#still burning red with rage trailing blood bringing up the bits and pieces of a dismembered torn apart v1 to the remnants of the council | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

canesshi · 3 years ago

Text

the bounty | western au

pairing: outlaw!Jungkook x bountyhunter!reader (f)

genre: angst, smut, enemies to ???

plot: There's a fivethousand dollar bounty on Jeon Jungkook's head and you are after it. A few unplanned events lead to the two of you trapped in a canyon and you learn that maybe, after all, he isn't as bad as he seems.

warnings: swearing, guns, blood, fighting, alcohol, SMUT, unprotected sex (because this is fiction! be safe irl), grinding, passionate sex, handjob, creampie, mentioned sexism, lmk if there is more

Standing in front of the wooden board, you ripped the piece of paper off the rusty nail that had been used to attach it to the wood. 'Wanted - dead or alive' it said in red stamped letters, the text framing the sketch of Jeon Jungkook's face.

"You finally wanna try again?"

Your gaze shot up to Jin, the sheriff, who leaned against the wooden wall of his sheriff's office. The golden star on his chest was as shiny as it could be; he cleaned it regularly, it was never dirty.

"They put a new price on his head, after all. Might as well try again. Fivethousand dollars are enough to retire.", you chuckled and looked back to the paper in your hands.

Jeon Jungkook.

The name was not unfamiliar. His face was plastered on every wall even in small towns, the law desperate to finally catch him. He was one of America's most wanted outlaws and since he had left his former gang he raged through the country like a hurricane; stealing, drinking, fighting, shooting, cheating, murdering, robbing. He had steadily increased the price on his head with every crime he commited and every bounty hunter had at one point been after him. The money was promising and experienced bounty hunters tended to underestimate his skills because of his age. He was fairly young for being such a successful outlaw, all on his own. Along with a few other criminals he was considered a 'legendary bounty'. Bounty hunters who could turn in such a bounty were well respected and feared amongst their peers, and the reward money was a nice addition. But Jeon Jungkook outsmarted and outshot all of them. Most of the hunters were dead or had given up.

You were after him once, too. It was when he was still with his old gang. They had been in a gang fight with another gang and were vunerable, the timing was perfect. But as you almost had him, he slipped through your fingers, jumping off the bridge and landing in the shallow waters. You had thought he had died but never found his corpse, only to read in a newspaper a few days later that he and his gang had robbed a stagecoach near a big city. Since then, his bounty had more than tripled. And if you were being honest, you were quite impressed. But now that you had had time to prepare and train, you were convinced you had a chance at catching him. Maybe you were being too optimistic and too full of yourself, but how would you ever find out if you didn't try?

"Are you sure it's a good idea? He does not hesitate to kill bounty hunters and he surely learned a few new things too. That kid is too skilled for his own good.", Jin wore a worried expression. The two of you had become something similar to friends over the past months since you usually collected the bounties in this tiny town because there was less competition this far away from the big city. "At least catch all the easier targets first so you are not leaving us behind with a bunch of criminals roaming the streets."

"Jin, you're the sheriff. You can handle an outlaw or two."

"But you do it so well. Also, who would we spend the tax money on? If there was no bounty money to pay, we would surely be rich in a few months, we can't have that!", he joked, fake worry in his voice. Then, he got serious again, stepping closer to you, taking the poster from your hands and inspecting it. "Be careful. I mean it. He is dangerous and I would feel lonely here without you bringing trouble into this small town."

"I'll be back, don't worry.", you nodded at him, smiling reassuringly but he didn't seem convinced.

"When will you leave? Where is he right now?"

"I'll pack my things and be off. There has been news he was sighted near Blackwater last. I'll be starting my search there.", you untied your horse from the post, stuffing the poster Jin had given you back into your bag. You mounted the animal, tipped your hat to Jin who smiled at you worriedly but nodded back and urged the animal under you forwards.

The ride to Blackwater had taken one and a half days. You had made camp outside of Armadillo to rest before you began your hunt. You needed all the energy you could possibly get, so a good night's rest was indispencable.

You woke up early, the sun had barely risen above the horizon. The weak sun warmed your chilled skin as you kicked dirt into the still glowing embers of your dying campfire. The air was fresh and you felt confident; you'd find him today and he wouldn't glide through your fingers again.

Spurring your horse on, you watched as the city in the distance grew closer with each stride your horse took. You slowed the animal down once you reached the cobbled street, looking into the dark alleyways, suspicious looking individuals meeting your gaze and snarling. They recognized bounty hunters when they saw them. But you were not here because of them. No, you were after someone way more valuable.

Stopping next to the sheriffs office, you tied your horse to the post outside and stepped into the office, your spurs clinking with every step. You halted in front of the main desk, the sheriff and his deputy looking you up and down.

"I'm after Jeon Jungkook.", you said, slapping his bounty poster onto the table. "I was told he was seen here recently, any idea where he was headed?"

The sheriff and deputy sent each other a look before the older gentleman breathed in deeply. "It is true. He was here recently, caused a bar fight and left once everyone was fighting, then, robbed the general store while everyone was occupied. Shot a few fellars on his way out of town." The sheriff took the paper, looked at Jungkook's picture before scoffing and letting the piece of paper fall back onto the table. "No offence, but you won't be able to turn him in. The best bounty hunters have been after him and ended up dying or giving up. I don't mean any harm when I say this but... maybe you bit off more than you can chew. He's not your everyday thief." You wanted to scoff and list all the outlaws you had turned in before but you knew better than to let yourself be agigated by his words.

"Whether or not I can handle him is my business. You want him caught or not? I just need all the information you got, the rest is not your problem.", you said calmy, one hand resting on your hip.

The sheriff hesitated for a bit before opening one of the drawers in the desk and pulling out a map. He flattened it out on the table and turned it so you could see well.

"We think he headed south into the canyons to lay low for a while. There have been no reports of him in other cities so he probably is still there. He might not be alone, we don't know for sure. Riding out there is a ticket straight to hell, ma'am."

You didn't wait for him to finish. You just tipped your head as a way of thanking him before turning your back and exiting the building. Not a minute longer was wasted in the town. You urged your horse to a gallop down the dusty road.

It was noon when you reached the canyons. The sun was beating down onto you and you were thankful for your hat that was providing enough shadow for your face to be safe from the scorching sunlight.

You stopped your horse on a ledge that hung over the valley of the canyons. Then in the distance you spotted a trail of smoke rising into the sky. A camp.

You shouldered your rifle before urging your horse on. The walls of the canyon were so high they were intimidating. The trails you rode through were narrow and once or twice your stirrup scraped against the dusty orange stone. You couldn't see much of the sky, so you weren't sure if you were even riding in the right direction.

You were as quiet as you possibly could, but each little clinking or thudding echoed through the canyon. You decided that it was best to leave your horse behind and continue on foot. It was quieter and you could escape more easily if you had to.

You dismounted on a wider spot, the stone walls further away from you and making you feel less claustophobic. You grabbed a few more bullets from your saddlebag along with your bag in case you needed water or were injured.

Patting your horse's neck one last time and hoping you would be able to return to it, you continued through the canyon, your steps still echoing but a lot quieter than your horse's hooves had been.

When you smelled burnt wood you stuck close to the stone walls, making sure to peek before charging the open area. You peeked into the camp but there was no sign of a human being. You carefully walked into the camp, watching as the fire was still burning. Someone had been here not too long ago. You looked around and noticed bags and a bedroll on the ground. Someone had definitely been here shortly before you, and they would probably be returning soon. You kneeled down to open one of the bags when suddenly a gunshot rang through the canyon, the bullet missing you by an inch.

You immediately sprung into action, ducking behind a wooden crate and firing a few shots into the direction the bullet had come from. It had been a revolver bullet so the attacker was close to you, had probably sneaked up behind you.

It was silent for a while before a bullet hit the crate, sending splinters flying. Shit, you needed a safer cover. But there was nothing here. The attacker was just waiting for you to move, you knew it. You needed a plan.

You pulled your waterskin from your bag and opened it up. If you could throw it into the fire, there would be enough steam for you to move to a safer position, right? You peeked around the crate and immideately a bullet hit the edge of the crate, close to your face.

Shit, if you moved your arm from the cover they would probably shoot it clean off. You were trapped and if your attacker decided he had waited long enough, he could just start blasting the crate to kill you. You looked through your bag only finding a few things that didn't help you out now. Unless...

You fished for the red neckerchief and threw it next to the crate, careful to not reveal your hands or arms. Instantly a few shots were fired, hitting the neckerchief until it was in shreds. That's when you heard the familiar click of a gun being reloaded. You didn't waste a second and threw the waterskin into the flames, successfully creating thick puffs of steam that blocked your attacker's view.

You quickly moved into a crevice in the stonewall, barely wide enough to fit your body but at least safer than the wooden crate. Bullets were fired at you, but you had been faster, and they had no clear view. Once the steam disappeared, you watched carefully. The attacker didn't know where you were, and you watched as the broad figure move from behind the canyon wall to a boulder a little closer to you. You acted instantly, shooting a few bullets with your revolver, even though your heart skipped a beat. You had only seen him shortly but you knew his figure.

You had found him. Jeon Jungkook.

You heard a low hiss so you must've gotten him somewhere. You wanted to squeal in victory when he propped himself up on the boulder and fired a few rounds of bullets. The stone wall held off each bullet but little pieces of stone splintered off the surface and created thick dust which stung in your eyes. But instead of cowering away you took the rifle from your back, aimed at the figures head and placed your hand on the trigger. He wasn't careful enough. You could kill him right then and there, but your ego got the better of you. If you'd bring him in alive, he would be worth a lot more and you wanted to see the look of defeat on his face when you bound his wrists and turned him into the sheriff's office as they placed him behind bars.

So instead of his head you aimed at his gun and pulled the trigger, successfully blasting it out of his hand. He ducked as soon as the shot was fired but he wasn't fast enough. It was silent after that, no shots from him as you waited for his next move.

"That's it. You've got me."

You perked up at his smooth voice. He sounded like he was amused.

"You can kill me.", he said, slowly raising from behind the boulder. His hands were in the air to show you he was unarmed.

"But you'd miss out on a lot of money. They want to see me hang, they'd pay a lot to see that. If I'm dead though... there won't be much of a hanging going on. They will be disappointed. Less money."

"You think I'm stupid enough to fall for your trap, Jeon?", you hissed, rifle trained on his head, ready to shoot if you needed to. You moved away from your cover slowly, showing him you had the upper hand now.

"Well, seeing how you only shot my gun and not my head, I assume you are either a terrible, terrible shot or you are after a great deal of money.", he wore a smug smile on his face but you didn't miss the droplets of sweat dripping down the side of his forehead. That's when you saw the trail of blood on his side. That's where you had gotten him earlier, you thought to yourself.

"But since I know you can shoot well, I know it's the latter. Last time we met, you almost had me, and now you finally finished what you started."

You felt uneasy. He remembered you? How in the hell, would he remember you when he had to deal with countless of bounty hunters almost every day? What made you special enough for him to remember?

Maybe this was a trick, you thought. He was riling you up on purpose.

You had only been distracted for half a second when suddenly you were hit in the head by a hard item. You stumbled back, the rifle falling from your hands as you clutches your now bleeding forehead.

That fucker had thrown his gun!

He charged at you while you were occupied and pressed you to the ground beneath him. He pulled a knife out of his boot and moved to plunge it into your chest but you kneed him into his back, making him topple over you so you could roll out beneath him, an elbow to his back. He grunted as he spun around, slicing the knife through the air, missing your arm by an inch.

"You have gotten better.", he snickered through gritted teeth.

"So have you.", you answered, grabbing a hand full of dust and throwing it into his face. He clawed at his eyes as you finally distanced yourself from him again. You grabbed your revolver from your gunbelt and pointed it at him, ready to shoot when he suddenly pulled on the neckerchief you were standing on, making you topple over as your feet lost their footing. Before he could reach you though, you were back on your feet, your gun nowhere to be found. Shit.

A cut into your arm made you cry out sharply. The cut wasn't too deep but it began bleeding quickly. "You son of a bitch!"

You grabbed his wrist before he could bring down the blade again. Your nails dug into his dirtied skin, making him grit his teeth. He was stronger than you, but you took advantage of the situation when you kneed him into the stomach. He huffed loudly and the knife fell from his hand. You caught it and chucked it far away. "You have a lot of nerves coming here!", he sneered and grabbed your neck, pushing you down. You moved your head quickly, biting down on his bleeding hand, tasting the iron on your tongue.

That's when you decided to take off. If you made it to your horse in time, you could get another gun or flee. But you were so disoriented, you didn't know which way you had come from. Jungkook recovered behind you, so you decided to just run, no matter what direction.

You ran as fast as you could but your could hear his fast footsteps behind you, catching up with you.

You scrambled up a canyon wall that had been carved into a stair-like formation by the waters a few million years ago. Jungkook followed you without a problem. His stamina was way better than yours.

Once you were on top of the stone platform and you could overlook the maze like crevices, Jungkook caught up to you.

The two of you were standing in front of each other. Chests heaving.

"This ends here. One of us is going to die. And if I think about it, It might as well be you."

He lurched forward grabbing your body and pressing you into the ground. He raised a fist, wanting to knock you out but you moved your head to the side, his fist meeting the stone beneath you. You tried pushing him off of you and ended up changing positions with him, straddling him, before he tried pushing you down again.

But as he grabbed your hips, pushing you off of his stomach, your back didn't meet the hard ground. It was met with breezy nothingness as your body slipped off the edge. His body was inevitable pulled down with yours, your hands clamped down on his shirt. Your mouth was open in a scream as you fell but no noises came out.

It felt like you were falling for hours, hands still clinging onto Jungkook's larger frame.

Hitting the ground was painless and everything went black not even a second later.

Your eyes peeled open slowly. There was dust, dried blood, sweat and tears. You could barely see.

Your nose was running and you didn't kow if it was tears or blood.

How in god's name were you alive? Were you even alive?

You carefully moved your arms under you, pushing yourself up from the ground. Your head was throbbing painfully and little stones dug into your palms as you looked around.

Jungkook's body laid a few feet away, head slumped against his chest as he sat up against the canyon wall. He had probably woken up and moved to sit up against it before falling unconscious again.

You groaned as you pushed yourself to your feet, moving over to his body. You gently pushed against his legs with your boot, trying to wake him... or check if he was still alive. He looked horrible. Clothes ragged and dusty all over. His once jet black hair was matted and coated with brownish dust. You probably didn't look any better.

You kicked him again, a little harsher this time and a low groan escaped his throat as he lifted his head slightly. He struggled to open his eyes, the sun blinding him as he looked up at you.

"I was hoping you had died.", he rasped.

"Well, it seems like we're both still alive."

"Not for much longer.", he scoffed bitterly. That's when you took in your surroundings for the first time. The two of you were trapped inside a crevice in the canyon, barely wide enough for a whole body to lay flat, it was a few metres long in length. The more devastating part was that there was no exit or way up. The two of you were trapped down here. "Shit.", you murmored.

"If you still want to kill me, do it now. At least I won't have to starve to death.", he said, gasping as he sat up straighter against the stone wall.

"No-... There has to be a way out. We could-... climb up?"

"And how are you going to do that? The stone is too smooth, there are no ledges to grip onto. And even if you did make it up a few metres, if you fell, you'd only injure yourself more."

"Oh, so you just want to give up and die?", you scoffed.

"Unless you have a realistic escape plan, then yes, that's the only thing left for us to do."

You felt your head throb again painfully. You should have listened to Jin. This had been a dumb idea. Anyone smarter than you would've just given up after escaping with your life last time but no- you just had to try it again. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"Ah- fuck-" Your gaze dropped to Jungkook whose face was scrunched up in pain as he moved slightly. A hand was pressed to his side where you had shot him earlier. You didn't know how bad the wound was but it couldn't have been too deep considering he was still alive and not bleeding out. "I can't believe you really got me. I was slacking."

How he felt the need to talk to you was beyond you. You were his enemy but still - he was talking to you like you were an old aquaintance. You wanted to feel hatred towards him but it seemed like every bit of anger had left you. There was no point in fighting anyway - you'd both die down here.

"Let me see.", you forced out, kneeling down next to the man and trying to move his hand away from the injury. He didn't stop you but he seemed taken aback, eyes glued to yours as you pulled the button up shirt from his pants, careful to not irritate the wound too much. Once you had clear view of the gash, you inspected it. The bullet had only grazed him but it still left a decent gash on his side, skin ripped with ragged edges. It would take some time to heal and would probably leave a nasty scar, but what did it matter anyway? Neither of you would be alive then. How much you wished for one of those new devices you had read about in the newspaper - a telephone? Was that what they were called?

You went to grab something from your bag but it was no longer laying against you hip. Had it ripped off while fighting Jungkook? You looked around and saw the brown bag lying a few metres away. Thank god! Your bag was your ticket for living at least a few days longer. Dried meat and a small emergency flask of water could grant you enough time to think about all the times you had fucked up in your life or what desicions led you to be trapped here. Great.

You stood up to grab it and Jungkook followed your figure with curious eyes. He looked younger now that you really took him in. A boyish gleam in his eyes, though matted because of the circumstances. He was definitely not ugly either. If he had chosen a different life, you might have even bedded him.

What nonsense. You couldn't change a thing about the past and that was that. Thinking of all the possibilities if things had been different was wasted time.

You returned to Jungkooks side, fishing for a herb from the inside of your bag. You stuck it in your mouth, chewing it up into a paste before spitting it onto your fingers. "I know I'll die anyway but I'd appreciate it if you didn't give me an infection."

You just rolled your eyes as you applied the paste to the wound making him hiss slightly. You needed something to bandage the wound with but your neckerchief had been left behind at Jungkook's camp and was ripped apart anyway. You noticed that he was wearing one around his neck and went to untie it, hands combing through his slightly long black hair to get the knot loose. You didn't realize how close you were to him until you felt his warm breath on your own face. His eyes were locked to yours as he searched for something in them. Your brows furrowed and you quickly pulled back, unfolding the neckerchief and roling it into a bandage to tie around his waist. The fabric was barely long enough to actually be tied together but you managed, even though you must have hurt hime quite a bit in the process.

"Didn't take you to be such a whiny boy.", you said jokingly.

He didn't answer, only inspecting the bandage around his middle. You opened up the waterskin and poured it over his face earning a displeased grunt from Jungkook. You wiped the dirt, grime and blood from his face with your hands. "I could have done that myself, you know?" You poured a little water into your hands, cleaning your own face, being careful to only use as little water as possible.

"Why are you bandaging me up? Afraid you'll go to hell if you don't start doing nice things now?", he asked after some time, hairs falling into his eyes as he rested his head against the stone wall behind him. You had decided to sit opposite of him, sitting cross legged.

The truth was, you didn't even know the answer to his question. Why did you treat his wound? It was pointless anyway.

"Well, I guess in the face of death, people start to act strangely.", you answered, head turned away from him. Jungkook chuckled and licked his dry lips, throat feeling uncomfortably dry too.

"A shame that it has to end like this.", he then said,"I was wishing to escape you one more time. Bruising your ego a bit, you know?" He was laughing to himself, swallowing the bit of saliva his body could muster up.

"It looked more like you were trying to get me to meet my maker.", you answered, looking over to him, your lips curved slightly upwards now.

"You were better than I anticipated and I was taken aback. Didn't want to die, to be honest. You left me no choice."

You scoffed, the smile now wiped off your face. "Yeah right. You had the choice to not be a fucking outlaw in the first place!"

"Did I really?", he spat sourly.

You went silent then, watching as his brows furrowed.

"I had noone when I was younger. Should I have moped around the streets looking through the trashcans for food like the other street kids?" You knew who Jungkook was talking about. Homeless children were no rare scene, especially in big cities like Saint Denise. There was no furture for them outside of crime and gangs.

"When Namjoon found me, I was at the brink of starvation. He took me in and taught me everything I know about guns, horses and money. I truly did not have a choice if I wanted to survive."

He swallowed thickly before continuing.

"Besides, Namjoon always taught me how fucked up this so called society is. We just wanted to be free, to not be bound by laws and power-hungry people. Can you really blame us for that? Politicians and lawmen are not any different from us outlaws, they just have a badge that excuses every crime they commit against minorities."

"That's no excuse for the things you did. I am not here to try to make you regret your past but killing innocent folk is not any better than they are."

"We never intended to kill innocent people. I won't lie and say I have never killed anyone innocent but that was never our goal. We were just after the rich and powerful men. It doesn't matter now anyway. I left the gang a long while ago."

You didn't say anything after that, head resting back against the warm stone and watching as the sky slowly turned different shades of orange, red and pink.

You rumaged through your bag before feeling the cool glass against your fingers and pulling the whiskey bottle out. Jungkook looked amused as you took a big swig, handing it to him afterwards. He took the bottle gratefully and took a few big swigs, face scrunching up in distaste but continuing to down the liquid. When the bottle left his lips they were coated in the smooth liquid, glistening in the golden sunlight. He looked pretty. And that wasn't the booze talking... not yet at least.

"What about you? You had to listen to me whining about my shitty childhood, and now I'll listen to your tragic story."

"What makes you think I had a tragic childhood?", you teased, taking the whiskey from him and nipping at the bottle.

"Oh, please!", he huffed, "You are a bounty hunter and you want to tell me that you had a nice childhood? I have heard way better lies than that." You laughed at that, passing the bottle back to him.

"Well, my story is not as dark and dramatic as yours. I just wanted to catch bad guys and get decent money for it. They don't allow women to join the lawmen and even if they did, I guess we have one thing in common; I don't want to have anything to do with those people. I know their system is corrupt, only made to fit rich white men."

Jungkook seemed surprised. You were on different sides, you were supposed to represent the law and everything Jungkook hated but you were agreeing with him? He barely knew anyone that wasn't an outlaw or a beggar that thought like this.

He clutched the bottle tighter and nipped at it again, letting the liquid burn his throat. Maybe, just maybe, if things were different, if you two were to get out of here, you could start again? Get to know each other as people and not as enemies. It was foolish to think of anything in the future, seeing how you were doomed down here, but he wanted to know you. You were pretty, he wasn't blind. If the circumstances had been different he would have loved to bed you.

He shook his head, squeezing one hand into his pocket and pulling out a tiny photograph. You scooted closer until you were sitting next to him, taking the whiskey bottle that was almost empty now. It hadn't been full before, but still.

"This was the gang.", Jungkook explained, passing the photo to you. You looked at the faces, all smiling at the camera. You spotted Jungkook in the middle next to a tall man who had proudly swung an arm over his shoulder. If you didn't know any better you would have assumed that this was just a group of friends getting their picture taken. "That's namjoon, right?", you said and pointed to the tall male. Jungkook nodded, smiling widely. "And that's Jimin, Taehyung, Yoongi, Hoseok and Soekjin." You laughed as you spotted Jin, a wide smile on his lips as he stood on the other side of Jungkook.

Wait a damn minute... wait. a. minute.

"Jin??", you gasped and Jungkook looked at you questioningly. "How is Jin in this picture? He- He's a good friend of mine and he's also a sheriff!"

"Oh, so that's where he went.", Jungkook mumbled to himself but you heard him loud and clear. You waited for him to explain.

"Jin was part of our gang but he mostly just tried to get the law off our back. He taught me a lot about who I am. Unfortunately, he left the gang one year before I did. Said he couldn't identify himself with the gang anymore... with what we had become. It's true, we were more ghosts than people by the end. I'm no saint - I know that - but I guess I never truly knew how much of a lowlife I was until Jin left. He was partly the reason I left a year later. How is he doing? How do you know him?"

"Well, I'd say he's pretty well. He is the sheriff after all, that gets you some decent money. I turned a lot of the targets in that he hung up on the bounty wall. We started chatting and then went out drinking sometimes."

"Oh, so you two are-...?", Jungkook gestured with his hands, trying to bring across his point without actually saying anything, hoping you got what he was trying to ask.

"No! God, no!", you laughed and Jungkook perked up at the pleasant sound. "Just friends. Collegues of sorts. But now it makes a lot of sense why he was trying to convince me to not go after you. He also took down your poster a few times. He always said it was because you were too damgerous and he wanted to protect reckless bounty hunters." You laughed. Imagining Jin in a gang of outlaws, hah! You would have to squeeze some details out of him!

Your face fell instantly. You couldn't. Because you wouldn't see him again. Maybe, just maybe Jin would come to look for you in a few days and find your rotting corpse in this hell hole. You chuckled bitterly to yourself.

"How much is it now?", Jungkook asked.

You took the bounty poster out of the bag and handed it to him. It was a little ragged now but still readable.

"Wow that's a new record. At least they didn't fuck up my face again with an ugly sketch." You smiled again as you watched him read his poster. "I'm sorry that you won't be getting the money now. But at least you managed to eliminate another bad guy. You'll surely be a hero then, right? People only idolize the dead. Like painters, you know? Maybe they'll write a campfire song about the bounty huntress that killed an outlaw by starving both herself and him to death in a canyon." You laughed and slapped his stomach lightly, already having forgotten about his wound. He hissed and moved away from the touch and you panicked. "Oh shit, I'm so sorry, I forgot!"

"It's fine.", he spoke through gritted teeth.

"Wait let me see if I disturbed the wound."

You pulled up his shirt, only now noticing the hard muscles that adorned his abdomen. You tried to lift the bandage but the shirt kept falling over your hands. "Take this shit, it's annoying!", you said impatiently. Instead of just holding the shirt up though, he pulled it off over his head, exposing his upper body. You didn't mean to stare but his body was carved by the gods themselves. You tore your gaze away from him and back to the wound. It seemed to be okay, no fresh blood or other substances leaking from it. "Okay, I think everything is fine."

"So you had me remove my shirt for your own entertainment, or-..."

You felt your cheeks getting warm as he teased you, holding your gaze.

"You-! You were the one to remove it! I told you to hold it up!"

"Well you did seem to enjoy it though."

You grabbed the shirt that was laying in his lap and threw it into his face, earning a low chuckle. He grabbed your arm and pulled you next to him again, taking the whiskey and downing the rest of it before turning his head to you. You looked up at his eyes, your own eyes flickering to his lips every so often. They looked plush and pink now, so kissable. Maybe it was the alcohol clouding your senses.

You went to turn away but Jungkook took your chin carefully, angling your face up so you had to look at him before placing his lips on yours in a sweet kiss.

You were surprised, shocked even, but you didn't pull away. His kiss was intoxicating and he tasted to good even though there was a hint of whiskey still on his lips.

He pulled back a few seconds later, looking for something in your eyes. "If your bounty hunter friends saw you right now what would they say?", he teased, voice barely a whisper.

"I think they would grant me one last nice thing before I die.", you whispered back, leaning back into Jungkook and capturing his lips in a more heated kiss. His tongue slid against your mouth and you opened it instantly, letting his greedy tongue explore your wet mouth. You moaned as Jungkook grabbed your hips, pulling you into his lap so he didn't have to crane his neck to the side. You fit into his lap like you belonged there, like you were meant to sit there at all times.

What on earth were you doing?

But did it matter? If you were to die soon, you'd at least be able to boast to the demons of hell that you had fucked Jeon Jungkook.

You ground yourself into his lap and he moaned, almost desperately, as your crotch prerssed against his growing hardness. You felt blood rush to your middle, throbbing in need, at the feeling of his hardening member. He pawed at your shirt, pulling it from your pants and pulling it off your body swiftly. His lips found your neck and colarbones in an instant and didn't miss the opportunity to mark you. He was sucking and biting your skin as you threw your head back, hands tangled into the long curly strands in the back of his head. You kept grinding into his crotch, wanting to hear him moan and hiss.

"Fuck-... If you keep going at it like that, I'll cum in my pants."

"We better get them off then.", you answered, feeling for the buttons and popping them open one after the other. You palmed his hardness through his pants before trying to slide them down further, which wasn't possible due to him sitting on the ground. Instead, Jungkook grabbed his shirt that was by his side, threw it on the ground behind you and gently lowered your back onto it, making sure to not hurt you. Once he was towering over you, you slid his pants down further along with his underwear, grabbing the throbbing and hot member. The skin was silky smooth and precum was already leaking from the red tip. You spat into your hand to make the glide easier and started stroking him. Jungkook dropped his head to your shoulder, groaning as you jerked him off with your soft hands. It had been some time since Jungkook had actually been with someone, so he was trying his hardest to not cum right then and there.

He occupied himself with releasing your breasts from your breastband, simply ripping it open, not patient enough to unravel it slowly. His mouth found your breasts as he kissed them all over, tongue flicking the hardened nubs. You felt yourself getting wetter and wetter as he kissed and licked your body. God, he probably didn't even know what he was doing to you. Oblivious to the mess that coated the inside of your underwear.

