradled in the devils arms and awaiting your fate; god could no longer look at you and lead you down the right path, and your own salvation was out of your hands.

You prayed that the devil might see mercy and go easy on you as you tried to rebuild yourself from the evil mess you had become.

The hours passed and you stayed tangled in his limbs, with his hands in your hair and soft kisses placed on your skin. You felt better than you ever had, and you knew that nobody else in the world would ever love you the same as Jake would. You fought exhaustion, forcing your eyes to stay open so you did not miss a single second of his company. You laughed at each others jokes and shared sweet sentiments, recounting the months of happiness you had brought to each others lives. It was a dream come true, but dreams must always come to an end. When the sun began to peek through the darkness, you knew your time together had come to pass.

When he stood, your bed felt emptier than it ever had. There was a divot in the mattress from where he laid moments before, reminding you of all you were losing as he walked out the door. You stood with him, holding on to every last second that you could.

“So this is it?” He asked, wondering if you would change your mind.

“I guess so.” You replied, feeling your voice begin to shake with sadness again. If it was the right thing to do, why did it hurt so bad to do it?

“Friends?” He asked, clenching his jaw in hopes of holding back his own emotions.

“Wait,” you shook your head, stepping forward and wrapping your arms around him. He wasted no time doing the same, holding you with all of the love he could muster in his heart. Your head settled in the crook of his neck and his chin rested on the top of your head. The two of you sat for a moment, immersed in the comfort of each other's company. Before you let go, you leaned up and placed a kiss on his lips. It was sweet, drawn out, and telling of everything you did not have the strength to say. When you pulled away, you could see tears shining in his eyes from the early light of the sun. “Okay.” You breathed, in trance as his eyes burned into yours. “Friends.” His lips upturned into a smile, but it appeared more like a grimace.

“You were right from the beginning, angel. I never should have doubted you.” He said, his voice weak as he blinked away tears. If he had listened, he would have spared you both the pain.

“I’m so glad you did.” You said, making sure he knew you didn’t regret it. If he had listened, you never would have had the chance to know him at all. He placed a small kiss on your forehead, and with one last look over your face, took a step back.

“I’ll see you soon?” He asked, hopeful that you really did want to remain friends. He could not imagine how sorrowful life would be if he never saw you again.

“You know where to find me.” You left the invitation open, hoping that he would come back. You couldn’t understand the feelings flooding your chest. They were so powerful and abundant that it made it difficult to breathe.

“I do.” He nodded, stepping out of your bedroom to retrieve his shirt from the kitchen. “I’ll uh... I’ll buy you a new dress.” He chuckled, looking to the torn fabric on the floor.

“Don’t worry about it. It was worth it.” You gave him a weak smile.

“Alright.” He nodded, grabbing his shirt. “Goodbye, beautiful.” You wanted to say something back, but you were frozen. Dread filled you, leaving no room for anything else.

Why did you want him to stay?

Why did you want him to try and change your mind?

Why, if this was the best for both of you, did it feel like the world was ending?

The idea of him walking through the door was killing you, but you did not have enough courage to tell him to come back to bed despite wanting it more than anything else. You needed him to stay, to love you until you forgot about all the hurt that was plaguing you. You needed him, but you could not allow yourself to have it. Instead, you took in a shaky breath and nodded your head.

“Goodbye, baby.” You struggled to speak, your throat feeling like it was closing around the word and forcing it back down. You watched in horror as he walked to the door, opening it as he slipped his shoes on. He blew you a kiss, lingering for a moment too long. When you didn’t speak again, he stepped outside and the door gently fell shut behind him.

The grief hit you with such a force that you feared you would fall to your knees in anguish. You wanted to run after him, to tell him that you were wrong and the only thing you wanted to be good at was loving him, but you were frozen. You heard his car back out of your driveway, and you knew that it was over; you had to suffer the consequences of your own sinful desires and learn how to move forward despite them. It was the right thing to do, and you had to persevere through the pain to understand that you had done the best thing for the two of you.

But still, upon telling yourself that over and over again, you still did not believe it. Now that your house screamed with emptiness upon his departure, you felt like you had made the worst mistake of your life.

Perhaps the devil was not punishing you for your sinful endeavours, but rather the sin was standing in the way of seeing the truth once again.

With your head in your hands and your heart lying broken in the pit of your stomach, the heaviest realization thus far washed over you. You were wrong about him, and you were wrong about leaving him. Jake was not the enemy, nor was he the thing making your life harder; you were your own worst enemy, and all you had done since falling in love was stand in the way of your own happiness. You wondered if the Lord would ever forgive you and bring him back, or if you would have to suffer the punishment and spend every lifetime searching for him in everyone you met.

Hope was and had always been a feeble idea, and you had little desire to believe that life would work itself out again after making so many deals with the devil. Instead of running after him, you turned to your bedroom to hide away under the covers and begin your repentance that would take a lifetime to complete.

TAGLIST: @sacredjake @profitofthedune @thewritingbeforesunrise @sacredthethreadgvf @klarxtr @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @freefallthoughts @jaketlove @clairesjointshurt @ageofbajabule @dannys-dream @earthgrlsreasy @starshine-gvf @brujamagik @gvfmarge @ignite-my-fire @twistedmelodies @gretavangroupie @alwaysonthemend @edgingthedarkness @gvfpal @sinarainbows @writingcold @starcatcher-jake @literal-dead-leaf @takenbythemadness @gretasfallingsky @hsfallingsky @freyjalw @itsafullmoon @lyndz2names @blacksoul-27 @i-love-gvf @vikingsisthenewsexy @mp0801 @mindastreamofcolours @indigogvf @sparrowofthedawnsworld @jordie-gvf @cassy-face @highway-tuna @creadliz98 @dancingcarbon @do-it-jakey-baby @lallisonl

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yanderes-galore · 1 year ago

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Could you make Yandere Platonic Nine with a reader who is helping Sonic recover the fragments of the paradox prism and at the same time becomes friends with Nine?

Now that he's become a villain, I'd like to see what a Platonic Yandere would be like.

Sure! Recently finished Sonic Prime so I am excited to write Nine in his "Villain Arc" lol. I have two Nine concepts to do but I'll have to figure out how as the general one may be similar to this 😅

SPOILERS FOR SONIC PRIME SEASONS 1-3

Yandere! Platonic! Tails Nine Concept

Pairing: Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Clingy behavior, Sadism, Violence, Fear of abandonment/loss, Jealousy, Isolation, Kidnapping, Threats, Delusional behavior, Forced companionship.

Nine is not used to company or friends.

Even when Sonic befriends him, he still struggles with personal connections.

When Nine first meets you, he's cautious.

You're helping Sonic... and while you both show him kindness, he isn't sure what to think.

Kindness is such a foreign trait to him.

Yet... as the events of the show continue, Nine warms up to you and Sonic.

Until his trust is betrayed, of course.

Nine would be a selfish yandere at times.

He's volatile, manipulative, and cynical.

Later on when given power, he's even sadistic.

Nine hasn't had much experience with friendship.

So when he finds such a thing in you and Sonic, he wants to keep it.

Nine has trouble trusting... but when he does, he's loyal.

He used to be so aggressive around you... yet now he's calm and even looks forward to seeing you again.

Even when held hostage, he trusts you and Sonic will save him eventually.

Nine struggles with physical contact.

It takes a long time before he can reciprocate physical affection.

Everything seems like a threat to him.

Being a loner tinkering with machines is all je really knew...

Then you came into his life with a smile and a heart full of hope.

Your positivity is irritating at first... yet now he adores it.

He's happy to consider you and Sonic his friends.

Right up until Sonic ignores his wants with the Prism.

Yandere! Nine would definitely occur around Season 3 of the show.

Recall how determined he was to take Sonic back to The Grim? Yeah....

Nine wants nothing more than to create a new world where you, Sonic, and Nine can be happy.

Yet Sonic only ever talks about Green Hill and you look at Nine with stupid sympathy.

Why don't you both get it!?

He just wants you all to be happy!

Long story short, while Sonic tries to gather aid... I imagine Nine would keep you in The Grim with him.

Nine's trust with Sonic has been shattered... but Nine doesn't want to believe you'd betray him too.

Who cares if Sonic doesn't want a new world?

Maybe you'll understand where Nine is coming from....

Nine still makes the Alpha Grim Bots to scout Sonic, but he keeps you in the Citadel with him.

Nine may be delusional when it comes to you.

He refuses to believe you'd leave him too... you may even play into that until Sonic finds a way to resolve this.

Reciprocating his delusions may calm Nine a bit.

Deep down he is scared of losing you.

He knows he'd be better off alone... yet he doesn't want to let you go.

You both can make The Grim your home.

The Prism can shape it in any way you both wish.

Nine may even try to make creations to impress you.

Who needs Sonic anyways? He can make you a robotic one.

Actually... you don't even need that... Nine is your best friend now.

He can just use Sonic as a battery and keep you.

Nine is sadistic when he has the Prism, he doesn't care who he has to hurt if it means he keeps you with him.

He claims he's a loner, but ever since he met you, he hasn't wanted to leave you.

Even to the point where he hugs you willingly now.

Nine is jealous when you admit you still miss Sonic...

You don't need that traitor.

If he has to... he'll kill him and whatever allies you made to keep you.

You should learn that you don't need to rely on anyone else.

Anyone but Nine will disappoint you.

Nine wants to be a good friend for you.

Not entirely having a healthy grasp on what friendship is, it comes off twisted and possessive.

He's upset you won't just reciprocate fully anymore.

Why aren't you positive anymore?

Even when Nine hugs you and makes you creations with the prism... you don't smile.

... Nine can fix that... he'll find a way.

Soon... Nine will use Sonic's energy to make you both happy in The Grim...

Then you and him will be happy... he knows it... he just has to wait... then you'll smile at him again, your dear best friend...!

#yandere sonic the hedgehog #yandere sonic prime #yandere tails nine #yandere nines #platonic yandere

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uh-wriring · 2 years ago

Text

Like a Wild Animal

Prompt: You're in an argument with Miguel regarding the situation with Miles. He doesn't know how to deal with things.

Tags: Miguel & gn reader. Angst, grief, he raises his voice, a bit of physical violence.

Drops of rain fell from the clouds above, painting the sky in shades of gray and blue. The rooftop held a kind of beauty, with the smell of water hitting the concrete, birds flying to their homes much like the people bellow on the street.

You’d appreciate the scenery so much more if you weren’t arguing with O’hara, who just raised his voice at you. Not in the “you fucked up in a mission” way, no, much worse. You just touched an open wound, and like a wild animal, he showed his teeth and claws, clearly telling you to stay away.