You let go of his hardness as he kissed lower and lower, reaching your pants and unbottoning them slowly. He kissed each newly revealed part of skin before pulling off your boots and then the rest of your pants along with your underwear.

"Fuck. I have barely started and you are already soaking wet.", he groaned, lips exploring your hips and thighs. He was growing impatient, you could sense the urgeness in his kisses and touches.

His hands glided up your body again, reaching your breasts and squeezing them gently. He places open mouthed kisses against your mouth, licking into it hungrily. His wet, hot length was pressed against you as he settled in between your legs. "Fuck, you are so pretty, wanted to fuck you since last time you tried to catch me." You groaned at his confession. So he truly did remember you from last time you were trying to kill him.

"Wondered what you'd look like beneath me instead of behind a gun. Screaming my name in esctasy and not anger."

He kissed you gently before grabbing his length and running the silky head through your wet folds, passing by your clit and making you clench around nothingness. "Wanna make you cum. Cry out my name and cling to my body."

You moaned at his dirty words, feeling his head press into your entrance. "You want it?", he asked, kissing your lips and biting the lower one. "Fuck yes, Jungkook. Fuck me, please!"

He didn't waste any longer and burried himself into you deeply. Both of you groaned as he pushed into you until you couldn't take more of him. He was balls deep in you, your walls pulsing around him as he moved slightly. He gave you time to adjust to his size before starting a rythm that felt right for him. You locked your legs behind his hips, pushing him deeper into you with weath thrust. He was setting your body on fire, his length hitting all the right spots inside you.

You moaned and pulled his face into the crook of your neck, holding him so close you didn't know where his body ended and yours began. You could feel tiny stones digging into your back through the shirt he had laid down but you couldn't care less. He was panting next to your ear, skin burning up against you as he fastened his rythm. "Oh fuck- fuck. You feel so good around me. Such a tight little cunt-" You couldn't even respond because you were lost in the feeling of him pushing against your cervix with every thrust. It made you feel so full of him.

He hoisted his body onto his forearm, muscles flexing and giving you a nice view. He took two fingers and brought them to your mouth, making you suck on them. When he was satisfied with your work, he pulled them out, snaking the two digits between your bodies and finally findiny your clit. Your mouth fell open in a silent moan when he drew circles onto the sensitive nub. You clenched around him tightly and he grunted in response. With his fingers working away at your clit, you were barreling towards your orgasm. You wanted to tell him how good he made you feel, how the drag of his cock set your walls on fire and how you were close, so fucking close. But instead only breathy moans left your throat, gripping at his body tightly, as if you were afraid to slip over the edge because you knew it would be overwhelming.

"You- shit, you keep getting tighter. I'm not gonna last long with this tight cunt.", he announced, his rhythm faltering.

"Jungkook- fuck, I'm gonna-", you were silenced as you tipped over the edge, the pleasure almost too much for you to handle. You clenched hard around him, making it almost impossible for Jungkook to keep fucking into you. But he only needed two more thrusts before he was following you into his own high. A throaty groan left him, as he pressed himself into you as far as he could, pulling out only a bit before slamming back in, his release filling you up.

The both of you slowly calmed down, panting heavily against each other's mouths. He kissed you passionatley, moving to your jawline and down your throat. When he pulled back and looked at you, you gently moved the dark strands of sweaty hair out of his face. His eyes were locked with yours and you couldn't help but feel the warmth in your stomach as he looked down at you so lovingly. He proceeded to pull out, his release leaking out of you.

You helped each other dress. No word was spoken, but it wasn't awkward. Both of you still feeling the afterglow of an amazing orgasm.

That's when you head the sounds of hooves on hard stone. Jungkook quickly pulled your body to his, shielding you from the figure that leaned over the edge and peered down at the two of you.

"What in the world-... at least you're alive, I guess."

"Soekjin!?"

Jin had managed to pull Jungkook and you out with the lasso he had brought. The rough rope left slight burns on your skin but you figured it was better than starving to death down there.

While you were reliefed to see your friend, you were also confused as to how he had found you or why he was here in the first place.

"I wanted to help you catch he criminal!", Jin quickly said, grabbing onto Jungkook as if he hadn't casually been standing next to him the entire time. It made sense though. Jin didn't know that you knew of his history with the young outlaw.

"Jin drop the act. I wanna know why exactly you never told me that you were in a gang?!", you said, drinking from Jin's water bottle greedily. He choked on nothing and quickly turned to Jungkook who sheepishly grinned back at him. His ears turned six shades redder as he scratched the back of his neck nervously. "I- I thought it wouldn't bee such a good idea to tell a bounty hunter I was part of Jeon's gang. Who knows what you'd have done to me!", he joked. You scoffed.

"But seriously Hyung, what were you doing out here?", Jungkook piped up.

"Well both of my friends were gonna rip each other apart, couldn't let that happen right?", he laughed before suddenly frowning deeply. "Wait a minute... Wait a goddamn minute! Why the hell aren't the two of you ripping each other apart?"

"Believe me, we were, before we fell down into the ravine."

Jin eyed you suspiciously as he took note of your develished states... from all the fighting, of course!

He didn't question it any further.

The three of you proceed to get your horse that you had left behind as it was currently grazing peacefully. You were sat behind the saddle because Jungkook insisted on taking the reigns. Your arms were holding onto his tiny waist, feeling his muscles through his shirt. He was going to be the death of you. You were careful not to touch his injury, though it could not have been hurting too bad considering how he had fucked you earlier.

Jin had suggested bringing Jungkook to town and treating his wounds before he got going again. You had insited that you should get the fivethousand dollar since you technically were about to turn Jungkook in. Jin had protested to say the least.

As you were halfway there, Jungkook stopped the horse suddenly, making Jin, who had been riding ahead, stop as well and looking over his shoulder questioningly. If you had been able to see Jungkook's face you might have been able to predict his next move but since you couldn't you were more than surprised when he suddenly pushed you off the horse.

"Jungkook what the hell-", you said as you landed in the dirt, shoulder aching slightly.

"Sorry, I think it is better this way.", he grinned. "Also, where would be the fun in just staying? You'll seek me out again. My bounty will keep increasing for sure." A smirk was plastered on his lips as he urged the horse forward. "Until we meet again. I'm looking forward to it."

And with that he was gone. His figure disappearing into the darkness of the night. You couldn't even be mad at him. He had managed to escape from you in the end after all. You smiled to yourself, turning to Jin whose eyebrows were raised in surprise as he watched Jungkook disappear. Maybe he was right, it was better this way, he would have been recognized in town and all hell would've broken loose. Also, this way it would be way more fun.

You chuckled to yourself before you made a devastating realization.

"That fucker just took off with MY horse!"

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writing-on-the-wahl · 3 years ago

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Writing Snippet #16: Songbird

Part 2

So @im-a-wonderling had a fantastic plot idea... and I added wings.

(Collaborating with her on this one was so fun! I don’t normally write angst so it was new for me and she was an incredible help/inspiration!)

TW: blood, implied violence, general angst

———————————

Villain leaned back against the stark white wall. In fact, aside from his own dark blue attire, everything in the hallway of cells was white: the floors, ceilings, doors, even the metal bars were painted white.

Supervillain had always preferred things nice and clean and white.

Not the best color choice for the dungeon of a brutal supervillain. Villain wondered how they cleaned away the bloodstains.

Supervillain’s minions had been courteous enough when they brought him in, not that he’d been able to put up much of a fight after a sniper shot him with a power suppressor mixed with a sedative. He’d been barely conscious when they dragged him into this cell and left him alone.

That had been hours ago, and he still couldn’t feel his powers. Not the most ideal scenario. Especially considering the reason he was here.

Supervillain’s missing device. Her masterpiece. Prize of her collection. Peak of her creative genius. First of its kind.

And only, Villain thought smugly. He and Hero had stolen the device last week. And Supervillain was notoriously paranoid about her technology being stolen and never wrote anything down. She might be able to recreate the device, but it would take a few years.

He didn’t know how Supervillain knew he’d been involved. She was sure to demand the return of her invention, which was, unfortunately, currently in a thousand pieces at the bottom of the ocean.

Villain had anticipated a double cross from Hero, had thought the Hero Agency would insist on saving and using a machine that could duplicate superpowers and create new heroes, but Hero had been just as determined as he was to see the machine destroyed.

Personally, he knew what would happen if Supervillain managed to duplicate his powers, knew the destruction she would leave in her wake.

He wasn’t exactly sure why Hero had been equally as passionate, but he hadn’t been able to resist grinning at her enthusiastic smashing. He could have destroyed the device with a flick of his fingers, but watching her take a sledgehammer to the metal had stirred something in his chest. Admiration turning towards something warmer.

The door at the far end of the hall banged open, and two guards burst into the room, dragging a limp form between them.

Villain’s heart skidded to a stop.

The figure in the middle was small and slim, with oversized wings that dragged on the ground as the guards carried her forward.

Villain would know those wings anywhere: a blue so light it was nearly white, with feathered tips that looked as though they’d been dipped in the midnight sky.

Hero.

Villain stiffened, hands curling into fists.

They drew closer, and his breath caught.

There was blood dripping from a wound on Hero’s temple; the fair skin of her face and arms was already beginning to bruise.

The guards hauled her past, and his nails bit into the flesh of his palms at the sight of her wings, one wing hanging at a horribly wrong angle as it dragged on the ground behind her, spatters of red dotting the light feathers.

Fury pounded in his chest as his eyes stayed fixed on her mangled wing. If his powers were working, the entire prison would have been obliterated.

Hero didn’t stir as the guards threw her into the cell next to his.

His heart stuttered as logic warred with panic.

They wouldn’t lock her up unless she was alive...

Right?

Villain gripped the edge of the hard metal cot, the sharp corners digging into his palms as the guards strode by.

He offered a sardonic raise of the eyebrow as they glanced his way. One of the henchmen paused.

“The boss will be by soon to release you. She was given new information that revealed the true thief of her device.” His eyes cut to Hero.

Villain hummed disapprovingly as he leaned back, though every muscle was tensed, ready to spring. “I told Supervillain I was innocent of her allegations.”

Henchman blanched at the threat of retribution in his tone. “Yes yes. Hero confessed to everything.”

Villain closed his eyes briefly. Even though he had been the one to approach her. His idea. His plan. His fault.

And now here was his beautiful songbird, bleeding on the cell floor.

Villain studied Hero, taking in every bruise and cut and drop of blood.

His face was an icy mask as he faced the guard. “Yes. I can see that.”

The guard had the audacity to smile. “Oh, no. She told us the moment we brought her in. Yelled about how it had been her and her alone who took the device.”

Had she done it to protect him?

The guard waved a hand carelessly at Hero’s crumpled form. “That’s what happened when she told the boss she’d destroyed it.”

He was laughing as he walked away.

The henchmen were beneath him. At least, that was what Villain told himself as they continued down the hall. It was the only thing that kept him from murdering the two lackeys through the bars of the cell.

He couldn’t afford to reveal his connection to Hero. Couldn’t reveal how much he cared. Not yet.

As soon as their backs were turned, he studied Hero. She was on the ground, injured wing partially beneath her. Her other wing had fallen across her body when they dumped her to the ground, and he couldn’t tell if she was breathing.

He reached for his powers to rip the prison walls apart— to get to her—but that part of him was still numb.

His own breaths came in fast as his mind spiraled. He watched the blood dripping from the cut on her head, dark red spilling on the bright white floor.

Please be alive.

Please.

When the door clicked shut and they were finally alone, Villain dared speak.

“Hero.” He hissed. “Hero!”

She didn’t stir.

Villain thought that he could see the movement of breath, but that could just be the A/C ruffling her soft feathers.

He found himself holding his breath, waiting for hers.

The next moments were agony.

Lightheaded, he closed his eyes and took a large gulp of air.

When he opened them again, Hero was watching him, eyes wide, pupils dilated.

“Hero!”

She dropped her gaze, arms trembling as she struggled to push up out of the tangle of her wings, whimpering as the movement jarred her broken wing.

Villain ached to plug his ears, to block out each tiny heart-wrenching sound of pain, but he had no right.

Every mark on her was his fault.

Had they captured her after they brought him in? If he had confessed…

“Hero, they said you told them...” he trailed off as she deliberately twisted away and flared her wings to block him from view. A cry of pain accompanied this action, and her shoulders curled inward as they began to shake.

Villain slid to his knees, fingers uselessly clutching the bars between them.

“Hero! Are you ok? Please, talk to—”

He cut off abruptly as the far door burst open once more, and he forced his voice to go cold as he rose to his feet, praying Hero would understand.

“...nothing more than you deserve you filthy—”

“Ah Villain!”

The cheerful voice fanned the rage burning in his chest, and he didn’t try to hide it as he stepped towards the front of the cell.

“Supervillain.”

“Now, now, Villain.” She laughed as she straightened the cuffs of her fresh white lab coat, but she still had blood under her fingernails.

White hot fury ripped through him. It took every ounce of self control he possessed to school his features as she continued.

“I know you’re a little upset at my bringing you here.”

He growled.

“But as you can see, I’ve caught the true perpetrator, and I’ve come to offer my sincerest apologies.” She cocked her head and offered a smile filled with false cheer.

“And compensation for the inconvenience, I assume.”

She frowned briefly, then nodded. “Of course, of course. What is it you want?”

He offered her a sharp smile. “Let’s just say I’ll collect what you owe me later.” In blood.

Villain was the one powerless and behind bars, but Supervillain was the one who stepped back.

A guard approached at her signal, a pair of shackles in hand.

“Just a precaution,” Supervillain explained, “until you are off my base.”

Villain kept his protests to himself as he extended his hands through the bars and allowed them to be cuffed together.

He reminded himself that even with his hands unbound, there was no way he would be able to free Hero without his powers, trapped as they were at the center of Supervillain’s base, surrounded by hundreds of her people.

He filled his voice with bored curiosity. “What will you do with the thief?”

Supervillain smiled. “I had a canary once. Made a marvelous little pet.”

The memory of Hero soaring through the clouds, winds extended, glorious and free, flashed through his mind, and his stomach churned at the thought of her in a swinging cage, wings folded in, trapped and alone.

The cell door swung open, and Villain cast one last look at Hero, who now met his gaze with glassy-eyed terror. It was a look that would haunt him all the way back to his lair, where he would immediately send for Sidekick and make plans for a rescue against the most secure base in the country.

“Naughty thing kept trying to escape though.” Supervillain slammed the empty cell door shut for emphasis.

As Villain followed a guard down the hall, Supervillain’s bright voice echoed behind him, words that froze his heart and shattered his careful mask of composure:

“Had to clip its wings.”

——————————

*** full credit to @im-a-wonderling for the line, “And here was his beautiful songbird, bleeding on the cell floor.” The queen of beautiful tragedy, everyone.***

#songbird #wings #protective villain #injured hero #hero x villain #heroes and villains #villain #hero #my writing #snippet #write #writeblr #writing

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uwuwriting · 4 years ago

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Anger issues w/ Dabi, Bakugou and Aizawa

Request: I’m the type of person who doesn’t get angry very easily but when I do I’m really scary and people back off. Can I request Dabi, Bakugou and either Shiggy or Aizawa with a girlfriend who is just like that and the first time they see her angry they are so confused like how did their quiet s/o turn into the devil. Thank you.

Lmao I’m like that as well. Big mood. People underestimate me and think they can walk all over me just because I’m polite. Bitch nah imma stab you in your sleep in 2-3 business days. Love ya.💖💖💖

masterlist

rules

warnings: cursing, some violence, threats *creative ones as well*

Dabi/Touya Todoroki

-Baby was the equivalent of the pikachu meme.

-You were both chillin at his place watching TV.

-Actually he was laying down, head in your lap as he played Among us on his phone while you changed channels in an attempt to find something interesting to watch.

-As you were mindlessly zapping through the channels you stumbled upon an interview with none other than the number 1 hero, Endeavor himself.

-Your finger froze over the channel button as you stared at the hero in front of you.

-You felt Dabi stiffen in your lap, his character staying still on the screen as his father’s voice bounced off the walls of the small apartment.

- “Doll could you change th-”

- “I’m thinking of retiring, yes. My family is my top priority and I would like to spend some quality time with them. Family is very imp-”

- “Shut your clown ass up!”

-The remote went flying barely missing the TV as you launched it at the hero’s face.

- “If I have to hear any more bullshit coming out of your mouth I will march to wherever you are and beat you to a fucking plump got it?”

- “Babe he can’t hear you.”

- “I don’t give a shit! He will hear me when my hands are squeezing his WINDPIPE!”

-And with that you shot up from the couch, sending Dabi rolling to the floor in the process.

-Marching out of the living room, he heard the door slam shut and then a muffled scream before the only sound was the words coming from the TV.

-He had whiplash after that.

-He didn’t know what exactly happened but he was glad in some weird way.

-He knows that you don’t get angry easily, hell he couldn’t get you to snap at him even when he tried his best.

-Sure he irritates you but you have never actually snapped like this before.

-Your calm and collected nature calms him down so seeing you curse and be so violent all of a sudden got him riled up.

-Making his way to your shared room he opened the door finding you curled up on your bed with an angry expression on your face.

-Nose scrunched up, mouth in a scowl and brows furrowed.

-Letting out a small chuckle he took his place behind you bringing his lanky arms around your waist as he turned you around,your nose barely grazing his, eyes burning holes in his chest.

-He brought his forefinger in between your brows and made small circles at the spot, watching as your facial expression relaxed a bit but the scowl was still there.

- “Stop thinking about it you’ll get a headache.”

- “I wanna punch him in the dick.”

- “I wanna do that too but it can wait.”

-Kissing your forehead first he started trailing little pecks all over your face, being satisfied by the small giggles he could get out of you.

-This is why I love you.

Bonus:

- “That was the hottest thing I have seen.”

- “You are getting dommed tonight, lover boy.”

- *flustered burned boy*

Bakugou Katsuki

-He is the one who is angry in your relationship.

-We’ve been new.

-You are his damage control, you can always calm him down and put some sense into him.

-Most of the time he listens to your every word.

-So everyone assumed that since you put up with his shit without batting an eyelash, never showing a sign of anger, you can’t get angry.

-That your anger was that little puff of your cheeks and scrunch of your nose that Bakugou adores.

-No one has ever seen you angry so you don’t blame them.

-But everyone has that one thing that just makes them snap *for me it’s Endeavor*

-You were training with class 1-B when that dickhead Monoma decided to fuck with your boyfriend.

-They were fighting, throwing insults at each other non-stop when Monoma decided to be a dick.

- “Why are you even in this class huh? You would be more useful to the villains. It would be so easy for you too, I bet you don’t need much of a push to join them, don’t you Bakugou.”

-Bakugou may not like talking about it but you know.

-The thoughts that haunt him.

-He was kidnapped and saw his idol be brought down because the League believed that he would make a great entry to their group.

-His own mind works against him sometimes, reminding him of the looks of fear most of the people in his life have when it comes to him.

-He hates it.

-What breaks him even more though is being reminded out loud about those thoughts.

-Having them confirmed by someone else.

-He had stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the other boy in pure horror when he saw a flash of color and Monoma was now laying face down a few feet away.

-You were panting, hands clenched in fists as you stared at the boy in outer disgust, a vein popping on your forehead.

-Bakugou was silent watching your shoulders frantically going up and down, pure rage emanating from your demeanor.

-In the blink of an eye you were on top of Monoma, lifting him off the ground, a snarl escaping your lips.

- “You fucking piece of shit I’ll fucking stab your parents if you say anything like that again!”

-Everyone was shooketh.

-Absolutely terrified but still shooketh.

-Monoma scrambled off the moment you let him go spewing apology after apology.

- “Baby you okay?”

-How the fuck was your voice back to normal? How was it so soft as if nothing happened? As if you didn’t just pin down and threaten someone.

- “Y-Yeah I’m fine.”

-The class was afraid of you for the next four months.

Bonus:

- “Baby, you got so fired up.”

- “No one talks shit about you!”

- “I know but wow that was hot.”

Aizawa Shouta

-Shouta is used to the comments made about him.

-People doubt him as both a hero and a teacher at times and he has learned not to let it get to him.

-He believed that you had closed those comments off as well, you didn’t show any signs of them bothering you at least.

-Sure you might make a small comment whenever you hear something but you never snapped at someone.

-He knew that you prefered tranquility, it was his calm nature that attracted you in the first place *and the fact that he was smoking hot*.

-So when you actually snapped at someone he was taken aback and super turned on.

-Like wow that woman right there giving someone a heart attack is his wife?

-Wow.

-You were both at a hero conference, meeting up with some of your old colleagues to catch up and to get some insight in the hero industry.

-Yall wanted the tea.

-You two were attached to the hip, never leaving each other's side as you enjoyed yourselves.

-You were chatting with a retired heroine who had helped you in the past when you heard murmuring coming from behind you.

- “I heard that one of his students got kidnapped during the summer.”

- “Of course he would let that happen, what could he possibly be a reliable individual? He was a delinquent and a vigilante, irresponsibility is in his blood.”

-Shouta felt you stiffen as your gaze shadowed over.

- “Kit- um Y/N?”

-The two continued dissing your husband and you tried to calm yourself down, you really did.

-But they made it really really hard.

- “He went on live television and gave excuses for that whole ordeal.”

- “You think he was trying to pass the blame?”

- “Of course he was! He has no sense of dignity, leaving his students to fight while he slept and then letting one of them be kidnapped like that.”

-Now he started getting scared because your grip on his arm had tightened and you wouldn’t look at him.

-He thought that you were having a panic attack and it's OUR panic attack so the convention would have to deal with two UA teachers breaking down.

-But then you let go and a sweet smile appeared on your face as you made your way to the duo.

- “It comes from the bottom of my heart when I say that I need you to sit you maniac ass down and be quiet for the rest of the fucking night because don’t think I would hesitate to beat your punkass in front of all those people. If I hear Shouta’s name come out of your lips again I will personally make sure that you won’t be able to formulate words for the next five fucking months.”

-Not even a peep came out of those two for the rest of the evening, their eyes always darting between you and your husband, cold sweat running down their spines every time one of you made eye contact with them.

- “Y/N, kitty, that wasn’t necessary.”

- “You talk shit you get wrecked, period.”

Bonus:

- “Come on Shouta we’re going home.”

- “We’ve only been here for an hour, kit-”

- “You are either blowing my back out or staying here, choose.”

- “Home it is.”

TAG TEAM AY:

@the-arcana-fan-fic @angelwritings @axerrri @reinyrei @dnarez @bemorefiction @threeamwriting @dark-thoughts-and-red-roses @ezoyscorner @letscheereachotheron

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static-fanatic-1 · 4 years ago

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Chrollo + Phantom Troupe Teaser

Word Count: 5.2k

(Teaser my ass, holy shit this is going to be a long one)

Name: (y/n) Kurta

Nen Type: Conjurer

Nen Ability: Terracotta gauntlets with a lion head on top of the hand. The lion head can detach from the clawed gauntlets and act as physics-defying grappling hooks.

Example of Ability: You can use the grappling hooks to grab and throw whatever is caught, this can include people or other large objects. It will feel fairly weightless.

| Part 2 |

~~~

You remember the day perfectly, it was humid and moist, yet just cool enough to stop you from sweating. You had on your usual Kurta garb, purple and yellow with symbols and designs in honor of your heritage. You stayed home that day, being two months pregnant with your future child made your father worry too much.

You were barely showing at this point, but he still kept you home despite your line of work. You were a protector of sorts, a guard to your clan, keeping everyone protected as well as leaving to explore the world and bring back new things. You enjoyed your job, but your sweet old man didn't want you to over exert yourself.

"When you leave again you'll have to bring your secret lover." Your father would constantly start. "I bet he's a gentleman considering what your mother taught you." A fatherly smile gleaming over his wrinkling features. "If he runs off I'll hunt him down and strap him to our dinner table." He would joke.

You would lightly scold your father, knowing he would surely follow his words. "Stop. Keep acting like that and you'll chase him away."

You sighed at the fond memories, glancing out the window of the kitchen to watch the bright sun set below the horizon line. Deep purples and rich oranges decorated the clouds in a comforting glow. Another color, rich and warm, too warm, littered the skies. Coal black smoke rose above the tree tops and covered the beautiful sky in a suffocating cloak.

A lump got caught in your throat at the sight, you knew the colors and smoke anywhere, the burning trash of Meteor City making it a familiar sight. The smell too, burning your nostrils and making you cringe further confirmed what was happening.

Fire. Burning, raging fire was engulfing the village and eating it whole. Screams and cries for help filled the air as buildings crumpled into the ground. That was your call to action, you jumped out of your window and summoned up your nen, claws outstretched and prepared to slice any unknown mother fucker you could find.

You found one, a dark silhouette in the night with a slim build and intense pink aura coming from their hands. It felt familiar, the aura, but you didn't pay it any mind before shooting out the lion head on your gauntlets.

With chattering teeth they by harshly into the figure's forearms, dragging them across the floor and above your head into a burning building behind you. You cried and quickly jumped on the figure, slicing at their chest. Large, long gashes oozed out buckets of blood, and you quickly silenced the figure's cries with a even deeper gash to the throat... their head now hanging by a thin thread of flesh.

The blood that coated your nen gauntlets were nothing compared to the crimson that flooded your eyes. You would slaughter anyone that was not a clan member, you swore on that. Looking around your red tinted gaze fell upon the horrors caused by the raiders.

Bodies, bloodied and broken beyond recognition littered the ground. You wobbled over to one of them, barely making out who it was, an elderly woman you could almost call a grandmother. Her wrinkled features were slack and littered with blood, but the empty, oozing sockets where her eyes should be haunted your nightmares. You wailed louder than the dying screams, fat tears streaming down your cheeks and landing in the empty holes.

"Papa!" You shrieked, stumbling up off the ground and rushing further into the carnage. Your legs barely kept up as you rushed past the fire ridden village. "PAPA!" You screeched into the crackling night.

You paused, breath caught in your throat making you choke on the smoke. There was a silhouette shrouded by ash and darkness and flames, a distinguishable fur coat lining its figure. You gagged at the smoke, hiding behind a broken building to listen to the mumbling figure.

"Has anyone found her?" A smooth, honey like voice echoed past the dying screams.

Chrollo? Wha-? What's going on?! You stumbled on a piece of debris, tripling and falling onto a warm, bloodied corpse. You gave out a strained whimper, almost a shriek, as you tried to collect yourself and run away.

You could hear him behind you, you could almost feel him behind you. His nen spilled from his pores and surrounded you in a suffocating hold. You quietly gagged, hand over your mouth as you held back the bile rising in your throat. Tears pricked the edges of your eyes, blurring your vision with smoke and tears.

~~~

You bit your bottom lip, whipping your hair over your shoulder and staring at the man across from you. He was large, muscles bulging through the thin black shirt he wore, yet he was no where near strong enough to take you down. Theoretically, the only person out of this year's batch of hunters that could possibly stand against you was yourself and that clown whom got his ass kicked out for attacking one of the wardens. This guy was no where near your level, you couldn't even sense any nen.

"What's wrong little girl?" He spat, crouching down and preparing to bulldoze you. "Shaking in your boots?"

You narrowed your eyes with a scowl, scoffing and looking at the chairman across the plaza. "Hardly."

The large man growled and dashed with his arms out stretched. Typical. You jumped high into the air and twisted around, your leg coming back down on his thick skull. Your foot clashed against the crown of his head and shoved his face into the ground, bringing him to a dead stop. Jumping back to the ground you inspected the damage, the floor was cracked and you could barely see his head past the new hole in the ground. The man wasn't moving, you knocked him out.

There was some clapping from the end of the plaza, shoes clacking against tile as he wondered closer. His steel grey eyes trailed down to your chest as he neared, old perv. "I'm a little disappointed." He mused, looking back up to meet your stern gaze. "I thought he would have a better chance against you. Though, it's always a treat to see a first timer beat the Hunter Exam."

You lightly smiled at the praise, a small memory of your father coming into mind. "I appreciate it."

Netero grinned at your words, but it slightly faltered when he glanced back at the designs of your clothes. "So, what hunter are you aiming to be?" He started as he shuffled through his clothes.

"Bounty Hunter, there are a few people I want to find."

"The Phantom Troupe, hm? I can't blame you, they have done some pretty horrible things."

You glanced over at the old man, your gaze being met with a knowing expression and a Hunter License. "Thanks...." You warily replied, taking hold of your new license. It should serve you well, you hoped.

A few hours later you wondered into the fancy hotel you were staying at. A few strangers glanced at you with a disgusted look, you couldn't blame them as you were still covered in dirt, leaves and a few splotches of blood. A tired sigh escaped your lips once you finally got to your room, taking the card and swiping it you entered with a delicate smile. "Kurapika! (S/n)! Where are you guys?"

A tuft of blond hair wizzes past the corner of the small living room. Dark grey eyes quickly following and staring back at you with a disgruntled expression. "Your son is a handful." Spat Kurapika.

Behind him a small, pale skinned figure peeked behind the corner, a cheeky grin plastered on his chubby face. "Momma!" He screeched, rushing over and running into your waiting arms.

You gave him a kiss on his forehead, using your hand to push away his fluffy raven hair. "Pretty sure you were the handful Kurapika, no way this little angel was was trouble."

Kurapika slightly smiled, closing his eyes and shaking his head. "Only when you are around, anyway, how did it go?"

You sighed and sat on the marble flooring. "It was really easy, but I've had the training for it to be easy. You will probably have a hard time, especially if that clown shows up again." You mumbled the last part, moving to the kitchen to grab you a snack, you were starving.

"Then teach me the "magic" you claim to know."

"I wanna see magic! Momma can you teach me too?" You took a big bite out of your snack, giving a glare to both of the kids.

"Sorry squirt, when you get older I'll teach you."

Kurapika furrowed his brows. "You keep telling me that if I pass the hunter exam you'll teach me."

"Change of plans-"

"Change of plans?! What do you mean change of plans? I still don't understand why you won't teach me this "magic" you keep talking about! I would be strong enough to fight the Phantom-"

"Kurapika." You sternly glared in his direction, the look in your eyes forcing everyone to quite down. "You know I don't want you to even get involved with this. Besides the change of plans isn't that bad, I want you to figure out this "magic" thing yourself and return when you are ready. I still want to teach you, but I don't want you to get killed in the process.

"I have a plan to find and hunt down the Troupe, but it will take time. If you aren't ready by the time I am, you will not be permitted to help. Instead you will stay somewhere safe and take care of (s/n) for me."

Kurpaika's dark grey eyes stared into the back of your head and burned holes into your skull. "Are you serious?"

"Yes, yes I am. Even if you learn this "magic" there is no telling how powerful you will become. Even with years and years of rigorous training like myself, I won't stand a chance against more than two of them at a time." You kept your stance, standing tall above the blond you called a little brother. "I don't want to see you get hurt, Kurapika. I can't see you get hurt."

Your son waddled over to your tense form and wrapped his shirt arms around your thighs. "He won't get hurt momma, I'll make sure of it!" A beaming smile did it's best to comfort you.

"I know you will, (s/n)." You turned your attention back to the blond, giving him a stern stare that told him you meant what you said. "I want to protect him too."

Kurapika growled, you knew how important finding and slaughtering the Troupe was to him, so why make it so difficult? Wouldn't it be easier to teach him and make him stronger so the both of you can fight?

You looked away from the blond as he stormed into one of the off rooms, you knew what he was thinking, but that wouldn't change your mind. You blamed yourself for your clan's slaughter and you wouldn't be able to live if he was to die too. You didn't want him to get involved in our own affairs, especially when they were so dangerous.

"Momma," You glanced down at the head of fluffy black hair still clinging to your legs. "Why do you and Uncle Kurapika argue so much? Who is this Phantom Troupe?" His chuffs cheeks puffed out, his brows furrowing in thought.

"(S/n)... it's a long story. One you aren't old enough to hear I'm afraid." You leaned down, picked him up, and rubbed your nose to his own rosy one. "Till then I'll keep you safe."

"From the Troupe?"

You glanced away form his coal black eyes, the painful memories a bit too much to handle at the moment. "From monsters that want to hurt you." You planted a kiss on his forehead, wiping away some of the scars burned into your mind.

~~~

You were going to strangle that boy when you find him. With gritted teeth and blazing eyes, you haven't been this pissed off in years. You stomped over to the glass window of the hotel room your all too kind employer provided.

You gave him simple instructions, go off and figure out the basics of "magic", and then return for more training. It was supposed to be a test for the rebellious teen.

That's what it was supposed to be. Instead, he decided he had enough of you and left to find the Troupe on his own, leaving your precious son to be alone in a secure hotel room while you worked. You might just kill Kurapika next time you see him.

You fanned down the small wrinkles on your slim dress, straightening out the slit that trailed to your thigh. It was black and long enough to trail behind your tall heels. Around your neck was a pearl necklace and a fur scarf hanging on your shoulders. Your hair was curled and allowed to flow freely behind you. You also had some pearl earrings and a pearl bracelet.

Swiping the last of your lipstick on, pursing your lips and giving them a little smack before turning to the small child on the couch. His eyes were glued to a puzzle he decided was more interesting than the television. "(S/n), I'm going to have to go in a minute. You'll be fine right?"

Doe eyes glanced back at you, a puzzle piece tightly held in his hands. "I'll be fine!"

"You remember the rules right?"

"No leaving without you or Kurapika, don't answer the door unless it is you or Kurapika, make sure I call you if something is wrong or when I go to bed,-"

"I get it." You waved a hand in his face, a gentle smile etched onto your painted lips. "My smart little boy remembers everything."

He nodded, leaning into the backside of the couch to wrangle you into a hug. "Come back soon!"

"I will, don't worry. Love you."

"Love you too."

You were off, leaving and meeting with your employer at his hotel before making your way to a dinner with a few high end Mafia men. You quickly met up with the man, he was a son to one of the ten dons and hired you as both a body guard and a rental girlfriend. A little demeaning in your eyes but anything to get close to your targets.

"You look stunning." Mentioned the man, his arm linking with your own. He was a handsome man, that was obvious, a real charmer too. With chocolate brown hair slicked back and bright green eyes you could stare at for an eternity. He was broad shouldered and muscular underneath his crisp dark grey suit, a pale yellow under shirt and a maroon tie adding to his attractiveness. The poor flirt would be dead if you outwardly admitted that though.

"Likewise." Your hand placed itself on top his forearm, letting him guide you to the fancy limousine he had for the two of you.

You decided conversation would be the best thing at the moment, as getting to know a man you are supposed to temporarily date would be best for the illusion. "Where are we going to meet your father?"

"Ah, a nice restaurant just a few blocks uptown from the auction site." He directed his head to take your facial features in. "They have the best steak I've ever had, amazing garlic butter."

You were beyond tense, but a relaxed smile crept onto your lips. "I just might have to try that. Who else is coming?"

"My father's friends, one is another don, and my two other brothers. I wouldn't worry though, they might ask you a few questions but I would just let me do the talking." He gave you a kind smile, turning back to the driver and telling him the name of the restaurant.

"I don't mean to be rude, but if anything happens I'll have to leave and take care of it."

"Oh! I know, they know. My family actually told me to, uh, rent a girlfriend for the auction days." He ran a hand through his chocolate locks, a sigh escaping his lips and he relaxed in his chair. "Rumor has it that something bad might happen during this auction. Something about sleeping? Like death."

"If that's the case, then I might have to take an early leave."

He gave you a cocky grin. "Just tell me what's happening outside the restaurant, I'm curious about what kind of stuff a hunter gets into."

You returned his gaze, finally relaxing just a bit more. "I'll make sure to keep you posted."

"Sir," alerted the driver. "We're here."

"Good! Let's get something to eat, shall we?"

You nodded, sliding your dress to the side to exit the vehicle. "Oh! Please, don't make me look bad." He jested, quickly shuffling to your side to open the door. "I'll embarrass myself in front of my dad."

"About that, I never introduced myself did I? My name is (y/n)."

He gave a dopey grin. "Right, I'm Jason, it probably would be a good idea to know each other's names, huh? Well, let's go before my dad thinks we are doing something suggestive." He winked and held out his arm for you to take, in which you did with a small scoff.

The two of you walked into the restaurant, a grand archway with a fancy chandelier lighting up the entire entrance with a warm glow. Black marble coated the floor with a glossy reflection, and your heels clicked against them with an elegant sway of your dress.

A man stood at the enterence, another shorter version of Jason. "Ah, Jason! How've you been?" He glanced over at you and gave a devilish grin. "Wow, what a catch. Maybe she'll decide to stay?"

The new stranger sauntered over, a shoulder being wrapped around your shoulders. "If he isn't your type I'm always available. Jackson, by the way." He whispered in your ear with a raspy tone.

"Ignore him," Jason mumbled to you, his cheeks slightly flushed in embarrassment, "He's always like this with any human of the female gender."

Humor yourself, or let the poor man walk away with some of his dignity intact? Nah, if you were going to give some of your dignity with these men you might as well have some fun. "You poor thing," You began, turning with a gentle smile to the brother. "Can't keep it in his pants, hmm?" You softly patted the fluffy hair on his head and pouted, shuffling out of his grip and wrapping your arm back with Jason. "Better luck next time." You retorted with a little wave.

With his breath caught in his throat, he coughed and turned to the direction of where their table was. "The tables this way, dad's already there." His mumbling quieted down as he led the way.

Jason turned to you, kept in a laugh, and shrugged. The restaurant was warm along with the cozy glow of the chandeliers hanging from the tall roof. There were many tables, black with cushioned chairs and blazing candles.

Your eyes zeroed on the candles, the beautifully dangerous flame causing you to start sweating. You gulped down the lump in your throat and forced yourself to relax your tensing limbs. 'It's just a small flame, nothing to be afraid of.' You scolded yourself.

The two of you wondered into a private room in the back. There was a large, round, black table in the center of the room, a few couches on the walls with side tables. There were a few candles in the center along with a crystal vase filled with blood red roses. As much as you loved the roses, they reminded you of him.

To distract yourself you glanced around the room, the father and Jackson were conversing, the other son sitting and listening. Jackson pointed in your direction, a sly smirk on his face.

Jason leaned in. "That's my dad," he pointed over to one of the other walls near the couch. A man was leaning on the side, his crisp suit wrinkling with his crossed legs. He had a beard, small but neat, with deep blue eyes and tan flesh. "That is Manchile, he's the Don I was talking about."

There were a few other notable people, but when Jason and you entered the entire room lightened up. The father stood and sauntered over, a sleazy smile gracing his gruff features. "I hope Jason didn't make a move on you?" He extended his hand, slightly calloused from use, but large and warm.

You took it with a gentle smile, time to suck up your pride and be a darling. "I wouldn't worry about him, he's quite the gentleman." Your hand was in worse shape than his, more rough, and must have noticed. The father's face changed into one of surprise and respect. "I'd watch out for that one though." You pointed to Jackson, the man lightly scoffing with a grin.

"Will do." He said with a chuckle.

Manchile joined the table, a few of his men sitting down too. "I'm starved, let's eat."

"Sure thing." The father returned his attention to Jason and you. "Ladies first."

The table was filled, and you ended up being sandwiched between Jason and Manchile. Your eyes would periodically go back to the candles in front of you, and all you could do was twist a small bit of your dress skirt to calm your nerves. You all ordered, and you took your date's advice with the steak.

As you were waiting, the unknown brother, leaned in and gave you a curious smile. "So, a hunter huh? I've never met one, what's it like?"

All eyes were on you now, and you relaxed with the distraction. "It's dangerous work... but if you were trained correctly then it is worth it. Plenty of benefits as long as you hunt something."

"Who trained you?" His green eyes gleamed begins his thin glasses. "Sorry if I'm prying, just curious."

"I don't mind. I trained myself. I've always wanted to become a hunter."

"Really? Ooh, what about the test? I've heard it's impossible!"

You slightly smiled, Manchile leaning in and joining the conversation. "Some of my men are hunters, they talked about fighting each other and impossible puzzles. My best man had to find the damned test four times before he made it."

You cocked an eyebrow. "Well he's not wrong. All the tests are different but we did have to fight each other. There were some puzzles but I didn't think they were that difficult...." You locked your lipstick and took a sip of your water, keeping your posture and chin held high. "Four times huh? I got my license on my first try."

Manchile cackled in his water cup. "Really? You make my best look like babies." The waiter returned with a large bottle of red wine and began to pour it to everyone who wanted some. You declined, drinking on the job wouldn't bid well if something happened. "Next your going to say you could win against one of the beasts."

You stayed silent, doing your best to keep your smile hidden behind your glass of water. Jason peeked over and noticed your curled lips. "No way, seriously?"

"Not sure, never tried." You commented, giving him a cocky side eye. "But probably."

It was the father's turn to laugh, Jackson joining in with some bread in his hands. "Come on, no one's stronger than the beasts. You've got to be crazy."

The father butted in with a joke. "You're a bounty hunter right? You didn't come here to take us out, hmm?"

"No, no, that'd be bad for business. I'm actually after the Phantom Troupe." The table quieted down, so you continued. "Rumor has it some people will 'sleep' tonight, take that as you will, I'm just here for security purposes. More or less."

Manchile waved over a waiter and asked for another bottle before asking some more questions. "You think they will attack? What makes you think they are crazy enough to challenge the mafia?"

"Well, I will admit I don't have proof, but it would be a missed opportunity. I mean if people are going to 'sleep' then the only criminals crazy enough to try anything would be the Troupe. They are also strong enough to do so. I guess you could say it's a hunch."

A few new waiters entered with the food. They set it on the table, asked if we needed anything else, and left.

"Well, son, you found one interesting woman, huh?"

Jason gave a breathy laugh, as if he was trying to keep his nerves together. "Yeah, I guess I did."

The current conversation died out and turned into useless banter. What they wanted to get from the auctions, who they would be fighting it for, money, fame, glory, all of it. Jason leaned over and asked if you wanted something, but you declined the generous offer. You knew there would be Kurt's eyes, but buying them seemed a bit off. Almost like cheating.

You wanted to collect them through force, just like they did, only then will you be satisfied. Still, you appreciated the offer and made sure he knew you did.

Everything was calm, the food was hot and the candles became a later memory from the conversations you were listening in on. That was until a sudden ding echoed in the private room. Then another, and another, and quickly everyone's phones rang of emergency alerts and messages.

You didn't have to glance over Jason's shoulder to see the message, you already knew what happened. Still, a part of you checked to make sure you didn't have to leave the welcoming lot of individuals.

You didn't know wether to be disappointed or excited, but either way you faced your date. "I'll head over to the auction house to investigate—"

"We all will." Commanded the father. "The merchandise is missing, as well as everyone else."

"Everyone else?"

Manchile pulled himself from his seat. "Owl grabbed the stuff before shit went down. But everyone in the auction house is gone, poof, missing." There was another synchronized ding. "There's a hot air balloon heading south."

"In the direction of Meteor City?" You commented, already heading towards the door. "I'll head over there. Keep me informed, I need a list of the people missing and a list of people chasing down the balloon. Anything else of importance will help." You pointed to Jason, but he held out his hand.

"Do you think it's the Troupe?"

You turned and stared into his chocolate eyes, his brows furrowed with worry. So you smiled kindly. "I know it's the Troupe."

"Get the Shadow Beasts." The father's voice trailed off behind the door.

You were calm as you walked through the restaurant, the hectic banter of the trailing mafia men closely behind. They passed you and exited, you quickly following suit. The outside air was crisp and humid from an old rain and the clouds coated the sky like a blanket.

"Are you calling them Jared?"

"Hurry and get worm on the phone Jackson!"

"You already have the merchandise? Good, good, keep it safe and get the others. Worm, Rabid Dog, Porcupine, and Leech are already on their way."

"(Y/n)! If it's the Troupe you should wait for the other beasts and go with them. Just to be safe." Jason held your hand, finally noticing the toughness of your overworked hands. His were soft, raised with little trouble unlike yourself.

"I'll be fine, I'm strong enough to last against one, maybe two of the members if I'm lucky." You slipped your hand from his grip and tore off your expensive heels, no need for them to get ruined like your dress. "Can you hold these for me? I'd hate for them to get dirty." You handed him your pearls, leaving the earrings because they wouldn't get caught on anything. "I'll have to come back and get them."

You smiled at him again and summoned your gauntlets, dashing off to catch a hot air balloon. He stared at your disappearing form, a clear as day blush spread across his cheeks.

~~~

You made it after a while of running, but the battle had already begun. You stationed yourself on top of the plateau surrounding the battlefield, and already you scolded yourself for not trying to keep the beasts as back-up.

Their bodies littered the floors and blood soaked the dry earth. Biting your lip, you assessed the playing field. Uvogin sat alone, a hairy man you could only assume was the Porcupine character stuck to his fist. The rest of the Troupe members, not all of them, sat along the sides with cards in their hands. Machi, Nobunaga, Feitan, Franklin, Shizuku and Shalnark. You wondered if that was everyone or if someone was hiding.

Next was a few mafia men smart enough to not engage in battle, but why haven't they run off yet? You would have taken more care in who they might be, but you were quickly cut off with an ear piercing scream. You covered your ears and crouched down further, wincing at your late reaction.

Uvogin smiled and waited. Blood spurt from Porcupine's ears and not a moment later he fell to the floor with a dead eyed thud. The mafia men began to make their move, so you wondered closer to where they were stationed.

Then it happened, chains tightly wound themselves around Uvogin and tugged him into oblivion. Chains... chains! Kurapika! With your new revelation you ran towards the car everyone was piling into. But in no time Uvogin was packed in and they began their drive away.

With a low growl you sprinted faster and jumped off the cliff side and towards the first car. You tumbled onto the roof, denting it underneath the impact, and attached yourself with your gauntlets.

Your burning rage dismissed the passenger's window, and you smashed into it without care for who was on the other side. Gripping their shirt and almost pulling them out, the frightened girl screeching. "Kurapika!"

Two pairs of red eyes stared into each other's souls. He knew he was in deep shit. "(Y/n)-"

"Don't you fucking dare." You snapped, pointing your finger to the man tied up in the backseat., but your eyes stayed glued on the blond. "I swear to god if I hear any bullshit I'm going to tear a tongue out!"

"Someone's in a pissy mood." A deep voice reverberated through the small confines of the black car. Finally, you glared at the man in the back seat, his entire body tied under nen chains.

"Eat lead Uvo."

"Already checked off the bucket list (y/n/n)."

God, you hated that nickname.

#yandere hunter x hunter #yandere hxh #yandere phantom troupe #yandere chrollo lucilfer #Yandere chrollo #Yandere Phantom Troupe x reader #Yandere chrollo x reader #just a teaser because this one is a long one #Kurta reader #fem reader #Yandere x reader #not even a teaser literally probably the first half #maybe the first third of the full fiction #Yandere hunter x hunter fanfic #puttin grandom tags cause it’s late #love you guys #strong reader

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thgreatestblue · 4 years ago

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hoax

➜ pairing: kaigaku x gn!reader ➜ warnings: manga spoilers, outdoor sex, toxic relationship, dubious consent, mention of death and blood. ➜ words: 4k ➜ a/n: i always loved kaigaku’s design and i would’ve loved to see more of him, but well. i had a lot of fun writing this and i hope you like it as well! (also, i highly recommend the fic breath of reincarnation) ➜ ao3

summary: Never in a million years you thought you would let him break your heart again. But here you were; not only with the broken pieces but with the one who smashed it.

When the sky turned into a greyish shade, everything lost its colors. It brings a melancholy feeling to the landscape; twisting every single tone in an ocean of nothingness besides the tinted red of your cheeks, still hot from the burning of your tears which had long disappeared, but the trail was still there. If you could, you would still be crying, but there were no tears left.

Crestfallen, you wipe your face again with the sleeve of your kimono, it was damp and gross against your skin — a cold memory of the past few hours that you wanted to wake up from. If this was a nightmare, it was the worst you’ve ever had; and you had had a quite few ugly ones. But this one takes the spot, nothing could compare to the tragedy that was unfounded right in front of you.

You could still feel the phantom sensation of Kuwajima’s blood on your hands, cold and thick, staining your skin, running down your arms and dripping from your elbows. Even after hours scrubbing, until everything was so red you didn't know where the spots of blood ended and where your skin began. The endless stream of tears fogging your vision didn't help either.

Fogged, that’s how it felt. A dense mist filled your mind, putting you in a mechanical state where you couldn't remember half of the day, half the things you had said and done - you nod to something, you hug someone, the water came out red. Although the haze clogged your mind, the image of the dead body of Kuwajima burns bright and vivid; even when you closed your eyes.

You can’t think straight; can’t bring yourself to feel anything other than sadness. As you look at his grave, the dull turquoise color of the flowers make you sick, it reminds you of eyes that you wish you had never met; that you wish you had kept closer. Does it matter anyway? If fate was this cruel, then he would’ve slipped through your fingers nevertheless.

Your head hurts just thinking about how you are going to tell Zenitsu about this — if the blow was fatal to you, it would be deadly to him.

Although Kuwajima didn't take you under his wing, he always took care of you, making sure you knew the basics and was talented enough to enter the Demon Slayer Corps. Sometimes you would even train besides Kaigaku and Zenitsu, always coming out bruised but with a content smile on your face.

However, those memories of better and easier days now sat wrong in your mind; they lost their colors, scenery becoming sinister as the faces twisted into something demonic. The shadows fell into those memories just like when clouds cover the sun, and you suspect it was going to be an endless rain, soaking every single frame until there's nothing left to save.

The necklace on your neck still has the yellow Magatama that Kaigaku gave you on your birthday, and it’s heavy — carrying the weight of treason and deception on its tiny form. Like habit, you grasp the pendant on your hand, holding it so tight it might break. It won't though. No matter how many times you threw it on the ground, step on it; it was still intact — it would always come back to your neck as well, no matter how many times you tried to let it go.

The sound of a thunder startles you, and you laugh sadly at the irony. You look up to the sky which was painted a dark grey, casting darkness upon the living — you could say it was fitting for the day. After that, It only takes a few seconds for the first drop of rain to fall on your face, cold and violent — if there were no tears left, then the raindrops would do the job.

“Y/N.”

The voice comes from a spot next to you, but you don’t look. Not yet. You can’t bring yourself to turn your head, to see what Kaigaku had become — what monster he had turned into. You had wondered for hours, for days, the whys and the reasons. It corroded your heart, eating by the borders until it reached the center.

Never in a million years you thought this was even possible. Not after everything he went through to become a Demon Slayer. Not after all the training, the scolding, the bruises and the cries - the joys and the pride. Never in a million years you thought you would let him break your heart again.

But here you were; not only with the broken pieces but with the one who smashed it.

Your lips tremble before you can bring yourself to speak, “What are you doing here?” It comes out tiny and fragile, your throat closes with the amount of grief you’re trying to hold.

The rain starts to pour more heavily, soaking you to your feet. The sound of it would’ve been soothing if you were at home, but here in the open it’s disturbing, frightening. The fat raindrops hit your skin like bullets, they run down on your cheeks, damping your clothes and leaving you shivering.

“Aren't you going to look at me, coward?” Kaigaku mocks, his voice closer now.

His words stings, injecting poison on your veins. You should be used by now, to have your insides burning with humiliation. However, it was always a back and forth with him; one day he was arrogant, enraged, almost bitter. Then, on rare days — the ones that you used to treasured the most — he would be eager, intense, almost romantic. The switch of emotion kept you on your toes; it was a lost battle though, he has always been unpredictable.

You press your lips together, taking a deep breath before slowly turning your head to the side, but nothing could prepare you for what was right before you.

“So, what do you think about my new look?” Kaigaku spins on his heels; the rain doesn't stop him from opening his arms, showing off his new clothes, baring his new sharp teeth, a devilish smile dripping from his mouth, “Much better, right?”

It is, in fact, much worse than you thought; eyes widening in disbelief. His skin that you had once touched with tender fingers was now pale and dull; the milk shade of it turned him into a ghost, and you'd have believed if you didn't know better. The dark stripes around his face were aggressive, twisting his face to a sharper and more dangerous look; and you hated seeing his beautiful face corrupted like that.

And then there was his eyes. Once a charming hue of turquoise that you had lost yourself so many times; due to anger, due to love. Now, a hideous shade of greenish blue, surrounded by black sclera. A perfect portrait of a corruption of nature, a Demon. It makes you want to puke.

Instead, you say, "You look terrible."

Kaigaku laughs, throwing his head back as if you had told the funniest joke, and you notice the many blue Magatamas he’s carrying with him, around his neck and wrist. Once yellow, now it was corrupted with evil. He still carries his katana on his back, which you thought was an outrage; an insult to the Demon Slayer Corps. You clench your hands in fists, but still don't reach for your own katana.

"Oh, Y/N. You wound me." He mocks, running a hand through his wet hair, so casually you can’t register the moment as real.

Rage sets down in your bones, even with him right in front of you, you couldn't believe it. Not a single word of apology, he doesn't show remorse, nor guilty. He looks satisfied with the turn of events, as if he had planned this all along. It’s disgusting, his pointy ears and long black nails; for once, you are glad that Kuwajima isn't here to see what he had become — you wish you weren't either.

"Do you know who found him?" You shout, eyes burning with fury and sorrow, you approach him with heavy steps, your lips tremble as you continue to scream, "When I arrived there was blood all over the room, his death was slow and agonizing because no one was there to cut his head! All because of you!"

You hit his chest as hard as you can; but you are weak — nothing was able to stay on your stomach and you couldn't even think about sleeping. He doesn't move an inch. “I keep seeing that scene every fucking day, even when my eyes are open!”

Your voice sounds shaky, but your hands clench his clothes in a tight grip. The sound of thunder is loud in your ears as the rain falls heavy between you two. He’s not laughing anymore, the grin on his face fading into a scowl.

"You're a disgrace."

Kaigaku’s eyes darken, almost pit black. Your senses scream for you to prepare to fight, but before you could even think about making a movement, he grabs you by the collar and throws you against the first wall he could find. The air is knocked out of your lungs, head spinning with the pain spreading throughout your body.

He holds your clothes in a tight grip, pressing against your frame so you wouldn't be able to move. Your hands reach to grab his; a failed attempt to loosen the grasp around your throat that is starting to suffocate you. Head still fogg with pain, the only thing you can see between dark spots are his eyes. Your eyes widen in shock as you see the indentation of a kanji in his iries, Upper Moon Six.

"I wouldn't say that ever again if I were you." Kaigaku warns, the pointed nail of his index finger digging in the flesh of your throat.

You swallow down, feeling the nail cutting just a tiny bit of your skin, but not enough to draw blood. The rain still pours unforgiven, but at least there’s a roof over your head now. You’re completely soaked and yet, you can feel his strong body against yours, his breath on your face makes you shudder.

“Why?” You cry out, not knowing exactly for what you were asking.

Kaigaku was a taker, and even though you gave everything you could and more, it was never enough. You gave him your soul, let him consume your body and break your heart as many times as he liked — And still wasn't enough. You don’t know what he wants from you anymore; there was nothing left to play with, he had shattered all your pieces.

Yet, here he was. There wasn't a single reasonable reason that he could give to you that would explain all this, that would justify the catastrophe of his choices. Though, deep down you knew it was for his own amusement, seeing you suffer for him yet again. He wouldn't let you go, eternally pulling the strings of your life.

“I’m stronger,” He hums, “More powerful than I would ever be if I continued to be just a a mediocre demon slayer.”

You shook your head in disbelief, after everything that’s all he has to say? For years you wished; no, you actually believed that underneath the tough facade he was a good man, that he in fact was just prideful and wanted to be the best Demon Slayer out there.

You saw when he would train until his body couldn't take anymore. You saw when he would let a tiny smile spread across his face when Kuwajima praised him. You saw when he was gentle when you two were intimate. You saw so many things and yet, those black eyes staring at you said the very contrary.

“I'm on the winning side.” Kaigaku whispers, licking a trail from your neck to your chin. You shiver from the feeling of his tongue dragging across your flesh.

"Let me go.” You hiss between gritted teeth. You hold his forearms in a weak grip, trying to push him away.

Kaigaku’s laugh vibrates through your body — it’s cruel and cold — leaving you trembling on the spot. He tilts his head, one hand grips your waist while the other reaches down for the pendant on your chest. He plays with the Magatama between his fingers, a vicious grin spreading through his face. Your face heats up, caught in the act.

"I don’t know why you bother to try. We both know it never works."

Kaigaku’s lips come crashing into yours, hungry and eager. You fight back, pressing your lips together — miserably trying to stop him from invading your mouth. His teeth sinks in your skin, his nails dug on your waist. Your clothes are damp from the rain, but rather than feel cold, there’s a warm heat emanating from Kaigaku’s body that you can’t ignore how familiar it feels.

You don’t want him.

Out in the open, you felt over exposed. More than that, you were just a few meters away from Kuwajima’s grave. It was a dishonor, not only for him, but for everyone Kaigaku killed to be this high in the rank. How many lives were destroyed by his treason. You try to push him away, weakly forcing him to step away. Instead, Kaigaku presses closer, making your head hit the wall.

You didn't want him — not like this, at least.

His hands travel down your body as he slides his tongue along the seam of your lips, and even though your body screams for you to open your mouth, you don't. It was a never ending battle that you fought almost everyday; wanting him, needing him more than you should. Kaigaku has always been a constant in your life, for better or for worse — you can’t see him out of it, at the same time that you need desperately to let him go.