He wasn’t disappointed, he was defensive.

Suppose that’s what you get for bringing Gabriella up. Or maybe for disagreeing on the “Miles subject.” Likely both, though.

“You know I’m right, Miguel.” You recover your previous poise, the one you held before you tuned out as he screamed. “You know it.”

“Do not compare my situation to this.” his posture tells all you need to know. He’s ready. Alert. Angry. Who were you to even mention his family, let alone mention them in this context.

In reality, he is still grieving. You had been through something so similar, the pain that reoccurs can break a vein in half, shatter your lungs and take you out for a days, but Miguel insisted on keeping on working and looking at old pictures, and he just… He’s grieving.

And grief is an abyss.

One that threatens to swallow even the highest of hearts. You knew the urge to throw yourself into work, to revisit old memories, to keep moving forward just to keep from sinking. And that’s what he is doing.

“This is different. Miles is different.” You say, mouth now aching and throbbing.

“It isn’t.” he turns to the exit, so high and strong, he almost looks fragile. But you continue, pushing through the pain in your mouth.

“We could help him, imagine what that would mean for the society- he wasn’t even supposed to be spider -man, and, if it’s the Spot that’s killing his father, wouldn’t that make his death the consequence of an anomaly- don’t - Miguel!”

The exit door makes a click when opening.

He fucking walked out on you.

You go after him, walking through the pale corridors of the spider society, almost screaming.

“You know damn well this isn’t the same, O’hara!”

He doesn’t answer, he only walks, always walking, always running, always facing but never feeling. Oh how he would hate you for your next words.

“He isn't doing what you did!”

His steps slowed, his back rigid. The words must’ve hit him like a punch to the gut.

He froze, his fingers trembling almost imperceptibly. And then, as if the weight of your words had cracked something open within him, he turned back to you.

The tension in the air was thick, charged with unspoken history.

And then it happened.

His fists collide with you, your body crashing to the ground. The pain was sharp, the taste of copper in your mouth strong, warm, coming from above.

“You don’t know shit about my family.” He looms over you, presence almost suffocating. He could kill you if he so wished. And maybe you wanted to make him wish that.

Your head rests against the cold floor, accepting the physical loss.

“You know what makes people like us?” you ask, “We try, Miguel. We always try. Isn’t this worth a try?”

For a second, a maroon, cloud gazed, second, you catch his eyes shifting from anger to something softer. But just like summer rain, it goes away, and he threatens:

“I won’t let him break the universe more than he already has. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

And then he left.

The corridor was silent, save for the rain hitting the walls and the sound of your ragged breaths. You gingerly touch your nose, your fingers coming away red.

Your words hung in the air. Hopefully you had planted a seed.

And as the rain continued to fall, a steady rhythm seemed to mirror your heartbeat. You contemplated the path ahead. Perhaps Lyla could help.

#atsv #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x male reader #fanfic #miguel o'hara x gn reader #prompt #think of the cake meme think of the cake meme think of t #my writing #one shot #angst #grief

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secretofpandora · 2 months ago

Text

🐺 FILE #GLTN-046: “FENRIR”

📝 BASIC INFORMATION

Subject Name: [REDACTED] Known Alias: Fenrir Callsign: Fenrir Status: ACTIVE Affiliation: Pandora Division: Gluttony Faceclaim: Clayton Cardenas Date of Birth: [REDACTED] Age: 46 Place of Origin: [REDACTED] Sex / Gender: Male (He/Him) Mutation Type: Werewolf Physiology Recruitment Date: 4 years ago Sexual Orientation: [REDACTED] Alignment Profile: [NEUTRAL EVIL – CLASSIFIED]

💪 PHYSICAL INFORMATION

Height: 6'4" (193 cm) Build: Towering and broad-shouldered, with a thick, muscular frame developed through both tactical conditioning and mutation. Once lean, his current form reflects the immense physicality needed to house the beast within. Power is concentrated in his chest, arms, and legs, giving him the look of a predator built to dominate close combat. Complexion: Tan Hair: Short, shaved on the sides) Facial Hair: Goatee Body Hair: Heavy — dense chest and abdominal hair, thicker along arms and legs. Groomed enough to remain contained within uniform, but consistent with elevated testosterone levels and mutation. Distinguishing Features: Deep-set, sharp eyes with a piercing, predatory stare, prominent cheekbones and a square jawline Tattoos: The following markings are confirmed but typically concealed beneath combat armor. They reflect significant events and psychological markers from the subject’s former life and mutation experience.

Right Arm (Full Sleeve): A snarling wolf at the shoulder, its eyes shadowed and expression feral. Below, chains wrap the arm, interwoven with barbed wire and shattered chess pieces, with a cracked king piece remaining upright near the elbow. A clock with no hands is hidden among the pattern—symbolizing a life ruled by violence, not time. On the back of his fore arm is a trio of dice, landed on one, that drip blood down the design.

Left Forearm: The phrase “Familia ante todo” in Spanish script, partially scorched and cracked. Below it, a skull wearing a crown of bullets, its teeth bared in a grin. Near the wrist, a small line of Roman numerals marks the date of a personal turning point—suspected to be his rise to leadership or a significant loss.

Back (Upper Half): A massive wolf mid-howl, rendered in brutal, shadowed detail. Its chest is splitting open, revealing sinew, bone, and something monstrous beneath the fur. Around the beast, thorn-covered vines form a loose ring, stylized to resemble a cage.

🧠 PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE

Psych Eval Tags: Dauntless, Adroit Reprimands: [REDACTED] — see file: Behavioral Warning G-221 (“Abrasive & Hedonistic”)

Subject presumed deceased by all civilian records. Recovered and recruited following Operation Black Dagger. Now functions under the codename “Fenrir.” Considered a high-value asset with unpredictable behavioral tendencies.Recommendation: Observe but do not provoke.

🔬 ABILITY OVERVIEW

Primary Mutation: Werewolf Physiology Enhanced physicality with the ability to fully or partially transform into a monstrous wolf-like form. Gains amplified strength, speed, healing, senses, and durability—especially under high-stress or combat situations.

Secondary Traits: — High sensory acuity (especially scent) — Skilled in urban combat and firearms — Strategic adaptability stemming from previous leadership in organized crime

Limitations: — Transformations are painful and exhausting over time — Heightened emotional states can trigger unintended shifts — Prone to loss of control under severe trauma or rage

🧠 TACTICAL PROFILE

Division Expertise:

Investigation

Stealth & Infiltration

Selected Expertise:

Close Combat Mastery

Proficiencies:

Brute Force

Pain Tolerance

Tactical Foresight

Marksmanship

Intimidation

Deficiencies:

Cryptograms & Codebreaking

Hacking & Cyber Warfare

⚙️ EQUIPMENT & SUIT DESIGN

Standard Loadout: Tactical adaptive suit engineered to stretch with partial transformation. Includes reinforced plating over vital areas, armoring to obscure identifying features (e.g., tattoos), and no extraneous accessories (no cape or insignia). Suit can survive temporary transformation before requiring replacement.

📂 FIELD NOTES — BACKGROUND PROFILE

Subject was born and raised in [REDACTED], where early exposure to criminal activity and institutional neglect led to rapid immersion in organized crime. By his mid-twenties, he had consolidated power within one of the region’s most violent arms-dealing networks—known for its tactical efficiency and ruthless internal order.

Subject was captured during a covert federal operation and flagged for recruitment under Project Pandora. Rather than face indefinite incarceration, he accepted induction into the program. He underwent two years of advanced physical, psychological, and tactical training before being cleared to receive the mutation serum.

Transformation into “Fenrir” was noted as one of the more violent adaptation events within his batch. Subject initially struggled with regulation of instinctual aggression but demonstrated high responsiveness to environmental control protocols and eventually achieved full operational stability. He was assigned to Gluttony Division due to his enhanced tracking abilities, investigative insight, and observational acumen.

Despite the violent nature of his mutation, Fenrir was not placed in Wrath Division. While some assumed this was an oversight, it was a calculated decision—Gluttony required his mind, not just his muscle. Fenrir understands this, and though he identifies with Wrath’s methods, he respects the agency’s recognition of his full skillset.

He is not a man seeking redemption. He is a predator who chooses his prey.

🔒 [CLASSIFIED: LEVEL 7 CLEARANCE REQUIRED]

Unofficial Agent Notes — Subject: Fenrir The following details are not part of the official Pandora record and are restricted to internal psychological and biometric files.

Subject maintains peak physical performance, with noted stamina exceeding most baseline agents. Physiological resilience is considered extreme, consistent with mutation-enhanced endurance and regenerative factors.

Subject possesses what medical logs describe as “notably above-average endowment that leans to the left” — estimated 8.5 inches, uncut. Presentation aligns with proportional expectations relative to subject’s build.

Subject is confirmed sexually active, with multiple unverified accounts of fraternization during pre-mission decompression phases. Displays a notably high libido, generally kept under control, though analysis suggests sexual activity may function as a coping mechanism for transformation-induced physiological stress.

Classified behavioral observations confirm a dominant, aggressive role in sexual dynamics, with predatory confidence contributing to both intimidation and appeal. Subject demonstrates an uncompromising preference for control, exhibiting no recorded submissive behavior and consistently rejecting reversal of power dynamics. Engagement style is forceful, possessive, and deliberately overwhelming, with emphasis on physical claiming, sustained overstimulation of partners, and an instinctual drive for marking. Verbal restraint is minimal; subject favors growled commands, physical dominance, and relentless pacing.

No current attachments or romantic affiliations noted. Interactions are characterized by transactional detachment post-encounter, though partner fixation has been observed in select cases, aligning with subject’s possessive behavioral profile.

FILE STATUS: OPEN LAST UPDATED: [REDACTED]

#pandora.intro

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concussed-to-pieces · 2 years ago

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Wolves At The Door; Part One

Fandom: Resident Evil [Village]

Pairing: Eventual Karl Heisenberg/AFAB!Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

Summary: "Highness? That's a little much, just lord will do."

A/N: Welcome all, welcome to our first installment! Enjoy!

Tag List: @cookiethewriter @amneris21 @topgirl17 @vodkafolie @a-smol-witch @baby-lisuga @clockworkmidnight @calwitch @silver-quinn01 @velvet-paradox @mrs-wolfwood @mic-sunderland @somethingthatsaysbubbles @fullofmoonsandstars @stargazerofgoldenwords

Prelude

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains mentions of blood, canon-typical violence and extreme depictions of mental and physical duress. Stay safe!]