Noticing that you won’t budge, Kaigaku moves down to violently kiss your neck, sucking dark spots without mercy; his touch clouds your head and you don't notice when his hand disappears inside your pants. It’s only when he touches your sex that your eyes snatch open.

“Don’t—” As you open your mouth to protest, he shoves his tongue inside.

And you know it’s a lost battle then. Your hands grips his shoulders as you let him kiss you, suck your tongue, run the tip of it across the routh of your mouth. It has always been like that, once he touched you, it was over. Like a drug, you could never withdraw completely. No matter what. No matter the situation.

His fingers play with you, knowing exactly how to touch you to drive you crazy. You have to grit your teeth to not make a sound, jaw stiffening as a moan threatens to escape. Kaigaku traps your bottom lip between his, sucking hard enough to bruise.

“Don’t forget, you’re mine.” Kaigaku growls, his breath is hot against your neck, “And I can do whatever I want with you.”

Shivering, you grip his shoulder as the first finger enters you. His pointed nails hurt a little, however, the feeling of his finger dragging and scratching you open is enough to make you gasp. You feel overwhelmed by his touch. It has been some time since he touched you like this — each thrust of his finger making you pulse and throb for more. He devours you, swallowing each tiny whimper you make as another finger enters you.

Kaigaku's cruel, unforgiving fingers thrust deeper, curling in the right places that makes you see stars. You bury your head on his neck, letting a shameful moan escape your lips as he hits the right stop inside you.

"That's better.” He hums in your ear. The heat on your belly is starting to burn, your body betrays you as your hips start move, fucking into his hand.

You finally give in, completely by kissing him. It’s desperate, raw with emotions you can bring yourself to say, holding into him as your life depends on it. It’s useless now, but you can’t help it. He kisses you back with the same intensity, lips crushing on another, sucking and devouring each other — and for a moment you wonder if there’s something between the lines you’re failing to see.

You feel Kaigaku groaning when you brush your thigh against his crotch; he’s already fully hard and you know what’s coming next. He sucks down your neck, and you shudder between moans — your mind starting to lose track of your surroundings, thinking only about him and his touch, how you shamelessly want to go all the way.

Kaigaku abruptly pulls his fingers out of you, and you whimper from the loss. He teases you a little, dragging his fingers over your sex, making you squirm in his arms. When he pulls his hand out of your pants, there’s a bit of your fluid on his fingers, and he doesn't hesitate putting it on his mouth. You suck in a sharp breath, watching him suck his fingers.

"Now, I don’t know if i want to fuck or eat you."

A strong shiver goes down your spine, paralyzing you in place. Suddenly, the reality of the situation hits you like a train — that what’s happening right now is wrong on so many levels — you open your mouth to put an end to whatever this is, heart beating so fast you might faint, but he stops you with a finger over your mouth.

“Hush now, we don’t want to ruin the moment, do we?” Kaigaku grins, his eyes are a shade darker now that the night took over the day, but those disgusting indentations are still there, the black sclera is haunting in this light; you can’t bring yourself to look him in the eye.

You feel trapped, the same way you felt a long time ago. And even though this time the reality is a lot worse, it was the same feeling. Before, when things were easy, it was still hard to make him hear you — it worked once or twice — but it all came down to what Kaigaku wanted in the end. Oh, you were so blind, so stupidly blind.

And even now that you can see clearly as the day; acting on it is a completely different thing.

You stay frozen in place — hands still clutching his shoulders, eyes heavy-lidded — while Kaigaku reaches past his kimono, pulling his cock out of his pants. You feel one of his hands pulling down yours just enough so he could position his cock at your entrance. He hooks his hands under your thighs, lifting you from the ground. And you wrap your legs around his waist like you did so many times before.

If your mind isn't working, frozen in a dilemma you couldn't bring yourself to come to a conclusion — your body on the other hand, knew exactly how to proceed.

Kaigaku nose bumps into yours, drawing circles around your cheek, and it’s so gentle it makes you want to cry. There was always a bipolarity to his actions, it would jump between extremely violent to insufferable gentle and you didn't know which one was worse — his true self or the shadow of what could’ve been.

He enters you quite easily, cursing under his breath. Your walls throbs around his cock as he pushes deeper and deeper. Moan muffled by his shoulder; your entire body is consumed by his fire, each nerve lighting up as he hits the deepest part of you — the fog on your mind comes back, intoxicating you for once and for all.

Kaigaku starts with smoother strokes, making you feel all of him; every inch of his cock. It’s cruel, how slow and deep he goes, almost painful how much force he puts on his thrusts, staying buried inside you for longer than necessary — as if he hasn't already left enough marks on your body, on your soul.

Slamming your body against the wall, you hold onto his shoulders for dear life, each thrust making the bumping noise of your body against the wood louder and louder; if it wasn't for the rain, you are sure that someone would have heard you two by now — the thought makes you blush even harder.

However, today the night is darker, the shadows are peach black as his eyes. Kaigaku changes the pace as he changes emotions; and since you were already stretched, he picks a roughless pace, fucking you against the wall. You moan louder when he hits you just right, you clench around him; the space below your belly asking for release.

“Ah,” You gasp as he continues to fuck you, “Fuck—Ka—ahh—” He shuts you up with his mouth, kissing you hard enough to suck all the air of your lungs.

And you desperately kiss him back, hanging into something unreal. To a feeling that would never be the same, stained by the blood he shed. To someone who would never be the same, twisted by the blood he chose to drink. This isn't him, but it looks so much like it that you would indulge yourself as much as you could — even if these mere minutes are going to leave you broken beyond repair.

Kaigaku moans in your mouth, and you drink every single one of them. Those sounds never failed to make your stomach flutter — at least he was enjoying this as much as you were, getting lost in your flesh as you always got lost on him. You kiss his neck, sucking the spot right below his ear, it wouldn't bruise but you could try.

Your hips move to meet his thrusts, not bothering how hard his nails dug into your thighs — wrongly enough you want his marks, as many as you could get, since you didn't know when you would be seeing him again, or if ever.

“Kaigaku!” You cry, surprised when tears start to form in the corners of your eyes. You thought you had drained all of them, but of course he would be an exception.

"That's right, scream my name." Kaigaku growls, sucking in a sharp breath. The sound of skin on skin muffled by the rain.

"Fu—mmph—” A white-hot pleasure shoots through your body, the first tear runs down your cheek as Kaigaku continues to thrust into you with no mercy.

"So everyone will know that I fucked you," He whispers, biting at the lobe of one of your ears. "That a Demon fucked you."

His words are harsh, making you shudder harder against him, trying to come up with something but your mouth only hangs open, breathy moans escaping as his hips snap forward, sinking so deep you cry out again. Then, his mouth finds its way to your neck, lips sealed over the flesh, he bites down, drawing blood to the surface and drinking.

On a broken moan, you terribly realize you came from that.

It pulses through you, feeling the rush reach the tip of your toes. Kaigaku continues to slam into you, thrusts starting to feel erratic and desperate as he chases his orgasm. You hold onto his shoulders, gripping his clothes so tight your knuckles go white. He growls, spilling inside you.

Kaigaku slowly stops his movements, pulling out of you with a filthy sound. Your head is still clouded with the aftertaste of your orgams — so that must be the reason why you seek for his mouth, kissing him so gently you can’t recognize what’s real or what’s not anymore.

“Now I just need to eat you for real.” His grin is twisted with something evil and cruel underneath; you can’t take it anymore.

You push him, this time he steps away and you fall to your knees. You try to cover yourself, pulling your kimono over your chest, but the damage is already done. His come drips down between your thights — you shudder from the feeling, shame settling down your bones so heavy you can’t breathe.

He squats down, gripping your chin, you try to look away but his grip tightens and you have to look at his demonic eyes, “Don’t worry, you are better alive for me, darling.”

He laughs as another tear runs down your cheek.

If he was a disgrace, so were you.

#kaigaku #kaigaku x reader #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kny x reader #kny #sometimes i write #this song ranked 3rd place on my spotify 2020 wrapped #i'm just a little bit obsessed with it #just a little

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ecrivant · 4 years ago

Text

under the yoke | porco galliard

(porco galliard x reader)

an exploration of porco’s life after the warriors leave for paradis, told through a collection of vignettes.

word count: 2.8k

He sat, crumpled, clutching a hand which bore bloodied and broken knuckles, unfeeling. His white clothes, once pristine and perpetually ironed and representative of honor and heroism and potential, were now marred by redness. Covered in the eviscerated gore and dermis which, from his forelimb, surged. The hole in his bedroom door, framed by splintered wood and dressed with remnants of that same sanguinary amalgam. The air, once tenanted by irate bellows and gesticulation, stood oppressively still. Occupied, now, only by his swallowed sobs. From the window: the muffled, revelatory sounds of the Warrior commemoration ceremony one street over; and he, in his room, washed in the quiet, aching aftermath of ebullition. Another roar, hoarse, abraded, a guttural eruption. He launched forward in an attempt to lash out, again—at the door, the wall, himself—but his legs buckled beneath him and his palms, outstretched by instinct to catch his exhausted form, scraped against the floor, leaving bloody trails in their wake. His corporeal pain, once numbed by rage, now crept along skin and burrowed into bone, and he cradled his own form, laid fetal, and wailed. A prolonged, cathartic cry which propagated another, and another, until his lungs burned, raw and void of breath, and head thrummed, and soreness and anguish within him suffused. From outside the window, a cheer; within, cries, spates of ‘why’s,’ directed at no one. The Armored Titan, squandered—his own failure from which he already imbibed such abject and indefinite nemesism. His mouth tore open in a disfigured cry; no sound emitted. A breathless, silent whine; vision blurred by tears.

Sight and sound dissolved as blood poured from his wounds, relentless. Numbness returned—he remarked from afar the peaceful exit from his own body. He was vaguely aware of his door slamming against the wall as it opened. His name, a hazy and distant vocalization, repeated, urgent. A violent shaking of his body. On his cheek, a soft touch. He maybe saw your face. Concerned, no, fearful eyes. His own voice, thick in his throat, pathetic and begging and desperate:

“Please just let me die.”

The tremors of footsteps on wood, of weak limbs. Then his brother, his mother. You. The vague feeling of being lifted to his feet, of being stripped of his clothes, of being laid on the bed. A cloth, cold on tender skin.

Marcel’s embrace.

Sleep so abnormally dreamless and pitch that he was sure he had died, pervaded by a feeling of absence.

He awoke in the darkness of night and felt he was not alone. Eyes adjusting, he saw one body in a chair next to him, another in his brother’s bed. His entirety complained, aching. A low groan escaped him. The one in the chair stirred at the sound and eyed him in the dark. He could all but see the scrutinizing gaze. A grip on his uninjured hand, squeezing. His brother’s whispered apology.

Marcel rose from his seat and roused the other, who groggily sat up and listened for a moment before rushing over to the bed. Another hand in his, this time soft and un-calloused, and timid. He, now acclimated to the dark of the room, saw your scrunched face and teary eyes and quivering lip. You bowed your head to hide them, instead bringing his hand to your forehead, still trembling. As if in mourning.

“Let him sleep.”

A gentle command, for your sake and not his. He wished for you to embrace him but could not bring himself to say it.

—

He woke to his mother’s insistence that they see Marcel off. He first thought of you.

“Mom, don’t make him go.”

He felt his brother approach his bed, slow, timid. A kiss on his temple. A whispered promise:

“I’ll be home soon.”

—

He staggered as he climbed out of bed. The bandages on his hand and forearm, the hole in the door—ugly reminders of his abortion. Weak fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. Fresh blood seeped through the gauze around his knuckles, spreading over the fibrous surface like a creeping, infective redness.

He made it to the port just as the boat undocked and withdrew from the shore. He saw you in the crowd, hand excitedly waving in the air as if a flag enlivened by breeze.

He returned home and undressed himself and laid back in bed and closed his eyes just as his mother reentered the house and forthwith tended to her sleeping child’s wounds.

—

A knock at his door.

“Porco? It’s Pieck and Zeke.”

“Tell them I’m alright.”

His mother bit her lip before shutting his door again.

He did not wish to see them, though he thought of them each day. Becoming less like people and more like deformed effigies begotten from his own envious thoughts. Though a given, since the beginning, that Zeke would claim the Beast Titan, he considered that he could have inherited Cartman. A moment of clarity told him Pieck was more than deserving of her inheritance, and he flushed with guilt. The candidacy, Reiner, they had made him so spiteful.

Still, he did not wish to see them.

Another knock at the door. He repressed the annoyance that flared in his chest.

“Yes?”

He could not help the edge that slipped through.

His eyes widened when you stuck your head around the door. Eyes asking for permission to enter. He moved to make room for you on his bed, granting it. Mattress dipping as you sat. Your hands gently turned his injured arm in inspection—its gauzy covering now gone and replaced by a dusting of red-rimmed scabs and pale, white scars. The haphazard gash in his wrist nearly but a memory. The touch, gentle, nearly imperceptible. Again feeling guilty, as he had not thought of you in weeks, though you should have been the first to which he turned. Your non-affiliation with the Warriors was something he unknowingly craved. Soft fingers grazed his arm and the sillage of your scent hung in the air, calming him. He needed your touch, a same and even greater need than that night before the Warriors’ departure.

You did not speak and instead wrapped your hands around his. Heedful of his injuries. Even in the dim candlelight of the room, a ray of moonlight flooded through the window and struck his floor—an expansive stain of red, impossible to fully remove, illuminated. You gazed at him, sad, as if you pitied him. He wished he had not seen it, perhaps he was not meant to, and he asked you to leave before he could suppress his anger. He spurned your pity.

You were surprised but not hurt: instead, he was met with a melancholic look, one of understanding. As you walked out, shutting the door behind you, he wished you had been hurt—he envied your emotional control, your empathy. Hot tears spilled from his eyes, and they blurred his view of you leaving the front stoop and walking down the street, swallowed by the night.

He grabbed his pillow and hurled it at the wall. It landed with a dull thump. If he was anything like you, he could have controlled his anger and kept you with him. Spent the night in your presence. He gritted his teeth and slammed back onto the mattress, taking notice of the missing cushion. He rolled to the side and slept without it.

—

He could not say when he finally rescinded the grudge he held against Pieck and Zeke. He began talking to them again, finally caving on his self-imposed strike after realizing he was lonely, but it felt more like a return out of necessity. He was not sure he truly missed their companionship; though dulled, the spite and anger and jealousy were all still present.

At the same time, he immersed himself further into Marley’s all-encompassing military-industrial complex. Endearing himself to Magrath. Continuing his training. Helping where he could. As if to fulfill some sick, vicarious fantasy where he was a Warrior, as well, only left behind with Pieck and Zeke. The schmoozing felt insincere, dirty, yet he continued, to what end? He was worse than Reiner—a fucking ass-kisser with no goal in sight. Subconsciously aware his constant exposure to Marleyan army affairs only exacerbated and prolonged the pain of his failure.

“Why still be involved?”

He frowned at your question—a large part of him assumed you would support him, regardless. At least support him based on the fact it was somehow comforting for him, a twisted form of self-actualization. He narrowed his eyes as you continued.

“Maybe it’s better this way. You—”

You cut yourself off, hesitant. He urged you to say your piece, an edge in his voice.

“If you’re not a Warrior, you can live a long life.” With me, the implicit addendum. He ignored it, quiet long enough that you felt emboldened to continue.

“Sometimes this war, it feels so pointless.”

Faced with futility. Your extrapolated silver lining. Something repressed urged him to give in, to agree. Whether flaccid will or a desire to live with you, he could not be sure. You had always felt so nice.

Though he could not, could never, bring himself to despise you, he convinced himself to despise the words you spoke.

“What are you, a fucking pacifist now?”

You shrunk away, the vitriol in his voice, a disarming blow. To serve Eldians was his life’s purpose, and you were meant to support him indefinitely, it being in your nature. You began to speak, but he ignored it. Anger flaring. The more he thought on it, the easier you became to hate. All the years he had known you, you were nothing but a backgrounded entity. His very antithesis. Your affinity for pacifism was no surprise to him—it was very much like you to sit to the side and wish for things to happen instead of taking it upon yourself to actualize them. You moved through life without purpose, a passive body with no real substance. It was a wonder he had ever liked you at all.

“You know it should have been me. I should have been the one to go to Paradis, not Reiner.”

The hurt in your eyes urged him forward, though, in hindsight, he wondered if it was your own hurt, or hurt for him, which shone in your gaze. A sadness, pity, that he could not let go of his apparent past transgression, could not overcome his own self-hatred. Were there truly many differences between you?

He lashed out once more, another jab. A sadistic self-projection.

“How can you live a life so devoid of purpose and meaning? Don’t tell me what I should and shouldn’t do. I was meant to be a Warrior for humanity, so that’s what I’ll do. And I don’t care how I get there.”

He flinched, less at the words and more at the way some form of the truth so willingly poured from his mouth. Quiet, eerily pervasive. A surge of guilt in the pit of his stomach. Like bile. Your tears stung his throat.

“Never would humanity’s true savior be so selfish.”

You stood and turned at the heel and strode off, quickly wiping at your eyes. It was his turn to be winded by your words.

—

He slammed his fist against your front door, rapid and repeated like a heartrate. Your father answered and saw the raw desperation in his eyes and led him to your room. He opened the door and collapsed before he reached you. Spoken through choked sobs—the pain, cotton forced down his throat:

“Marcel is dead.”

Your arms were around him as if your last shared moment, at this point years ago, was not one of bitter vitriol. He, eviscerated by guilt and all but gutted on the floor before you. Your unrelenting sympathy, so willing to forgive his malignity—to think you had nothing but love to give in return for his spite. You held him unflinchingly as he disintegrated in your arms. Unafraid to shoulder the weight of his tangible unraveling. He thought of that moment years ago, alone in his room, bleeding out, a result of his own rage, and realized true pain was nothing like it. To be so utterly excavated by grief and pain that your own form has no choice but to erode into itself. His screams caught in your shirt. He bit down on the fabric, tasting blood.

He lied in your bed that night and felt nothing. Your touch, once so verily craved, was unaffecting. Still, you ran your hands along his sides and caressed the shapely variations of his form, and you pressed your lips to his neck and back, and he allowed you to straddle him and kiss his face and chest and arms and endeavor to extract his pain through your ghostly contact. He knew you felt nice, even if he himself could not tell. Your comfort reached him and dissolved on contact, yet he still indulged and met your touch with his own. Nevertheless unfeeling.

—

From you, he had never seen true anger. Though, when he told you he was to support Pieck in Paradis, he saw it—it was quiet, nothing like his violent, external fulminations. Instead, your stare held unprecedented intensity, some amalgam of rage and fear that made him instinctively flinch; and, for once, it did not seem like selfless emotion. He sadistically reveled in the way you finally felt fear for someone other than him.

He was leaving Marley with some naïve intention of returning, to be with you upon doing so. Yet, you both knew your shared life was a moot point after his inheritance of the Jaw Titan—he had betrayed you, and in some way, his own selfish wishes. He had not matured at all, forever and always a slave to his desires. To die for Marley, you informed him, and no matter how many times he countered with his ambition to save the Eldians and salvage the remnants of his past failures, he invariably, though subconsciously, acquiesced to your position. His ultimate objective: to die for a cause.

Your anger, short-lived, ephemeral, even. It gave way to such harrowing sorrow. He wondered, as he held you, if you finally allowed yourself to cry selfishly, to cry for the death of your own desires.

You kissed him, desperately. Long and sweetly brackish from tears. He laid you down his bed, the one in which years ago he lied as well, craving your embrace in the darkness, and touched fingertips to bare skin. His despairing memorization of your body. Your breathy murmurs, tearful; yourself, a numinous beauty he sought to worship. He could not elude his adoration for you, and as you made love that night, a shared intimacy so imbued with and pervaded by heartache, he knew he would die regretful. His pain and yours, fatefully pre-written. He had always been destined for stagnation, abjection, sorrow, loss—driven by some cruel divinity and jejune, self-sacrificial desire to fulfill his own doomed fate. The cruelty of fatalism.

“Come back to me,” you had whispered.

—

In his last moments, he thought of that night. He did not deserve a final thought so pleasant. He instead thought of you presently, home in Liberio, waiting for his promised return. Is this how Marcel felt, as he breathed his last breath? Did he think of his little brother to which he promised return? He all but laughed at the ironic cyclicality of life. Falco would inherit his thoughts, and his brother’s thoughts, and one day see the reality of anguish and broken promises and futile desire, perhaps on the evening of his own violent death.

—

Through his love, he also immortalized you—forcing you to live on as some perpetually degraded image and, eventually, simply an ephemeral feeling of comfort in those who would inherit his memories. He figured you would hate the thought. Part of him wished he could loose you from this eternal cycle, freeing you from his memory and thus the endless lineage of memory you would come to inhabit. Or maybe he wished for this selfishly, wanting you to be experienced by no other.

—

You would hate his last words, spoken at Reiner out of abject spite, selfish, though they were more of an assurance than anything. A closure for his younger self, whose apparent failures haunted him until this moment.

—

He wished you had not asked him to return; he wished he had not believed he would.

—

He was surprised by his own fear. As he allowed himself to be eaten, he only thought of dying. It would be too painful to think of anything else. Yet, you somehow slipped through, one final time.

—

hey, my first request! thank you @casualityrantfun for your porco suggestion! fleshing out porco’s history was honestly so much fun; exploring side characters’ arcs may be my new favorite thing. also, i’m sorry that this probably isn’t exactly what you wanted; you asked for fluff but i can’t seem to write anything that isn’t tinged with some kind of melancholia.

anyway, thank you all so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed the piece! i kind of fell in love with porco while i wrote this, so expect some more writing for him lol. feedback and constructive criticism are always appreciated!

also also, merry christmas to those who celebrate it! and regardless, i hope everyone has a great holiday weekend! xoxo <3

taglist: @flam3bird

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot #snk #attack on titan imagine #attack on titan x reader #aot imagines #aot x reader #porco galliard #galliard #porco galliard x reader #porco galliard x you #porco x reader #galliard x reader #porco galliard imagine #writing!

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nerdyfangirl67 · 4 years ago

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The Raging Fire Within - Phantom of the Opera Reader Insert

Pairing: Erik Destler x reader

Warnings: sexual innuendos, a confident!Erik

Word count: 1297

Request by: anonymous

Hi! Could you write a modern au fic with Erik Destler where they're in a relationship but hes still an awkward muffin and decides hes not having it any longer and tries to flirt with her using (sexual) innuendos but hes still a muffin and she loves it? Thank you so much!!!! (I hope it makes sense)

A/N: Alright, I had to change it a bit. I don’t really have a good grasp of sexual innuendos, so I made this new version of Erik very bold in what he wants from the reader. I also used lyrics from the song Past the Point of No Return from Andrew Lloyd Webber’s production of The Phantom of the Opera (I’ll italicize them) and I do not receive any credit for these lines (copyright and all, thought I should say it). And I know I used Christine’s part from the song, but I felt they best fit the situation.

I got all my French-English translations on the internet, so there is a very real possibility that these aren’t 100% correct.

It was a crisp fall evening and you were relaxing on the balcony of your loft apartment, looking out to the sun setting behind the silhouette of the Eiffel Tower. You could hear Erik’s music softly floating out of the balcony doors, caressing you as you close your eyes and listen. His skill never ceased to amaze you and hearing him play never got old. Unless he was working on one of his compositions, you never heard him play the same thing twice. You got so caught up in your thoughts that you didn’t even hear him stop playing, nor did you hear him walk out onto the balcony.

He places his hands on your waist, suavely spinning you around. “Ah, j’ai envie de t’embrasser (I want to kiss you).” He whispers, leaning in close to you, his breath fanning against your neck.

You smile at his words, and his confident attitude, turning in his arms so you are facing him. “Please do mon fantôme (my phantom).” You whisper back. Your affectionate nickname for him came from his ability to sneak up on you, as he had just done, and his inclination to remain in the shadows.

He gives you a self-assured smirk before bringing your lips to his in a passionate kiss. One of your hands cradles his cheek, while the other softly caresses the cool mask covering the angry red, marred side of his face. The two of you had been together for two years at this point but Erik still didn’t feel comfortable removing the mask. He had grown accustomed to your gentle touches and no longer flinched away from your hand drawing near to his face.

One of his hands comes to rest on your lower back, pulling you in close to him as the other weaves into your hair. You don’t open your eyes, relishing in feeling his hands on you and savoring the feeling of his lips.

“Mmhm.” You murmur out, enjoying this new, bolder version of Erik. Erik lets out a small laugh as he traces a lone finger down your cheek. “I have left you speechless ma chérie.” He presses another kiss to your lips before moving to your neck, where he places a few open-mouthed kisses.

He moves away from you, causing you to open your eyes in surprise. “Erik?” You question, your hands falling helplessly to your sides. “What has gotten into you?” You ask, curious as to what caused this new confidence.

He stops at the organ, which dominated the space in the small living room of your apartment. His fingers trail over the keys. You could tell he was becoming pensive, which likely meant he was starting to doubt his relationship with you. You silently walk up behind him, taking his hand gently in yours and slowly pulling him to the bench. He sits next to you, his fingers immediately moving to the keys.

He starts singing, in his deep sensual voice, which surprises you some. You have heard him sing before, but he didn’t do it often, and you treasured each time you were able to hear him sing.

“Past the point of no return

No going back now

Our passion-play has now, at last, begun

Past all thought of right or wrong

One final question

How long should we two wait, before we're one?

When will the blood begin to race?

The sleeping bud burst into bloom?

When will the flames, at last, consume us?”

Having heard him play this song before, and you may have read the lyrics he had written once or twice when you had been pursuing his new work, you knew what came next and you joined in as he sang.

“Past the point of no return

The final threshold

The bridge is crossed

So stand and watch it burn

We've passed the point of no return”

A change in the melody, reminiscent of a song you thought you may have heard him play once before, happened. Having seen the music for this piece, you knew there were words that followed, words so strong they had stuck with you since the first time you had read them. You had never heard him play the stanza that followed before, but a part of you yearned to say the words out loud, to him. So you did.

“Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime

Lead me, save me from my solitude

Say you want me with you here beside you

Anywhere you go let me go too”

His music dwindled out after that, his fingers slowly halting on the keys before turning to you. “How did you know the words ma chérie?” He asks quietly, bringing a finger up to delicately trace the side of your face. You sheepishly duck your head, a blush blooming across your cheeks.

“I may have looked at your music sheets once or twice?” Instead of him getting mad like you expected he might, he smirks devilishly and leans forward until he is breathing on the shell of your ear. “You have come here in pursuit of your deepest urge.” He whispers seductively, sending a shiver down your spine.

He spins up and off the organ bench, in dramatic fashion (if he had been wearing a cloak it would have swirled around him theatrically), pulling you up with him. He is quick to bring you flush against his chest with a steady hand on your lower back. “In your mind you've already succumbed to me, dropped all defences, completely succumbed to me.” His husky breath fans over your neck.

A small smile comes across your lips, despite Erik’s sudden mood change, and you pull him down to your lips, giving him a deep kiss. His hand comes up to your hair, fingers slowly making their way to the base of your neck. A sharp yank on the strands at the nape of your neck has you pushing back away from Erik, a yelp of surprise leaving you. Your hand clutches the tender spot, trying to ease some of the stinging pain.

“Je suis désolé ma chérie (I’m sorry my dearest).” Erik is quick to apologize as he removes hand, and the offender, an ornate gold ring, from your hair. You step back, rubbing the throbbing spot at the back of your head.

Seeing the look of complete horror on Erik’s face has you breaking out in laughter. “Erik, it’s okay.” You place a soft hand on his cheek as yoiu sober up. “Erik, you know I love you just as you are right? I don’t need you to be some suave French monsieur.” You say quietly.

He tears away from you, running a hand down the uncovered portion of his face as he starts pacing. “Why? Why do you love me? A positive recluse of a man who can’t even properly woo a woman as beautiful as you.”

You catch his hand as he paces by, stopping him in his tracks. “I love you because you, as you put it, are a positive recluse of a man who can’t woo a woman. I love you because you know how to make musical magic. I love you because, underneath your gruff exterior, is a loving, kind man.” You whisper, trailing a light hand down over the white mask covering half of his face. “I love you with the mask, and without it. You are who I want to spend the rest of my life with.” You end, pulling him in for a hug.

“And I want to spend the rest of my lifetime with you.” He whispers back, warming your heart and making you feel at home.

#phantom of the opera #phantom of the opera imagine #phantom of the opera reader insert #phantom of the opera x reader #phantom 2004 imagine #phantom #phantom x reader #erik x reader #erik destler reader insert #erik destler x reader #poto fanfiction #poto fanfic #POTO #poto fandom

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capri-ramblings · 4 years ago

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Hey,hey,hey. *Drops this post from my pocket and stumbles down stairs*

[ R a p t u r e d ]

A Twisted Wonderland Yandere Short Fic.