Rain hammering what was once his face, the boom of thunder and the grinding shriek of metal. Karl Heisenberg looked up at the plummeting form of a man, dead man Ethan Winters, silhouetted in stark relief by the lightning shattering the sky, and he felt nothing except a fevered madness, the berserk desire to tear the world itself limb from limb. Within him the cadou throbbed and slavered for blood, more more more!

In his rage-fueled delirium Ethan was transformed from mere crumbling vessel to a vengeant angel, pulling the trigger and firing that last rocket directly into his internals. All the sacrifices, all the sleepless nights, failures, suffering, torment…

Yet Karl had to respect that level of dedication, that kind of drive. He certainly wouldn't have shown himself any mercy, had the roles been reversed. If he had been the man on borrowed time, struggling against all the beasts and bastards in the world to save his kid…well, Heisenberg could definitely understand Ethan's steely resolve, for all that it was about to bring his plans to ruin.

I must…kill her…

"It's already done." A voice he knew. The Duke, that jumbo-sized, two-timing prick.

Karl struggled to move, to stand, sort out what had happened, but something was wrong with his mind. It was as though his thoughts were…slippery, too difficult to grasp, and he was just so…

Tired. Gods, he couldn't ever remember being so tired. He felt mortal, fragile even. More details were racing past him, faster and faster as the weariness crushed him to dust, but Karl couldn't bring himself to care. He was too exhausted. Hell, he couldn't even muster up the strength to open his eyes while the rocking of the cart lulled him into a stupor.

I must kill her.

Who? Who was…

Consciousness slipped through his fingers once more, and for a time Karl simply slept dreamlessly.

…

A warm, wet cloth was being rubbed back and forth across his bare upper arm. Karl licked his lips absently, flinching when he encountered dry, cracked skin. His lower abdomen was pounding.

"Shhh," someone, someone was there, a hand brushing over his brow soothingly. "You're safe. Sleep, Karl."

That tone, soft, too soft, too gentle. Karl hated it. "'Fuck 'way from me," he slurred, dragging his arm up in a pitiful attempt to shield himself from this new and insidious threat. When the hell had his limbs become so heavy?

"Don't move! Easy, easy. Give me your arm back, I still have to change that dressing." The person scolded, fingers wrapping around his wrist. Karl didn't even have the strength to struggle and soon relented, leaden arm going limp in this stranger's hold.

"You gonna' kill me?" He asked, unsure why he felt so glib about the subject.

There was a sharp intake of breath next to his head, followed by a long exhale. "No, of course not. That would be rude to the Duke. I promised to make sure you could recover physically. I guess you have some memory loss?"

"Huh." Karl's brow furrowed. Memory loss. Maybe that's why his brain seemed soft and bruised at the edges. But that couldn't be all there was. He was still himself, right?

He couldn't tell. The details of his life to that point were full of static. It was like he was teetering on the edge of some dark pit, unsure if the lack of concrete memories was a blessing or a curse.

I must kill her.

Who?

Karl Heisenberg. Did that name even mean anything anymore?

…

You were in for it, you could tell. Karl was as cantankerous as he could manage to be while he was still bodily incapacitated, the man only barely able to open his eyes after several days of recuperating.

His mouth worked just fine, unfortunately for you.

"You making lunch soon, sugar? I want meat."

You sighed heavily. "You want meat at every meal, Heisenberg."

The nerves surrounding your mysterious houseguest and his lofty title had quickly worn off, replaced almost exclusively with annoyance. He was clearly an individual who was used to getting his way and while you hadn't wanted to be rude, you rapidly realized that he didn't care much whether you were or not. Honestly he didn't seem to care much about anything that came out of your mouth, appearing to talk just to hear himself prattle. Speaking of which…

"...potatoes, carrots, boar, I feel like I haven't had boar in ages, some black bread with oil and salt-"

You shoved the dishes you had been scrubbing back under the soapy water, turning to fix the man on the cot with a stern look. "Anything else I can get for you, your highness?" You snarked.

"Highness? That's a little much, just lord will do." He waved a limp hand dismissively, fingers twitching after a moment or two. Behind you, you heard the silverware settling belatedly in the water-filled basin. "Look, I don't want it all now, I'm just thinking of the future! I'm a big guy, not being able to eat like usual is killing me." Karl all but whined, his expression a bit pitiful for such a 'big guy'.

You stifled your laugh, returning to the dishes. "Well, clarify that for me. When people say they want something, usually that implies a pretty immediate time frame."

"I do want it, I just can't have it now. Life is rotten sometimes."

"Yes yes, you're really fighting the cosmic battle."

"Don't patronize me, sugar."

Your laugh escaped that time, though you tried to mask it with a cough. Heisenberg muttered something you couldn't make out and when you dared to glance over your shoulder at him he had turned his head towards the wall. You pursed your lips, feeling a little guilty. He was bedridden and probably going crazy from boredom. That would definitely explain his talkative bouts whenever you were within earshot.

"I'll…I'll see what I can do about the boar. No promises, though." It had been slim pickings as of late; the strange excess of air traffic recently seemed to have had a negative effect on the local wildlife.

Another helicopter hummed distantly overhead and you briefly wondered if there was some sort of land survey going on, or if maybe it was a forest fire prevention drill, but soon enough more important thoughts took over and the query vanished from your mind.

…

The twitching was getting worse. It felt like something just beneath the skin of his abdomen was struggling to move him bodily, demanding him to propel himself onward with greater and greater urgency.

Which would have been fine, but Karl didn't even have so much as a crutch to hobble around with. Not that he would have used it, mind you, but the idea of it-

You were apparently hard at work doing something, leaving at sunrise and returning every day defeated in the twilight. There was still wood to be cut around the place, water to be boiled, general maintenance of your property. You always made sure to leave Karl food before you departed though, and you stoked the fire well.

Heisenberg's only and eternal complaint was boredom. He was barely able to eat unaided, mainly motivated by spite and the grim realization that if this kept up he would be indebted; a fate worse than death or whatever the hell his gossamer memories were shielding him from recollecting.

But Christ he was bored! He spent the days staring at the knots in the ceiling and willing himself to get stronger faster, damn it all, before he entirely lost his mind from cabin fever.

His loaned cot collapsed beneath him one such boring day after he made a sudden attempt to move his arms, dropping him on his side on the floor and knocking the wind out of him. From the little he could see the metal fasteners on one side of the canvas sling had just…all torn free of their moorings at once, clattering to the floor around his stunned form.

His brow furrowed. Karl reached a tentative hand out, his index finger inches from one of the fasteners. The tiny object shuddered and then rocketed across the floor, scraping up a ribbon of wood in its wake. It finally halted when it met the edge of the cabinets, burying itself deep in the grain of the worn timber.

–whirling twisted metal screaming death trap pouring rain and that man, that man–

Karl flinched, blinking. His hand was trembling when he attempted anew, and a second fastener made a half-hearted attempt to follow its kin, coming to a rolling stop midway through the kitchen.

Well that's something.

The man paused. Then, with a superhuman effort, he heaved himself up onto his elbows. Gritting his teeth, Heisenberg crawled forward on his stomach until he was able to clearly see and confirm that yes, the fastener was lodged in the cabinetry. "Weird." Heisenberg muttered to himself. I didn't touch the fucking thing though, so how the hell-?

The door to the yard swung open and you came stumbling in, kicking your muddy boots off to rest beside the door on the porch.

Karl froze. You froze. The fastener in the cabinet tore free, flying backwards to strike Karl in the shoulder. "Fuck!" He yelled, more surprised than actually hurt. Flapping a hand around on the floor he finally scooped up the little metal object, harboring some deluded fantasy about crushing the fucking thing flat in his fist.

"What the heck was that, and why are you on the floor?" You quizzed, sounding exhausted.

In reply, Heisenberg mutely gestured in the general direction of the collapsed cot. There was the sound of something clattering against the wall and you had an expression of fright on your face when he looked up at you. "Damn thing fell apart underneath me." He grumbled.

Your voice shook when you asked, "w…why did it just move?"

…

You didn't care how tired you were, you knew what you had seen! Karl had waved his hand and the cot framework had chucked itself into the wall! The Duke hadn't mentioned anything about that!

"I couldn't tell you." Karl's reply was as flippant as he usually seemed to be, but his eyes had an odd look to them. If you didn't know any better, you would say he was as rattled as you were by this strange development. "It feels…familiar, though."

"What does?" You demanded.

"The…I dunno', the feeling. I…" Karl had been in the process of opening his hand, but he abruptly trailed off. When you peeked over his fingers, you glimpsed a wrinkled piece of metal resting in his palm before he hurriedly clenched his fist again. "Back off, sugar. Cornered dogs bite." He warned, that strange look still in his gaze.

"Dog, huh? Right now you seem to be doing your best 'bear rug' impression, laying on the floor like that." You snorted, returning to the door to pick up what you had dropped beside your boots on the porch. "Since you're either not willing or not able to be clear with whatever is going on, we're going to discuss it with the Duke the next time he visits." You extended the sturdy branch you had found in your woodpile, its surface smoothed over the last few days as you waited in your hunting blinds to no avail. "I can tell you've been losing it, figured I'd make you something to help you move a little easier."

"I don't need-"

"I don't care." You cut him off, giving him a gentle tap on the shoulder with the walking stick. "I'm tired of moving you around and you need to start using your legs before you get blood clots or whatever the hell else."

Karl puffed out a breath, his eyes darting between your face and the staff you held. When next he spoke, however, it was in a tone of grudging admiration. "You shave this yourself? Delicate work. You must have a steady hand and be real bored to clean up something like that."

"If you'd rather not use-"

Heisenberg wordlessly latched onto the stick, grimacing while pulling himself into a sitting position. He was panting by the time he made it to his feet, but still mustered up a cocky little smirk for you. "You'll have–to pad the base. Don't want to wake you when I start to roam late at night," he chuckled breathlessly.

You rolled your eyes, but resigned yourself to scrounging up some felt to protect your floors. Speaking of which… "Where did that scratch come from?!"

…

"One."

Thunk.

"Two."

Thunk.

"Three."

The last nail ricocheted off the tree trunk and Karl swore under his breath, hobbling forward.

You, still observing from a safe distance on the porch, called, "everything okay?"

"Yeah, I s'pose." Karl answered glumly, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the head of the first nail. When he hauled his hand away to jerk it back out of the wood, however, he somehow managed to instead tear out a bolt from your recently-repaired fence line, sending several logs toppling to the ground.

"Aw, I just fixed that." You complained, venturing off the porch to retrieve the bolt from its place in the grass. "I'm gonna' need to drill a new hole because you sent the nut through the wood again! My fence is starting to look like Swiss cheese." Maybe you should stop was clearly what you were thinking and Heisenberg couldn't really see a reason to argue. All he was doing was causing more problems, more messes for someone else to clean up.

Indebted. He gritted his teeth, heaving the first log back into place. You started to protest but he waved you off with a snarl, simply wrestling the remaining logs up on top of the first and then making a curt gesture. "Get your shit. I'll hold these."

"They're heavy." You pointed out needlessly.

His arms had been shaking from the beginning. Karl jutted his chin arrogantly, raising an eyebrow. "And?"

You took off running, making a beeline for your lean-to where you stored most of your tools. As soon as you left Karl sagged a fair bit, trying to brace the weight of the fencing with his legs as opposed to his arms. Well, this may not have been my brightest move, he admitted to himself ruefully.

You were suddenly at his elbow, whirring drill ringing in his ear while the bit bored into the rain-softened wood. Karl absently watched the shavings spout from the bit, trying to ignore his arms trembling under the strain of the task at hand.

–drill bit boring down, down, down, shards of bone flying, the twitching of muscles long dead–

The drill abruptly jerked to a stop in your grip, startling Heisenberg out of whatever reverie he had fallen into. "Shit, what the hell?" You grumbled, fidgeting with the trigger. "Must be a knot in the wood, hang on."

Karl exhaled roughly, glaring downwards at the stuck drill bit with all the malice he could muster. Don't make me look like a weakling here, shithead! The tool creaked and then, without warning, drove itself down through whatever had jammed it with an indignant shriek.

You rushed to place the bolt in the newly made hole and even in his distracted state, Karl saw that your fingers were shaking.

Once he was able to take a step back from the fence and catch his breath, he straightened up and tightened his hold on the walking stick you had given him. You continued to fiddle with the fence, obviously making a play for time, and Heisenberg finally issued a loud sigh. "I'm not…I know it seems like I could be dangerous but–well, you trust the Duke, don'tcha'?" he tried to rationalize.

"Considering the fact that he hasn't come back since bringing you here, my trust is wearing a little thin." You retorted, still not looking at him.

Ouch. Karl shook it off, though. If he was in your shoes, the second some unwanted guest decided to poltergeist a cot into the wall would have been the same second they received a swift boot to the ass. "For what it's worth–hang on, let me finish–for what it's worth, I won't hurt you."

Your laugh had no humor in it. "Intentionally or accidentally? I live alone, Karl. An accident is just as bad as intentional for me."

"I…" Karl paused, unused to the level of resentment he felt at your accusation. Whatever he had been like before, he was clearly not a man that had been questioned often. "I don't know. Should I leave?"

You aimed the drill at him and Heisenberg got a terrible jolt of recollection that drowned out whatever you said next. Him but not him, and that man, pointing a handgun at him while protesting…something. "...take me out like the others and then you get to go and save Rose, right?" his voice had replied, sarcastic.

Rose. Rose. Powerful kid. Even Miranda's scared of her–

Karl grimaced, holding his head. Miranda. Rose. Ethan Winters. All these names, unattached to anything tangible. They seemed to exist exclusively to exasperate him.

"Hey, you feeling alright? You're pretty gray." He had to be imagining the concern in your tone. You didn't trust him, after all. "I guess that took a lot out of you. Let's get you back inside."

It was only once the two of you were halfway back to the porch that Karl realized he was leaning heavily on you, but you had accepted the burden without comment.

Indebted. Karl wanted to shove his head into a meat grinder.

…

You knew you probably should have kicked him out. After all, he could walk now, right? Best to be on his way. You certainly weren't going to keep Heisenberg around out of some misguided loyalty towards the Duke. Truly, you didn't know either man. Hell, Karl didn't even know himself! Add to that the strangeness of his…powers, the solitude of your abode and you had a recipe for disaster.

You brought the maul down once more, sending the wedge home and splitting the log cleanly. Wiping the sweat from your brow, you reached down to scoop up the wedge. To your annoyance the thing skittered out from beneath your fingers, flying across the yard to Heisenberg's waiting hand.

"Let me take over." He offered, then hurried to add, "so you can have a break! You've been at this since ten."

"It needs to be done." You replied shortly.

"Yeah. So let me help." Karl tilted his head, the brim of his raggedy hat casting his eyes into shadow. "I can't exactly cook, I'm not good for much. Lemme' muscle something around for you, huh sugar?"

Your shoulders did hurt a little. "What time is it?"

He flicked his wrist, checking his watch. "Five after two."

"Shit." You grimaced. "Okay. But only so I can have a drink and a five minute break." You warned, aiming a finger at him with a squint.

Heisenberg bowed theatrically, sidestepping you on your way to the porch. "Naturally." With a solid thud the wedge slammed itself halfway through the next log.

An early summer storm had brought down the rest of the winter-damaged trees and you had been doing your best to stay on top of the unexpected bounty, but the task was proving a bit more monumental than you had anticipated. Even after you'd sawed the fallen trees to manageable size, it was slow going.

Once you'd gone inside and poured yourself a tall glass of water from the gravity-fed sink, you headed back out to sit on the front steps. Sipping the water, you idly watched your begrudged guest tear his way through the amassed pile of pre-portioned logs. He had no real finesse, but you guessed if you knew you could split a log in any place you chose you probably wouldn't waste time with a technique. Karl used both the maul and the wedge on different logs at the same time, effectively doubling your results with apparent ease.

You grumbled to yourself a little, laying back on the porch and throwing an arm over your eyes to block the sunlight. Showoff.

…

You must have been exhausted, because the next time he glanced at the porch he realized you had fallen asleep. Karl caught himself smiling and quickly jerked the maul down into the next log. He needed this, he decided. The physical labor was doing wonders for his brain, keeping everything nice and quiet. No nasty flashes of what-was when he was focusing on some menial task. He'd have to try and take on more of this stuff. Maybe you'd let him help to fill the jugs at the river, for washing and drinking and–

-and what was that noise. Heisenberg straightened up, his eyes immediately drawn to the shadow of the trees at the edge of your property line. It was so strange the way sunlight only made the woods seem darker, intensifying the shadows until they were inky black. Karl stared hard, willing his eyes to adjust to the shade, but he only caught the faintest glimpse of…something. It was more like an impression of movement, eyeshine and hair but not…not right, not animal-shaped.

Karl hesitated, his grip tightening to a chokehold on the maul. The wedge rocketed over the fenceline, vanishing into the bushes. The yelp in response set his teeth on edge. Again, the wrongness, too bass for a lynx and too high for a bear.

Karl stormed forward, his walking stick forgotten on the ground as he brandished your old maul with an intent so gleefully malevolent that it confused him. Man, I must have been a bad person. He shoved it to the side for the moment, scouring the underbrush for the wedge.

It had traveled further than he expected but it simply laid forlornly on the forest floor. However it seemed to have met its mark regardless, as the chisel tip of it was stained black with some kind of ichor.

Heisenberg gingerly picked the wedge up, rubbing his thumb across the liquid. In hindsight, probably a bad idea. The fluid was still warm and stank of iron and decay, like…blood left out in the sun too long…

--buckets of congealed, blackened liquid, splatters of it on the concrete beneath his feet and all around him the reek of rusty death. But this was home, as much as if he had built it himself–

Karl shuddered, nearly dropping the wedge. He felt like the wind had been crushed out of him by some giant hand.

He had left you alone. Asleep. Vulnerable.

Heisenberg whirled, met with a wall of trees and no clear view of the cabin. "You stupid fuck!" He cursed at himself, tearing off in what he thought was the right direction.

…

"Hey!"

The sharp bark woke you from your unwitting doze and you jolted up, startled. You rubbed your eyes, groaning, "what, what is it?"

Heisenberg was standing in front of the stairs in a strange, hunched position. It took you a moment to realize that he still had the maul, and that woke you up. He looked furious, he looked dangerous, his chest heaving and his hat missing. Without even thinking about it you clawed yourself backwards to get out of range, your legs nearly refusing to cooperate.

"K-Karl?" The tremor in your voice seemed to have some kind of effect on him, his posture and fierce expression softening slightly as he blinked down at you.

"I…you're okay." He said finally. His knees gave way, the man nearly sagging to the ground before he managed to prop himself up with the maul. "You been asleep the whole time? Didn't see anything?" He questioned you, his tone rough.

You shook your head, baffled and still wary. Karl sighed, but it sounded more like relief than annoyance. "What's going on? You uh…you look upset." You commented, giving up on any subtlety.

"There was something in the woods." His gaze hardened once more and he fidgeted with the maul. "Didn't get a good look at it, but it…somethin' about it wasn't animal, y'know?"

"Oh." You tapped your mouth. "The Duke mentioned things called Lycans, he put up some charms to ward them off. That's why I don't go out past the fence at night. Never seen any close to the property, though. That's weird."

Karl pressed, "You've seen them? What do they look like?"

"It's always been dark out so I couldn't say exactly." You bit your lip, trying to recall. "Whatever I saw had really patchy fur or hair, like it had mange. I thought it was a big lynx, honestly. The Duke didn't want to tell me what they were, he just put out the charms and said that would tell them to stay away."

Karl swore under his breath. "Always at night?"

"Yeah, I've never gotten a good look at them. Not sure if I believe they even exist but," you shrugged, "I don't really have a reason to go groping around in the woods after dark anyways. What with the bears, wolves, lynx…I mean, it's not exactly like an inconvenience for me to park my ass at night."

"Well whatever I saw, it was watchin' me. And I don't know for how long."

Part Two

#karl heisenberg #lord karl heisenberg #eventual romance #fix it fic #au #resident evil #re 8 #re 8 village #resident evil village #resident evil karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenberg imagine

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sentfromwolves · 1 year ago

Note

break and/monster for anyone from HBABL!! >:)

YES YES YES >:3 LETS FUCKING GOOOOOOOO

I'm going to do this for Judge and throw a curveball and do it for Desmond too!!! hehehehehe

　◢ QUESTIONS *

break: What would cause your OC to break down completely? What do they look like when that happens? Has anyone ever seen them at their lowest? monster: Is your OC monstrous in any way? Is there something that makes them monstrous? Are they aware of their own monstrosity? Do they accept it or reject it?