Summary: Your brother, obsessed with making a name for himself as a huntsman slaughters the beast in the Nostorne Forest, an olden land rumoured to be where the Faefolk reside with their Mother Goddess Gaia and her seven sons. But the rumours are true, and the price for having a fool brother is a heavy one.

Chapter One: Rage

"When was the last time you had the sun on you?" Idia asked this with a gentle smile curling on his lips. His blue flamed eyes glistening with a fondness too endearing to be let off as friendly.

The cuffs on your hand bit into your skin. Bruised and calloused, you balled your hands into fists yet your lips didn't part open for any of your anger to manifest into words.

Idia frowned. Guilt lingering on his features. The tower you were in was dark with nothing but a single window and a door only magic could make visible. In Idia's mind your refusal to speak to him was from a lack of comfort. Of course,anyone would be as frustrated as you were.

Perhaps,he could help with that.

His hand went up to unlatch the lock on the window and as he pushed the wooden frames back, a simmering sunlight entered the room through streaks of warmness you haven't felt in months. In your dreary state, you almost wanted to swoon from it, but then you caught the smile in Idia's eyes and your anger flared once more. You clenched your jaw and turn away from the window.

Idia's frown returned and this time with a painful jab to his heart.

"What are you doing?" Came another familiar voice you dreaded to hear, and it was from Riddle who had just materialised in front of you, his usual condescending gaze glowering at your cuffed form.

Idia furrowed his brows.

"The sun was out, I thought it'll be good for them."

Riddle scoffed,his high and mighty stance crushing your pride as he strode pass you and towards the window, where he glanced out briefly before slamming it shut. The moment darkness engulfed you once more, the regret of not facing the heat of the morning came to slap you in the face, and your shoulders slumped.

Idia looked to Riddle disapprovingly, but said nothing. Though he did glanced at you with pity. He knew you liked the sun even when you acted like you didn't, and being one of your captors, you weren't sure whether to be disgusted or grateful for his efforts to understand you.

"They're not a plant" Riddle drawled, "And with that scornful look in their eyes, you shouldn't be treating them to something so pleasant,brother."

"Humans need their sun" Idia argued "They'll get sick if you keep them locked up like this"

Riddle cocked one brow, his glowering glare seeping into your very bones when he stared down at you. When he began taking strides towards you,the sound of his boots thudding against the wooden floorboards made you flinch. For such a petite looking male, he walked with a confidence of a king marching with his army.

"Look at them,Idia" He said, softly, as if attempting to coerce his brother onto his side. "Just us standing nearby makes them sick."

When Riddle turned to face him,Idia wore a painful look on his face as if he was pleading for the words to not escape Riddle.

The red haired turned back to you, leaning down to push back the bangs obscuring your eyes from meeting his. The gentle scent of floral emitting from him matched well with the softness of his delicate fingers running through your hair, and yet both greatly contrasted the bitter grey in his gaze.

"You're fortunate I dislike seeing my brother displeased,human." He cooed, mockingly. "I'd have you collared and hung otherwise."

Riddle pulled away swiftly when the flames on Idia's hair flickered lightly, a sign of annoyance.

Mean while, you tried swallowing the immense fear in your throat to make way for the words you've wanted to pour out ever since you were captured. Alas, it seemed as if someone had sewn your own will too tightly.

"You're going too soft on it" Riddle said after going to Idia's side,the slight aggression in his voice earning a scowl from blue haired male.

"Them. Not it. And if you keep treating them like that they'll refuse to eat"

"If it's not eating, it's barely my fault."

"They'll die,Riddle. And I thought we were supposed to keep them well and alive until their brother gets back with his homage."

"Alive." Riddle said firmly, "The well part is only because you like them."

The accusation brought colour to his cheeks and Idia found his tongue betraying him when it refused to utter proper words. Riddle looked to the hunched over form of the unfortunate human they were responsible for looking after and sighed. Bringing up his index finger to rub the side of his temple.

"It's decaying. How could you even stand near it? Let alone find it pleasing to watch over?"

"You don't know." Idia said simply, and though he was frowning, Riddle caught the nostalgic look in his eyes.

Years together, and Riddle still couldn't really figure his brother out. He was closer to Idia than he was with the rest of his brothers,but the way Idia held certain things with such sentiment gave Riddle a headache. To think someone of nobility like his brother would go soft for something as meager as a human...He was going to have tea after this, that would clear his head.

But that was later. Now, he needed to make sure, as Idia had stated multiple times, that their human wouldn't die.

***

The cold water that splashed ontop of your head and trailed down the rest of your body made you shiver and flinch as the wounds on your wrist hissed at the sudden exposure.

The small, encircling, faeries dusted in the pale colour of blue giggled at your reaction, never once stopping to ask you if the water bothered you. Water Fairies... You've only ever heard of them in stories your mother told you before you slept, but now for the past two months, they were the ones keeping your body clean.

Your gaze dropped to your bare feet soaked in the wooden basin you bathed in, and the memories of when you were free brought tears to your eyes. Before you actually realized it, you were crying. Tears uncontrollably slipping through your eyes like rain dripping in-between the creaks of a broken roof. Your body trembled and despite the soreness of your limbs, you hunched over to hug your knees. The water Fairies, continued their job, carelessly oblivious to your sorrows.

You didn't even noticed Idia entering the room until his panicked voice broke through the silence and a pair of his hands gripped your shoulders.

"What happened? Are you hurt?" He sounded worried, hasty even. The water Fairies giggled, splashing the water from your bath playfully as if to greet the young male but when he lifted his gaze towards them, the gold in his eyes flared like fire and within seconds you heard the small cries of pain elicited by the water Fairies before, one by one, Idia's fire engulfed them all.

"They're gone now" He said, cupping your tear stained face clumsily in his hands. "They won't hurt you again. I swear."

He wasn't expecting a 'Thank you' or a grateful smile or even your body welcoming him in an embrace, even if he did craved those things from you, but Idia also didn't expect for your hands to push him away so vigorously. As if by his touch alone he had made you feel disgusted.

His gaze was wide when it met yours,a tinge of hurt lingering in them but when Riddle entered the room then, it vanished and Idia looked away from you.

"What happened here? Why are you on the floor—" Riddle let common sense piece up the scenes together and when it did, the annoyance In his demeanor shifted to anger.

"Get up,Idia. You'll need a change of clothes,Azul is already downstairs,have him help you."

Idia got up without a word and when the door vanished the moment he went through it, dread settled into the room like a plague.

"I don't know how many times I've said it" Riddle started,looming over your bared body still sitting in the basin.

"But you should consider yourself lucky I'm neither Leona or Azul. They would've given you nothing to wear and tossed you out naked."

You didn't dare meet his gaze then but Riddle made you to by placing his thumb underneath your chin and slowly lifting it up.

"I wanted you dead,you know. After all, what your foolish brother did was unforgivable. Mindlessly slaughtering the creature our mother raised on her own as the family's protector..." He jerked your chin back with a flick, his every action a sting of aggression. "I've always felt my own brothers were a handful" Riddle looked you right in the eyes then before he laughed, "But now that I've seen yours,I'm grateful. Very unfortunate for you though"

"Why are keeping me like this?" The words came in a whisper but Riddle caught it and he arched both his brows as if he was impressed you could actually talk.

"You're not an idiot" He said "You heard me perfectly well."

"Yes,I heard you...but why? I don't understand." Slowly, your eyes began to burn with an ignition of life, and for once, Riddle did find it pleasing to look at you.

"What difference does it make if you did? The situation here is very clear. Your brother,an arrogant hunter, thought he'd be doing the world a favour by intruding into my family's ancient lands and arousing the beast that protects it,killing it in the end. I'll admit,it's no small feat, and he does have an ounce of talent in his veins but he's done wrong by us," Riddle's voice shifted into a drawl, gaze darkening, "And perhaps he should've think twice before angering us Faefolk."

"But why am I the captive?" You were almost screaming, your throat coarse and dry it hurt to even utter the words, but it was unfair. Why was it you had to pay for the fault of a man you weren't even related to by blood. With the little energy you had left, you stood on your trembling legs, not caring that your naked body was in full display to the red haired who all but stared at you in bewilderment.

"I'm not to blame. I take no responsibility for the death of your creature. If it's vengeance you want then maybe giving me a sword would suit better."

Riddle's rage glimmered in his eyes.

"You're challenging me?"

"No." You said. "I'm offering to give you the head of the man who dishonoured your family, Fae."

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland fanfic #twst mc #riddle rosehearts #idia shroud #twst riddle x reader #twst idia x reader #twst Wonderland au #twisted wonderland yandere #twst yandere #twst yandere riddle #twst yandere idia

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whump-tr0pes · 4 years ago

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HB4-23/Whumptober day 1

This is a series. Start here, continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound, Honor Bound 2, Honor Bound 3.

AO3

Masterlist

The nightmare from this chapter was pulled from this piece, part of one of a dizzying array of AUs with the spectacular @ashintheairlikesnow

Content warning: this one is ROUGH let’s start whumptober out right: blood, DEATH, abuse from a family member, gendered slur, alcoholic parent, self-hatred, discussion of child whumper, discussion of child murdering someone, panic attack, PTSD, self-blame for child not taking care of a parent, suicid@l ideations, dissoci@tion

Rosa’s expression was cold. Everything about her was cold: the hard line of her mouth, the arms crossed in front of her chest, the way she turned away from Isaac as if he was disgusting to look at. Everything was cold, except for her eyes. Her eyes blazed with fury, and it made Isaac tremble.

Michael limped back into the house, blood soaking through their pant leg, and it made Isaac whimper.

Jordan was being carried between William and Lexi, and that made Isaac hate himself.

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed weakly as they laid Jordan on the floor. Their skin was a blue-gray, where it wasn’t stained a sort of black-red that made Isaac’s stomach heave. The worst part, the worst part, was their eyes. They were open, blank, staring sightlessly up at Isaac. Accusing. Empty.

Dead.

Isaac fell to his knees beside Jordan, his hand reaching out to touch them.

Rosa grabbed his wrist in an iron grip and tore his hand away from Jordan. She dragged Isaac upright and pitched him onto his back. She stood over him and jabbed a finger at him.

“You don’t get to touch them,” Rosa snarled.

Isaac whined softly and pushed himself up to look at Jordan past Rosa. Rosa stepped forward and kicked him back onto his back.

“Please,” Isaac sobbed. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I… I didn’t… I didn’t mean—”

“They’re dead because of you,” Rosa hissed. “You know that. We went out to fight and you were supposed to be there, to protect us, and you weren’t. You preferred to not take the shot. You preferred to run like the useless piece of shit you are.”

Isaac held out a hand in front of him, tears pouring down his face. “Rosa, no, please, I just didn’t want…” Isaac crumpled into sobs. “I didn’t mean for anyone to die, I just… I didn’t want to kill anyone, please…”

“Shut up,” Rosa growled. “This is your fucking job. We’ve spent the past… the past seven years taking care of you. Making sure you have everything you need. We made you part of our family, Isaac. And when it came time for you to repay everything we’ve done… all we asked was this one little thing…”

“You said I’d have to kill people,” Isaac whispered. “Please… William, please,” Isaac begged, straining to look past Rosa. She shoved him onto his back.

“You’re the one we’ve trained for this,” Rosa said viciously. “You’re the youngest. You move the best. You’re the one best suited to handle this, and you didn’t.” Rosa’s face was changing, morphing, flickering between her and his mother. Rosa, his mother. Rosa, his mother. Isaac blinked and scrambled back on his hands.

“But I…” He whimpered. “I’m sorry, Rosa,” he wailed. “Jordan, no… Jordan, I’m sorry… Jordan, NO…”

“You serve a purpose in this family,” Rosa snarled. “You protect us. You use your training to be useful.”

“Lexi… Michael, please…”

“And you failed. You failed us, Isaac. We made this plan assuming you’d have our back. And you failed.”

“No…”

Rosa’s lips pulled back over her teeth. “And… I have no fucking use for someone who refuses to do what they were trained to do.”

Isaac looked up at Rosa with terror in his eyes. “Rosa… please, I—”

“Get out, Isaac,” Rosa snarled at him. “Get out. If you refuse to repay the things we’ve done for you… We raised you, Isaac. We did more for you than that bitch mother ever did.”

It was his mother’s face saying it. Isaac’s brow furrowed. The smell of gin was thick in his nose.

“No,” Isaac whimpered. “Rosa, I… I’ll do it. I’ll go on the next one with you. I won’t run. I’ll take the shot… I promise. I… Rosa, I was scared…”

“You think I wasn’t, you fucking idiot?” Rosa snapped. “We were all scared. But we went. You’re the most trained, and you failed. You fucking ran. So get your shit, Isaac.”

“No…”

“Get your shit and fucking leave. I never want to see your face again.”

“Rosa, please, no…”

Rosa crouched by his side and thrust her face close to his. “I have no fucking use for you,” she hissed. Isaac could feel her breath on his face. It smelled like gin.

Rosa never drank gin.

“Fucking useless,” Rosa said. But it wasn’t Rosa. “I have no fucking use for you, if you won’t do this one little thing.” A bottle was in Rosa’s hand. Not Rosa. His mother. Sandy blonde hair and blue eyes.

“Fucking idiot,” she screamed in his face. “Is it so fucking hard to bring me my fucking gin?” She hurled the bottle at the wall. It bounced off. Plastic.

“You couldn’t tell us we were out of fucking milk,” the woman in front of him snarled. “How fucking hard is that? And now he’s… he’s dead.” Isaac cowered back away from his mother as she descended on him, her face twisted with rage. “And if I never had you, MY HUSBAND WOULD STILL BE ALIVE!”

Isaac stopped trying to move away from his mother. He stopped trying to fight the words. He collapsed onto the floor, curling into a tight ball of misery, burying his face in his hands. The thing that wore his mother’s face and spoke in his mother’s voice screamed hate and bile at him. He sobbed as the words fell on him like stones.

Isaac twisted away from his mother, his heart pounding in his chest. She was grabbing him in the dark… but when had she done that? His mother never touched him at all after his father died, not even once. This isn’t right.

Hands tightened on his wrists and he cried out, twisting in the dark, something wrapping around his legs, his chest, suffocating him.

“No,” he sobbed, tears burning on his cheeks.

“Isaac,” someone said urgently, and he froze. He knew that voice.

That voice came with a rush of terror, of relief, pain and misery and joy wrapped up in it, choking him, paralyzing him. He covered his head with his arms and curled into a ball, shaking, trembling with the horror of being restrained by something wrapping around his body, drawing tighter the more he fought. Pain spiked in his back and he wailed miserably.

The lamp snapped on. Isaac flinched as the light stabbed into his eyes.

“Isaac, shh, you’re alright… Isaac…” Someone pulled Isaac into their arms, and Gavin’s smell washed over him, warm and clean. Isaac scrambled out of the sheets that felt so much like restraints and clutched at Gavin. He buried his face in Gavin’s bare chest and heaved a broken sob.

“Shh,” Gavin whispered, trailing his fingers gently over the back of Isaac’s arm, missing the healing cuts. “It was a nightmare. Isaac…” A hand guided his face up and he met Gavin’s eyes, soft and concerned. “Isaac, it’s okay…”

“N-no,” Isaac sobbed, his breath hitching in his chest. “No, no, no, no…” He squeezed his eyes shut. They flew open again as Rosa’s face flashed across his vision.

“It’s alright, Isaac,” Gavin said gently, his voice betraying just a hint of strain. “You’re safe.” Gavin carded his fingers through Isaac’s hair, then stiffened. “Oh, shit. Do you need me to…? I can go, if you—”

“No,” Isaac whimpered desperately, clawing at Gavin’s back, clutching at his arms when Gavin let out a hiss through his teeth. “Please, please don’t go, please, please, please…” His voice broke as he pleaded.

“Okay, okay, I won’t,” Gavin said, his voice tight with worry now. “Isaac… was it… F-Fort Meyers? Or…”

“No,” Isaac whimpered, his arms tightening around Gavin’s chest. “No, it… my… my first fam— first team,” he said, misery clawing at his chest. “And my… my mom. They… um…” Isaac swallowed painfully. “Well, you… you know.”

Gavin’s hand went to the back of Isaac’s neck. “I, um… I… yeah. A little bit, yeah.”

“And they… she…” Isaac pushed down a sob and pressed his mouth against Gavin’s shoulder. “I… J-Jordan died because of, of me. Because I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t kill… couldn’t take the fucking shot…” He gasped for breath. “And they died. Because I’m a coward, because I’m a fucking coward…”

“No, you’re not,” Gavin said through his teeth. “You’re not a coward. You… you’re not.”

“But I couldn’t kill the guard,” Isaac moaned. “I couldn’t fucking… do it, and J-Jordan, di-ied, and I… It’s my fault…”

“Isaac, no—”

“And Rosa, she, she kicked me out and… she said I… I was… useless and she didn’t want me if I didn’t do what I was… made for.”

Gavin sucked in a breath.

“She wouldn’t even let me… touch Jordan,” Isaac sobbed. “Wouldn’t let me say good, goodbye.” Isaac kicked the sheets off of him and dragged himself closer to Gavin, their legs tangling together. Gavin squeezed him tighter.

“Isaac, I’m—”

“And… she said… she sounded just like my mom, in the dream,” Isaac said, his voice dropping to an agonized whisper. “I couldn’t do this… one thing, and now my father is dead, and it’s my fault…”

“But it’s not—”

“I should have done it.” Isaac’s nose was running and he swiped at it with the back of his hand. “I should have killed him. And maybe if I had, maybe if I…” He ground his teeth together. “Maybe if I did my fucking job, I’d still be with them. Maybe if I didn’t… fail them…” Isaac buried his face into Gavin’s neck, as if he could hide from all his shame. “Then I… maybe I’d still be with them. Maybe they’d, um, still want me, and I could protect them, and they’d…”

Maybe they’d love me eventually, if I did it right.

Hate swept through him, singeing every inch of skin. Hate for himself. Hate so deep he couldn’t pry it out, no matter how deep he cut.

“If I… wasn’t so fucking stupid… my dad might—”

“Isaac, stop,” Gavin whimpered, and pressed a frantic kiss into his sweaty hair. Isaac hadn’t realized he was soaked with sweat until now. “Stop, please, don’t say that. None of it was your fault. You were a kid. You forgot to tell your parents you were out of damned milk. Do you know what I was doing at twelve?”

Isaac swallowed thickly. “N-no?”

Gavin shuddered, and suddenly he was shivering against Isaac like he was freezing to death. “By the time I was twelve… I’d already killed someone.”

Isaac’s eyes fell closed and tears ran down his face.

“So stop… I can’t… I can’t take it. Can’t… listen to you say that. It was a fucking mistake. It was a stupid fucking mistake, it was a normal mistake that adults do, and kids do, Isaac, it… it was just some fucking milk.” Gavin buried his face in Isaac’s hair. “That driver killed your dad. Not you. You had nothing to do with it. That could have happened on his way home from work, or on his way to…” Gavin’s throat bobbed. “Or on his way to the lake with you…” Gavin pulled Isaac closer. “That wasn’t your fucking fault. Okay? I know what it is to kill someone innocent. And you didn’t do it.”

“But I—”

“And neither was Jordan’s death your fault. Do you understand? You were so fucking young, Isaac. It’s not, um… not normal to kill someone. It’s… it’s okay that you didn’t.”

“I was twenty-one,” Isaac whimpered. “And it’s what I… was trained for. They… they, um… made me into that. They taught me everything. They took, took me to other teams so they could have me trained in weapons, jiu jitsu, karate, tactical movement and marksmanship and how to fucking make it out of something alive and I had all that training and I couldn’t fucking do my fucking job and I had seven years to get ready and they had me do some little practice missions and that was fine and then when it was real I failed I failed I failed…” Isaac dragged in a shuddering gasp.

There wasn’t enough air in the room. He pulled away from Gavin’s neck, his chest heaving with great, racking sobs.

“I, I failed, I failed, I, I f-failed, I—”

“Isaac, stop…”

“I, I, fai— I, can’t, bre-eathe, I, I, oh, f-fuck, I c-can’t—”

“Fuck. Fuck. Isaac, I… I don’t know how to—”

Isaac’s chest ached with every breath. “P-please, oh, fuck…” He choked and clutched at Gavin’s arm. “Ga-avin, h— I, can’t, please…”

“No, no, no, no, shit, Isaac…”

The room was spinning around him. His head throbbed with every heartbeat. “Oh, g-god, I, please…”

“Okay, okay, what does Gray do…? Oh!” Gavin cupped Isaac’s face and pulled it up until Isaac could see his eyes. “Look at me, Isaac. Look. Okay? We’re gonna breathe together, you and me. We’re gonna do it.”

Isaac felt like he was dragging in air through a straw. “Ca-an’t, can’t, can’t, can’t, shit…”

“Yes, you can.” Gavin’s voice was shaking. “It works when Gray does it, right? You can. Breathe in…”

Isaac’s hands cramped as he tried to keep his hold on Gavin. He ground out a whimper and curled his hands into fists. It just made the pain worse. He wailed miserably and curled into himself.

“Breathe, Isaac.”

“But my mom—”

“Fuck your mom. I… shit, Isaac, I didn’t… that was shitty of me to say. I’m sorry.”

“She… she was so angry…”

“And that wasn’t your fault.”

“It was! I could have… been there for her, could have helped her, she… she drank because dad was gone, but I was sort of gone, too… I spent so much time in my room, I didn’t… I used to play with my friends and go to my neighbor’s house for homeschooling sometimes, the schools weren’t safe even then…”

“Isaac—”

“I could have made her feel better…” Isaac trailed off in a rasping whisper.

“Isaac… I… I read… Gray said it’s not… kids’ jobs to take care of their parents. Okay? She should have been the one…” Gavin’s voice wavered on the edge of a sob. “…taking care of you.”

“But she couldn’t because she was drunk. I could have… helped…”

Gavin took a steadying breath. “Isaac… do you hear how fucked up that is?”

Deep down in Isaac’s soul, where all his desperate emptiness lived… he knew how wrong it was. He knew there should have been someone there to care for him. Keep him safe. Love him.

Every other part of his being cried out in horror, lashed him viciously for daring to want that. Daring to think he deserved it.

If he eventually failed everyone around him, even when their lives depended on him, what did that make him? Even when the odds were against him, that didn’t matter. He’d been trained to fight, trained to protect, and the people he protected didn’t care if he was scared or hurt or overwhelmed. He had a job to do, and he failed, he failed, he failed, he couldn’t bring his father back and he couldn’t make his mother feel better, and he couldn’t protect Jordan and he couldn’t kill and he couldn’t die and he couldn’t be anything but a reminder to everyone he loved of how much he’d failed, he’d failed…

Failed Sam. Failed Vera. Failed Ellis. Failed Finn. Failed Gray. Failed Tori. Failed Edrissa. Failed Gavin.

Why am I alive?

“—aac. Isaac, stop. Breathe, breathe, please…”

Someone was sobbing, someone was clawing at Gavin’s back and making him hurt, but it wasn’t Isaac.

“Oh, no…”

Someone was a mess of pain and blood and shame, someone was a walking disaster with nothing but bodies in his wake, someone was falling apart because when it mattered, he didn’t – couldn’t – defend his family.

“…sh-should I get Gray? I… Isaac, I don’t know what to do…”

Someone was an empty shell, gutted by nothing but his own failures. Someone was a liability. Someone shouldn’t be allowed to have a family if he couldn’t do his fucking job.

Three knocks at the door. Not for him. He wasn’t there anymore.

Continued here

@untilthepainstarts, @womping-grounds, @free-2bmee, @quirkykayleetam, @walkingchemicalfire, @inpainandsuffering, @redwingedwhump, @burtlederp, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @whatwhumpcomments, @cursedscribbles, @whumpywhumper, @stxck-fxck, @omega-em-z-02, @whumps-the-word, @justwhumpitwhumpitgood, @justplainwhump, @moose-teeth, @slaintetowhump, @finder-of-rings, @inky-whump, @thatsthewhump, @orchidscript, @insanitywishes, @this-mightaswell-happen, @newandfiguringitout, @whumpkitty, @pretty-face-breaker, @cinnamonflavoredhugs, @inaridriscoll, @im-just-here-for-the-whump, @endless-whump

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meganshinsou-tm · 4 years ago

Text

Crimson|Ink. (m)

↳ chapter twenty-three: ashes of eden

❧ genre: tattoo-shop/hitmen au | tattoo artist/hitman kirishima

❧ fic warning: major character(s) death; happy ending

❧ chapter warnings: blood, fighting, assault, torture, burning, concussion, stabbing, major character death

❧ chapter song: Ashes of Eden by Breaking Benjamin

♬crimson|ink playlist | ♧ character profiles

[main fic masterlist] [previous chapter - next chapter]

-chapter notes: quick thank you to @gemstoneconstellations, @sleepychai and @tamakiamajikistentacles for all their help in helping me bring this chapter to life! without them this chapter probably wouldn’t even be outlined right now. their ideas are so amazing and their dialogue is to die for. i love you guys - thank you!

Everything is dark and feels off balanced as you’re roughly pulled around. Your lungs hurt from the panicked breathing that has filtered in and out of them, your body wracked with trembles and the cloth obscuring your vision soaked through with tears.

There’s a painful twist to your arms, familiar rough hands pulling them behind you and shoving you down. With your senses and total control taken away, you scream in fear of falling but the hard surface of a chair breaks that fall.

“K-Kitten? You okay? Talk to me sweetey.”

Hitoshi’s voice is the only safe thing you can latch onto and it briefly calms you as you nod.

“I’m fine, I’m okay T-Toshi.”

You both know that’s not true. You’re not fine. Not okay.

Hitoshi knows that. He can hear it in the way your voice shakes, how you sound so small.

There’s the sound of a chair dragging across the floor before he’s shoved down himself to sit. The person in charge of him makes quick work of tying him up before removing his blindfold. Hitoshi winces at the assault of light to his eyes but adjusts after a few blinks. When he hears your whimpering, he looks across from him to see Dabi.

You’re tied to a chair the same as him. Dabi has your chin in a grip so hard that Hitoshi can see how his blunt nails form crescents in your skin. His burned cheek is pressed against your own that’s soaked with tears and his tongue is licking a trail of them off. Hitoshi growls and goes to lunge but is held back by his restraints and a hand pulling his upper half back to the chair.

Hitoshi looks to the side to see Kage. He feels rage and uses a leg to land a solid kick to the guys shin. Of course it doesn’t go without consequence and Kage punches him hard in the stomach. Hitoshi wheezes and coughs from the force of it.

“T-Toshi?”

He musters a weak smile and shakes his head as if you can see it. “I’m fine kitten, nothing I can’t handle.”

What happens next makes Hitoshi yell out in blind rage.

Dabi raised a hand, the back of it making contact with your cheek and causing your head to whip to the side. You let out a shocked cry, teeth chewing at your bottom lip in an attempt to keep from outright sobbing at the burning sensation across your skin. Following the slap, the cloth is removed from your eyes and dropped onto the floor with a wet plop. You squeeze your eyes to get rid of a few more tears before blinking them open and refusing to look anywhere but at the floor.

Panic and embarrassment eat away at you. You can’t face the monster from your past or the look full of pity that Hitoshi was probably wearing from witnessing its abuse.

“It pains me to do that angel but you need to learn. You shouldn’t waste your affection on those who betray you.”

You shake your head, still refusing to look at him. Refusing to speak to him.

It doesn’t sit well with Dabi though. After all this time, he finally has you but it doesn’t mean shit when your attention isn’t on him. So he growls and stalks closer. Hitoshi shouts at him, earning another punch from Kage. Dabi ignores it all and grabs you by the throat, forcing you to face him. You suck in a breath and squeeze your eyes shut. Dabi shakes his head and clicks his tongue.

Unbearable heat emits from his palm causing you to whine and squirm until it’s full fledged flames that are searing a brand in the shape of his hand around the skin of your throat and making you scream.

“Look at me angel, come on.”

Hitoshi can be heard pleading in the background for the assault to stop and it kills you to hear the pain in his voice so you decide to open your eyes. A blue glow from the flames are all you see until they diminish and you’re facing blue eyes.

“Ah there they are, fuck I’ve missed those pretty eyes, especially when they’re full of tears.” Dabi sneers and brushes his thumb along your jaw before releasing your blistered throat.

You feel your skin crawl under his touch and flinch at the feel of it, quickly averting your gaze anywhere but on Dabi and landing on Hitoshi. He nods at you and quirks up the corner of his lips.

“Breathe kitten, it’s gonna be okay. I’m with you, I’m not going anywhere,” Hitoshi quietly tries to comfort you.

It helps to calm your breathing until Dabi is forcing you to look at him again. There’s annoyance in his expression and disappointment.

“What did I just say,” he hisses before slapping your cheek again.