❖ 》　JUDGE ; break ➡

This is so hard to do for Judge HMMMM I think first of all a full break down for Judge is really silent. It can look like he's going catatonic, like you just can't reach him anywhere, he's gone somewhere inside of himself that's too far away for anyone to connect with anymore. All you can do at that point is just sit with him. He's not loud or violent or angry at this kind of lowest of lows. He's just silent and defeated in such an overwhelming way that he completely shuts down. I think in so far as what would cause him to break down completely might be something in the vein of feeling like he's done everything in his power to accomplish something or help someone, and it all amounts to nothing at the end of the day. If he tried so hard to reach someone and save them, or if he tried so hard to be there for someone only to have it amount to absolutely nothing in the end because he gave too much of himself over to them and all they did was take and take and then walk away, it would devastate him. Demon though he is, this man is a recovering people-pleaser, and he has always had a bad habit of giving too much of himself to others and finding himself distraught and alone when they leave him once he feels he has nothing left to give.

❖ 》　JUDGE ; monster ➡

Yeah, Judge is monstrous. He's vicious, destructive, violent, and he will bite. Like a dog that's been beaten all his life, all he really knows now is violence and survival, and while he'll dress himself up as the charismatic demon archetype, when he's pushed into a corner, he'll do anything to get out of it, no matter what it looks like to someone else. The thing about his monstrosity is that it's a product and result of his trauma. It's something that he had to evoke in order to survive, and he carries a huge amount of trauma, shame, and self-loathing around it. Does anyone remember that quote from that one movie haha, where it's a dog saying "I don't know why I bite." That's Judge sometimes, he's just been in a reactive state to the harsh realities of his living situations and experiences for so long that he needs to externalize in ways that can be seen as utterly unhinged and feral to others, but it all roots so deeply inside of his trauma, and he knows deep down he doesn't want to continue living this way forever.

❖ 》　DESMOND ; break ➡

The permanent loss of his brother would undo Desmond completely. He's kind of gaslit himself into thinking that he hates Aleksander to the point of wanting to just Be Better Than Him At Literally Everything, and also wishing with desperate, reckless abandon that Aleksander would just fucking die and stay dead so that Desmond wouldn't ever have to confront the actually incredibly fucked up, complex feelings of guilt, shame, obsessive love, and devotion he has for his older brother. Because he's so desperate to think he can claw these emotions out of his chest, he truly does think that Aleksander permanently dying would be ideal, but if this turned into a reality and Desmond actually did lose his brother, he would shatter entirely. It would be like a dog chasing a car down the highway, sure that catching it would bring them joy, only to be left crippled and destroyed upon collision. That's what would happen to him, he'd be distraught beyond belief. It would ruin him. No one has ever seen him at his true lowest, because Desmond keeps his cards and true self so close to his chest. The only person that has ever come close has in fact been Aleksander, but because Desmond spites him so much, it led to fights and altercations every time. Aleksander has no power to help his brother out of these low points because Desmond would sooner bite off his own arm than reach out and take hold of Aleksander's outstretched hand.

❖ 》　DESMOND ; monster ➡

Oh yeah, Desmond is monstrous. He is a deeply flawed individual, and despite his calm, poised exterior and manipulative tactics, he's constantly and obsessively driven by obsession and envy. Both of these emotions are rooted deeply in his complicated history with his older brother, Aleksander, who has always made Desmond feel like a gnat in the shadow of a giant, constantly working tirelessly just to break free from the looming dark. Desmond wants to kill his brother just as surely as he wants to be recognized by him, and fantasizes about gaining that recognition by killing Aleksander in several different ways. Yes, sometimes these fantasies leave him feeling disgusted, but he continues to obsess over them too. He performs most monstrously whenever it comes to matters regarding Aleksander, but he is also just a despicable man with a lot of power and personal issues. While the core of all of this obsessive love and envy and shame roots deeply in a traumatic moment in his childhood where he inadvertently was responsible for the death of his baby sister and parents, and blamed for it at the time by Aleksander, it doesn't excuse the extent to which he goes to just be a horrendously awful person in his adult life. This guy straight up needs therapy.

◆ ◆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ◆ ◆

✨Come ask me unsavory questions about my ocs! ( •̀ ω •́ )y✨bonus points if you want to throw them out for the PITS cast, the Berserker crew (Avarice, Josefine, Kai-Ren, Roach, Luka, Haru, etc), or the developing death wip hehe

#writeblr #writing community #game train #ask game #ch: judge #ch: desmond #god these two are so fucked up #i love them a lot #HAHAHAHA #desmond goes to therapy 2k24

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andromedaexists · 2 years ago

Text

I've had a lot of friends reach out to me the past couple days and I just don't have the spoons to respond to all of y'all so I'm gonna say what I need to here:

I love you and appreciate you all. Your condolences and well wishes were received and mean a lot to me.

Now, for those who are not in the loop, I would like to take a moment to tell you about why I haven't been around for a hot minute despite really trying my best to be (under the cut, because good lord are there a lot of heavy topics on the table such as pet loss, depression, mental and physical health and the degradation thereof, stress and anxiety and more)

So, just in a brief bullet point recap, since about july of this years I have:

been switched onto a project at work that put increasingly more important responsibilities on my shoulders despite me saying that i never want to be in that position again

been switched back to my normal project in the middle of a hierarchy shift, therefore not knowing who to contact for literally anything (we're still working this out, btw)

started my final semester of college with 4 classes (reading & translating dead language #1, reading & translating dead language #2, novels in dead language #1, and the history of my native tongue that requires reading in the dead ancient form of it)

found myself being forced into monthly outings with my mother (a test in repairing our relationship that is going... okay)

somehow became integral in a discord (not upset, just not sure how i ended up here frfr)

being told on the first day of classes that i am having surgery ASAP on a cyst (we all know my history with cysts here.. it's not pretty)

the absolute atrocity that blue ridge ended up being. that was supposed to be my relax time, my time to unwind from everything else and i still have not recovered my loss of sleep from being up for 40 hours straight because of how horrible that weekend was

had my surgery cancelled because i'm too fat and then being ghosted by the doctor

had my heart absolutely demolished by a guy I thought I could love, only to be reminded that love is a luxury not afforded to people like me

broke up with my primary care physician because my health is degrading so fucking bad that i literally woke up feeling like i broke my wrist just because. and he still won't take me seriously. i can barely walk at this point, let alone stay awake and functioning longer than 4 hours at a time

had my employee review (that actually went well, but i did get my ass chewed out for low production)

had the world fall apart around me as any hope i had for humanity is shattered

release my book 3 days later because it was too late to change the release day by then

bury myself in a depression hole that i'm learning is normal for authors after their book releases

have to move my grandma into assisted living/memory care

have to immediately move myself out of my apartment with a weeks notice because the stress of living next to violent neighbors was finally getting to me (triggered my past with domestic violence) AND they started harassing me

had to undergo a medical procedure because i can't even eat food without my body rebelling

missed a month of classes because of depression

failed 2 latin tests in a row followed by bombing the midterm which was... great of my mental health especially considering i haven't received anything lower than a B or a C on an exam since ever (i was an honor roll/4.0/gifted studies kid)

Failed a History of the English Language exam because i cannot code switch between German, Latin, and English quickly enough (those are the 3 that comprise middle english btw)

a week after moving into my grandma's house I almost burned it down

found out that someone I really respected and looked up to as a friend was a Zionist

and finally: on Saturday I had to put down the cat I have owned for 15 years. She's undoubtedly older than that, but I was her owner for 15 years. She was my first ESA. I was able to tell my prof I wouldn't be in for the SECOND LATIN MIDTERM on monday because of it so now i have to take it tomorrow, but i couldn't get out of the greek exam or work. I asked for one (1) day off work and was told that my cat dying was not sufficient enough reason for the time off without using PTO (that i don't have because I used it on the absolutely horrible weekend that was Blue Ridge)

So yeah. I haven't been around. I've been more around on twitter but that's mostly me just reposting a bunch of posts about Palestine rn and other posts that my friends make. I'm so fucking exhausted and nauseous and just done. I haven't really written anything either because my work up until now has shown both the horrors of humanity and the underlying hope but I do not have that hope anymore and it hurts

Ironically since I've started working on Desecrate I've started wondering if this is my punishment for straying from God all those years ago. I don't think so but not I gotta add re-working through my religious trauma and my Catholic Guilt to my never ending list of things to do.

If you read this whole thing, kudos to you. I appreciate you all and I'm sorry for dumping it but I have not been able to really say anything about what's going on in my life because i just.. idk I don't have the words for it most days. I'm just tired.

#andi talks #vent post #life fucking suck rn man #and i just i don't know if i can keep holding out for it to get better

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loving-slaughter · 2 years ago

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Take a Slice | Will x Hannibal | Naka-Choko

DOM WILL IN HIS HOT GIRL SUMMER!! Will shows Hannibal who's really in charge. He finally Takes his Slice. (This turned out really long by accident my bad)

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 6,231 WARNING// NONCON/DUBCON

Tags: Hot Girl Summer Will (post prison); TW: BLOOD; CANON TYPICAL VIOLENCE; Expanding on Naka-Choko (Hannibal Season 2 Episode 10); Plot and Porn; Sub Hannibal; Mentions of The Stagman; biting; bondage; hematolagnia; bloodplay; Sounding; Not Safe or Sane or consensual really; Hannibal doesn't consent to bottoming, or getting tied up, or anything really, he's just going with the flow; Cockstepping; Sounding; Hannibal is a Masochist; Will beats him up (you go queen); overstimulation; Edging; Light Degradation; Hannibal Lecter's Hyperactive Cowper's Glands; Will is a feral little beast; no beta we die like Chilton was supposed to

The window shattered. The barking of the dogs was deafening. The gun was heavy in his hand. The monster burst through his home. His safe space. Tossed aside by the force of the body hurtling through his window, Will landed heavily. The dogs barked. Sweat soaked his clothes. His vision swirled. He looked over and stared.

The Stagman stared back.

Black antlers. Skin like charcoal. Deep inky eyes. Will swallowed. He rose slowly, staring the monster down. He tossed the shotgun aside. The Stagman moved swiftly, pinning Will to the wall, its antlers caging him. Adrenaline pumped through him as he struggled beneath the beast. He gripped its antlers, lifting his body to thrust his legs into its gut. The monster stumbles over, landing beside the fireplace. Will recovers himself and strides slowly over to the dark creature. Anticipation. He wanted to get close and personal with the beast. Feel flesh split against his knuckles. He kicked the shotgun away and straddled the Stagman. His knuckles connected with the bony cheek of the monster. Will punched again and his vision swirled. Hannibal lay beneath him, smiling up at him with blood dribbling down his chin. Heat pooled in Will's gut. He grabbed him by the hair and pressed his lips against Hannibal's, tasting the blood as it seeped into his mouth. He tears away and punches again, feeling his nose shatter with the impact. Seeing the blood marring Hannibal's complexion brought him pleasure. He felt Hannibal move beneath him as a sick chuckle bubbled in his throat. He wanted to wipe that smile clean off of the bastard's face. He watched as his vision warped once more as black antlers sprouted slowly from the crown of Hannibal's head. Will grabbed them, pleasure and bloodlust peaking within him. He wrenched. The crack of bones rang in the heavy silence of the house, his dogs having run outside to avoid the violence. The feeling of the kill left a near orgasmic haze hanging over Will. He stood up and stared at the now lifeless body of Randall Tier, the Cave Bear Killer.