It isn’t as hard as before but it still makes you yelp.

“He betrayed you, yet you still look at him like that? You should only look at me that way baby - no one else.”

It hurts to speak but you manage and narrow your eyes at Dabi.

“He would never, if anyone betrayed me, it's you!”

And that earns another slap, a deranged roar from Dabi and his hand fisting your hair and tugging your head back. You can feel a cut across your cheek and blood pricking at the surface of it.

“You piece of shit, I’ll fucking -”

Before Hitoshi can finish, Kage punches him square in the jaw and silences him.

Dabi looks into your eyes, searches for that submission and devotion he’s so used to seeing in them - but he doesn’t find it. You’ve never talked back to him, never tried to defy him.

It's enraging. It’s wrong.

You’re not supposed to have a conscious, he is your conscious. You’re supposed to be his sweet little angel not some rebellious ungrateful shit. He hates to admit it but Dabi can see you’ve been too consumed by those men who kept you from him and that it's ruining his plan. You no longer believe a thing he says and he needs to fix that.

With a sigh, Dabi eases his grip in your hair and swipes at the blood on your cheek.

“Okay so maybe you’re right, he wouldn’t betray you consciously. Doesn’t mean I don’t have other ways of making him talk.” He stands straight and turns to look at Hitoshi. “Lucky us, his mind is pretty fucking weak.”

A smug grin falters on Hitoshi’s face and tilts his head, purple brow cocked up in confusion.

“W-What are you talking about?”

Dabi grins and plays with your hair gently as he explains exactly how he came to find you. The more he talks, the more numb Hitoshi feels. Of course none of it was willingly, he’d rather die than bring you back to Dabi’s hands but the fact that he was used, that it was him … it was still his fault. There’s no way to explain the amount of guilt that consumes Hitoshi as he finally looks up through teary eyes at you and it's a victory in Dabi’s book to see the light in his eyes turn dull.

“I … I’m so sorry,” Hitoshi breathes out, head hanging between his shoulders.

You shake your head, wanting to move in your chair, to run to him. Tears stream down your cheeks but there’s a reassuring smile on your face.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for Toshi, none of this is your fault and it doesn’t matter. It’s okay love, it’s okay.”

Dabi looks between the two of you in disbelief. Why is nothing working?

Before Dabi can break up the warm moment, the sound of guns, shouting - the sound of pure carnage fills the atmosphere that comes from outside. It makes everyone still and even Dabi clenches his jaw and fists.

Your head turns in the direction of the commotion and you smile then turn to face Hitoshi again.

“Stop looking so sad Toshi, our boys are here. You don’t want my big red guard dog seeing you all crestfallen ight? You have a reputation to uphold.”

Hitoshi sniffles and nods, he gives you a weak smile. He feels a small twinge of hope.

But he’s suddenly yelling out when Dabi kicks one of the legs of your chair, causing it to break and you to fall to the floor. There’s a loud smack. Hitoshi shouts when he sees your skull hitting the hard floor and Dabi is quick to crawl on top of you, gripping you by the throat and screaming out in rage.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

You groan, feeling throbbing in your skull and the weight of Dabi making it even harder to breathe from the way the fall knocked the wind out of you. Lifting your head up just a bit, you meet enraged blue eyes and grin.

“O-Our boys … my boy - h-he’ll fucking kill you. T-They’ll all kill you!” You sneered and spit in his face.

It's a small victory that earns a powerful backhand from Dabi. Your skull knocks against the hard concrete once more and causes white noise to filter into your ears, drowning out Hitoshi screaming at Dabi to stop. But the pleas go unheard as Dabi starts to burn the already blistered skin around your neck, making you let out a shrill sound of agony.

“To think that I was so heartbroken when you left me angel. I couldn’t stand it, couldn’t take not having you anymore. Do you know how long and hard I’ve searched for you? Those boys are dangerous angel, I tried to save you!” He berates harshly, spit coating your face from the force of his words.

Dabi takes your wrists next, burns your bonds, but holds you in place still; now burning the skin of your wrists. You writhe and cry, tears and snot dirtying your already busted face.

“What did they do to you to make you so fucking cruel to me! I - I mean you’re even cheating on me!”

You shake your head and for a second he gets to you. For a second Dabi makes you go back into that headspace where all you see is him. To where every labored breath revolves around him.

You feel burning fingertips down your face, wiping a tear. Feel hot hands down your body and hear clothing rip. It sounds distant but Hitoshi is screaming out for Dabi to stop between punches from Kage. Dabi shakes his head and burns your shirt enough so that it’s not obstructing him. He sees the ink on your skin, sees a bulge under the material of your bra and tugs one of the cups down to see the barbell piercings.

Dabi growls.

“Fucking filthy. Which one was it? Who else has touched my angel - the stupid one, that really fucking loud one, or - was it all of them huh? Tch, knowing you it probably was. You fucking little whore, how could you? I - I love you, how could you hurt me?”

Everything is overwhelming. Your head throbs and hurts, things go from sounding clear to sounding garbled. You don’t even know what’s happening anymore, but one thing you know is that these touches, this pain, this fear - that’s not love. Eijirou would never touch you like that, he would never say these cruel things and claim it as love. That’s not what he taught you, this is wrong.

“D-Don’t … you don’t love me. Not ‘urs … no more. Over … it’s o-over.”

It’s the final straw for Dabi.

He tried, he tried to be nice but sometimes being nice just isn’t enough. He’s seething but calm and drags his nose along your cheek, takes your palms in his own and shakes his head while whispering in your ear.

“No angel,” his flames increase and his grip tightens on your hands.

You sob loudly, begging him to stop. He’s squeezing too hard, it feels like your hands are about to snap. Yet Dabi grins and uses his power and strength over you to do just that.

Like it’s nothing, he bends your palms in half, hard and rough enough to make the bones in them crack. You wail and scream loud enough that it causes more pain in your throat.

There is so much pain, pain everywhere and it starts to feel like you’re too tired to keep going.

You blink your burning eyes to see Dabi is nose to nose with you, blue eyes shining.

“We’re over when I say we’re over you little bitch.”

All you feel and know right now is pain. It’s spreading from your head to your neck, your hands and wrists. Even though it hurts you feel numb. You feel exhausted. So you turn your head to look away, to rest your eyes.

There’s a loud noise, like a wall crashing and a loud roar.

You blink again and see a beast with wild red hair before black starts to eb at the corners of your vision.

“The building outside, they’ve gotta be in there.”

Kirishima nods at Bakugou before turning away from him and bee-lining for the set of doors that lead outside of the warehouse they’ve been clearing out. Everyone is covered in blood that is equally their own and the people who tried to stop them. So far everyone has been split up along the way, taking care of obstacles and making sure they stay cleared. All that’s left now besides him are Shouto and Bakugou.

Kirishima doesn’t have time to waste to question whether Bakugou’s suggestion is right, he just goes for it. Bakugou growls behind him, propelling himself with his quirk and Shouto does the same with his ice to catch up.

“Not without us you fucking idiot!”

The three of them run as fast as their legs will carry them and harder than they ever had in all their lives. Adrenaline and fear have gotten them this far and it still steadily pumps in their veins to help keep them going. Soon a smaller building comes into sight. There sits the van from the surveillance photos and Kirishima feels a fresh surge of energy.

He doesn’t bother stopping at the door, it requires a code to get it but his hardened fists and arms are enough with Bakugou’s explosions. They bust in and run down a short hallway, there are boxes of obvious drugs all over the place, weapons as well.

Bakugou eyes the contraband and smirks, “Gotta remember to swipe some of this shit before leaving.”

Shouto looks over, not very amused.

The blonde rolls his eyes, “I mean the weapons moron!”

Shouto goes to chuckle but the sound of an agonizing scream rips through the air and stops them in their tracks. They don’t know the cause of it but they can feel the pain in it. The sound carries and feels like it goes on forever, it rattles them to their core and suddenly Kirishima is falling to his knees.

His fingers elongate and sharpen into daggers as they dig into and break the concrete underneath him. His heart feels like it's either going to fall out of his stomach or beat straight out of his chest with how hard it beats, how heavy it feels. Too many emotions consume him, fear, rage, helplessness, guilt. Kirishima breathes rapidly and his quirk starts going berserk across his skin; the sound of it hardening, crackling.

Bakugou and Shouto finally look at him and are taken back. Something isn’t right.

Kirishima has been able to harden his entire body before but never like this. Before their eyes they could see him growing in size, how his form morphed from human to almost inhuman. Even the whites of his eyes were hardening and cracking. The redhead looked absolutely feral and like a monster. Sparks falling from his teeth as they grind together and he growls.

Before either of them can say anything, a door slides open and Kage stands before them. Shouto and Bakugou move into fighting stances, ready to lunge at him but Kirishima isn’t paying attention to him, his enraged eyes fall behind him.

He can’t make much sense of anything right now, he see’s literal red hues and adrenaline makes his head throb but he can see and make sense of you. Kirishima growls louder upon seeing you there underneath Dabi. Time around him slows and he watches as your palms fall from Dabi’s grip, your exhausted red rimmed eyes blinking his way. A bloody and busted very tired smile forms on your lips and you turn to look up at Dabi again. Your lips mouth something and the next thing Kirishima sees is the back of Dabi’s palm connecting harshly across your cheek.

In that short amount of time Kage had started his way towards them, Shouto is the first to move and Kage smirks when their eyes meet. Suddenly Shouto turns around and is sending fire and ice towards Bakugou.

“Fuck, Shouto what is wrong with you?”

Shouto doesn’t respond and keeps going. Bakugou groans and fights back, dodging spears of ice and gusts of fire as he growls and berates his not so boyfriend. He lands some hard punches that make Shouto stumble and slip. Bakugou has always been better when it comes to close combat and fist fighting in general. Despite what Shouto is doing now, how he’s coming at him like he’s the enemy, Bakugou doesn’t have it in him to send an explosion his way. In fact he hates it.

“I give you the best dick of your life and this is how you repay me you peppermint patty?”

Meanwhile Kirishima see’s red the moment blue eyes look his way.

Dabi stands, kicking you behind him without a care. Your body rolls away from him, heavy and so lifeless. And it’s the mere thought of that, that causes Kirishima to lunge.

Red eyes focus solely on Dabi and nothing else, they’re so focused that Kage can’t even use his quirk as Kirishima comes his way, yet he stands his ground.

Anything that isn’t Dabi, anything between them or that prevents Kirishima from getting to him is just a mere obstacle to be destroyed and Kage is no exception. It requires no thought for Kirishima to use giant sharp hands to slice his throat and gut at the same time. There’s the sound of skin being cut open and blood flowing followed by a heavy thud as Kage falls. Immediately Shouto is released from the quirk.

He stands still and rubs his head with a groan. There’s smoke leaving his lungs and ice coating his arm.

“What's going - “ Shouto’s question gets interrupted when Bakugou punches him square in the nose.

Bakugou curses, quickly realizing his mistake when he sees Shouto falter back and groan in pain. His hand covers his nose that starts to bleed profusely and he becomes so disoriented from the force of the punch that he falls back. Before his skull can meet the hard ground and cause them any more trouble, Bakugou moves fast to catch Shouto and cradle him close.

“What the actual fuck Katsuki!”

Bakugou rolls his eyes, removing Shouto’s hand carefully despite his other hand slapping him like a child throwing a tantrum. After a second he gives in and lets Bakugou look him over.

“Fuck, its broken.”

Shouto scoffs then flinches in pain from it. “Thanks captain obvious!”

Bakugou growls at Shouto, telling him to zip it while he looks over the rest of the damage he caused him. He’s pretty beat up and in need of some urgent help with the nose issue.

Looking up at Kirishima as he goes after Dabi, Bakugou is conflicted. He doesn’t want to leave his brother but - Shouto needs help.

“Kats, it’s okay, you know he’s got this. When something so fucking precious is at stake, I have no doubt in my mind that that burnt piece of shit in there won’t last another five minutes.”

Bakugou looks down at Shouto in his arms and smirks.

“Yeah - yeah he’s got this.”

Without wasting another second, Bakugou stands and turns to carry Shouto back the way they came, mumbling how that guy probably had a quirk that made Shouto turn on him. Shouto complains at the rough ride and groans while tearing a piece of Bakugou’s shirt to use for soaking up the blood still coming out of his nose.

“But really bitch, did you really have to go that hard?”

Bakugou smirks and shrugs a little too much, jostling Shouto, “You usually like it rough.”

Shouto winces but still manages to slap Bakugou.

“On my ass, not my face you fucking twat!”

Hitoshi watches in disbelief as a literal monster runs in roaring and takes Dabi to the ground. Dabi tries to fight it off at first but anytime he touches it he’s cut. The slices to his skin do nothing to waver his insanity, only makes him cackle at the pain like some sick fuck. But Hitoshi see’s the moment Dabi gets annoyed and finally lights the place up with a wave of blue flames. It manages to throw the beast off and gives Dabi the advantage to kick him away with his booted foot and jump up to face the monster as it comes barreling after him again.

With Dabi being occupied, Hitoshi looks over to see you just laying there where Dabi discarded you. In the on and off again blue glows of light, he can see blood matting the back of your hair and it confirms his fear. Taking all the opportunity the distraction of the fight gives him, Hitoshi manages to stand and with a grunt he throws himself back hard enough to bust the chair he’s tied to. He winces and hisses as pain surges through his body, maneuvering in order gnaw at his bounds enough to loosen them and break free.

Frantically, Hitoshi crawls over to you and moves you onto your back. He leans down to check your breathing and pulse. They’re there but labored and growing weaker. Carefully he hauls you into his arms and takes in the amount of fresh burns that dress your skin. Frowning and letting out a sad groan, Hitoshi adjusts your bra so you’re no longer exposed and gently cradles your head, cringing when he feels the blood on his palm.

You stir a bit in his hold and blink tired eyes up at him. With a frown, you lift a trembling hand to his face and he nuzzles into the touch softly.

“T-Tosh … you’re hurt.”

Shaking his head, Hitoshi smiles at you and kisses your cheek.

“I’m fine kitten, don’t worry about me.”

However, you ignore him and reach with both hands. A sharp pained gasp leaves your lips when you try to flex them around his face and it becomes clear to Hitoshi what you’re trying to do. Quickly, he takes your wrists and pulls your hands away to look at them. The damage is severe, they’re burned and bruised. Despite his protests, you still try to use them and your quirk to heal his minor cuts. The action causes you pain, making you whimper and whine quietly with heavy eyes. You seem to be too out of it to realize the extent of the damage. The worst part is that the glow that usually emits from them is like that of a dying flame.

“N-Not working … Toshi, ‘m sorry.”

Hitoshi shushes you and takes your hands from his face gently to hold them as they tremble.

“It’s okay love, I’ll get help soon. How about I get you out of here okay?”

Your eyes flutter shut and a tired smile grows on your face. Slowly you become heavier in his hold and lull your head to the side.

“Hmm … t-tired … can I nap?”

“Fuck,” Hitoshi breathes out quietly.

He holds you closer, panic flooding him fast once he realizes you may have a concussion. Hitoshi groans and looks at you over thoroughly again to see a small trail of blood that slipped from the corner of your mouth. He assumes it’s a combination of the multiple slaps and the kick from Dabi that was hard enough to break something internally.

“Shit - this isn’t good.” He whispers to himself, moving to his knees and wincing as he holds you like dead weight.

He’s gotta get you out of there, you have to stay awake. But he looks down to see your eyes flutter, feels how weakly you breathe in and out.

“No, no kitten,” Hitoshi pleads, lightly tapping your face as the pleas turn into a distressed shout, “Stay awake, fuck - stay awake!”

It catches Kirishima’s attention and he turns to look at Hitoshi.

White noise filters in between more shouts and his eyes finally fall upon you being held in Hitoshi’s arms.

He sees red. No - he sees blood.

Blood on Hitoshi’s hands after they come away from your hair to cup your face. The man pleads and shakes your face lightly, a stream of tears finally escaping the corner of his eyes. The scene has Kirishima frozen and Dabi takes the distraction immediately. He uses every ounce of flames he can muster to knock Kirishima back. Dabi knows there’s no winning against this man, he’s impenetrable, he’s fucking unbreakable! But he can at least hold him back long enough to finish you off once and for all.

“Sorry Red but that little thing is all mine and if I can’t fucking have her no one can,” Dabi snarls as he stalks over to Hitoshi whose trying to stand to his feet with you in his arms.

Dabi scoffs and rolls his eyes. He kneels to pick up a piece of the brick Kirishima demolished during his entrance. Coming up behind Hitoshi, he uses it to hit him in the back of the head hard enough to send him back down. Hitoshi falls, dropping you in the process. The impact of hitting the ground jolts you back into consciousness and you gasp before crying out. Dabi kicks Hitoshi out of the way, completely ignoring him in favor of getting to you.

Finally he releases his quirk and kneels, grabbing you the hair and grinly wildly as he pulls out a blade.

“I love you angel,” he hisses and holds you down, raising his arm and the blade high. “And it’s because I love you that I have to do this, I’ll be with you again soon - we’ll be with each other for -”

Looking up you see Dabi, his words start to become garbled as you slip in and out once again. For a moment you panic, you should be feeling something, anything - but everything is only numb and heavy. Sluggish and disoriented.

Everything changes in the span of three blinks.

The first one is to see Dabi still above you smiling that dangerous yet beautiful smile.

He holds a shiny blade aimed right for your chest. You want to fight, you really do but there's no way you can muster up the energy. You just want to sleep, so your head falls to the side.

The second blink, you see Hitoshi scrambling to his feet.

He’s so fast and you smirk lazily and lull again to the opposite side. A long breath that takes more energy than it should leaves your lungs.

That third blink though gives you renewed energy because you that red monster again coming your way. Red can only mean one thing - Eijirou.

You hum, closing your eyes blissfully before hearing a grunt and a gruesome squelching sound. Suddenly there’s a weight on top of you. With a grunt you force your eyes open to see Hitoshi shielding you and you smile. He smiles back with blood starting to coat his teeth that trickles out of the corner of his mouth.

“Toshi,” you breathe out and wince when you lift a hand to wipe the blood away.

There’s a thud next to the two of you and it's suddenly the room lights up in flames. It should feel sweltering hot except you feel cold. You don’t have long to ponder on it when something is breathing hard next to you.

With a slow flutter of your lashes, you turn from Hitoshi to look at the side and see that monster. It’s all sharp hard edges with small flecks of red in the eyes and a sharp mane of red hair.

There’s a smile still on your face that seems to grow as you raise the opposite weak arm and trembling hand to touch its face. It cuts your skin but you’re too numb to feel the pain of it.

“Eijirou.”

Suddenly, all the ripples and cracks start to diminish before you and the monster takes on a softer form. The soft and sweet way that you call his name having that immediate affect to tame the beast inside of him like always. Soon familiar bright ruby eyes blink back at you, a warm calloused hand takes yours and holds it gently.

“Little one.”

It’s quiet and peaceful for a moment before Hitoshi starts coughing. Kirishima looks at him, gasping when what just occurred comes back to him. It’s blurry in his raged out mind but him and Hitoshi acted at the same time.

A sharp hand and arm speared Dabi through the back … and a sharp blade speared Hitoshi through his.

You look back at Hitoshi, struggling to keep your eyes open but the sight of more blood from his mouth is enough to wake and worry you all over again. Both hands rest on his cheeks, you can’t feel the warmth of them or the rough stubble upon them but you can see them framing his face.

“Toshi … l-let me try ‘lease.”

Kirishima watches and realizes you haven’t seen the fatal wound. Haven’t taken in the burning building that you’re inside of. Instead you just see Hitoshi as if he’s the only thing that exists.

He smiles at you sweetly and shakes his head. Kirishima see’s the wince of pain he hides so well as he removes your hands and very gently kisses your palms, holding them close. He holds back his tears and so does Hitoshi when he presses his forehead to your own.

There’s not much time left, they both know that and soon you won’t have much time left either.

To be someone who always has something to say, for once in his life Hitoshi can’t find any words to latch onto. Even if he did know what to say there’s not enough time to express it all. There’s not enough time to tell you everything he needs you to know, to make demands of Kirishima to follow once he takes his last breath … no time to seek out Denki. Then there’s the fact that you’re fading as he is and you probably wouldn’t even be able to remember any grand speech he could conjure up.

So with a ragged breath, Hitoshi kisses your cheek and nuzzles it with a hum. You react to him instantly, melting into his affection and soaking it all in.

“I’ll be okay kitten, I promise. Red is gonna take care of you okay and I’ll be right there, always, no matter what.”

Kirishima bites his lip at the subtle meaning in his words, eyes pricking with tears.

“You know I love you so much and I always will.”

You smile tiredly, nodding as Hitoshi brushes his fingers through your hair.

“I love you more Toshi.”

Hitoshi chuckles and smiles as he admires you for a few more seconds before it becomes too much. The smile starts to crack and he buries his face into your neck carefully. You rest a hand in his hair and let out a tired breath.

The weight of Hitoshi, the soft and loving touches he gives is the last of what it takes before finally passing out. When you do he lets out a quiet breath, a small faint sob and finally blinks away tears while moving to kiss your cheek again.

“I love you more kitten. I always will.”

Tearful purple eyes meet equally tearful ruby ones and Hitoshi smirks at Kirishima.

“Take care of her okay? I mean - it’s the least you can do for me.”

Kirishima shakes his head when Hitoshi coughs out a chuckle, flashing blood stained teeth.

“That’s not fucking funny. Come on, I can carry both of you.”

Kirishima states matter of factly while Hitoshi moves off and let’s him move in to take you.

“No, you need both hands to get her out meathead, gotta protect her skull. And ... we both know I’m not coming out of this alive,” Hitoshi coughs again. “Please Kirishima … I don’t want Denki to remember me like this.”

Kirishima frowns and holds you closer. He doesn’t want to give in so easily to Hitoshi but looking down at you, finally in his arms again - he understands. So he nods slowly and forces a smile.

“I-I’ll come back okay?”

Hitoshi nods and coughs weakly. “Okay man, can you do something else for me?”

As he stands and makes sure to cradle your head, Kirishima replies. “Of cour-”

Hitoshi lays on his back and swallows a mix of saliva and blood, waving Kirishima off lazily.

“Get out of here and don’t come back.”

“If he’s not walking out of there in point two seconds I swear to fucking -”

“Wait look over there - holy shit there he is,” Sero shouts out before Bakugou can finish and waves his arms.

The group had stood by for the past ten minutes that felt like centuries and watched as the building before them went ablaze. At first it was Bakugou who had to hold everyone back then as the time dragged on he was needing restraint.

Once the figure of Kirishima could be made out through the smoke and heading their way, a collective sigh of relief let out among the men. Sero and Izuku are the ones who jog towards Kirishima. Their smiles turn into frowns and looks of disbelief when they see the condition you’re in. If they ask any questions, Kirishima doesn’t hear them, he’s walking fast to one of the vehicles, determined but also in a daze.

As he gets closer for Enji to see, the elder’s own eyes widen before he clears his throat and seeks out Hawks. The other looks at Enji and nods before intercepting anyone else who tries to get to Kirishima. It’s then that the red-head finally snaps out of the effects of Hitoshi’s quirk and to his disliking, Hawk’s trying to maneuver your body out of his own arms.

Like a protective wild animal, Kirishima snarls at the smaller man - sharp teeth on full display and his body rippling with hardening except for the areas in contact with your body.

Hawks holds up his hands and tilts his head, using a tone that’s understanding yet stern.

“Look big guy, she needs a hospital fast and I happen to be much faster than an SUV. It’s okay, I’ll take care of her. Enji will take you and be right behind me.”

Kirishima is reluctant for a few more seconds, releasing his quirk in favor of holding you closer to kiss your head. It’s been hours of pure hell since he last held you, touched you, last laid eyes on you. So fucking sue him for being a little dramatic and possessive. But finally he breathes you in and nods, handing you over to Hawks. The guy is off the ground and out of sight with you before Kirishima can ask any questions.

“Where is he?”

Kirishima turns around to see Denki looking at him. His eyes are red and full of tears, covered in blood and searching Kirishima all over for answers.

“H-Hitoshi, Red ... where’s Hitoshi?”

Kirishima gulps and he can’t stop how fast his eyes flash at the burning building. The blood in his veins runs cold with anger and sadness when he realizes what happened. Gritting his teeth, Kirishima tries to bolt back towards the building but he’s stuck in place. Denki looks him up and down before following his gaze.

The blonde gasps and covers his mouth, shaking his head.

“No, no, no! I’m going in!”

Denki takes off towards the building, Kirishima reaches out to stop him because by now it’s slowly caving in and is more of a death trap than it was before. Sero and Izuku look to see Denki running towards the fire and quickly they lunge and tackle him to the ground.

“Let me go you fuckers - get off!” Denki pleads through angry tears and manages to punch Izuku in the face.

Sero frowns and gives his friend an apologetic look. Izuku shakes it off and uses his body weight to keep Denki subdued. Bakugou looks on and goes to step in but the sound of the building finally giving out and collapsing makes them all go silent and watch as it falls to the ground.

“Denks,” Sero starts to say.

In the blink of an eye the small area becomes a light show as Denki wails out and loses control of his quirk. Everyone around them gets zapped and falls out onto the ground, the episode only lasting a few seconds before dying out. It causes Sero and Izuku to roll off of Denki, twitching from the aftershocks but Sero fights through it and pulls Denki close, holding on to him for dear life as he screams and sobs into the dirt.

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revengeoftheantichrist · 3 years ago

Text

What Kind of Man

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy, children, gore, threats, possessive behaviour

AO3 <<<Previous

Chapter 13: Affliction

“What do you know about him my dear girl?” asked Myrtle, bringing you out of the constant daze you were in. “Hmm? Oh, nothing,” you responded, telling her the truth. “We began to do some observation and research after Madison disappeared,” she started. “There had always been rumours that the Langdon family had been involved in devil worship since time immemorial. It would explain their power and wealth. Count Lucien’s father promised the souls of his decedents in exchange for more. He wanted immortality.” “Immortality? What a strange thing to ask for” you perked up. “Yes. But the irony is, they all died anyway. But he had passed it onto his children. Caesar Langdon was killed by his wife. Lucien Langdon was killed by vampire hunters. You see, these beasts of the night have existed for centuries. There is always someone there to stop them. It’s a curse, to have to feed off the living to keep yourself going. They thought the Langdon line would end with Lucien, but no one was counting on Vivienne on being with child,” she explained. “What about Tate?” “He was far too unagreeable for anyone to willingly give him a child. The hunters would have killed him anyway if Michael hadn’t.” “Michael? Michael killed his own uncle?” “Of course, he did! Well, we can’t prove it, but it was probably revenge for what had been done to his mother,” Myrtle said casually, while stirring her tea. “He was born with this affliction dear, chosen by the devil to do his bidding.” “H- he said he had to feed his clan. What did he mean by that?” you questioned. “Creatures of the night have a complex society. They stick together in ‘Clans’ for protection and sustenance. Michael oversees the Cooperative, which is the name of his clan. They’re the reason we can’t keep you in France for too long, the Cooperative have their claws everywhere. They have been around for far longer than I have dear girl.” You looked at her confused, “Why didn’t we know, no, I know any of this before?” It was Cordelia’s turn to speak. “we only pieced it all together recently, we wished we could have gotten to you sooner. It seems that opium can convince lawyers and accountants to spill their secrets” She was talking about Jeff and Mutt “Did my brother know all this?” “He knew enough to have his tongue cut out.” You looked at her wide eyed, unable to speak after hearing the news. “Why? Why did he choose me?” you began to cry again, what had you done to deserve this. These were only answers Michael had. //// Michael was born with his affliction. His lust for blood was uncontrollable as a child. Maid after maid was drained dry. His own mothers’ wrists and neck scarred from when he would feed of her. His grandmother would look at him with disgust after a feeding frenzy; his little round cheeks glossy with blood. He was always a messy eater. With the bloodlust came rage. So much rage. He almost killed Constance after she commented on his feeding habits. He had killed the dog when Tate had killed his mother, he was biding his time for a longer revenge plan. Mrs Mead had come to work for them when he was 15. She was one of the only staff members Michael hadn’t got his teeth into. Encouraging him to give into his desires, just as his grandfather would have wanted him to. She encouraged him to kill Tate, helping him devise his plan to slowly and painfully kill him. He took great joy in his killings. Hawthorne had let him meet more boys like him. Xavier was like him, a creature of bloodlust. Duncan was a wolf of a great American dynasty. Richard came from a family of hybrids, unstable and unable to survive in either society. But Michael offered him and his siblings a chance, taking them in as staff and the eyes and ears of his projects. No matter how much blood he had consumed, Michael’s cravings were still not satisfied. He craved one thing above anything else. He craved companionship. Someone to share the rest of his eternity with. If cousin Elizabeth could find someone, why couldn’t he? But things were never easy for Michael, they never were. Turning women just seemed to be harder than turning men. All his attempts at turning had been unsuccessful. They were often dragged away by deaths cold hands. The ones that didn’t die were left in a constant state of comatose. Laying between the veil of the living and the dead. There was one benefit to these failures. They became a permanent and constant blood source. They couldn’t move, they couldn’t speak, but they could hear and feel everything. It brought Michael a great sadistic joy that they could feel all the pain he inflicted on them. He had spent his free time looking for the perfect match. The unsuccessful ones usually became a source for him and the clan. He thought that might have changed with Madison. When he first laid eyes on her, the hunger he felt was one he had never felt before. The intense need to have her right there and then overwhelmed him. He went to all extremes to have her. Even promising marriage if she came to him. And she did. She left it all behind for him. So easily willing just like the rest. So, when she was another failure, Michael was shocked. The grief of it all sent him on a killing spree on his grand tour. A bad day and his night visitors never made it home. The feeling he felt after seeing your picture was indescribable. This was more intense than the one he had with Madison. Your image had devoured all logical thought there and then. Looking for girls that looked like you just to satiate him. When he finally had you, he thought he’d kill you. Your scent overwhelmed him, he felt like a wild, ravenous dog in front of a piece of meat. He watched you eat on your first night. He watched you undress, licking his lips with every piece of skin that slowly revealed itself. His fangs ached as he watched you bathe. He feared that if he had gotten too close, he would have ended you. He had almost killed you the night you had consummated your marriage, leaving painful bruises around your neck and breasts. After seeing the bruising, he knew had to control himself if he wanted to spend an eternity with you. Patience was something he never had. His lack of patience made him sloppy. Sloppy enough for him to have his brains shot out. //// You had seen more of the world than you ever thought you’d see. More than you wanted to see. You spent no more than a week in one place, before the paranoia of being watched or followed took over you. You couldn’t trust anyone now. The cooperative always made themselves known when they were around. Places you had stayed would be burned down, or the people that you spoke to would turn up dead. They wanted revenge for what you did to their patriarch. You had become a living omen, forced to wander for eternity, leaving a trail of fire and blood behind you. Eternity. Blood. The smell of your verbenas repulsed you now, but you carried then just incase. Your teeth ached. You couldn’t help yourself. You got hungry sometimes, uncontrollably so. You tried not to take too much, but sometimes you’d go weeks without feeding. Your next meal ending up dead before your teeth let go. Your hearing got sharper too. You heard the Cooperative before they could get too close. You heard about your parents’ death. The carriage accident left no survivors. You wondered what excuses had been given for your absence. You wondered if your family line would end there. Would anyone marry your brother? A man with no tongue? Cordelia and Company refused to kill you. Michael had cursed you in more ways than one. His words rang though your head, when he mentioned a portrait in spring, to represent new life. You understood now what he meant. You understood the other secret everyone hid from you. The Langdon family curse carried on, on Easter Sunday. The cries of a baby boy rang through your secluded cottage at 3 AM. The irony of the event wasn’t lost on you. He looked just like his father, blond curls and blue eyes. A cherubic little thing. Adriel had dimples when he giggled, it made your heart soar. He was your priority now, choosing to settle just for a little bit. The cooperative hadn’t reached the Caucasus mountains yet. You sent news of your son and your decision to settle to Cordelia; the same way you sent every other message, in an intricately embroidered piece of cloth. The sun was bright and warm in the sky and the flowers were vibrant the day you got your reply. The envelope had smelled of smoke and burned flesh. Inside was your ‘letter’ that you had sent, the fabric returned to you singed. Your hands shook as you looked for any other clues. You looked at the envelope again and noticed the seal. Cordelia’s seal was white. This was black; the Langdon coat of arms. The unique form of the seal that was on Michael’s signet ring. He must have been alive. He knew where you were. You had to leave; you were no longer safe here. You ran to grab your son. As you brought him to your chest, you felt the air shift around. The birds had stopped chirping. The breeze had stilled. Storm clouds had quickly engulfed the sun. He was already here, nearby in the forest. You could feel it in every cell of your body, the pull towards your ‘creator’. He wasn’t close enough yet, so you ran in the opposite direction to the pull you felt. But the further you went, the fussier Adriel got. His cries ringing through the silent forest, giving away your location. A flash of brown stopped you in your tracks. A great wolf had landed in front of you. His teeth were sharp, and his eyes were red. You hadn’t felt fear like this in a while. You slowly stepped back, looking around you for a way out. But with each step you took, he took one forward, glaring at you. You thought you’d hit a tree with your next step, but a familiar pair of arms wrapped around you. “Did you have fun enjoying the sights and terrorising innocent villagers my love?” his honey like voice broke through the silence. Adriel had stopped fussing as soon as he heard his father’s voice, as soon as the babe had felt his presence. To you it brought dread and fear, to the child it brought the greatest of comfort, to be held by both parents. You tried to look around for an exit, but you were surrounded. Xavier and Richard to either side. The wolf was Duncan, you could small him. Behind you was Michael. His nose was on your neck, deeply inhaling your scent, “Oh how I’ve missed you so little dove.” There was no way out this time. You weren’t armed. You weren’t as experienced as these creatures. You couldn’t fight without risking Adriel. “Our little game of hide and seek is over little rabbit. I’ve won and now its time for you to come home,” he whispered to you. He had taken Adriel from your arms while you were distracted. You finally got a look at him, expecting to see the empty eyes that haunted your dreams every night. Instead you were met with the same face you saw on your wedding day. His eyes seemed bluer than ever before. His hair was glossier, shining despite the lack of sun. His skin was unblemished, like marble. Not a scar or any discolouration around his eyes. His lips looked softer too. You had missed them so, missed the words that came out of them, the way they felt on your skin. Adriel began to coo at Michael, reaching his tiny hands for his hair. You heard Richard gag at the sight. Michael paid you no mind as he began to walk again. “Where are you going?” you called out, following him like a lost puppy; you didn’t want to be separated from your son. “Your doctor prescribed trip to the French riviera is over. Your fever is gone and oh, how wonderful, the countess has given birth to nice and healthy baby boy. An heir. As I said before we are going home.” You had walked past your cottage and down the pathway. “I’m not going anywhere with you.” “Oh? And is Adriel supposed to have a wet nurse then?” “He’s staying with me Michael.” He stopped in his tracks and looked at you. He began to laugh hard enough to bring tears to his eyes, Adriel giggling with him. His face turned stony again. “The child stays with me. You come now and I might be merciful when we get back. I’m sure you understand the concept of ‘an eye for an eye’. However, if you don’t come with me, I’ll let Shepherd and Mason tear you apart limb from limb. And when you get back to me, well … you’d wish that they had killed you. An eternity is a long time my dear, but my vendetta will last even longer if you don’t get in that carriage right now.” You wished the ground would swallow you up, or that God would strike you down there and then. Your eyes began to well up. Michael walked towards you and shushed you, wiping away your tears. “The world is a scary place for people like us dear Y/N. We must stay together,” he held out his hand to you. The blood in your veins had yearned for him. It wanted to quench his thirst. His blood wanted to do the same to you. You realised then, that you were like two magnets. Always destined to find each other. What would you do without him anyway? Without his protection? His guidance? His ability to satiate all your hunger, no matter what kind or what the cost? You began to laugh to yourself, looking like you had truly, finally gone mad. The conniving bastard. He had planned this all along. Your dependency on him. No matter how far, and for how long you ran, you would always have to go back to him. Child or not. Affliction or not. You would always return to him. There was no place for you to be alone in this world. You finally stopped laughing, wiping the tears of your face. You took Michael’s hand with a bone crushing grip. You’d get revenge for those cracked and bruised ribs eventually. You sat in the carriage in a comfortable silence. The road was long, and you were tired, oh so very tired. You no longer cared about his ‘punishment’, knowing he would have stop eventually. You looked at the scenery from the window, Adriel at your breast. You slapped Michael’s hand away, “Stop distracting him, he’s trying to feed,” you chided. You looked down at Adriel, “And you, don’t go so fast, you’re just as greedy as your father,” you giggled. “I’d like a turn later on,” Michael whispered to you. You rolled your eyes and shook your head, “You’re disgusting. It seems that some of you brain is still splattered across the moor.” He ‘hmphed’ and turned to face away from you. //// What Kind of Man was Michael Langdon? He wasn’t a man, he never was.

#my writing #michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #WKM13

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the-ginger-avenger · 4 years ago

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Hey, @advisortotheadvisor! I was your Sisters Grimm holiday person, and I wrote you a little fic about Red bonding with some of the Grimms. Hope you like it!

Red doesn’t remember much about her family. Those memories of before-before the Wolf, before the Scarlet Hand, before the Jabberwocky- are as insubstantial as smoke slipping through her fingers, leaving nothing behind but the barest flickers of emotions.

She remembers her grandmother the most. Those memories are clearer, polished with a shine of fondness, edged in sorrow and grief. Her grandmother, with her face perpetually lined with stress and weariness, but her eyes that shone with a steely determination. Her grandmother, as firm and unmovable as a mountain, but still filled with compassion. Red remembers her in the smell of baking apples, remembers her in the freshly baked bread that melts on her tongue, remembers her in the sound of a roughened laugh.

She barely remembers her parents, though. What they sounded like, their likes and dislikes, their personalities, are all smudged and faded. No matter how hard she tries, she can't remember much about them.

What she does remember, with vivid clarity, is the day they left her at her grandmother's. She hadn’t realized they were abandoning her, not until weeks later when they never came back, and even then, she hadn't understood. Not fully. But she remembers the look on their faces, that last time she saw them. There had been no anguish, no grief, no remorse.

There had just been relief.

Sometimes she lies in bed and turns those fragments of memories around in her head, trying to find some good in them. Some good moments to cherish. Some good moments to hold on to, there must have been some good. But all she can see is that day at her grandmother's, that relief on their faces before they left her life for good.

Relda’s house has always felt like home. There has always been something right about that cute home with its wraparound porch, its living room crowded with stacks of books, its walls always echoing with noise, but Red walks around on eggshells. She moves through the house quietly, tries to blend into the background, tries to be as unobtrusive as she possibly can. She doesn’t argue, she doesn’t make a mess, she does her best not to be a burden. She wants to belong, she wants to stay, she wants to be good enough for this family, but she knows, better than most, just how fragile family can be.

And she knows it’s only a matter of time before they leave her behind.

She feels the most at peace with Mr. Canis.

She has always felt that way, even when he still had the Wolf inside him. He was never the villain in her mind, never the monster, but the hero. Even through all those years of grief and torment, all those years battling the Wolf, he still remained good.

He makes her want to be good. To be caring. To be selfless. To be as brave and as strong as him. But there are so many days when she doesn’t think she’ll ever be as strong as him.

She gasps awake one night from a dream, fangs sharpening behind her lips, her fingers tapering into claws. The details blur in her mind, but she knows it was one drenched in blood, pain, anger, one filled with the desire for violence. Her heartbeat jackrabbits in her chest, a fierce pounding against her bones, and it doesn’t race out of fear, but adrenaline. The dream didn’t carry the weight of a nightmare, not like it should. The fear comes after, along with the realization that the dream wasn’t hers, not really.

And the terror that follows that realization, the knowledge that even in her sleep, the Wolf is still fighting for control, feels choking.

She’s out of the bed before she fully makes a conscious decision to move and flees out into the hallway. She’s trembling by the time she makes it to his room, a full body shiver that’s bone deep. The door opens before she can knock and he stands in the doorway, bushy eyebrows low over his eyes, blinking the last dregs of his own sleep away.

She wonders if her eyes are ice blue, glowing faintly in the dark. She wonders if he can see the Wolf writhing under her skin, clawing for freedom, but he doesn’t seem concerned as he steps to the side and ushers her into the room. He never seems concerned. He always has this firm, unshakable belief in her. A steadfast belief in her ability to control the Wolf, to do good. Hope from a man who’s been through so much pain, who has felt so much grief.

She cherishes his belief in her like a gift. Like a beacon that guides her out of her own fears, and already she can feel herself begin to calm.

It takes an hour of meditation before her hands stop shaking and after he helps her draw the boundaries between her thoughts and the Wolf’s, her wants and the Wolf’s. Reminds her that they are not one, they are not the same. He helps her rebuild the barriers between herself and the monster, and by the time she feels fully grounded, the sky outside has started to lighten.

She feels guilt over keeping him up so late when he gets so few restful nights, but he places a hand on her shoulder before she can apologize and gives her a small smile. There is a stronger reassurance in that gentle squeeze, in that small smile, than any words can bring.

The Wolf is never dormant.

Mr. Canis warned her it was a relentless creature. It will always be looking for a weak point. It will always search for freedom. Fighting it back is a constant struggle, and sometimes it is so very draining.

And today she’s afraid she won’t be able to hold it back.

She stretches out on the living room floor, tucked between two stacks of books, and tries to lose herself in her drawing. She hasn’t seen colors since taking on the Wolf, but she still finds comfort in drawing. There’s always been something grounding and peaceful in the act of creating a piece of art. But not today. Irritation coils tighter and tighter in her chest, smells are too strong, sounds too grating, and all the deep breaths she takes, all the mantras she repeats in her mind, don’t seem to help.

It also doesn’t help that she can feel Puck staring at her.

He’s just come back from a few months of traveling with Jake, and he’s fallen back into the flow of the house, of the family, with the ease, self-confidence, and sense of belonging that she yearns for.

He sprawls out on the couch, taking up all three cushions so Daphne has to perch on the armrest, though Sabrina stubbornly sits on his feet. Daphne has been talking about some new spell she’s learned and while Sabrina listens, but for the past five minutes Puck’s attention has been on Red. She’s never seen him so still before, so his gaze feels more pointed, and she thinks he can see every crack spiderwebbing across her control. That he can see the Wolf breaking through.

With no warning, he jerks his feet out from under Sabrina and dodges the throw pillow she tosses at him with far more grace than should belong to someone who routinely rolls around in the mud. He gives Red a pointed look before heading upstairs.

He’s halfway up the stairs before he calls over his shoulder, “Are you coming?”

For a brief second, her irritation flares and she considers ignoring him, staying downstairs out of spite, but that would be rude and her life here is still so fragile, still so new. Despite her foul mood, she still doesn't want to risk anything.

She follows him up the stairs and trails him into his room, her irritation shifting into confusion. His room, as always, is awe-inspiring. No matter how many times she’s been here it still takes her breath away. The sky opens up above her, not a single cloud in sight, even though she knows for a fact it’s storming outside. The long grass ruffles in a gentle breeze, a cool brush against her skin.

Puck stands beside her, plants his hands on his hips, and says, “Well, get on with it.”

She glances at him, confused, but he shrugs a shoulder and flaps a hand towards the field and the trees rising in the distance.

“Go. Run. Scream. Roll in the mud a bit. You need to loosen up.” She tenses at his words, at the rebuke, her mind spinning through all the ways she needs to do better, before Puck grins, eyes lighting with mischief. “You’re almost as uptight as Grimm.”

The comparison catches her off guard, as does the teasing tone, and her mounting panic cuts off under the surprise. She’s watched Puck and Sabrina trade insults that leaned more towards fond teasing enough that she recognizes it in his tone. Not a rebuke, but a joke.

His wings unfurl from his back, and with one smooth, languid flap, he’s airborne. "You need to relax. Have fun."

He’s halfway to the trees before she unglues her feet from the ground. She follows him at a slow, hesitant jog, before she starts getting faster, and faster, and faster, careful to use her own strength, her own speed, and not any of the Wolf’s.

It should feel like a bad idea, this frantic race through the grass. It should feel like giving in to the beast and its restlessness, but it doesn’t. The Wolf is a creature of rage and violence and there is none of that in this. She races into the trees, fast enough to make her legs burn, her breath to rasp, to dissolve all the tension and the fear that have been steadily growing in her chest for days, and all she feels is a burgeoning joy.

She breaks through the treeline and slows to a stop, gasping for breath, when something lands on the ground at her feet. It takes a moment for her brain to register that it’s a bag filled with Puck’s signature slime bombs, just before one splatters on top of her head. She glances up, spluttering in surprise, her nose curling at the stench, to find Puck grinning down at her, another slime bomb held in his hand, a dare in one raised eyebrow. Red only hesitates for a moment before she snatches up her bag and the game begins. She doesn't know how much time passes as they fling them at each other. Every one of his hits her, but she ends up laughing too hard to aim, so most of hers miss him.

She’s covered in slime from head to toe as they make their way back downstairs, but the grin is still stretched wide on her face. Daphne squeals in delight when she spots her and starts telling Red all the ways she can use the slime to style her hair, while Sabrina moves to punch Puck’s arm, even after Red tells her it’s fine. Everything’s perfectly fine. She feels a steady, buzzing warmth, the Wolf long forgotten, and she’s happy enough that she doesn’t even mind the smell.

Daphne never gives her the chance to feel out of place, never gives her the chance to blend into the background. She has always made Red feel welcome, but Red also knows that's just who Daphne is. She chats up strangers in the diner, makes friends with everyone in school, adopts every stray animal she finds outside. She is kind, and she is friendly, and wonderful, full of love and joy, but that doesn't mean she loves Red like a member of the family. Red is just someone who happens to live in the same house. She's just someone who happens to be there when Daphne wants to talk to someone.

Red firmly believes this until the day Daphne marches up to her and asks if she can fix Red’s hair. The request catches Red so much by surprise that she can only nod her head. Daphne's answering grin is bright and contagious as she grabs Red's hand and all but drags her into her room.

Daphne is a whirlwind, all noise and light and unbridled joy, but in this moment it’s more subdued. She sits behind Red, more still than she’s ever been but talking a mile a minute, and Red sits still and stiff, afraid that any wrong move will shatter the moment. She's seen Daphne and Sabrina do each others hair on more than one occasion, that steady ease and familiarity they have for each other filling her with an ache of longing strong enough to take her breath away. She feels that longing swell in her chest now, feels that desire for this to mean more than just an act of boredom.

Daphne combs through Red’s hair before she begins to braid it, talks about school and friends and drama and magic lessons, and coaxes Red into the conversation, and Red can feel the tension uncoil from her shoulders. When Red's braids meet Daphne’s seal of approval, they switch places and Red starts working on Daphne's hair. Red has never been good at carrying on a conversation, but the words come easy to her now, and she feels a bit of sorrow when she finishes the last braid, already mourning the loss of this moment.

But Daphne drags them both to the nearest mirror, and the two of them try different poses before dissolving into uncontrollable giggles.

Daphne slings an arm around Red's shoulders and beams at their reflection. "There," she says. "Now we just have to do Sabrina's hair and then we'll all match. The entire town will be talking about the three Grimm sisters and their awesomesauce hair."

Red brushes her fingers across her braids. “Awesomesauce,” she echoes around the lump that forms in her throat. Daphne’s words echo in her mind, and the smile that curls her lips stays on her face the entire day.

Of all of them, she thinks Sabrina will be the one to kick her out.

Red doesn’t blame her. Sabrina has an unshakable love for her family that Red has always admired. She cares fiercely for the ones she loves, and she does everything she can to keep her family safe. Red is dangerous. There is no guarantee that she’ll be able to keep the Wolf under control. Her being in this house is a danger to everyone Sabrina cares about, and she understands if the other girl doesn’t want her around.

A nightmare wakes Red in the middle of the night. It’s different from the ones she normally has. There’s no blood, no death, no fear. There’s just the hollow ache of standing in an empty house, searching every room for people who left a long time ago.

Her chest constricts and she pushes herself out of bed fast enough to make her head light. She slips out of her room but hesitates in the hallway. Part of her wants to see Mr. Canis, but she knows he didn't sleep well the night before and she doesn't want to wake him, so instead she heads downstairs. She'll get a glass of water, she'll give herself time to calm down, to realize how ridiculous she's being, and then everything will be fine.

She heads into the kitchen and almost runs right into Sabrina.

Sabrina blinks at her in surprise as Red mumbles a quick apology and then frowns.

“Everything okay?” Sabrina asks.

“Yes,” she stammers. “I just . . .I couldn’t sleep.”

Sabrina’s lips twist into a wry smile, one eyebrow rising. “Sure, me too,” she says, and Red notices the dark circles under Sabrina's eyes, the haggard expression on her face.

For a moment, she hesitates between asking Sabrina if she's okay or pretending she doesn't notice. She cares about Sabrina, she wants to know if she's okay, if she needs to talk, but she also knows Sabrina doesn't normally like for people to pry.

In the end, Red just jerks her head in a stilted nod and slips past Sabrina into the kitchen. She's grabbing a glass when Sabrina calls out her name.

She turns to find Sabrina hovering in the doorway, scowling at a spot on the floor. “If you ever want . . .if you need . . .” Sabrina sucks in a frustrated breath, her gaze traveling up to the ceiling. “Talking sometimes helps. And I know what it’s like . . .”

She trails off into an awkward silence but Red can fill in the rest. She knows what it’s like to be abandoned. She knows what it’s like to cling to your family tight enough to hurt, afraid they’ll disappear in the blink of an eye. She knows what it’s like, watching someone die right in front of you.

Sabrina crosses her arms, shifts on her feet, uncrosses her arms again. Her eyes drop from the ceiling to meet Red’s, and her shoulder twitches in a shrug. “You know, if you want.”

Heat prickles the back of Red’s eyes and she furiously blinks the tears away, knowing they will only make Sabrina mortified. “Thanks,” she whispers, her voice hoarse.

Sabrina nods her head and gives Red a small but genuine smile before she slips out of the room.

It’s easier falling back to sleep, and Red spends the rest of the night dreaming of nothing, comfroted in the warm knowledge that someone cares.

These are the ways they love her.

Hours of meditation. Bedroom doors open in the middle of the night. Pranks and jokes and gifts made just for her. Listening to nightmares and worries. A surprise dinner of her favorite food.

Slowly, Red stops walking on thin ice. She stops forcing herself to blend into the background. Stops searching their faces for the same tics, the same expressions, she vaguely remembers on her parents’ face that day they left her at her grandmothers.

Relda’s house has always felt like home, and Red stops doubting that feeling. She stops fearing that they will leave her behind or reject her. The Grimms are her family and they will always be there for her.

#the sisters grimm #sisters grimm #sisters grimm holiday exchange #red riding hood #mr. canis #daphne grimm #sabrina grimm #puck #this got a bit away from me #advisortotheadvisor

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codyfernmorelikedaddyfern · 5 years ago

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Consume. Worship. Reward. - Sojourn!Michael x fem!reader

Back at it again. I can’t have “Michael” and “smut” in the same sentence without having breeding kink and I think it says a lot about the person that I am.

Description: After pleading for a sign on what to go next, Michael follows the scent trailed by his father to a Satanic Church where he meets Madeleine and ultimately, the source of the intoxicating scent, her daughter (Y/N).

Warning: blood, sacrifice, people eating out hearts and shit. Smut, Breeding!kink, Sub!Michael, SoftDom!Reader, chocking, unprotected sex (Don’t knock it ‘till you wrap it).

Word count: 2998

As he sat in the pentagram he had carved in the dirt floor, the corpse of the dark furred goat by this knees, a whisper repeated itself in his ear. “Worship”. “Consume”. “Reward”. The voice was deep and hoarse. The voice of his father. Images and scents brushed his mind and nose. The features that shambled before his eyes dissipated but the scent remained. “Worship” he heard again, the fragrance settling finally on a specific smell that had never imbued his nostrils before and it was intoxicating.

Like a desperate predator, he followed the trail. His tired legs carried him through the woods then on the pavement and then against concrete. Michael wasn’t sure how long he had sat on the dirt floor and he had no clue about the distance he had just walked. The scent carried him to the strangest place, a dark alleyway simply marked by an upside down cross. Maybe the Satanic Church he was being lured to carried the answers to his question.

“Are you lost?” the raspy voice of a man asked the young boy. He simply shrugged, a small smile spreading across his features. Michael watched the stranger open a door he was guarding, and the scent carried him through it, leading him down.

Chants and words came to his ears and the smell he had been following brought the small tears he was carrying in his eyes to tumble down his cheeks. Mike listened to the red priestess bullshit her way through her speech and the gentle figure of the woman next to him struck a conversation with him after noticing the terrifying state he brought himself into.

The divine scent came from her. At least, something very similar. Next thing he knew, he was sitting at her dinner table, trying to explain to the older woman that she was waiting for the end in vain.

“I’m the one you’re waiting for” his voice was gravely and husky. Madeleine launched towards him, the blade of her knife pressed against the dirty skin of his skin. “How dare you blaspheme?!” her voice rang all the way upstairs. “Before you kill me, dear believer. See me” he shouted back at her. The sound of the clattering that Madeleine dropped to the ground made her daughter freeze in her bedroom.

The steps of (Y/N)’s feet carrying her down the stairs were shushed by a loud “Hail Satan” coming from her mother. But Michael did not fail to notice the how intense the smell his father had gifted to him, so strong in fact that it was nearly sickening.

The young girl, not older than 17, tried to hide at the bottom of the stairs but his eyes was already planted on her. Her legs trembled as Michael stood up, the words of his father loud again in his ears. “Reward. Consume. Worship”. Madeleine climbed up to her feet, noticing the rising tension searing the air between both bodies.

The features he had been bestowed with became clear. His Lilith stood in front of him and he would be her Samael. “Michael, this is my daughter, (Y/N). She is one of us” the mother stuttered while she watched her little girl step forward, mystically drawn closer to the boy. The dim light shrouded her features, exposing his vision to become reality before himself.

Michael’s head broke the gaze, his face turning sharply to Madeleine. “Your daughter, you said?” he asked, his chest bloated with a newfound vigour. It now made sense why her mother carried such a similar sent to the one he had been hunting. The woman nodded, unaware of what in Heaven of Hell was electrifying the air. His attention turned to (Y/N) again and he closed the void between their bodies. Michael’s hand gingerly laced with the young girl’s one and he brought her knuckles to his lips to plant a soft kiss to it.

“Do I know you?” her soft voice spoke, pushing a contempt groan from her Samael’s throat. Music to his ears. “My soul knows yours, that I am sure of” the Antichrist answered, his lips still hovering above her knuckles. He looked back at Madeleine, his features as still as he could while he felt his body being consumed by something new.

“I need you to bring us to the church right now.” He demanded. The older woman give him a questioning look. Her trembling voice asked him why exactly he required to go back at such a late time. (Y/N) could not detach her eyes from the young boy standing in front of her, the drumming of her heart causing her breathing to grow more and more irregular. It was as if she had been made for him and the thought of it caused her skin to tingle.

“We must get married at once” Michael ordered. Both women grew cold. “Your daughter is who precisely what I came here to find. A reward from my father”. (Y/N)’s lower lip was quickly pulled between her teeth as if her thoughts were only being reinforced by his words. “But you are the Antichrist, you could have anyone” Madeleine tried to convince him. The words she had just spoke made her daughter’s fingers tremble in Michael’s grip which he did not fail to notice. His blue gaze melted in hers before his hand moulded to her cheek. “There is nothing to be afraid of, my dove” he reassured her, his thumb drawing circles on her cheek.

“Anything for our Dark Lord” the young girl answered to her mother’s dismay. “Let’s get you cleaned up before” the mother whispered, ushering the boy upstairs and instantly starting to run him a bath, leaving the boy alone to handle himself.

“Y/N, are you crazy?” her mother whispered, shaking her daughter’s shoulders. “You have only met the boy, you can’t marry him!” she continued, trying to knock her out of her trance. “Mom, I don’t know what’s happening. It feels like I finally have a purpose” she confessed, tears breaking through her lashes. “I can’t help but being drawn to him” she continued. When the door opened to a freshened up Michael, she jumped to her feet, her heart racing once more. Breaking free from the embrace of her mother, she stood still while the Boy Wonder walked his way down the stairs.

“Michael, are you sure this is right?” Madeleine tried once more. His cold stare was good enough of an answer and she quickly grabbed the large cape from the peg behind the door to wrap it around the boy while her daughter slipped her own around her shivering body.

The sky had broken into a storm, heavy rain pouring in the street of LA as Madeleine engulfed both of the teenagers in the back of her car. (Y/N) was trembling in the cold weather and Michael immediately reached for her hands, his eyes fishing for ours. “I apologies for having to rush this, my love” he softly whispered, tenderly caressing her cold hands in his warm ones. “It’s okay, I would do anything for our saviour” she replied, her mother quickly driving down the roads with a sigh.

Michael’s fingers did not let go of his Lilith’s hands, gently warming them as best as he could. She couldn’t keep her eyes off of him. It was like fate.

Pulling out an umbrella, Madeleine hushed both of the teenagers back through the church right in time to interrupt the blood sacrifice that was about to take place. “Reward” rumbled through Michael again as the older woman exposed his identity. His eyes fell into (Y/N)’s ones as he held onto her hand, walking her down the aisles. “Worship” he heard again.