. . .

" I'd say this makes us even.... I sent someone to kill you; You sent someone to kill me. Even Steven."

Will stood in the dining room of Hannibal's home, Randall Tier's lifeless body laying on top of the table. He stared Hannibal down, gauging his reaction. Hannibal stared back, wearing an expression of catlike curiosity.

"Consider it an act of reciprocity."

Will scoffed, a smirk set high on his face. "Polite society normally places a taboo on taking a life”

Hannibal watched Will, studying him as a researcher would study an animal in the wild. “Without death we would be at a loss. It’s the prospect of death that drives us to greatness.” Hannibal approached Will, watching him as he flexed his fingers, seeming rather unsure of himself. “Did you kill him with your hands?”

Will swallowed, remembering the sheer animalistic pleasure that coursed through him when he straddled and beat what he saw to be Hannibal. He stared at his hand, the flesh of the knuckles split and bloody. "It was... Intimate."

Hannibal stared, seeing the odd expression on Will's face. He took hold of Will's hand, examining the bloodied flesh. "It deserves intimacy. You were Randall Tier's final enemy."

Will stared at Hannibal, remembering how blood flowed from his nose and shone on his teeth when it leaked from a split lip. He gave a little shudder as he felt the warmth of Hannibal's hands on his own. He sat down at the table, suddenly feeling a bit weak.

As Hannibal cleaned Will's knuckles, he remained vigilant, watching for any clues as to how Will felt about the night's events. "When you killed Randall, did you fantasize you were killing me?"

Will looked into Hannibal's curious gaze, suppressing heated feelings of desire. "I never felt as alive as I did when I killed when I was killing him."

Hannibal gave Will a soft smile, ignoring the odd sheen that glazed over the other man's blue-green gaze. He continued, gently wrapping gauze around Will's split knuckles. "And you owe Randall Tier a debt. How will you repay him?"

Will turned away to look at the body lying on the table. He knew what Randall had desired more than ever. He knew that he wanted to become his true self. Will rose from his seat at the table and rounded it, stopping at Randall's head. He rested a hand on a cold cheek, looking into the man's sightless eyes. He tensed as he felt the warmth of Hannibal's body as the other man stood closely behind him. He heard Hannibal inhale, taking in his scent. Will knew Hannibal's nose was sharp, but what exactly could the man smell on him?

Arousal. The thick, heavy musk of arousal filled Hannibal as it wafted off of Will in waves. He leaned against Will, pressing his body against him, his lips nearly brushing Will's ear. "Randall wished to become what he believed to be his true self. Take his slice of life." Hannibal crooned. "Tell me Will, will you take yours?"

It seemed to happen in slow motion. Will grabbed Hannibal by the wrist and shoved himself against him. Taken by surprise, Hannibal stumbled as Will used his body to force Hannibal back. A deep growl rumbled in Will's throat as Hannibal hit the wall. "You stay out of my head, you bastard."

Hannibal chuckled, not bothering to fight back. "My dear boy. Everything that happened tonight was all you, Will. You're Becoming."

Will snarled, thrusting his knee into Hannibal's crotch. A jolt went through Hannibal, his smile faltering. Pain then spiked at his scalp as Will tugged at his hair. "Liar." Will hissed. "It's you. You have been messing with my head from the very beginning."

Hannibal slumped, resting his chin on Will's shoulder. "The only lying that's happening now is the lying that you are doing to yourself." Hannibal said softly. "The longer you turn away from the truth, the harder it will become to live with the feelings turmoiling within."

"I'm not lying!" Will's voice rose to a shout as he thrusted a fist into Hannibal's gut. Hannibal grunted, falling backwards. Gazing up at Will from his place at his feet, he looked into the troubled gaze of the conflicted young man. Then, the light in Will's eyes shifted. It was no longer clouded, but darkened with sadism. Will couldn't explain it, but seeing Hannibal gazing up at him made him feel good. Like that's how things should be. Will lifted a foot and placed it gingerly between Hannibal's legs, the toe resting against the man's crotch. "I'm not lying..." Will repeated with a growl. "Not anymore."

Hannibal smiled, rolling his hips against Will's foot, shuddering as Will added pressure. "I'm glad," He grunted. "Tell me your truth."

Will looked down at Hannibal, regarding the look of arousal on the man's face. ""My truth?"

"What did you feel as you killed Randall?" Hannibal murmured, shivering with pleasure. "What is it that you saw?"

Will pressed down on Hannibal's crotch, watching as the man beneath him gave another shudder. "I straddled the monster of my nightmares and fought with intent to destroy. I blink and I'm straddling you, so I fight with intent to teach."

Hannibal let out a low moan as Will rubbed his foot against his crotch. "Teach?"

"Your place," Will muttered. "Seeing the blood on your face as you lay beneath me... I couldn't help but feel turned on."

Hannibal tensed, pain twisting round pleasure like a coiling snake as Will stepped on him. "A violent fetish," Hannibal rasped, grinding against Will's foot. "Sadism is common in true killers."

"Am I a true killer, Dr. Lecter?" Will crooned, easing pressure to allow Hannibal to continue humping his foot.

"It's what I see, Will." Hannibal answered, his head hanging. He was now panting, the viper poised to strike. "What is left is for your gaze to clear."

Will watched. He was vaguely aware of his own erection straining in his pants, fixed so intently on the vulnerability Hannibal was showing. "You're too sure of yourself, Doctor. You speak with such confidence, forgetting your current position at my feet."

Hannibal now struggled to keep quiet, low moaning laced between heavy breaths as he chased his high. "Whatever you think, Will..." Hannibal managed to say. "It's your own path you are forging. Not one forged by me. I simply guide."

"I never asked for a guide." Will growled. "I'm not a follower."

Will pulled his foot away and thrusted it back.

Hannibal tossed his head back, a sharp throaty moan tearing from him as his back arched away from the wall. The viper that had coiled tightly deep within him struck, spitting venom. Hannibal's orgasm tore through him, leaving him shuddering. His trousers grew damp as semen soaked the fabric. The power Will held over him now was incredible, and Hannibal welcomed it with open arms. He admired how far Will had come; From a twitchy, nervous profiler, to a powerful, fearless killer, willing to take the Ripper by the antlers. One step further in his Becoming.

. . .

Will stood in the shadows, watching as the agents milled around the scene. The skeleton of a saber-toothed cat, adorned with the face and flesh of Randall Tier stood in the middle of it all.

"The killer chose not to dispose of the body, but to display it instead." Jack Crawford's voice echoed in the hall of the museum."Denied the respectful end he had denied others."

Hannibal stepped forward, observing the display. "A jarring reminder of the informalities of death." He said, watching Will from the corner of his eye. "This is humiliation. A final indignity."

Will stepped out of the shadows, meeting Hannibal's gaze. "He isn't mocking him," Will said. "This isn't disdain... He's commemorating him."

Hannibal shot Will a knowing look. "This killer has no fear of the consequences of what he has done."

Will returned the look, then closed his eyes. "No guilt...."

He watched the pendulum swing, opening his eyes to meet the gaze of the display. "Hello again...."

"Come closer. I wanna see you." The voice of Randall Tier echoed. Will walked closer, gazing at the display with a look close to admiration. "Can you see you?"

"Clearer and clearer." Will answered, circling the display. "He forced me to kill you...."

"He didn't force you." Randall answered, emerging from the shadows. "He guided you. What you did was commemorate me. You made me a monument.'

Will didn't meet Randall's eye, continuing to circle the display. "I did what was mean to be done, I gave you your slice of life."

"But you don't want someone to give you yours." Randall answered. You want to take it for yourself, correct?"

Will nodded, watching his feet. "I don't want to be guided to it. I want it to be my own."

Randall hummed in acknowledgement. "Dr. Lecter obviously wants to lead you to the slice of pie he wants you to take." Randall said, beginning to circle, countering Will's direction. "Will you take a Slice from there, or will you bake your own?"

Will shrugged. "I want him to know that I won't be toyed with anymore. I may be too far down his path to change direction, but I want to continue down it on my own terms. I will not follow blindly. Not anymore."

The two men stopped, finally meeting gaze. Randall gave Will a blink of encouragement. "Take your Slice, Will."

Will opened his eyes, staring Hannibal down. "This is a thank you."

. . .

You could hear barking but there were no dogs in sight. An eerie glow lit his home, source unseen. Will sat on his bed, watching the clock tick backwards. There was blood staining the wood floor in front of the fireplace and an odd thumping sounded from the hall. Will finally turned to acknowledge the sound, despite it having been going on for quite a while now. He rose from his seat on his bed and approached the hall. The Ravenstag gazed at him, its breath billowing in the cold air of the home. Will gazed back, tilting his head questioningly. The Ravenstag huffed, bowing its head towards the stairs. He heard the thumping again, this time coming from upstairs. Will walked up and his eyes widened in shock.

The stairs led, not to a hall of unused bedrooms, but to one large, almost empty room. Paintings lined the walls, all gory in nature, and the floor was almost entirely covered in fur rugs except for a spot in the middle where a knife lay on the uncovered wooden floor. And just above the knife was Hannibal, strung up with dark red rope, tied artfully into a harness. His wrists were tied and his arms spread, the rope fastened to hooks on opposite walls. Rope extended from the knot at his collarbone and wrapped around his neck to form a collar. On the crown of his head was a glorious rack of antlers, their bone white hue contrasting beautifully with the red rope tied and fastened to hooks on the walls, tight enough to restrict movement, but with enough slack to allow him to move his head minutely. A gorgeous recreation of the crucifixion of Christ.

Will's gaze raked Hannibal's body. The man was nude, gloriously nude. Hannibal shifted as much as the ropes allowed, tossing his head back. His antlers hit the wall behind him, creating the thumping sound Will had heard earlier. Hannibal's abdominal muscles flexed and his cock twitched. Oh, he was incredibly hard, the shaft flushed pink and the tip and angry red. Hannibal shifted again, letting his head hang as far as the ropes allowed him to. A soft groan left Hannibal's lips and a thick string of precum leaked from his slit, dripping slowly towards the floor.

"Oh, Will..."

Will shivered. Hannibal, gorgeous Hannibal, hung so helplessly, moaning his name. Oh, It was a sight to behold. Will stepped forward, feeling the fur of a large, white rug soft beneath his feet. He walked towards Hannibal, crouching at his feet. Hannibal let out a little groan, unable to look down at Will. Will smiled to himself and picked the knife up off the floor. He brushed the tip of the blade against the sole of Hannibal's foot, watching with amusement as the man squirmed. Will continued to tease, running the tip of the blade along the inside of one of Hannibal's thighs. Hannibal whimpered, shuddering as more precum dripped from his cock. Will brushed the tip of the knife along the underside of Hannibal's cock, relishing the needy moan that slipped from Hannibal's parted lips. He rose a bit to face Hannibal's cock, wrapping his lips around the tip and rubbing the tip of his tongue against his slit.

"W- Oh god.." Hannibal gasped, legs trembling.

Will caressed one of Hannibal's thighs, the salty, slightly bitter flavor of his precum dancing on his tongue. Will hummed, pressing the blade of the knife against the meat of his thigh. Will pulled off of Hannibal's cock with a quiet pop and we whipped his arm to the side, cutting into Hannibal's thigh. Hannibal let out a moan and his antlers thumped against the wall. A liquid splattered Will's face, thick and warm. Hannibal came on him.

Will scoffed, wiping away the semen. He stood and looked up at Hannibal.

"Forgive me, Will..." Hannibal whined, licking away blood from his lip. "Forgive me, my love..."

Will groaned, his cock straining against his pants. He stared at Hannibal, his eyes coming. to rest at the man's neck. Impulse. He reached up, pressing the blade against Hannibal's throat. "Darling..." Hannibal moaned.

Will sliced and warm blood rained down on him.

Will's eyes snapped open. He was laying in bed, drenched in sweat, with an erection tenting his boxers. He's had wet dreams before, He's had dreams where he killed, he's had dreams (nightmares) about Hannibal, but never all three at once. He never realized how far his fascination for Hannibal went. How deep the wound ran. It was infected now. Festered with bloodlust and laciviocity. He ached, hungered, for Hannibal. Wanted to feel him from the inside. But he also wished to see the water run red. Sink his teeth into the meat of him and watch the blood seep from gashes in his flesh, the skin purpling over broken blood vessels. Will shook his head and rubbed his eyes till he saw stars. He was able to feel himself spiraling.

He slid out of bed, stepping carefully around numerous dog beds. Winston looked up at him, head tilted. The dog watched his master slip into a pair of jeans and a flannel button up, only for him to pause and take the clothing off. He pulled out a pair of dress pants and a forest green button down. He grabbed a bag from the corner of the room, pacing around his home and shoving various items into it. Rope, a narrow leather pouch, among other things. He slipped on a waterproof jacket and paused at the door, looking at the shotgun resting by the door frame. He mulled for a moment, then grabbed the shotgun and his keys. He opened the door, narrowing his eyes against the rain blowing in through the doorway.

Winston got up, ready to follow his master out into the rain. Will turned and crouched to pet the dog, ruffling the fur on his head.

"You gotta stay, bud" Will coddled him, rubbing his ears. Winston stared at his master ruefully, sensing the tension roiling within the man. He whined, nuzzling Will's hand. Will chuckled, rubbing Winston's head between his hands. "It's okay, boy... I'll be back soon, okay?"

Winston huffed, watching his master leave. Will trudged through the snow towards his car, shotgun in hand. He could feel his heart rabbiting in his chest the entire drive to Baltimore. He glanced at the shogun resting against the dashboard. He was not sure why he felt the need to bring it. Unsure of the motivations behind going to Hannibal's home. His thoughts swirled in his head, scenarios playing through. More than half of them were erotically violent. He arrived at Hannibal's place, sitting in his car as he slowly slipped into crisis. The lights in Hannibal's home were on. Will couldn't really slip inside unnoticed, so there goes his original plan to sneak in and suprise the man. He takes the shotgun and holds it close, his mind spiraling. His gaze flicks nervously towards Hannibal's home, his fingers curling against the gun. He leaves the car, heart pounding.

He drifted across the lawn, skirting the Bentley. He stood at the porch, clutching the shotgun in his left hand. He felt sweat begin to bead at his skin as he raises a hand to knock at Hannibal's door. The moment it took for Hannibal to open the door seemed to span across an eternity.

Will gripped the shotgun, holding it close to his body. The doorknob clicked. Will's muscles tensed. The door opened.

The crack of the shotgun connecting to Hannibal's skull echoed in the silence. The force of the swing nearly took Will off his feet. He was panting now, the end of the shotgun resting against the ground. He stared down at Hannibal, now lying at his feet. Blood decorated the man's temple where the flesh split against the shotgun. Will's heart was fluttering his chest like a trapped bird. He was starting to slip into a panic. He stepped into Hannibal's home, setting the shotgun aside, then grabbing Hannibal under the armpits and dragging him inside.

. . .

Hannibal blinked. His vision was hazy and a dull ache pounded against his skull. He shifted his body, then realizing he was bound to a chair. He jerked his body against the bindings, looking down at them. They were expertly, rather artistically, tied, binding his legs and torso to the chair and, in the dim lighting, Hannibal saw that the ropes were red. He stopped moving, staying very still. Hannibal was able to hear quick, panicked breathing. The scent of stress permeated the room. He squinted at the shadows, watching the silhouette of a man crouched against the wall. Beneath the sour smell of stress, Hannibal could smell an awful aftershave and beneath that, the scent of Will.

"Will?"

"Shut up," Will said softly, his voice raspy.

"Will, what is this about?"

Will stood up, stomping towards Hannibal. He thrusted the muzzle of the gun against Hannibal's chest, glaring at him.

"I said shut up!" Will hissed. Hannibal swallowed, gazing into Will's wild eyes.

"What troubles you, dear friend?" Hannibal asks calmly, his breathing even. Will's eyes narrow, his lip curling.

"We're not friends," Will growled. "We've never been friends."

Hannibal winced, feeling a bit hurt. He always had seen Will as his friend, and knowing now spiteful Will felt towards him stung.

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Will."

Will scoffed. "You're not sorry," He shifted, resting the muzzle of the gun against Hannibal's forehead. "You've never felt sorry for anything. You're incapable of guilt."

Will wasn't an idiot, that's for sure. He had obviously had enough of Hannibal's bullshit, from the moment he was incarcerated at the BSHCI. Hannibal gazed at Will, feeling rather proud of how far his boy had come. "Tell me Will. What could I do to warrant forgiveness"

Will stared back, eyes narrowed.

"Are you going to shoot me, Will?" Hannibal asked, a sly croon in his voice.

Will grimaced, lifting the shotgun away. "Nah, that'll let you off too easy." Will mused, not looking at Hannibal. "I can't take back what you've taken from me, but I can take something of yours."

"I've taken nothing," Hannibal hummed. "I've simply given."

"Yeah, right" will growled.

"What would you like me to do, dear Will?" Hannibal purrs, looking amused.

Will's gaze darkened. "You? Nothing. You're gonna sit there and let me take..."

Hannibal lowered his voice, his accent growing heavy. "Take what, cunning boy?"

Will grinned at Hannibal. He then thrusted his foot against Hannibal's chest, knocking the chair over backwards. Hannibal grunted as he hit the ground, the movement making him dizzy. Will leaned over to look down at Hannibal, a smirk on his face. "Pride."

Another crack. Will brought the butt of the shotgun down onto Hannibal's face, breaking his nose. He then untied him and lifted him up.

Hannibal opened his eyes once more and found himself in his bedroom. He licked his top lip, tasting blood. His nose stung, and, as he ran his tongue along his front teeth, he realized that one of his teeth were chipped. Goosebumps rose on his skin, and Hannibal realizes he's naked. His arms were tied behind him, his legs were bent and spread, calves and thighs tied together underneath him, preventing him from unfolding his legs. Another rope was wrapped around his neck like a collar, the end of the rope tied to the rope around his arms. His legs ached against the hardwood floor and his head pounded. He struggled against his bindings keeling forward and hitting his forehead against the floor. He heard a snicker and strained to see Will walking towards him.

"God, you're a pain in the ass." Will's voice rang with a rich timbre as the man rounded Hannibal, stopping to stand behind him. "But I've got to give it to you... You sure are pretty." Will lifted his foot, dragging the top of it along Hannibal's balls. Hannibal tensed, a chill running down his spine. Will then grabbed him by the hair, pulling him up. Hannibal swallowed, gazing into Will's greenish blue eyes. Will had a smirk on his face, and his eyes were dark and hooded. He pulled something out of his pocket and fidgeted with it in his hand. "Do you always carry a scalpel with you, Dr Lecter?"

Hannibal shivered as Will dragged the tip of the blade along his collarbone. "Yes."

"Why?" Will asked, making a shallow cut at Hannibal's collarbone. Will noticed the obscene amount of precum already dripping from Hannibal's cock and smirked.

Hannibal swallowed again. "Just in case."

Will stood upright, looking down on Hannibal. "Well, I guess I'll keep it with me. Just in case."

Hannibal watched as Will strides over to the plush chair in the corner of the room, looked at it, look back at him, and walks back. Will then grabbed one of the ropes and practically dragged Hannibal towards the chair.

"Now," Will says as he drops into the chair. "Do you know how much you make my head spin?" Will doesn't let Hannibal answer. "You've been working your way into my head. You started showing up in my dreams. Would you like to know what dreamed about earlier, Dr. Lecter?" Hannibal stared at Will, unsure of what to say. Will hums, leaning to caress the side of Hannibal's face. "I dreamed of you. Tied so pretty. So vulnerable. I looked at you and thought: 'That's where you belong'. You have been picking away at me for the longest time. Making me vulnerable. I'm sick of it. So now it's my turn." Will leaned back in the chair, spreading his legs. He looks at Hannibal, a curious stare.

"What do you think would be appropriate...?"

"I don't know, Will..." Hannibal answered. Will frowned.

"Calling me Will... makes us equals. We're not equals. Not right now." Will muses.

Hannibal states back. "May I suggest I call you "sir", then?"

Will raised an eyebrow. "If that's what you want..."

Hannibal leaned forward to rub his cheek against Will's knee. Will scoffed, jerking his knee, hitting Hannibal's cheekbone. Hannibal let out a soft grunt, the pain from the bump against his jaw mingling with the pounding of his head.

"Acting like a little slut isn't gonna let you off easy, Dr. Lecter."

Hannibal looked up at Will, his eyes glittering "Then what would you like from me Will?"