“Dear believers, I am Michael Langdon and I am the Antichrist. And this woman by my side has been chosen by my father to stand by my side through the remodelling of humanity in his image”. The cheers and “Hail Satan” escaping the crowd did not matter to the girl because the only thing she could do was look at Michael with enamoured eyes, her heart quickening every time he would look back at her.

The Antichrist turned to the red priestess before speaking again. “Make us husband and wife right this second” he ordered before placing his attention to (Y/N) again.

Carefully operating the ceremony, the Red Priestess spoke clearly, uniting both of the lost soul under the watchful eye of Michael’s father. The thunder was raging outside and Michael kept on hearing the same words over and over. “Worship. Reward. Consume”. (Y/N) kept her gaze on him, the wind constantly being knocked out of her lungs. She couldn’t hear anything over the drumming beat of her heart and when the two innocent souls that were due to be sacrificed were brought before them, it was the first time she broke her trance of looking at Michael.

His hand forcefully plunged deep within the cavity of the man’s ribcage, withdrawing his fists as he clutched on the heart of his victim, letting his body fall limp to the ground. Bringing the leaking organ up to his lip, he plunged his teeth through the muscle, sectioning a bit and smearing crimson across his face. Michael then gently brought it to his bride’s mouth who mirror his gesture after placing her hands over his blood soaked fingers.

Swallowing the piece of flesh with hesitation, her gaze retrieved her Samael’s eyes and he tenderly smiled at her. The candles fluttered as if a heavy wind blew through the room. He despatched the heart to the floor, slumping against the corpse of it’s own, then wrapped his hands against the small face of (Y/N), pulling her blood stained lips to his to share a burning kiss.

Her frame unravelled under him and the audience praised the couple with “Ave Satanas” and “Hail Satan” while their Lilith and Samael’s embrace deepened with a low groan. “Consume”. Michael wrapped his hand under (Y/N)’s knees, pulling her up against her chest, not letting go of the soft texture of her lips against hers. Her hands found their place behind his neck, tightly holding onto the Antichrist.

Lightning struck once more and finally, their lips parted but their eyes remained planted into each other’s. “Consume” rang again, this time louder. His gaze went to retrieve the Red Priestess’ and she gingerly guided him to the back chambers of the church. Michael followed, his tight grip keeping his wife to his chest.

“Take as long as you need, My Lord” she mumbled as she walked out of what looked like a bedroom. The door closed behind the soon to be lovers and Michael gently placed his bride to the ground before locking the door.

(Y/N) stood still, gathering her hands in front of her. A shiver consumed her skin when Michael’s hands discarded the cloak covering her frame only to dive under her tee shirt, pulling the fabric off of her chest. His lips rewarded her with a few tender kisses against her shoulders. With his torso pressed against her back, his warmth melted into her. “Have you been with another man” his voice made many more goose pumps erupts on her body. Sheepishly nodding while Michael pried the straps of her bra off of her before he could unclasp it and leave it to litter the floor.

Her Samael buried his nose against her gentle neck, taking a deep waft of her scent once more. So sickly sweet. “Have you been with another woman” (Y/N) softly ask, earning another growl from her husband. “No, but I have been with a man before” he simply answered before belting his arms around her waist, unbuttoning the black pair of jeans she was wearing, having the fabric glide down the soft flesh of her legs. His fingers ignited burning trails on her skin while removing her trousers and he rewarded her once more with a soft kiss, right above the waistband of her panties.

Discarding her shoes, socks and trousers in a clumsy few movements, (Y/N) was not rendered to a shivering mess only clad in her underwear. “Would you do me the honour of laying on the bed, darling?” he spoke against the small of her back. With a little nod, she climbed up the mattress, laying on her back, offering herself to him, at his mercy.

(Y/N)’s eyes darker while she watched Michael discard his clothes before crawling his way back to her, pressing his incredibly warm body against hers. “Would you allow me to consume you now, my dove?” he finally whispered against the shell of her ears. A gentle whimper escaped his bride and she placed her small hands on his hips, bringing his pelvis closer and slipping her fingers under the waistband of his underwear in a poor attempt to remove them.

Michael softly scoffed. “Someone is eager” he teased, his tongue licking a wide and hot trail from her collarbone to her jaw. He watched her extend her neck, silently begging for more and he could not refuse the invitation, pushing another wet strip of his saliva on her throat.

“Do you realise what consuming you entail, little dove, his voice made her shake once more.

- What is it, my love?

- By honouring you, you will allow me to put a child in you. Carry my legacy to the new age of mankind. Have you swell with my offspring. Breed you”

The more he spoke, the more she tried to push her hips up against his to meet his hardening length still caged in his boxers. He softly chuckled and propped himself up to see her lip trapped between her teeth, cheeks flushed and eyes closed. “Anything for the Dark Lord” was good enough of an answer to his question for him to finally discard the last article of clothing still covering their modesty.

A deep growl escaped his lips as he sheathed himself inside of her, her throat exuding the most alluring mewl Michael could have ever fathomed. “Let me carry you seed, Michael” (Y/N) tenderly moaned as he stilled himself, deep inside of her cunt.

“You won’t have to tell me twice, darling” he concluded before beginning a gentle rhythm within her. Violence could be reserved to the witches and the rest of the world. Tenderness and care would be reserved for the wife he had panting beneath him. “Worship” he heard again. Michael’s fingers explored, caressed and stroked every inches of (Y/N)’s skin, having her writhing at his touch, her hips rolling up to meet his with a gentler whimper. The antichrist’s lips lost themselves against her mouth, drinking in her mewls and moans as his cock brushed broad strokes against the sensitive spots on her walls.

“Harder please” she whimpered, causing him to stop. “My love, I cannot. I am too afraid to hurt you” he looked deeply into her eyes, his fingers softly caressing her cheek. “Then let me lead, Michael” her voice demanded. The boy’s shoulder dropped and he allowed himself into submission, letting his lover flip their bodies around to have her hips straddle his. Her hair was now wild as she started to push her pelvis up above his before lowering to meet his.

“Fuck me, please” Michael’s voice spoke, nearly begging. “Take that baby from me, my dove” he then whimpered. Adjusting her hands against his chest to help her thrusts, she started bouncing above her lover, the sensual burn of their passionate throes ripping moans and grunt out of their throats and filling the room.

Digging her nails in his skin, the Antichrist found himself a whining mess under his lover. His fingers found a perch on her hips and her hands quickly pushed them up to her breasts before hooking her hand behind his head and pulling him against her.

Her walls gently fluttered against the veins of his cock as tendrils of arousal coiled inside of her belly, working herself up to her own climax. (Y/N)’s hand snaked in Michael’s hair before tugging his head back, her eyes planted in his while she pulled on his golden locks. His tongue brushed his lips as he moaned her name on ends before gently begging her for “More”, hoarse and husky breaths heaving out of his chest. The succulent arms of his climax started to claw at his loins while his wife was splitting herself on his cock.

A harsher tug caused his eyes to roll back, darkening unnaturally to two pitch black orbs. “Take it, please” he begged once more, his voice rendered to broken whimpers, feeling himself become more and more vulnerable to the newfound feelings that was unfolding from deep within his chest.

(Y/N) wrapped her other hand around his large throat, earning a surprised look from him. The thrusting of her hips became halted and sloppy as she felt the tightening coil in the stomach ever so close from snapping. She harshly pushed her hand against his throat harder, pinning her Samael against the mattress, clutching tighter at the side of his neck, nearly stopping him from breathing. The sight of him rendered to such a submissive mess push her own climax shook through her body, her cunt tightening and gripping at Michael’s cock.

The shuddering of her walls against him brought the antichrist to his own release. His hands launched for her hips, pushing his own up to bury himself as deep as possible between her folds while he spilled his seed inside of her core with an array of moans and pleads. (Y/N)’s gentle fingers stopped their assault on his throat as she slowly came down from her release, Michael quickly pulling her soft figure against him.

“Reward” his father spoke again as her Samael held his Lilith tight against his sticky chest. “We’re now bonded for life” the Antichrist spoke to his bride, silently promising his soft spoken wife a life of worshipping, consuming and rewarding.

_________________________________________________________

Tagging : @hecohansen31 & @blakewaterxx

Just let me know if you would like to be tagged whenever I post a piece!

#michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon x reader smut #ahs #ahs apocalypse #american horror story #american horror apocalypse #american horror story apocalypse

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ancsthctist-archived · 4 years ago

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//. 失われた記憶 // memories lost // reijiro

Sotenbori didn’t change much in the last two decades, did it? Even during the daytime, there was still an uneasiness about it, one you couldn’t quite touch until the sun drowned in the west and the brightly flashing neon nightlife was made more apparent. Reijiro remembers the first night he was here, on Hanzou’s arm, gawking in foreign wonder at the sights, the sounds, the smells. How quickly he forgot that urban jungles had its dangers--how swift Sotenbori was to remind him that this wasn’t the wonderland it was dressed up to be. Even the waters of the river were dark and murky--pretending to be a perfect spot for a boat ride with a loved one whilst hiding bodies floating just beneath the inky surface.

But Reijiro wasn’t here for the fun of it. Nay, Sotenbori was the last place he wanted to go, and for the reasons he eventually decided to come. With a brief note detailing his trip left for Majima, he booked a hotel for three days prior to taking the long train ride back, wherein he had all but left his body behind in some lucid daydream, only to be woken by the intercom announcing their arrival at the station. Shit. Mind raced to stay on. To take it back to Kamurocho and give the excuse that it wasn’t as important as he thought it was. To pretend to fall asleep, fail to disembark and end up back in Tokyo as a result of human error. Heart jittered in his chest as he stood, grabbed his bag and stepped off the train.

Part of him hoped that whatever awaited him here was harmless and unnoteworthy. His office had been abandoned and was left untouched by the locals. Reijiro had the deed and never thought of selling it off to anyone--no one ever asked, and Ayumi-chan made use of it at least as a form of storage. But now she no longer needed it, having decided to get rid of majority of the things she kept. Money from selling the property wasn’t needed, but there were was one thing he had left there. Abandoned. To rot and whither to dust. One thing that he had feared then and feared now to peruse. But the time has come. With things settling down in Kamurocho, he decided to make his way to this ill begotten place, leaving Ayumi-chan in charge of the clinic during his absence.

The hotel room reminded him of his old apartment. Almost like a box. Gray walls, wooden door and floor. Few appliances and a claustrophobia that kept him awake at night. It was enough to make him wonder if perhaps he should see the sights again to kill time before it was dark enough to visit his old office. Dinner from Osaka King calmed him down somewhat. But then it was back to bored anxiety that seemed to slow time down to an agonizing crawl. The closer that time drew near to make for the old place, however, the harder his heart hammered against his chest.

First night was focused on going through what supplies remained in the old cabinets and drawers, pulling out medical supplies that were still usable and even old books that he had completely forgotten about. Bringing them back to the hotel room and going through them, he tossed what was worthless and packaged the rest in his messenger bag. All in the clinic had been cleaned and thoroughly combed--except his desk. His desk, a nice piece of polished mahogany, only weathered by age and several instances of yakuza shoes kicking it for one reason or another in fits of rage, sat lonely in the front, with all drawers emptied except for one. It wasn’t until the second night that he sat at it in the old leather chair, with his phone in front of him open and with a text readied to send to Majima.

I hate this place.

He thumbs the send button. But never quite puts enough pressure for the message to go through. So rattled and anxious with his hand on the drawer, he could swear that he hears the synapses in his brain sparking and short-circuiting, wires crossing and malfunctioning when he needed them to calm. He opens the drawer. A leather bound notebook is inside. It’s not his. But another’s. He touches it with hesitant fingers, leaving his own body behind as he can’t feel himself pull it out and rest it upon the surface of his desk in front of him. He can smell Hanzou in the leather. Even in the years following his death up until Majima was dragged into this very office, very nearly on the brink of biting the dust, he never once even dared.

But it’s open now. And he hates it. He hates every minute of it and his heart aches and throbs as he reads through the messily scrawled mixes of kanji and hiragana. Some bits are in English for some reason. To practice, perhaps. Reijiro did the same, but transposed. He feels tired as he reads through. Hoping and fearing in equal measure that he finds something earth-shattering. Something that puts the foundation of his perspective in an upheaval. Something that hurts him and makes him feel guilty for growing bitter and angry about their time spent together. Time wasted. But... there’s nothing. Nothing at all what Reijiro had imagined. Hanzou didn’t trick him into coming to Sotenbori. Hanzou didn’t plan to kill him and was stopped by another family member because Reijiro was a civilian.

I don’t love him anymore. But I don’t know how to let him go.

That it was that simple made Reijiro’s heart burn. He didn’t know whether to be angry or cry. Perhaps both. But he’s tired. He’s so tired. He fantasizes picking up the desk and shattering it against the wall, howling out his anger like a beast. But instead, his fury is unleashed in a sharp exhale of breath long held. He closes the book and rests his head in his hands, closing his burning eyes and letting his thoughts drift back to Tokyo. Back to Kamurocho. Back to Majima. Leagues apart from one another, these two Yakuza for whom he felt so much. Perusing the long past thoughts and feelings of one lead him to further understanding just how little he knew him. His stomach turned. He had fallen in love with an idea. And the idea persisted to frost the glass that encompassed reality. Microdreams take him back to the arms of a masked demon. And his body goes lax for a moment, reveling in the warmth. He could swear he smells that all too familiar brand of cigarette smoke and he breathes it in. Brief seconds of pleasantness are broken by the subtle clattering coming from a direction that Reijiro doesn’t recognize.

Head raises and he looks around, grabbing his phone and erasing the message left, hurrying to use it as a flashlight when he hears it again. Going still, he listens. It’s coming from below. A basement? He didn’t recall a basement in his building. The entirety of this slot of land was abandoned, was it not? And why was the noise so loud? Getting up from his chair, he searched throughout the office, before feeling a draft coming from an empty bookcase. He notices scrape lines along the floor, and weathered paint and drywall sticking out from behind it. He moves it, careful not to make a sound as he uncovers a massive hole in the wall that leads to a makeshift stairwell that cuts through the wall of the neighboring building.

He should leave. He should leave now, burn the deed, and never return. But he doesn’t. He eases himself down the staircase, down into a basement he had never known was there. It was cold down below, and dark. He holds an arm close to himself while the other holds up his phone, using it as a makeshift flashlight to illuminate the new space. There’s little beyond boxes and crates, all old and worn, with a chair, a tarp, and an excessive collection of bottles. There’s an unlit candle and a pack of cigarettes. He approaches this area that appears to be a living space, picking up a bottle and looking it over. It’s a cheap brand. Smelling awful of bitter ale. And he’s blinded for a moment, blinded and looking up at the ceiling involuntarily, startled by the sudden shatter of the bottle on the concrete ground beneath him. Mouth covered, he reaches up to grasp at a foreign hand coming in from behind, dropping his phone and sending it skidding across the floor.

A sharp coldness pushes him and there’s hot blood gushing from him. He’s grabbing at the hand over his mouth, which turned to an arm around his neck under his throat, as well as the knife piercing the soft flesh of his side. His sweatshirt grows heavy, wet. The blade rips from him and finds its mark again. He can’t scream, but grabs furiously at the hand holding the knife. His teeth bite through clothing and draw blood from his assailant. It earns him another stab and he kicks at a leg behind him. A shriek and he’s released, falling to the floor with eyes blind and ears deaf, all ringing so loudly, so dark and wild and bright and spinning, everything’s spinning. He reaches for his phone, blood spilling from him and body shaking, but he’s grabbed, spun onto his back. The man on top of him is ragged. Eyes wide and wild. He’s frightened with the realization of what he just did. A hand goes around Reijiro’s throat, the other holding the knife up.

He stops it from piercing his face with one hand, the other desperately clasping the one around his neck. His muscles ache and burn and his bones scream. He can’t feel the pain in his side, only the fierce gale of adrenaline that threatens to blow both of them over an unseen edge. Strength failing, his switchblade finds its way in his hand and he thrusts the steel into the man’s throat, right below the chin. Fear and desperation turn to shock, and the force of the man’s strength was soon to go lax as he coughed and sputtered, blood specking Reijiro’s face. He shoves the man off him, ripping the knife from his neck and pulling himself away. He wouldn’t help. He couldn’t help. His own blood stained his sweatshirt. His pants. A trail of red follows him as he drags himself towards his phone.

Call Majima.

He can’t. He shouldn’t. He probably should. But he won’t.

Text him. He must text him.

No. This was his journey to make. He must do it on his own. He can treat himself. He can stitch himself up.

He’s hurt. He NEEDS help.

He can help himself. This happens all the time in Sotenbori. This is the nature of Sotenbori, so it’s fine. He knew what he was getting into when he booked his trip and hotel. It’s fine. It’s all fine.

When he reaches the top of the steps and his desk, he collapses on the floor. Tears threaten to bleed from him and he whimpers, blood stained hands gripping the wounds. He doesn’t want to be alone, but he didn’t want to involve anyone either. This was his issue. And he needed to see it through himself. He was tired of being saved. Tired of being rescued. But...

A shouting sob escapes him, one hand going over his mouth while the other gripped his bleeding side. Anger wells in him and his eyes are pinched shut, images of Hanzou smiling at him even long after he had written that sentence flashing, and tears finally escape him and he’s crumbled on the floor, shrieking into his palm as his body shakes. The touch of Hanzou’s hand on his shoulder, the press of his forehead against Reijiro’s. The genuine look in his eyes, the deep rumble in his throat and the way the apples of his cheeks perked when he...

It’s the smile that kills him. His body all but doubles as he curls up on the floor, heart gutted and lungs starved of breath. How awful he made him feel, only to bring him back up with that smile, a nuzzle on the cheek and a hug to bring it home. A kiss to the top of his head. He feels like a child. Lost. And alone. And he wants Hanzou to come back. To be alive, so he can leave him. Leave and say goodbye, return to Kamurocho, to Majima, with healing in his heart. But he can’t. It’s gone. It’s all gone. And he’s left there bleeding on the floor, screaming out in his pain, pain that supersedes the punctures in his side. Screams drown to whimpers as energy leaves him, as the anger dies back into familiar sadness. His hand presses hard into his side, and he cries until he can’t anylonger. Until his lungs hurt and his face is sore.

The twilight that pervaded around his clinic is quiet, offering silence to the outpour of grief. He pulls spare twine and sutures from his bag and stitches himself up, biting down on Hanzou’s journal for the lack of pain management. It’s hours before he makes it back to the hotel. He’s the spitting image of the dead, but as predicted, no one was called to check on him as he stumbled through the streets of Sotenbori back to his hotel room, where he makes the bare minimum effort to clean himself up. He takes off his sweatshirt and wraps it tightly around his side, painful and sore as it was. Light blue tanktop and jeans are stained dark in red, but the blood is old enough by the time he reaches the station that it looks like a poor design choice from a distance. Kamurocho is much the same when he arrives, having slept the entire trip back with Hanzou’s journal slipped between the medical books in his bag.

He leaves the door to his home unlocked when he finally gets inside. He feels dead. Exhausted. Absent of everything and nothing, the only thing that seems real to him is the throbbing in his side. He was lucky the attacker hadn’t pierced his vital organs. He would have hated to have to stay in a hospital in Sotenbori of all places, much less let Majima know that he couldn’t leave his sight without getting the shit kicked out of him. But that was the nature of the world they were entrenched in. Violence for violence’s sake, where hurt had no meaning beyond what it was at face value. Hanzou didn’t treat him like shit for any reason beyond the fact that he was just an asshole. And he didn’t die for any reason beyond that he was in the wrong place on the wrong person’s dime. It was all meaningless. It meant nothing in the end.

He would leave a trail of bloodied clothes on the floor of his house as he made his way to his bathroom, filling the tub with warm water and epsom salt with weak, shaking limbs. He leaned against his sink and looked into the vanity. He was far more pale than usual. Eyes red and unfocused, hair disheveled. He was a picture of death. Sotenbori had taken its pound of flesh. But it was over. It was over and he could finally ease himself into the tub, flinching at the brief sting of the salt, and close his eyes. He would text Majima later. And tell him he loves him. And that he hoped he’d never have to return to Sotenbori for as long as he lived.

#YAKUZA // . -- 私の血は私が見るすべてです #blood tw #stabbing tw #violence tw

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bellamyblake · 5 years ago

Text

Headcanons for Bellarke in the middle of a battle field:

it starts when Azgeda attacks some of Trikru’s territories claiming that the game is scarce and they need new hunting grounds but everyone in the alliance knew it was an act of war;

they’ve been at peace for barely a year and a half, Arkadia was just beginning to thrive, Bellamy spent the last summer building cabins with a crew, hunting for the winter, tiring himself to the bone while Clarke spent sleepless night after sleepless night going to council meetings, figuring out how to get constant electricity and water in camp;

and then they attacked, and suddenly a week later Arkadia had to send a 100 soldiers to the battlefield;

the irony of it all made Bellamy and Clarke exchange a sad knowing glance;

He was the first to volunteer and when he found out she’s coming too, he raged hell, fought with her for days and even went to her mother to try and stop this but to no avail;

“Why is it that you can risk your life and I can’t?” she had jut her chin at him one evening in his tent when they fought, finger in his chest, hair spilling in every direction;

they had been sharing a bed since the peace treaty, mostly because of their constant nightmares which quieted down when they were in each other’s embrace;

with every night they spent together in his small cot, her arms wrapped a little tighter around him, her nose buried closer and closer to the crook of his neck, her hand trailed up and down his back while his rest on her stomach and rubbed the soft spot under her breast;

they were soft with each other, but they never took that other step; there were kisses on the neck, on the cheek, stolen ones, that were needed when you woke up crying and rushed to wash your hands in the snow outside because you looked at them and saw them bloody;

there were gentle lips kissing the tears away when he woke up shaking so hard, it felt as if he was having a seizure and his heart skipped beats so much she got scared that it might stop as a whole, so she held his head to her chest and whispered to keep breathing until the tremors quieted down and he sobbed wetting her shirt;

but that night before they left they slept back to back, angry at each other and in the morning when they climbed the horses he rushed his beautiful Ares so far ahead of her, it made her eyes sting;

when they arrived on the battlefield it was already a blood bath; an equal amount of soldiers have died on both sides but there was no giving up, especially not for the new commander;

the first day Clarke had to stay behind to treat the wounded while he was sent off; she kept scanning the fields looking for him until finally in the evening the fire seized and he came all battered and bloody but in one piece;

she threw herself in his embrace and he held her tight “We’re such idiots, princess.” he had whispered and when she pulled back she cupped his cut-stained face and smiled at him with teary eyes “I don’t even remember what we were fighting for” her breath fans his dirty cheeks and he leans his forehead against her “I don’t ever want us to be separated again.”

“Me either.” he agrees and they stare into each other’s eyes before tentatively, carefully, their lips touch and they kiss each other. She feels his rough hands on her cheeks, his fingers trailing down her neck and then all the way to her waist as he pulls her closer; when finally, they split they’re both breathing heavily;

“Figures we’ll get our shit together in the midst of a fucking war, princess.” he jokes and she buries her nose in the crook of his neck like a shy teenage girl which she’s never been but could pretend now for a moment “It wouldn’t be us otherwise.” she whispers and feels him nod.

the next day they go into battle together and at first everything seems to be okay until the explosions start; Bellamy doesn’t even have a clue how Azgeda figured out a way to do this but it makes him terrified;

his worst fear comes true when he loses Clarke out of sight when there’s an explosion too close to him, throwing him away from the rest of the squad; it takes him a second to get back to his bearings and once standing he feels a burning in his side, his leg drags because of a pain in his hip and his head is ringing;

but he raises his rifle and yells her name;

it’s hell all around him, soldiers running, bullets flying, azgeda cutting trikru and arkadian soldiers in half with swords and axes; he shoots and has no idea if he’s successful-all he’s looking for is a dirty blond hair and a determined face;

“Clarke! Clarke!” he yells bringing the attention to any soldier on the field and then he spots her, trying to fight a guy twice her size; he rushes as fast as he can in her direction and just when he brings her to her knees, he is close enough to shoot him in the head;

“Clarke!” he exhales when she stands up and runs to him “Bellamy!” she throws herself in his embrace and holds him close;

when she pulls back there’s blood on her hair from the wound in his shoulder and she furrows her eyebrows angrily;

“We need to take cover!” he says, dragging them back to the treeline where the trenches were; there are some scratches and cuts on her face but overall she seems to be alright; he’s the one who’s hurt and still, he stubbornly keeps pushing her forward;

“Bellamy, stop, you’re hurt!” she finally catches up to him and they hide behind the nearest tree; she presses his back to it and he slides down tiredly; finally she gets to look in his eyes, see how dizzy he is, how confused, her hands pepper all over his body trying to asses the damage but he grabs her wrist and simply brings her knuckles to his lips to kiss;

“I’m fine”

“You’re bleeding out!” her small hand covers the wound on his shoulder and he hisses “The bullet’s still inside.”

“It’s nothing. We need to get you to the trenches. Or better yet, back to the safe zone.”

“Bellamy, we’re not going anywhere with you like this.” he laughs at that and moves his head to kiss her cheek, he’s being an absolute adorable dork in that moment and her heart warms at the sight of him “It’s a scratch, stop being dramatic. That’s usually my thing.” he jokes but his head lolls a bit and she has to pick his chin up to look into his eyes.

“You can die out here, Bellamy!”

“I won’t. I have you.” he promises and carefully stands up, biting back a yell when he puts some weight on his leg “Come on, we have to get you to safety.”

he starts tugging her towards the trenches but she stops him with a hand on the chest “Stop trying to save me!” she says angrily and he smiles but he’s not cute right now “And wipe that smirk off your face!” she groans “I hate when you’re being like that.”

“Come on, we don’t have much time!” he urges her again and this time she follows him. his hand falls on his side and he is limping so hard she has no idea how he hasn’t fallen yet but he keeps on going, stubbornly, persistently, trying to bring her to safety.

She hates him for it.

“Stop it, Bellamy, just stop!” she yells, pulling him behind another tree “Your life matters!” she yells in the midst of all the bullets flying and the fires burning “You listen to me, your life fucking matters, Bellamy Blake!” she digs her finger in his chest and he looks at her all confused and worried. “I save you this time.”

he’s faster though and he grabs her arms pulling her to his embrace “Please, I can’t lose you, Clarke.” he’s almost crying out “Leave me here and get to the trenches.”

“No!” she won’t hear it, not this time. she throws his arm over her back and together they start walking; “I’m not letting you die.” she insists even when his eyes start to droop, there’s a lot of shrapnel in his side, the bullet still in his shoulder, the concussion he surely has, it’s bad, but he’ll make it. he has to.

Finally, she sees the trenches and Miller jumps out to meet her halfway and help carry him to safety; when she puts him into a sitting position he coughs blood and he reaches to take her hand when she wipes it away.

those same lips she kissed only last night were now stained with red;

“Get to safety!” he says voice weak but insisting;

“No” she shakes her head stubbornly “I’m not leaving you behind.” he tries to pull her close again but she’s barking orders at Miller and asking to find one more person so they could carry him back to camp;

“Kiss me, please.” he whispers when he makes her listen to him again and her eyes widen at his request.

“You’re not dying!” she has read his thoughts;

“I know my luck, princess.” he smiles and manages to raise his hand to the back of her neck, pulling her closer “Don’t deny a dying man his last wish.” so she does it, she kisses him and feels the blood in his mouth, the pain of his head moving but she senses all the love too, all the warmth and good that there is about Bellamy;

when she pulls away his eyes are closed;

and they don’t open;

next time he wakes, he’s in a med tent. Abby’s patching his shoulder and Clarke’s hands are covered in red like her worst nightmares. they are yelling for something, medicine, alcohol to clean his wounds, he doesn’t know, nor does he care;

he reaches to take her fingers and she turns her head to find him awake and struggling.”Hey, princess.” he whispers and she shushes him not to talk but he just smiles.

she leans closer and cups his bloody face “So...we switched places then” he jokes as he struggles to breathe and coughs “The princess have the guy the kiss of life.” that makes her chuckle and his heart flutters at the sound; if he could give her even an ounce of happiness in the middle of the worst moments of their lives, he’d consider it a win.

“You’d be cute if you weren’t half alive, Bell.” she whispers rubbing her nose against his “Now let me patch you up so you can piss me off again tomorrow, alright?”

“It’s a deal, princess.” he smiles and closes his eyes but he’s not afraid because he feels her warm gentle touch on his cheek and he knows when he wakes up next, she’d be curled around him, resting her head over his heart and he’d hold her like he always did.

#bellarke #bellarke fanfiction #bellamy blake #clarke griffin #bellarke fanfic #bellarke headcanons #okay this is maybe long #but i hope ppl like it #my headcanons

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