Will moved his leg in between Hannibal's and kicked. Hannibal hissed, squeezing his thighs closed, his head hanging.

"You're supposed to call me 'sir' remember?" Will mocked, forcing his foot between Hannibal's legs, spreading them. "Then again, I think you want to be punished..."

Hannibal shuddered. He stared at Will, reverence filling him. His Will, great God seated before him. The monster he has crafted, taking its rightful seat at the throne. "Then punish me."

A wide, Foxlike smile spread across Will's face. He leaned forward to run a hand through Hannibal's hair. "Oh, punish you I will."

Hannibal gazed at Will, his eyes glassy, as the man caressed his face. He didn't know what he was feeling for Will at that moment. Love wasn't quite it. Devotion. Obsession. Hannibal shivered.

Will brushed his thumb along Hannibal's lips, eyes trained on them. A hum rang in Will's throat as he admired Hannibal "Open your mouth, will ya?"

Hannibal let out a shaky breath and parted his lips. His tongue brushed against the pad of Will's thumb, tasting him. Will slipped an index finger into Hannibal's mouth, pressing a nail into his tongue. Hannibal let his tongue slide out of his mouth, gazing up into Will's eyes.

"God, I'd fuck that stupid face of yours..." Will growled, voice husky. Pink dusted across the bridge of Hannibal's nose, arousal pooling low. Will leaned close, lips nearly touching Hannibal's. He parted his lips and stuck out his tongue, saliva pooling on it. Will's spit ran down his tongue onto Hannibal's, spilling onto his chin. Hannibal groaned, eyes hooded. Will pulled back to admire his work.

Then leaning back towards Hannibal, Will slides his tongue against Hannibal's, lips locking. Hannibal moaned, leaning forward into the kiss. Pain prickled at his scalp as Will tugged on his hair. Hannibal rolled his hips as Will slid off the chair onto the floor, a knee slotted between his legs.

"Oh, fuck." Will groaned as Hannibal grinded against his knee. "You’re soaking my pants". Hannibal stuttered, relishing the sound of Will's husky voice washing over him. He buried his face into Will's neck, mouthing at the flesh. Will caressed the back of Hannibal’s head, bringing the scalpel in his hand to the base of Hannibal's neck and cut.

Hannibal gasped, body tensing. Will gathered blood on the tips of his fingers from the cut he gave Hannibal and ghosted them over the man's twitching cock. "I'm not even touching you and yet you're moaning like a whore.” Will crooned, smearing blood onto Hannibal’s pelvis. Hannibal gritted his teeth, a whimper rising in his throat. Will smirked, dragging his bloodied fingertips along the shaft of Hannibal’s cock, feeling every twitch and shudder.

"Will, please... Hannibal choked, staring at Will.

"Please, what? Will purred, thumbing at Hannibal’s skin. “You're in no position to ask for favors, Dr. Lecter...”

Hannibal let out a breathy moan, hips canting. Precum was pooling in a small puddle beneath him, thick and shing in the faint moonlight that illuminated the room. He held back a shameless whine as Will stood to sit back into the chair. Hannibal watched Will take off his shoes and socks and admired the smooth skin showing from the top of the shirt where the buttons were undone. Will then placed his foot on Hannibal’s crotch and Hannibal was unable to stifle a moan.

"You seem to like being stepped on, don't you, Dr Lecter?” Will crooned, teasing Hannibal with his foot. "Do you like it when I tease?" Will brushed his toes along the shaft, watching as even more pre-ejaculate leaked from his slit. "Or are you just a masochist?”

Hannibal let out a loud moan, laced with both pleasure and pain as Will pressed down on his balls with his foot. Gasping, he watched as Will pulled a long narrow leather pouch from the bag at his side.Will opened the pouch and pulled out a long, thin metal rod. Hannibal tensed.

“Do you know what this is, Dr Lecter?" Will asked, holding the metal rod gingerly between his fingers.

"Sounding Rod." Hannibal answered, licking his lip anxiously.

"Uh-huh, and do you know what I'm gonna do with it?" Will purred.

“Use it on me, I suppose.”

Will chuckled, sliding off the chair onto the floor. “Normally you’d put lube on your dick, but you're so damn wet that I don't think I have to...”

Hannibal hissed as the cold metal of the sounding rod touched his tip. Will held onto his cock as he eased the tip of the rod into Hannibal’s slit. "Will!" Hannibal cried out, shuddering as he felt the rod slide slowly into his urethra.

"Stay still, I could hurt you real bad if you keep moving." Will growled. "It won't be a good hurt either...”

Hannibal swallowed, his body tensed. His breathing grew heavy as Will continued to ease the rod down his urethra. It wasn't long till a jolt went up Hannibal's spine as the tip of the rod touched his prostate. The insatiable urge to cum seared through Hannibal. He spasmed, desperate. The rod blocked his urethra, preventing him from release.

"Will please…" Hannibal gasps.

Will grinned and pulled the sounding rod out, a string of lube and pre-ejaculate following. He put the rod aside and stroked Hannibal's cheek with his thumb. "Poor, poor Dr. Lecter." Will crooned, dragging a finger up along the underside of Hannibal's cock. Use your words. What is it that you want?"

"I'd love nothing more than to feel you in any way that I can…." Hannibal rasps.

Will smirked, sitting back on the chair. He unbuttoned his pants and pulled out his dick. Stroking himself, he beckoned Hannibal with a finger. "C'mere, Dr. Lecter…"

Hannibal moved forward towards Will, eyeing his cock. He looked up at Will, waiting for instructions. Will rose to his feet and grabbed Hannibal by the hair. He rubbed his tip against Hannibal's lips, wetting them with precum.

"Open your mouth, Doctor." Will crooned, voice raspy.

He let out a sigh of pleasure as Hannibal wrapped his lips around the head of Will's cock, rubbing the tip of his tongue against his slit. Will's grip on Hannibal's hair tightened as he pushed his cock deeper into Hannibal's mouth, hitting the back of the other man's throat. Hannibal gagged just a bit, spit dripping from the corners of his mouth as Will began to thrust into his mouth, moaning as tears welled up in his eyes as Will went deeper, fucking his throat. Hannibal struggled, trying not to gag. Spit dripped in a string from his chin as Will thrusted, and his eyes rolled back.

"Mmm, fuck..." Will moaned, slowing down. He pulled his cock out of Hannibal's mouth, gently hitting him on the cheek with it. He then sank back down onto the floor, straddling Hannibal. Will pressed his cock up against Hannibal's, rubbing them together. Hannibal let out a breathy moan, pressing his forehead against Will's and Will presses his lips against Hannibal's, tasting himself on the man's skin. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a pocket knife. He reaches behind Hannibal and cuts his wrists free and Hannibal's hands go for Will's hips, fingers slipping into the waistband of his pants. Will rose just a little, allowing Hannibal to pull his pants down over the swell of his ass.

"May I?" Hannibal asked tentatively, brushing the tips of his fingers against Will's hole. Will shook his head, brushing his own fingertips against Hannibal's lips.

"Suck on 'em, will ya? I want 'em nice and wet." Will purred, his southern accent growing more prominent. Hannibal complied, taking Will's fingers into his mouth and curling his tongue around them. He coated Will's fingers in spit, sucking on them fervently. Will chuckled, pushing his hips further into Hannibal's lap, a dark smile on his face. He was able to feel Hannibal's precum slicking the skin as he ruts against the other man. He pulled his fingers out of Hannibal's mouth, watching with glittering eyes as the string of saliva stretches between his fingertips and Hannibal's lips.

He gazed at Hannibal, eyes glittering. He dragged his fingers down Hannibal's balls, soaked with precum, then pressed them against Hannibal's taint, grinning as Hannibal shudders. "Will.... What are you-" Hannibal cut himself off with a sharp moan of surprise as Will pushes a slick finger past the ring of muscle of Hannibal's hole. Will grinned lazily, curling the finger as he dragged it slowly along Hannibal's inner walls, pressing against his prostate. More of that slick, clear fluid oozed out of Hannibal's cock, pooling onto his belly. "W-Will... I don't... I've never.... I can't..." "Shhhhh.... yes you fucking can.... I'm gonna make you..." Will growled, shoving in another finger, thrusting them a bit faster. Hannibal's precum ran down his ass, slicking the way for Will's fingers as Will thrusted them against his prostate. Hannibal jolted, hips thrusting up into the air, letting out a long whine. "Will... please, I-I'm... I'm going to.... Willllll!" Hannibal almost wailed, body shuddering as Will pulled his fingers out, denying Hannibal his release. Will chuckled, running his hand through Hannibal's hair. "Shhh.... So damn needy..." Will hummed, dragging his fingers through that puddle of ooze that gathered on Hannibal's belly, slicking his own cock with it. He pushed Hannibal back and pushed his knees up, so Hannibal was open and exposed, ready for Will to take. Will had that lazy grin on his face as he took his cock and rubbed the fat head against Hannibal's hole, crooning as Hannibal whines. "I'm gonna stretch you out so good.... you're only gonna be able to feel good on my cock...." Hannibal was panting, on the brink of panic, dazed with shock and arousal. He had no time to process anything when Will slams in, hitting his prostate in one thrust. Hannibal jerked, letting out a loud moan. Cum spewed out in ropes across his belly, clinging to the hair. Will growled in delight, fingers wrapped tightly around Hannibal's ankles. He thrusted relentlessly, ignoring Hannibal's pleading.

"Will! I-I can't! P-Please! I-It's too much, darling! Darling p-please!" Hannibal wailed, cock going soft on his wet, sticky belly, seminal fluid oozing out still as Will milked his prostate with rough thrusts against that little organ. Hannibal felt small.... chained and controlled. Subdued. It was humiliating..... exciting. His heart fluttered and his stomach swirled as he felt the cut on his back rub against the carpet. He felt the sting of tears in his eyes as Will fucked into him, nearly painful pleasure overwhelming him. He felt like he was going to pass out.

Hannibal then clenched hard around Will's fat cock after a particularly violent jab to his prostate and Will groans. Hannibal sobbed in relief as he felt that rush of Will's hot, sticky cum flooding his ass. He felt lightheaded, dizzy. He had a stupid, lazy smile on his bloodied face, and Will wraps his fingers around his neck. Will leaned in close and growls low. "You're mine..... I'm not yours... but you're mine.... got that?" Hannibal nodded.

Will leans in and presses a deep, passion filled kiss to Hannibal's lips, growling into them. "Mine...."

#hannibal nbc #hannibal lecter #will graham #hannigram #hannibal #hannibal x will #fanfic #bottom hannibal

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